Zane Grey (35 page)

Jim cautioned Joan to rest, and importuned her and promised to watch
while she slept.

Joan saw the stars through her shut eyelids. All the night seemed to
press down and softly darken.

The sun was shining red when the cavalcade rode up Cabin Gulch. The
grazing cattle stopped to watch and the horses pranced and whistled.
There were flowers and flitting birds, and glistening dew on leaves,
and a shining swift flow of water—the brightness of morning and nature
smiled in Cabin Gulch.

Well indeed Joan remembered the trail she had ridden so often. How that
clump of willow where first she had confronted Jim thrilled her now! The
pines seemed welcoming her. The gulch had a sense of home in it for her,
yet it was fearful. How much had happened there! What might yet happen!

Then a clear, ringing call stirred her pulse. She glanced up the slope.
Tall and straight and dark, there on the bench, with hand aloft, stood
the bandit Kells.

The weary, dusty cavalcade halted on the level bench before the bandit's
cabin. Gulden boomed a salute to Kells. The other men shouted greeting.
In the wild exultation of triumph they still held him as chief.
But Kells was not deceived. He even passed by that heavily laden,
gold-weighted saddle. He had eyes only for Joan.

"Girl, I never was so glad to see any one!" he exclaimed in husky amaze.
"How did it happen? I never—"

Jim Cleve leaned over to interrupt Kells. "It was great, Kells—that
idea of yours putting us in the stagecoach you meant to hold up," said
Cleve, with a swift, meaning glance. "But it nearly was the end of us.
You didn't catch up. The gang didn't know we were inside, and they shot
the old stage full of holes."

"Aha! So that's it," replied Kells, slowly. "But the main point is—you
brought her through. Jim, I can't ever square that."

"Oh, maybe you can," laughed Cleve, as he dismounted.

Suddenly Kells became aware of Joan's exhaustion and distress. "Joan,
you're not hurt?" he asked in swift anxiety.

"No, only played out."

"You look it. Come." He lifted her out of the saddle and, half carrying,
half leading her, took her into the cabin, and through the big room to
her old apartment. How familiar it seemed to Joan! A ground-squirrel
frisked along a chink between the logs, chattering welcome. The place
was exactly as Joan had left it.

Kells held Joan a second, as if he meant to embrace her, but he did not.
"Lord, it's good to see you! I never expected to again.... But you
can tell me all about yourself after you rest.... I was just having
breakfast. I'll fetch you some."

"Were you alone here?" asked Joan.

"Yes. I was with Bate and Handy—"

"Hey, Kells!" roared the gang, from the outer room.

Kells held aside the blanket curtain so that Joan was able to see
through the door. The men were drawn up in a half-circle round the
table, upon which were the bags of gold.

Kells whistled low. "Joan, there'll be trouble now," he said, "but don't
you fear. I'll not forget you."

Despite his undoubted sincerity Joan felt a subtle change in him, and
that, coupled with the significance of his words, brought a return of
the strange dread. Kells went out and dropped the curtain behind him.
Joan listened.

"Share and share alike!" boomed the giant Gulden.

"Say!" called Kells, gaily, "aren't you fellows going to eat first?"

Shouts of derision greeted his sally.

"I'll eat gold-dust," added Budd.

"Have it your own way, men," responded Kells. "Blicky, get the scales
down off of that shelf.... Say, I'll bet anybody I'll have the most dust
by sundown."

More shouts of derision were flung at him.

"Who wants to gamble now?"

"Boss, I'll take thet bet."

"Haw! Haw! You won't look so bright by sundown."

Then followed a moment's silence, presently broken by a clink of metal
on the table.

"Boss, how'd you ever git wind of this big shipment of gold?" asked
Jesse Smith.

"I've had it spotted. But Handy Oliver was the scout."

"We'll shore drink to Handy!" exclaimed one of the bandits.

"An' who was sendin' out this shipment?" queried the curious Smith.
"Them bags are marked all the same."

"It was a one-man shipment," replied Kells. "Sent out by the boss miner
of Alder Creek. They call him Overland something."

That name brought Joan to her feet with a thrilling fire. Her uncle, old
Bill Hoadley, was called "Overland." Was it possible that the bandits
meant him? It could hardly be; that name was a common one in the
mountains.

"Shore, I seen Overland lots of times," said Budd. "An' he got wise to
my watchin' him."

