15
For several nights these stolen interviews were apparently the saferbecause of Joan's tender blinding of her lover. But it seemed that inJim's condition of mind this yielding of her lips and her whispers oflove had really been a mistake. Not only had she made the situationperilously sweet for herself, but in Jim's case she had added the sparkto the powder. She realized her blunder when it was too late. And thefact that she did not regret it very much, and seemed to have lostherself in a defiant, reckless spell, warned her again that she, too,was answering to the wildness of the time and place. Joan's intelligencehad broadened wonderfully in this period of her life, just as allher feelings had quickened. If gold had developed and intensified andliberated the worst passions of men, so the spirit of that atmospherehad its baneful effect upon her. Joan deplored this, yet she had thekeenness to understand that it was nature fitting her to survive.
Back upon her fell that weight of suspense--what would happen next?Here in Alder Creek there did not at present appear to be the same perilwhich had menaced her before, but she would suffer through fatality toCleve or Kells. And these two slept at night under a shadow that helddeath, and by day they walked on a thin crust over a volcano. Joan grewmore and more fearful of the disclosures made when Kells met his mennightly in the cabin. She feared to hear, but she must hear, and evenif she had not felt it necessary to keep informed of events, thefascination of the game would have impelled her to listen. And graduallythe suspense she suffered augmented into a magnified, though vague,assurance of catastrophe, of impending doom. She could not shake offthe gloomy presentiment. Something terrible was going to happen. Anexperience begun as tragically as hers could only end in a final andannihilating stroke. Yet hope was unquenchable, and with her fear keptpace a driving and relentless spirit.
One night at the end of a week of these interviews, when Joan attemptedto resist Jim, to plead with him, lest in his growing boldness he betraythem, she found him a madman.
"I'll pull you right out of this window," he said, roughly, and thenwith his hot face pressed against hers tried to accomplish the thing hethreatened.
"Go on--pull me to pieces!" replied Joan, in despair and pain. "I'd bebetter off dead! And--you--hurt me--so!"
"Hurt you!" he whispered, hoarsely, as if he had never dreamed of suchpossibility. And then suddenly he was remorseful. He begged her toforgive him. His voice was broken, husky, pleading. His remorse, likeevery feeling of his these days, was exaggerated, wild, with that rawtinge of gold-blood in it. He made so much noise that Joan, more fearfulthan ever of discovery, quieted him with difficulty.
"Does Kells see you often--these days?" asked Jim, suddenly.
Joan had dreaded this question, which she had known would inevitablycome. She wanted to lie; she knew she ought to lie; but it wasimpossible.
"Every day," she whispered. "Please--Jim--never mind that. Kellsis good--he's all right to me.... And you and I have so little timetogether."
"Good!" exclaimed Cleve. Joan felt the leap of his body under her touch."Why, if I'd tell you what he sends that gang to do--you'd--you'd killhim in his sleep."
"Tell me," replied Joan. She had a morbid, irresistible desire to learn.
"No.... And WHAT does Kells do--when he sees you every day?"
"He talks."
"What about?"
"Oh, everything except about what holds him here. He talks to me toforget himself."
"Does he make love to you?"
Joan maintained silence. What would she do with this changed andhopeless Jim Cleve?
"Tell me!" Jim's hands gripped her with a force that made her wince.And now she grew as afraid of him as she had been for him. But she hadspirit enough to grow angry, also.
"Certainly he does."
Jim Cleve echoed her first word, and then through grinding teeth hecursed. "I'm going to--stop it!" he panted, and his eyes looked big anddark and wild in the starlight.
"You can't. I belong to Kells. You at least ought to have sense enoughto see that."
"Belong to him!... For God's sake! By what right?"
"By the right of possession. Might is right here on the border. Haven'tyou told me that a hundred times? Don't you hold your claim--yourgold--by the right of your strength? It's the law of this border. To besure Kells stole me. But just now I belong to him. And lately I see hisconsideration--his kindness in the light of what he could do if he heldto that border law.... And of all the men I've met out here Kells is theleast wild with this gold fever. He sends his men out to do murder forgold; he'd sell his soul to gamble for gold; but just the same, he'smore of a man than---"
"Joan!" he interrupted, piercingly. "You love this bandit!"
"You're a fool!" burst out Joan.
