Zane Grey (13 page)

"What did you say?" queried Joan, trying to steady her voice as she
averted her eyes.

"I said 'Jim, that wins me. But I don't want you killed.'... It
certainly was nervy of the youngster. Said it just the same as—as he'd
offer to cinch my saddle. Gulden can whip a roomful of men. He's done
it. And as for a killer—I've heard of no man with his record."

"And that's why you fear him?"

"It's not," replied Kells, passionately, as if his manhood had been
affronted. "It's because he's Gulden. There's something uncanny about
him.... Gulden's a cannibal!"

Joan looked as if she had not heard aright.

"It's a cold fact. Known all over the border. Gulden's no braggart.
But he's been known to talk. He was a sailor—a pirate. Once he was
shipwrecked. Starvation forced him to be a cannibal. He told this in
California, and in Nevada camps. But no one believed him. A few years
ago he got snowed-up in the mountains back of Lewiston. He had two
companions with him. They all began to starve. It was absolutely
necessary to try to get out. They started out in the snow. Travel
was desperately hard. Gulden told that his companions dropped. But he
murdered them—and again saved his life by being a cannibal. After this
became known his sailor yarns were no longer doubted.... There's another
story about him. Once he got hold of a girl and took her into the
mountains. After a winter he returned alone. He told that he'd kept her
tied in a cave, without any clothes, and she froze to death."

"Oh, horrible!" moaned Joan.

"I don't know how true it is. But I believe it. Gulden is not a man. The
worst of us have a conscience. We can tell right from wrong. But Gulden
can't. He's beneath morals. He has no conception of manhood, such as
I've seen in the lowest of outcasts. That cave story with the girl—that
betrays him. He belongs back in the Stone Age. He's a thing.... And here
on the border, if he wants, he can have all the more power because of
what he is."

"Kells, don't let him see me!" entreated Joan.

The bandit appeared not to catch the fear in Joan's tone and look. She
had been only a listener. Presently with preoccupied and gloomy mien, he
left her alone.

Joan did not see him again, except for glimpses under the curtain, for
three days. She kept the door barred and saw no one except Bate Wood,
who brought her meals. She paced her cabin like a caged creature. During
this period few men visited Kells's cabin, and these few did not remain
long. Joan was aware that Kells was not always at home. Evidently he
was able to go out. Upon the fourth day he called to her and knocked for
admittance. Joan let him in, and saw that he was now almost well again,
once more cool, easy, cheerful, with his strange, forceful air.

"Good day, Joan. You don't seem to be pining for your—negligent
husband."

He laughed as if he mocked himself, but there was gladness in the very
sight of her, and some indefinable tone in his voice that suggested
respect.

"I didn't miss you," replied Joan. Yet it was a relief to see him.

"No, I imagine not," he said, dryly. "Well, I've been busy with
men—with plans. Things are working out to my satisfaction. Red Pearce
got around Gulden. There's been no split. Besides, Gulden rode off.
Someone said he went after a little girl named Brander. I hope he gets
shot.... Joan, we'll be leaving Cabin Gulch soon. I'm expecting news
that'll change things. I won't leave you here. You'll have to ride the
roughest trails. And your clothes are in tatters now. You've got to have
something to wear."

"I should think so," replied Joan, fingering the thin, worn, ragged
habit that had gone to pieces. "The first brush I ride through will tear
this off."

"That's annoying," said Kells, with exasperation at himself. "Where on
earth can I get you a dress? We're two hundred miles from everywhere.
The wildest kind of country.... Say, did you ever wear a man's outfit?"

"Ye-es, when I went prospecting and hunting with my uncle," she replied,
reluctantly.

Suddenly he had a daring and brilliant smile that changed his face
completely. He rubbed his palms together. He laughed as if at a huge
joke. He cast a measuring glance up and down her slender form.

"Just wait till I come back," he said.

He left her and she heard him rummaging around in the pile of trappings
she had noted in a corner of the other cabin. Presently he returned
carrying a bundle. This he unrolled on the bed and spread out the
articles.

"Dandy Dale's outfit," he said, with animation. "Dandy was a would-be
knight of the road. He dressed the part. But he tried to hold up a stage
over here and an unappreciative passenger shot him. He wasn't killed
outright. He crawled away and died. Some of my men found him and they
fetched his clothes. That outfit cost a fortune. But not a man among us
could get into it."

