Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 355
“Somebody in the gang is crooked. Somebody’s giving you the double-cross. We’ve known that for long. Jim Cleve goes out to kill Creede. He comes in with Creede’s gold-belt — and a lie!... We think Cleve is the crooked one.”
“No! You’re way off, Gulden,” replied Kells, earnestly. “That boy is absolutely square. He’s lied to me about Creede. But I can excuse that. He lost his nerve. He’s only a youngster. To knife a man in his sleep — that was too much for Jim!... And I’m glad! I see it all now. Jim’s swapped his big nugget for Creede’s belt. And in the bargain he exacted that Creede hit the trail out of camp. You happened to see Creede and went after him yourself.... Well, I don’t see where you’ve any kick coming. For you’ve ten times the money in Cleve’s nugget that there was in a share of Creede’s gold.”
“That’s not my kick,” declared Gulden. “What you say about Cleve may be true. But I don’t believe it. And the gang is sore. Things have leaked out. We’re watched. We’re not welcome in the gambling-places any more. Last night I was not allowed to sit in the game at Belcher’s.”
“You think Cleve has squealed?” queried Kells.
“Yes.”
“I’ll bet you every ounce of dust I’ve got that you’re wrong,” declared Kells. “A straight, square bet against anything you want to put up!”
Kells’s ringing voice was nothing if not convincing.
“Appearances are against Cleve,” growled Gulden, dubiously. Always he had been swayed by the stronger mind of the leader.
“Sure they are,” agreed Kells.
“Then what do you base your confidence on?”
“Just my knowledge of men. Jim Cleve wouldn’t squeal.... Gulden, did anybody tell you that?”
“Yes,” replied Gulden, slowly. “Red Pearce.”
“Pearce was a liar,” said Kells, bitterly. “I shot him for lying to me.”
Gulden stared. His men muttered and gazed at one another and around the cabin.
“Pearce told me you set Cleve to kill me,” suddenly spoke up the giant.
If he expected to surprise Kells he utterly failed.
“That’s another and bigger lie,” replied the bandit leader, disgustedly. “Gulden, do you think my mind’s gone?”
“Not quite,” replied Gulden, and he seemed as near a laugh as was possible for him.
“Well, I’ve enough mind left not to set a boy to kill such a man as you.”
Gulden might have been susceptible to flattery. He turned to his men. They, too, had felt Kells’s subtle influence. They were ready to veer round like weather-vanes.
“Red Pearce has cashed, an’ he can’t talk for himself,” said Beady Jones, as if answering to the unspoken thought of all.
“Men, between you and me, I had more queer notions about Pearce than Cleve,” announced Gulden, gruffly. “But I never said so because I had no proof.”
“Red shore was sore an’ strange lately,” added Chick Williams. “Me an’ him were pretty thick once — but not lately.”
The giant Gulden scratched his head and swore. Probably he had no sense of justice and was merely puzzled.
“We’re wastin’ a lot of time,” put in Beard, anxiously. “Don’t fergit there’s somethin’ comin’ off down in camp, an’ we ain’t sure what.”
“Bah! Haven’t we heard whispers of vigilantes for a week?” queried Gulden.
Then some one of the men looked out of the door and suddenly whistled.
“Who’s thet on a hoss?”
Gulden’s gang crowded to the door.
“Thet’s Handy Oliver.”
“No!”
“Shore is. I know him. But it ain’t his hoss.... Say, he’s hurryin’.”
Low exclamations of surprise and curiosity followed. Kells and his men looked attentively, but no one spoke. The clatter of hoofs on the stony road told of a horse swiftly approaching — pounding to a halt before the cabin.
“Handy!... Air you chased?... What’s wrong?... You shore look pale round the gills.” These and other remarks were flung out the door.
“Where’s Kells? Let me in,” replied Oliver, hoarsely.
The crowd jostled and split to admit the long, lean Oliver. He stalked straight toward Kells, till the table alone stood between them. He was gray of face, breathing hard, resolute and stern.
“Kells, I throwed — you — down!” he said, with outstretched hand. It was a gesture of self-condemnation and remorse.
“What of that?” demanded Kells, with his head leaping like the strike of an eagle.
“I’m takin’ it back!”
