Gulden leaned across the table, his massive jaw working. “I found it on the miner Creede,” replied the giant, stridently.
Then came a nervous shuffling of boots on the creaky boards. In the silence a low, dull murmur of distant voices could be heard, strangely menacing. Kells stood transfixed, white as a sheet.
“On Creede!”
“Yes.”
“Where was his—his body?”
“I left it out on the Bannack trail.”
The bandit leader appeared mute.
“Kells, I followed Creede out of camp last night,” fiercely declared Gulden.... “I killed him!... I found this nugget on him!”
17
Apparently to Kells that nugget did not accuse Jim Cleve of treachery. Not only did this possibility seem lost upon the bandit leader, but also the sinister intent of Gulden and his associates.
“Then Jim didn't kill Creede!” cried Kells.
A strange light flashed across his face. It fitted the note of gladness in his exclamation. How strange that in his amaze there should be relief instead of suspicion! Joan thought she understood Kells. He was glad that he had not yet made a murderer out of Cleve.
Gulden appeared slow in rejoining. “I told you I got Creede,” he said. “And we want to know if this says to you what it says to us.”
His huge, hairy hand tapped the nugget. Then Kells caught the implication.
“What does it say to you?” he queried, coolly, and he eyed Gulden and then the grim men behind him.
“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.”
