The Zane Grey Megapack

by Zane Grey

  “Take me in there,” said Joan, conscious of her own excitement, and she indicated the dance-hall.

  Kells laughed as if at her audacity. But he appeared reluctant.

  “Please take me—unless—” Joan did not know what to add, but she meant unless it was not right for her to see any more. A strange curiosity had stirred in her. After all, this place where she now stood was not greatly different from the picture imagination had conjured up. That dance-hall, however, was beyond any creation of Joan’s mind.

  “Let me have a look first,” said Kells, and he left Joan with Cleve.

  When he had gone Joan spoke without looking at Cleve, though she held fast to his arm.

  “Jim, it could be dreadful here—all in a minute!” she whispered.

  “You’ve struck it exactly,” he replied. “All Alder Creek needed to make it hell was Kells and his gang.”

  “Thank Heaven I turned you back in time!… Jim, you’d have—have gone the pace here.”

  He nodded grimly. Then Kells returned and led them back through the room to another door where spectators were fewer. Joan saw perhaps a dozen couples of rough, whirling, jigging dancers in a half-circle of watching men. The hall was a wide platform of boards with posts holding a canvas roof. The sides, were open; the lights were situated at each end-huge, round, circus tent lamps. There were rude benches and tables where reeling men surrounded a woman. Joan saw a young miner in dusty boots and corduroys lying drunk or dead in the sawdust. Her eyes were drawn back to the dancers, and to the dance that bore some semblance to a waltz. In the din the music could scarcely be heard. As far as the men were concerned this dance was a bold and violent expression of excitement on the part of some, and for the rest a drunken, mad fling. Sight of the women gave Joan’s curiosity a blunt check. She felt queer. She had not seen women like these, and their dancing, their actions, their looks, were beyond her understanding. Nevertheless, they shocked her, disgusted her, sickened her. And suddenly when it dawned upon her in unbelievable vivid suggestion that they were the wildest and most terrible element of this dark stream of humanity lured by gold, then she was appalled.

  “Take me out of here!” she besought Kells, and he led her out instantly. They went through the gambling-hall and into the crowded street, back toward camp.

  “You saw enough,” said Kells, “but nothing to what will break out by and by. This camp is new. It’s rich. Gold is the cheapest thing. It passes from hand to hand. Ten dollars an ounce. Buyers don’t look at the scales. Only the gamblers are crooked. But all this will change.”

  Kells did not say what that change might be, but the click of his teeth was expressive. Joan did not, however, gather from it, and the dark meaning of his tone, that the Border Legion would cause this change. That was in the nature of events. A great strike of gold might enrich the world, but it was a catastrophe.

  Long into the night Joan lay awake, and at times, stirring the silence, there was wafted to her on a breeze the low, strange murmur of the gold-camp’s strife.

  Joan slept late next morning, and was awakened by the unloading of lumber. Teams were drawing planks from the sawmill. Already a skeleton framework for Kells’s cabin had been erected. Jim Cleve was working with the others, and they were sacrificing thoroughness to haste. Joan had to cook her own breakfast, which task was welcome, and after it had been finished she wished for something more to occupy her mind. But nothing offered. Finding a comfortable seat among some rocks where she would be inconspicuous, she looked on at the building of Kells’s cabin. It seemed strange, and somehow comforting, to watch Jim Cleve work. He had never been a great worker. Would this experience on the border make a man of him? She felt assured of that.

  If ever a cabin sprang up like a mushroom, that bandit rendezvous was the one. Kells worked himself, and appeared no mean hand. By noon the roof of clapboards was on, and the siding of the same material had been started. Evidently there was not to a be a fireplace inside.

  Then a teamster drove up with a wagon-load of purchases Kells had ordered. Kells helped unload this and evidently was in search of articles. Presently he found them, and then approached Joan, to deposit before her an assortment of bundles little and big.

