Authors: The Border Legion
The road left the valley and climbed between foot-hills and wound
into rockier country. Every dark gulch brought to Joan a trembling,
breathless spell. What places for ambush! But the stage bowled on.
At last her apprehensions wore out and she permitted herself the luxury
of relaxing, of leaning back and closing her eyes. She was tired,
drowsy, hot. There did not seem to be a breath of air.
Suddenly Joan's ears burst to an infernal crash of guns. She felt
the whip and sting of splinters sent flying by bullets. Harsh yells
followed, then the scream of a horse in agony, the stage lurching and
slipping to a halt, and thunder of heavy guns overhead.
Jim yelled at her—threw her down on the seat. She felt the body of the
guard sink against her knees. Then she seemed to feel, to hear through
an icy, sickening terror.
A scattering volley silenced the guns above. Then came the pound of
hoofs, the snort of frightened horses.
"Jesse Smith! Stop!" called Jim, piercingly.
"Hold on thar, Beady!" replied a hoarse voice. "Damn if it ain't Jim
Cleve!"
"Ho, Gul!" yelled another voice, and Joan recognized it as Blicky's.
Then Jim lifted her head, drew her up. He was white with fear.
"Dear—are—you—hurt?"
"No. I'm only—scared," she replied.
Joan looked out to see bandits on foot, guns in hand, and others
mounted, all gathering near the coach. Jim opened the door, and,
stepping out, bade her follow. Joan had to climb over the dead guard.
The miner and the young man huddled down on their seat.
"If it ain't Jim an' Kells's girl—Dandy Dale!" ejaculated Smith.
"Fellers, this means somethin'.... Say, youngster, hope you ain't
hurt—or the girl?"
"No. But that's not your fault," replied Cleve. "Why did you want to
plug the coach full of lead?"
"This beats me," said Smith. "Kells sent you out in the stage! But
when he gave us the job of holdin' it up he didn't tell us you'd be in
there.... When an' where'd you leave him?"
"Sometime last night—in camp—near our cabin," replied Jim, quick as
a flash. Manifestly he saw his opportunity "He left Dandy Dale with me.
Told us to take the stage this morning. I expected him to be in it or to
meet us."
"Didn't you have no orders?"
"None, except to take care of the girl till he came. But he did tell me
he'd have more to say."
Smith gazed blankly from Cleve to Blicky, and then at Gulden, who came
slowly forward, his hair ruffed, his gun held low. Joan followed the
glance of his great gray eyes, and she saw the stage-driver hanging dead
over his seat, and the guards lying back of him. The off-side horse of
the leaders lay dead in his traces, with his mate nosing at him.
"Who's in there?" boomed Gulden, and he thrust hand and gun in at the
stage door. "Come out!"
The young man stumbled out, hands above his head, pallid and shaking, so
weak he could scarcely stand.
Gulden prodded the bearded miner. "Come out here, you!"
The man appeared to be hunched forward in a heap.
"Guess he's plugged," said Smith. "But he ain't cashed. Hear him
breathe?... Heaves like a sick hoss."
Gulden reached with brawny arm and with one pull he dragged the miner
off the seat and out into the road, where he flopped with a groan.
There was blood on his neck and hands. Gulden bent over him, tore at his
clothes, tore harder at something, and then, with a swing, he held aloft
a broad, black belt, sagging heavy with gold.
"Hah!" he boomed. It was just an exclamation, horrible to hear, but it
did not express satisfaction or exultation. He handed the gold-belt to
the grinning Budd, and turned to the young man.
"Got any gold?"
"No. I—I wasn't a miner," replied the youth huskily.
Gulden felt for a gold-belt, then slapped at his pockets. "Turn round!"
ordered the giant.
"Aw, Gul let him go!" remonstrated Jesse Smith.
Blicky laid a restraining hand upon Gulden's broad shoulder.
"Turn round!" repeated Gulden, without the slightest sign of noticing
his colleagues.
But the youth understood and he turned a ghastly livid hue.
"For God's sake—don't murder me!" he gasped. "I had—nothing—no
gold—no gun!"
Gulden spun him round like a top and pushed him forward. They went half
a dozen paces, then the youth staggered, and turning, he fell on his
knees.
"Don't—kill—me!" he entreated.
Joan, seeing Jim Cleve stiffen and crouch, thought of him even in that
horrible moment; and she gripped his arm with all her might. They must
endure.
The other bandits muttered, but none moved a hand.
