Border Legion (1990)

by Grey, Zane

  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!

  Some of the bandits uttered an exclamation. Then silently, like a shadow, Jim Cleve entered.

  Joan's heart leaped and seemed to stand still. Jim could not have locked more terrible if he were really a murderer. He opened his coat. Then he flung a black object upon the table and it fell with a soft, heavy, sodden thud. It was a leather belt packed with gold.

  When Kells saw that he looked no more at the pale Cleve. His clawlike hand swept out for the belt, lifted and weighed it.

  Likewise the other bandits, with gold in sight, surged round Kells, forgetting Cleve.

  "Twenty pounds!" exclaimed Kells, with a strange rapture in his voice.

  "Let me heft it?" asked Pearce, thrillingly.

  Joan saw and heard so much, then through a kind of dimness, that she could not wipe away, her eyes beheld Jim. What was the awful thing that she interpreted from his face, his mien? Was this a part he was playing to deceive Kells? The slow-gathering might of her horror came with the meaning of that gold-belt. Jim had brought back the gold-belt of the miner Creede. He had, in his passion to remain near her, to save her in the end, kept his word to Kells and done the ghastly deed.

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

  Chapter 16

  Joan returned to consciousness with a sense of vague and unlocalized pain which 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 twing 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; her hands slid loosely round 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 as 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 was 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 a great deal more than 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, had 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 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--and this time I won'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 dauntless 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 safer. 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! 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 slightest 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 up on them when Kells's step approached her door. He rapped and spoke:

  "Put on Dandy Dale's suit and mask, and come out here," he said.

  The tone of his voice as much as the content 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 his 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 Gulden. 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.

  "Aw!" 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, men--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 thet 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 thet 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 wood-pile, you can gamble on thet," blurted out the sixth bandit, a lean faced, bold-eye, 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 thet 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.

  "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-hells where he hangs out. But he didn't show up. He's in camp. I know that for a fact. He's laying 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," responded Cleve. "But who 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; and 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 deep- drawn breaths. Jim Cleve alone seemed quiet and cool. But his eyes were ablaze.

  "Fust off an' 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 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 an' heard them. An' I'd 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 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 thet 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 thet 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 he, passionately.