“Where's Jim?” demanded Kells.
“He's comin' along,” replied Pearce. “He's sure been runnin' a gantlet. His strike stopped work in the diggin's. What do you think of that, Kells? The news spread like smoke before wind. Every last miner in camp has jest got to see thet lump of gold.”
“Maybe I don't want to see it!” exclaimed Kells. “A thirty-pounder! I heard of one once, sixty pounds, but I never saw it. You can't believe till you see.”
“Jim's comin' up the road now,” said one of the men near the door. “Thet crowd hangs on.... But I reckon he's shakin' them.”
“What'll Cleve do with this nugget?”
Gulden's big voice, so powerful, yet feelingless, caused a momentary silence. The expression of many faces changed. Kells looked startled, then annoyed.
“Why, Gulden, that's not my affair—nor yours,” replied Kells. “Cleve dug it and it belongs to him.”
“Dug or stole—it's all the same,” responded Gulden.
Kell's threw up his hands as if it were useless and impossible to reason with this man.
Then the crowd surged round the door with shuffling boots and hoarse, mingled greetings to Cleve, who presently came plunging in out of the melee.
His face wore a flush of radiance; his eyes were like diamonds. Joan thrilled and thrilled at sight of him. He was beautiful. Yet there was about him a more striking wildness. He carried a gun in one hand and in the other an object wrapped in his scarf. He flung this upon the table in front of Kells. It made a heavy, solid thump. The ends of the scarf flew aside, and there lay a magnificent nugget of gold, black and rusty in parts, but with a dull, yellow glitter in others.
“Boss, what'll you bet against that?” cried Cleve, with exulting laugh. He was like a boy.
Kells reached for the nugget as if it were not an actual object, and when his hands closed on it he fondled it and weighed it and dug his nails into it and tasted it.
“My God!” he ejaculated, in wondering ecstasy. Then this, and the excitement, and the obsession all changed into sincere gladness. “Jim, you're born lucky. You, the youngster born unlucky in love! Why, you could buy any woman with this!”
“Could I? Find me one,” responded Cleve, with swift boldness.
Kells laughed. “I don't know any worth so much.”
“What'll I do with it?” queried Cleve.
“Why, you fool youngster! Has it turned your head, too? What'd you do with the rest of your dust? You've certainly been striking it rich.”
“I spent it—lost it—lent it—gave some away and—saved a little.”
“Probably you'll do the same with this. You're a good fellow, Jim.”
“But this nugget means a lot of money. Between six and seven thousand dollars.”
“You won't need advice how to spend it, even if it was a million.... Tell me, Jim, how'd you strike it?”
“Funny about that,” replied Cleve. “Things were poor for several days. Dug off branches into my claim. One grew to be a deep hole in gravel, hard to dig. My claim was once the bed of a stream, full of rocks that the water had rolled down once. This hole sort of haunted me. I'd leave it when my back got so sore I couldn't bend, but always I'd return. I'd say there wasn't a darned grain of gold in that gravel; then like a fool I'd go back and dig for all I was worth. No chance of finding blue dirt down there! But I kept on. And to-day when my pick hit what felt like a soft rock—I looked and saw the gleam of gold!... You ought to have seen me claw out that nugget! I whooped and brought everybody around. The rest was a parade.... Now I'm embarrassed by riches. What to do with it?”
“Wal, go back to Montana an' make thet fool girl sick,” suggested one of the men who had heard Jim's fictitious story of himself.
“Dug or stole is all the same!” boomed the imperturbable Gulden.
Kells turned white with rage, and Cleve swept a swift and shrewd glance at the giant.
“Sure, that's my idea,” declared Cleve. “I'll divide as—as we planned.”
“You'll do nothing of the kind,” retorted Kells. “You dug for that gold and it's yours.”
“Well, boss, then say a quarter share to you and the same to me—and divide the rest among the gang.”
“No!” exclaimed Kells, violently.
Joan imagined he was actuated as much by justice to Cleve as opposition to Gulden.
“Jim Cleve, you're a square pard if I ever seen one,” declared Pearce, admiringly. “An' I'm here to say thet I wouldn't hev a share of your nugget.”
“Nor me,” spoke up Jesse Smith.
“I pass, too,” said Chick Williams.
“Jim, if I was dyin' fer a drink I wouldn't stand fer thet deal,” added Blicky, with a fine scorn.
These men, and others who spoke or signified their refusal, attested to the living truth that there was honor even among robbers. But there was not the slightest suggestion of change in Gulden's attitude or of those back of him.
“Share and share alike for me!” he muttered, grimly, with those great eyes upon the nugget.
Kells, with an agile bound, reached the table and pounded it with his fist, confronting the giant.
“So you say!” he hissed in dark passion. “You've gone too far, Gulden. Here's where I call you!... You don't get a gram of that gold nugget. Jim's worked like a dog. If he digs up a million I'll see he gets it all. Maybe you loafers haven't a hunch what Jim's done for you. He's helped our big deal more than you or I. His honest work has made it easy for me to look honest. He's supposed to be engaged to marry my daughter. That more than anything was a blind. It made my stand, and I tell you that stand is high in this camp. Go down there and swear Blight is Jack Kells! See what you get!... That's all.... I'm dealing the cards in this game!”
Kells did not cow Gulden—for it was likely the giant lacked the feeling of fear—but he overruled him by sheer strength of spirit.
