Kells dismounted and offered his hand. Roberts took it and shook it
constrainedly.

"Where did we meet last?" asked Kells.

"Reckon it was out of Fresno," replied Roberts, and it was evident
that he tried to hide the effect of a memory.

Then Kells touched his hat to Joan, giving her the fleetest kind of
a glance. "Rather off the track aren't you?" he asked Roberts.

"Reckon we are," replied Roberts, and he began to lose some of his
restraint. His voice sounded clearer and did not halt. "Been
trailin' Miss Randle's favorite hoss. He's lost. An' we got farther
'n we had any idee. Then my hoss went lame. 'Fraid we can't start
home to-night."

"Where are you from?"

"Hoadley. Bill Hoadley's town, back thirty miles or so."

"Well, Roberts, if you've no objection we'll camp here with you,"
continued Kells. "We've got some fresh meat."

With that he addressed a word to his comrades, and they repaired to
a cedar-tree near-by, where they began to unsaddle and unpack.

Then Roberts, bending nearer Joan, as if intent on his own pack,
began to whisper, hoarsely: "That's Jack Kells, the California road-
agent. He's a gun fighter--a hell-bent rattlesnake. When I saw him
last he had a rope round his neck an' was bein' led away to be
hanged. I heerd afterward he was rescued by pals. Joan, if the idee
comes into his head he'll kill me. I don't know what to do. For
God's sake think of somethin'! ... Use your woman's wits! ... We
couldn't be in a wuss fix!"