12
Those bitter words of Cleve's, as if he mocked himself, were the lastJoan heard, and they rang in her ears and seemed to reverberate throughher dazed mind like a knell of doom. She lay there, all blackness abouther, weighed upon by an insupportable burden; and she prayed that daymight never dawn for her; a nightmare of oblivion ended at last with hereyes opening to the morning light.
She was cold and stiff. She had lain uncovered all the long hours ofnight. She had not moved a finger since she had fallen upon the bed,crushed by those bitter words with which Cleve had consented to joinKells's Legion. Since then Joan felt that she had lived years. She couldnot remember a single thought she might have had during those blackhours; nevertheless, a decision had been formed in her mind, and it wasthat to-day she would reveal herself to Jim Cleve if it cost both theirlives. Death was infinitely better than the suspense and fear and agonyshe had endured; and as for Jim, it would at least save him from crime.
Joan got up, a little dizzy and unsteady upon her feet. Her handsappeared clumsy and shaky. All the blood in her seemed to surge fromheart to brain and it hurt her to breathe. Removing her mask, she bathedher face and combed her hair. At first she conceived an idea to go outwithout her face covered, but she thought better of it. Cleve's recklessdefiance had communicated itself to her. She could not now be stopped.
Kells was gay and excited that morning. He paid her compliments. He saidthey would soon be out of this lonely gulch and she would see the sightof her life--a gold strike. She would see men wager a fortune on theturn of a card, lose, laugh, and go back to the digging. He said hewould take her to Sacramento and 'Frisco and buy her everything anygirl could desire. He was wild, voluble, unreasoning--obsessed by theanticipated fulfilment of his dream.
It was rather late in the morning and there were a dozen or more men inand around the cabin, all as excited as Kells. Preparations were alreadyunder way for the expected journey to the gold-field. Packs were beinglaid out, overhauled, and repacked; saddles and bridles and weaponswere being worked over; clothes were being awkwardly mended. Horseswere being shod, and the job was as hard and disagreeable for men as forhorses. Whenever a rider swung up the slope, and one came every now andthen, all the robbers would leave off their tasks and start eagerly forthe newcomer. The name Jesse Smith was on everybody's lips. Any hour hemight be expected to arrive and corroborate Blicky's alluring tale.
Joan saw or imagined she saw that the glances in the eyes of these menwere yellow, like gold fire. She had seen miners and prospectors whoseeyes shone with a strange glory of light that gold inspired, but neveras those of Kells's bandit Legion. Presently Joan discovered that,despite the excitement, her effect upon them was more marked then ever,and by a difference that she was quick to feel. But she could not tellwhat this difference was--how their attitude had changed. Then she setherself the task of being useful. First she helped Bate Wood. He wasroughly kind. She had not realized that there was sadness about heruntil he whispered: "Don't be downcast, miss. Mebbe it'll come outright yet!" That amazed Joan. Then his mysterious winks and glances,the sympathy she felt in him, all attested to some kind of a change. Shegrew keen to learn, but she did not know how. She felt the change inall the men. Then she went to Pearce and with all a woman's craft sheexaggerated the silent sadness that had brought quick response fromWood. Red Pearce was even quicker. He did not seem to regard herproximity as that of a feminine thing which roused the devil in him.Pearce could not be other than coarse and vulgar, but there was pityin him. Joan sensed pity and some other quality still beyond her. Thislieutenant of the bandit Kells was just as mysterious as Wood. Joanmended a great jagged rent in his buckskin shirt. Pearce appeared proudof her work; he tried to joke; he said amiable things. Then as shefinished he glanced furtively round; he pressed her hand: "I had asister once!" he whispered. And then with a dark and baleful hate:"Kells!--he'll get his over in the gold-camp!"
Joan turned away from Pearce still more amazed. Some strange, deepundercurrent was working here. There had been unmistakable hate forKells in his dark look and a fierce implication in his portent offatality. What had caused this sudden impersonal interest in hersituation? What was the meaning of the subtle animosity toward thebandit leader? Was there no honor among evil men banded together forevil deeds? Were jealousy, ferocity, hate and faithlessness fostered bythis wild and evil border life, ready at an instant's notice to breakout? Joan divined the vain and futile and tragical nature of Kell'sgreat enterprise. It could not succeed. It might bring a few days orweeks of fame, of blood-stained gold, of riotous gambling, but by itsvery nature it was doomed. It embraced failure and death.
