Kells did not say what that change might be, but the click of his teeth was expressive.  Joan did not, however, gather from it, and the dark meaning of his tone, that the Border Legion would cause this change.  That was in the nature of events.  A great strike of gold might enrich the world, but it was a catastrophe.

Long into the night Joan lay awake, and at times, stirring the silence, there was wafted to her on a breeze the low, strange murmur of the gold-camp’s strife.

Joan slept late next morning, and was awakened by the unloading of lumber.  Teams were drawing planks from the sawmill.  Already a skeleton framework for Kells’s cabin had been erected.  Jim Cleve was working with the others, and they were sacrificing thoroughness to haste.  Joan had to cook her own breakfast, which task was welcome, and after it had been finished she wished for something more to occupy her mind.  But nothing offered.  Finding a comfortable seat among some rocks where she would be inconspicuous, she looked on at the building of Kells’s cabin.  It seemed strange, and somehow comforting, to watch Jim Cleve work.  He had never been a great worker.  Would this experience on the border make a man of him?  She felt assured of that.

If ever a cabin sprang up like a mushroom, that bandit rendezvous was the one.  Kells worked himself, and appeared no mean hand.  By noon the roof of clapboards was on, and the siding of the same material had been started.  Evidently there was not to a be a fireplace inside.

Then a teamster drove up with a wagon-load of purchases Kells had ordered.  Kells helped unload this and evidently was in search of articles.  Presently he found them, and then approached Joan, to deposit before her an assortment of bundles little and big.

“There Miss Modestly,” he said.  “Make yourself some clothes.  You can shake Dandy Dale’s outfit, except when we’re on the trail. ...  And, say, if you knew what I had to pay for this stuff you’d think there was a bigger robber in Alder Creek than Jack Kells. ...  And, come to think of it, my name’s now Blight.  You’re my daughter, if any one asks.”  Joan was so grateful to him for the goods and the permission to get out of Dandy Dale’s suit as soon as possible, that she could only smile her thanks.  Kells stared at her, then turned abruptly away.  Those little unconscious acts of hers seemed to affect him strangely.  Joan remembered that he had intended to parade her in Dandy Dale’s costume to gratify some vain abnormal side of his bandit’s proclivities.  He had weakened.  Here was another subtle indication of the deterioration of the evil of him.  How far would it go?  Joan thought dreamily, and with a swelling heart, of her influence upon this hardened bandit, upon that wild boy, Jim Cleve.

All that afternoon, and part of the evening in the campfire light, and all of the next day Joan sewed, so busy that she scarcely lifted her eyes from her work.  The following day she finished her dress, and with no little pride, for she had both taste and skill.  Of the men, Bate Wood had been most interested in her task; and he would let things burn on the fire to watch her.