by Zane Grey
8
In three days--during which time Joan attended Kells as faithfully as ifshe were indeed his wife--he thought that he had gained sufficiently toundertake the journey to the main camp, Cabin Gulch. He was eager to getback there and imperious in his overruling of any opposition. The mencould take turns at propping him in a saddle. So on the morning of thefourth day they packed for the ride.
During these few days Joan had verified her suspicion that Kells hadtwo sides to his character; or it seemed, rather, that her presencedeveloped a latent or a long-dead side. When she was with him, therebydistracting his attention, he was entirely different from what he waswhen his men surrounded him. Apparently he had no knowledge of this. Heshowed surprise and gratitude at Joan's kindness though never pity orcompassion for her. That he had become infatuated with her Joan could nolonger doubt. His strange eyes followed her; there was a dreamy light inthem; he was mostly silent with her.
Before those few days had come to an end he had developed two things--areluctance to let Joan leave his sight and an intolerance of thepresence of the other men, particularly Gulden. Always Joan felt theeyes of these men upon her, mostly in unobtrusive glances, exceptGulden's. The giant studied her with slow, cavernous stare, withoutcuriosity or speculation or admiration. Evidently a woman was a new andstrange creature to him and he was experiencing unfamiliar sensations.Whenever Joan accidentally met his gaze--for she avoided it as much aspossible--she shuddered with sick memory of a story she had heard--howa huge and ferocious gorilla had stolen into an African village and runoff with a white woman. She could not shake the memory. And it was thisthat made her kinder to Kells than otherwise would have been possible.
All Joan's faculties sharpened in this period. She felt her owndevelopment--the beginning of a bitter and hard education--aninstinctive assimilation of all that nature taught its wild peopleand creatures, the first thing in elemental life--self-preservation.Parallel in her heart and mind ran a hopeless despair and a driving,unquenchable spirit. The former was fear, the latter love. She believedbeyond a doubt that she had doomed herself along with Jim Cleve; shefelt that she had the courage, the power, the love to save him, ifnot herself. And the reason that she did not falter and fail in thisterrible situation was because her despair, great as it was, did notequal her love.
That morning, before being lifted upon his horse, Kells buckled on hisgun-belt. The sheath and full round of shells and the gun made this belta burden for a weak man. And so Red Pearce insisted. But Kells laughedin his face. The men, always excepting Gulden, were unfailing inkindness and care. Apparently they would have fought for Kells to thedeath. They were simple and direct in their rough feelings. But inKells, Joan thought, was a character who was a product of this borderwildness, yet one who could stand aloof from himself and see thepossibilities, the unexpected, the meaning of that life. Kells knew thata man and yet another might show kindness and faithfulness one moment,but the very next, out of a manhood retrograded to the savage, outof the circumstance or chance, might respond to a primitive force farsundered from thought or reason, and rise to unbridled action. Joandivined that Kells buckled on his gun to be ready to protect her. Buthis men never dreamed his motive. Kells was a strong, bad man set amongmen like him, yet he was infinitely different because he had brains.
On the start of the journey Joan was instructed to ride before Kellsand Pearce, who supported the leader in his saddle. The pack-driversand Bate Wood and Frenchy rode ahead; Gulden held to the rear. And thisorder was preserved till noon, when the cavalcade halted for a rest ina shady, grassy, and well-watered nook. Kells was haggard, and hisbrow wet with clammy dew, and lined with pain. Yet he was cheerful andpatient. Still he hurried the men through their tasks.
In an hour the afternoon travel was begun. The canon and itssurroundings grew more rugged and of larger dimensions. Yet thetrail appeared to get broader and better all the time. Joan noticedintersecting trails, running down from side canons and gulches. Thedescent was gradual, and scarcely evident in any way except in therunning water and warmer air.
Kells, tired before the middle of the afternoon, and he would havefallen from his saddle but for the support of his fellows. One by onethey held him up. And it was not easy work to ride alongside, holdinghim up. Joan observed that Gulden did not offer his services. He seemeda part of this gang, yet not of it. Joan never lost a feeling of hispresence behind her, and from time to time, when he rode closer, thefeeling grew stronger. Toward the close of that afternoon she becameaware of Gulden's strange attention. And when a halt was made for campshe dreaded something nameless.
This halt occurred early, before sunset, and had been necessitated bythe fact that Kells was fainting. They laid him out on blankets, withhis head in his saddle. Joan tended him, and he recovered somewhat,though he lacked the usual keenness.