Joan went from man to man, keener now on the track of this inexplicablechange, sweetly and sadly friendly to each; and it was not till sheencountered the little Frenchman that the secret was revealed. Frenchywas of a different race. Deep in the fiber of his being inculcated asentiment, a feeling, long submerged in the darkness of a wicked life,and now that something came fleeting out of the depths--and it wasrespect for a woman. To Joan it was a flash of light. Yesterday theseruffians despised her; to-day they respected her. So they had believedwhat she had so desperately flung at Jim Cleve. They believed her good,they pitied her, they respected her, they responded to her effortto turn a boy back from a bad career. They were bandits, desperados,murderers, lost, but each remembered in her a mother or a sister. Whateach might have felt or done had he possessed her, as Kells possessedher, did not alter the case as it stood. A strange inconsistency ofcharacter made them hate Kells for what they might not have hated inthemselves. Her appeal to Cleve, her outburst of truth, her youthand misfortune, had discovered to each a human quality. As in Kellssomething of nobility still lingered, a ghost among his ruined ideals,so in the others some goodness remained. Joan sustained an upliftingdivination--no man was utterly bad. Then came the hideous image of thegiant Gulden, the utter absence of soul in him, and she shuddered.Then came the thought of Jim Cleve, who had not believed her, who hadbitterly made the fatal step, who might in the strange reversion of hischaracter be beyond influence.
And it was at the precise moment when this thought rose to counteractthe hope revived by the changed attitude of the men that Joan looked outto see Jim Cleve sauntering up, careless, untidy, a cigarette betweenhis lips, blue blotches on his white face, upon him the stamp ofabandonment. Joan suffered a contraction of heart that benumbed herbreast. She stood a moment battling with herself. She was brave enough,desperate enough, to walk straight up to Cleve, remove her mask and say,"I am Joan!" But that must be a last resource. She had no plan, yet shemight force an opportunity to see Cleve alone.
A shout rose above the hubbub of voices. A tall man was pointing acrossthe gulch where dust-clouds showed above the willows. Men crowded roundhim, all gazing in the direction of his hand, all talking at once.
"Jesse Smith's hoss, I swear!" shouted the tall man. "Kells, come outhere!"
Kells appeared, dark and eager, at the door, and nimbly he leaped to theexcited group. Pearce and Wood and others followed.
"What's up?" called the bandit. "Hello! Who's that riding bareback?"
"He's shore cuttin' the wind," said Wood.
"Blicky!" exclaimed the tall man. "Kells, there's news. I seen Jesse'shoss."
Kells let out a strange, exultant cry. The excited talk among the mengave place, to a subdued murmur, then subsided. Blicky was running ahorse up the road, hanging low over him, like an Indian. He clattered tothe bench, scattered the men in all directions. The fiery horse plungedand pounded. Blicky was gray of face and wild of aspect.
"Jesse's come!" he yelled, hoarsely, at Kells. "He jest fell off hishoss--all in! He wants you--an' all the gang! He's seen a milliondollars in gold-dust!"
Absolute silence ensued after that last swift and startling speech. Itbroke to a commingling of yells and shouts. Blicky wheeled his horse andKells started on a run. And there was a stampede and rush after him.
Joan grasped her opportunity. She had se
en all this excitement, but shehad not lost sight of Cleve. He got up from a log and started after theothers. Joan flew to him, grasped him, startled him with the suddennessof her onslaught. But her tongue seemed cloven to the roof of her mouth,her lips weak and mute. Twice she strove to speak.
"Meet me--there!--among the pines--right away!" she whispered, withbreathless earnestness. "It's life--or death--for me!"
As she released his arm he snatched at her mask. But she eluded him.
"Who ARE you?" he flashed.
Kells and his men were piling into the willows, leaping the brook,hurrying on. They had no thought but to get to Jesse Smith to hear ofthe gold strike. That news to them was as finding gold in the earth wasto honest miners.
