“A minister of God is needed here, but not in the capacity you name,” he said.  “I’ll perform no marriage ceremony in the presence of—­murder.”

“Mr. Preacher, you’ll marry me quick or you’ll go along with him,” replied Kells, deliberately.

“I cannot be forced.”  The preacher still maintained some dignity, but he had grown pale.

“I can force you.  Get ready now! ...  Joan, come here!”

Kells spoke sternly, yet something of the old, self-mocking spirit was in his tone.  His intelligence was deriding the flesh and blood of him, the beast, the fool.  It spoke that he would have his way and that the choice was fatal for him.

Joan shook her head.  In one stride Kells reached her and swung her spinning before him.  The physical violence acted strangely upon Joan—­roused her rage.

“I wouldn’t marry you to save my life—­even if I could!” she burst out.

At her declaration the preacher gave a start that must have been suspicion or confirmation, or both.  He bent low to peer into the face of the dead Pearce.  When he arose he was shaking his head.  Evidently he had decided that Pearce was not the man to whom he had married Joan.

“Please remove your mask,” he said to Joan.

She did so, swiftly, without a tremor.  The preacher peered into her face again, as he had upon the night he had married her to Jim.  He faced Kells again.

“I am beyond your threats,” he said, now with calmness.  “I can’t marry you to a woman who already has a husband. ...  But I don’t see that husband here.”

“You don’t see that husband here!” echoed the bewildered Kells.  He stared with open mouth.  “Say, have you got a screw loose?”

The preacher, in his swift glance, had apparently not observed the half-hidden Cleve.  Certainly it appeared now that he would have no attention for any other than Kells.  The bandit was a study.  His astonishment was terrific and held him like a chain.  Suddenly he lurched.

“What did you say?” he roared, his face flaming.

“I can’t marry you to a woman who already has a husband.”

Swift as light the red flashed out of Kells’s face.  “Did you ever see her before?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied the preacher.

“Where and when?”

“Here—­at the back of this cabin—­a few nights ago.”

It hurt Joan to look at Kells now, yet he seemed wonderful to behold.  She felt as guilty as if she had really been false to him.  Her heart labored high in her breast.  This was the climax—­the moment of catastrophe.  Another word and Jim Cleve would be facing Kells.  The blood pressure in Joan’s throat almost strangled her.

“At the back of this cabin! ...  At her window?”

“Yes.”

“What were you there for?”

“In my capacity as minister.  I was summoned to marry her.”

“To marry her?” gasped Kells.