Kells met the outstretched hand with his own and wrung it. “Handy, I never knew you to right — about — face. But I’m glad.... What’s changed you so quickly?”
“VIGILANTES!”
Kells’s animation and eagerness suddenly froze. “VIGILANTES!” he ground out.
“No rumor, Kells, this time. I’ve sure some news.... Come close, all you fellows. You, Gulden, come an’ listen. Here’s where we git together closer’n ever.”
Gulden surged forward with his group. Handy Oliver was surrounded by pale, tight faces, dark-browed and hardeyed.
He gazed at them, preparing them for a startling revelation. “Men, of all the white-livered traitors as ever was Red Pearce was the worst!” he declared, hoarsely.
No one moved or spoke.
“AN’ HE WAS A VIGILANTE!”
A low, strange sound, almost a roar, breathed through the group.
“Listen now an’ don’t interrupt. We ain’t got a lot of time.... So never mind how I happened to find out about Pearce. It was all accident, an’ jest because I put two an’ two together.... Pearce was approached by one of this secret vigilante band, an’ he planned to sell the Border Legion outright. There was to be a big stake in it for him. He held off day after day, only tippin’ off some of the gang. There’s Dartt an’ Singleton an’ Frenchy an’ Texas all caught red-handed at jobs. Pearce put the vigilantes to watchin’ them jest to prove his claim.... Aw! I’ve got the proofs! Jest wait. Listen to me!... You all never in your lives seen a snake like Red Pearce. An’ the job he had put up on us was grand. To-day he was to squeal on the whole gang. You know how he began on Kells — an’ how with his oily tongue he asked a guarantee of no gun-play. But he figgered Kells wrong for once. He accused Kells’s girl an’ got killed for his pains. Mebbe it was part of his plan to git the girl himself. Anyway, he had agreed to betray the Border Legion to-day. An’ if he hadn’t been killed by this time we’d all be tied up, ready for the noose!... Mebbe thet wasn’t a lucky shot of the boss’s. Men, I was the first to declare myself against Kells, an’ I’m here now to say thet I was a fool. So you’ve all been fools who’ve bucked against him. If this ain’t provin’ it, what can!
“But I must hustle with my story.... They was havin’ a trial down at the big hall, an’ thet place was sure packed. No diggin’ gold to-day!... Think of what thet means for Alder Creek. I got inside where I could stand on a barrel an’ see. Dartt an’ Singleton an’ Frenchy an’ Texas was bein’ tried by a masked court. A man near me said two of them had been proved guilty. It didn’t take long to make out a case against Texas an’ Frenchy. Miners there recognized them an’ identified them. They was convicted an’ sentenced to be hung!.. Then the offer was made to let them go free out of the border if they’d turn state’s evidence an’ give away the leader an’ men of the Border Legion. Thet was put up to each prisoner. Dartt he never answered at all. An’ Singleton told them to go to hell. An’ Texas he swore he was only a common an’ honest road-agent, an’ never heard of the Legion. But the Frenchman showed a yellow streak. He might have taken the offer. But Texas cussed him tumble, an’ made him ashamed to talk. But if they git Frenchy away from Texas they’ll make him blab. He’s like a greaser. Then there was a delay. The big crowd of miners yelled for ropes. But the vigilantes are waitin’, an’ it’s my hunch they’re waitin’ for Pearce.”
“So! And where do we stand?” cried Kells, clear and cold.
“We’re not spotted yet, thet’s certain,” replied Oliver, “else them masked vigilantes would have been on the job before now. But it’s not sense to figger we can risk another day.... I reckon it’s hit the trail back to Cabin Gulch.”
“Gulden, what do you say?” queried Kells, sharply.
“I’ll go or stay — whatever you want,” replied the giant. In this crisis he seemed to be glad to have Kells decide the issue. And his followers resembled sheep ready to plunge after the leader.
But though Kells, by a strange stroke, had been made wholly master of the Legion, he did not show the old elation or radiance. Perhaps he saw more clearly than ever before. Still he was quick, decisive, strong, equal to the occasion.
“Listen — all of you,” he said. “Our horses and outfits are hidden in a gulch several miles below camp. We’ve got to go that way. We can’t pack any grub or stuff from here. We’ll risk going through camp. Now leave here two or three at a time, and wait down there on the edge of the crowd for me. When I come we’ll stick together. Then all do as I do.”
