Cabin Gulch

by Zane Grey

  Joan reeled and sank back upon the bed blindly, with darkening sight and mind.

  SIXTEEN

  Joan returned to consciousness with a sense of vague and unlocalized pain she thought was that old familiar pang of grief. But once fully awakened, as if by a sharp twinge, she became aware that the pain was some kind of muscular throb in her shoulder. The instant she was fully sure of this, the strange feeling ceased. Then she lay, wide-eyed, in the darkness, waiting and wondering.

  Suddenly the slight sharp twinge was repeated. It seemed to come from outside her flesh. She shivered a little, thinking it might be a centipede. When she reached for her shoulder, her hand came in contact with a slender stick that had been thrust through a crack between the boards. Jim was trying to rouse her. This had been his method on several occasions when she had fallen asleep after waiting long for him.

  Joan got up to the window, dizzy and sick with the resurging memory of Jim’s return to Kells with that gold belt.

  Jim rose out of the shadow and felt for her, clasped her close. Joan had none of the old thrill; she seemed cold and dull; her hands slid loosely around his, and every second the weight inwardly grew heavier.

  “Joan. I had a time waking you,” whispered Jim, and then he kissed her. “Why, you’re cold as ice.”

  “Jim . . . I . . . I must have fainted,” she replied.

  “What for?”

  “I was peeping into Kells’s cabin, when you . . . you. . . .”

  “Poor kid,” he interrupted tenderly. “You’ve had so much to bear. Joan, I fooled Kells. Oh, I am slick. He ordered me out on a job. To kill a miner. Fancy that. And what do you think? I know Creede well. He’s a good fellow. I traded my big nugget for his gold belt.”

  “You traded . . . you . . . didn’t . . . kill him?” faltered Joan.

  “Hear the child talk!” exclaimed Cleve with a low laugh.

  Joan suddenly clung to him with all her might, quivering in a silent joy. It had not occurred to Jim what she might have thought.

  “Listen,” he went on, “I traded my nugget. It was worth three times Creede’s gold belt. He knew this. He didn’t want to trade. But I coaxed him. I persuaded him to leave camp . . . to walk out on the road to Bannack. To meet the stage somewhere and go on to Bannack, and stay a few days. He sure was curious. But I kept my secret. Then I came back here . . . gave the belt to Kells . . . told him I had followed Creede in the dark . . . killed him and slid him into a deep hole in the creek. Kells and Pearce . . . none of them paid any attention to my story. I had the gold belt. That was enough. Gold talks . . . fills the ears of these bandits. I have my share of Creede’s gold dust in my pocket. Isn’t that funny? Alas for my . . . your big nugget. But we’ve got to play the game. Besides I’ve sacks and cans of gold hidden away. Joan, what’ll we do with it all? You’re my wife now. And, oh, if we can only get away with it, you’ll be rich.”

  Joan could not share his happiness any more than she could understand his spirit. She remembered. “Jim . . . dear . . . did Kells tell you what your . . . next job was to be?” she whispered haltingly.

  Cleve swore under his breath, but loud enough to make Joan swiftly put her hand over his lips and caution him.

  “Joan, did you hear that about Gulden?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you. Yes, I’ve got my second job, and this one I can’t shirk or twist around.”

  Joan held to him convulsively. She could scarcely speak.

  “Girl, don’t you lose your nerve,” he said sternly. “When you married me, you made me a man. I’ll play my end of the game. Don’t fear for me. You plan when we can risk escape. I’ll obey you to the word.”

  “But Jim . . . oh, Jim,” she moaned. “You’re as wild as these bandits. You can’t see your danger. That terrible Gulden. You don’t mean to meet him . . . fight him? Say you won’t.”

  “Joan, I’ll meet him . . . and I’ll kill him,” whispered Jim with a piercing intensity. “You never knew I was swift with a gun. Well, I didn’t either, till I struck the border. I know now. Kells is the only man I’ve seen who can throw a gun quicker than I. Gulden is a big bull. He’s slow. I’ll get into a card game with him . . . I’ll quarrel over gold . . . I’ll smash him as I did once before . . . andthistimeIwon’t shoot off his ear. I’ve my nerve now. Kells swore he’d do anything for me if I stand by him now. I will. You never can tell. Kells is losing his grip. And my standing by him may save you.”