"I guess--I--am," he replied in terrible, slow earnestness. He raisedhimself and appeared to loom over her and released his hold.
But Joan fearfully retained her clasp on his arm, and when he surged toget away she was hard put to it to hold him.
"Jim! Where are you going?"
He stood there a moment, a dark form against the night shadow, like anoutline of a man cut from black stone.
"I'll just step around--there."
"Oh, what for?" whispered Joan.
"I'm going to kill Kells."
Joan got both arms round his neck and with her head against him sheheld him tightly, trying, praying to think how to meet this long-dreadedmoment. After all, what was the use to try? This was the hour of Gold!Sacrifice, hope, courage, nobility, fidelity--these had no place herenow. Men were the embodiment of passion--ferocity. They breathed onlypossession, and the thing in the balance was death. Women were creaturesto hunger and fight for, but womanhood was nothing. Joan knew all thiswith a desperate hardening certainty, and almost she gave in. Strangely,thought of Gulden flashed up to make her again strong! Then she raisedher face and began the old pleading with Jim, but different this time,when it seemed that absolutely all was at stake. She begged him, sheimportuned him, to listen to reason, to be guided by her, to fight thewildness that had obsessed him, to make sure that she would not be leftalone. All in vain! He swore he would kill Kells and any other banditwho stood in the way of his leading her free out of that cabin. He waswild to fight. He might never have felt fear of these robbers. He wouldnot listen to any possibility of defeat for himself, or the possibilitythat in the event of Kells's death she would be worse off. He laughed ather strange, morbid fears of Gulden. He was immovable.
"Jim!... Jim! You'll break my heart!" she whispered, wailingly. "Oh!WHAT can I do?"
Then Joan released her clasp and gave up to utter defeat. Cleve wassilent. He did not seem to hear the shuddering little sobs that shookher. Suddenly he bent close to her.
"There's one thing you can do. If you'll do it I won't kill Kells. I'llobey your every word."
"What is it? Tell me!"
"Marry me!" he whispered, and his voice trembled.
"MARRY YOU!" exclaimed Joan. She was confounded. She began to fear Jimwas out of his head.
"I mean it. Marry me. Oh, Joan, will you--will you? It'll make thedifference. That'll steady me. Don't you want to?"
"Jim, I'd be the happiest girl in the world if--if I only COULD marryyou!" she breathed, passionately.
"But will you--will you? Say yes! Say yes!"
"YES!" replied Joan in her desperation. "I hope that pleases you. Butwhat on earth is the use to talk about it now?"
Cleve seemed to expand, to grow taller, to thrill under her nervoushands. And then he kissed her differently. She sensed a shyness,a happiness, a something hitherto foreign to his attitude. It wasspiritual, and somehow she received an uplift of hope.
"Listen," he whispered. "There's a preacher down in camp. I've seenhim--talked with him. He's trying to do good in that hell down there.I know I can trust him. I'll confide in him--enough. I'll fetch him uphere tomorrow night--about this time. Oh, I'll be careful--very careful.And he can marry us right here by the window. Joan, will you do it?...Somehow,
whatever threatens you or me--that'll be my salvation!... I'vesuffered so. It's been burned in my heart that YOU would never marry me.Yet you say you love me!... Prove it!... MY WIFE!... Now, girl, a wordwill make a man of me!"
"Yes!" And with the word she put her lips to his with all her heart inthem. She felt him tremble. Yet almost instantly he put her from him.
"Look for me to-morrow about this time," he whispered. "Keep yournerve.... Good night."
That night Joan dreamed strange, weird, unremembered dreams. The nextday passed like a slow, unreal age. She ate little of what was broughtto her. For the first time she denied Kells admittance and she onlyvaguely sensed his solicitations. She had no ear for the murmur ofvoices in Kells's room. Even the loud and angry notes of a quarrelbetween Kells and his men did not distract her.
At sunset she leaned out of the little window, and only then, with thegold fading on the peaks and the shadow gathering under the bluff, didshe awaken to reality. A broken mass of white cloud caught the gloryof the sinking sun. She had never seen a golden radiance like that. Itfaded and dulled. But a warm glow remained. At twilight and then at duskthis glow lingered.
Then night fell. Joan was exceedingly sensitive to the sensations oflight and shadow, of sound and silence, of dread and hope, of sadnessand joy.