Gulden put the nugget under his coat and strode out, accompanied by Budd and Jones. They hurried away. The others went in couples. Soon only Bate Wood and Handy Oliver were left with Kells.
“Now you fellows go,” said Kells. “Be sure to round up the gang down there and wait for me.”
When they had gone he called for Jim and Joan to come out.
All this time Joan’s hand had been gripped in Jim’s, and Joan had been so absorbed that she had forgotten the fact. He released her and faced her, silent, pale. Then he went out. Joan swiftly followed.
Kells was buckling on his spurs. “You heard?” he said, the moment he saw Jim’s face.
“Yes,” replied Jim.
“So much the better. We’ve got to rustle.... Joan, put on that long coat of Cleve’s. Take off your mask.... Jim, get what gold you have, and hurry. If we’re gone when you come back hurry down the road. I want you with me.”
Cleve stalked out, and Joan ran into her room and put on the long coat. She had little time to choose what possessions she could take; and that choice fell upon the little saddle-bag, into which she hurriedly stuffed comb and brush and soap — all it would hold. Then she returned to the larger room.
Kells had lifted a plank of the floor, and was now in the act of putting small buckskin sacks of gold into his pockets. They made his coat bulge at the sides.
“Joan, stick some meat and biscuits in your pockets,” he said. “I’d never get hungry with my pockets full of gold. But you might.”
Joan rummaged around in Bate Wood’s rude cupboard.
“These biscuits are as heavy as gold — and harder,” she said.
Kells flashed a glance at her that held pride, admiration, and sadness. “You are the gamest girl I ever knew! I wish I’d — But that’s too late!... Joan, if anything happens to me stick close to Cleve. I believe you can trust him. Come on now.”
Then he strode out of the cabin. Joan had almost to run to keep up with him. There were no other men now in sight. She knew that Jim would follow soon, because his gold-dust was hidden in the cavern back of her room, and he would not need much time to get it. Nevertheless, she anxiously looked back. She and Kells had gone perhaps a couple of hundred yards before Jim appeared, and then he came on the run. At a point about opposite the first tents he joined Kells.
“Jim, how about guns?” asked the bandit.
“I’ve got two,” replied Cleve.
“Good! There’s no telling — Jim, I’m afraid of the gang. They’re crazy. What do you think?”
“I don’t know. It’s a hard proposition.”
“We’ll get away, all right. Don’t worry about that. But the gang will never come together again.” This singular man spoke with melancholy. “Slow up a little now,” he added. “We don’t want to attract attention.... But where is there any one to see us?... Jim, did I have you figured right about the Creede job?”
“You sure did. I just lost my nerve.”
“Well, no matter.”
Then Kells appeared to forget that. He stalked on with keen glances searching everywhere, until suddenly, when he saw round a bend of the road, he halted with grating teeth. That road was empty all the way to the other end of camp, but there surged a dark mob of men. Kells stalked forward again. The Last Nugget appeared like an empty barn. How vacant and significant the whole center of camp! Kells did not speak another word.
Joan hurried on between Kells and Cleve. She was trying to fortify herself to meet what lay at the end of the road. A strange, hoarse roar of men and an upflinging of arms made her shudder. She kept her eyes lowered and clung to the arms of her companions.
Finally they halted. She felt the crowd before she saw it. A motley assemblage with what seemed craned necks and intent backs! They were all looking forward and upward. But she forced her glance down.
Kells stood still. Jim’s grip was hard upon her arm. Presently men grouped round Kells. She heard whispers. They began to walk slowly, and she was pushed and led along. More men joined the group. Soon she and Kells and Jim were hemmed in a circle. Then she saw the huge form of Gulden, the towering Oliver, and Smith and Blicky, Beard, Jones, Williams, Budd, and others. The circle they formed appeared to be only one of many groups, all moving, whispering, facing from her. Suddenly a sound like the roar of a wave agitated that mass of men. It was harsh, piercing, unnatural, yet it had a note of wild exultation. Then came the stamp and surge, and then the upflinging of arms, and then the abrupt strange silence, broken only by a hiss or an escaping breath, like a sob. Beyond all Joan’s power to resist was a deep, primitive desire to look.
