“Wal, he’s got to hev a reason for raisin’ an orful fuss,” replied Wood.

“Fuss?”

“Shore,” replied Wood, dryly.

“What for?”

“Jest so he can walk out on the stage,” rejoined Wood, evasively.

“It’s mighty strange,” said Joan.

“I reckon all about Mr. Kells is some strange these days.  Red Pearce had it correct.  Kells is a-goin’ to split on you!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Wal, he’ll go one way an’ the gang another.”

“Why?” asked Joan, earnestly.

“Miss, there’s some lot of reasons,” said Wood, deliberately.  “Fust, he did for Halloway an’ Bailey, not because they wanted to treat you as he meant to, but just because he wanted to be alone.  We’re all wise thet you shot him—­an’ thet you wasn’t his wife.  An’ since then we’ve seen him gradually lose his nerve.  He organized his Legion an’ makes his plan to run this Alder Creek red.  He still hangs on to you.  He’d kill any man thet batted an eye at you. ...  An’ through all this, because he’s not Jack Kells of old, he’s lost his pull with the gang.  Sooner or later he’ll split.”

“Have I any real friends among you?” asked Joan.

“Wal, I reckon.”

“Are you my friend, Bate Wood?” she went on in sweet wistfulness.

The grizzled old bandit removed his pipe and looked at her with a glint in his bloodshot eyes,

“I shore am.  I’ll sneak you off now if you’ll go.  I’ll stick a knife in Kells if you say so.”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid to run off—­and you needn’t harm Kells.  After all, he’s good to me.”

“Good to you! ...  When he keeps you captive like an Indian would?  When he’s given me orders to watch you—­keep you locked up?”

Wood’s snort of disgust and wrath was thoroughly genuine.  Still Joan knew that she dared not trust him, any more than Pearce or the others.  Their raw emotions would undergo a change if Kells’s possession of her were transferred to them.  It occurred to Joan, however, that she might use Wood’s friendliness to some advantage.

“So I’m to be locked up?” she asked.

“You’re supposed to be.”

“Without any one to talk to?”

“Wal, you’ll hev me, when you want.  I reckon thet ain’t much to look forward to.  But I can tell you a heap of stories.  An’ when Kells ain’t around, if you’re careful not to get me ketched, you can do as you want.”

“Thank you, Bate.  I’m going to like you,” replied Joan, sincerely, and then she went back to her room.  There was sewing to do, and while she worked she thought, so that the hours sped.  When the light got so poor that she could sew no longer she put the work aside and stood at her little window, watching the sunset.  From the front of the cabin came the sound of subdued voices.  Probably Kells and his men had returned, and she was sure of this when she heard the ring of Bate Wood’s ax.