That pale, ruddy glow lingered over the bold heave of the range inthe west. It was like a fire that would not go out, that would liveto-morrow, and burn golden. The sky shone with deep, rich blue colorfired with a thousand stars, radiant, speaking, hopeful. And there was awhite track across the heavens. The mountains flung down their shadows,impenetrable, like the gloomy minds of men; and everywhere underthe bluffs and slopes, in the hollows and ravines, lay an envelopingblackness, hiding its depth and secret and mystery.
Joan listened. Was there sound or silence? A faint and indescribablylow roar, so low that it might have been real or false, came on the softnight breeze. It was the roar of the camp down there--the strife, theagony, the wild life in ceaseless action--the strange voice of gold,roaring greed and battle and death over the souls of men. But abovethat, presently, rose the murmur of the creek, a hushed and dreamy flowof water over stones. It was hurrying to get by this horde of wild men,for it must bear the taint of gold and blood. Would it purge itself andclarify in the valleys below, on its way to the sea? There was in itsmurmur an imperishable and deathless note of nature, of time; and thiswas only a fleeting day of men and gold.
Only by straining her ears could Joan hear these sounds, and when sheceased that, then she seemed to be weighed upon and claimed by silence.It was not a silence like that of Lost Canon, but a silence of solitudewhere her soul stood alone. She was there on earth, yet no one couldhear her mortal cry. The thunder of avalanches or the boom of the seamight have lessened her sense of utter loneliness.
And that silence fitted the darkness, and both were apostles of dread.They spoke to her. She breathed dread on that silent air and it filledher breast. There was nothing stable in the night shadows. The ravineseemed to send forth stealthy, noiseless shapes, specter and human, manand phantom, each on the other's trail.
If Jim would only come and let her see that he was safe for the hour! Ahundred times she imagined she saw him looming darker than the shadows.She had only to see him now, to feel his hand, and dread might be lost.Love was something beyond the grasp of mind. Love had confounded JimCleve; it had brought up kindness and honor from the black depths of abandit's heart; it had transformed her from a girl into a woman. Surelywith all its greatness it could not be lost; surely in the end it musttriumph over evil.
Joan found that hope was fluctuating, but eternal. It took no stock ofintelligence. It was a matter of feeling. And when she gave rein toit for a moment, suddenly it plunged her into sadness. To hope was tothink! Poor Jim! It was his fool's paradise. Just to let her be hiswife! That was the apex of his dream. Joan divined that he might yieldto her wisdom, he might become a man, but his agony would be greater.Still, he had been so intense, so strange, so different that she couldnot but feel joy in his joy.
Then at a soft footfall, a rustle, and a moving shadow Joan's mingledemotions merged into a poignant sense of the pain and suspense andtenderness of the actual moment.
"Joan--Joan," came the soft whisper.
She answered, and there was a catch in her breath.
The moving shadow split into two shadows that stole closer, loomedbefore her. She could not tell which belonged to Jim till he touchedher. His touch was potent. It seemed to electrify her.
"Dearest, we're here--this is the parson," said Jim, like a happy boy."I--"
"Ssssh!" whispered Joan. "Not so loud.... Listen!"
Kells was holding a rendezvous with members of his Legion. Joan evenrecognized his hard and somber tone, and the sharp voice of Red Pearce,and the drawl of Handy Oliver.
"All right. I'll be quiet," responded Cleve, cautiously. "Joan, you'reto answer a few questions."
Then a soft hand touched Joan, and a voice differently keyed from anyshe had heard on the border addressed her.
"What is your name?" asked the preacher.
Joan told him.
"Can you tell anything about yourself? This young man is--is almostviolent. I'm not sure. Still I want to--"
"I can't tell much," replied Joan, hurriedly. "I'm an honest girl. I'mfree to--to marry him. I--I love him!... Oh, I want to help him. We--weare in trouble here. I daren't say how."
"Are you over eighteen?" "Yes, sir."
"Do your parents object to this young man?"
"I have no parents. And my uncle, with whom I lived before I was broughtto this awful place, he loves Jim. He always wanted me to marry him."
"Take his hand, then."
