“Yes,” replied the preacher.
“Where and when?”
“Here—at the back of this cabin—a few nights ago.”
It hurt Joan to look at Kells now, yet he seemed wonderful to behold. She felt as guilty as if she had really been false to him. Her heart labored high in her breast. This was the climax—the moment of catastrophe. Another word and Jim Cleve would be facing Kells. The blood pressure in Joan's throat almost strangled her.
“At the back of this cabin!... At her window?”
“Yes.”
“What were you there for?”
“In my capacity as minister. I was summoned to marry her.”
“To marry her?” gasped Kells.
“Yes. She is Joan Randle, from Hoadley, Idaho. She is over eighteen. I understood she was detained here against her will. She loved an honest young miner of the camp. He brought me up here one night. And I married them.”