Cabin Gulch Read online

  The damage in the other cabin grew so boisterous that suddenly, when it stilled, Joan was brought sharply to the significance of it. Again she drew aside the curtain and peered out.

  Gulden, huge, stolid, gloomy, was entering the cabin. The men fell back from him. He stalked into the circle and faced Kells with the firelight dancing in his cavernous eyes.

  “Hello, Gulden,” said Kells coolly. “What ails you?”

  “Anybody tell you about Bill Bailey?” asked Gulden heavily.

  Kells did not show the least concern.

  “Tell me what?”

  “That he died in a cabin, down in the valley?”

  Kells gave a slight start and his eyes narrowed and shot steely glints.

  “No. It’s news to me.”

  “Kells, you left Bailey for dead. But he lived. He was shot through, but he got there somehow . . . nobody knows. He was far gone when Beady Jones happened along. Before he died, he sent word to me by Beady. Are you curious to know what it was?”

  “Not the least,” replied Kells. “Bailey was . . . well, offensive to my wife. I shot him.”

  “He swore you drew on him in cold blood,” thundered Gulden. “He swore it was for nothing . . . just so you could be alone with that girl!”

  Kells rose in wonderful calmness, with only his pallor and a slight shaking of his hands to betray excitement. An uneasy stir and murmur ran through the room. Red Pearce, nearest at hand, stepped to Kells’s side. All in a moment there was a deadly surcharged atmosphere there.

  “Well, he swore right! Now what’s it to you?”

  Apparently the fact and its confession were nothing particular to Gulden, or else he was deep where all considered him only dense and shallow.

  “It’s done. Bill’s dead,” continued Gulden. “But why do you double-cross the gang? What’s the game? You never did it before. That girl isn’t your. . . .”

  “Shut up!” hissed Kells. Like a flash his hand flew out with his gun, and all about him was dark menace.

  Gulden made no attempt to draw. He did not show surprise or fear or any emotion. He appeared plodding in mind. Red Pearce stepped between Kells and Gulden. There was a relaxation in the crowd—loud breaths—scraping of feet. Gulden turned away. Then Kells resumed his seat and his pipe as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  NINE

  Joan turned away from the door in a cold clamp of relief. The shadow of death hovered over these men. She must fortify herself to live under that shadow, to be prepared for any sudden violence, to stand a succession of shocks that inevitably would come. She listened. The men were talking and laughing now; there came a click of chips, the spat of a thrown card, the thump of a little sack of gold. Ahead of her lay the long hours of night in which these men would revel. Only a faint ray of light penetrated her cabin, but it was sufficient for her to distinguish objects. She set about putting the poles in place to barricade the opening. When she had finished, she knew she was safe at least from intrusion. Who had constructed that rude door and for what purpose? Then she yielded to the temptation to peep once more under the edge of the curtain.

  The room was cloudy and blue with smoke. She saw Jim Cleve at a table gambling with several ruffians. His back was turned, yet Joan felt the contrast of his attitude toward the game, compared to that of the others. They were tense, fierce, and intent upon every throw of a card. Cleve’s very poise of head and movement of arm betrayed his indifference. One of the gamblers howled his disgust, slammed down his cards, and got up.

  “He’s cleaned out,” said one in devilish glee.

  “No he ain’t,” vouched another. “He’s got two fruit cans full of dust. I saw ’em. He’s just lay down . . . like a poisoned coyote.”

  “Shore I’m glad Cleve’s got good luck,” spoke up another gamester with a laugh.

  “Wal, he certainlee is the chilvalus card sharp,” rejoined the last player. “Jim, was you allus as lucky in love as in cards?”

  “Lucky in love? Sure!” answered Jim Cleve with a mocking reckless ring in his voice.

  “Funny, ain’t thet, boys? Now there’s the boss. Kells can sure win the girls, but he’s a hell of a pore gambler.”

  Kells heard this speech and he laughed with the others.

  “Hey, you greaser, you never won any of my money,” he said.