Joan felt the strong clasp of Jim's fingers, and that was all whichseemed real at the moment. It seemed so dark and shadowy round these twoblack forms in front of her window. She heard a mournful wail of a lonewolf and it intensified the weird dream that bound her. She heard hershaking, whispered voice repeating the preacher's words. She caught aphrase of a low-murmured prayer. Then one dark form moved silently away.She was alone with Jim.
"Dearest Joan!" he whispered. "It's over! It's done!... Kiss me!"
She lifted her lips and Jim seemed to kiss her more sweetly, with lessviolence.
"Oh, Joan, that you'd really have me! I can't believe it.... YourHUSBAND."
That word dispelled the dream and the pain which had held Joan, leavingonly the tenderness, magnified now a hundredfold.
And that instant when she was locked in Cleve's arms, when the silencewas so beautiful and full, she heard the heavy pound of a gun-butt uponthe table in Kells's room.
"Where is Cleve?" That was the voice of Kells, stern, demanding.
Joan felt a start, a tremor run over Jim. Then he stiffened.
"I can't locate him," replied Red Pearce. "It was the same last nightan' the one before. Cleve jest disappears these nights--about thistime.... Some woman's got him!"
"He goes to bed. Can't you find where he sleeps?"
"No."
"This job's got to go through and he's got to do it."
"Bah!" taunted Pearce. "Gulden swears you can't make Cleve do a job. Andso do I!"
"Go out and yell for Cleve!... Damn you all! I'll show you!"
Then Joan heard the tramp of heavy boots, then a softer tramp on theground outside the cabin. Joan waited, holding her breath. She feltJim's heart beating. He stood like a post. He, like Joan, was listening,as if for a trumpet of doom.
"HALLO, JIM!" rang out Pearce's stentorian call. It murdered thesilence. It boomed under the bluff, and clapped in echo, and wound away,mockingly. It seemed to have shrieked to the whole wild borderland thebreaking-point of the bandit's power.
So momentous was the call that Jim Cleve seemed to forget Joan, and shelet him go without a word. Indeed, he was gone before she realized it,and his dark form dissolved in the shadows. Joan waited, listening withabated breathing. On this side of the cabin
there was absolute silence.She believed that Jim would slip around under cover of night and returnby the road from camp. Then what would he do? The question seemed topuzzle her.
Joan leaned there at her window for moments greatly differing from thosevaguely happy ones just passed. She had sustained a shock that had lefther benumbed with a dull pain. What a rude, raw break the voice of Kellshad made in her brief forgetfulness! She was returning now to reality.Presently she would peer through the crevice between the boards into theother room, and she shrank from the ordeal. Kells, and whoever was withhim, maintained silence. Occasionally she heard the shuffle of a bootand a creak of the loose floor boards. She waited till anxiety and fearcompelled her to look.
The lamps were burning; the door was wide open. Apparently Kells's ruleof secrecy had been abandoned. One glance at Kells was enough to showJoan that he was sick and desperate. Handy Oliver did not wear his usuallazy good humor. Red Pearce sat silent and sullen, a smoking, unheededpipe in his hand. Jesse Smith was gloomy. The only other present wasBate Wood, and whatever had happened had in no wise affected him. Thesebandits were all waiting. Presently quick footsteps on the path outsidecaused them all to look toward the door. That tread was familiar toJoan, and suddenly her mouth was dry, her tongue stiff. What was JimCleve coming to meet? How sharp and decided his walk! Then his darkform crossed the bar of light outside the door, and he entered, bold andcool, and with a weariness that must have been simulated.
"Howdy boys!" he said.
Only Kells greeted him in response. The bandit eyed him curiously. Theothers added suspicion to their glances.
"Did you hear Red's yell?" queried Kells, presently.
"I'd have heard that roar if I'd been dead," replied Cleve, bluntly."And I didn't like it!... I was coming up the road and I heard Pearceyell. I'll bet every man in camp heard it."
"How'd you know Pearce yelled for you?"
"I recognized his voice."
Cleve's manner recalled to Joan her first sight of him over in CabinGulch. He was not so white or haggard, but his eyes were piercing,and what had once been recklessness now seemed to be boldness. Hedeliberately studied Pearce. Joan trembled, for she divined what none ofthese robbers knew, and it was that Pearce was perilously near death. Itwas there for Joan to read in Jim's dark glance.
"Where've you been all these nights?" queried the bandit leader.
