“You must ride some every day. You must keep in condition,” he said. “Pretty soon we may have a chase, and I don't want it to tear you to pieces.”
“Where shall I ride?” asked Joan.
“Anywhere you like up and down the gulch.”
“Are you going to have me watched?”
“Not if you say you won't run off.”
“You trust me?”
“Yes.”
“All right. I promise. And if I change my mind I'll tell you.”
“Lord! don't do it, Joan. I—I—Well, you've come to mean a good deal to me. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you.” As she mounted the horse Kells added, “Don't stand any raw talk from any of the gang.”
Joan rode away, pondering in mind the strange fact that though she hated this bandit, yet she had softened toward him. His eyes lit when he saw her; his voice mellowed; his manner changed. He had meant to tell her again that he loved her, yet he controlled it. Was he ashamed? Had he seen into the depths of himself and despised what he had imagined love? There were antagonistic forces at war within him.