Gulden thrust out the big gun. His hair bristled on his head, and his
huge frame seemed instinct with strange vibration, like some object of
tremendous weight about to plunge into resistless momentum.
Even the stricken youth saw his doom. "Let—me—pray!" he begged.
Joan did not fault, but a merciful unclamping of muscle-bound rigidity
closed her eyes.
"Gul!" yelled Blicky, with passion. "I ain't a-goin' to let you kill
this kid! There's no sense in it. We're spotted back in Alder Creek....
Run, kid! Run!"
Then Joan opened her eyes to see the surly Gulden's arm held by Blicky,
and the youth running blindly down the road. Joan's relief and joy were
tremendous. But still she answered to the realizing shock of what Gulden
had meant to do. She leaned against Cleve, all within and without a
whirling darkness of fire. The border wildness claimed her then. She had
the spirit, though not the strength, to fight. She needed the sight
and sound of other things to restore her equilibrium. She would have
welcomed another shock, an injury. And then she was looking down upon
the gasping miner. He was dying. Hurriedly Joan knelt beside him to lift
his head. At her call Cleve brought a canteen. But the miner could not
drink and he died with some word unspoken.
Dizzily Joan arose, and with Cleve half supporting her she backed off
the road to a seat on the bank. She saw the bandits now at business-like
action. Blicky and Smith were cutting the horses out of their harness:
Beady Jones, like a ghoul, searched the dead men; the three bandits whom
Joan knew only by sight were making up a pack; Budd was standing beside
the stage with his, expectant grin; and Gulden, with the agility of the
gorilla he resembled, was clambering over the top of the stage. Suddenly
from under the driver's seat he hauled a buckskin sack. It was small,
but heavy. He threw it down to Budd, almost knocking over that bandit.
Budd hugged the sack and yelled like an Indian. The other men whooped
and ran toward him. Gulden hauled out another sack. Hands to the number
of a dozen stretched clutchingly. When he threw the sack there was a mad
scramble. They fought, but it was only play. They were gleeful. Blicky
secured the prize and he held it aloft in triumph. Assuredly he would
have waved it had it not been so heavy. Gulden drew out several small
sacks, which he provokingly placed on the seat in front of him. The
bandits below howled in protest. Then the giant, with his arm under the
seat, his huge frame bowed, heaved powerfully upon something, and
his face turned red. He halted in his tugging to glare at his bandit
comrades below. If his great cavernous eyes expressed any feeling it was
analogous to the reluctance manifest in his posture—he regretted
the presence of his gang. He would rather have been alone. Then with
deep-muttered curse and mighty heave he lifted out a huge buckskin sack,
tied and placarded and marked.
"ONE HUNDRED POUNDS!" he boomed.
It seemed to Joan then that a band of devils surrounded the stage, all
roaring at the huge, bristling demon above, who glared and bellowed down
at them.
Finally Gulden stilled the tumult, which, after all, was one of frenzied
joy.
"Share and share alike!" he thundered, now black in the face. "Do you
fools want to waste time here on the road, dividing up this gold?"
"What you say goes," shouted Budd.
There was no dissenting voice.
"What a stake!" ejaculated Blicky. "Gul, the boss had it figgered.
Strange, though, he hasn't showed up!"
"Where'll we go?" queried Gulden. "Speak up, you men."
The unanimous selection was Cabin Gulch. Plainly Gulden did not like
this, but he was just.
"All right. Cabin Gulch it is. But nobody outside of Kells and us gets a
share in this stake."
Many willing hands made short work of preparation. Gulden insisted
on packing all the gold upon his saddle, and had his will. He seemed
obsessed; he never glanced at Joan. It was Jesse Smith who gave the
directions and orders. One of the stage-horses was packed. Another, with
a blanket for a saddle, was given Cleve to ride. Blicky gallantly gave
his horse to Joan, shortened his stirrups to fit her, and then whistled
at the ridgy back of the stage-horse he elected to ride. Gulden was in a
hurry, and twice he edged off, to be halted by impatient calls. Finally
the cavalcade was ready; Jesse Smith gazed around upon the scene with
the air of a general overlooking a vanquished enemy.
"Whoever fust runs acrost this job will have blind staggers, don't you
forgit thet!"
"What's Kells goin' to figger?" asked Blicky, sharply.
"Nothin' fer Kells! He wasn't in at the finish!" declared Budd.
Blicky gazed darkly at him, but made no comment.
