Part 20 (1/2)
Always she lived in the future. She spent sleeping and waking hours in dreams, thoughts, actions, broodings, over all of which hung an ever-present shadow of suspense. When would she meet Jim Cleve again?
When would he recognize her? What would he do? What could she do? Would Kells be a devil or a man at the end? Was there any justification of her haunting fear of Gulden--of her suspicion that she alone was the cause of his att.i.tude toward Kells--of her horror at the unshakable presentiment and fancy that he was a gorilla and meant to make off with her? These, and a thousand other fears, some groundless, but many real and present, besieged Joan and left her little peace. What would happen next?
Toward sunset she grew tired of waiting, and hungry, besides, so she went into the cabin and prepared her own meal. About dark Kells strode in, and it took but a glance for Joan to see that matters had not gone to his liking. The man seemed to be burning inwardly. Sight of Joan absolutely surprised him. Evidently in the fever of this momentous hour he had forgotten his prisoner. Then, whatever his obsession, he looked like a man whose eyes were gladdened at sight of her and who was sorry to behold her there. He apologized that her supper had not been provided for her and explained that he had forgotten. The men had been crazy--hard to manage--the issue was not yet settled. He spoke gently.
Suddenly he had that thoughtful mien which Joan had become used to a.s.sociating with weakness in him.
”I wish I hadn't dragged you here,” he said, taking her hands. ”It's too late. I CAN'T lose you.... But the--OTHER WAY--isn't too late!”
”What way? What do you mean?” asked Joan.
”Girl, will you ride off with me to-night?” he whispered, hoa.r.s.ely. ”I swear I'll marry you--and become an honest man. To-morrow will be too late!... Will you?”
Joan shook her head. She was sorry for him. When he talked like this he was not Kells, the bandit. She could not resist a strange agitation at the intensity of his emotion. One moment he had entered--a bandit leader, planning blood, murder; the next, as his gaze found her, he seemed weakened, broken in the shaking grip of a hopeless love for her.
”Speak, Joan!” he said, with his hands tightening and his brow clouding.
”No, Kells,” she replied.
”Why? Because I'm a red-handed bandit?”
”No. Because I--I don't love you.”
”But wouldn't you rather be my wife--and have me honest--than become a slave here, eventually abandoned to--to Gulden and his cave and his rope?” Kells's voice rose as that other side of him gained dominance.
”Yes, I would.... But I KNOW you'll never harm me--or abandon me to--to that Gulden.”
”HOW do you know?” he cried, with the blood thick at his temples.
”Because you're no beast any more.... And you--you do love me.”
Kells thrust her from him so fiercely that she nearly fell.
”I'll get over it.... Then--look out!” he said, with dark bitterness.
With that he waved her back, apparently ordering her to her cabin, and turned to the door, through which the deep voices of men sounded nearer and nearer.
Joan stumbled in the darkness up the rude steps to her room, and, softly placing the poles in readiness to close her door, she composed herself to watch and wait. The keen edge of her nerves, almost amounting to pain, told her that this night of such moment for Kells would be one of singular strain and significance for her. But why she could not fathom.
She felt herself caught by the changing tide of events--a tide that must sweep her on to flood. Kells had gone outside. The strong, deep voices'
grew less distinct. Evidently the men were walking away. In her suspense Joan was disappointed. Presently, however, they returned; they had been walking to and fro. After a few moments Kells entered alone. The cabin was now so dark that Joan could barely distinguish the bandit. Then he lighted the lanterns. He hung up several on the wall and placed two upon the table. From somewhere among his effects he produced a small book and a pencil; these, with a heavy, gold-mounted gun, he laid on the table before the seat he manifestly meant to occupy. That done, he began a slow pacing up and down the room, his hands behind his back, his head bent in deep and absorbing thought. What a dark, sinister, plotting figure! Joan had seen many men in different att.i.tudes of thought, but here was a man whose mind seemed to give forth intangible yet terrible manifestations of evil. The inside of that gloomy cabin took on another aspect; there was a meaning in the saddles and bridles and weapons on the wall; that book and pencil and gun seemed to contain the dark deeds of wild men; and all about the bandit hovered a power sinister in its menace to the unknown and distant toilers for gold.
Kells lifted his head, as if listening, and then the whole manner of the man changed. The burden that weighed upon him was thrown aside. Like a general about to inspect a line of soldiers Kells faced the door, keen, stern, commanding. The heavy tread of booted men, the clink of spurs, the low, m.u.f.fled sound of voices, warned Joan that the gang had arrived.
Would Jim Cleve be among them?
Joan wanted a better position in which to watch and listen. She thought a moment, and then carefully felt her way around to the other side of the steps, and here, sitting down with her feet hanging over the drop, she leaned against the wall and through a c.h.i.n.k between the logs had a perfect view of the large cabin. The men were filing in silent and intense. Joan counted twenty-seven in all. They appeared to fall into two groups, and it was significant that the larger group lined up on the side nearest Kells, and the smaller back of Gulden. He had removed the bandage, and with a raw, red blotch where his right ear had been shot away, he was hideous. There was some kind of power emanating from him, but it was not that which, was so keenly vital and impelling in Kells.
It was brute ferocity, dominating by sheer physical force. In any but muscular clash between Kells and Gulden the latter must lose. The men back of Gulden were a bearded, check-s.h.i.+rted, heavily armed group, the worst of that bad lot. All the younger, cleaner-cut men like Red Pearce and Frenchy and Beady Jones and Williams and the scout Blicky, were on the other side. There were two factions here, yet scarcely an antagonism, except possibly in the case of Kells. Joan felt that the atmosphere was supercharged with suspense and fatality and possibility--and anything might happen. To her great joy, Jim Cleve was not present.
”Where're Beard and Wood?” queried Kells.
”Workin' over Beard's sick hoss,” replied Pearce. ”They'll show up by an' by. Anythin' you say goes with them, you know.”
”Did you find young Cleve?”