The Border Legion Page 3

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  Joan ran on, stumbling over rocks and brush, with a darkness before hereyes, the terror in her soul. She was out in the cedars when someonegrasped her from behind. She felt the hands as the coils of a snake.Then she was ready to faint, but she must not faint. She struggled away,stood free. It was the man Bill who had caught her. He said somethingthat was unintelligible. She reached for the snag of a dead cedar and,leaning there, fought her weakness, that cold black horror which seemeda physical thing in her mind, her blood, her muscles.

  When she recovered enough for the thickness to leave her sight she sawKells coming, leading her horse and his own. At sight of him a strange,swift heat shot through her. Then she was confounded with the thought ofRoberts.

  "Ro--Roberts?" she faltered.

  Kells gave her a piercing glance. "Miss Randle, I had to take the fightout of your friend," he said.

  "You--you--Is he--dead?"

  "I just crippled his gun arm. If I hadn't he would have hurt somebody.He'll ride back to Hoadley and tell your folks about it. So they'll knowyou're safe."

  "Safe!" she whispered.

  "That's what I said, Miss Randle. If you're going to ride out into theborder--if it's possible to be safe out there you'll be so with me."

  "But I want to go home. Oh, please let me go!"

  "I couldn't think of it."

  "Then--what will you--do with me?"

  Again that gray glance pierced her. His eyes were clear, flawless, likecrystal, without coldness, warmth, expression. "I'll get a barrel ofgold out of you."

  "How?" she asked, wonderingly.

  "I'll hold you for ransom. Sooner or later those prospectors over thereare going to strike gold. Strike it rich! I know that. I've got to makea living some way."

  Kells was tightening the cinch on her saddle while he spoke. His voice,his manner, the amiable smile on his intelligent face, they all appearedto come from sincerity. But for those strange eyes Joan would havewholly believed him. As it was, a half doubt troubled her. Sheremembered the character Roberts had given this man. Still, she wasrecovering her nerve. It had been the certainty of disaster to Robertsthat had made her weaken. As he was only slightly wounded and free toride home safely, she had not the horror of his death upon her.Indeed, she was now so immensely uplifted that she faced the situationunflinchingly.

  "Bill," called Kells to the man standing there with a grin on his coarsered face, "you go back and help Halloway pack. Then take my trail."

  Bill nodded, and was walking away when Kells called after him: "And say,Bill, don't say anything to Roberts. He's easily riled."

  "Haw! Haw! Haw!" laughed Bill.

  His harsh laughter somehow rang jarringly in Joan's ears. But she wasused to violent men who expressed mirth over mirthless jokes.

  "Get up, Miss Randle," said Kells as he mounted. "We've a long ride.You'll need all your strength. So I advise you to come quietly with meand not try to get away. It won't be any use trying."

  Joan climbed into her saddle and rode after him. Once she looked backin hope of seeing Roberts, of waving a hand to him. She saw his horsestanding saddled, and she saw Bill struggling under a pack, but therewas no sign of Roberts. Then more cedars intervened and the camp sitewas lost to view. When she glanced ahead her first thought was to takein the points of Kells's horse. She had been used to horses all herlife. Kells rode a big rangy bay--a horse that appeared to snort speedand endurance. Her pony could never run away from that big brute. StillJoan had the temper to make an attempt to escape, if a favorable waypresented.

  The morning was rosy, clear, cool; there was a sweet, dry tang inthe air; white-tailed deer bounded out of the open spaces; and thegray-domed, glistening mountains, with their bold, black-fringed slopes,overshadowed the close foot-hills.