There was a black sombrero with heavy silver band; a dark-blue blouse
and an embroidered buckskin vest; a belt full of cartridges and a
pearl-handled gun; trousers of corduroy; high-top leather boots and gold
mounted spurs, all of the finest material and workmanship.

"Joan, I'll make you a black mask out of the rim of a felt hat, and then
you'll be grand." He spoke with the impulse and enthusiasm of a boy.

"Kells, you don't mean me to wear these?" asked Joan, incredulously.

"Certainly. Why not? Just the thing. A little fancy, but then you're a
girl. We can't hide that. I don't want to hide it."

"I won't wear them," declared Joan.

"Excuse me—but you will," he replied, coolly and pleasantly.

"I won't!" cried Joan. She could not keep cool.

"Joan, you've got to take long rides with me. At night sometimes. Wild
rides to elude pursuers sometimes. You'll go into camps with me. You'll
have to wear strong, easy, free clothes. You'll have to be masked. Here
the outfit is—as if made for you. Why, you're dead lucky. For this
stuff is good and strong. It'll stand the wear, yet it's fit for a
girl.... You put the outfit on, right now."

"I said I wouldn't!" Joan snapped.

"But what do you care if it belonged to a fellow who's dead?... There!
See that hole in the shirt. That's a bullet-hole. Don't be squeamish.
It'll only make your part harder."

"Mr. Kells, you seem to have forgotten entirely that I'm a—a girl."

He looked blank astonishment. "Maybe I have.... I'll remember. But you
said you'd worn a man's things."

"I wore my brother's coat and overalls, and was lost in them," replied
Joan.

His face began to work. Then he laughed uproariously. "I—under—stand.
This'll fit—you—like a glove.... Fine! I'm dying to see you."

"You never will."

At that he grew sober and his eyes glinted. "You can't take a little
fun. I'll leave you now for a while. When I come back you'll have that
suit on!"

There was that in his voice then which she had heard when he ordered
men.

Joan looked her defiance.

"If you don't have it on when I come I'll—I'll tear your rags off!... I
can do that. You're a strong little devil, and maybe I'm not well enough
yet to put this outfit on you. But I can get help.... If you anger me I
might wait for—Gulden!"

Joan's legs grew weak under her, so that she had to sink on the
bed. Kells would do absolutely and literally what he threatened. She
understood now the changing secret in his eyes. One moment he was a
certain kind of a man and the very next he was incalculably different.
She instinctively recognized this latter personality as her enemy. She
must use all the strength and wit and cunning and charm to keep his
other personality in the ascendancy, else all was futile.

"Since you force me so—then I must," she said.

Kells left her without another word.

Joan removed her stained and torn dress and her worn-out boots; then
hurriedly, for fear Kells might return, she put on the dead boy-bandit's
outfit. Dandy Dale assuredly must have been her counterpart, for his
things fitted her perfectly. Joan felt so strange that she scarcely had
courage enough to look into the mirror. When she did look she gave a
start that was of both amaze and shame. But for her face she never could
have recognized herself. What had become of her height, her slenderness?
She looked like an audacious girl in a dashing boy masquerade. Her
shame was singular, inasmuch as it consisted of a burning hateful
consciousness that she had not been able to repress a thrill of delight
at her appearance, and that this costume strangely magnified every curve
and swell of her body, betraying her feminity as nothing had ever done.

And just at that moment Kells knocked on the door and called, "Joan, are
you dressed?"

"Yes," she replied. But the word seemed involuntary.

Then Kells came in.

It was an instinctive and frantic impulse that made Joan snatch up a
blanket and half envelop herself in it. She stood with scarlet face
and dilating eyes, trembling in every limb. Kells had entered with
an expectant smile and that mocking light in his gaze. Both faded. He
stared at the blanket—then at her face. Then he seemed to comprehend
this ordeal. And he looked sorry for her.

"Why you—you little—fool!" he exclaimed, with emotion. And that
emotion seemed to exasperate him. Turning away from her, he gazed out
between the logs. Again, as so many times before, he appeared to be
remembering something that was hard to recall, and vague.

Joan, agitated as she was, could not help but see the effect of her
unexpected and unconscious girlishness. She comprehended that with the
mind of the woman which had matured in her. Like Kells, she too, had
different personalities.

