Joan brushed against Cleve as she crossed the threshold.  What would he think of this?  She would not see his face.  When she reached the first tents she could not resist the desire to look back.  Pearce was within twenty yards of her and Smith about the same distance farther back.  Joan was more curious than anything else.  She divined that Kells wanted her to attract attention, but for what reason she was at a loss to say.  It was significant that he did not intend to let her suffer any indignity while fulfilling this mysterious mission.

Not until Joan got well down the road toward the Last Nugget did any one pay any attention to her.  A Mexican jabbered at her, showing his white teeth, flashing his sloe-black eyes.  Young miners eyed her curiously, and some of them spoke.  She met all kinds of men along the plank walk, most of whom passed by, apparently unobserving.  She obeyed Kells to the letter.  But for some reason she was unable to explain, when she got to the row of saloons, where lounging, evil-eyed rowdies accosted her, she found she had to disobey him, at least in one particular.  She walked faster.  Still that did not make her task much easier.  It began to be an ordeal.  The farther she got the bolder men grew.  Could it have been that Kells wanted this sort of thing to happen to her?  Joan had no idea what these men meant, but she believed that was because for the time being she was deaf.  Assuredly their looks were not a compliment to any girl.  Joan wanted to hurry now, and she had to force herself to walk at a reasonable gait.  One persistent fellow walked beside her for several steps.  Joan was not fool enough not to realize now that these wayfarers wanted to make her acquaintance.  And she decided she would have something to say to Kells when she got back.

Below the Last Nugget she crossed the road and started upon the return trip.  In front of this gambling-hell there were scattered groups of men, standing, and going in.  A tall man in black detached himself and started out, as if to intercept her.  He wore a long black coat, a black bow tie, and a black sombrero.  He had little, hard, piercing eyes, as black as his dress.  He wore gloves and looked immaculate, compared with the other men.  He, too, spoke to Joan, turned to walk with her.  She looked straight ahead now, frightened, and she wanted to run.  He kept beside her, apparently talking.  Joan heard only the low sound of his voice.  Then he took her arm, gently, but with familiarity.  Joan broke from him and quickened her pace.

“Say, there!  Leave thet girl alone!”

This must have been yelled, for Joan certainly heard it.  She recognized Red Pearce’s voice.  And she wheeled to look.  Pearce had overhauled the gambler, and already men were approaching.  Involuntarily Joan halted.  What would happen?  The gambler spoke to Pearce, made what appeared deprecating gestures, as if to explain.  But Pearce looked angry.