“Get up!” he ordered, violently.  “Jim, pull her away! ...  Girl, don’t do that in front of me ...  I’ve just gambled away—­”

“Her life, Kells, only that, I swear,” cried Cleve.

“Kells, listen,” began Joan, pleadingly.  “You will not let that—­ that cannibal have me?”

“No, by God!” replied Kells, thickly.  “I was drunk—­crazy. ...  Forgive me, girl!  You see—­how did I know—­what was coming? ...  Oh, the whole thing is hellish!”

“You loved me once,” whispered Joan, softly.  “Do you love me still? ...  Kells, can’t you see?  It’s not too late to save my life—­and your soul! ...  Can’t you see?  You have been bad.  But if you save me now—­from Gulden—­save me for this boy I’ve almost ruined—­you—­you. ...  God will forgive you! ...  Take us away—­go with us—­and never come back to the border.”

“Maybe I can save you,” he muttered, as if to himself.  He appeared to want to think, but to be bothered by the clinging arms around him.  Joan felt a ripple go over his body and he seemed to heighten, and the touch of his hands thrilled.

Then, white and appealing, Cleve added his importunity.

“Kells, I saved your life once.  You said you’d remember it some day.  Now—­now! ...  For God’s sake don’t make me shoot her!”

Joan rose from her knees, but she still clasped Kells.  She seemed to feel the mounting of his spirit, to understand how in this moment he was rising out of the depths.  How strangely glad she was for him!

“Joan, once you showed me what the love of a good woman really was.  I’ve never seen the same since then.  I’ve grown better in one way—­ worse in all others. ...  I let down.  I was no man for the border.  Always that haunted me.  Believe me, won’t you—­despite all?”

Joan felt the yearning in him for what he dared not ask.  She read his mind.  She knew he meant, somehow, to atone for his wrong.

“I’ll show you again,” she whispered.  “I’ll tell you more.  If I’d never loved Jim Cleve—­if I’d met you, I’d have loved you. ...  And, bandit or not, I’d have gone with you to the end of the world!”

“Joan!” The name was almost a sob of joy and pain.  Sight of his face then blinded Joan with her tears.  But when he caught her to him, in a violence that was a terrible renunciation, she gave her embrace, her arms, her lips without the vestige of a lie, with all of womanliness and sweetness and love and passion.  He let her go and turned away, and in that instant Joan had a final divination that this strange man could rise once to heights as supreme as the depths of his soul were dark.  She dashed away her tears and wiped the dimness from her eyes.  Hope resurged.  Something strong and sweet gave her strength.

When Kells wheeled he was the Kells of her earlier experience—­cool, easy, deadly, with the smile almost amiable, and the strange, pale eyes.  Only the white radiance of him was different.  He did not look at her.