7
After dark Kells had his men build a fire before the open side of thecabin. He lay propped up on blankets and his saddle, while the otherslounged or sat in a half-circle in the light, facing him.
Joan drew her blankets into a corner where the shadows were thick andshe could see without being seen. She wondered how she would ever sleepnear all these wild men--if she could ever sleep again. Yet she seemedmore curious and wakeful than frightened. She had no way to explainit, but she felt the fact that her presence in the camp had a subtleinfluence, at once restraining and exciting. So she looked out upon thescene with wide-open eyes.
And she received more strongly than ever an impression of wildness. Eventhe camp-fire seemed to burn wildly; it did not glow and sputter andpale and brighten and sing like an honest camp-fire. It blazed in red,fierce, hurried flames, wild to consume the logs. It cast a balefuland sinister color upon the hard faces there. Then the blackness of theenveloping night was pitchy, without any bold outline of canon wallor companionship of stars. The coyotes were out in force and from allaround came their wild sharp barks. The wind rose and mourned weirdlythrough the balsams.
But it was in the men that Joan felt mostly that element of wildness.Kells lay with his ghastly face clear in the play of the moving flareof light. It was an intelligent, keen, strong face, but evil. Evil powerstood out in the lines, in the strange eyes, stranger then ever, nowin shadow; and it seemed once more the face of an alert, listening,implacable man, with wild projects in mind, driving him to the doom hemeant for others. Pearce's red face shone redder in that ruddy light. Itwas hard, lean, almost fleshless, a red mask stretched over a grinningskull. The one they called Frenchy was little, dark, small-featured,with piercing gimlet-like eyes, and a mouth ready to gush forth hateand violence. The next two were not particularly individualized by anystriking aspect, merely looking border ruffians after the type of Billand Halloway. But Gulden, who sat at the end of the half-circle, wasan object that Joan could scarcely bring her gaze to study. Somehow herfirst glance at him put into her mind a strange idea--that she was awoman and therefore of all creatures or things in the world the farthestremoved from him. She looked away, and found her gaze returning,fascinated, as if she were a bird and he a snake. The man was of hugeframe, a giant whose every move suggested the acme of physical power. Hewas an animal--a gorilla with a shock of light instead of black hair,of pale instead of black skin. His features might have been hewn andhammered out with coarse, dull, broken chisels. And upon his face, inthe lines and cords, in the huge caverns where his eyes hid, and in thehuge gash that held strong, white fangs, had been stamped by natureand by life a terrible ferocity. Here was a man or a monster in whosepresence Joan felt that she would rather be dead. He did not smoke; hedid not indulge in the coarse, good-natured raillery, he sat there likea huge engine of destruction that needed no rest, but was forced to restbecause of weaker attachments. On the other hand, he was not sullen orbrooding. It was that he did not seem to think.
Kells had been rapidly gaining strength since the extraction ofthe bullet, and it was evident that his interest was growingproportionately. He asked questions and received most of his repliesfrom Red Pearce. Joan did not listen attentively at first, but presentlyshe regretted that she had not. She gathered that Kells's fame asthe master bandit of the whole gold region of Idaho, Nevada, andnortheastern California was a fame that he loved as much as the gold hestole. Joan sensed, through the replies of these men and their attitudetoward Kells, that his power was supreme. He ruled the robbers andruffians in his bands, and evidently they were scattered from Bannackto Lewiston and all along the border. He had power, likewise, over theborder hawks not directly under his leadership. During the weeks of hisenforced stay in the canon there had been a cessation of operations--thenature of which Joan merely guessed--and a gradual accumulation ofidle wailing men in the main camp. Also she gathered, but vaguely, thatthough Kells had supreme power, the organization he desired was yetfar from being consummated. He showed thoughtfulness and irritation byturns, and it was the subject of gold that drew his intensest interest.
"Reckon you figgered right, Jack," said Red Pearce, and paused asif before a long talk, while he refilled his pipe. "Sooner or laterthere'll be the biggest gold strike ever made in the West. Wagon-trainsare met every day comin' across from Salt Lake. Prospectors are workin'in hordes down from Bannack. All the gulches an' valleys in the BearMountains have their camps. Surface gold everywhere an' easy to getwhere 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 themain-traveled roads an' reaches back into the mountains there's goin' tobe 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 BateWood. 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'magreein' with Red. There shore will be hell on this Idaho border sooneror later. I've been a prospector, though I never hankered after the hardwork of diggin' gold. Gold is hard to dig, easy to lose, an' easy to getfrom some other feller. I see the signs of a comin' strike somewhere inthis region. Mebbe it's on now. There's thousands of prospectors in twosan' threes an' groups, out in the hills all over. They ain't a-goin' totell 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. Ishore reckon thet this year will beat '49 an' '51. An' fer two reasons.There's a steady stream of broken an' disappointed gold-seekersback-trailin' from California. There's a bigger stream of hopeful an'crazy fortune hunters travelin' in from the East. Then there's thewimmen an' gamblers an' such thet hang on. An' last the men thet thewar is drivin' out here. Whenever an' wherever these streams meet, ifthere's a big gold strike, there'll be the hellishest time the worldever saw!"
"Boys," said Kells, with a ring in his weak voice, "it'll be a harvestfor my Border Legion."
"Fer what?" queried Bate Wood, curiously.
