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The Border Legion by Zane Grey
page 231 of 379 (60%)
got so poor that she could sew no longer she put the work aside and
stood at her little window, watching the sunset. From the front of
the cabin came the sound of subdued voices. Probably Kells and his
men had returned, and she was sure of this when she heard the ring
of Bate Wood's ax.

All at once an object darker than the stones arrested Joan's gaze.
There was a man sitting on the far side of the little ravine.
Instantly she recognized Jim Cleve. He was looking at the little
window--at her. Joan believed he was there for just that purpose.
Making sure that no one else was near to see, she put out her hand
and waved it. Jim gave a guarded perceptible sign that he had
observed her action, and almost directly got up and left. Joan
needed no more than that to tell her how Jim's idea of communicating
with her corresponded with her own. That night she would talk with
him and she was thrilled through. The secrecy, the peril, somehow
lent this prospect a sweetness, a zest, a delicious fear. Indeed,
she was not only responding to love, but to daring, to defiance, to
a wilder nameless element born of her environment and the needs of
the hour.

Presently, Bate Wood called her in to supper. Pearce, Smith, and
Cleve were finding seats at the table, but Kells looked rather sick.
Joan observed him then more closely. His face was pale and damp,
strangely shaded as if there were something dark under the pale
skin. Joan had never seen him appear like this, and she shrank as
from another and forbidding side of the man. Pearce and Smith acted
naturally, ate with relish, and talked about the gold-diggings.
Cleve, however, was not as usual; and Joan could not quite make out
what constituted the dissimilarity. She hurried through her own
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