"I tell you Blick, I can't git this all right in my head," said Smith.
"Say, ask Jim again. Mebbe, now the job's done, he can talk," suggested
Blicky.
Jim Cleve heard and appeared ready for that question.
"I don't know much more than I told you. But I can guess. Kells had this
big shipment of gold spotted. He must have sent us in the stage for some
reason. He said he'd tell me what to expect and do. But he didn't come
back. Sure he knew you'd do the job. And just as sure he expected to be
on hand. He'll turn up soon."
This ruse of Jim's did not sound in the least logical or plausible to
Joan, but it was readily accepted by the bandits. Apparently what they
knew of Kells's movements and plans since the break-up at Alder Creek
fitted well with Cleve's suggestions.
"Come on!" boomed Gulden, from the fore. "Do you want to rot here?"
Then without so much as a backward glance at the ruin they left behind
the bandits fell into line. Jesse Smith led straight off the road into
a shallow brook and evidently meant to keep in it. Gulden followed; next
came Beady Jones; then the three bandits with the pack-horse and the
other horses; Cleve and Joan, close together, filed in here; and last
came Budd and Blicky. It was rough, slippery traveling and the riders
spread out. Cleve, however, rode beside Joan. Once, at an opportune
moment, he leaned toward her.
"We'd better run for it at the first chance," he said, somberly.
"No!... GULDEN!" Joan had to moisten her lips to speak the monster's
name.
"He'll never think of you while he has all that gold."
Joan's intelligence grasped this, but her morbid dread, terribly
augmented now, amounted almost to a spell. Still, despite the darkness
of her mind, she had a flash of inspiration and of spirit.
"Kells is my only hope!... If he doesn't join us soon—then we'll
run!... And if we can't escape that"—Joan made a sickening gesture
toward the fore—"you must kill me before—before—"
Her voice trailed off, failing.
"I will!" he promised through locked teeth.
And then they rode on, with dark, faces bent over the muddy water and
treacherous stones.
When Jesse Smith led out of that brook it was to ride upon bare rock. He
was not leaving any trail. Horses and riders were of no consideration.
And he was a genius for picking hard ground and covering it. He never
slackened his gait, and it seemed next to impossible to keep him in
sight.
For Joan the ride became toil and the toil became pain. But there was no
rest. Smith kept mercilessly onward. Sunset and twilight and night found
the cavalcade still moving. Then it halted just as Joan was about to
succumb. Jim lifted her off her horse and laid her upon the grass. She
begged for water, and she drank and drank. But she wanted no food. There
was a heavy, dull beating in her ears, a band tight round her forehead.
She was aware of the gloom, of the crackling of fires, of leaping
shadows, of the passing of men to and fro near her, and, most of all,
rendering her capable of a saving shred of self-control, she was aware
of Jim's constant companionship and watchfulness. Then sounds grew far
off and night became a blur.
Morning when it came seemed an age removed from that hideous night. Her
head had cleared, and but for the soreness of body and limb she would
have begun the day strong. There appeared little to eat and no time to
prepare it. Gulden was rampant for action. Like a miser he guarded the
saddle packed with gold. This tune his comrades were as eager as he to
be on the move. All were obsessed by the presence of gold. Only one hour
loomed in their consciousness—that of the hour of division. How fatal
and pitiful and terrible! Of what possible use or good was gold to them?
The ride began before sunrise. It started and kept on at a steady
trot. Smith led down out of the rocky slopes and fastnesses into
green valleys. Jim Cleve, riding bareback on a lame horse, had his
difficulties. Still he kept close beside or behind Joan all the way.
They seldom spoke, and then only a word relative to this stern business
of traveling in the trail of a hard-riding bandit. Joan bore up better
this day, as far as her mind was concerned. Physically she had all
she could do to stay in the saddle. She learned of what steel she was
actually made—what her slender frame could endure. That day's ride
seemed a thousand miles long, and never to end. Yet the implacable Smith
did finally halt, and that before dark.
Camp was made near water. The bandits were a jovial lot, despite a lack
of food. They talked of the morrow. All—the world—lay beyond the next
sunrise. Some renounced their pipes and sought their rest just to hurry
on the day. But Gulden, tireless, sleepless, eternally vigilant, guarded
the saddle of gold and brooded over it, and seemed a somber giant carved
out of the night. And Blicky, nursing some deep and late-developed
scheme, perhaps in Kells's interest or his own, kept watch over Gulden
and all.