Zane Grey (9 page)

Kells had been rapidly gaining strength since the extraction of
the bullet, and it was evident that his interest was growing
proportionately. He asked questions and received most of his replies
from Red Pearce. Joan did not listen attentively at first, but presently
she regretted that she had not. She gathered that Kells's fame as
the master bandit of the whole gold region of Idaho, Nevada, and
northeastern California was a fame that he loved as much as the gold he
stole. Joan sensed, through the replies of these men and their attitude
toward Kells, that his power was supreme. He ruled the robbers and
ruffians in his bands, and evidently they were scattered from Bannack
to Lewiston and all along the border. He had power, likewise, over the
border hawks not directly under his leadership. During the weeks of his
enforced stay in the canon there had been a cessation of operations—the
nature of which Joan merely guessed—and a gradual accumulation of
idle wailing men in the main camp. Also she gathered, but vaguely, that
though Kells had supreme power, the organization he desired was yet
far from being consummated. He showed thoughtfulness and irritation by
turns, and it was the subject of gold that drew his intensest interest.

"Reckon you figgered right, Jack," said Red Pearce, and paused as
if before a long talk, while he refilled his pipe. "Sooner or later
there'll be the biggest gold strike ever made in the West. Wagon-trains
are met every day comin' across from Salt Lake. Prospectors are workin'
in hordes down from Bannack. All the gulches an' valleys in the Bear
Mountains have their camps. Surface gold everywhere an' easy to get
where there's water. But there's diggin's all over. No big strike yet.
It's bound to come sooner or later. An' then when the news hits the
main-traveled roads an' reaches back into the mountains there's goin' to
be a rush that'll make '49 an' '51 look sick. What do you say, Bate?"

"Shore will," replied a grizzled individual whom Kells had called Bate
Wood. He was not so young as his companions, more sober, less wild,
and slower of speech. "I saw both '49 and '51. Them was days! But I'm
agreein' with Red. There shore will be hell on this Idaho border sooner
or later. I've been a prospector, though I never hankered after the hard
work of diggin' gold. Gold is hard to dig, easy to lose, an' easy to get
from some other feller. I see the signs of a comin' strike somewhere in
this region. Mebbe it's on now. There's thousands of prospectors in twos
an' threes an' groups, out in the hills all over. They ain't a-goin' to
tell when they do make a strike. But the gold must be brought out. An'
gold is heavy. It ain't easy hid. Thet's how strikes are discovered. I
shore reckon thet this year will beat '49 an' '51. An' fer two reasons.
There's a steady stream of broken an' disappointed gold-seekers
back-trailin' from California. There's a bigger stream of hopeful an'
crazy fortune hunters travelin' in from the East. Then there's the
wimmen an' gamblers an' such thet hang on. An' last the men thet the
war is drivin' out here. Whenever an' wherever these streams meet, if
there's a big gold strike, there'll be the hellishest time the world
ever saw!"

"Boys," said Kells, with a ring in his weak voice, "it'll be a harvest
for my Border Legion."

"Fer what?" queried Bate Wood, curiously.

All the others except Gulden turned inquiring and interested faces
toward the bandit.

"The Border Legion," replied Kells.

"An' what's that?" asked Red Pearce, bluntly.

"Well, if the time's ripe for the great gold fever you say is coming,
then it's ripe for the greatest band ever organized. I'll organize. I'll
call it the Border Legion."

"Count me in as right-hand, pard," replied Red, with enthusiasm.

"An' shore me, boss," added Bate Wood.

The idea was received vociferously, at which demonstration the giant
Gulden raised his massive head and asked, or rather growled, in a heavy
voice what the fuss was about. His query, his roused presence, seemed to
act upon the others, even Kells, with a strange, disquieting or halting
force, as if here was a character or an obstacle to be considered. After
a moment of silence Red Pearce explained the project.

"Huh! Nothing new in that," replied Gulden. "I belonged to one once. It
was in Algiers. They called it the Royal Legion."

"Algiers. What's thet?" asked Bate Wood.

"Africa," replied Gulden.

"Say, Gul, you've been around some," said Red Pearce, admiringly. "What
was the Royal Legion?"

"Nothing but a lot of devils from all over. The border there was the
last place. Every criminal was safe from pursuit."

"What'd you do?"

"Fought among ourselves. Wasn't many in the Legion when I left."