All the others except Gulden turned inquiring and interested facestoward 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'llcall 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 giantGulden raised his massive head and asked, or rather growled, in a heavyvoice what the fuss was about. His query, his roused presence, seemed toact upon the others, even Kells, with a strange, disquieting or haltingforce, as if here was a character or an obstacle to be considered. Aftera moment of silence Red Pearce explained the project.
"Huh! Nothing new in that," replied Gulden. "I belonged to one once. Itwas 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. "Whatwas the Royal Legion?"
"Nothing but a lot of devils from all over. The border there was thelast 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 hisinference was lost upon Gulden.
"I won't allow fighting in my Legion," said Kells, coolly. "I'll pickthis band myself."
"Thet's the secret," rejoined Wood. "The right fellers. I've been in allkinds 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 andcontrol. Then as lieute
nants 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 shouldersa swagger. "Speakin' of that, boss," he said, "reminds me of a chap whorode 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 offwe all thought he was a guy who had a grievance, an' some of us was forpluggin' him. But I kinda liked him an' I cooled the gang down. GladI did that. He wasn't wantin' to throw a gun. His intentions werefriendly. 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' washuntin' 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 thisbandit group, heard the name Jim Cleve with pain and fear, but notamaze. From the moment Pearce began his speech she had been preparedfor the revelation of her runaway lover's name. She trembled, and grewa little sick. Jim had made no idle threat. What would she have given tolive over again the moment that had alienated him?
"Jim Cleve," mused Kells. "Never heard of him. And I never forget a nameor 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 Batewhat he thinks."
"Well!" exclaimed Kells in surprise. "Strangers are everyday occurrenceson this border. But I never knew one to impress you fellows as thisCleve.... Bate, what do you say? What's this Cleve done? You're an oldhead. Talk, sense, now."
"Done?" echoed Wood, scratching his grizzled head. "What in the hellain't he done?... He rode in brazener than any feller thet ever stackedup against this outfit. An' straight-off he wins the outfit. I don'tknow how he done it. Mebbe it was because you seen he didn't care feranythin' or anybody on earth. He stirred us up. He won all the money wehad in camp--broke most of us--an' give it all back. He drank more'n thewhole outfit, yet didn't get drunk. He threw his gun on Beady Jonesfer cheatin' an' then on Beady's pard, Chick Williams. Didn't shoot tokill--jest winged 'em. But say, he's the quickest and smoothest hand tothrow 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 addthat he'll take some company along."
"Bate, you forgot to tell how he handled Luce," said Red Pearee. "Youwas 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 recollectthet little Brander girl over at Bear Lake village. She's old Brander'sgirl--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' inover at Cabin Gulch one day. As usual, we was drinkin' an' playin'. Butyoung Cleve wasn't doin' neither. He had a strange, moody spell thetday, as I recollect. Luce sprung a job on us. We never worked with himor his outfit, but mebbe--you can't tell what'd come off if it hadn'tbeen for Cleve. Luce had a job put up to ride down where ole Brander waswashin' fer gold, take what he had--AN' the girl. Fact was the gold wasonly incidental. When somebody cornered Luce he couldn't swear there wasgold worth goin' after. An' about then Jim Cleve woke up. He cussed Lucesomethin' fearful. An' when Luce went for his gun, natural-like, whythis Jim Cleve took it away from him. An' then he jumped Luce. Heknocked an' threw him around an' he near beat him to death before wecould interfere. Luce was shore near dead. All battered up--brokenbones--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'snarrative. Wood had liked the telling, and it made his listenersthoughtful. All at once the pale face of Kells turned slightly towardGulden.
"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'llgo after the Brander girl."
How strangely his brutal assurance marked a line between him and hiscompanions! There was something wrong, something perverse in thisGulden. Had Kells meant to bring that point out or to get an impressionof Cleve?
Joan could not decide. She divined that there was antagonism betweenGulden and all the others. And there was something else, vague andintangible, that might have been fear. Apparently Gulden was acriminal for the sake of crime. Joan regarded him with a growingterror--augmented the more because he alone kept eyes upon the cornerwhere she was hidden--and she felt that compared with him theothers, even Kells, of whose cold villainy she was assured, were butinsignificant men of evil. She covered her head with a blanket to shutout 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. Evidentlythe conversation died down, or she, in the absorption of new thoughts,no longer heard. She relaxed, and suddenly seemed to quiver all overwith the name she whispered to herself. "Jim! Jim! Oh, Jim!" And thelast whisper was an inward sob. What he had done was terrible. Ittortured her. She had not believed it in him. Yet, now she thought, howlike him. All for her--in despair and spite--he had ruined himself. Hewould be killed out there in some drunken brawl, or, still worse, hewould become a member of this bandit crew and drift into crime. That wasa 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 JimCleve. She had not known that when she started out to trail him, tofetch him back, but she knew it now. She ought to have known before.
The situation she had foreseen loomed dark and monstrous and terrible inprospect. Just to think of it made her body creep and shudder with coldterror. Yet there was that strange, inward, thrilling burn round herheart. Somewhere and soon she was coming face to face with this changedJim Cleve--this boy who had become a reckless devil. What would hedo? 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 woulddivine the truth in the flash of an eye. And then! She could not thinkwhat 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 thegossip of these bandits, she had become another girl--a girl whollybecome a woman, and one with a driving passion to save if it cost herlife. 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 withhim. 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 atthat moment she could have walked forth free and safe. She was going onto Cabin Gulch. And that thought was the last one in her weary mind asshe dropped to sleep.