Cleve steadied Joan in her saddle, and stood a moment beside her,
holding her hands. The darkness seemed clearing before her eyes and
the sick pain within her seemed numbing out.

"Brace up! Hang--to your saddle!" Jim was saying, earnestly. "Any
moment some of the other bandits might come. ... You lead the way.
I'll follow and drive the pack-horse."

"But, Jim, I'll never be able to find the back-trail," said Joan.

"I think you will. You'll remember every yard of the trail on which
you were brought in here. You won't realize that till you see."

Joan started and did not look back. Cabin Gulch was like a place in
a dream. It was a relief when she rode out into the broad valley.
The grazing horses lifted their heads to whistle. Joan saw the
clumps of bushes and the flowers, the waving grass, but never as she
had seen them before. How strange that she knew exactly which way to
turn, to head, to cross! She trotted her horse so fast that Jim
called to say he could not drive a pack-animal and keep to her gait.
Every rod of the trail lessened a burden. Behind was something
hideous and incomprehensible and terrible; before beckoned something
beginning to seem bright. And it was not the ruddy, calm sunset,
flooding the hills with color. That something called from beyond the
hills.