The Border Legion

"No! ... GULDEN!" Joan had to moisten her lips to speak the

monster's name.

"He'll never think of you while he has all that gold."

Joan's intelligence grasped this, but her morbid dread, terribly

augmented now, amounted almost to a spell. Still, despite the

darkness of her mind, she had a flash of inspiration and of spirit.

"Kells is my only hope! ... If he doesn't join us soon--then we'll

run! ... And if we can't escape that"--Joan made a sickening gesture

toward the fore--"you must kill me before--before--"

Her voice trailed off, failing.

"I will!" he promised through locked teeth.

And then they rode on, with dark, faces bent over the muddy water

and treacherous stones.

When Jesse Smith led out of that brook it was to ride upon bare

rock. He was not leaving any trail. Horses and riders were of no

consideration. And he was a genius for picking hard ground and

covering it. He never slackened his gait, and it seemed next to

impossible to keep him in sight.

For Joan the ride became toil and the toil became pain. But there

was no rest. Smith kept mercilessly onward. Sunset and twilight and

night found the cavalcade still moving. Then it halted just as Joan

was about to succumb. Jim lifted her off her horse and laid her upon

the grass. She begged for water, and she drank and drank. But she

wanted no food. There was a heavy, dull beating in her ears, a band

tight round her forehead. She was aware of the gloom, of the

crackling of fires, of leaping shadows, of the passing of men to and

fro near her, and, most of all, rendering her capable of a saving

shred of self-control, she was aware of Jim's constant companionship

and watchfulness. Then sounds grew far off and night became a blur.

Morning when it came seemed an age removed from that hideous night.

Her head had cleared, and but for the soreness of body and limb she

would have begun the day strong. There appeared little to eat and no

time to prepare it. Gulden was rampant for action. Like a miser he

guarded the saddle packed with gold. This tune his comrades were as

eager as he to be on the move. All were obsessed by the presence of

gold. Only one hour loomed in their consciousness--that of the hour

of division. How fatal and pitiful and terrible! Of what possible

use or good was gold to them?

The ride began before sunrise. It started and kept on at a steady

trot. Smith led down out of the rocky slopes and fastnesses into

green valleys. Jim Cleve, riding bareback on a lame horse, had his

difficulties. Still he kept close beside or behind Joan all the way.

They seldom spoke, and then only a word relative to this stern

business of traveling in the trail of a hard-riding bandit. Joan

bore up better this day, as far as her mind was concerned.

Physically she had all she could do to stay in the saddle. She

learned of what steel she was actually made--what her slender frame

could endure. That day's ride seemed a thousand miles long, and

never to end. Yet the implacable Smith did finally halt, and that

before dark.