by Zane Grey
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, although she seemed dully to hear his voice, she could not distinguish what he said. She shook her head. With that Kells waved her out on her strange errand.
Joan brushed against Cleve as she crossed the threshold. What would he think of this? She could not see his face. Wonderingly she walked down the road. 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. She decided she would have something to say to Kells when she got back.
Below the Last Nugget she crossed the road and started on the return trip. In front of this gambling hell there were scattered groups of men, standing or 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 to 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 that girl alone!”
This must have been yelled, for Joan certainly heard it. She recognized Red Pearce’s voice. 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 from 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 and be damned!” retorted Pearce. “I obeyed orders as I saw them. An’ I want to say right here that, when it comes to anythin’ concernin’ this girl, you’re plumb off your nut. Thet’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 left 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 Mister 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. “First, he did for Halloway an’ Bailey, not because they wanted to treat you as he meant to, but jest because he wanted to be alone. We’re all wise that you shot him . . . an’ that you wasn’t his wife. An’ since then we’ve see him gradually lose his nerve. He organizes his legion an’ makes his plan to run this Alder Creek red. He still hangs on to you. He’d kill any man that 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.”
“Have I any real friends among you?” asked Joan.
“Wal, I reckon.”
“Are you my friend, Bate Wood?” she went on, in sweet wistfulness.
The grizzled old bandit removed his pipe and looked at her with a glint in his blood-shot eyes.
“I shore am. I’d sneak you off now if you’ll go. I’d stick a knife in Kells if you say so.”
“Oh, no, I’m afraid to run off . . . and you mustn’t harm Kells. After all, he’s good to me.”
“Good to you! When he keeps you captive like an Indian would? When he’s given me orders to watch you . . . keep you locked up?”
Wood’s snort of disgust and wrath was thoroughly genuine. Still Joan knew that she dared not trust him, any more than Pearce or the others. Their raw emotion would undergo a change if Kells’s possession of her were transferred to them. It occurred to Joan, however, that she might use Wood’s fr
iendliness to some advantage.
“So I’m to be locked up?” she asked.
“You’re supposed to be.”
“Without anyone to talk to?”
“Wal, you’ll hev me when you want. I reckon that ain’t much to look forward to. But I can tell you a heap of stories. An’ when Kells ain’t around, if you’re careful not to get me ketched, you can do as you want.”
“Thank you, Bate. I’m going to like you,” replied Joan sincerely, and then she went back to her room. There was sewing to do, and, while she worked she thought, so that the hours sped. When the light got so poor that she could sew no longer, she put the work aside, and stood at her little window, watching the sunset. From the front of the cabin came the sound of subdued voices. Probably Kells and his men had returned, and she was sure of this when she heard the ring of Bate Wood’s axe.
All at once an object darker than the rocks arrested Joan’s gaze. There was a man sitting on the far side of the little ravine. Instantly she recognized Jim Cleve. He was looking at the little window—at her. Joan believed he was there for just that purpose. Making sure that no one else was near to see, she put out her hand and waved it. Jim gave a guarded perceptible sign that he had observed her action and almost directly got up and left. Joan needed no more than that to tell her how Jim’s idea of communicating with her corresponded with her own. That night she would talk with him and she was thrilled through. The secrecy, the peril somehow lent this prospect a sweetness, a zest, a delicious fear. Indeed, she was not only responding to love, but to daring, to defiance, to a wilder and nameless element born of her environment and the needs of the hour.
Presently Bate Wood called her in to supper. Pearce, Smith, and Cleve were finding seats at the table, but Kells looked rather sick. Joan observed him then more closely. His face was pale and damp, strangely shaded as if there were something dark under the pale skin. Joan had never seen him appear like this, and she shrank as from another and forbidding side of the man. Pearce and Smith acted naturally, ate with relish, and talked about the gold diggings. Cleve, however, was not as usual, and Joan could not quite make out what constituted the dissimilarity. She hurried through her own supper and back to her room.
