eat out of Cleve's hand."

Joan could bear to hear no more. She staggered to her bed and fell
there, all cramped as if in a cold vise. However Jim might meet the
situation planned for murdering Creede, she knew he would not shirk
facing Gulden with deadly intent. He hated Gulden because she had a
horror of him. Would these hours of suspense never end? Must she
pass from one torture to another until--?

Sleep did not come for a long time. And when it did she suffered
with nightmares from which it seemed she could never awaken.

The day, when at last it arrived, was no better than the night. It
wore on endlessly, and she who listened so intently found it one of
the silent days. Only Bate Wood remained at the cabin. He appeared
kinder than usual, but Joan did not want to talk. She ate her meals,
and passed the hours watching from the window and lying on the bed.
Dusk brought Kells and Pearce and Smith, but not Jim Cleve. Handy
Oliver and Blicky arrived at supper-time.

"Reckon Jim's appetite is pore," remarked Bate Wood, reflectively.
"He ain't been in to-day."

Some of the bandits laughed, but Kells had a twinge, if Joan ever
saw a man have one. The dark, formidable, stern look was on his
face. He alone of the men ate sparingly, and after the meal he took
to his bent posture and thoughtful pacing. Joan saw the added burden
of another crime upon his shoulders. Conversation, which had been
desultory, and such as any miners or campers might have indulged in,
gradually diminished to a word here and there, and finally ceased.