The Border Legion

Joan felt rather unsteady on her feet, so that it was a relief to

sit down. She was cold and sick inwardly, almost stunned. Some great

peril menaced her. Men like Roberts did not talk that way without

cause. She was brave; she was not unused to danger. But this must be

a different kind, compared with which all she had experienced was

but insignificant. She could not grasp Roberts's intimation. Why

should he be killed? They had no gold, no valuables. Even their

horses were nothing to inspire robbery. It must be that there was

peril to Roberts and to her because she was a girl, caught out in

the wilds, easy prey for beasts of evil men. She had heard of such

things happening. Still, she could not believe it possible for her.

Roberts could protect her. Then this amiable, well-spoken Kells, he

was no Western rough--he spoke like an educated man; surely he would

not harm her. So her mind revolved round fears, conjectures,

possibilities; she could not find her wits. She could not think how

to meet the situation, even had she divined what the situation was

to be.

While she sat there in the shade of a cedar the men busied

themselves with camp duties. None of them appeared to pay any

attention to Joan. They talked while they worked, as any other group

of campers might have talked, and jested and laughed. Kells made a

fire, and carried water, then broke cedar boughs for later camp-fire

use; one of the strangers whom they called Bill hobbled the horses;

the other unrolled the pack, spread a tarpaulin, and emptied the

greasy sacks; Roberts made biscuit dough for the oven.

The sun sank red and a ruddy twilight fell. It soon passed. Darkness

had about set in when Roberts came over to Joan, carrying bread,

coffee, and venison.

"Here's your supper, Joan," he called, quite loud and cheerily, and

then he whispered: "Mebbe it ain't so bad. They-all seem friendly.

But I'm scared, Joan. If you jest wasn't so dam' handsome, or if

only he hadn't seen you!"

"Can't we slip off in the dark?" she whispered in return.

"We might try. But it'd be no use if they mean bad. I can't make up

my mind yet what's comin' off. It's all right for you to pretend

you're bashful. But don't lose your nerve."

Then he returned to the camp-fire. Joan was hungry. She ate and

drank what had been given her, and that helped her to realize

reality. And although dread abided with her, she grew curious.

Almost she imagined she was fascinated by her predicament. She had

always been an emotional girl of strong will and self-restraint. She

had always longed for she knew not what--perhaps freedom. Certain

places had haunted her. She had felt that something should have

happened to her there. Yet nothing ever had happened. Certain books

had obsessed her, even when a child, and often to her mother's

dismay; for these books had been of wild places and life on the sea,

adventure, and bloodshed. It had always been said of her that she

should have been a boy.