Zane Grey (24 page)

Joan brushed against Cleve as she crossed the threshold. What would he
think of this? She would not see his face. When she reached the first
tents she could not resist the desire to look back. Pearce was within
twenty yards of her and Smith about the same distance farther back. Joan
was more curious than anything else. She divined that Kells wanted her
to attract attention, but for what reason she was at a loss to say. It
was significant that he did not intend to let her suffer any indignity
while fulfilling this mysterious mission.

Not until Joan got well down the road toward the Last Nugget did any one
pay any attention to her. A Mexican jabbered at her, showing his white
teeth, flashing his sloe-black eyes. Young miners eyed her curiously,
and some of them spoke. She met all kinds of men along the plank walk,
most of whom passed by, apparently unobserving. She obeyed Kells to the
letter. But for some reason she was unable to explain, when she got to
the row of saloons, where lounging, evil-eyed rowdies accosted her, she
found she had to disobey him, at least in one particular. She walked
faster. Still that did not make her task much easier. It began to be an
ordeal. The farther she got the bolder men grew. Could it have been that
Kells wanted this sort of thing to happen to her? Joan had no idea what
these men meant, but she believed that was because for the time being
she was deaf. Assuredly their looks were not a compliment to any girl.
Joan wanted to hurry now, and she had to force herself to walk at a
reasonable gait. One persistent fellow walked beside her for several
steps. Joan was not fool enough not to realize now that these wayfarers
wanted to make her acquaintance. And she decided she would have
something to say to Kells when she got back.

Below the Last Nugget she crossed the road and started upon the return
trip. In front of this gambling-hell there were scattered groups of men,
standing, and going in. A tall man in black detached himself and started
out, as if to intercept her. He wore a long black coat, a black bow tie,
and a black sombrero. He had little, hard, piercing eyes, as black as
his dress. He wore gloves and looked immaculate, compared with the
other men. He, too, spoke to Joan, turned to walk with her. She looked
straight ahead now, frightened, and she wanted to run. He kept beside
her, apparently talking. Joan heard only the low sound of his voice.
Then he took her arm, gently, but with familiarity. Joan broke from him
and quickened her pace.

"Say, there! Leave thet girl alone!"

This must have been yelled, for Joan certainly heard it. She recognized
Red Pearce's voice. And she wheeled to look. Pearce had overhauled the
gambler, and already men were approaching. Involuntarily Joan halted.
What would happen? The gambler spoke to Pearce, made what appeared
deprecating gestures, as if to explain. But Pearce looked angry.

"I'll tell her daddy!" he shouted.

Joan waited for no more. She almost ran. There would surely be a fight.
Could that have been Kells's intention? Whatever it was, she had been
subjected to a mortifying and embarrassing affront. She was angry, and
she thought it might be just as well to pretend to be furious. Kells
must not use her for his nefarious schemes. She hurried on, and, to her
surprise, when she got within sight of the cabin both Pearce and Smith
had almost caught up with her. Jim Cleve sat where she had last seen
him. Also Kells was outside. The way he strode to and fro showed Joan
his anxiety. There was more to this incident than she could fathom.
She took the padding from her ears, to her intense relief, and, soon
reaching the cabin, she tore off the veil and confronted Kells.

"Wasn't that a—a fine thing for you to do?" she demanded, furiously.
And with the outburst she felt her face blazing. "If I'd any idea what
you meant—you couldn't—have driven me!... I trusted you. And you sent
me down there on some—shameful errand of yours. You're no gentleman!"

Joan realized that her speech, especially the latter part, was absurd.
But it had a remarkable effect upon Kells. His face actually turned red.
He stammered something and halted, seemingly at a loss for words. How
singularly the slightest hint of any act or word of hers that approached
a possible respect or tolerance worked upon this bandit! He started
toward Joan appealingly, but she passed him in contempt and went to
her room. She heard him cursing Pearce in a rage, evidently blaming his
lieutenant for whatever had angered her.

"But you wanted her insulted!" protested Pearce, hotly.

"You mullet-head!" roared Kells. "I wanted some man—any man—to get
just near enough to her so I could swear she'd been insulted. You let
her go through that camp to meet real insult!... Why—! Pearce, I've a
mind to shoot you!"