It was a busy hour with saddles, packs, horses, with wood to cut andfire to build and meal to cook. Kells drank thirstily, but refused food.
"Joan," he whispered, at an opportune moment, "I'm only tired--dead forsleep. You stay beside me. Wake me quick--if you want to!"
He closed his eyes wearily, without explaining, and soon slumbered.Joan did not choose to allow these men to see that she feared them ordistrusted them or disliked them. She ate with them beside the fire.And this was their first opportunity to be close to her. The fact hadan immediate and singular influence. Joan had no vanity, though she knewshe was handsome. She forced herself to be pleasant, agreeable, evensweet. Their response was instant and growing. At first they were bold,then familiar and coarse. For years she had been used to rough menof the camps. These however, were different, and their jokes andsuggestions had no effect because they were beyond her. And when thisbecame manifest to them that aspect of their relation to her changed.She grasped the fact intuitively, and then she verified it by proof. Herheart beat strong and high. If she could hide her hate, her fear, herabhorrence, she could influence these wild men. But it all depended uponher charm, her strangeness, her femininity. Insensibly they had beeninfluenced, and it proved that in the worst of men there yet survivedsome good. Gulden alone presented a contrast and a problem. He appearedaware of her presence while he sat there eating like a wolf, but it wasas if she were only an object. The man watched as might have an animal.
Her experience at the camp-fire meal inclined her to the belief that,if there were such a possibility as her being safe at all, it would beowing to an unconscious and friendly attitude toward the companions shehad been forced to accept. Those men were pleased, stirred at being inher vicinity. Joan came to a melancholy and fearful cognizance of herattraction. While at home she seldom had borne upon her a reality--thatshe was a woman. Her place, her person were merely natural. Here itwas all different. To these wild men, developed by loneliness,fierce-blooded, with pulses like whips, a woman was something thatthrilled, charmed, soothed, that incited a strange, insatiable,inexplicable hunger for the very sight of her. They did not realize it,but Joan did.
Presently Joan finished her supper and said: "I'll go hobble my horse.He strays sometimes."
"Shore I'll go, miss," said Bate Wood. He had never called her Mrs.Kells, but Joan believed he had not thought of the significance.Hardened old ruffian that he was. Joan regarded him as the best of a badlot. He had lived long, and some of his life had not been bad.
"Let me go," added Pearce.
"No, thanks. I'll go myself," she replied.
She took the rope hobble off her saddle and boldly swung down the trail.Suddenly she heard two or more of the men speak at once, and then, lowand clear: "Gulden, where'n hell are you goin'?" This was Red Pearce'svoice.
Joan glanced back. Gulden had started down the trail after her. Herheart quaked, her knees shook, and she was ready to run back. Guldenhalted, then turned away, growling. He acted as if caught in somethingsurprising to himself.
"We're on to you, Gulden," continued Pearce, deliberately. "Be carefulor we'll put Kells on."
A booming, angry curs
e was the response. The men grouped closer and aloud altercation followed. Joan almost ran down the trail and heard nomore. If any one of them had started her way now she would have plungedinto the thickets like a frightened deer. Evidently, however, they meantto let her alone. Joan found her horse, and before hobbling him she wasassailed by a temptation to mount him and ride away. This she did notwant to do and would not do under any circumstances; still, she couldnot prevent the natural instinctive impulse of a woman.
She crossed to the other side of the brook and returned toward campunder the spruce and balsam trees, She did not hurry. It was good tobe alone, out of sight of those violent men, away from that constantwearing physical proof of catastrophe. Nevertheless, she did not feelfree or safe for a moment; she peered fearfully into the shadows of therocks and trees; and presently it was a relief to get back to the sideof the sleeping Kells. He lay in a deep slumber of exhaustion. Shearranged her own saddle and blankets near him, and prepared to meet thenight as best she could. Instinctively she took a position where in oneswift snatch she could get possession of Kells's gun.
It was about time of sunset, warm and still in the canon, with rosylights fading upon the peaks. The men were all busy with one thing andanother. Strange it was to see that Gulden, who Joan thought might bea shirker, did twice the work of any man, especially the heavy work. Heseemed to enjoy carrying a log that would have overweighted two ordinarymen. He was so huge, so active, so powerful that it was fascinating towatch him. They built the camp-fire for the night uncomfortably nearJoan's position; however, remembering how cold the air would becomelater, she made no objection. Twilight set in and the men, through forthe day, gathered near the fire.
