The Border Legion

Joan went to the seat by the tree, near the camp-fire. A purple

twilight was shadowing the canon. Far above, on the bold peak the

last warmth of the afterglow was fading. There was no wind, no

sound, no movement. Joan wondered where Jim Cleve was then. They had

often sat in the twilight. She felt an unreasonable resentment

toward him, knowing she was to blame, but blaming him for her

plight. Then suddenly she thought of her uncle, of home, of her

kindly old aunt who always worried so about her. Indeed, there was

cause to worry. She felt sorrier for them than for herself. And that

broke her spirit momentarily. Forlorn, and with a wave of sudden

sorrow and dread and hopelessness, she dropped her head upon her

knees and covered her face. Tears were a relief. She forgot Kells

and the part she must play. But she remembered swiftly--at the rude

touch of his hand.

"Here! Are you crying?" he asked, roughly.

"Do you think I'm laughing?" Joan retorted. Her wet eyes, as she

raised them, were proof enough.

"Stop it."

"I can't help--but cry--a little. I was th--thinking of home--of

those who've been father and mother to me--since I was a baby. I

wasn't crying--for myself. But they--they'll be so miserable. They

loved me so."

"It won't help matters to cry."

Joan stood up then, no longer sincere and forgetful, but the girl

with her deep and cunning game. She leaned close to him in the

twilight.

"Did you ever love any one? Did you ever have a sister--a girl like

me?"

Kells stalked away into the gloom.

Joan was left alone. She did not know whether to interpret his

abstraction, his temper, and his action as favorable or not. Still

she hoped and prayed they meant that he had some good in him. If she

could only hide her terror, her abhorrence, her knowledge of him and

his motive! She built up a bright camp-fire. There was an abundance

of wood. She dreaded the darkness and the night. Besides, the air

was growing chilly. So, arranging her saddle and blankets near the

fire, she composed herself in a comfortable seat to await Kells's

return and developments. It struck her forcibly that she had lost

some of her fear of Kells and she did not know why. She ought to

fear him more every hour--every minute. Presently she heard his step

brushing the grass and then he emerged out of the gloom. He had a

load of fire-wood on his shoulder.

"Did you get over your grief?" he asked, glancing down upon her.