"Shoot!" retorted Pearce. "I obeyed orders as I saw them.... An' I want
to say right here thet when it comes to anythin' concernin' this girl
you're plumb off your nut. That's what. An' you can like it or lump it!
I said before you'd split over this girl. An' I say it now!"

Through the door Joan had a glimpse of Cleve stepping between the angry
men. This seemed unnecessary, however, for Pearce's stinging assertion
had brought Kells to himself. There were a few more words, too low for
Joan's ears, and then, accompanied by Smith, the three started off,
evidently for the camp. Joan left her room and watched them from the
cabin door. Bate Wood sat outside smoking.

"I'm declarin' my hand," he said to Joan, feelingly. "I'd never hev
stood for thet scurvy trick. Now, miss, this's the toughest camp I ever
seen. I mean tough as to wimmen! For it ain't begun to fan guns an'
steal gold yet."

"Why did Kells want me insulted?" asked Joan.

"Wal, he's got to hev a reason for raisin' an orful fuss," replied Wood.

"Fuss?"

"Shore," replied Wood, dryly.

"What for?"

"Jest so he can walk out on the stage," rejoined Wood, evasively.

"It's mighty strange," said Joan.

"I reckon all about Mr. Kells is some strange these days. Red Pearce had
it correct. Kells is a-goin' to split on you!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Wal, he'll go one way an' the gang another."

"Why?" asked Joan, earnestly.

"Miss, there's some lot of reasons," said Wood, deliberately. "Fust, he
did for Halloway an' Bailey, not because they wanted to treat you as he
meant to, but just because he wanted to be alone. We're all wise thet
you shot him—an' thet you wasn't his wife. An' since then we've seen
him gradually lose his nerve. He organized his Legion an' makes his plan
to run this Alder Creek red. He still hangs on to you. He'd kill any
man thet batted an eye at you.... An' through all this, because he's
not Jack Kells of old, he's lost his pull with the gang. Sooner or later
he'll split."

"Have I any real friends among you?" asked Joan.

"Wal, I reckon."

"Are you my friend, Bate Wood?" she went on in sweet wistfulness.

The grizzled old bandit removed his pipe and looked at her with a glint
in his bloodshot eyes,

"I shore am. I'll sneak you off now if you'll go. I'll stick a knife in
Kells if you say so."

"Oh, no, I'm afraid to run off—and you needn't harm Kells. After all,
he's good to me."

"Good to you!... When he keeps you captive like an Indian would? When
he's given me orders to watch you—keep you locked up?"

Wood's snort of disgust and wrath was thoroughly genuine. Still Joan
knew that she dared not trust him, any more than Pearce or the others.
Their raw emotions would undergo a change if Kells's possession of her
were transferred to them. It occurred to Joan, however, that she might
use Wood's friendliness to some advantage.

"So I'm to be locked up?" she asked.

"You're supposed to be."

"Without any one to talk to?"

"Wal, you'll hev me, when you want. I reckon thet ain't much to look
forward to. But I can tell you a heap of stories. An' when Kells ain't
around, if you're careful not to get me ketched, you can do as you
want."

"Thank you, Bate. I'm going to like you," replied Joan, sincerely, and
then she went back to her room. There was sewing to do, and while she
worked she thought, so that the hours sped. When the light got so poor
that she could sew no longer she put the work aside and stood at her
little window, watching the sunset. From the front of the cabin came the
sound of subdued voices. Probably Kells and his men had returned, and
she was sure of this when she heard the ring of Bate Wood's ax.

All at once an object darker than the stones arrested Joan's gaze. There
was a man sitting on the far side of the little ravine. Instantly she
recognized Jim Cleve. He was looking at the little window—at her. Joan
believed he was there for just that purpose. Making sure that no one
else was near to see, she put out her hand and waved it. Jim gave a
guarded perceptible sign that he had observed her action, and almost
directly got up and left. Joan needed no more than that to tell her how
Jim's idea of communicating with her corresponded with her own. That
night she would talk with him and she was thrilled through. The secrecy,
the peril, somehow lent this prospect a sweetness, a zest, a delicious
fear. Indeed, she was not only responding to love, but to daring, to
defiance, to a wilder nameless element born of her environment and the
needs of the hour.