Then Joan was not long in discovering that the situation had begunto impinge upon the feelings of each of these men. They looked at herdifferently. Some of them invented pretexts to approach her, to asksomething, to offer service--anything to get near her. A personal andindividual note had been injected into the attitude of each. IntuitivelyJoan guessed that Gulden's arising to follow her had turned their eyesinward. Gulden remained silent and inactive at the edge of the camp-firecircle of light, which flickered fitfully around him, making him seem ahuge, gloomy ape of a man. So far as Joan could tell, Gulden never casthis eyes in her direction. That was a difference which left cause forreflection. Had that hulk of brawn and bone begun to think? Bate Wood'sovertures to Joan were rough, but inexplicable to her because she darednot wholly trust him.
"An' shore, miss," he had concluded, in a hoarse whisper, "we-all knowyou ain't Kells's wife. Thet bandit wouldn't marry no woman. He's awoman-hater. He was famous fer thet over in California. He's run offwith you--kidnapped you, thet's shore.... An' Gulden swears he shot hisown men an' was in turn shot by you. Thet bullet-hole in his back wasfull of powder. There's liable to be a muss-up any time.... Shore, miss,you'd better sneak off with me tonight when they're all asleep. I'll gitgrub an' hosses, an' take you off to some prospector's camp. Then youcan git home."
Joan only shook her head. Even if she could have felt trust in Wood--andshe was of half a mind to believe him--it was too late. Whatever befellher mattered little if in suffering it she could save Jim Cleve from theruin she had wrought.
Since this wild experience of Joan's had begun she had been sick somany times with raw and naked emotions hitherto unknown to her, thatshe believed she could not feel another new fear or torture. But thesestrange sensations grew by what they had been fed upon.
The man called Frenchy, was audacious, persistent, smiling,amorous-eyed, and rudely gallant. He cared no more for his companionsthan if they had not been there. He vied with Pearce in his attention,and the two of them discomfited the others. The situation might havebeen amusing had it not been so terrible. Always the portent was ashadow behind their interest and amiability and jealousy. Except forthat one abrupt and sinister move of Gulden's--that of a natural manbeyond deceit--there was no word, no look, no act at which Joan couldhave been offended. They were joking, sarcastic, ironical, and sullenin their relation to each other; but to Joan each one presented what wasnaturally or what he considered his kindest and most friendly front. Ayoung and attractive woman had dropped into the camp of lonely wild men;and in their wild hearts was a rebirth of egotism, vanity, hungerfor notice. They seemed as foolish as a lot of cock grouse preeningthemselves and parading before a single female. Surely in some heart wasborn real brotherhood for a helpless girl in peril. Inevitably in someof them would burst a flame of passion as it had in Kells.
Between this amiable contest for Joan's glances and replies, with itspossibility of latent good to her, and the dark, lurking, unspokenmeaning, such as lay in Gulden's brooding, Joan found another new andsickening torture.
"Say, Frenchy, you're no lady's man," declared Red Pearce, "an' you,Bate, you're too old. Move--pass by--sashay!" Pearce, good-naturedly,but deliberately, pushed the two men back.
"Shore she's Kells's lady, ain't she?" drawled Wood. "Ain't you allforgettin' thet?"
"Kells is asleep or dead," replied Pearce, and he succeeded in gettingthe field to himself.
"Where'd you meet Kells anyway?" he asked Joan, with his red facebending near hers.
Joan had her part to play. It was difficult, because she divinedPearce's curiosity held a trap to catch her in a falsehood. Heknew--they all knew she was not Kells's wife. But if she were a prisonershe seemed a willing and contented one. The query that breathed inPearce's presence was how was he to reconcile the fact of her submissionwith what he and his comrades had potently felt as her goodness?
"That doesn't concern anybody," replied Joan.
"Reckon not," said Pearce. Then he leaned nearer with intense face."What I want to know--is Gulden right? Did you shoot Kells?"
In the dusk Joan reached back and clasped Kells hand.
For a man as weak and weary as he had been, it was remarkable howquickly a touch awakened him. He lifted his head.
"Hello! Who's that?" he called out, sharply.
Pearce rose guardedly, startled, but not confused. "It's only me,boss," he replied. "I was about to turn in, an' I wanted to know how youare--if I could do anythin'."