  Joan was a victim to swift vagaries of thought and conflicting emotions.She was riding away with a freebooter, a road-agent, to be held forransom. The fact was scarcely credible. She could not shake the dreadof nameless peril. She tried not to recall Roberts's words, yet theyhaunted her. If she had not been so handsome, he had said! Joan knewshe possessed good looks, but they had never caused her any particularconcern. That Kells had let that influence him--as Roberts hadimagined--was more than absurd. Kells had scarcely looked at her. It wasgold such men wanted. She wondered what her ransom would be, where heruncle would get it, and if there really was a likelihood of that richstrike. Then she remembered her mother, who had died when she was alittle girl, and a strange, sweet sadness abided with her. It passed.She saw her uncle--that great, robust, hearty, splendid old man, withhis laugh and his kindness, and his love for her, and his everlastingunquenchable belief that soon he would make a rich gold-strike. What aroar and a stampede he would raise at her loss! The village camp mightbe divided on that score, she thought, because the few young women inthat little settlement hated her, and the young men would have morepeace without her. Suddenly her thought shifted to Jim Cleve, thecause of her present misfortune. She had forgotten Jim. In the intervalsomehow he had grown. Sweet to remember how he had fought for her andkept it secret! After all, she had misjudged him. She had hated himbecause she liked him. Maybe she did more! That gave her a shock. Sherecalled his kisses and then flamed all over. If she did not hate himshe ought to. He had been so useless; he ran after her so; he was thelaughing-stock of the village; his actions made her other admirers andfriends believe she cared for him, was playing fast-and-loose with him.Still, there was a difference now. He had terribly transgressed. He hadfrightened her with threats of dire ruin to himself. And because of thatshe had trailed him, to fall herself upon a hazardous experience.Where was Jim Cleve now? Like a flash then occurred to her the singularpossibility. Jim had ridden for the border with the avowed and desperateintention of finding Kells and Gulden and the bad men of that tracklessregion. He would do what he had sworn he would. And here she was, thecause of it all, a captive of this notorious Kells! She was being ledinto that wild border country. Somewhere out there Kells and Jim Clevewould meet. Jim would find her in Kells's hands. Then there would behell, Joan thought. The possibility, the certainty, seemed to strikedeep into her, reviving that dread and terror. Yet she thrilled again; aripple that was not all cold coursed through her. Something had a birthin her then, and the part of it she understood was that she welcomedthe adventure with a throbbing heart, yet looked with awe and shame anddistrust at this new, strange side of her nature.

  And while her mind was thus thronged the morning hours passed swiftly,the miles of foot-hills were climbed and descended. A green gap ofcanon, wild and yellow-walled, yawned before her, opening into themountain.

  Kells halted on the grassy bank of a shallow brook. "Get down. We'llnoon here and rest the horses," he said to Joan. "I can't say thatyou're anything but game. We've done perhaps twenty-five miles thismorning."

  The mouth of this canon was a wild, green-flowered, beautiful place.There were willows and alders and aspens along the brook. The greenbench was like a grassy meadow. Joan caught a glimpse of a brown object,a deer or bear, stealing away through spruce-trees on the slope. Shedismounted, aware now that her legs ached and it was comfortableto stretch them. Looking backward across the valley toward the lastfoot-hill, she saw the other men, with horses and packs, coming. She hada habit of close observation, and she thought that either the men withthe packs had now one more horse than she remembered, or else she hadnot seen the extra one. Her attention shifted then. She watched Kellsunsaddle the horses. He was wiry, muscular, quick with his hands. Thebig, blue-cylindered gun swung in front of him. That gun had a queerkind of attraction for her. The curved black butt made her think of asharp grip of hand upon it. Kells did not hobble the horses. He slappedhis bay on the haunch and drove him down toward the brook. Joan's ponyfollowed. They drank, cracked the stones, climbed the other bank, andbegan to roll in the grass. Then the other men with the packs trottedup. Joan was glad. She had not thought of it before, but now she feltshe would rather not be alone with Kells. She remar
ked then that therewas no extra horse in the bunch. It seemed strange, her thinking that,and she imagined she was not clear-headed.

  "Throw the packs, Bill," said Kells.

  Another fire was kindled and preparations made toward a noonday meal.Bill and Halloway appeared loquacious, and inclined to steal glances atJoan when Kells could not notice. Halloway whistled a Dixie tune. ThenBill took advantage of the absence of Kells, who went down to the brook,and he began to leer at Joan and make bold eyes at her. Joan appearednot to notice him, and thereafter averted; her gaze. The men chuckled.

  "She's the proud hussy! But she ain't foolin' me. I've knowed a heap ofwimmen." Whereupon Halloway guffawed, and between them, in lower tones,they exchanged mysterious remarks. Kells returned with a bucket ofwater.

  "What's got into you men?" he queried.

  Both of them looked around, blusteringily innocent.

  "Reckon it's the same that's ailin' you," replied Bill. He showed thatamong wild, unhampered men how little could inflame and change.

  "Boss, it's the onaccustomed company," added Halloway, with aconciliatory smile. "Bill sort of warms up. He jest can't help it. An'seein' what a thunderin' crab he always is, why I'm glad an' welcome."

  Kells vouchsafed no reply to this and, turning away, continued histasks. Joan had a close look at his eyes and again she was startled.They were not like eyes, but just gray spaces, opaque openings, withnothing visible behind, yet with something terrible there.

