“I’ve taken a liking to Cleve,” said Kells.  “He’s a strange youngster.  But he’s more man than boy.  I think he’s broken-hearted over some rotten girl who’s been faithless or something.  Most women are no good, Joan.  A while ago I’d have said all women were that, but since I’ve known you I think—­I know different.  Still, one girl out of a million doesn’t change a world.”

“What will this J—­jim C—­cleve do—­when he sees—­me?” asked Joan, and she choked over the name.

“Don’t eat so fast, girl,” said Kells.  “You’re only seventeen years old and you’ve plenty of time. ...  Well, I’ve thought some about Cleve.  He’s not crazy like Gulden, but he’s just as dangerous.  He’s dangerous because he doesn’t know what he’s doing—­has absolutely no fear of death—­and then he’s swift with a gun.  That’s a bad combination.  Cleve will kill a man presently.  He’s shot three already, and in Gulden’s case he meant to kill.  If once he kills a man—­that’ll make him a gun-fighter.  I’ve worried a little about his seeing you.  But I can manage him, I guess.  He can’t be scared or driven.  But he may be led.  I’ve had Red Pearce tell him you are my wife.  I hope he believes it, for none of the other fellows believe it.  Anyway, you’ll meet this Cleve soon, maybe to-day, and I want you to be friendly.  If I can steady him—­stop his drinking—­he’ll be the best man for me on this border.”

“I’m to help persuade him to join your band?” asked Joan, and she could not yet control her voice.

“Is that so black a thing?” queried Kells, evidently nettled, and he glared at her.

“I—­I don’t know,” faltered Joan.  “Is this—­this boy a criminal yet?”

“No.  He’s only a fine, decent young chap gone wild—­gone bad for some girl.  I told you that.  You don’t seem to grasp the point.  If I can control him he’ll be of value to me—­he’ll be a bold and clever and dangerous man—­he’ll last out here.  If I can’t win him, why, he won’t last a week longer.  He’ll be shot or knifed in a brawl.  Without my control Cleve’ll go straight to the hell he’s headed for.”

Joan pushed back her plate and, looking up, steadily eyed the bandit.

“Kells, I’d rather he ended his—­his career quick—­and went to—­to—­ than live to be a bandit and murderer at your command.”

Kells laughed mockingly, yet the savage action with which he threw his cup against the wall attested to the fact that Joan had strange power to hurt him.

“That’s your sympathy, because I told you some girl drove him out here,” said the bandit.  “He’s done for.  You’ll know that the moment you see him.  I really think he or any man out here would be the better for my interest.  Now, I want to know if you’ll stand by me—­ put in a word to help influence this wild boy.”

“I’ll—­I’ll have to see him first,” replied Joan.