"I'm all right, Red," replied Kells, coolly. "Clear out and let mealone. All of you."
Pearce moved away with an amiable good-night and joined the others atthe camp-fire. Presently they sought their blankets, leaving Guldenhunching there silent in the gloom.
"Joan, why did you wake me?" whispered Kells.
"Pearce asked me if I shot you," replied Joan. "I woke you instead ofanswering him."
"He did!" exclaimed Kells under his breath. Then he laughed. "Can't foolthat gang. I guess it doesn't matter. Maybe it'd be well if they knewyou shot me."
He appeared thoughtful, and lay there with the fading flare of the fireon his pale face. But he did not speak again. Presently he fell asleep.
Joan leaned back, within reach of him, with her head in her saddle, andpulling a blanket up over her, relaxed her limbs to rest. Sleep seemedthe furthest thing from her. She wondered that she dared to think of it.The night had grown chilly; the wind was sweeping with low roar throughthe balsams; the fire burned dull and red. Joan watched the black,shapeless hulk that she knew to be Gulden. For a long time he remainedmotionless. By and by he moved, approached the fire, stood one momentin the dying ruddy glow, his great breadth and bulk magnified, withall about him vague and shadowy, but the more sinister for that. Thecavernous eyes were only black spaces in that vast face, yet Joan sawthem upon her. He lay down then among the other men and soon his deepand heavy breathing denoted the tranquil slumber of an ox.
For hours through changing shadows and starlight Joan lay awake, whilea thousand thoughts besieged her, all centering round that vital andcompelling one of Jim Cleve.
Only upon awakening, with the sun in her face, did Joan realize that shehad actually slept.
The camp was bustling with activity. The horses were in, fresh andquarrelsome, with ears laid back. Kells was sitting up
on a rock near thefire with a cup of coffee in his hand. He was looking better. Whenhe greeted Joan his voice sounded stronger. She walked by Pearce andFrenchy and Gulden on her way to the brook, but they took no notice ofher. Bate Wood, however, touched his sombrero and said: "Mornin', miss."Joan wondered if her memory of the preceding night were only a baddream. There was a different atmosphere by daylight, and it wasdominated by Kells. Presently she returned to camp refreshed and hungry.Gulden was throwing a pack, which action he performed with ease anddexterity. Pearce was cinching her saddle. Kells was talking, more likehis old self than at any time since his injury.
Soon they were on the trail. For Joan time always passed swiftly onhorseback. Movement and changing scene were pleasurable to her. Thepassing of time now held a strange expectancy, a mingled fear and hopeand pain, for at the end of this trail was Jim Cleve. In other days shehad flouted him, made fun of him, dominated him, everything except lovedand feared him. And now she was assured of her love and almost convincedof her fear. The reputation these wild bandits gave Jim was astoundingand inexplicable to Joan. She rode the miles thinking of Jim, dreadingto meet him, longing to see him, and praying and planning for him.
About noon the cavalcade rode out of the mouth of a canon into a widevalley, surrounded by high, rounded foot-hills. Horses and cattle weregrazing on the green levels. A wide, shallow, noisy stream split thevalley. Joan could tell from the tracks at the crossing that this place,whatever and wherever it was, saw considerable travel; and she concludedthe main rendezvous of the bandits was close at hand.
The pack drivers led across the stream and the valley to enter anintersecting ravine. It was narrow, rough-sided, and floored, but thetrail was good. Presently it opened out into a beautiful V-shaped gulch,very different from the high-walled, shut-in canons. It had a levelfloor, through which a brook flowed, and clumps of spruce and pine, withhere and there a giant balsam. Huge patches of wild flowers gave rosycolor to the grassy slopes. At the upper end of this gulch Joan saw anumber of widely separated cabins. This place, then, was Cabin Gulch.
Upon reaching the first cabin the cavalcade split up. There were menhere who hallooed a welcome. Gulden halted with his pack-horse. Some ofthe others rode on. Wood drove other pack-animals off to the right, upthe gentle slope. And Red Pearce, who was beside Kells, instructed Joanto follow them. They rode up to a bench of straggling spruce-trees, inthe midst of which stood a large log cabin. It was new, as in fact allthe structures in the Gulch appeared to be, and none of them had seen awinter. The chinks between the logs were yet open. This cabin was ofthe rudest make of notched logs one upon another, and roof of brushand earth. It was low and flat, but very long, and extending beforethe whole of it was a porch roof supported by posts. At one end wasa corral. There were doors and windows with nothing in them. Upon thefront wall, outside, hung saddles and bridles.
