You ain’t alone way out here?”

“Yes. I was trailing Jim when I saw you,” she replied. “Thought you were Jim.”

“Trailin’ Jim! What’s up?”

“We quarreled. He swore he was going to the devil. Over on the border! I was mad and told him to go. … But I’m sorry now–and have been trying to catch up with him.”

“Ahuh! … So that’s Jim’s trail. I sure was wonderin’. Joan, it turns off a few miles back an’ takes the trail for the border. I know. I’ve been in there.”

Joan glanced up sharply at Roberts. His scarred and grizzled face seemed grave and he avoided her gaze.

“You don’t believe–Jim’ll really go?” she asked, hurriedly.

“Reckon I do, Joan,” he replied, after a pause. “Jim is just fool enough. He had been gettrn’ recklessler lately. An’, Joan, the times ain’t provocatin’ a young feller to be good. Jim had a bad fight the other night. He about half killed young Bradley. But I reckon you know.”

“I’ve heard nothing,” she replied. “Tell me. Why did they fight?”

“Report was that Bradley talked oncomplementary about you.”

Joan experienced a sweet, warm rush of blood–another new and strange emotion. She did not like Bradley. He had been persistent and offensive.

“Why didn’t Jim tell me?” she queried, half to herself.

“Reckon he wasn’t proud of the shape he left Bradley in,” replied Roberts, with a laugh. “Come on, Joan, an’ make back tracks for home.”

Joan was silent a moment while she looked over the undulating green ridges toward the great gray and black walls. Something stirred deep within her. Her father in his youth had been an adventurer. She felt the thrill and the call of her blood. And she had been unjust to a man who loved her.

“I’m going after him,” she said.

Roberts did not show any surprise. He looked at the position of the sun. “Reckon we might overtake him an’ get home before sundown,” he said, laconically, as he turned his horse. “We’ll make a short cut across here a few miles, an’ strike his trail. Can’t miss it.”

Then he set off at a brisk trot and Joan fell in behind.