The Border Legion

Next day, when Kells called Joan out into the other cabin, she

verified her hope and belief, not so much in the almost indefinable

aging and sadness of the man, as in the strong intuitive sense that

her attraction had magnified for him and had uplifted him.

"You mustn't stay shut up in there any longer," he said. "You've

lost weight and you're pale. Go out in the air and sun. You might as

well get used to the gang. Bate Wood came to me this morning and

said he thought you were the ghost of Dandy Dale. That name will

stick to you. I don't care how you treat my men. But if you're

friendly you'll fare better. Don't go far from the cabin. And if any

man says or does a thing you don't like--flash your gun. Don't yell

for me. You can bluff this gang to a standstill."

That was a trial for Joan, when she walked out into the light in

Dandy Dale's clothes. She did not step very straight, and she could

feel the cold prick of her face under the mask. It was not shame,

but fear that gripped her. She would rather die than have Jim Cleve

recognize her in that bold disguise. A line of dusty saddled horses

stood heads and bridles down before the cabin, and a number of

lounging men ceased talking when she appeared. It was a crowd that

smelled of dust and horses and leather and whisky and tobacco. Joan

did not recognize any one there, which fact aided her in a quick

recovery of her composure. Then she found amusement in the absolute

sensation she made upon these loungers. They stared, open-mouthed

and motionless. One old fellow dropped his pipe from bearded lips

and did not seem to note the loss. A dark young man, dissipated and

wild-looking, with years of lawlessness stamped upon his face, was

the first to move; and he, with awkward gallantry, but with amiable

disposition. Joan wanted to run, yet she forced herself to stand

there, apparently unconcerned before this battery of bold and

curious eyes. That, once done, made the rest easier. She was

grateful for the mask. And with her first low, almost incoherent,

words in reply Joan entered upon the second phase of her experience

with these bandits. Naturalness did not come soon, but it did come,

and with it her wit and courage.

Used as she had become to the villainous countenances of the border

ruffians, she yet upon closer study discovered wilder and more

abandoned ones. Yet despite that, and a brazen, unconcealed

admiration, there was not lacking kindliness and sympathy and good

nature. Presently Joan sauntered away, and she went among the tired,

shaggy horses and made friends with them. An occasional rider swung

up the trail to dismount before Kells's cabin, and once two riders

rode in, both staring--all eyes--at her. The meaning of her intent

alertness dawned upon her then. Always, whatever she was doing or

thinking or saying, behind it all hid the driving watchfulness for

Jim Cleve. And the consciousness of this fixed her mind upon him.

Where was he? What was he doing? Was he drunk or gambling or

fighting or sleeping? Was he still honest? When she did meet him

what would happen? How could she make herself and circumstances

known to him before he killed somebody? A new fear had birth and

grew--Cleve would recognize her in that disguise, mask and all.