Then he went back to his men, and the low, earnest conversation was renewed.
Reluctantly Joan took down Dandy Dale's things from the pegs, and with a recurring shame she divested herself of part of her clothes and donned the suit and boots and mask and gun. Her spirit rose, however, at the thought that this would be a disguise calculated to aid her in the escape with Cleve. But why had Kells ordered the change? Was he in danger and did he mean to flee from Alder Creek? Joan found the speculation a relief from that haunting, persistent thought of Jim Cleve and Gulden. She was eager to learn, still she hesitated at the door. It was just as hard as ever to face those men.
But it must be, so with a wrench she stepped out boldly.
Kells looked worn and gray. He had not slept. But his face did not wear the shade she had come to associate with his gambling and drinking. Six other men were present, and Joan noted coats and gloves and weapons and spurs. Kells turned to address her. His face lighted fleetingly.
“I want you to be ready to ride any minute,” he said.
“Why?” asked Joan.
“We may HAVE to, that's all,” he replied.
His men, usually so keen when they had a chance to ogle Joan, now scarcely gave her a glance. They were a dark, grim group, with hard eyes and tight lips. Handy Oliver was speaking.
“I tell you, Gulden swore he seen Creede—on the road—in the lamplight—last night AFTER Jim Cleve got here.”
“Gulden must have been mistaken,” declared Kells, impatiently.