drove Wood out of the cabin, cursing him sullenly. Then he put in place
the several bars that served as a door of his cabin. After that he
walked unsteadily around, and all about his action and manner that was
not aimless seemed to be dark and intermittent staring toward Joan's
cabin. She felt sickened again with this new aspect of her situation,
but she was not in the least afraid of Kells. She watched him till he
approached her door and then she drew back a little. He paused before
the blanket as if he had been impelled to halt from fear. He seemed to
be groping in thought. Then he cautiously and gradually, by degrees,
drew aside the blanket. He could not see Joan in the darkness, but she
saw him plainly. He fumbled at the poles, and, finding that he could not
budge them, he ceased trying. There was nothing forceful or strong about
him, such as was manifest when he was sober. He stood there a moment,
breathing heavily, in a kind of forlorn, undecided way, and then he
turned back. Joan heard him snap the lanterns. The lights went out and
all grew dark and silent.
Next morning at breakfast he was himself again, and if he had any
knowledge whatever of his actions while he was drunk, he effectually
concealed it from Joan.
Later, when Joan went outside to take her usual morning exercise, she
was interested to see a rider tearing up the slope on a foam-flecked
horse. Men shouted at him from the cabins and then followed without
hats or coats. Bate Wood dropped Joan's saddle and called to Kells. The
bandit came hurriedly out.
“Blicky!” he exclaimed, and then he swore under his breath in elation.
“Shore is Blicky!” said Wood, and his unusually mild eyes snapped with a
glint unpleasant for Joan to see.
The arrival of this Blicky appeared to be occasion for excitement and
Joan recalled the name as belonging to one of Kells's trusted men. He
swung his leg and leaped from his saddle as the horse plunged to a halt.
Blicky was a lean, bronzed young man, scarcely out of his teens, but
there were years of hard life in his face. He slapped the dust in little
puffs from his gloves. At sight of Kells he threw the gloves aloft and
took no note of them when they fell. “STRIKE!” he called, piercingly.
“No!” ejaculated Kells, intensely.
Bate Wood let out a whoop which was answered by the men hurrying up the
slope.
“Been on--for weeks!” panted Blicky. “It's big. Can't tell how big. Me
an' Jesse Smith an' Handy Oliver hit a new road--over here fifty miles
as a crow flies--a hundred by trail. We was plumb surprised. An' when
we met pack-trains an' riders an' prairie-schooners an' a stage-coach we
knew there was doin's over in the Bear Mountain range. When we came
to the edge of the diggin's an' seen a whalin' big camp--like a
beehive--Jesse an' Handy went on to get the lay of the land an' I
hit the trail back to you. I've been a-comin' on an' off since before
sundown yesterday.... Jesse gave one look an' then hollered. He said,
'Tell Jack it's big an' he wants to plan big. We'll be back there in a
day or so with all details.'”
Joan watched Kells intently while he listened to this breathless
narrative of a gold strike, and she was repelled by the singular flash
of brightness--a radiance--that seemed to be in his eyes and on his
face. He did not say a word, but his men shouted hoarsely around Blicky.
He walked a few paces to and fro with hands strongly clenched, his lips
slightly parted, showing teeth close-shut like those of a mastiff.
He looked eager, passionate, cunning, hard as steel, and that strange
brightness of elation slowly shaded to a dark, brooding menace. Suddenly
he wheeled to silence the noisy men.
“Where're Pearce and Gulden? Do they know?” he demanded.
“Reckon no one knows but who's right here,” replied Blicky.
“Red an' Gul are sleepin' off last night's luck,” said Bate Wood.
“Have any of you seen young Cleve?” Kells went on. His voice rang quick
and sharp.
No one spoke, and presently Kells cracked his fist into his open hand.
“Come on. Get the gang together at Beard's.... Boys, the time we've been
gambling on has come. Jesse Smith saw '49 and '51. He wouldn't send me
word like this--unless there was hell to pay.... Come on!”
He strode off down the slope with the men close around him, and they
met other men on the way, all of whom crowded into the group, jostling,
eager, gesticulating.
Joan was left alone. She felt considerably perturbed, especially at
Kells's sharp inquiry for Jim Cleve. Kells might persuade him to join
that bandit legion. These men made Joan think of wolves, with Kells the
keen and savage leader. No one had given a thought to Blicky's horse
and that neglect in border men was a sign of unusual preoccupation. The
horse was in bad shape. Joan took off his saddle and bridle, and rubbed
the dust-caked lather from his flanks, and led him into the corral. Then
she fetched a bucket of water and let him drink sparingly, a little at a
time.
