All Joan's fancies and dreams faded into obscurity, and when she was
aroused it seemed she had scarcely closed her eyes. But there was
the gray gloom of dawn. Jim was shaking her gently.

"No, you weren't sleepy--it's just a mistake," he said, helping her
to arise. "Now we'll get out of here."

They threaded a careful way out of the rocks, then hurried down the
slope. In the grayness Joan saw the dark shape of a cabin and it
resembled the one Kells had built. It disappeared. Presently when
Jim led her into a road she felt sure that this cabin had been the
one where she had been a prisoner for so long. They hurried down the
road and entered the camp. There were no lights. The tents and
cabins looked strange and gloomy. The road was empty. Not a sound
broke the stillness. At the bend Joan saw a stage-coach and horses
looming up in what seemed gray distance. Jim hurried her on.

They reached the stage. The horses were restive. The driver was on
the seat, whip and reins in hand. Two men sat beside him with rifles
across their knees. The door of the coach hung open. There were men
inside, one of whom had his head out of the window. The barrel of a
rifle protruded near him. He was talking in a low voice to a man
apparently busy at the traces.