Then under a giant balsam, that reached aloft to the rim-wall, Joan
saw a little log cabin, open in front. It had not been built very
long; some of the log ends still showed yellow. It did not resemble
the hunters' and prospectors' cabins she had seen on her trips with
her uncle.

In a sweeping glance Joan had taken in these features. Kells had
dismounted and approached her. She looked frankly, but not directly,
at him.

"I'm tired--almost too tired to get off," she said.

"Fifty miles of rock and brush, up and down! Without a kick!" he
exclaimed, admiringly. "You've got sand, girl!"

"Where are we?"

"This is Lost Canon. Only a few men know of it. And they are--
attached to me. I intend to keep you here."

"How long?" She felt the intensity of his gaze.

"Why--as long as--" he replied, slowly, "till I get my ransom."

"What amount will you ask?"

"You're worth a hundred thousand in gold right now ... Maybe later I
might let you go for less."

Joan's keen-wrought perception registered his covert, scarcely
veiled implication. He was studying her.

"Oh, poor uncle. He'll never, never get so much."

"Sure he will," replied Kells, bluntly.

Then he helped her out of the saddle. She was stiff and awkward, and
she let herself slide. Kells handled her gently and like a
gentleman, and for Joan the first agonizing moment of her ordeal was
past. Her intuition had guided her correctly. Kells might have been
and probably was the most depraved of outcast men; but the presence
of a girl like her, however it affected him, must also have brought
up associations of a time when by family and breeding and habit he
had been infinitely different. His action here, just like the
ruffian Bill's, was instinctive, beyond his control. Just this
slight thing, this frail link that joined Kells to his past and
better life, immeasurably inspirited Joan and outlined the difficult
game she had to play.