Zane Grey (28 page)

The lamps were burning; the door was wide open. Apparently Kells's rule
of secrecy had been abandoned. One glance at Kells was enough to show
Joan that he was sick and desperate. Handy Oliver did not wear his usual
lazy good humor. Red Pearce sat silent and sullen, a smoking, unheeded
pipe in his hand. Jesse Smith was gloomy. The only other present was
Bate Wood, and whatever had happened had in no wise affected him. These
bandits were all waiting. Presently quick footsteps on the path outside
caused them all to look toward the door. That tread was familiar to
Joan, and suddenly her mouth was dry, her tongue stiff. What was Jim
Cleve coming to meet? How sharp and decided his walk! Then his dark
form crossed the bar of light outside the door, and he entered, bold and
cool, and with a weariness that must have been simulated.

"Howdy boys!" he said.

Only Kells greeted him in response. The bandit eyed him curiously. The
others added suspicion to their glances.

"Did you hear Red's yell?" queried Kells, presently.

"I'd have heard that roar if I'd been dead," replied Cleve, bluntly.
"And I didn't like it!... I was coming up the road and I heard Pearce
yell. I'll bet every man in camp heard it."

"How'd you know Pearce yelled for you?"

"I recognized his voice."

Cleve's manner recalled to Joan her first sight of him over in Cabin
Gulch. He was not so white or haggard, but his eyes were piercing,
and what had once been recklessness now seemed to be boldness. He
deliberately studied Pearce. Joan trembled, for she divined what none of
these robbers knew, and it was that Pearce was perilously near death. It
was there for Joan to read in Jim's dark glance.

"Where've you been all these nights?" queried the bandit leader.

"Is that any of your business—when you haven't had need of me?"
returned Cleve.

"Yes, it's my business. And I've sent for you. You couldn't be found."

"I've been here for supper every night."

"I don't talk to any men in daylight. You know my hours for meeting. And
you've not come."

"You should have told me. How was I to know?"

"I guess you're right. But where've you been?"

"Down in camp. Faro, most of the time. Bad luck, too."

Red Pearce's coarse face twisted into a scornful sneer. It must have
been a lash to Kells.

"Pearce says you're chasing a woman," retorted the bandit leader.

"Pearce lies!" flashed Cleve. His action was as swift. And there he
stood with a gun thrust hard against Pearce's side.

"JIM! Don't kill him!" yelled Kells, rising.

Pearce's red face turned white. He stood still as a stone, with his gaze
fixed in fascinated fear upon Cleve's gun.

A paralyzing surprise appeared to hold the group.

"Can you prove what you said?" asked Cleve, low and hard.

Joan knew that if Pearce did have the proof which would implicate her he
would never live to tell it.

"Cleve—I don't—know nothin'," choked out Pearce. "I jest figgered—it
was a woman!"

Cleve slowly lowered the gun and stepped back. Evidently that satisfied
him. But Joan had an intuitive feeling that Pearce lied.

"You want to be careful how you talk about me," said Cleve.

Kells purled out a suspended breath and he flung the sweat from
his brow. There was about him, perhaps more than the others, a dark
realization of how close the call had been for Pearce.

"Jim, you're not drunk?"

"No."

"But you're sore?"

"Sure I'm sore. Pearce put me in bad with you, didn't he?"

"No. You misunderstood me. Red hasn't a thing against you. And neither
he nor anybody else could put you in bad with me."

"All right. Maybe I was hasty. But I'm not wasting time these days,"
replied Cleve. "I've no hard feelings.... Pearce, do you want to shake
hands—or hold that against me?"

"He'll shake, of course," said Kells.

Pearce extended his hand, but with a bad grace. He was dominated. This
affront of Cleve's would rankle in him.

"Kells, what do you want with me?" demanded Cleve.

A change passed over Kells, and Joan could not tell just what it was,
but somehow it seemed to suggest a weaker man.

"Jim, you've been a great card for me," began Kells, impressively.
"You've helped my game—and twice you saved my life. I think a lot
of you.... If you stand by me now I swear I'll return the trick some
day.... Will you stand by me?"

"Yes," replied Cleve, steadily, but he grew pale. "What's the trouble?"