"Is that any of your business--when you haven't had need of me?"returned Cleve.
"Yes, it's my business. And I've sent for you. You couldn't be found."
"I've been here for supper every night."
"I don't talk to any men in daylight. You know my hours for meeting. Andyou've not come."
"You should have told me. How was I to know?"
"I guess you're right. But where've you been?"
"Down in camp. Faro, most of the time. Bad luck, too."
Red Pearce's coarse face twisted into a scornful sneer. It must havebeen a lash to Kells.
"Pearce says you're chasing a woman," retorted the bandit leader.
"Pearce lies!" flashed Cleve. His action was as swift. And there hestood with a gun thrust hard against Pearce's side.
"JIM! Don't kill him!" yelled Kells, rising.
Pearce's red face turned white. He stood still as a stone, with his gazefixed in fascinated fear upon Cleve's gun.
A paralyzing surprise appeared to hold the group.
"Can you prove what you said?" asked Cleve, low and hard.
Joan knew that if Pearce did have the proof which would implicate her hewould never live to tell it.
"Cleve--I don't--know nothin'," choked out Pearce. "I jest figgered--itwas a woman!"
Cleve slowly lowered the gun and stepped back. Evidently that satisfiedhim. But Joan had an intuitive feeling that Pearce lied.
"You want to be careful how you talk about me," said Cleve.
Kells purled out a suspended breath and he flung the sweat fromhis brow. There was about him, perhaps more than the others, a darkrealization of how close the call had been for Pearce.
"Jim, you're not drunk?"
"No."
"But you're sore?"
"Sure I'm sore. Pearce put me in bad with you, didn't he?"
"No. You misunderstood me. Red hasn't a thing against you. And neitherhe nor anybody else could put you in bad with me."
"All right. Maybe I was hasty. But I'm not wasting time these days,"replied Cleve. "I've no hard feelings.... Pearce, do you want to shakehands--or hold that against me?"
"He'll shake, of course," said Kells.
Pearce extended his hand, but with a bad grace. He was dominated. Thisaffront of Cleve's would rankle in him.
"Kells, what do you want with me?" demanded Cleve.
A change passed over Kells, and Joan could not tell just what it was,but somehow it seemed to suggest a weaker man.
"Jim, you've been a great card for me," began Kells, impressively."You've helped my game--and twice you saved my life. I think a lotof you.... If you stand by me now I swear I'll return the trick someday.... Will you stand by me?"
"Yes," replied Cleve, steadily, but he grew pale. "What's the trouble?"
"By--, it's bad enough!" exclaimed Kells, and as he spoke the shadedeepened in his haggard face. "Gulden has split my Legion. He has drawnaway more than half my men. They have been drunk and crazy ever since.They've taken things into their own hands. You see the result as well asI. That camp down there is fire and brimstone. Some one of that drunkengang has talked. We're none of us safe any more. I see suspicioneverywhere. I've urged getting a big stake and then hitting the trailfor the border. But not a man sticks to me in that. They all want thefree, easy, wild life of this gold-camp. So we're anchored till--till...But maybe it's not too late. Pearce, Oliver, Smith--all the best of myLegion--profess loyalty to me. If we all pull together maybe we canwin yet. But they've threatened to split, too. And it's all on youraccount!"
"Mine?" ejaculated Cleve.
"Yes. Now it's nothing to make you flash your gun. Remember you saidyou'd stand by me.... Jim, the fact is--all the gang to a man believeyou're double-crossing me!"
"In what way?" queried Cleve, blanching.
"They think you're the one who has talked. They blame you for thesuspicion that's growing."
"Well, they're absolutely wrong," declared Cleve, in a ringing voice.
"I know they are. Mind you I'm not hinting I distrust you. I don't. Iswear by you. But Pearce--"
"So it's Pearce," interrupted Cleve, darkly. "I thought you said hehadn't tried to put me in bad with you."
"He hasn't. He simply spoke his convictions. He has a right to them.So have all the men. And, to come to the point, they all think you'recrooked because you're honest!"
"I don't understand," replied Cleve, slowly.