  “There Miss Modestly,” he said. “Make yourself some clothes. You can shake Dandy Dale’s outfit, except when we’re on the trail.… And, say, if you knew what I had to pay for this stuff you’d think there was a bigger robber in Alder Creek than Jack Kells.… And, come to think of it, my name’s now Blight. You’re my daughter, if anyone asks.” Joan was so grateful to him for the goods and the permission to get out of Dandy Dale’s suit as soon as possible, that she could only smile her thanks. Kells stared at her, then turned abruptly away. Those little unconscious acts of hers seemed to affect him strangely. Joan remembered that he had intended to parade her in Dandy Dale’s costume to gratify some vain abnormal side of his bandit’s proclivities. He had weakened. Here was another subtle indication of the deterioration of the evil of him. How far would it go? Joan thought dreamily, and with a swelling heart, of her influence upon this hardened bandit, upon that wild boy, Jim Cleve.

  All that afternoon, and part of the evening in the campfire light, and all of the next day Joan sewed, so busy that she scarcely lifted her eyes from her work. The following day she finished her dress, and with no little pride, for she had both taste and skill. Of the men, Bate Wood had been most interested in her task; and he would let things burn on the fire to watch her.

  That day the rude cabin was completed. It contained one long room; and at the back a small compartment partitioned off from the rest, and built against and around a shallow cavern in the huge rock. This compartment was for Joan. There were a rude board door with padlock and key, a bench upon which blankets had been flung, a small square hole cut in the wall to serve as a window. What with her own few belongings and the articles of furniture that Kells bought for her, Joan soon had a comfortable room, even a luxury compared to what she had been used to for weeks. Certain it was that Kells meant to keep her a prisoner, or virtually so. Joan had no sooner spied the little window than she thought that it would be possible for Jim Cleve to talk to her there from the outside.

  Kells verified Joan’s suspicion by telling her that she was not to leave the cabin of her own accord, as she had been permitted to do back in Cabin Gulch; and Joan retorted that there she had made him a promise not to run away, which promise she now took back. That promise had worried her. She was glad to be honest with Kells. He gazed at her somberly.

  “You’ll be worse off it you do—and I’ll be better off,” he said. And then as an afterthought he added: “Gulden might not think you—a white elephant on his hands!… Remember his way, the cave and the rope!”

  So, instinctively or cruelly he chose the right name to bring shuddering terror into Joan’s soul.

  CHAPTER 14

  Joan’s opportunity for watching Kells and his men and overhearing their colloquies was as good as it had been back in Cabin Gulch. But it developed that where Kells had been open and frank he now became secret and cautious. She was aware that men, singly and in couples, visited him during the early hours of the night, and they had conferences in low, earnest tones. She could peer out of her little window and see dark, silent forms come up from the ravine at the back of the cabin, and leave the same way. None of them went round to the front door, where Bate Wood smoked and kept guard. Joan was able to hear only scraps of these earnest talks; and from part of one she gathered that for some reason or other Kells desired to bring himself into notice. Alder Creek must be made to know that a man of importance had arrived. It seemed to Joan that this was the very last thing which Kells ought to do. What magnificent daring the bandit had! Famous years before in California—with a price set upon his life in Nevada—and now the noted, if unknown, leader of border robbers in Idaho, he sought to make himself prominent, respected, and powerful. Joan found that in spite of her horror at the sinister and deadly nature of the bandit�
�s enterprise she could not avoid an absorbing interest in his fortunes.

  Next day Joan watched for an opportunity to tell Jim Cleve that he might come to her little window any time after dark to talk and plan with her. No chance presented itself. Joan wore the dress she had made, to the evident pleasure of Bate Wood and Pearce. They had conceived as strong an interest in her fortunes as she had in Kells’s. Wood nodded his approval and Pearce said she was a lady once more. Strange it was to Joan that this villain Pearce, whom she could not have dared trust, grew open in his insinuating hints of Kells’s blackguardism. Strange because Pearce was absolutely sincere!

  When Jim Cleve did see Joan in her dress the first time he appeared so glad and relieved and grateful that she feared he might betray himself, so she got out of his sight.

