"But I want to go home. Oh, please let me go!"

"I couldn't think of it."

"Then--what will you--do with me?"

Again that gray glance pierced her. His eyes were clear, flawless,
like crystal, without coldness, warmth, expression. "I'll get a
barrel of gold out of you."

"How?" she asked, wonderingly.

"I'll hold you for ransom. Sooner or later those prospectors over
there are going to strike gold. Strike it rich! I know that. I've
got to make a living some way."

Kells was tightening the cinch on her saddle while he spoke. His
voice, his manner, the amiable smile on his intelligent face, they
all appeared to come from sincerity. But for those strange eyes Joan
would have wholly believed him. As it was, a half doubt troubled
her. She remembered the character Roberts had given this man. Still,
she was recovering her nerve. It had been the certainty of disaster
to Roberts that had made her weaken. As he was only slightly wounded
and free to ride home safely, she had not the horror of his death
upon her. Indeed, she was now so immensely uplifted that she faced
the situation unflinchingly.

"Bill," called Kells to the man standing there with a grin on his
coarse red face, "you go back and help Halloway pack. Then take my
trail."

Bill nodded, and was walking away when Kells called after him: "And
say, Bill, don't say anything to Roberts. He's easily riled."