in the almost indefinable aging and
sadness of the man, as in the strong intuitive sense that her attraction
had magnified for him and had uplifted him.

"You mustn't stay shut up in there any longer," he said. "You've lost
weight and you're pale. Go out in the air and sun. You might as well get
used to the gang. Bate Wood came to me this morning and said he thought
you were the ghost of Dandy Dale. That name will stick to you. I don't
care how you treat my men. But if you're friendly you'll fare better.
Don't go far from the cabin. And if any man says or does a thing you
don't like--flash your gun. Don't yell for me. You can bluff this gang
to a standstill."

That was a trial for Joan, when she walked out into the light in Dandy
Dale's clothes. She did not step very straight, and she could feel the
cold prick of her face under the mask. It was not shame, but fear that
gripped her. She would rather die than have Jim Cleve recognize her
in that bold disguise. A line of dusty saddled horses stood heads and
bridles down before the cabin, and a number of lounging men ceased
talking when she appeared. It was a crowd that smelled of dust and
horses and leather and whisky and tobacco. Joan did not recognize any
one there, which fact aided her in a quick recovery of her composure.
Then she found amusement in the absolute sensation she made upon these
loungers. They stared, open-mouthed and motionless. One old fellow
dropped his pipe from bearded lips and did not seem to note the loss. A
dark young man, dissipated and wild-looking, with years of lawlessness
stamped upon his face, was the first to move; and he, with awkward
gallantry, but with amiable disposition. Joan wanted to run, yet she
forced herself to stand there, apparently unconcerned before this
battery of bold and curious eyes. That, once done, made the rest
easier. She was grateful for the mask. And with her first low, almost
incoherent, words in reply Joan entered upon the second phase of her
experience with these bandits. Naturalness did not come soon, but it did
come, and with it her wit and courage.

Used as she had become to the villainous countenances of the border
ruffians, she yet upon closer study discovered wilder and more abandoned
ones. Yet despite that, and a brazen, unconcealed admiration, there
was not lacking kindliness and sympathy and good nature. Presently Joan
sauntered away, and she went among the tired, shaggy horses and made
friends with the