Joan did not take her ride that morning. Anxious and curious, she waited
for the return of Kells. But he did not come. All afternoon Joan waited
and watched, and saw no sign of him or any of the other men. She knew
Kells was forging with red-hot iron and blood that organization which
she undesignedly had given a name--the Border Legion. It would be a
terrible legion, of that she was assured. Kells was the evil genius to
create an unparalleled scheme of crime; this wild and remote border,
with its inaccessible fastness for hiding-places, was the place;
all that was wanting was the time, which evidently had arrived. She
remembered how her uncle had always claimed that the Bear Mountain range
would see a gold strike which would disrupt the whole West and amaze the
world. And Blicky had said a big strike had been on for weeks. Kells's
prophecy of the wild life Joan would see had not been without warrant.
She had already seen enough to whiten her hair, she thought, yet she
divined her experience would shrink in comparison with what was to come.
Always she lived in the future. She spent sleeping and waking hours
in dreams, thoughts, actions, broodings, over all of which hung an
ever-present shadow of suspense. When would she meet Jim Cleve again?
When would he recognize her? What would he do? What could she do? Would
Kells be a devil or a man at the end? Was there any justification of her
haunting fear of Gulden--of her suspicion that she alone was the
cause of his attitude toward Kells--of her horror at the unshakable
presentiment and fancy that he was a gorilla and meant to make off with
her? These, and a thousand other fears, some groundless, but many real
and present, besieged Joan and left her little peace. What would happen
next?
Toward sunset she grew tired of waiting, and hungry, besides, so she
went into the cabin and prepared her own meal. About dark Kells strode
in, and it took but a glance for Joan to see that matters had not gone
to his liking. The man seemed to be burning inwardly. Sight of Joan
absolutely surprised him. Evidently in the fever of this momentous hour
he had forgotten his prisoner. Then, whatever his obsession, he looked
like a man whose eyes were gladdened at sight of her and who was sorry
to behold her there. He apologized that her supper had not been
provided for her and explained that he had forgotten. The men had been
crazy--hard to manage--the issue was not yet settled. He spoke gently.
Suddenly he had that thoughtful mien which Joan had become used to
associating with weakness in him.
“I wish I hadn't dragged you here,” he said, taking her hands. “It's too
late. I CAN'T lose you.... But the--OTHER WAY--isn't too late!”
“What way? What do you mean?” asked Joan.
“Girl, will you ride off with me to-night?” he whispered, hoarsely. “I
swear I'll marry you--and become an honest man. To-morrow will be too
late!... Will you?”
Joan shook her head. She was sorry for him. When he talked like this he
was not Kells, the bandit. She could not resist a strange agitation
at the intensity of his emotion. One moment he had entered--a bandit
leader, planning blood, murder; the next, as his gaze found her, he
seemed weakened, broken in the shaking grip of a hopeless love for her.
“Speak, Joan!” he said, with his hands tightening and his brow clouding.
“No, Kells,” she replied.
“Why? Because I'm a red-handed bandit?”
“No. Because I--I don't love you.”
“But wouldn't you rather be my wife--and have me honest--than become
a slave here, eventually abandoned to--to Gulden and his cave and his
rope?” Kells's voice rose as that other side of him gained dominance.
“Yes, I would.... But I KNOW you'll never harm me--or abandon me to--to
that Gulden.”
“HOW do you know?” he cried, with the blood thick at his temples.
“Because you're no beast any more.... And you--you do love me.”
Kells thrust her from him so fiercely that she nearly fell.
“I'll get over it.... Then--look out!” he said, with dark bitterness.
With that he waved her back, apparently ordering her to her cabin, and
turned to the door, through which the deep voices of men sounded nearer
and nearer.
Joan stumbled in the darkness up the rude steps to her room, and, softly
placing the poles in readiness to close her door, she composed herself
to watch and wait. The keen edge of her nerves, almost amounting to
pain, told her that this night of such moment for Kells would be one of
singular strain and significance for her. But why she could not fathom.
