The weary, dusty cavalcade halted on the level bench before the
bandit's cabin. Gulden boomed a salute to Kells. The other men
shouted greeting. In the wild exultation of triumph they still held
him as chief. But Kells was not deceived. He even passed by that
heavily laden, gold-weighted saddle. He had eyes only for Joan.

"Girl, I never was so glad to see any one!" he exclaimed in husky
amaze. "How did it happen? I never--"

Jim Cleve leaned over to interrupt Kells. "It was great, Kells--that
idea of yours putting us in the stagecoach you meant to hold up,"
said Cleve, with a swift, meaning glance. "But it nearly was the end
of us. You didn't catch up. The gang didn't know we were inside, and
they shot the old stage full of holes."

"Aha! So that's it," replied Kells, slowly. "But the main point is--
you brought her through. Jim, I can't ever square that."

"Oh, maybe you can," laughed Cleve, as he dismounted.

Suddenly Kells became aware of Joan's exhaustion and distress.
"Joan, you're not hurt?" he asked in swift anxiety.

"No, only played out."

"You look it. Come." He lifted her out of the saddle and, half
carrying, half leading her, took her into the cabin, and through the
big room to her old apartment. How familiar it seemed to Joan! A
ground-squirrel frisked along a chink between the logs, chattering
welcome. The place was exactly as Joan had left it.