"Come!" cried Joan. She hurried away toward the corner of the cabin,then halted to see if he was following. He was, indeed. She ran roundbehind the cabin, out on the slope, halting at the first trees. Clevecame striding after her. She ran on, beginning to pant and stumble. Theway he strode, the white grimness of him, frightened her. What would he,do? Again she went on, but not running now. There were straggling pinesand spruces that soon hid the cabins. Beyond, a few rods, was a denseclump of pines, and she made for that. As she reached it she turnedfearfully. Only Cleve was in sight. She uttered a sob of mingled relief,joy, and thankfulness. She and Cleve had not been observed. They wouldbe out of sight in this little pine grove. At last! She could revealherself, tell him why she was there, that she loved him, that she was asgood as ever she had been. Why was she shaking like a leaf in the wind?She saw Cleve through a blur. He was almost running now. Involuntarilyshe fled into the grove. It was dark and cool; it smelled sweetly ofpine; there were narrow aisles and little sunlit glades. She hurriedon till a fallen tree blocked her passage. Here she turned--she wouldwait--the tree was good to lean against. There came Cleve, a dark,stalking shadow. She did not remember him like that. He entered theglade.
"Speak again!" he said, thickly. "Either I'm drunk or crazy!"
But Joan could not speak. She held out hands that shook--swept them toher face--tore at the mask. Then with a gasp she stood revealed.
If she had stabbed him straight through the heart he could not have beenmore ghastly. Joan saw him, in all the terrible transfigurationthat came over him, but she had no conceptions, no thought of whatconstituted that change. After that check to her mind came a surge ofjoy.
"Jim!... Jim! It's Joan!" she breathed, with lips almost mute.
"JOAN!" he gasped, and the sound of his voice seemed to be the passingfrom horrible doubt to certainty.
Like a panther he leaped at her, fastened a powerful hand at the neck ofher blouse, jerked her to her knees, and began to drag her. Joan foughthis iron grasp. The twisting and tightening of her blouse choked herutterance. He did not look down upon her, but she could see him, therigidity of his body set in violence, the awful shade upon his face, theupstanding hair on his head. He dragged her as if she had been an emptysack. Like a beast he was seeking a dark place--a hole to hide her.She was strangling; a distorted sight made objects dim; and now shestruggled instinctively. Suddenly the clutch at her neck loosened;gaspingly came the intake of air to her lungs; the dark-red veil lefther eyes. She was still upon her knees. Cleve stood before her, like agray-faced demon, holding his gun level, ready to fire.
"Pray for your soul--and mine!"
"Jim! Oh Jim!... Will you kill yourself, too?"
"Yes! But pray, girl--quick!"
"Then I pray to God--not for my soul--but just for one more moment oflife... TO TELL YOU, JIM!"
Cleve's face worked and the gun began to waver. Her reply had been astroke of lightning into the dark abyss of his jealous agony.
Joan saw it, and she raised her quivering face, and she held up her armsto him. "To tell--you--Jim!" she entreated.
"What?" he rasped out.
"That I'm innocent--that I'm as good--a girl--as ever.. ever.... Let metell you.... Oh, you're mistaken--terribly mistaken."
"Now, I know I'm drunk.... You, Joan Randle! You in that rig! Youthe companion of Jack Kells! Not even his wife! The jest of thesefoul-mouthed bandits! And you say you're innocent--good?... When yourefused to leave him!"
"I was afraid to go--afraid you'd be killed," she moaned, beating herbreast.
It must have seemed madness to him, a monstrous nightmare, a delirium ofdrink, that Joan Randle was there on her knees in a brazen male attire,lifting her arms to him, beseeching him, not to spare her life, but tobelieve in her innocence.
Joan burst into swift, broken utterance: "Only listen! I trailed youout--twenty miles from Hoadley. I met Roberts. He came with me. He lamedhis horse--we had to camp. Kells rode down on us. He had two men. Theycamped there. Next morning he--killed Roberts--made off with me.... Thenhe killed his men--just to have me--alone to himself.... We crossed arange--camped in the canon. There he attacked me--and I--I shot him!...But I couldn't leave him--to die!" Joan hurried on with her narrative,gaining strength and eloquence as she saw the weakening of Cleve. "Firsthe said I was his wife to fool that Gulden--and the others," she wenton. "He meant to save me from them. But they guessed or found out....Kells forced me into these bandit clothes. He's depraved, somehow. AndI had to wear something. Kells hasn't harmed me--no one has. I'veinfluence over him. He can't resist it. He's tried to force me to marryhim. And he's tried to give up to his evil intentions. But he can't.There's good in him. I can make him feel it.... Oh, he loves me, and I'mnot afraid of him any more.... It has been a terrible time for me, Jim,but I'm still--the same girl you knew--you used to--"
Cleve dropped the gun and he waved his hand before his eyes as if todispel a blindness.