There over the heads of the mob — from the bench of the slope — rose grotesque structures of new-hewn lumber. On a platform stood black, motionless men in awful contrast with a dangling object that doubled up and curled upon itself in terrible convulsions. It lengthened while it swayed; it slowed its action while it stretched. It took on the form of a man. He swung by a rope round his neck. His head hung back. His hands beat. A long tremor shook the body; then it was still, and swayed to and fro, a dark, limp thing.
Joan’s gaze was riveted in horror. A dim, red haze made her vision imperfect. There was a sickening riot within her.
There were masked men all around the platform — a solid phalanx of them on the slope above. They were heavily armed. Other masked men stood on the platform. They seemed rigid figures — stiff, jerky when they moved. How different from the two forms swaying below!
The structure was a rude scaffold and the vigilantes had already hanged two bandits.
Two others with hands bound behind their backs stood farther along the platform under guard. Before each dangled a noose.
Joan recognized Texas and Frenchy. And on the instant the great crowd let out a hard breath that ended in silence.
The masked leader of the vigilantes was addressing Texas: “We’ll spare your life if you confess. Who’s the head of this Border Legion?”
“Shore it’s Red Pearce!... Haw! Haw! Haw!”
“We’ll give you one more chance,” came the curt reply.
Texas appeared to become serious and somber. “I swear to God it’s Pearce!” he declared.
“A lie won’t save you. Come, the truth! We think we know, but we want proof! Hurry!”
“You can go where it’s hot!” responded Texas.
The leader moved his hand and two other masked men stepped forward.
“Have you any message to send any one — anything to say?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“Have you any request to make?”
“Hang that Frenchman before me! I want to see him kick.”
Nothing more was said. The two men adjusted the noose round the doomed man’s neck. Texas refused the black cap. And he did not wait for the drop to be sprung. He walked off the platform into space as Joan closed her eyes.
Again that strange, full, angry, and unnatural roar waved through the throng of watchers. It was terrible to hear. Joan felt the violent action of that crowd, although the men close round her were immovable as stones. She imagined she could never open her eyes to see Texas hanging there. Yet she did — and something about his form told her that he had died instantly. He had been brave and loyal even in dishonor. He had more than once spoken a kind word to her. Who could tell what had made him an outcast? She breathed a prayer for his soul.
The vigilantes were bolstering up the craven Frenchy. He could not stand alone. They put the rope round his neck and lifted him off the platform — then let him down. He screamed in his terror. They cut short his cries by lifting him again. This time they held him up several seconds. His face turned black. His eyes bulged. His breast heaved. His legs worked with the regularity of a jumping-jack. They let him down and loosened the noose. They were merely torturing him to wring a confession from him. He had been choked severely and needed a moment to recover. When he did it was to shrink back in abject terror from that loop of rope dangling before his eyes.
The vigilante leader shook the noose in his face and pointed to the swaying forms of the dead bandits.
Frenchy frothed at the mouth as he shrieked out words in his native tongue, but any miner there could have translated their meaning.
The crowd heaved forward, as if with one step, then stood in a strained silence.
“Talk English!” ordered the vigilante.
“I’ll tell! I’ll tell!”
Joan became aware of a singular tremor in Kells’s arm, which she still clasped. Suddenly it jerked. She caught a gleam of blue. Then the bellow of a gun almost split her ears. Powder burned her cheek. She saw Frenchy double up and collapse on the platform.
For an instant there was a silence in which every man seemed petrified. Then burst forth a hoarse uproar and the stamp of many boots. All in another instant pandemonium broke out. The huge crowd split in every direction. Joan felt Cleve’s strong arm around her — felt herself borne on a resistless tide of yelling, stamping, wrestling men. She had a glimpse of Kells’s dark face drawing away from her; another of Gulden’s giant form in Herculean action, tossing men aside like ninepins; another of weapons aloft. Savage, wild-eyed men fought to get into the circle whence that shot had come. They broke into it, but did not know then whom to attack or what to do. And the rushing of the frenzied miners all around soon disintegrated Kells’s band and bore its several groups in every direction. There was not another shot fired.
