Cabin Gulch (24 page)

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 if 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.

Joan's opportunity for watching Kells and his men and overhearing their colloquialisms was as good as it had been in Cabin Gulch. But it developed that where Kells had been open and frank, he now became secretive and cautious. She was aware that men, simply 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 around 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 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 robberies in Idaho wanted to be 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 help 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, who she would 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 article, the hat being that which she had worn when she had 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 every man curious to see you now. Put on the hat.”

Joan did it. 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 quiet 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, 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 friendliness 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.