The lamps were burning; the door was wide open.  Apparently Kells’s rule of secrecy had been abandoned.  One glance at Kells was enough to show Joan that he was sick and desperate.  Handy Oliver did not wear his usual lazy good humor.  Red Pearce sat silent and sullen, a smoking, unheeded pipe in his hand.  Jesse Smith was gloomy.  The only other present was Bate Wood, and whatever had happened had in no wise affected him.  These bandits were all waiting.  Presently quick footsteps on the path outside caused them all to look toward the door.  That tread was familiar to Joan, and suddenly her mouth was dry, her tongue stiff.  What was Jim Cleve coming to meet?  How sharp and decided his walk!  Then his dark form crossed the bar of light outside the door, and he entered, bold and cool, and with a weariness that must have been simulated.

“Howdy boys!” he said.

Only Kells greeted him in response.  The bandit eyed him curiously.  The others added suspicion to their glances.

“Did you hear Red’s yell?” queried Kells, presently.

“I’d have heard that roar if I’d been dead,” replied Cleve, bluntly.  “And I didn’t like it! ...  I was coming up the road and I heard Pearce yell.  I’ll bet every man in camp heard it.”

“How’d you know Pearce yelled for you?”

“I recognized his voice.”

Cleve’s manner recalled to Joan her first sight of him over in Cabin Gulch.  He was not so white or haggard, but his eyes were piercing, and what had once been recklessness now seemed to be boldness.  He deliberately studied Pearce.  Joan trembled, for she divined what none of these robbers knew, and it was that Pearce was perilously near death.  It was there for Joan to read in Jim’s dark glance.

“Where’ve you been all these nights?” queried the bandit leader.

“Is that any of your business—­when you haven’t had need of me?” returned Cleve.

“Yes, it’s my business.  And I’ve sent for you.  You couldn’t be found.”

“I’ve been here for supper every night.”

“I don’t talk to any men in daylight.  You know my hours for meeting.  And you’ve not come.”

“You should have told me.  How was I to know?”

“I guess you’re right.  But where’ve you been?”

“Down in camp.  Faro, most of the time.  Bad luck, too.”

Red Pearce’s coarse face twisted into a scornful sneer.  It must have been a lash to Kells.

“Pearce says you’re chasing a woman,” retorted the bandit leader.

“Pearce lies!” flashed Cleve.  His action was as swift.  And there he stood with a gun thrust hard against Pearce’s side.

“Jim!  Don’t kill him!” yelled Kells, rising.

Pearce’s red face turned white.  He stood still as a stone, with his gaze fixed in fascinated fear upon Cleve’s gun.

A paralyzing surprise appeared to hold the group.

“Can you prove what you said?” asked Cleve, low and hard.