  “Come an’ set in, boss. Come an’ see your girl fade away. You can’t stop this Jim Cleve luck . . . bull luck straddles his neck. He’ll even win your gold . . . your hosses an’ saddles an’ spurs an’ guns . . . an’ your shirt, if you’ve nerve enough to bet it.”

  The speaker slapped his cards upon the table while he gazed at Cleve in grieved admiration. Kells walked over to the group and he put his hand on Cleve’s shoulder.

  “Say, youngster,” he said genially, “you said you were just as lucky in love. Now I had a hunch some bad luck with a girl drove you out here to the border.”

  Kells spoke jestingly, in a way that could give no offense even to the wildest of boys, yet there was curiosity, keenness, penetration in his speech. It had not the slightest effect upon Jim Cleve.

  “Bad luck and a girl? To hell with both,” he said.

  “Shore you’re talkin’ religion. Hell’s where both luck an’ gurls come from,” replied the unlucky gamester. “Will one of you hawgs pass the whiskey.”

  The increased interest with which Kells looked down upon Jim Cleve was not lost upon Joan. But she had seen enough, and, turning away, she stumbled to the bed and lay there with an ache in her heart. Oh, she whispered to herself, he is ruined . . . ruined . . . ruined. God forgive me. She saw bright cold stars shining between the logs. The night wind swept in cold and pure, with the dew of the mountains in it. She heard the mourn of wolves, the hoot of an owl, the distant cry of a panther, weird and wild. Yet outside there was a thick and lonely silence. In that other cabin, from which she was mercifully shut out, there were different sounds, hideous by contrast. By and by she covered her ears, and at length, weary from thought and sorrow, she drifted into slumber.

  Next morning, long after she had awakened, the cabin remained quiet with no one stirring. Morning had half gone before Wood knocked and gave her a bucket of water, a basin, and towels. Later he came with her breakfast. After that, she had nothing to do but pace the floor of her two rooms. One appeared to be only an empty shed, long in disuse. The view from both rooms was restricted to the green slope of the gulch up to yellow crags and the sky. But she would rather have had this to watch than an outlook upon the cabin and the doings of these bandits.

  About noon she heard the voice of Kells in low and earnest conversation with someone; she could not, however, understand what was said. That ceased, and then she heard Kells moving around. There came a clatter of hoofs as a horse galloped away from the cabin. After which a knock sounded on the wall.

  “Joan!” called Kells. Then the curtain was swept aside, and Kells, appearing pale and troubled, stepped up into her room.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Joan hurriedly.

  “Gulden shot two men this morning. One’s dead. The other’s in bad shape. So Red tells me. I haven’t seen him.”

  “Who . . . who are they?” faltered Joan. She could not think of any man except Jim Cleve.

  “Dan Small’s the one who’s dead. The other they call Nick. Never heard his last name.”

  “Was it a fight?”

  “Of course. And Gulden picked it. He’s a quarrelsome man. Nobody can go against him. He’s all the time like some men when they’re drunk. I’m sorry I didn’t bore him last night. I would have done it if it hadn’t been for Red Pearce.”

  Kells seemed gloomy and concentrated on his situation and he talked naturally to Joan as if she was one to sympathize. A bandit, then, in the details of his life—the schemes—troubles—friendships—relations—was no different from any other kind of a man. He was human, and things that might constitute black evil for observers were dear to him, a part of him. Joan feigned th
e sympathy she could not feel.

  “I thought Gulden was your enemy.”

  Kells sat down on one of the box seats, and his heavy gun sheath rested upon the floor. He looked at Joan now, forgetting she was a woman and his prisoner.

  “I never thought that till now,” he said. “We always got along because I understood him. I managed him. The man hasn’t changed in the least. He’s always what he is. But there’s a difference. I noticed that first over in Lost Cañon. And, Joan, I believe it’s because Gulden saw you.”

  “Oh, no!” cried Joan, trembling.

  “Maybe I’m wrong. Anyway, something’s wrong. Gulden never had a friend or a partner. I don’t misunderstand his position regarding Bailey. What did he care for that soak? Gulden’s cross-grained. He opposes anything or anybody. He’s got a twist in his mind that makes him dangerous. I wanted to get rid of him. I decided to . . . after last night. But now it seems that’s no easy job.”

