dismounted for a rest and a drink at the
spring. Joan did not speak a word here. That she could look into the
cabin where she had almost killed a bandit, and then, through silent,
lonely weeks, had nursed him back to life, was a proof that the long
ride and distance were helping her, sloughing away the dark deadlock to
hope and brightness. They left the place exactly as they had found
it, except that Cleve plucked the card from the bark of the
balsam-tree--Gulden's ace--of--hearts target with its bullet--holes.

Then they rode on, out of that canon, over the rocky ridge, down into
another canon, on and on, past an old camp-site, along a babbling brook
for miles, and so at last out into the foot--hills.

Toward noon of the next day, when approaching a clump of low trees in a
flat valley, Joan pointed ahead.

"Jim--it was in there--where Roberts and I camped--and--"

"You ride around. I'll catch up with you," replied Cleve.

She made a wide detour, to come back again to her own trail, so
different here. Presently Cleve joined her. His face was pale and
sweaty, and he looked sick. They rode on silently, and that night they
camped without water on her own trail, made months before. The single
tracks were there, sharp and clear in the earth, as if imprinted but a
day.

Next morning Joan found that as the wild border lay behind her so did
the dark and hateful shadow of gloom. Only the pain remained, and it had
softened. She could think now.

Jim Cleve cheered up. Perhaps it was her brightening to which he
responded. They began to talk and speech liberated feeling. Miles of
that back-trail they rode side by side, holding hands, driving the
pack-horse ahead, and beginning to talk of old associations. Again it
was sunset when they rode down the hill toward the little village of
Hoadley. Joan's heart was full, but Jim was gay.

"Won't I have it on your old fellows!" he teased. But he was grim, too.

"Jim! You--won't tell--just yet!" she faltered.

"I'll introduce you as my wife! They'll all think we eloped."

"No. They'll say I ran after you!... Please, Jim! Keep it secret a
little. It'll be hard for me. Aunt Jane will never understand."

"Well, I'll keep it secret till you want to tell--for two things," he
said.

"What?"

"Meet me to--night, under the spruces where we had that quarrel. Meet
just like we did then, but differently. Will you?"

"I'll be--so glad."

"And put on your mask now!... You know, Joan,