  Not long after that Kells called her from her room. He wore his somber and thoughtful cast of countenance. Red Pearce and Jesse Smith were standing at attention. Cleve was sitting on the threshold of the door and Wood leaned against the wall.

  “Is there anything in the pack of stuff I bought you that you could use for a veil?” asked Kells of Joan.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Get it,” he ordered. “And your hat, too.”

  Joan went to her room and returned with the designated articles, the hat being that which she had worn when she left Hoadley.

  “That’ll do. Put it on—over your face—and let’s see how you look.”

  Joan complied with this request, all the time wondering what Kells meant.

  “I want it to disguise you, but not to hide your youth—your good looks,” he said, and he arranged it differently about her face. “There!… You’d sure make any man curious to see you now.… Put on the hat.”

  Joan did so. Then Kells appeared to become more forcible.

  “You’re to go down into the town. Walk slow as far as the Last Nugget. Cross the road and come back. Look at every man you meet or see standing by. Don’t be in the least frightened. Pearce and Smith will be right behind you. They’d get to you before anything could happen.… Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” replied Joan.

  Red Pearce stirred uneasily. “Jack, I’m thinkin’ some rough talk’ll come her way,” he said, darkly.

  “Will you shut up!” replied Kells in quick passion. He resented some implication. “I’ve thought of that. She won’t hear what’s said to her.… Here,” and he turned again to Joan, “take some cotton—or anything—and stuff up your ears. Make a good job of it.”

  Joan went back to her room and, looking about for something with which to execute Kells’s last order, she stripped some soft, woolly bits from a fleece-lined piece of cloth. With these she essayed to deaden her hearing. Then she returned. Kells spoke to her, but, though she seemed dully to hear his voice, she could not distinguish what he said. She shook her head. With that Kells waved her out upon her strange errand.

  Joan brushed against Cleve as she crossed the threshold. What would he think of this? She would not see his face. When she reached the first tents she could not resist the desire to look back. Pearce was within twenty yards of her and Smith about the same distance farther back. Joan was more curious than anything else. She divined that Kells wanted her to attract attention, but for what reason she was at a loss to say. It was significant that he did not intend to let her suffer any indignity while fulfilling this mysterious mission.

  Not until Joan got well down the road toward the Last Nugget did anyone pay any attention to her. A Mexican jabbered at her, showing his white teeth, flashing his sloe-black eyes. Young miners eyed her curiously, and some of them spoke. She met all kinds of men along the plank walk, most of whom passed by, apparently unobserving. She obeyed Kells to the letter. But for some reason she was unable to explain, when she got to the row of saloons, where lounging, evil-eyed rowdies accosted her, she found she had to disobey him, at least in one particular. She walked faster. Still that did not make her task much easier. It began to be an ordeal. The farther she got the bolder men grew. Could it have been that Kells wanted this sort of thing to happen to her? Joan had no idea what these men meant, but she believed that was because for the time being she was deaf. Assuredly their looks were not a compliment to any girl. Joan wanted to hurry now, and she had to force herself to walk at a reasonable gait. One persistent fellow walked beside her for several steps. Joan was not fool enough not to realize now that these wayfarers wanted to make her acquaintance. And she decided she would have something to say to Kells when she got back.

  Below the Last Nugget she crossed the road and started upon the return trip. In front of this gambling-hell there were scattered groups of men, standing, and going in. A tall man in black detached himself and started out, as if to intercept her. He wore a long black coat, a black bow tie, and a black sombrero. He had little, hard, piercing eyes, as black as his dress. He wore gloves and looked immaculate, compared with the other men. He, too, spoke to Joan, turned to walk with her. She looked straight ahead now, frightened, and she wanted to run. He kept beside her, apparently talking. Joan heard only the low sound of his voice. Then he took her arm, gently, but with familiarity. Joan broke from him and quickened her pace.

  “Say, there! Leave thet girl alone!”