She felt herself caught by the changing tide of events--a tide that must
sweep her on to flood. Kells had gone outside. The strong, deep voices'
grew less distinct. Evidently the men were walking away. In her suspense
Joan was disappointed. Presently, however, they returned; they had been
walking to and fro. After a few moments Kells entered alone. The cabin
was now so dark that Joan could barely distinguish the bandit. Then he
lighted the lanterns. He hung up several on the wall and placed two upon
the table. From somewhere among his effects he produced a small book and
a pencil; these, with a heavy, gold-mounted gun, he laid on the table
before the seat he manifestly meant to occupy. That done, he began a
slow pacing up and down the room, his hands behind his back, his head
bent in deep and absorbing thought. What a dark, sinister, plotting
figure! Joan had seen many men in different attitudes of thought, but
here was a man whose mind seemed to give forth intangible yet terrible
manifestations of evil. The inside of that gloomy cabin took on another
aspect; there was a meaning in the saddles and bridles and weapons on
the wall; that book and pencil and gun seemed to contain the dark deeds
of wild men; and all about the bandit hovered a power sinister in its
menace to the unknown and distant toilers for gold.
Kells lifted his head, as if listening, and then the whole manner of the
man changed. The burden that weighed upon him was thrown aside. Like a
general about to inspect a line of soldiers Kells faced the door, keen,
stern, commanding. The heavy tread of booted men, the clink of spurs,
the low, muffled sound of voices, warned Joan that the gang had arrived.
Would Jim Cleve be among them?
Joan wanted a better position in which to watch and listen. She thought
a moment, and then carefully felt her way around to the other side of
the steps, and here, sitting down with her feet hanging over the drop,
she leaned against the wall and through a chink between the logs had
a perfect view of the large cabin. The men were filing in silent and
intense. Joan counted twenty-seven in all. They appeared to fall into
two groups, and it was significant that the larger group lined up on the
side nearest Kells, and the smaller back of Gulden. He had removed the
bandage, and with a raw, red blotch where his right ear had been shot
away, he was hideous. There was some kind of power emanating from him,
but it was not that which, was so keenly vital and impelling in Kells.
It was brute ferocity, dominating by sheer physical force. In any but
muscular clash between Kells and Gulden the latter must lose. The men
back of Gulden were a bearded, check-shirted, heavily armed group, the
worst of that bad lot. All the younger, cleaner-cut men like Red Pearce
and Frenchy and Beady Jones and Williams and the scout Blicky, were
on the other side. There were two factions here, yet scarcely an
antagonism, except possibly in the case of Kells. Joan felt that
the atmosphere was supercharged with suspense and fatality and
possibility--and anything might happen. To her great joy, Jim Cleve was
not present.
“Where're Beard and Wood?” queried Kells.
“Workin' over Beard's sick hoss,” replied Pearce. “They'll show up by
an' by. Anythin' you say goes with them, you know.”
“Did you find young Cleve?”
“No. He camps up in the timber somewheres. Reckon he'll be along, too.”
Kells sat down at the head of the table, and, taking up the little book,
he began to finger it while his pale eyes studied the men before him.
“We shuffled the deck pretty well over at Beard's,” he said. “Now for
the deal.... Who wants cards?... I've organized my Border Legion. I'll
have absolute control, whether there're ten men or a hundred. Now, whose
names go down in my book?”
Red Pearce stepped up and labored over the writing of his name. Blicky,
Jones, Williams, and others followed suit. They did not speak, but
each shook hands with the leader. Evidently Kells exacted no oath, but
accepted each man's free action and his word of honor. There was that
about the bandit which made such action as binding as ties of blood. He
did not want men in his Legion who had not loyalty to him. He seemed the
kind of leader to whom men would be true.
“Kells, say them conditions over again,” requested one of the men, less
eager to hurry with the matter.
At this juncture Joan was at once thrilled and frightened to see Jim
Cleve enter the cabin. He appeared whiter of face, almost ghastly, and
his piercing eyes swept the room, from Kells to Gulden, from men to men.
Then he leaned against the wall, indistinct in the shadow. Kells gave no
sign that he had noted the advent of Cleve.
“I'm the leader,” replied Kells, deliberately. “I'll make the plans.
I'll issue orders. No jobs without my knowledge. Equal shares in
gold--man to man.... Your word to stand by me!”
A muttering of approval ran through the listening group.
“Reckon I'll join,” said the man who had wished the conditions repeated.
With that he advanced to the table and, apparently not being able to
write, he made his mark in the book. Kells wrote the name below.
The other men of this contingent one by one complied with Kells's
requirements. This action left Gulden and his group to be dealt with.
“Gulden, are you still on the fence?” demanded Kells, coolly.
The giant strode stolidly forward to the table. As always before to
Joan, he seemed to be a ponderous hulk, slow, heavy, plodding, with a
mind to match.
