her before?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied the preacher.
“Where and when?”
“Here--at the back of this cabin--a few nights ago.”
It hurt Joan to look at Kells now, yet he seemed wonderful to behold.
She felt as guilty as if she had really been false to him. Her
heart labored high in her breast. This was the climax--the moment of
catastrophe. Another word and Jim Cleve would be facing Kells. The blood
pressure in Joan's throat almost strangled her.
“At the back of this cabin!... At her window?”
“Yes.”
“What were you there for?”
“In my capacity as minister. I was summoned to marry her.”
“To marry her?” gasped Kells.
“Yes. She is Joan Randle, from Hoadley, Idaho. She is over eighteen. I
understood she was detained here against her will. She loved an honest
young miner of the camp. He brought me up here one night. And I married
them.”
“YOU--MARRIED--THEM!”
“Yes.”
Kells was slow in assimilating the truth and his action corresponded
with his mind. Slowly his hand moved toward his gun. He drew it, threw
it aloft. And then all the terrible evil in the man flamed forth. But
as he deliberately drew down on the preacher Blicky leaped forward and
knocked up the gun. Flash and report followed; the discharge went into
the roof. Blicky grasped Kells's arm and threw his weight upon it to
keep it down.
“I fetched thet parson here,” he yelled, “an you ain't a-goin' to kill
him!... Help, Jesse!... He's crazy! He'll do it!”
Jesse Smith ran to Blicky's aid and tore the gun out of Kells's hand.
Jim Cleve grasped the preacher by the shoulders and, whirling him
around, sent him flying out of the door.
“Run for your life!” he shouted.
Blicky and Jesse Smith were trying to hold the lunging Kells.
“Jim, you block the door,” called Jesse. “Bate, you grab any loose guns
an' knives.... Now, boss, rant an' be damned!”
They released Kells and backed away, leaving him the room. Joan's limbs
seemed unable to execute her will.
“Joan! It's true,” he exclaimed, with whistling breath.
“Yes.”
“WHO?” he bellowed.
“I'll never tell.”
He reached for her with hands like claws, as if he meant to tear her,
rend her. Joan was helpless, weak, terrified. Those shaking, clutching
hands reached for her throat and yet never closed round it. Kells wanted
to kill her, but he could not. He loomed over her, dark, speechless,
locked in his paroxysm of rage. Perhaps then came a realization of ruin
through her. He hated her because he loved her. He wanted to kill her
because of that hate, yet he could not harm her, even hurt her. And his
soul seemed in conflict with two giants--the evil in him that was hate,
and the love that was good. Suddenly he flung her aside. She stumbled
over Pearce's body, almost falling, and staggered back to the wall.
Kells had the center of the room to himself. Like a mad steer in a
corral he gazed about, stupidly seeking some way to escape. But the
escape Kells longed for was from himself. Then either he let himself go
or was unable longer to control his rage. He began to plunge around. His
actions were violent, random, half insane. He seemed to want to destroy
himself and everything. But the weapons were guarded by his men and the
room contained little he could smash. There was something magnificent
in his fury, yet childish and absurd. Even under its influence and his
abandonment he showed a consciousness of its futility. In a few moments
the inside of the cabin was in disorder and Kells seemed a disheveled,
sweating, panting wretch. The rapidity and violence of his action,
coupled with his fury, soon exhausted him. He fell from plunging here
and there to pacing the floor. And even the dignity of passion passed
from him. He looked a hopeless, beaten, stricken man, conscious of
defeat.
Jesse Smith approached the bandit leader. “Jack, here's your gun,” he
said. “I only took it because you was out of your head.... An' listen,
boss. There's a few of us left.”
That was Smith's expression of fidelity, and Kells received it with a
pallid, grateful smile.
“Bate, you an' Jim clean up this mess,” went on Smith. “An', Blicky,
come here an' help me with Pearce. We'll have to plant him.”
The stir begun by the men was broken by a sharp exclamation from Cleve.
“Kells, here comes Gulden--Beady Jones, Williams, Beard!”
The bandit raised his head and paced back to where he could look out.
Bate Wood made a violent and significant gesture. “Somethin' wrong,” he
said, hurriedly. “An' it's more'n to do with Gul!... Look down the road.
See thet gang. All excited an' wavin' hands an' runnin'. But they're
goin' down into camp.”
Jesse Smith turned a gray face toward Kells. “Boss, there's hell to pay!
I've seen THET kind of excitement before.”