  “Why?” asked Joan curiously.

  “Pearce and Wood and Beard, all men I rely on, said it won’t do. They hint Gulden is strong with my gang here, and all through the border. I was wild. I don’t believe it. But as I’m not sure . . . what can I do? They’re all afraid of Gulden. That’s it. And I believe I am, too.”

  “You!” exclaimed Joan.

  Kells actually looked ashamed. “I believe I am, Joan,” he replied. “That Gulden is not a man. I never was afraid of a real man. He’s . . . he’s an animal.”

  “He made me think of a gorilla,” said Joan.

  “There’s only one man I know who’s not afraid of Gulden. He’s a newcomer here on the border. Jim Cleve, he calls himself. A youngster I can’t figure. But he’d slap the devil himself in the face. Cleve won’t last long out here. Yet you can never tell. Men like him who laugh at death sometimes sweat it for long. I was that way once. Cleve heard me talking to Pearce about Gulden. And he said . . . ‘Kells, I’ll pick a fight with this Gulden and drive him out of camp or kill him.’ ”

  “What did you say?” queried Joan, trying to steady her voice as she averted her eyes.

  “I said . . . ‘Jim, that wins me, but I don’t want you killed.’ It certainly was nervy of the youngster. Said it just the same as . . . as he’d offer to cinch my saddle. Gulden can whip a roomful of men. He’s done it. And as for a killer . . . I’ve heard of no man with his record.”

  “And that’s why you fear him?”

  “It’s not,” replied Kells passionately, as if his manhood had been affronted. “It’s because he’s Gulden. There’s something uncanny about him. Gulden’s a cannibal!”

  Joan looked as if he had not heard right.

  “It’s a cold fact. Known all over the border. Gulden’s no braggart. But he’s been known to talk. He was a sailor . . . a pirate. Once a cannibal. He told this in California, and in Nevada camps. But no one believed him. A few years ago he got snowed up in the mountains back of Lewiston. He had two companions with him. They all began to starve. It was absolutely necessary to try to get out. They started out in the snow. Travel was desperately hard. Gulden told that his companions dropped. But he murdered them . . . and again saved his life by being a cannibal. After this became known, his sailor yarns were no longer doubted. There’s another story about him. Once he got hold of a girl and took her into the mountains. After a winter he returned alone. He told that he’d kept her tied in a cave, without any clothes, and she froze to death.”

  “Oh, horrible,” moaned Joan.

  “I don’t know how true that is. But I believe it. Gulden is not a man. The worst of us has a conscience. We can tell right from wrong. But Gulden can’t. He’s beneath morals. He has no conception of manhood, such as I’ve seen in the lowest of outcasts. That cave story with the girl . . . that betrays him. He belongs back in the Stone Age. He’s a thing. And here on the border, if he wants, he can have all the more power because of what he is.”

  “Kells, don’t let him see me,” entreated Joan.

  The bandit appeared not to catch the fear in Joan’s tone and look. She had been only a listener. Presently with preoccupied and gloomy mien he left her alone.

  Joan did not see him again, except for glimpses under the curtain, for three days. She kept the door barred and saw no one except Bate Wood, who brought her meals. She paced her cabin like a caged creature. During this period, few men visited Kells’s cabin, and these few did not remain long. Joan was aware that Kells was not always at home. Evidently he was able to go out. Upon the fourth day, he called to her and knocked for admittance. Joan let him in, and saw that he was now almost well again—once more cool, easy, cheerful, with his strange forceful air.

  “Good day, Joan. You don’t seem to be pining for your . . . negligent husband.”

  He laughed as if he mocked himself, but there was gladness in the very sight of her, and some indefinable tone in his voice that suggested respect.

  “I didn’t miss you,” replied Joan. Yet it was a relief to see him.