Joan had a swift, sharp gaze for the men who rose from their loungingto greet the travelers. Jim Cleve was not among them. Her heart left herthroat then, and she breathed easier. How could she meet him?
Kells was in better shape than at noon of the preceding day. Still, hehad to be lifted off his horse. Joan heard all the men talking at once.They crowded round Pearce, each lending a hand. However, Kells appearedable to walk into the cabin. It was Bate Wood who led Joan inside.
There was a long room, with stone fireplace, rude benches and a table,skins and blankets on the floor, and lanterns and weapons on thewall. At one end Joan saw a litter of cooking utensils and shelves ofsupplies.
Suddenly Kells's impatient voice silenced the clamor of questions. "I'mnot hurt," he said. "I'm all right--only weak and tired. Fellows, thisgirl is my wife.... Joan, you'll find a room there--at the back of thecabin. Make yourself comfortable."
Joan was only too glad to act upon his suggestion. A door had been cutthrough the back wall. It was covered with a blanket. When she sweptthis aside she came upon several steep steps that led up to a smaller,lighter cabin of two rooms, separated by a partition of boughs. Shedropped the blanket behind her and went up the steps. Then she sawthat the new cabin had been built against an old one. It had no door oropening except the one by which she had entered. It was light becausethe chinks between the logs were open. The furnishings were a wide benchof boughs covered with blankets, a shelf with a blurred and crackedmirror hanging above it, a table made of boxes, and a lantern. Thisroom was four feet higher than the floor of the other cabin. And atthe bottom of the steps leaned a half-dozen slender trimmed poles. Shegathered presently that these poles were intended to be slipped undercrosspieces above and fastened by a bar below, which means effectuallybarricaded the opening. Joan could stand at the head of the steps andpeep under an edge of the swinging blanket into the large room, but thatwas the only place she could see through, for the openings betweenthe logs of each wall were not level. These quarters were comfortable,private, and could be shut off from intruders. Joan had not expected somuch consideration from Kells and she was grateful.
She lay down to rest and think. It was really very pleasant here. Therewere birds nesting in the chinks; a ground squirrel ran along one of thelogs and chirped at her; through an opening near her face she saw awild rose-bush and the green slope of the gulch; a soft, warm, fragrantbreeze blew in, stirring her hair. How strange that there could bebeautiful and pleasant things here in this robber den; that time wasthe same here as elsewhere; that the sun shone and the sky gleamed blue.Presently she discovered that a lassitude weighted upon her and shecould not keep her eyes open. She ceased trying, but intended to remainawake--to think, to listen, to wait. Nevertheless, she did fall asleepand did not awaken till disturbed by some noise. The color of thewestern sky told her that the afternoon was far spent. She had slepthours. Someone was knocking. She got up and drew aside the blanket. BateWood was standing near the door.
"Now, miss, I've supper ready," he said, "an' I was reckonin' you'd likeme to fetch yours."
"Yes, thank you, I would," replied Joan.
In a few moments Wood returned carrying the top of a box upon which weresteaming pans and cups. He handed this rude tray up to Joan.
"Shore I'm a first-rate cook, miss, when I've somethin' to cook," hesaid with a smile that changed his hard face.
She returned the smile with her thanks. Evidently Kells had awell-filled larder, and as Joan had fared on coarse and hard food forlong, this supper was a luxury and exceedingly appetizing. While she waseating, the blanket curtain moved aside and Kells appeared. He droppedit behind him, but did not step up into the room. He was in hisshirt-sleeves, had been clean shaven, and looked a different man.
"How do you like your--home?" he inquired, with a hint of his formermockery.
"I'm grateful for the privacy," she replied.
"You think you could be worse off, then?"
"I know it."
"Suppose Gulden kills me--and rules the gang--and takes you?... There'sa story about him, the worst I've heard on this border. I'll tell yousome day when I want to scare you bad."
"Gulden!" Joan shivered as she pronounced the name. "Are you and heenemies?"
"No man can have a friend on this border. We flock together likebuzzards. There's safety in numbers, but we fight together, likebuzzards over carrion."
"Kells, you hate this life?"
"I've always hated my life, everywhere. The only life I ever loved wasadventure.... I'm willing to try a new one, if you'll go with me."
Joan shook her head.