"By—, it's bad enough!" exclaimed Kells, and as he spoke the shade
deepened in his haggard face. "Gulden has split my Legion. He has drawn
away more than half my men. They have been drunk and crazy ever since.
They've taken things into their own hands. You see the result as well as
I. That camp down there is fire and brimstone. Some one of that drunken
gang has talked. We're none of us safe any more. I see suspicion
everywhere. I've urged getting a big stake and then hitting the trail
for the border. But not a man sticks to me in that. They all want the
free, easy, wild life of this gold-camp. So we're anchored till—till...
But maybe it's not too late. Pearce, Oliver, Smith—all the best of my
Legion—profess loyalty to me. If we all pull together maybe we can
win yet. But they've threatened to split, too. And it's all on your
account!"

"Mine?" ejaculated Cleve.

"Yes. Now it's nothing to make you flash your gun. Remember you said
you'd stand by me.... Jim, the fact is—all the gang to a man believe
you're double-crossing me!"

"In what way?" queried Cleve, blanching.

"They think you're the one who has talked. They blame you for the
suspicion that's growing."

"Well, they're absolutely wrong," declared Cleve, in a ringing voice.

"I know they are. Mind you I'm not hinting I distrust you. I don't. I
swear by you. But Pearce—"

"So it's Pearce," interrupted Cleve, darkly. "I thought you said he
hadn't tried to put me in bad with you."

"He hasn't. He simply spoke his convictions. He has a right to them.
So have all the men. And, to come to the point, they all think you're
crooked because you're honest!"

"I don't understand," replied Cleve, slowly.

"Jim, you rode into Cabin Gulch, and you raised some trouble. But you
were no bandit. You joined my Legion, but you've never become a bandit.
Here you've been an honest miner. That suited my plan and it helped.
But it's got so it doesn't suit my men. You work every day hard. You've
struck it rich. You're well thought of in Alder Creek. You've never done
a dishonest thing. Why, you wouldn't turn a crooked trick in a card game
for a sack full of gold. This has hurt you with my men. They can't see
as I see, that you're as square as you are game. They see you're an
honest miner. They believe you've got into a clique—that you've given
us away. I don't blame Pearce or any of my men. This is a time when
men's intelligence, if they have any, doesn't operate. Their brains
are on fire. They see gold and whisky and blood, and they feel gold
and whisky and blood. That's all. I'm glad that the gang gives you the
benefit of a doubt and a chance to stand by me."

"A chance!"

"Yes. They've worked out a job for you alone. Will you undertake it?"

"I'll have to," replied Cleve.

"You certainly will if you want the gang to justify my faith in you.
Once you pull off a crooked deal, they'll switch and swear by you. Then
we'll get together, all of us, and plan what to do about Gulden and
his outfit. They'll run our heads, along with their own, right into the
noose."

"What is this—this job?" labored Cleve. He was sweating now and his
hair hung damp over his brow. He lost that look which had made him a
bold man and seemed a boy again, weak, driven, bewildered.

Kells averted his gaze before speaking again. He hated to force this
task upon Cleve. Joan felt, in the throbbing pain of the moment, that if
she never had another reason to like this bandit, she would like him for
the pity he showed.

"Do you know a miner named Creede?" asked Kells, rapidly.

"A husky chap, short, broad, something like Gulden for shape, only not
so big—fellow with a fierce red beard?" asked Cleve.

"I never saw him," replied Kells. "But Pearce has. How does Cleve's
description fit Creede?"

"He's got his man spotted," answered Pearce.

"All right, that's settled," went on Kells, warming to his subject.
"This fellow Creede wears a heavy belt of gold. Blicky never makes a
mistake. Creede's partner left on yesterday's stage for Bannack.
He'll be gone a few days. Creede is a hard worker-one of the hardest.
Sometimes he goes to sleep at his supper. He's not the drinking kind.
He's slow, thick-headed. The best time for this job will be early in the
evening—just as soon as his lights are out. Locate the tent. It stands
at the head of a little wash and there's a bleached pine-tree right by
the tent. To-morrow night as soon as it gets dark crawl up this wash—be
careful—wait till the right time—then finish the job quick!"

"How—finish—it?" asked Cleve, hoarsely.

Kells was scintillating now, steely, cold, radiant. He had forgotten the
man before him in the prospect of the gold.

"Creede's cot is on the side of the tent opposite the tree. You won't
have to go inside. Slit the canvas. It's a rotten old tent. Kill Creede
with your knife.... Get his belt.... Be bold, cautious, swift! That's
your job. Now what do you say?"

"All right," responded Cleve, somberly, and with a heavy tread he left
the room.

