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 them. An occasional rider swung
up the trail to dismount before Kells's cabin, and once two riders
rode in, both staring--all eyes--at her. The meaning of her intent
alertness dawned upon her then. Always, whatever she was doing or
thinking or saying, behind it all hid the driving watchfulness for
Jim Cleve. And the consciousness of this fixed her mind upon him.
Where was he? What was he doing? Was he drunk or gambling or
fighting or sleeping? Was he still honest? When she did meet him
what would happen? How could she make herself and circumstances
known to him before he killed somebody? A new fear had birth and
grew--Cleve would recognize her in that disguise, mask and all.

She walked up and down for a while, absorbed with this new idea.
Then an unusual commotion among the loungers drew her attention to a
group of men on foot surrounding and evidently escorting several
horsemen. Joan recognized Red Pearce and Frenchy, and then, with a
start, Jim Cleve. They were riding up the trail. Joan's heart began
to pound. She could not meet Jim; she dared not trust this disguise;
all her plans were as if they had never been. She forgot Kells. She
even forgot her fear of what Cleve might do. The meeting--the
inevitable recognition--the pain Jim Cleve must suffer when the fact
and apparent significance of her presence there burst upon him,
these drove all else from Joan's mind. Mask or no mask, she could
not face his piercing eyes, and like a little coward she turned to
enter the cabin.