"Why not? I'll marry you," he went on, speaking lower. "I've got gold;I'll get more."
"Where did you get the gold?" she asked
"I've relieved a good many overburdened travelers and prospectors," hereplied.
"Kells, you're a--a villain!" exclaimed Joan, unable to contain hersudden heat. "You must be utterly mad--to ask me to marry you."
"No, I'm not mad," he rejoined, with a laugh. "Gulden's the mad one.He's crazy. He's got a twist in his brain. I'm no fool.... I've onlylost my head over you. But
compare marrying me, living and travelingamong decent people and comfort, to camps like this. If I don't getdrunk I'll be half decent to you. But I'll get shot sooner or later.Then you'll be left to Gulden."
"Why do you say HIM?" she queried, in a shudder of curiosity.
"Well, Gulden haunts me."
"He does me, too. He makes me lose my sense of proportion. Beside himyou and the others seem good. But you ARE wicked."
"Then you won't marry me and go away somewhere?... Your choice isstrange. Because I tell you the truth."
"Kells! I'm a woman. Something deep in me says you won't keep mehere--you can't be so base. Not now, after I saved your life! It wouldbe horrible--inhuman. I can't believe any man born of a woman could doit."
"But I want you--I love you!" he said, low and hard.
"Love! That's not love," she replied in scorn. "God only knows what itis."
"Call it what you like," he went on, bitterly. "You're a young,beautiful, sweet woman. It's wonderful to be near you. My life has beenhell. I've had nothing. There's only hell to look forward to--and hellat the end. Why shouldn't I keep you here?"
"But, Kells, listen," she whispered, earnestly, "suppose I am youngand beautiful and sweet--as you said. I'm utterly in your power. I'mcompelled to seek your protection from even worse men. You're differentfrom these others. You're educated. You must have had--a--a good mother.Now you're bitter, desperate, terrible. You hate life. You seem to thinkthis charm you see in me will bring you something. Maybe a glimpse ofjoy! But how can it? You know better. How can it... unless I--I loveyou?"
Kells stared at her, the evil and hardness of his passion corded inhis face. And the shadows of comprehending thought in his strange eyesshowed the other side of the man. He was still staring at her while hereached to put aside the curtains; then he dropped his head and wentout.
Joan sat motionless, watching the door where he had disappeared,listening to the mounting beats of her heart. She had only been frankand earnest with Kells. But he had taken a meaning from her lastfew words that she had not intended to convey. All that was woman inher--mounting, righting, hating--leaped to the power she sensed inherself. If she could be deceitful, cunning, shameless in holding out toKells a possible return of his love, she could do anything with him. Sheknew it. She did not need to marry him or sacrifice herself. Joan wasamazed that the idea remained an instant before her consciousness. Butsomething had told her this was another kind of life than she had known,and all that was precious to her hung in the balance. Any falsitywas justifiable, even righteous, under the circumstances. Could sheformulate a plan that this keen bandit would not see through? Theremotest possibility of her even caring for Kells--that was as much asshe dared hint. But that, together with all the charm and seductivenessshe could summon, might be enough. Dared she try it? If she tried andfailed Kells would despise her, and then she was utterly lost. She wascaught between doubt and hope. All that was natural and true in hershrank from such unwomanly deception; all that had been born of her wildexperience inflamed her to play the game, to match Kells's villainy witha woman's unfathomable duplicity.
And while Joan was absorbed in thought the sun set, the light failed,twilight stole into the cabin, and then darkness. All this hour therehad been a continual sound of men's voices in the large cabin, sometimeslow and at other times loud. It was only when Joan distinctly heard thename Jim Cleve that she was startled out of her absorption, thrillingand flushing. In her eagerness she nearly fell as she stepped andgropped through the darkness to the door, and as she drew aside theblanket her hand shook.
The large room was lighted by a fire and half a dozen lanterns. Througha faint tinge of blue smoke Joan saw men standing and sitting andlounging around Kells, who had a seat where the light fell full uponhim. Evidently a lull had intervened in the talk. The dark faces Joancould see were all turned toward the door expectantly.
"Bring him in, Bate, and let's look him over," said Kells.
Then Bate Wood appeared, elbowing his way in, and he had his hand on thearm of a tall, lithe fellow. When they got into the light Joan quiveredas if she had been stabbed. That stranger with Wood was Jim Cleve--JimCleve in frame and feature, yet not the same she knew.
