“It doesn’t change the thing.  I’d forgotten what a monster he is.”

“Joan, his motive is plain.  This new gold-camp has not reached the blood-spilling stage yet.  It hadn’t, I should say.  The news of this killing will fly.  It’ll focus minds on this claim-buyer, Blight.  His deed rings true—­like that of an honest man with a daughter to protect.  He’ll win sympathy.  Then he talks as if he were prosperous.  Soon he’ll be represented in this changing, growing population as a man of importance.  He’ll play the card for all he’s worth.  Meanwhile, secretly he’ll begin to rob the miners.  It’ll be hard to suspect him.  His plot is just like the man—­great!”

“Jim, oughtn’t we tell?” whispered Joan, trembling.

“I’ve thought of that.  Somehow I seem to feel guilty.  But whom on earth could we tell?  We wouldn’t dare speak here. ...  Remember—­ you’re a prisoner.  I’m supposed to be a bandit—­one of the Border Legion.  How to get away from here and save our lives—­that’s what tortures me.”

“Something tells me we’ll escape, if only we can plan the right way.  Jim, I’ll have to be penned here, with nothing to do but wait.  You must come every night! ...  Won’t you?”

For an answer he kissed her again.

“Jim, what’ll you do meanwhile?” she asked, anxiously.

“I’m going to work a claim.  Dig for gold.  I told Kells so to-day, and he was delighted.  He said he was afraid his men wouldn’t like the working part of his plan.  It’s hard to dig gold.  Easy to steal it.  But I’ll dig a hole as big as a hill! ...  Wouldn’t it be funny if I struck it rich?”

“Jim, you’re getting the fever.”

“Joan, if I did happen to run into a gold-pocket—­there’re lots of them found—­would—­you—­marry me?”

The tenderness, the timidity, and the yearning in Cleve’s voice told Joan as never before how he had hoped and feared and despaired.  She patted his cheek with her hand, and in the darkness, with her heart swelling to make up for what she had done to him, she felt a boldness and a recklessness, sweet, tumultuous, irresistible.

“Jim, I’ll marry you—­whether you strike gold or not,” she whispered.

And there was another blind, sweet moment.  Then Cleve tore himself away, and Joan leaned at the window, watching the shadow, with tears in her eyes and an ache in her breast.

From that day Joan lived a life of seclusion in the small room.  Kells wanted it so, and Joan thought best for the time being not to take advantage of Bate Wood’s duplicity.  Her meals were brought to her by Wood, who was supposed to unlock and lock her door.  But Wood never turned the key in that padlock.

Prisoner though Joan was, the days and nights sped swiftly.