  “No, I imagine not,” he said dryly. “Well, I’ve been busy with men . . . with plans. Things are working out to my satisfaction. Red Pearce got around Gulden. There’s been no split. Besides, Gulden rode off. Someone said he went after a little girl named Brander. I hope he gets shot. Joan, we’ll be leaving Cabin Gulch soon. I’m expecting news that’ll change things. I won’t leave you here. You’ll have to ride, and ride the roughest trails. And your clothes are in tatters now. You’ve got to have something to wear.”

  “I should think so,” replied Joan, fingering the thin worn ragged habit that had gone to pieces. “The first brush I ride through will tear this off.”

  “That’s damned annoying,” said Kells with exasperation at himself. “Where on earth can I get you a dress? We’re two hundred miles from everywhere. The wildest kind of country. Say, did you ever wear a man’s outfit?”

  “Ye-es, when I went prospecting and hunting with my uncle,” she replied reluctantly.

  Suddenly he had a daring and brilliant smile that changed his face completely. He rubbed his palms together. He laughed as if at a huge joke. He cast a measuring glance up and down her slender form.

  “Just wait till I come back,” he said.

  He left her and she heard him rummaging around in the pile of trappings she had noted in a corner of the other cabin. Presently he returned carrying a bundle. This he unrolled on the bed, and spread out the articles.

  “Dandy Dale’s outfit,” he said with animation. “Dandy was a would-be knight of the road. He dressed the part. But he tried to hold up a stage over here and an unappreciative passenger shot him. He wasn’t killed outright. He crawled away and died. Some of my men found him and they fetched his clothes. That outfit cost a fortune. But not a man could get into it.”

  There was a black sombrero with heavy silver band; a dark blue blouse and an embroidered buckskin vest; a belt all of cartridges and a pearl-handled gun; trousers of corduroy; high-top leather boots and gold-mounted spurs, all of the finest material and workmanship.

  “Joan, I’ll make you a black mask out of the rim of a felt hat, and then you’ll be grand.”

  He spoke with the impulse and enthusiasm of a boy.

  “Kells, you don’t mean me to wear these?” asked Joan incredulously.

  “Certainly. Why not? Just the thing. A little fancy, but then you’re a girl. We can’t hide that. I don’t want to hide it.”

  “I won’t wear them,” declared Joan.

  “Excuse me . . . but you will,” he replied coolly and pleasantly.

  “I won’t!” cried Joan. She could not keep cool.

  “Joan, you’ve got to take long rides with me. At night sometimes. Wild rides to elude pursuers sometimes. You’ll go into camps with me. You’ll have to be masked. Here the outfit is . . . as if made for you. Why, you’re dead lucky. For this stuff is good and strong. It’ll stand the wear, yet it’s fit for a girl. You put this outfit on, right now.”

  “I said I wouldn’t,” Joan snapped. />
  “But what do you care if it belonged to a fellow who’s dead? There! See that hole in the shirt. That’s a bullet hole. Don’t be squeamish. It’ll only make your part harder.”

  “Mister Kells, you seem to have forgotten entirely that I am a . . . a girl.”

  He looked blank astonishment. “Maybe I have. I’ll remember. But you said you’d worn a man’s things.”

  “I wore my brother’s coat and overalls, and was lost in them,” replied Joan.

  His face began to work. Then he laughed uproariously. “I . . . understand. This’ll fit . . . you . . . like a glove. Fine! I’m dying to see you.”

  “You never will.”

  At that he grew sober and his eyes glinted. “You can’t take a little fun. I’ll leave you now for a while. When I come back, you’ll have that suit on!”

  There was that in his voice then which she had heard when he ordered men.

  Joan looked her defiance.

  “If you don’t have it on when I come, I’ll . . . I’ll tear your rags off! I can do that. You’re a strong little devil, and maybe I’m not well enough yet to put this outfit on you. But I can get help. If you anger me, I might wait for . . . Gulden.”

  Joan’s legs grew weak under her, so that she had to sink on the bed. Kells would do absolutely and literally what he threatened. She understood now the changing strange secret of his eyes. One moment he was a certain kind of a man and the very next he was incalculably different. She instinctively recognized this latter personality as her enemy. She must use all the strength and wit and cunning and charm to keep his other personality in the ascendancy, else all was futile.