"Shore thet ain't strange!" exclaimed Wood, significantly. But his
inference was lost upon Gulden.

"I won't allow fighting in my Legion," said Kells, coolly. "I'll pick
this band myself."

"Thet's the secret," rejoined Wood. "The right fellers. I've been in all
kinds of bands. Why, I even was a vigilante in '51."

This elicited a laugh from his fellows, except the wooden-faced Gulden.

"How many do we want?" asked Red Pearce.

"The number doesn't matter. But they must be men I can trust and
control. Then as lieutenants I'll need a few young fellows, like you,
Red. Nervy, daring, cool, quick of wits."

Red Pearce enjoyed the praise bestowed upon him and gave his shoulders
a swagger. "Speakin' of that, boss," he said, "reminds me of a chap who
rode into Cabin Gulch a few weeks ago. Braced right into Beard's place,
where we was all playin' faro, an' he asks for Jack Kells. Right off
we all thought he was a guy who had a grievance, an' some of us was for
pluggin' him. But I kinda liked him an' I cooled the gang down. Glad
I did that. He wasn't wantin' to throw a gun. His intentions were
friendly. Of course I didn't show curious about who or what he was.
Reckoned he was a young feller who'd gone bad sudden-like an' was
huntin' friends. An' I'm here to say, boss, that he was wild."

"What's his name?" asked Kells.

"Jim Cleve, he said," replied Pearce.

Joan Randle, hidden back in the shadows, forgotten or ignored by this
bandit group, heard the name Jim Cleve with pain and fear, but not
amaze. From the moment Pearce began his speech she had been prepared
for the revelation of her runaway lover's name. She trembled, and grew
a little sick. Jim had made no idle threat. What would she have given to
live over again the moment that had alienated him?

"Jim Cleve," mused Kells. "Never heard of him. And I never forget a name
or a face. What's he like?"

"Clean, rangy chap, big, but not too big," replied Pearce. "All muscle.
Not more'n twenty three. Hard rider, hard fighter, hard gambler an'
drinker—reckless as hell. If only you can steady him, boss! Ask Bate
what he thinks."

"Well!" exclaimed Kells in surprise. "Strangers are everyday occurrences
on this border. But I never knew one to impress you fellows as this
Cleve.... Bate, what do you say? What's this Cleve done? You're an old
head. Talk, sense, now."

"Done?" echoed Wood, scratching his grizzled head. "What in the hell
ain't he done?... He rode in brazener than any feller thet ever stacked
up against this outfit. An' straight-off he wins the outfit. I don't
know how he done it. Mebbe it was because you seen he didn't care fer
anythin' or anybody on earth. He stirred us up. He won all the money we
had in camp—broke most of us—an' give it all back. He drank more'n the
whole outfit, yet didn't get drunk. He threw his gun on Beady Jones
fer cheatin' an' then on Beady's pard, Chick Williams. Didn't shoot to
kill—jest winged 'em. But say, he's the quickest and smoothest hand to
throw a gun thet ever hit this border. Don't overlook thet.... Kells,
this Jim Cleve's a great youngster goin' bad quick. An' I'm here to add
that he'll take some company along."

"Bate, you forgot to tell how he handled Luce," said Red Pearee. "You
was there. I wasn't. Tell Kells that."

"Luce. I know the man. Go ahead, Bate," responded Kells.

"Mebbe it ain't any recommendation fer said Jim Cleve," replied Wood.
"Though it did sorta warm me to him.... Boss, of course, you recollect
thet little Brander girl over at Bear Lake village. She's old Brander's
girl—worked in his store there. I've seen you talk sweet to her myself.
Wal, it seems the old man an' some of his boys took to prospectin' an'
fetched the girl along. Thet's how I understood it. Luce came bracin' in
over at Cabin Gulch one day. As usual, we was drinkin' an' playin'. But
young Cleve wasn't doin' neither. He had a strange, moody spell thet
day, as I recollect. Luce sprung a job on us. We never worked with him
or his outfit, but mebbe—you can't tell what'd come off if it hadn't
been for Cleve. Luce had a job put up to ride down where ole Brander was
washin' fer gold, take what he had—AN' the girl. Fact was the gold was
only incidental. When somebody cornered Luce he couldn't swear there was
gold worth goin' after. An' about then Jim Cleve woke up. He cussed Luce
somethin' fearful. An' when Luce went for his gun, natural-like, why
this Jim Cleve took it away from him. An' then he jumped Luce. He
knocked an' threw him around an' he near beat him to death before we
could interfere. Luce was shore near dead. All battered up—broken
bones—an' what-all I can't say. We put him to bed an' he's there yet,
an' he'll never be the same man he was."