"Somebody tipped it off that the Legion was after his gold," went on
Kells. "I suppose we have Pearce to thank for that. But it worked out
well for us. The hell we raised there at the lynching must have thrown
a scare into Overland. He had nerve enough to try to send his dust to
Bannack on the very next stage. He nearly got away with it, too. For it
was only lucky accident that Handy heard the news."

The name Overland drew Joan like a magnet and she arose to take her old
position, where she could peep in upon the bandits. One glance at Jim
Cleve told her that he, too, had been excited by the name. Then it
occurred to Joan that her uncle could hardly have been at Alder Creek
without Jim knowing it. Still, among thousands of men, all wild and
toiling and self-sufficient, hiding their identities, anything might be
possible. After a few moments, however, Joan leaned to the improbability
of the man being her uncle.

Kells sat down before the table and Blicky stood beside him with the
gold-scales. The other bandits lined up opposite. Jim Cleve stood to one
side, watching, brooding.

"You can't weigh it all on these scales," said Blicky.

"That's sure," replied Kells. "We'll divide the small bags first.... Ten
shares—ten equal parts!... Spill out the bags. Blick. And hurry. Look
how hungry Gulden looks!... Somebody cook your breakfast while we divide
the gold."

"Haw! Haw!"

"Ho! Ho!"

"Who wants to eat?"

The bandits were gay, derisive, scornful, eager, like a group of boys,
half surly, half playful, at a game.

"Wal, I shore want to see my share weighted," drawled Budd.

Kells moved—his gun flashed—he slammed it hard upon the table.

"Budd, do you question my honesty?" he asked, quick and hard.

"No offense, boss. I was just talkin'."

That quick change of Kells's marked a subtle difference in the spirit of
the bandits and the occasion. Gaiety and good humor and badinage ended.
There were no more broad grins or friendly leers or coarse laughs.
Gulden and his groups clustered closer to the table, quiet, intense,
watchful, suspicious.

It did not take Kells and his assistant long to divide the smaller
quantity of the gold.

"Here, Gulden," he said, and handed the giant a bag. Jesse....
Bossert.... Pike.... Beady.... Braverman... "Blicky."

"Here, Jim Cleve, get in the game," he added, throwing a bag at Jim. It
was heavy. It hit Jim with a thud and dropped to the ground. He stooped
to reach it.

"That leaves one for Handy and one for me," went on Kells. "Blicky,
spill out the big bag."

Presently Joan saw a huge mound of dull, gleaming yellow. The color of
it leaped to the glinting eyes of the bandits. And it seemed to her
that a shadow hovered over them. The movements of Kells grew tense and
hurried. Beads of sweat stood out upon his brow. His hands were not
steady.

Soon larger bags were distributed to the bandits. That broke the
waiting, the watchfulness, but not the tense eagerness. The bandits were
now like leashed hounds. Blicky leaned before Kells and hit the table
with his fist.

"Boss, I've a kick comin'," he said.

"Come on with it," replied the leader.

"Ain't Gulden a-goin' to divide up thet big nugget?"

"He is if he's square."

A chorus of affirmatives from the bandits strengthened Kells's
statement. Gulden moved heavily and ponderously, and he pushed some of
his comrades aside to get nearer to Kells.

"Wasn't it my right to do a job by myself—when I wanted?" he demanded.

"No. I agreed to let you fight when you wanted. To kill a man when you
liked!... That was the agreement."

"What'd I kill a man for?"

No one answered that in words, but the answer was there, in dark faces.

"I know what I meant," continued Gulden. "And I'm going to keep this
nugget."

There was a moment's silence. It boded ill to the giant.

"So—he declares himself," said Blicky, hotly. "Boss, what you say
goes."

"Let him keep it," declared Kells, scornfully. "I'll win it from him and
divide it with the gang."

That was received with hoarse acclaims by all except Gulden. He glared
sullenly. Kells stood up and shook a long finger in the giant's face.

"I'll win your nugget," he shouted. "I'll beat you at any game.... I
call your hand.... Now if you've got any nerve!"

"Come on!" boomed the giant, and he threw his gold down upon the table
with a crash.

The bandits closed in around the table with sudden, hard violence, all
crowding for seats.

"I'm a-goin' to set in the game!" yelled Blicky.

"We'll all set in," declared Jesse Smith.