  Joan drew a deep breath. Jim Cleve had, indeed, come into manhood. She crushed down her womanish fears and rose dauntlessly to the occasion. She would never weaken him by a lack of confidence.

  “Jim, Kells’s plot draws on to a fatal close,” she said earnestly. “I feel it. He’s doomed. He doesn’t realize that yet. He hopes and plots on. When he falls, then he’ll be great . . . terrible. We must get away before that comes. What you said about Creede has given me an idea. Suppose we plan to slip out some night soon, and stop the stage next day on its way to Bannack?”

  “I’ve thought of that. But we must have horses.”

  “Let’s go afoot. We’d be safe. There’d not be so much to plan.”

  “But if we go on foot, we must pack guns and grub . . . and there’s my gold dust. Fifty pounds or more. I swear I’ll make a try to save that. It’s yours, Joan. You’ll need it all. You love pretty clothes and things. And now I’ll get them for you or . . . or die.”

  “Hush! That’s foolish talk, with our very lives at stake. Let me plan some more. Oh, I think so hard. And Jim, there’s another thing. Red Pearce was more than suspicious about your absence from the cabin at certain hours. What he hinted to Kells about a woman in the case . . . I’m afraid he suspects or knows.”

  “He had me cold, too,” replied Cleve thoughtfully. “But he swore he knew nothing.”

  “Jim, trust a woman’s instinct. Pearce lied. That gun at his side made him a liar. He knew you’d kill him if he betrayed himself by a word. Oh, look out for him.”

  Cleve did not reply. It struck Joan that he was not listening, at least to her. His head was turned, rigid and alert. He had his ear to the soft wind. Suddenly Joan heard a faint rustle—then another. They appeared to come from the corner of the cabin. Silently Cleve sank down into the shadow and vanished. Low stealthy footsteps followed, but Joan was not sure whether or not Cleve made them. They did not seem to come from the direction he usually took. Besides, when he was careful, he never made the lightest noise. Joan strained her ears, only to catch the faint sounds of the night. She lay back upon her bed, worried and anxious again, and soon the dread returned. There were to be no waking or sleeping hours free from this portent of calamity.

  Next morning, Joan awaited Kells as was her custom, but he did not appear. This was the third time in a week that he had forgotten or avoided her or had been prevented from seeing her. Joan was glad, yet the fact was not reassuring. The issue for Kells was growing from trouble to disaster.

  Early in the afternoon she heard Kells returning from camp. He had men with him. They conversed in low earnest tones. Joan was about to spy upon them when Kells’s steps approached her door. He rapped and spoke: “Put on Dandy Dale’s suit and mask, and come out here.”

  The tone of his voice as much as the contents of his words startled Joan so that she did not at once reply.

  “Do you hear?” he called sharply.

  “Yes,” replied Joan.

  Then he went back to the men, and the low earnest conversation was renewed.

  Reluctantly Joan took down Dandy Dale’s things from the pegs and with a recurring shame she divested herself of part of her clothes and donned the suit and boots and mask and gun. Her spirit rose, however, at the thought that this would be a disguise calculated to aid her in the escape with Cleve. But why had Kells ordered the change? Was he in danger and did he mean to flee from Alder Creek? Joan found the speculation a relief from that haunting persistent thought of Jim Cleve and Gulde
n. She was eager to learn, still she hesitated at the door. It was just as hard as ever to face those men. But it must be, so with a wrench she stepped out boldly.

  Kells looked worn and gray. He had not slept. But his face did not wear the shade she had come to associate with his gambling and drinking. Six other men were present, and Joan noted coats and gloves and weapons and spurs. Kells turned to address her. His face lighted fleetingly.

  “I want you to be ready to ride any minute,” he said.

  “Why?” asked Joan.

  “We may have to, that’s all,” he replied.

  His men, usually so keen when they had a chance to ogle Joan, now scarcely gave her a glance. They were a dark grim group, with hard eyes and tight lips. Handy Oliver was speaking.

  “I tell you, Gulden swore he seen Creede . . . on the road . . . in the lamplight . . . last night after Jim Cleve got here.”

  “Gulden must have been mistaken,” declared Kells impatiently.

  “He ain’t the kind to make mistakes,” replied Oliver.