A significant silence fell upon the group at the conclusion of Wood's
narrative. Wood had liked the telling, and it made his listeners
thoughtful. All at once the pale face of Kells turned slightly toward
Gulden.

"Gulden, did you hear that?" asked Kells.

"Yes," replied the man.

"What do you think about this Jim Cleve—and the job he prevented?"

"Never saw Cleve. I'll look him up when we get back to camp. Then I'll
go after the Brander girl."

How strangely his brutal assurance marked a line between him and his
companions! There was something wrong, something perverse in this
Gulden. Had Kells meant to bring that point out or to get an impression
of Cleve?

Joan could not decide. She divined that there was antagonism between
Gulden and all the others. And there was something else, vague and
intangible, that might have been fear. Apparently Gulden was a
criminal for the sake of crime. Joan regarded him with a growing
terror—augmented the more because he alone kept eyes upon the corner
where she was hidden—and she felt that compared with him the
others, even Kells, of whose cold villainy she was assured, were but
insignificant men of evil. She covered her head with a blanket to shut
out sight of that shaggy, massive head and the great dark caves of eyes.

Thereupon Joan did not see or hear any more of the bandits. Evidently
the conversation died down, or she, in the absorption of new thoughts,
no longer heard. She relaxed, and suddenly seemed to quiver all over
with the name she whispered to herself. "Jim! Jim! Oh, Jim!" And the
last whisper was an inward sob. What he had done was terrible. It
tortured her. She had not believed it in him. Yet, now she thought, how
like him. All for her—in despair and spite—he had ruined himself. He
would be killed out there in some drunken brawl, or, still worse, he
would become a member of this bandit crew and drift into crime. That was
a great blow to Joan—that the curse she had put upon him. How silly,
false, and vain had been her coquetry, her indifference! She loved Jim
Cleve. She had not known that when she started out to trail him, to
fetch him back, but she knew it now. She ought to have known before.

The situation she had foreseen loomed dark and monstrous and terrible in
prospect. Just to think of it made her body creep and shudder with cold
terror. Yet there was that strange, inward, thrilling burn round her
heart. Somewhere and soon she was coming face to face with this changed
Jim Cleve—this boy who had become a reckless devil. What would he
do? What could she do? Might he not despise her, scorn her, curse her,
taking her at Kells's word, the wife of a bandit? But no! he would
divine the truth in the flash of an eye. And then! She could not think
what might happen, but it must mean blood-death. If he escaped Kells,
how could he ever escape this Gulden—this huge vulture of prey?

Still, with the horror thick upon her, Joan could not wholly give up.
The moment Jim Cleve's name and his ruin burst upon her ears, in the
gossip of these bandits, she had become another girl—a girl wholly
become a woman, and one with a driving passion to save if it cost her
life. She lost her fear of Kells, of the others, of all except Gulden.
He was not human, and instinctively she knew she could do nothing with
him. She might influence the others, but never Gulden.

The torment in her brain eased then, and gradually she quieted down,
with only a pang and a weight in her breast. The past seemed far away.
The present was nothing. Only the future, that contained Jim Cleve,
mattered to her. She would not have left the clutches of Kells, if at
that moment she could have walked forth free and safe. She was going on
to Cabin Gulch. And that thought was the last one in her weary mind as
she dropped to sleep.

In three days—during which time Joan attended Kells as faithfully as if
she were indeed his wife—he thought that he had gained sufficiently to
undertake the journey to the main camp, Cabin Gulch. He was eager to get
back there and imperious in his overruling of any opposition. The men
could take turns at propping him in a saddle. So on the morning of the
fourth day they packed for the ride.

During these few days Joan had verified her suspicion that Kells had
two sides to his character; or it seemed, rather, that her presence
developed a latent or a long-dead side. When she was with him, thereby
distracting his attention, he was entirely different from what he was
when his men surrounded him. Apparently he had no knowledge of this. He
showed surprise and gratitude at Joan's kindness though never pity or
compassion for her. That he had become infatuated with her Joan could no
longer doubt. His strange eyes followed her; there was a dreamy light in
them; he was mostly silent with her.