Kells thrust the men aside and looked out. He seemed to draw upon a
reserve strength, for he grew composed even while he gazed. “Jim, get in
the other room,” he ordered, sharply. “Joan--you go, too. Keep still.”
Joan hurried to comply. Jim entered after her and closed the door.
Instinctively they clasped hands, drew close together.
“Jim, what does it mean?” she whispered, fearfully. “Gulden!”
“He must be looking for me,” replied Jim. “But there's more doing. Did
you see that crowd down the road?”
“No. I couldn't see out.”
“Listen.”
Heavy tramp boots sounded without. Silently Joan led Jim to the crack
between the boards through which she had spied upon the bandits. Jim
peeped through, and Joan saw his hand go to his gun. Then she looked.
Gulden was being crowded into the cabin by fierce, bulging-jawed men
who meant some kind of dark business. The strangest thing about that
entrance was its silence. In a moment they were inside, confronting
Kells with his little group. Beard, Jones, Williams, former faithful
allies of Kells, showed a malignant opposition. And the huge Gulden
resembled an enraged gorilla. For an instant his great, pale, cavernous
eyes glared. He had one hand under his coat and his position had a
sinister suggestion. But Kells stood cool and sure. When Gulden moved
Kells's gun was leaping forth. But he withheld his fire, for Gulden had
only a heavy round object wrapped in a handkerchief.
“Look there!” he boomed, and he threw the object on the table.
The dull, heavy, sodden thump had a familiar ring. Joan heard Jim gasp
and his hand tightened spasmodically upon hers.
Slowly the ends of the red scarf slid down to reveal an irregularly
round, glinting lump. When Joan recognized it her heart seemed to burst.
“Jim Cleve's nugget!” ejaculated Kells. “Where'd you get that?”
Gulden leaned across the table, his massive jaw working. “I found it on
the miner Creede,” replied the giant, stridently.
Then came a nervous shuffling of boots on the creaky boards. In the
silence a low, dull murmur of distant voices could be heard, strangely
menacing. Kells stood transfixed, white as a sheet.
“On Creede!”
“Yes.”
“Where was his--his body?”
“I left it out on the Bannack trail.”
The bandit leader appeared mute.
“Kells, I followed Creede out of camp last night,” fiercely declared
Gulden.... “I killed him!... I found this nugget on him!”
17
Apparently to Kells that nugget did not accuse Jim Cleve of treachery.
Not only did this possibility seem lost upon the bandit leader, but also
the sinister intent of Gulden and his associates.
“Then Jim didn't kill Creede!” cried Kells.
A strange light flashed across his face. It fitted the note of gladness
in his exclamation. How strange that in his amaze there should be relief
instead of suspicion! Joan thought she understood Kells. He was glad
that he had not yet made a murderer out of Cleve.
Gulden appeared slow in rejoining. “I told you I got Creede,” he said.
“And we want to know if this says to you what it says to us.”
His huge, hairy hand tapped the nugget. Then Kells caught the
implication.
“What does it say to you?” he queried, coolly, and he eyed Gulden and
then the grim men behind him.
“Somebody in the gang is crooked. Somebody's giving you the
double-cross. We've known that for long. Jim Cleve goes out to kill
Creede. He comes in with Creede's gold-belt--and a lie!... We think
Cleve is the crooked one.”
“No! You're way off, Gulden,” replied Kells, earnestly. “That boy is
absolutely square. He's lied to me about Creede. But I can excuse
that. He lost his nerve. He's only a youngster. To knife a man in his
sleep--that was too much for Jim!... And I'm glad! I see it all now.
Jim's swapped his big nugget for Creede's belt. And in the bargain
he exacted that Creede hit the trail out of camp. You happened to see
Creede and went after him yourself.... Well, I don't see where you've
any kick coming. For you've ten times the money in Cleve's nugget that
there was in a share of Creede's gold.”
“That's not my kick,” declared Gulden. “What you say about Cleve may be
true. But I don't believe it. And the gang is sore. Things have leaked
out. We're watched. We're not welcome in the gambling-places any more.
Last night I was not allowed to sit in the game at Belcher's.”
“You think Cleve has squealed?” queried Kells.
“Yes.”
“I'll bet you every ounce of dust I've got that you're wrong,” declared
Kells. “A straight, square bet against anything you want to put up!”
Kells's ringing voice was nothing if not convincing.
“Appearances are against Cleve,” growled Gulden, dubiously. Always he
had been swayed by the stronger mind of the leader.
“Sure they are,” agreed Kells.
“Then what do you base your confidence on?”
