ions had no effect because they were beyond her. And when this
became manifest to them that aspect of their relation to her changed.
She grasped the fact intuitively, and then she verified it by proof. Her
heart beat strong and high. If she could hide her hate, her fear, her
abhorrence, she could influence these wild men. But it all depended upon
her charm, her strangeness, her femininity. Insensibly they had been
influenced, and it proved that in the worst of men there yet survived
some good. Gulden alone presented a contrast and a problem. He appeared
aware of her presence while he sat there eating like a wolf, but it was
as if she were only an object. The man watched as might have an animal.

Her experience at the camp-fire meal inclined her to the belief that,
if there were such a possibility as her being safe at all, it would be
owing to an unconscious and friendly attitude toward the companions she
had been forced to accept. Those men were pleased, stirred at being in
her vicinity. Joan came to a melancholy and fearful cognizance of her
attraction. While at home she seldom had borne upon her a reality--that
she was a woman. Her place, her person were merely natural. Here it
was all different. To these wild men, developed by loneliness,
fierce-blooded, with pulses like whips, a woman was something that
thrilled, charmed, soothed, that incited a strange, insatiable,
inexplicable hunger for the very sight of her. They did not realize it,
but Joan did.

Presently Joan finished her supper and said: "I'll go hobble my horse.
He strays sometimes."

"Shore I'll go, miss," said Bate Wood. He had never called her Mrs.
Kells, but Joan believed he had not thought of the significance.
Hardened old ruffian that he was. Joan regarded him as the best of a bad
lot. He had lived long, and some of his life had not been bad.

"Let me go," added Pearce.

"No, thanks. I'll go myself," she replied.

She took the rope hobble off her saddle and boldly swung down the trail.
Suddenly she heard two or more of the men speak at once, and then, low
and clear: "Gulden, where'n hell are you goin'?" This was Red Pearce's
voice.

Joan glanced back. Gulden had started down the trail after her. Her
heart quaked, her knees shook, and she was ready to run back. Gulden
halted, then turned away, growling. He acted as if caught in something
surprising to himself.

"We're on to you, Gulden," continued Pearce, deliberately. "Be careful
or we'll pu