Presently, Bate Wood called her in to supper. Pearce, Smith, and Cleve
were finding seats at the table, but Kells looked rather sick. Joan
observed him then more closely. His face was pale and damp, strangely
shaded as if there were something dark under the pale skin. Joan had
never seen him appear like this, and she shrank as from another and
forbidding side of the man. Pearce and Smith acted naturally, ate with
relish, and talked about the gold-diggings. Cleve, however, was not
as usual; and Joan could not quite make out what constituted the
dissimilarity. She hurried through her own supper and back to her room.

Already it was dark outside. Joan lay down to listen and wait. It seemed
long, but probably was not long before she heard the men go outside, and
the low thump of their footsteps as they went away. Then came the rattle
and bang of Bate Wood's attack on the pans and pots. Bate liked to cook,
but he hated to clean up afterward. By and by he settled down outside
for his evening smoke and there was absolute quiet. Then Joan rose to
stand at the window. She could see the dark mass of rock overhanging the
cabin, the bluff beyond, and the stars. For the rest all was gloom.

She did not have to wait long. A soft step, almost indistinguishable,
made her pulse beat quicker. She put her face out of the window, and on
the instant a dark form seemed to loom up to meet her out of the shadow.
She could not recognize that shape, yet she knew it belonged to Cleve.

"Joan," he whispered.

"Jim," she replied, just as low and gladly.

He moved closer, so that the hand she had gropingly put out touched him,
then seemed naturally to slip along his shoulder, round his neck. And
his face grew clearer in the shadow. His lips met hers, and Joan closed
her eyes to that kiss. What hope, what strength for him and for her now
in that meeting of lips!

"Oh, Jim! I'm so glad—to have you near—to touch you," she whispered.

"Do you love me still?" he whispered back, tensely.

"Still? More—more!"

"Say it, then."

"Jim, I love you!"

And their lips met again and clung, and it was he who drew back first.

"Dearest, why didn't you let me make a break to get away with
you—before we came to this camp?"

"Oh, Jim, I told you. I was afraid. We'd have been caught. And Gulden—"

"We'll never have half the chance here. Kells means to keep you closely
guarded. I heard the order. He's different now. He's grown crafty and
hard. And the miners of this Alder Creek! Why, I'm more afraid to trust
them than men like Wood or Pearce. They've gone clean crazy. Gold-mad!
If you shouted for your life they wouldn't hear you. And if you could
make them hear they wouldn't believe. This camp has sprung up in a
night. It's not like any place I ever heard of. It's not human. It's so
strange—so—Oh, I don't know what to say. I think I mean that men in a
great gold strike become like coyotes at a carcass. You've seen that. No
relation at all!"

"I'm frightened, too, Jim. I wish I'd had the courage to run when we
were back in Cabin Gulch, But don't ever give up, not for a second! We
can get away. We must plan and wait. Find out where we are—how far from
Hoadley—what we must expect—whether it's safe to approach any one in
this camp."

"Safe! I guess not, after to-day," he whispered, grimly.

"Why? What's happened?" she asked quickly.

"Joan, have you guessed yet why Kells sent you down into camp alone?"

"No."

"Listen.... I went with Kells and Smith and Pearce. They hurried
straight to the Last Nugget. There was a crowd of men in front of the
place. Pearce walked straight up to one—a gambler by his clothes.
And he said in a loud voice. 'Here's the man!'... The gambler looked
startled, turned pale, and went for his gun. But Kells shot him!... He
fell dead, without a word. There was a big shout, then silence. Kells
stood there with his smoking gun. I never saw the man so cool—so
masterful. Then he addressed the crowd: 'This gambler insulted my
daughter! My men here saw him. My name's Blight. I came here to buy up
gold claims. And I want to say this: Your Alder Creek has got the gold.
But it needs some of your best citizens to run it right, so a girl can
be safe on the street.'"

"Joan, I tell you it was a magnificent bluff," went on Jim, excitedly.
"And it worked. Kells walked away amid cheers. He meant to give an
impression of character and importance. He succeeded. So far as I could
tell, there wasn't a man present who did not show admiration for him. I
saw that dead gambler kicked."