“Kells, if we can agree I'll join,” he said in his sonorous voice.
“You can bet you won't join unless we do agree,” snapped Kells.
“But--see here, Gulden. Let's be friendly. The border is big enough for
both of us. I want you. I need you. Still, if we can't agree, let's not
split and be enemies. How about it?”
Another muttering among the men attested to the good sense and good will
of Kells's suggestion.
“Tell me what you're going to do--how you'll operate,” replied Gulden.
Keils had difficulty in restraining his impatience and annoyance.
“What's that to you or any of you?” he queried. “You all know I'm the
man to think of things. That's been proved. First it takes brains. I'll
furnish them. Then it takes execution. You and Pearce and the gang will
furnish that. What more do you need to know?”
“How're you going to operate?” persisted Gulden.
Kells threw up both hands as if it was useless to argue or reason with
this desperado.
“All right, I'll tell you,” he replied. “Listen.... I can't say what
definite plans I'll make till Jesse Smith reports, and then when I get
on the diggings. But here's a working basis. Now don't miss a word of
this, Gulden--nor any of you men. We'll pack our outfits down to this
gold strike. We'll build cabins on the outskirts of the town, and we
won't hang together. The gang will be spread out. Most of you must make
a bluff at digging gold. Be like other miners. Get in with cliques and
clans. Dig, drink, gamble like the rest of them. Beard will start a
gambling-place. Red Pearce will find some other kind of work. I'll buy
up claims--employ miners to work them. I'll disguise myself and get
in with the influential men and have a voice in matters. You'll all be
scouts. You'll come to my cabin at night to report. We'll not tackle
any little jobs. Miners going out with fifty or a hundred pounds of
gold--the wagons--the stage-coach--these we'll have timed to rights, and
whoever I detail on the job will hold them up. You must all keep sober,
if that's possible. You must all absolutely trust to my judgment. You
must all go masked while on a job. You must never speak a word that
might direct suspicion to you. In this way we may work all summer
without detection. The Border Legion will become mysterious and famous.
It will appear to be a large number of men, operating all over. The
more secretive we are the more powerful the effect on the diggings. In
gold-camps, when there's a strike, all men are mad. They suspect each
other. They can't organize. We shall have them helpless.... And in
short, if it's as rich a strike as looks due here in these hills, before
winter we can pack out all the gold our horses can carry.”
Kells had begun under restraint, but the sound of his voice, the
liberation of his great idea, roused him to a passion. The man radiated
with passion. This, then, was his dream--the empire he aspired to.
He had a powerful effect upon his listeners, except Gulden; and it was
evident to Joan that the keen bandit was conscious of his influence.
Gulden, however, showed nothing that he had not already showed. He
was always a strange, dominating figure. He contested the relations of
things. Kells watched him--the men watched him--and Jim Cleve's piercing
eyes glittered in the shadow, fixed upon that massive face. Manifestly
Gulden meant to speak, but in his slowness there was no laboring, no
pause from emotion. He had an idea and it moved like he moved.
“DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES!” The words boomed deep from his cavernous
chest, a mutter that was a rumble, with something almost solemn in its
note and certainly menacing, breathing murder. As Kells had propounded
his ideas, revealing his power to devise a remarkable scheme and
his passion for gold, so Gulden struck out with the driving inhuman
blood-lust that must have been the twist, the knot, the clot in his
brain. Kells craved notoriety and gold; Gulden craved to kill. In the
silence that followed his speech these wild border ruffians judged him,
measured him, understood him, and though some of them grew farther
aloof from him, more of them sensed the safety that hid in his terrible
implication.
But Kells rose against him.
“Gulden, you mean when we steal gold--to leave only dead men behind?” he
queried, with a hiss in his voice.
The giant nodded grimly.
“But only fools kill--unless in self-defense,” declared Kells,
passionately.
“We'd last longer,” replied Gulden, imperturbably.
“No--no. We'd never last so long. Killings rouse a mining-camp after a
while--gold fever or no. That means a vigilante band.”
“We can belong to the vigilantes, just as well as to your Legion,” said
Gulden.
The effect of this was to make Gulden appear less of a fool than
Kells supposed him. The ruffians nodded to one another. They stirred
restlessly. They were animated by a strange and provocative influence.
Even Red Pearce and the others caught its subtlety. It was evil
predominating in evil hearts. Blood and death loomed like a shadow here.
The keen Kells saw the change working toward a transformation and he
seemed craftily fighting something within him that opposed this cold
ruthlessness of his men.