"But why--why?" he asked, incredulously. "Why did you leave Hoadley?That's forbidden. You knew the risk."
Joan gazed steadily up at him, to see the whiteness slowly fade out ofhis face. She had imagined it would be an overcoming of pride tobetray her love, but she had been wrong. The moment was so full, sooverpowering, that she seemed dumb. He had ruined himself for her, andout of that ruin had come the glory of her love. Perhaps it was all toolate, but at least he would know that for love of him she had in turnsacrificed herself.
"Jim," she whispered, and with the first word of that betrayal a thrill,a tremble, a rush went over her, and all her blood seemed hot at herneck and face, "that night when you kissed me I was furious. But themoment you had gone I repented. I must have--cared for you then, but Ididn't know.... Remorse seized me. And I set out on your trail to saveyou from yourself. And with the pain and fear and terror there wassometimes--the--the sweetness of your kisses. Then I knew I cared....And with the added days of suspense and agony--all that told me of yourthrowing your life away--there came love.... Such love as otherwise I'dnever have been big enough for! I meant to find you--to save you--tosend you home!... I have found you, maybe too late to save your life,but not your soul, thank God!... That's why I've been strong enough tohold back Kells. I love you, Jim!... I love you! I couldn't tell youenough. My heart is bursting.... Say you believe me! Say you know I'mgood--true to you--your Joan!... And kiss me--like you did that nightwhen we were such blind fools. A boy and a girl who didn't know--andcouldn't tell!--Oh, the sadness of it!.... Kiss me, Jim, beforeI--drop--at your feet!... If only you--believe--"
Joan was blinded by tears and whispering she knew not what whenCleve broke from his trance and caught her to his breast. She wasfainting--hovering at the border of unconsciousness when his violenceheld her back from oblivion. She seemed wrapped to him and held sotightly there was no breath in her body, no motion, no stir ofpulse. That vague, dreamy moment passed. She heard his husky, brokenaccents--she felt the pound of his heart against her breast. And hebegan to kiss her as she had begged him to. She quickened to thrilling,revivifying life. And she lifted her face, and clung round his neck, andkissed him, blindly, sweetly, passionately, with all her heart and soulin her lips, wanting only one thing in the world--to give that which shehad denied him.
"Joan!... Joan!.
.. Joan!" he murmured when their lips parted. "Am Idreaming--drunk--or crazy?"
"Oh, Jim, I'm real--you have me in your arms," she whispered. "DearJim--kiss me again--and say you believe me."
"Believe you?... I'm out of my mind with joy.... You loved me! Youfollowed me!... And--that idea of mine--only an absurd, vile suspicion!I might have known--had I been sane!"
"There.... Oh, Jim!... Enough of madness. We've got to plan. Rememberwhere we are. There's Kells, and this terrible situation to meet!"
He stared at her, slowly realizing, and then it was his turn to shake."My God! I'd forgotten. I'll HAVE to kill you now!"
A reaction set in. If he had any self-control left he lost it, and likea boy whose fling into manhood had exhausted his courage he sank besideher and buried his face against her. And he cried in a low, tense,heartbroken way. For Joan it was terrible to hear him. She held his handto her breast and implored him not to weaken now. But he was strickenwith remorse--he had run off like a coward, he had brought her to thiscalamity--and he could not rise under it. Joan realized that he had longlabored under stress of morbid emotion. Only a supreme effort could lifthim out of it to strong and reasoning equilibrium, and that must comefrom her.
She pushed him away from her, and held him back where he must see her,and white-hot with passionate purpose, she kissed him. "Jim Cleve, ifyou've NERVE enough to be BAD you've nerve enough to save the girl whoLOVES you--who BELONGS to you!"
He raised his face and it flashed from red to white. He caught thesubtlety of her antithesis. With the very two words which had driven himaway under the sting of cowardice she uplifted him; and with all thatwas tender and faithful and passionate in her meaning of surrender shesettled at once and forever the doubt of his manhood. He arose tremblingin every limb. Like a dog he shook himself. His breast heaved. Theshades of scorn and bitterness and abandon might never have haunted hisface. In that moment he had passed from the reckless and wild, sick rageof a weakling to the stern, realizing courage of a man. His sufferingon this wild border had developed a different fiber of character; and atthe great moment, the climax, when his moral force hung balancedbetween elevation and destruction, the woman had called to him, and herunquenchable spirit passed into him.
