“Gulden's been tipped off, Jim,” said Kells, earnestly. “He told Bate Wood you were out to kill him.”
“I'm glad. It wasn't a fair hand you were going to deal him,” responded Cleve. “But who gave my job away? Someone in this gang wants me done for—more than Gulden.”
Cleve's flashing gaze swept over the motionless men and fixed hardest upon Red Pearce. Pearce gave back hard look for hard look.
“Gulden told Oliver more,” continued Kells, and he pulled Cleve around to face him. “Gulden swore he saw Creede alive last night.... LATE LAST NIGHT!”
“That's funny,” replied Cleve, without the flicker of an eyelash.
“It's not funny. But it's queer. Gulden hasn't the moral sense to lie. Bate says he wants to make trouble between you and me. I doubt that. I don't believe Gulden could see a ghost, either. He's simply mistaken some miner for Creede.”
“He sure has, unless Creede came back to life. I'm not sitting on his chest now, holding him down.”
Kells drew back, manifestly convinced and relieved. This action seemed to be a magnet for Pearce. He detached himself from the group, and, approaching Kells, tapped him significantly on the shoulder; and whether by design or accident the fact was that he took a position where Kells was between him and Cleve.
“Jack, you're being double-crossed here—an' by more 'n one,” he said, deliberately. “But if you want me to talk you've got to guarantee no gun-play.”
“Speak up, Red,” replied Kells, with a glinting eye. “I swear there won't be a gun pulled.”
The other men shifted from one foot to another and there were deep-drawn breaths. Jim Cleve alone seemed quiet and cool. But his eyes were ablaze.
“Fust off an' for instance here's one who's double-crossin' you,” said Pearce, in slow, tantalizing speech, as if he wore out this suspense to torture Kells. And without ever glancing at Joan he jerked a thumb, in significant gesture, at her.
Joan leaned back against the wall, trembling and cold all over. She read Pearce's mind. He knew her secret and meant to betray her and Jim. He hated Kells and wanted to torture him. If only she could think quickly and speak! But she seemed dumb and powerless.
“Pearce, what do you mean?” demanded Kells.
“The girl's double-crossin' you,” replied Pearce. With the uttered words he grew pale and agitated.
Suddenly Kells appeared to become aware of Joan's presence and that the implication was directed toward her. Then, many and remarkable as had been the changes Joan had seen come over him, now occurred one wholly greater. It had all his old amiability, his cool, easy manner, veiling a deep and hidden ruthlessness, terrible in contrast.
“Red, I thought our talk concerned men and gold and—things,” he said, with a cool, slow softness that had a sting, “but since you've nerve enough or are crazy enough to speak of—her—why, explain your meaning.”
Pearce's jaw worked so that he could scarcely talk. He had gone too far—realized it too late.
“She meets a man—back there—at her window,” he panted. “They whisper in the dark for hours. I've watched an' heard them. An' I'd told you before, but I wanted to make sure who he was.... I know him now!... An' remember I seen him climb in an' out—”
Kells's whole frame leaped. His gun was a flash of blue and red and white all together. Pearce swayed upright, like a tree chopped at the roots, and then fell, face up, eyes set—dead. The bandit leader stood over him with the smoking gun.
“My Gawd, Jack!” gasped Handy Oliver. “You swore no one would pull a gun—an' here you've killed him yourself!... YOU'VE DOUBLE-CROSSED YOURSELF! An' if I die for it I've got to tell you Red wasn't lyin' then!”
Kells's radiance fled, leaving him ghastly. He stared at Oliver.
“You've double-crossed yourself an' your pards,” went on Oliver, pathetically. “What's your word amount to? Do you expect the gang to stand for this?... There lays Red Pearce dead. An' for what? Jest once—relyin' on your oath—he speaks out what might have showed you. An' you kill him!... If I knowed what he knowed I'd tell you now with thet gun in your hand! But I don't know. Only I know he wasn't lyin'.... Ask the girl!... An' as for me, I reckon I'm through with you an' your Legion. You're done, Kells—your head's gone—you've broke over thet slip of a woman!”
Oliver spoke with a rude and impressive dignity. When he ended he strode out into the sunlight.
Kells was shaken by this forceful speech, yet he was not in any sense a broken man. “Joan—you heard Pearce,” said he, passionately. “He lied about you. I had to kill him. He hinted—Oh, the low-lived dog! He could not know a good woman. He lied—and there he is—dead! I wouldn't fetch him back for a hundred Legions!”
“But it—it wasn't—all—a lie,” said Joan, and her words came haltingly because a force stronger than her cunning made her speak. She had reached a point where she could not deceive Kells to save her life.
“WHAT!” he thundered.
“Pearce told the truth—except that no one ever climbed in my window. That's false. No one could climb in. It's too small.... But I did whisper—to someone.”
Kells had to moisten his lips to speak. “Who?”
“I'll never tell you.”
“Who?... I'll kill him!”
“No—no. I won't tell. I won't let you kill another man on my account.”
“I'll choke it out of you.”
“You can't. There's no use to threaten me, or hurt me, either.”
Kells seemed dazed. “Whisper! For hours! In the dark!... But, Joan, what for? Why such a risk?”
Joan shook her head.
“Were you just unhappy—lonesome? Did some young miner happen to see you there in daylight—then come at night? Wasn't it only accident? Tell me.”
“I won't—and I won't because I don't want you to spill more blood.”
“For my sake,” he queried, with the old, mocking tone. Then he grew dark with blood in his face, fierce with action of hands and body as he bent nearer her. “Maybe you like him too well to see him shot?... Did you—whisper often to this stranger?”
Joan felt herself weakening. Kells was so powerful in spirit and passion that she seemed unable to fight him. She strove to withhold her reply, but it burst forth, involuntarily.
