Then they rode on, out of that canon, over the rocky ridge, down into another canon, on and on, past an old camp-site, along a babbling brook for miles, and so at last out into the foot—­hills.

Toward noon of the next day, when approaching a clump of low trees in a flat valley, Joan pointed ahead.

“Jim—­it was in there—­where Roberts and I camped—­and—­”

“You ride around.  I’ll catch up with you,” replied Cleve.

She made a wide detour, to come back again to her own trail, so different here.  Presently Cleve joined her.  His face was pale and sweaty, and he looked sick.  They rode on silently, and that night they camped without water on her own trail, made months before.  The single tracks were there, sharp and clear in the earth, as if imprinted but a day.

Next morning Joan found that as the wild border lay behind her so did the dark and hateful shadow of gloom.  Only the pain remained, and it had softened.  She could think now.

Jim Cleve cheered up.  Perhaps it was her brightening to which he responded.  They began to talk and speech liberated feeling.  Miles of that back-trail they rode side by side, holding hands, driving the pack-horse ahead, and beginning to talk of old associations.  Again it was sunset when they rode down the hill toward the little village of Hoadley.  Joan’s heart was full, but Jim was gay.

“Won’t I have it on your old fellows!” he teased.  But he was grim, too.

“Jim!  You—­won’t tell—­just yet!” she faltered.

“I’ll introduce you as my wife!  They’ll all think we eloped.”

“No.  They’ll say I ran after you! ...  Please, Jim!  Keep it secret a little.  It’ll be hard for me.  Aunt Jane will never understand.”

“Well, I’ll keep it secret till you want to tell—­for two things,” he said.

“What?”

“Meet me to—­night, under the spruces where we had that quarrel.  Meet just like we did then, but differently.  Will you?”

“I’ll be—­so glad.”

“And put on your mask now! ...  You know, Joan, sooner or later your story will be on everybody’s tongue.  You’ll be Dandy Dale as long as you live near this border.  Wear the mask, just for fun.  Imagine your Aunt Jane—­and everybody!”

“Jim!  I’d forgotten how I look!” exclaimed Joan in dismay.  “I didn’t bring your long coat.  Oh, I can’t face them in this suit!”

“You’ll have to.  Besides, you look great.  It’s going to tickle me—­ the sensation you make.  Don’t you see, they’ll never recognize you till you take the mask off. ...  Please, Joan.”

She yielded, and donned the black mask, not without a twinge.  And thus they rode across the log bridge over the creek into the village.  The few men and women they met stared in wonder, and, recognizing Cleve, they grew excited.  They followed, and others joined them.

“Joan, won’t it be strange if Uncle Bill really is the Overland of Alder Creek?  We’ve packed out every pound of Overland’s gold.  Oh!  I hope—­I believe he’s your uncle. ...  Wouldn’t it be great, Joan?”