“Lanky! Why you're not that. You've a splendid figure—tall, supple, strong; you're like a Nez Perce girl I knew once.... You're a beautiful thing. Didn't you know that?”
“Not particularly. My friends don't dare flatter me. I suppose I'll have to stand it from you. But I didn't expect compliments from Jack Kells of the Border Legion.”
“Border Legion? Where'd you hear that name?”
“I didn't hear it. I made it up—thought of it myself.”
“Well, you've invented something I'll use.... And what's your name—your first name? I heard Roberts use it.”
Joan felt a cold contraction of all her internal being, but outwardly she never so much as nicked an eyelash. “My name's Joan.”
“Joan!” He placed heavy, compelling hands on her shoulders and turned her squarely toward him.
Again she felt his gaze, strangely, like the reflection of sunlight from ice. She had to look at him. This was her supreme test. For hours she had prepared for it, steeled herself, wrought upon all that was sensitive in her; and now she prayed, and swiftly looked up into his eyes. They were windows of a gray hell. And she gazed into that naked abyss, at that dark, uncovered soul, with only the timid anxiety and fear and the unconsciousness of an innocent, ignorant girl.
“Joan! You know why I brought you here?”
“Yes, of course; you told me,” she replied, steadily. “You want to ransom me for gold.... And I'm afraid you'll have to take me home without getting any.”
“You know what I mean to do to you,” he went on, thickly.
“Do to me?” she echoed, and she never quivered a muscle. “You—you didn't say.... I haven't thought.... But you won't hurt me, will you? It's not my fault if there's no gold to ransom me.”
He shook her. His face changed, grew darker. “You KNOW what I mean.”
“I don't.” With some show of spirit she essayed to slip out of his grasp. He held her the tighter.
“How old are you?”
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