"Joan--Joan," came the soft whisper.

She answered, and there was a catch in her breath.

The moving shadow split into two shadows that stole closer, loomed
before her. She could not tell which belonged to Jim till he touched
her. His touch was potent. It seemed to electrify her.

"Dearest, we're here--this is the parson," said Jim, like a happy
boy. "I--"

"Ssssh!" whispered Joan. "Not so loud. ... Listen!"

Kells was holding a rendezvous with members of his Legion. Joan even
recognized his hard and somber tone, and the sharp voice of Red
Pearce, and the drawl of Handy Oliver.

"All right. I'll be quiet," responded Cleve, cautiously. "Joan,
you're to answer a few questions."

Then a soft hand touched Joan, and a voice differently keyed from
any she had heard on the border addressed her.

"What is your name?" asked the preacher.

Joan told him.

"Can you tell anything about yourself? This young man is--is almost
violent. I'm not sure. Still I want to--"