"Cleve, glad to meet you," greeted Kells, extending his hand.
"Thanks. Same to you," replied Cleve, and he met the proffered hand. Hisvoice was cold and colorless, unfamiliar to Joan. Was this man reallyJim Cleve?
The meeting of Kells and Cleve was significant because of Kells'sinterest and the silent attention of the men of his clan. It did notseem to mean anything to the white-faced, tragic-eyed Cleve. Joan gazedat him with utter amazement. She remembered a heavily built, florid JimCleve, an overgrown boy with a good-natured, lazy smile on his fullface and sleepy eyes. She all but failed to recognize him in the man whostood there now, lithe and powerful, with muscles bulging in his coarse,white shirt. Joan's gaze swept over him, up and down, shivering at thetwo heavy guns he packed, till it was transfixed on his face. The old,or the other, Jim Cleve had been homely, with too much flesh on his faceto show force or fire. This man seemed beautiful. But it was a beauty oftragedy. He was as white as Kells, but smoothly, purely white,without shadow or sunburn. His lips seemed to have set with a bitter,indifferent laugh. His eyes looked straight out, piercing, intent,haunted, and as dark as night. Great blue circles lay under them,lending still further depth and mystery. It was a sad, reckless facethat wrung Joan's very heartstrings. She had come too late to save hishappiness, but she prayed that it was not too late to save his honor andhis soul.
While she gazed there had been further exchange of speech between Kellsand Cleve, and she had heard, though not distinguished, what was said.Kells was unmistakably friendly, as were the other men within range ofJoan's sight. Cleve was surrounded; there were jesting and laughter;and then he was led to the long table where several men were alreadygambling.
Joan dropped the curtain, and in the darkness of her cabin she saw thatwhite, haunting face, and when she covered her eyes she still saw it.The pain, the reckless violence, the hopeless indifference, the wreckand ruin in that face had been her doing. Why? How had Jim Cleve wrongedher? He had loved her at her displeasure and had kissed her against herwill. She had furiously upbraided him, and when he had finally turnedupon her, threatening to prove he was no coward, she had scorned himwith a girl's merciless injustice. All her strength and resolve lefther, momentarily, after seeing Jim there. Like a woman, she weakened.She lay on the bed and writhed. Doubt, hopelessness, despair, againseized upon her, and some strange, yearning maddening emotion. What hadshe sacrificed? His happiness and her own--and both their lives!
The clamor in the other cabin grew so boisterous that suddenly when itstilled Joan was brought sharply to the significance of it. Again shedrew aside the curtain and peered out.
Gulden, huge, stolid, gloomy, was entering the cabin. The man fell intothe circle and faced Kell with the fire-light dancing in his cavernouseyes.
"Hello, Gulden!" said Kells, coolly. "What ails you?"
"Anybody tell you about Bill Bailey?" asked Gulden, heavily.
Kells did not show the least concern. "Tell me what?"
"That he died in a cabin, down in the valley?"
Kells gave a slight start and his eyes narrowed and shot steely glints."No. It's news to me."
"Kells, you left Bailey for dead. But he lived. He was shot through,but he got there somehow--nobody knows. He was far gone when Beady Joneshappened along. Before he died he sent word to me by Beady.... Are youcurious to know what it was?"
"Not the least," replied Kells. "Bailey was--well, offensive to my wife.I shot him."
"He swore you drew on him in cold blood," thundered Gulden. "He swore itwas for nothing--just so you could be alone with that girl!"
Kells rose in wonderful calmness, with only his pallor and a slightshaking of his hands to betray excitement. An uneasy stir and murmur ranthrough the room. Red Pearce, nearest at hand, stepped to Kells's side.All in
a moment there was a deadly surcharged atmosphere there.
"Well, he swore right!... Now what's it to you?"
Apparently the fact and its confession were nothing particular toGulden, or else he was deep where all considered him only dense andshallow.
"It's done. Bill's dead," continued Gulden. "But why do you double-crossthe gang? What's the game? You never did it before.... That girl isn'tyour--"
"Shut up!" hissed Kells. Like a flash his hand flew out with his gun,and all about him was dark menace.
Gulden made no attempt to draw. He did not show surprise nor fear norany emotion. He appeared plodding in mind. Red Pearce stepped betweenKells and Gulden. There was a realization in the crowd, loud breaths,scraping of feet. Gulden turned away. Then Kells resumed his seat andhis pipe as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.