“Just my knowledge of men. Jim Cleve wouldn't squeal.... Gulden, did
anybody tell you that?”
“Yes,” replied Gulden, slowly. “Red Pearce.”
“Pearce was a liar,” said Kells, bitterly. “I shot him for lying to me.”
Gulden stared. His men muttered and gazed at one another and around the
cabin.
“Pearce told me you set Cleve to kill me,” suddenly spoke up the giant.
If he expected to surprise Kells he utterly failed.
“That's another and bigger lie,” replied the bandit leader, disgustedly.
“Gulden, do you think my mind's gone?”
“Not quite,” replied Gulden, and he seemed as near a laugh as was
possible for him.
“Well, I've enough mind left not to set a boy to kill such a man as
you.”
Gulden might have been susceptible to flattery. He turned to his men.
They, too, had felt Kells's subtle influence. They were ready to veer
round like weather-vanes.
“Red Pearce has cashed, an' he can't talk for himself,” said Beady
Jones, as if answering to the unspoken thought of all.
“Men, between you and me, I had more queer notions about Pearce than
Cleve,” announced Gulden, gruffly. “But I never said so because I had no
proof.”
“Red shore was sore an' strange lately,” added Chick Williams. “Me an'
him were pretty thick once--but not lately.”
The giant Gulden scratched his head and swore. Probably he had no sense
of justice and was merely puzzled.
“We're wastin' a lot of time,” put in Beard, anxiously. “Don't fergit
there's somethin' comin' off down in camp, an' we ain't sure what.”
“Bah! Haven't we heard whispers of vigilantes for a week?” queried
Gulden.
Then some one of the men looked out of the door and suddenly whistled.
“Who's thet on a hoss?”
Gulden's gang crowded to the door.
“Thet's Handy Oliver.”
“No!”
“Shore is. I know him. But it ain't his hoss.... Say, he's hurryin'.”
Low exclamations of surprise and curiosity followed. Kells and his men
looked attentively, but no one spoke. The clatter of hoofs on the stony
road told of a horse swiftly approaching--pounding to a halt before the
cabin.
“Handy!... Air you chased?... What's wrong?... You shore look pale round
the gills.” These and other remarks were flung out the door.
“Where's Kells? Let me in,” replied Oliver, hoarsely.
The crowd jostled and split to admit the long, lean Oliver. He stalked
straight toward Kells, till the table alone stood between them. He was
gray of face, breathing hard, resolute and stern.
“Kells, I throwed--you--down!” he said, with outstretched hand. It was a
gesture of self-condemnation and remorse.
“What of that?” demanded Kells, with his head leaping like the strike of
an eagle.
“I'm takin' it back!”
Kells met the outstretched hand with his own and wrung it. “Handy, I
never knew you to right--about--face. But I'm glad.... What's changed
you so quickly?”
“VIGILANTES!”
Kells's animation and eagerness suddenly froze. “VIGILANTES!” he ground
out.
“No rumor, Kells, this time. I've sure some news.... Come close, all
you fellows. You, Gulden, come an' listen. Here's where we git together
closer'n ever.”
Gulden surged forward with his group. Handy Oliver was surrounded by
pale, tight faces, dark-browed and hardeyed.
He gazed at them, preparing them for a startling revelation. “Men, of
all the white-livered traitors as ever was Red Pearce was the worst!” he
declared, hoarsely.
No one moved or spoke.
“AN' HE WAS A VIGILANTE!”
A low, strange sound, almost a roar, breathed through the group.
“Listen now an' don't interrupt. We ain't got a lot of time.... So never
mind how I happened to find out about Pearce. It was all accident, an'
jest because I put two an' two together.... Pearce was approached by one
of this secret vigilante band, an' he planned to sell the Border Legion
outright. There was to be a big stake in it for him. He held off
day after day, only tippin' off some of the gang. There's Dartt an'
Singleton an' Frenchy an' Texas all caught red-handed at jobs. Pearce
put the vigilantes to watchin' them jest to prove his claim.... Aw! I've
got the proofs! Jest wait. Listen to me!... You all never in your lives
seen a snake like Red Pearce. An' the job he had put up on us was grand.
To-day he was to squeal on the whole gang. You know how he began on
Kells--an' how with his oily tongue he asked a guarantee of no gun-play.