  “Gul’s seen Creede’s ghost . . . thet’s what,” suggested Blicky uneasily. “I’ve seen a few . . . in my time.”

  Some of the bandits nodded gloomily.

  “Hell!” burst out Red Pearce, “Gulden never seen a ghost in his life. If he seen Creede, he’s seen him alive!”

  “Shore you’re right, Red,” agreed Jesse Smith.

  “But man . . . Cleve brought in Creede’s belt . . . and we’ve divided the gold,” said Kells. “You all know Creede would have to be dead before that belt could be unbuckled from him. There’s a mistake.”

  “Boss, it’s my idee that Gul is only makin’ more trouble,” put in Bate Wood. “I seen him less than an hour ago. I was the first one Gul talked to. An’ he knew Jim Cleve did for Creede. How’d he know? Thet was supposed to be a secret. What’s more Gul told me Cleve was on the job to kill him. How’d he ever find that out? Sure as God made little apples, Cleve never told him.”

  Kells’s face grew livid and his whole body vibrated. “Maybe one of Gulden’s gang was outside, listening, when we planned Cleve’s job,” he suggested. But his look belied his hope.

  “Naw! There’s a nigger in the woodpile, you can gamble on thet,” blurted out the sixth bandit, a lean-faced bold-eyed, blond-mustached fellow whose name Joan had never heard.

  “I won’t believe it,” replied Kells doggedly. “And you, Budd, you’re accusing somebody present of treachery . . . or else Cleve. He’s the only one not here who knew.”

  “Wal, I always said that youngster was slick,” replied Budd.

  “Will you accuse him to his face?”

  “I shore will. Glad of the chance.”

  “Then you’re drunk or just a fool.”

  “Thet so?”

  “Yes, that’s so,” flashed Kells. “You don’t know Cleve. He’ll kill you. He’s lightning with a gun. Do you suppose I’d set him on Gulden’s trail if I wasn’t sure? Why, I wouldn’t care to. . . .”

  “Here comes Cleve,” interrupted Pearce sharply.

  Rapid footsteps sounded without. Then Joan saw Jim Cleve darken the doorway. He looked keen and bold. Upon sight of Joan in her changed attire he gave a slight start.

  “Budd, here’s Cleve!” called out Red Pearce mockingly. “Now say it to his face.”

  In the silence that ensued Pearce’s spirit dominated the moment with its cunning, hate, and violence. But Kells savagely leaped in front of the men, still master of the situation.

  “Damn you, Red, what’s got into you?” he hissed. “You’re cross-grained lately. You’re sore. Any more of this and I’ll swear you’re a disorganizer. . . . Now, Budd, you keep your mouth shut. And you, Cleve, you pay no heed to Budd if he does gab. . . . We’re in bad and all the men have chips on their shoulders. We’ve got to stop fighting among ourselves.”

  “Wal, boss, there’s a power of sense in a good example,” dryly remarked Bate Wood. His remark calmed Kells and eased the situation.

  “Jim . . . did you meet Gulden?” queried Kells eagerly.

  “Can’t find him anywhere,” replied Cleve. “I’ve loafed in the saloons and gambling halls where he hangs out. But he didn’t show up. He’s in camp. I know that for a fact. He’s lying low for some reason.”

  “Gulden’s been tipped off, Jim,” said Kells earnestly. “He told Bate Wood you were out to kill him.”

  “I’m glad. It wasn’t a fair hand you were going to deal him,” replied Cleve. “But you gave my job away? Someone in this gang wants me done for . . . more than Gulden.”

  Cleve’s flashing gaze swept over the motionless men, and fixed hardest upon Red Pearce. Pearce gave back hard look for hard look.

  “Gulden told Oliver more,” continued Kells, and he pulled Cleve around to face him. “Gulden swore he saw Creede alive last night . . . late last night.”

  “That’s funny,” replied Cleve without the flicker of an eyelash.

  “It’s not funny. But it’s queer. Gulden hasn’t the moral sense to lie. Bate says he wants to make trouble between you and me. I doubt that. I don’t believe Gulden could see a ghost, either. He’s simply mistaken some miner for Creede.”

  “He sure has, unless Creede came back to life. I’m not sitting on his chest now, holding him down.”

