The Border Legion

"You beg me not to become a bandit?" he asked, slowly, as if

revolving a strange idea.

"Oh, I implore you!"

"Why?"

"I told you. Because you're still good at heart. You've only been

wild. ... Because--"

"Are you the wife of Kells?" he flashed at her.

A reply seemed slowly wrenched from Joan's reluctant lips. "No!"

The denial left a silence behind it. The truth that all knew when

spoken by her was a kind of shock. The ruffians gaped in breathless

attention. Kells looked on with a sardonic grin, but he had grown

pale. And upon the face of Cleve shone an immeasurable scorn.

"Not his wife!" exclaimed Cleve, softly.

His tone was unendurable to Joan. She began to shrink. A flame

curled within her. How he must hate any creature of her sex!

"And you appeal to me!" he went on. Suddenly a weariness came over

him. The complexity of women was beyond him. Almost he turned his

back upon her. "I reckon such as you can't keep me from Kells--or

blood--or hell!"

"Then you're a narrow-souled weakling--born to crime!" she burst out

in magnificent wrath. "For however appearances are against me--I am

a good woman!"

That stunned him, just as it drew Kells upright, white and watchful.

Cleve seemed long in grasping its significance. His face was half

averted. Then he turned slowly, all strung, and his hands clutched

quiveringly at the air. No man of coolness and judgment would have

addressed him or moved a step in that strained moment. All expected

some such action as had marked his encounter with Luce and Gulden.

Then Cleve's gaze in unmistakable meaning swept over Joan's person.

How could her appearance and her appeal be reconciled? One was a

lie! And his burning eyes robbed Joan of spirit.

"He forced me to--to wear these," she faltered. "I'm his prisoner.

I'm helpless."

With catlike agility Cleve leaped backward, so that he faced all the

men, and when his hands swept to a level they held gleaming guns.

His utter abandon of daring transfixed these bandits in surprise as

much as fear. Kells appeared to take most to himself the menace.

"I CRAWL!" he said, huskily. "She speaks the God's truth. ... But

you can't help matters by killing me. Maybe she'd be worse off!"

He expected this wild boy to break loose, yet his wit directed him

to speak the one thing calculated to check Cleve.

"Oh, don't shoot!" moaned Joan.