"Jim, you rode into Cabin Gulch, and you raised some trouble. But youwere no bandit. You joined my Legion, but you've never become a bandit.Here you've been an honest miner. That suited my plan and it helped.But it's got so it doesn't suit my men. You work every day hard. You'vestruck it rich. You're well thought of in Alder Creek. You've never donea dishonest thing. Why, you wouldn't turn a crooked trick in a card gamefor a sack full of gold. This has hurt you with my men. They can't seeas I see, that you're as square as you are game. They see you're anhonest miner. They believe you've got into a clique--that you've givenus away. I don't blame Pearce or any of my men. This is a time whenmen's intelligence, if they have any, doesn't operate. Their brainsare on fire. They see gold and whisky and blood, and they feel goldand whisky and blood. That's all. I'm glad that the gang gives you thebenefit of a doubt and a chance to stand by me."
"A chance!"
"Yes. They've worked out a job for you alone. Will you undertake it?"
"I'll have to," replied Cleve.
"You certainly will if you want the gang to justify my faith in you.Once you pull off a crooked deal, they'll switch and swear by you. Thenwe'll get together, all of us, and plan what to
do about Gulden andhis outfit. They'll run our heads, along with their own, right into thenoose."
"What is this--this job?" labored Cleve. He was sweating now and hishair hung damp over his brow. He lost that look which had made him abold man and seemed a boy again, weak, driven, bewildered.
Kells averted his gaze before speaking again. He hated to force thistask upon Cleve. Joan felt, in the throbbing pain of the moment, that ifshe never had another reason to like this bandit, she would like him forthe pity he showed.
"Do you know a miner named Creede?" asked Kells, rapidly.
"A husky chap, short, broad, something like Gulden for shape, only notso big--fellow with a fierce red beard?" asked Cleve.
"I never saw him," replied Kells. "But Pearce has. How does Cleve'sdescription fit Creede?"
"He's got his man spotted," answered Pearce.
"All right, that's settled," went on Kells, warming to his subject."This fellow Creede wears a heavy belt of gold. Blicky never makes amistake. Creede's partner left on yesterday's stage for Bannack.He'll be gone a few days. Creede is a hard worker-one of the hardest.Sometimes he goes to sleep at his supper. He's not the drinking kind.He's slow, thick-headed. The best time for this job will be early in theevening--just as soon as his lights are out. Locate the tent. It standsat the head of a little wash and there's a bleached pine-tree right bythe tent. To-morrow night as soon as it gets dark crawl up this wash--becareful--wait till the right time--then finish the job quick!"
"How--finish--it?" asked Cleve, hoarsely.
Kells was scintillating now, steely, cold, radiant. He had forgotten theman before him in the prospect of the gold.
"Creede's cot is on the side of the tent opposite the tree. You won'thave to go inside. Slit the canvas. It's a rotten old tent. Kill Creedewith your knife.... Get his belt.... Be bold, cautious, swift! That'syour job. Now what do you say?"
"All right," responded Cleve, somberly, and with a heavy tread he leftthe room.
After Jim had gone Joan still watched and listened. She was in distressover his unfortunate situation, but she had no fear that he meant tocarry out Kells's plan. This was a critical time for Jim, and thereforefor her. She had no idea what Jim could do; all she thought was what hewould not do.
Kells gazed triumphantly at Pearce. "I told you the youngster wouldstand by me. I never put him on a job before."
"Reckon I figgered wrong, boss," replied Pearce.
"He looked sick to me, but game," said Handy Oliver. "Kells is right,Red, an' you've been sore-headed over nothin'!"
"Mebbe. But ain't it good figgerin' to make Cleve do some kind of a job,even if he is on the square?"
They all acquiesced to this, even Kells slowly nodding his head.
"Jack, I've thought of another an' better job for young Cleve," spoke upJesse Smith, with his characteristic grin.
"You'll all be setting him jobs now," replied Kells. "What's yours?"
"You spoke of plannin' to get together once more--what's left of us. An'there's thet bull-head Gulden."
"You're sure right," returned the leader, grimly, and he looked at Smithas if he would welcome any suggestion.
"I never was afraid to speak my mind," went on Smith. Here he lost hisgrin and his coarse mouth grew hard. "Gulden will have to be killed ifwe're goin' to last!"
"Wood, what do you say?" queried Kells, with narrowing eyes.
Bate Wood nodded as approvingly as if he had been asked about his bread.
"Oliver, what do you say?"