"Come on!" was Gulden's acquiescence.

"But we all can't play at once," protested Kells. "Let's make up two
games."

"Naw!"

"Some of you eat, then, while the others get cleaned out."

"Thet's it—cleaned out!" ejaculated Budd, meanly. "You seem to be sure,
Kells. An' I guess I'll keep shady of thet game."

"That's twice for you, Budd," flashed the bandit leader. "Beware of the
third time!"

"Hyar, fellers, cut the cards fer who sets in an' who sets out," called
Blicky, and he slapped a deck of cards upon the table.

With grim eagerness, as if drawing lots against fate, the bandits bent
over and drew cards. Budd, Braverman, and Beady Jones were the ones
excluded from the game.

"Beady, you fellows unpack those horses and turn them loose. And bring
the stuff inside," said Kells.

Budd showed a surly disregard, but the other two bandits got up
willingly and went out.

Then the game began, with only Cleve standing, looking on. The bandits
were mostly silent; they moved their hands, and occasionally bent
forward. It was every man against his neighbor. Gulden seemed implacably
indifferent and played like a machine. Blicky sat eager and excited,
under a spell. Jesse Smith was a slow, cool, shrewed gambler. Bossert
and Pike, two ruffians almost unknown to Joan, appeared carried away
by their opportunity. And Kells began to wear that strange, rapt, weak
expression that gambling gave him.

Presently Beady Jones and Braverman bustled in, carrying the packs. Then
Budd jumped up and ran to them. He returned to the table, carrying a
demijohn, which he banged upon the table.

"Whisky!" exclaimed Kells. "Take that away. We can't drink and gamble."

"Watch me!" replied Blicky.

"Let them drink, Kells," declared Gulden. "We'll get their dust quicker.
Then we can have our game."

Kells made no more comment. The game went on and the aspect of it
changed. When Kells himself began to drink, seemingly unconscious of the
fact, Joan's dread increased greatly, and, leaving the peep-hole, she
lay back upon the bed. Always a sword had hung over her head. Time after
time by some fortunate circumstance or by courage or wit or by an act of
Providence she had escaped what strangely menaced. Would she escape it
again? For she felt the catastrophe coming. Did Jim recognize that fact?
Remembering the look on his face, she was assured that he did. Then he
would be quick to seize upon any possible chance to get her away; and
always he would be between her and those bandits. At most, then, she had
only death to fear—death that he would mercifully deal to her if the
worst came. And as she lay there listening to the slow-rising murmur of
the gamblers, with her thought growing clearer, she realized it was love
of Jim and fear for him—fear that he would lose her—that caused her
cold dread and the laboring breath and the weighted heart. She had cost
Jim this terrible experience and she wanted to make up to him for it, to
give him herself and all her life.

Joan lay there a long time, thinking and suffering, while the strange,
morbid desire to watch Kells and Gulden grew stronger and stronger,
until it was irresistible. Her fate, her life, lay in the balance
between these two men. She divined that.

She returned to her vantage-point, and as she glanced through she
vibrated to a shock. The change that had begun subtly, intangibly, was
now a terrible and glaring difference. That great quantity of gold, the
equal chance of every gambler, the marvelous possibilities presented to
evil minds, and the hell that hid in that black bottle—these had made
playthings of every bandit except Gulden. He was exactly the same as
ever. But to see the others sent a chill of ice along Joan's veins.
Kells was white and rapt. Plain to see—he had won! Blicky was wild with
rage. Jesse Smith sat darker, grimmer, but no longer cool. There was
hate in the glance he fastened upon Kells as he bet. Beady Jones and
Braverman showed an inflamed and impotent eagerness to take their turn.
Budd sat in the game now, and his face wore a terrible look. Joan could
not tell what passion drove him, but she knew he was a loser. Pike and
Bossert likewise were losers, and stood apart, sullen, watching with
sick, jealous rage. Jim Cleve had reacted to the strain, and he was
white, with nervous, clutching hands and piercing glances. And the game
went on with violent slap of card or pound of fist upon the table, with
the slide of a bag of gold or the little, sodden thump of its weight,
with savage curses at loss and strange, raw exultation at gain, with
hurry and violence—more than all, with the wildness of the hour and
the wildness of these men, drawing closer and closer to the dread climax
that from the beginning had been foreshadowed.