After Jim had gone Joan still watched and listened. She was in distress
over his unfortunate situation, but she had no fear that he meant to
carry out Kells's plan. This was a critical time for Jim, and therefore
for her. She had no idea what Jim could do; all she thought was what he
would not do.

Kells gazed triumphantly at Pearce. "I told you the youngster would
stand by me. I never put him on a job before."

"Reckon I figgered wrong, boss," replied Pearce.

"He looked sick to me, but game," said Handy Oliver. "Kells is right,
Red, an' you've been sore-headed over nothin'!"

"Mebbe. But ain't it good figgerin' to make Cleve do some kind of a job,
even if he is on the square?"

They all acquiesced to this, even Kells slowly nodding his head.

"Jack, I've thought of another an' better job for young Cleve," spoke up
Jesse Smith, with his characteristic grin.

"You'll all be setting him jobs now," replied Kells. "What's yours?"

"You spoke of plannin' to get together once more—what's left of us. An'
there's thet bull-head Gulden."

"You're sure right," returned the leader, grimly, and he looked at Smith
as if he would welcome any suggestion.

"I never was afraid to speak my mind," went on Smith. Here he lost his
grin and his coarse mouth grew hard. "Gulden will have to be killed if
we're goin' to last!"

"Wood, what do you say?" queried Kells, with narrowing eyes.

Bate Wood nodded as approvingly as if he had been asked about his bread.

"Oliver, what do you say?"

"Wal, I'd love to wait an' see Gul hang, but if you press me, I'll agree
to stand pat with the cards Jesse's dealt," replied Handy Oliver.

Then Kells turned with a bright gleam upon his face. "And you—Pearce?"

"I'd say yes in a minute if I'd not have to take a hand in thet job,"
replied Pearce, with a hard laugh. "Gulden won't be so easy to kill.
He'll pack a gunful of lead. I'll gamble if the gang of us cornered him
in this cabin he'd do for most of us before we killed him."

"Gul sleep alone, no one knows where," said Handy Oliver. "An' he can't
be surprised. Red's correct. How're we goin' to kill him?"

"If you gents will listen you'll find out," rejoined Jesse Smith.
"Thet's the job for young Cleve. He can do it. Sure Gulden never was
afraid of any man. But somethin' about Cleve bluffed him. I don't
know what. Send Cleve out after Gulden. He'll call him face to face,
anywhere, an' beat him to a gun!... Take my word for it."

"Jesse, that's the grandest idea you ever had," said Kells, softly. His
eyes shone. The old power came back to his face. "I split on Gulden.
With him once out of the way—!"

"Boss, are you goin' to make thet Jim Cleve's second job?" inquired
Pearce, curiously.

"I am," replied Kells, with his jaw corded and stiff. "If he pulls thet
off you'll never hear a yap from me so long as I live. An' I'll eat out
of Cleve's hand."

Joan could bear to hear no more. She staggered to her bed and fell
there, all cramped as if in a cold vise. However Jim might meet the
situation planned for murdering Creede, she knew he would not shirk
facing Gulden with deadly intent. He hated Gulden because she had a
horror of him. Would these hours of suspense never end? Must she pass
from one torture to another until—?

Sleep did not come for a long time. And when it did she suffered with
nightmares from which it seemed she could never awaken.

The day, when at last it arrived, was no better than the night. It
wore on endlessly, and she who listened so intently found it one of the
silent days. Only Bate Wood remained at the cabin. He appeared kinder
than usual, but Joan did not want to talk. She ate her meals, and passed
the hours watching from the window and lying on the bed. Dusk brought
Kells and Pearce and Smith, but not Jim Cleve. Handy Oliver and Blicky
arrived at supper-time.

"Reckon Jim's appetite is pore," remarked Bate Wood, reflectively. "He
ain't been in to-day."

Some of the bandits laughed, but Kells had a twinge, if Joan ever saw a
man have one. The dark, formidable, stern look was on his face. He alone
of the men ate sparingly, and after the meal he took to his bent posture
and thoughtful pacing. Joan saw the added burden of another crime upon
his shoulders. Conversation, which had been desultory, and such as any
miners or campers might have indulged in, gradually diminished to a
word here and there, and finally ceased. Kells always at this hour had
a dampening effect upon his followers. More and more he drew aloof from
them, yet he never realized that. He might have been alone. But often he
glanced out of the door, and appeared to listen. Of course he expected
Jim Cleve to return, but what did he expect of him? Joan had a blind
faith that Jim would be cunning enough to fool Kells and Pearce. So much
depended upon it!