Already it was dark outside. Joan lay down to listen and wait. It seemed long, but probably was not, before she heard the men go outside, and the low thump of their footsteps as they went away. Then came the rattle and bang of Bate Wood’s attack on the pans and pots. Bate liked to cook, but he hated to clean up afterward. By and by he settled down outside for his evening smoke and there was absolute quiet. Then Joan rose to stand at the window. She could see the dark mass of rock overhanging the cabin, the bluff beyond and the stars. For the rest all was gloom.
She did not have to wait long. A soft step, almost indistinguishable, made her pulse beat quicker. She put her face out of the window and on the instant a dark form seemed to loom up to meet her out of the shadow. She could not recognize that shape, yet she knew it belonged to Cleve.
“Joan,” he whispered.
“Jim,” she replied, just as low and gladly.
He moved closer, so that the hand she had gropingly put out touched him, then seemed naturally to slip along his shoulder, around his neck, and his face grew clearer in the shadow. His lips met hers, and Joan closed her eyes to that kiss. What hope, what strength for him and for her now in that meeting of lips.
“Oh, Jim . . . I’m so glad . . . to have you near . . . to touch you,” she whispered.
“Do you love me still?” he whispered back tensely.
“Still? More. More.”
“Say it, then.”
“Jim, I love you.”
And their lips met again and clung, and it was he who drew back first.
“Dearest, why didn’t you let me make a break to get away with you . . . before we came to this camp?”
“Oh, Jim, I told you. I was afraid. We’d’ve been caught. And Gulden. . . .”
“We’ll never have half the chance here. Kells means to keep you closely guarded. I heard the order. He’s different now. He’s grown crafty and hard. And the women of this Alder Creek. . . . Why, I’m more afraid to trust them than men like Wood or Pearce. They’ve gone clean crazy. Gold mad. If you shouted for your life, they wouldn’t hear you. And if you could make them hear, they wouldn’t believe. This camp has sprung up in a night. It’s not like any place I ever heard of. It’s not human. It’s so strange . . . so . . . oh, I don’t know what to say. I think I mean that men in a great gold strike become like coyotes at a carcass. You’ve seen that. No relations at all.”
“I’m frightened too, Jim. I wish I’d had the courage to run, when we were back in Cabin Gulch. But don’t ever give up, not for a second. We can get away. We must plan and wait. Find out where we are . . . how far from Hoadley . . . what we must expect . . . whether it’s safe to approach anyone in this camp.”
“Safe? I guess not, after today,” he whispered grimly.
“Why? What’s happened?” she asked quickly.
“Joan, have you guessed yet why Kells sent you down into camp alone?”
“No.”
“Listen. I went with Kells and Smith and Pearce. They hurried straight to the Last Nugget. There was a crowd of men in front of the place. Pearce walked straight up to one . . . a gambler by his clothes. And he said in a loud voice . . . ‘Here’s the man!’ The gambler looked startled, turned pale, and went for his gun. But Kells shot him. He fell dead, without a word. There was a big shout, then silence. Kells stood there with his smoking gun. I never saw the man so cool . . . so masterful. Then he addressed the crowd . . . ‘This gambler insulted my daughter! My men here saw him. My name’s Blight. I came here to buy up gold claims. And I want to say this. Your Alder Creek has got the gold. But it needs some of your best citizens to run it right, so a girl can be safe on the street.’
“Joan, I tell you it was a magnificent bluff,” went on Jim excitedly. “And it worked. Kells walked away amid cheers. He meant to give an impression of character and importance. He succeeded. So far as I could tell, there wasn’t a man present who did not show admiration for him. I saw that dead gambler kicked.”
“My God, Jim,” breathed Joan. “He killed him . . . just for that.”
“Just for that . . . the bloody devil.”
“But still . . . what for? Oh, it was cold-blooded murder.”
“No, an even break. Kells made the gambler go for his gun. I’ll have to say that for Kells.”
“It won’t change the thing. I’d forgotten what a monster he is.”
