The Border Legion

ow, plodding with bent head, as if all a

dice or baseness. Joan knew the burning in her breast-that thing which inflamed and swept through her like a wind of fire-was hate. Yet her heart held a grain of pity for him. She measured his forbearance, his struggle, against the monstrous cruelty and passion engendered by a wild life among wild men at a wild time. And, considering his opport

ng beautiful glow of the fire-logs and the cold, pitiless stars and the mustering shadows under the walls. She heard, too, the low rising sigh of the wind in the balsam and the silvery tinkle of the brook, and sounds only imagine

gun swing away from his leg; she saw it black and clear against the blaze; a cold, blue light glinted from its handle. And then Kells was near enough for her to see his face and his eyes that were but shadows of flam

l for her. The night seemed treacherous, in league with her foe. It was endless. She prayed for dawn-yet with a blank hopelessness for what the day might bring. Could she hold out through more interminable hours? Would she not break from sheer strain? There were moments when she wavered and shook like a leaf in the wind, when the beating of her heart was audible, when a child could have seen her distress. There were other moments when all was ugly, unreal, impossible like things in a nightmare. But when Kells was near or approached to look at her, like

t stirred from his blanket under the balsam-tree. His face was dark, haggard, lined. She saw him go down to the brook and plunge his hands into the water and bathe hi

ough in plain sight. Joan looked round for her horse, but he was not to be seen. She decided to slip away the first opportunity that offered, and on foot or horseback, any way, to get out of Kells's clutches if she had to wander, lost

want to eat

ungry," sh

w-if it chokes y

eaving the camp-fire, she began walking again, here and there, aimlessly, scarcely seeing what she looked at. There was a shadow over her, an impending portent of catastrophe, a moment standing dark and sharp out of the age-long hour. She leaned against the balsam and then she rested

him coming. His face looked amiable again, bright against what seemed a vague and veiled background. Like a mountaineer he strode. And she

single pull swung her to him.

ting. She hung her head to hide her eyes. Then he placed an arm r

and pine at her feet and pale pink daisies in the grass,

And turning her toward him, he embraced her, as if h

swift and sure and wonderful as his passion was wild. The first reach of her groping hand found his gun-belt. Swift as light her hand slipped down. Her fingers touched the cold gun-grasped with thrill on thrill-slipped farther down, strong and sure to raise the hammer. Then with a leaping, strung intensity that matched his own she drew the gun. She rais

ll with tight-shut eyes. A horrible cry escaped him-a cry of mortal agony. It wrenched her. And she looked to see him staggering amazed, stricken, at bay, like a wolf caught in cruel steel jaws. His

ou-you girl!... You she-cat... You knew-all t

she cried. The big gun, outstret

down to his knees, and but for the wall he would have fallen. Then a change transformed him. The black, turgid, convulsed face grew white and

t hurt any creature! You so tender-so gentle!... Bah! you fooled me. The cunning of a woman! I ought-to know. A good woman's-more terrible than a-bad woman.... But I deserved this. Once I used-to

wanted to tell him she was sorry, that he drove her to it, that he must let her pray for him.

somber eyes. Spirit, sense, life, were fading from him. The quivering of a racked body ceased. And all that seemed left was a lonely soul groping on the verge of