  Kells drew back, manifestly convinced and relieved. This action seemed to be a magnet for Pearce. He detached himself from the group and, approaching Kells, tapped him significantly on the shoulder. Whether by design or accident the fact was that he took a position where Kells was between him and Cleve.

  “Jack, you’re being double-crossed here . . . an’ by more’n one,” he said deliberately. “But if you want me to talk, you’ve got to guarantee no gun play.”

  “Speak up, Red,” replied Kells with a glinting eye. “I swear there won’t be a gun pulled.”

  The other men shifted from one foot to another and there were deeply drawn breaths. Jim Cleve alone seemed quiet and cool. But his eyes were ablaze.

  “Fust off, for instance, here’s one who’s double-crossin’ you,” said Pearce in slow tantalizing speech, as if he wore out this suspense to torture Kells. And without ever glancing at Joan, he jerked a thumb in significant gesture at her.

  Joan leaned back against the wall, trembling and cold all over. She read Pearce’s mind. He knew her secret and meant to betray her and Jim. He hated Kells and wanted to torture him. If only she could think quickly and speak! But she seemed dumb and powerless.

  “Pearce, what in hell do you mean?” demanded Kells.

  “The girl’s double-crossin’ you,” replied Pearce. With the uttered words he grew pale and agitated.

  Suddenly Kells appeared to become aware of Joan’s presence and that the implication was directed toward her. Then, many and remarkable as had been the changes Joan had seen come over him, now occurred one wholly greater. It had all his old amiability, his cool easy manner, veiling a deep and hidden ruthlessness, terrible in contrast.

  “Red, I thought our talk concerned men and gold and . . . things,” he said with a cool, slow softness that had a sting, “but since you’ve nerve enough or are crazy enough to speak of . . . her . . . why, explain your meaning.”

  Pearce’s jaw worked so that he could scarcely talk. He had gone too far—realized it too late.

  “She meets a man . . . back there . . . at her window,” he panted. “They whisper in the dark for hours. I’ve watched and heard them. An’ I’d’ve told you before, but I wanted to make sure who he was. I know him now. An’, remember, I seen him climb in an’ out. . . .”

  Kells’s whole frame leaped. His gun was a flash of blue and red and white all together. Pearce swayed upright, like a tree chopped at the roots, and then fell, face up, eyes set—dead. The bandit leader stood over him with the smoking gun.

  “My Gawd, Jack!” gasped Handy Oliver. “You swore no one would pull a gun . . . an’ here you’ve killed him yourself! You’ve double-crossed yourself! An’, if I die for
it, I’ve got to tell you Red wasn’t lyin’ then!”

  Kells’s radiance fled, leaving him ghastly. He stared at Oliver.

  “You’ve double-crossed yourself an’ your pards,” went on Oliver pathetically. “What’s your word of honor amount to? Do you expect the gang to stand for this? There lays Red Pearce, dead. An’ for what? Jest once . . . relyin’ on your oath . . . he speaks out what might have showed you. An’ you kill him! If I knowed what he knowed, I’d tell you now with that gun in your hand. But I don’t know. Only I know he wasn’t lyin’ Ask the girl! An’, as for me, I reckon I’m through with you an’ your legion. You’re done, Kells. Your head’s gone . . . you’ve broke over that slip of a woman!”

  Oliver spoke with a rude and impressive dignity. When he ended, he strode out into the sunlight.

  Kells was shaken by this forceful speech, yet he was not in any sense a broken man.

  “Joan . . . you heard Pearce,” said Kells passionately. “He lied about you. I had to kill him. He hinted . . . oh, the low-lived dog! He could not know a good woman. He lied . . . and there he is . . . dead! I wouldn’t fetch him back for a hundred legions.”

  “But it . . . it wasn’t . . . all . . . a lie,” said Joan, and her words came haltingly because a force stronger than her cunning made her speak. She had reached a point where she could not deceive Kells to save her life.

  “What?” he thundered.

  “Pearce told the truth . . . except that no one ever climbed in my window. That’s false. No one could climb in. It’s too small. But I did whisper . . . to someone.”

  Kells had to moisten his lips to speak. “Who?”

  “I’ll never tell you.”

  “Who? I’ll kill him!”

  “No . . . no, I won’t tell. I won’t let you kill another man on my account.”

  “I’ll choke it out of you.”