“Joan, his motive is plain. This new gold camp has not reached the blood-spilling stage yet. It hadn’t, I should say. The news of this killing will fly. It’ll focus minds on this claim buyer, Blight. His deed rings true . . . like that of an honest man with a daughter to protect. He’ll win sympathy. Then he talks as if he were prosperous. Soon he’ll be represented in this changing, growing population as a man of importance. He’ll play that card for all he’s worth. Meanwhile, secretly he’ll begin to rob the miners. It’ll be hard to suspect him. His plot is just like the man . . . great.”
“Jim, oughtn’t we tell?” whispered Joan, trembling.
“I’ve thought of that. Somehow I seem to feel guilty. But who on earth could we tell? We wouldn’t dare speak here. Remember, you’re a prisoner. I’m supposed to be a bandit . . . one of the Border Legion. How to get away from here, and save our lives . . . that’s what tortures me.”
“Something tells me we’ll escape, if only we can plan the right way. Jim, I’ll have to be penned here, with nothing to do but wait. You must come every night. Won’t you?”
For answer he kissed her again.
“Jim, what’ll you do meanwhile?” she asked anxiously.
“I’m going to work a claim. Dig for gold. I told Kells so today, and he was delighted. He said he was afraid his men wouldn’t like the working part of his plan. It’s hard to dig gold. Easy to steal it. But I’ll di
g a hole as big as a hill. Wouldn’t it be funny if I struck it rich?”
“Jim, you’re getting the fever.”
“Joan, if I did happen to run into a gold pocket . . . there’re lots of them found . . . would . . . you marry me?”
The tenderness—the timidity—and the yearning in Cleve’s voice told Joan as never before how he had hoped and feared and despaired. She patted his cheek with her hand, and in the darkness, with her heart swelling to make up for what she had done to him, she felt a boldness and a recklessness, sweet, tumultuous, irresistible.
“Jim, I’ll marry you . . . whether you strike gold or not,” she whispered.
And there was another blind sweet moment. Then Cleve tore himself away, and Joan leaned at the window, watching his shadow, with tears in her eyes and an ache in her heart.
From that day Joan lived a life of seclusion in the small room. Kells wanted it so, and Joan thought best for the time being not to take advantage of Bate Wood’s duplicity. Her meals were brought to her by Wood, who was supposed to unlock and lock her door. But Wood never turned the key in that padlock. Prisoner though Joan was, the days and nights sped swiftly.
Kells was always up till late in the night and slept half of the next morning. It was his wont to see Joan every day about noon. He had a care for his appearance. When he came in, he was dark, forbidding, weary, and cold. Manifestly he came to her to get rid of the imponderable burden of the present. He left it behind him. He never spoke a word of Alder Creek, of gold, of the Border Legion. Always he began by inquiring for her welfare, by asking what he could do for her, what he could bring her. Joan had an abhorrence of Kells in his absence that she never felt when he was with her, and the reason must have been that she thought of him, remembered him as the bandit, and saw him as another and growing character. Always mindful of her influence she was as companionable, as sympathetic, as cheerful and sweet as it was possible for her to be. Slowly he would warm and change under her charm, and the grim gloom, the dark strain would pass from him. When that left, he was indeed another person. Frankly he told Joan that the glimpse of real love she had simulated back there in Cabin Gulch was seldom out of his mind. No woman had ever kissed him like she had. That kiss had transfigured him. It haunted him. If he could not win kisses like that from Joan’s lips, of her own free will, then he wanted none. No other woman’s lips would ever touch his. And he begged Joan in the terrible earnestness of a stern and hungering outcast for her love. Joan could only sadly shake her head and tell him she was sorry for him, that the more she really believed he loved her, the surer she was that he would let her go. This always he passionately refused. He must have her to keep, to look at as his treasure, to dream over, and hope against hope that she would love him someday. Women sometimes learned to love their captors, he said, and, if she only learned, then he would take her away to Australia, to distant lands. But most of all he begged her to show him again what it meant to be loved by a good woman. Joan, who knew that her power now lay in her being unattainable, feigned a wavering reluctance when in truth any surrender was impossible. He left her with a spirit that her presence gave him, in a kind of trance, radiant, yet with mocking smile, as if he foresaw the overthrow of his soul through her, and in the light of that his waning power over his legion was as nothing.