  This must have been yelled, for Joan certainly heard it. She recognized Red Pearce’s voice. And she wheeled to look. Pearce had overhauled the gambler, and already men were approaching. Involuntarily Joan halted. What would happen? The gambler spoke to Pearce, made what appeared deprecating gestures, as if to explain. But Pearce looked angry.

  “I’ll tell her daddy!” he shouted.

  Joan waited for no more. She almost ran. There would surely be a fight. Could that have been Kells’s intention? Whatever it was, she had been subjected to a mortifying and embarrassing affront. She was angry, and she thought it might be just as well to pretend to be furious. Kells must not use her for his nefarious schemes. She hurried on, and, to her surprise, when she got within sight of the cabin both Pearce and Smith had almost caught up with her. Jim Cleve sat where she had last seen him. Also Kells was outside. The way he strode to and fro showed Joan his anxiety. There was more to this incident than she could fathom. She took the padding from her ears, to her intense relief, and, soon reaching the cabin, she tore off the veil and confronted Kells.

  “Wasn’t that a—a fine thing for you to do?” she demanded, furiously. And with the outburst she felt her face blazing. “If I’d any idea what you meant—you couldn’t—have driven me!… I trusted you. And you sent me down there on some—shameful errand of yours. You’re no gentleman!”

  Joan realized that her speech, especially the latter part, was absurd. But it had a remarkable effect upon Kells. His face actually turned red. He stammered something and halted, seemingly at a loss for words. How singularly the slightest hint of any act or word of hers that approached a possible respect or tolerance worked upon this bandit! He started toward Joan appealingly, but she passed him in contempt and went to her room. She heard him cursing Pearce in a rage, evidently blaming his lieutenant for whatever had angered her.

  “But you wanted her insulted!” protested Pearce, hotly.

  “You mullet-head!” roared Kells. “I wanted some man—any man—to get just near enough to her so I could swear she’d been insulted. You let her go through that camp to meet real insult!… Why—! Pearce, I’ve a mind to shoot you!”

  “Shoot!” retorted Pearce. “I obeyed orders as I saw them.… An’ I want to say right here thet when it comes to anythin’ concernin’ this girl you’re plumb off your nut. That’s what. An’ you can like it or lump it! I said before you’d split over this girl. An’ I say it now!”

  Through the door Joan had a glimpse of Cleve stepping between the angry men. This seemed unnecessary, however, for Pearce’s stinging assertion had brought Kells to himself. There were a few more words, too low for Joan’s ears, and then, accompanied by Smith, the three started off, evidently for the camp. Joan le
ft her room and watched them from the cabin door. Bate Wood sat outside smoking.

  “I’m declarin’ my hand,” he said to Joan, feelingly. “I’d never hev stood for thet scurvy trick. Now, miss, this’s the toughest camp I ever seen. I mean tough as to wimmen! For it ain’t begun to fan guns an’ steal gold yet.”

  “Why did Kells want me insulted?” asked Joan.

  “Wal, he’s got to hev a reason for raisin’ an orful fuss,” replied Wood.

  “Fuss?”

  “Shore,” replied Wood, dryly.

  “What for?”

  “Jest so he can walk out on the stage,” rejoined Wood, evasively.

  “It’s mighty strange,” said Joan.

  “I reckon all about Mr. Kells is some strange these days. Red Pearce had it correct. Kells is a-goin’ to split on you!”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Wal, he’ll go one way an’ the gang another.”

  “Why?” asked Joan, earnestly.

  “Miss, there’s some lot of reasons,” said Wood, deliberately. “Fust, he did for Halloway an’ Bailey, not because they wanted to treat you as he meant to, but just because he wanted to be alone. We’re all wise thet you shot him—an’ thet you wasn’t his wife. An’ since then we’ve seen him gradually lose his nerve. He organized his Legion an’ makes his plan to run this Alder Creek red. He still hangs on to you. He’d kill any man thet batted an eye at you.… An’ through all this, because he’s not Jack Kells of old, he’s lost his pull with the gang. Sooner or later he’ll split.”