But he figgered Kells wrong for once. He accused Kells's girl an' got
killed for his pains. Mebbe it was part of his plan to git the girl
himself. Anyway, he had agreed to betray the Border Legion to-day. An'
if he hadn't been killed by this time we'd all be tied up, ready for the
noose!... Mebbe thet wasn't a lucky shot of the boss's. Men, I was the
first to declare myself against Kells, an' I'm here now to say thet I
was a fool. So you've all been fools who've bucked against him. If this
ain't provin' it, what can!
“But I must hustle with my story.... They was havin' a trial down at
the big hall, an' thet place was sure packed. No diggin' gold to-day!...
Think of what thet means for Alder Creek. I got inside where I could
stand on a barrel an' see. Dartt an' Singleton an' Frenchy an' Texas was
bein' tried by a masked court. A man near me said two of them had been
proved guilty. It didn't take long to make out a case against Texas
an' Frenchy. Miners there recognized them an' identified them. They was
convicted an' sentenced to be hung!.. Then the offer was made to let
them go free out of the border if they'd turn state's evidence an' give
away the leader an' men of the Border Legion. Thet was put up to each
prisoner. Dartt he never answered at all. An' Singleton told them to go
to hell. An' Texas he swore he was only a common an' honest road-agent,
an' never heard of the Legion. But the Frenchman showed a yellow streak.
He might have taken the offer. But Texas cussed him tumble, an' made him
ashamed to talk. But if they git Frenchy away from Texas they'll make
him blab. He's like a greaser. Then there was a delay. The big crowd
of miners yelled for ropes. But the vigilantes are waitin', an' it's my
hunch they're waitin' for Pearce.”
“So! And where do we stand?” cried Kells, clear and cold.
“We're not spotted yet, thet's certain,” replied Oliver, “else them
masked vigilantes would have been on the job before now. But it's not
sense to figger we can risk another day.... I reckon it's hit the trail
back to Cabin Gulch.”
“Gulden, what do you say?” queried Kells, sharply.
“I'll go or stay--whatever you want,” replied the giant. In this crisis
he seemed to be glad to have Kells decide the issue. And his followers
resembled sheep ready to plunge after the leader.
But though Kells, by a strange stroke, had been made wholly master of
the Legion, he did not show the old elation or radiance. Perhaps he saw
more clearly than ever before. Still he was quick, decisive, strong,
equal to the occasion.
“Listen--all of you,” he said. “Our horses and outfits are hidden in a
gulch several miles below camp. We've got to go that way. We can't pack
any grub or stuff from here. We'll risk going through camp. Now leave
here two or three at a time, and wait down there on the edge of the
crowd for me. When I come we'll stick together. Then all do as I do.”
Gulden put the nugget under his coat and strode out, accompanied by Budd
and Jones. They hurried away. The others went in couples. Soon only Bate
Wood and Handy Oliver were left with Kells.
“Now you fellows go,” said Kells. “Be sure to round up the gang down
there and wait for me.”
When they had gone he called for Jim and Joan to come out.
All this time Joan's hand had been gripped in Jim's, and Joan had been
so absorbed that she had forgotten the fact. He released her and faced
her, silent, pale. Then he went out. Joan swiftly followed.
Kells was buckling on his spurs. “You heard?” he said, the moment he saw
Jim's face.
“Yes,” replied Jim.
“So much the better. We've got to rustle.... Joan, put on that long
coat of Cleve's. Take off your mask.... Jim, get what gold you have, and
hurry. If we're gone when you come back hurry down the road. I want you
with me.”
Cleve stalked out, and Joan ran into her room and put on the long coat.
She had little time to choose what possessions she could take; and that
choice fell upon the little saddle-bag, into which she hurriedly stuffed
comb and brush and soap--all it would hold. Then she returned to the
larger room.
Kells had lifted a plank of the floor, and was now in the act of putting
small buckskin sacks of gold into his pockets. They made his coat bulge
at the sides.
“Joan, stick some meat and biscuits in your pockets,” he said. “I'd
never get hungry with my pockets full of gold. But you might.”
Joan rummaged around in Bate Wood's rude cupboard.
“These biscuits are as heavy as gold--and harder,” she said.
Kells flashed a glance at her that held pride, admiration, and sadness.
“You are the gamest girl I ever knew! I wish I'd--But that's too
late!... Joan, if anything happens to me stick close to Cleve. I believe
you can trust him. Come on now.”
Then he strode out of the cabin. Joan had almost to run to keep up
with him. There were no other men now in sight. She knew that Jim would
follow soon, because his gold-dust was hidden in the cavern back of
her room, and he would not need much time to get it. Nevertheless,
she anxiously looked back. She and Kells had gone perhaps a couple of
hundred yards before Jim appeared, and then he came on the run. At a
point about opposite the first tents he joined Kells.