“Gulden, suppose I don't see it your way?” he asked.
“Then I won't join your Legion.”
“What WILL you do?”
“I'll take the men who stand by me and go clean up that gold-camp.”
From the fleeting expression on Kells's face Joan read that he knew
Gulden's project would defeat his own and render both enterprises fatal.
“Gulden, I don't want to lose you,” he said.
“You won't lose me if you see this thing right,” replied Gulden. “You've
got the brains to direct us. But, Kells, you're losing your nerve....
It's this girl you've got here!”
Gulden spoke without rancor or fear or feeling of any kind. He merely
spoke the truth. And it shook Kells with an almost ungovernable fury.
Joan saw the green glare of his eyes--his gray working face--the flutter
of his hand. She had an almost superhuman insight into the workings of
his mind. She knew that then--he was fighting whether or not to kill
Gulden on the spot. And she recognized that this was the time when Kells
must kill Gulden or from that moment see a gradual diminishing of his
power on the border. But Kells did not recognize that crucial height of
his career. His struggle with his fury and hate showed that the thing
uppermost in his mind was the need of conciliating Gulden and thus
regaining a hold over the men.
“Gulden, suppose we waive the question till we're on the grounds?” he
suggested.
“Waive nothing. It's one or the other with me,” declared Gulden.
“Do you want to be leader of this Border Legion?” went on Kells,
deliberately.
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
Gulden appeared at a loss for an instant reply. “I want plenty to do,”
he replied, presently. “I want to be in on everything. I want to be free
to kill a man when I like.”
“When you like!” retorted Kells, and added a curse. Then as if by magic
his dark face cleared and there was infinite depth and craftiness in
him. His opposition, and that hint of hate and loathing which detached
him from Gulden, faded from his bearing. “Gulden, I'll split the
difference between us. I'll leave you free to do as you like. But all
the others--every man--must take orders from me.”
Gulden reached out a huge hand. His instant acceptance evidently amazed
Kells and the others.
“LET HER RIP!” Gulden exclaimed. He shook Kells's hand and then
laboriously wrote his name in the little book.
In that moment Gulden stood out alone in the midst of wild abandoned
men. What were Kells and this Legion to him? What was the stealing of
more or less gold?
“Free to do as you like except fight my men,” said Kells. “That's
understood.”
“If they don't pick a fight with me,” added the giant, and he grinned.
One by one his followers went through with the simple observances that
Kells's personality made a serious and binding compact.
“Anybody else?” called Kells, glancing round. The somberness was leaving
his face.
“Here's Jim Cleve,” said Pearce, pointing toward the wall.
“Hello, youngster! Come here. I'm wanting you bad,” said Kells.
Cleve sauntered out of the shadow, and his glittering eyes were fixed
on Gulden. There was an instant of waiting. Gulden looked at Cleve. Then
Kells quickly strode between them.
“Say, I forgot you fellows had trouble,” he said. He attended solely
to Gulden. “You can't renew your quarrel now. Gulden, we've all fought
together more or less, and then been good friends. I want Cleve to join
us, but not against your ill will. How about it?”
“I've no ill will,” replied the giant, and the strangeness of his remark
lay in its evident truth. “But I won't stand to lose my other ear!”
Then the ruffians guffawed in hoarse mirth. Gulden, however, did not
seem to see any humor in his remark. Kells laughed with the rest. Even
Cleve's white face relaxed into a semblance of a smile.
“That's good. We're getting together,” declared Kells. Then he faced
Cleve, all about him expressive of elation, of assurance, of power.
“Jim, will you draw cards in this deal?”
“What's the deal?” asked Cleve.
Then in swift, eloquent speech Kells launched the idea of his Border
Legion, its advantages to any loose-footed, young outcast, and he ended
his brief talk with much the same argument he had given Joan. Back there
in her covert Joan listened and watched, mindful of the great need of
controlling her emotions. The instant Jim Cleve had stalked into the
light she had been seized by a spasm of trembling.
“Kells, I don't care two straws one way or another,” replied Cleve.
The bandit appeared nonplussed. “You don't care whether you join my
Legion or whether you don't?”
“Not a damn,” was the indifferent answer.
“Then do me a favor,” went on Kells. “Join to please me. We'll be good
friends. You're in bad out here on the border. You might as well fall in
with us.”
“I'd rather go alone.”
“But you won't last.”
“It's a lot I care.”
The bandit studied the reckless, white face. “See here, Cleve--haven't
you got the nerve to be bad--thoroughly bad?”