The Border Legion

Here Joan ate and drank, and slept the deep sleep of exhaustion.

Sunrise found them moving, and through the winding, wild canon they

made fast travel. Both time and miles passed swiftly. At noon they

reached the little open cabin, and they dismounted for a rest and a

drink at the spring. Joan did not speak a word here. That she could

look into the cabin where she had almost killed a bandit, and then,

through silent, lonely weeks, had nursed him back to life, was a

proof that the long ride and distance were helping her, sloughing

away the dark deadlock to hope and brightness. They left the place

exactly as they had found it, except that Cleve plucked the card

from the bark of the balsam-tree--Gulden's ace--of--hearts target

with its bullet--holes.

Then they rode on, out of that canon, over the rocky ridge, down

into another canon, on and on, past an old camp-site, along a

babbling brook for miles, and so at last out into the foot--hills.

Toward noon of the next day, when approaching a clump of low trees

in a flat valley, Joan pointed ahead.

"Jim--it was in there--where Roberts and I camped--and--"

"You ride around. I'll catch up with you," replied Cleve.

She made a wide detour, to come back again to her own trail, so

different here. Presently Cleve joined her. His face was pale and

sweaty, and he looked sick. They rode on silently, and that night

they camped without water on her own trail, made months before. The

single tracks were there, sharp and clear in the earth, as if

imprinted but a day.

Next morning Joan found that as the wild border lay behind her so

did the dark and hateful shadow of gloom. Only the pain remained,

and it had softened. She could think now.

Jim Cleve cheered up. Perhaps it was her brightening to which he

responded. They began to talk and speech liberated feeling. Miles of

that back-trail they rode side by side, holding hands, driving the

pack-horse ahead, and beginning to talk of old associations. Again

it was sunset when they rode down the hill toward the little village

of Hoadley. Joan's heart was full, but Jim was gay.

"Won't I have it on your old fellows!" he teased. But he was grim,

too.

"Jim! You--won't tell--just yet!" she faltered.

"I'll introduce you as my wife! They'll all think we eloped."

"No. They'll say I ran after you! ... Please, Jim! Keep it secret a

little. It'll be hard for me. Aunt Jane will never understand."