"Wal, I'd love to wait an' see Gul hang, but if you press me, I'll agreeto stand pat with the cards Jesse's dealt," replied Handy Oliver.
Then Kells turned with a bright gleam upon his face. "And you--Pearce?"
"I'd say yes in a minute if I'd not have to take a hand in thet job,"replied Pearce, with a hard laugh. "Gulden won't be so easy to kill.He'll pack a gunful of lead. I'll gamble if the gang of us cornered himin this cabin he'd do for most of us before we killed him."
"Gul sleep alone, no one knows where," said Handy Oliver. "An' he can'tbe surprised. Red's correct. How're we goin' to kill him?"
"If you gents will listen you'll find out," rejoined Jesse Smith."Thet's the job for young Cleve. He can do it. Sure Gulden never wasafraid of any man. But somethin' about Cleve bluffed him. I don'tknow what. Send Cleve out after Gulden. He'll call him face to face,anywhere, an' beat him to a gun!... Take my word for it."
"Jesse, that's the grandest idea you ever had," said Kells, softly. Hiseyes shone. The old power came back to his face. "I split on Gulden.With him once out of the way--!"
"Boss, are you goin' to make thet Jim Cleve's second job?" inquiredPearce, curiously.
"I am," replied Kells, with his jaw corded and stiff. "If he pulls thetoff you'll never hear a yap from me so long as I live. An' I'll eat outof Cleve's hand."
Joan could bear to hear no more. She staggered to her bed and fellthere, all cramped as if in a cold vise. However Jim might meet thesituation planned for murdering Creede, she knew he would not shirkfacing Gulden with deadly intent. He hated Gulden because she had ahorror of him. Would these hours of suspense never end? Must she passfrom one torture to another until--?
Sleep did not come for a long time. And when it did she suffered withnightmares from which it seemed she could never awaken.
The day, when at last it arrived, was no better than the night. Itwore on endlessly, and she who listened so intently found it one of thesilent days. Only Bate Wood remained at the cabin. He appeared kinderthan usual, but Joan did not want to talk. She ate her meals, and passedthe hours watching from the window and lying on the bed. Dusk broughtKells and Pearce and Smith, but not Jim Cleve. Handy Oliver and Blickyarrived at supper-time.
"Reckon Jim's appetite is pore," remarked Bate Wood, reflectively. "Heain't been in to-day."
Some of the bandits laughed, but Kells had a twinge, if Joan ever saw aman have one. The dark, formidable, stern look was on his face. He aloneof the men ate sparingly, and after the meal he took to his bent postureand thoughtful pacing. Joan saw the added burden of another crime uponhis shoulders. Conversation, which had been desultory, and such as anyminers or campers might have indulged in, gradually diminished to aword here and there, and finally ceased. Kells always at this hour hada dampening effect upon his followers. More and more he drew aloof fromthem, yet he never realized that. He might have been alone. But often heglanced out of the door, and appeared to listen. Of course he expectedJim Cleve to return, but what did he expect of him? Joan had a blindfaith that Jim would be cunning enough to fool Kells and Pearce. So muchdepended upon it!
Some of the bandits uttered an exclamation. Then silently, like ashadow, Jim Cleve entered.
Joan's heart leaped and seemed to stand still. Jim could not have lockedmore terrible if he were really a murderer. He opened his coat. Thenhe flung a black object upon the table and it fell with a soft, heavy,sodden thud. It was a leather belt packed with gold.
When Kells saw that he looked no more at the pale Cleve. His clawlikehand swept out for the belt, lifted and weighed it. Likewise the otherbandits, with gold in sight, surged round Kells, forgetting Cleve.
"Twenty pounds!" exclaimed Kells, with a strange rapture in his voice.
"Let me heft it?" asked Pearce, thrillingly.
Joan saw and heard so much, then through a kind of dimness, that shecould not wipe away, her eyes beheld Jim. What was the awful thing thatshe interpreted from his face, his mien? Was this a part he was playingto deceive Kells? The slow-gathering might of her horror came with themeaning of that gold-belt. Jim had brought back the gold-belt of theminer Creede. He had, in his passion to remain near her, to save her inthe end, kept his word to Kells and done the ghastly deed.
Joan reeled and sank back upon the bed, blindly, with darkening sightand mind.