At a turn, when the second pack-horse, that appeared unused to his task, came fully into Joan’s sight, she was struck with his resemblance to some horse with which she was familiar.  It was scarcely an impression which she might have received from seeing Kells’s horse or Bill’s or any one’s a few times.  Therefore she watched this animal, studying his gait and behavior.  It did not take long for her to discover that he was not a pack-horse.  He resented that burden.  He did not know how to swing it.  This made her deeply thoughtful and she watched closer than ever.  All at once there dawned on her the fact that the resemblance here was to Roberts’s horse.  She caught her breath and felt again that cold gnawing of fear within her.  Then she closed her eyes the better to remember significant points about Roberts’s sorrel—­a white left front foot, an old diamond brand, a ragged forelock, and an unusual marking, a light bar across his face.  When Joan had recalled these, she felt so certain that she would find them on this pack-horse that she was afraid to open her eyes.  She forced herself to look, and it seemed that in one glance she saw three of them.  Still she clung to hope.  Then the horse, picking his way, partially turning toward her, disclosed the bar across his face.

Joan recognized it.  Roberts was not on his way home.  Kells had lied.  Kells had killed him.  How plain and fearful the proof!  It verified Roberts’s gloomy prophecy.  Joan suddenly grew sick and dizzy.  She reeled in her saddle.  It was only by dint of the last effort of strength and self-control that she kept her seat.  She fought the horror as if it were a beast.  Hanging over the pommel, with shut eyes, letting her pony find the way, she sustained this shock of discovery and did not let it utterly overwhelm her.  And as she conquered the sickening weakness her mind quickened to the changed aspect of her situation.  She understood Kells and the appalling nature of her peril.  She did not know how she understood him now, but doubt had utterly fled.  All was clear, real, grim, present.  Like a child she had been deceived, for no reason she could see.  That talk of ransom was false.  Likewise Kells’s assertion that he had parted company with Halloway and Bill because he would not share the ransom—­that, too, was false.  The idea of a ransom, in this light, was now ridiculous.  From that first moment Kells had wanted her; he had tried to persuade Roberts to leave her, and, failing, had killed him; he had rid himself of the other two men—­and now Joan knew she had heard shots back there.  Kells’s intention loomed out of all his dark brooding, and it stood clear now to her, dastardly, worse than captivity, or torture, or death—­the worst fate that could befall a woman.