"There's only one thing--to get away," he said.
"Yes, but that's a terrible risk," she replied.
"We've a good chance now. I'll get horses. We can slip away whilethey're all excited."
"No--no. I daren't risk so much. Kells would find out at once. He'd belike a hound on our trail. But that's not all. I've a horror of Gulden.I can't explain. I FEEL it. He would know--he would take the trail. I'dnever try to escape with Gulden in camp.... Jim, do you know what he'sdone?"
"He's a cannibal. I hate the sight of him. I tried to kill him. I wish Ihad killed him."
"I'm never safe while he's near."
"Then I will kill him."
"Hush! you'll not be desperate unless you have to be.... Listen. I'msafe with Kells for the present. And he's friendly to you. Let us wait.I'll keep trying to influence him. I have won the friendship of some ofhis men. We'll stay with him--travel with him. Surely we'd have a betterchance to excape after we reach that gold-camp. You must play your part.But do it without drinking and fighting. I couldn't bear that. We'll seeeach other somehow. We'll plan. Then we'll take the first chance to getaway."
"We might never have a better chance than we've got right now," heremonstrated.
"It may seem so to you. But I KNOW. I haven't watched these ruffians fornothing. I tell you Gulden has split with Kells because of me. I don'tknow how I know. And I think I'd die of terror out on the trail with twohundred miles to go--and that gorilla after me."
"But, Joan, if we once got away Gulden would never take you alive," saidJim, earnestly. "So you needn't fear that."
"I've uncanny horror of him. It's as if he were a gorilla--and wouldtake me off even if I were dead!... No, Jim, let us wait. Let me selectthe time. I can do it. Trust me. Oh, Jim, now that I've saved youfrom being a bandit, I can do anything. I can fool Kells or Pearce orWood--any of them, except Gulden."
"If Kells had to choose now between trailing you and rushing for thegold-camp, which would he do?"
"He'd trail me," she said.
"But Kells is crazy over gold. He has two passions. To steal gold, andto gamble with it."
"That may be. But he'd go after me first. So would Gulden. We can't ridethese hills as they do. We don't know the trails--the water. We'd getlost. We'd be caught. And somehow I know that Gulden and his gang wouldfind us first."
"You're probably right, Joan," replied Cleve. "But you condemn me to aliving death.... To let you out of my sight with Kells or any of them!It'll be worse almost than my life was before."
"But, Jim, I'll be safe," she entreated. "It's the better choice of twoevils. Our lives depend on reason, waiting, planning. And, Jim, I wantto live for you."
"My brave darling, to hear you say that!" he exclaimed, with deepemotion. "When I never expected to see you again!... But the past ispast. I begin over from this hour. I'll be what you want--do what youwant."
Joan seemed irresistibly drawn to him again, and the supplication, asshe lifted her blushing face, and the yielding, were perilously sweet.
"Jim, kiss me and hold me--the way--you did that night!"
And it was not Joan who first broke that embrace.
"Find my mask," she said.
Cleve picked up his gun and presently the piece of black felt. He heldit as if it were a deadly thing.
"Put it on me."
He slipped the cord over her head and adjusted the mask so the holescame right for her eyes.
"Joan, it hides the--the GOODNESS of you," he cried. "No one can seeyour eyes now. No one will look at your face. That rig shows your--showsyou off so! It's not decent.... But, O Lord! I'm bound to confess howpretty, how devilish, how seductive you are! And I hate it."
"Jim, I hate it, too. But we must stand it. Try not to shame me anymore.... And now good-by. Keep watch for me--as I will for you--all thetime."
Joan broke from him and glided out of the grove, away under thestraggling pines, along the slope. She came upon her horse and she ledhim back to the corral. Many of the horses had strayed. There was no oneat the cabin, but she saw men striding up the slope, Kells in the lead.She had been fortunate. Her absence could hardly have been noted. Shehad just strength left to get to her room, where she fell upon the bed,weak and trembling and dizzy and unutterably grateful at her deliverancefrom the hateful, unbearable falsity of her situation.