"I'm trying to be decent to you," went on Kells, without turning. "I
want to give you a chance to make the best of a bad situation. But
you're a kid—a girl!... And I'm a bandit. A man lost to all good, who
means to have you!"

"But you're NOT lost to all good," replied Joan, earnestly. "I can't
understand what I do feel. But I know—if it had been Gulden instead of
you—that I wouldn't have tried to hide my—myself behind this blanket.
I'm no longer—AFRAID of you. That's why I acted—so—just like a girl
caught.... Oh! can't you see!"

"No, I can't see," he replied. "I wish I hadn't fetched you here. I wish
the thing hadn't happened. Now it's too late."

"It's never too late.... You—you haven't harmed me yet."

"But I love you," he burst out. "Not like I have. Oh! I see this—that
I never really loved any woman before. Something's gripped me. It feels
like that rope at my throat—when they were going to hang me."

Then Joan trembled in the realization that a tremendous passion had
seized upon this strange, strong man. In the face of it she did not know
how to answer him. Yet somehow she gathered courage in the knowledge.

Kells stood silent a long moment, looking out at the green slope. And
then, as if speaking to himself, he said: "I stacked the deck and dealt
myself a hand—a losing hand—and now I've got to play it!"

With that he turned to Joan. It was the piercing gaze he bent upon her
that hastened her decision to resume the part she had to play. And she
dropped the blanket. Kells's gloom and that iron hardness vanished.
He smiled as she had never seen him smile. In that and his speechless
delight she read his estimate of her appearance; and, notwithstanding
the unwomanliness of her costume, and the fact of his notorious
character, she knew she had never received so great a compliment.
Finally he found his voice.

"Joan, if you're not the prettiest thing I ever saw in my life!"

"I can't get used to this outfit," said Joan. "I can't—I won't go away
from this room in it."

"Sure you will. See here, this'll make a difference, maybe. You're so
shy."

He held out a wide piece of black felt that evidently he had cut from a
sombrero. This he measured over her forehead and eyes, and then taking
his knife he cut it to a desired shape. Next he cut eyeholes in it and
fastened to it a loop made of a short strip of buckskin.

"Try that.... Pull it down—even with your eyes. There!—take a look at
yourself."

Joan faced the mirror and saw merely a masked stranger. She was no
longer Joan Randle. Her identity had been absolutely lost.

"No one—who ever knew me—could recognize me now," she murmured, and
the relieving thought centered round Jim Cleve.

"I hadn't figured on that," replied Kells. "But you're right.... Joan,
if I don't miss my guess, it won't be long till you'll be the talk of
mining-towns and camp-fires."

This remark of Kells's brought to Joan proof of his singular pride in
the name he bore, and proof of many strange stories about bandits and
wild women of the border. She had never believed any of these stories.
They had seemed merely a part of the life of this unsettled wild
country. A prospector would spend a night at a camp-fire and tell a
weird story and pass on, never to be seen there again. Could there have
been a stranger story than her life seemed destined to be? Her mind
whirled with vague, circling thought—Kells and his gang, the wild
trails, the camps, and towns, gold and stage-coaches, robbery, fights,
murder, mad rides in the dark, and back to Jim Cleve and his ruin.

Suddenly Kells stepped to her from behind and put his arms around her.
Joan grew stiff. She had been taken off her guard. She was in his arms
and could not face him.

"Joan, kiss me," he whispered, with a softness, a richer, deeper note in
his voice.

"No!" cried Joan, violently.

There was a moment of silence in which she felt his grasp slowly
tighten—the heave of his breast.

"Then I'll make you," he said. So different was the voice now that
another man might have spoken. Then he bent her backward, and, freeing
one hand, brought it under her chin and tried to lift her face.

But Joan broke into fierce, violent resistance. She believed she was
doomed, but that only made her the fiercer, the stronger. And with her
head down, her arms straining, her body hard and rigidly unyielding
she fought him all over the room, knocking over the table and seats,
wrestling from wall to wall, till at last they fell across the bed and
she broke his hold. Then she sprang up, panting, disheveled, and backed
away from him. It had been a sharp, desperate struggle on her part and
she was stronger than he. He was not a well man. He raised himself and
put one hand to his breast. His face was haggard, wet, working with
passion, gray with pain. In the struggle she had hurt him, perhaps
reopened his wound.