“Jim, how about guns?” asked the bandit.
“I've got two,” replied Cleve.
“Good! There's no telling--Jim, I'm afraid of the gang. They're crazy.
What do you think?”
“I don't know. It's a hard proposition.”
“We'll get away, all right. Don't worry about that. But the gang will
never come together again.” This singular man spoke with melancholy.
“Slow up a little now,” he added. “We don't want to attract
attention.... But where is there any one to see us?... Jim, did I have
you figured right about the Creede job?”
“You sure did. I just lost my nerve.”
“Well, no matter.”
Then Kells appeared to forget that. He stalked on with keen glances
searching everywhere, until suddenly, when he saw round a bend of the
road, he halted with grating teeth. That road was empty all the way to
the other end of camp, but there surged a dark mob of men. Kells stalked
forward again. The Last Nugget appeared like an empty barn. How vacant
and significant the whole center of camp! Kells did not speak another
word.
Joan hurried on between Kells and Cleve. She was trying to fortify
herself to meet what lay at the end of the road. A strange, hoarse roar
of men and an upflinging of arms made her shudder. She kept her eyes
lowered and clung to the arms of her companions.
Finally they halted. She felt the crowd before she saw it. A motley
assemblage with what seemed craned necks and intent backs! They were all
looking forward and upward. But she forced her glance down.
Kells stood still. Jim's grip was hard upon her arm. Presently men
grouped round Kells. She heard whispers. They began to walk slowly, and
she was pushed and led along. More men joined the group. Soon she and
Kells and Jim were hemmed in a circle. Then she saw the huge form
of Gulden, the towering Oliver, and Smith and Blicky, Beard, Jones,
Williams, Budd, and others. The circle they formed appeared to be only
one of many groups, all moving, whispering, facing from her. Suddenly a
sound like the roar of a wave agitated that mass of men. It was harsh,
piercing, unnatural, yet it had a note of wild exultation. Then came the
stamp and surge, and then the upflinging of arms, and then the abrupt
strange silence, broken only by a hiss or an escaping breath, like a
sob. Beyond all Joan's power to resist was a deep, primitive desire to
look.
There over the heads of the mob--from the bench of the slope--rose
grotesque structures of new-hewn lumber. On a platform stood black,
motionless men in awful contrast with a dangling object that doubled up
and curled upon itself in terrible convulsions. It lengthened while it
swayed; it slowed its action while it stretched. It took on the form of
a man. He swung by a rope round his neck. His head hung back. His hands
beat. A long tremor shook the body; then it was still, and swayed to and
fro, a dark, limp thing.
Joan's gaze was riveted in horror. A dim, red haze made her vision
imperfect. There was a sickening riot within her.
There were masked men all around the platform--a solid phalanx of them
on the slope above. They were heavily armed. Other masked men stood on
the platform. They seemed rigid figures--stiff, jerky when they moved.
How different from the two forms swaying below!
The structure was a rude scaffold and the vigilantes had already hanged
two bandits.
Two others with hands bound behind their backs stood farther along the
platform under guard. Before each dangled a noose.
Joan recognized Texas and Frenchy. And on the instant the great crowd
let out a hard breath that ended in silence.
The masked leader of the vigilantes was addressing Texas: “We'll spare
your life if you confess. Who's the head of this Border Legion?”
“Shore it's Red Pearce!... Haw! Haw! Haw!”
“We'll give you one more chance,” came the curt reply.
Texas appeared to become serious and somber. “I swear to God it's
Pearce!” he declared.
“A lie won't save you. Come, the truth! We think we know, but we want
proof! Hurry!”
“You can go where it's hot!” responded Texas.
The leader moved his hand and two other masked men stepped forward.
“Have you any message to send any one--anything to say?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“Have you any request to make?”
“Hang that Frenchman before me! I want to see him kick.”
Nothing more was said. The two men adjusted the noose round the doomed
man's neck. Texas refused the black cap. And he did not wait for the
drop to be sprung. He walked off the platform into space as Joan closed
her eyes.
Again that strange, full, angry, and unnatural roar waved through the
throng of watchers. It was terrible to hear. Joan felt the violent
action of that crowd, although the men close round her were immovable as
stones. She imagined she could never open her eyes to see Texas hanging
there. Yet she did--and something about his form told her that he had
died instantly. He had been brave and loyal even in dishonor. He had
more than once spoken a kind word to her. Who could tell what had made
him an outcast? She breathed a prayer for his soul.