  The preparations for the meal went on, somewhat constrainedly on thepart of Bill and Halloway, and presently were ended. Then the menattended to it with appetites born of the open and of action. Joan satapart from them on the bank of the brook, and after she had appeasedher own hunger she rested, leaning back in the shade of an alderbush.A sailing shadow crossed near her, and, looking up, she saw an eagleflying above the ramparts of the canon. Then she had a drowsy spell, butshe succumbed to it only to the extent of closing her eyes. Time draggedon. She would rather have been in the saddle. These men were leisurely,and Kells was provokingly slow. They had nothing to do with time butwaste it. She tried to combat the desire for hurry, for action; shecould not gain anything by worry. Nevertheless, resignation wouldnot come to her and her hope began to flag. Something portendedevil--something hung in the balance.

  The snort and tramp of horses roused her, and upon sitting up she sawthe men about to pack and saddle again. Kells had spoken to her onlytwice so far that day. She was grateful for his silence, but could notunderstand it. He seemed to have a preoccupied air that somehow did notfit the amiableness of his face. He looked gentle, good-natured; hewas soft-spoken; he gave an impression of kindness. But Joan began torealize that he was not what he seemed. He had something on his mind. Itwas not conscience, nor a burden: it might be a projection, a plan,an absorbing scheme, a something that gained food with thought. Joanwondered doubtfully if it were the ransom of gold he expected to get.

  Presently, when all was about in readiness for a fresh start, she roseto her feet. Kells's bay was not tractable at the moment. Bill heldout Joan's bridle to her and their hands touched. The contact was anaccident, but it resulted in Bill's grasping back at her hand. Shejerked it away, scarcely comprehending. Then all under the brown of hisface she saw creep a dark, ruddy tide. He reached for her then--puthis hand on her breast. It was an instinctive animal action. He meantnothing. She divined that he could not help it. She had lived with roughmen long enough to know he had no motive--no thought at all. But at theprofanation of such a touch she shrank back, uttering a cry.

  At her elbow she heard a quick step and a sharp-drawn breath or hiss.

  "AW, JACK!" cried Bill.

  Then Kells, in lithe and savage swiftness, came between them. He swunghis gun, hitting Bill full in the face. The man fell, limp and heavy,and he lay there, with a bloody gash across his brow. Kells stood overhim a moment, slowly lowering the gun. Joan feared he meant to shoot.

  "Oh, don't--don't!" she cried. "He--he didn't hurt me."

  Kells pushed her back. When he touched her she seemed to feel the shockof an electric current. His face had not changed, but his eyes wereterrible. On the background of gray were strange, leaping red flecks.

  "Take your horse," he ordered. "No. Walk across the brook. There's atrail. Go up the canon. I'll come presently. Don't run and don't hide.It'll be the worse for you if you do. Hurry!"

  Joan obeyed. She flashed past the open-jawed Halloway, and, running downto the brook, stepped across from stone to stone. She found the trailand hurriedly followed it. She did not look back. It never occurredto her to hide, to try to get away. She only obeyed, conscious of someforce that dominated her. Once she heard loud voices, then the shrillneigh of a horse. The trail swung under the left wall of the canon andran along the noisy brook. She thought she heard shots and was startled,but she could not be sure. She stopped to listen. Only the babble ofswift water and the sough of wind in the spruces greeted her ears.She went on, beginning to collect her thoughts, to conjecture on thesignificance of Kells's behavior.

  But had that been the spring of his motive? She doubted it--she doubtedall about him, save that subtle essence of violence, of ruthless forceand intensity, of terrible capacity, which hung round him.

  A halloo caused her to stop and turn. Two pack-horses were jogging upthe trail. Kells was driving them and leading her pony. Nothing could beseen of the other men. Kells rapidly overhauled her, and she had to getout of the trail to let the pack-animals pass. He threw her bridle toher.

  "Get up," he said.

  She complied. And then she bravely faced him. "Where are--the othermen?"

  "We parted company," he replied, curtly.

  "Why?" she persisted.

  "Well, if you're anxious to know, it was because you were winningtheir--regard--too much to suit me."

  "Winning their regard!" Joan exclaimed, blankly.

  Here those gray, piercing eyes went through her, then swiftly shifted.She was quick to divine from that the inference in his words--hesuspected her of flirting with those ruffians, perhaps to escape himthrough them. That had only been his suspicion--groundless after hisswift glance at her. Perhaps unconsciousness of his meaning, a simulatedinnocence, and ignorance might serve her with this strange man. Sheresolved to try it, to use all her woman's intuition and wit andcunning. Here was an educated man who was a criminal--an outcast. Deepwithin him might be memories of a different life. They might be stirred.Joan decided in that swift instant that, if she could understand him,learn his real intentions toward her, she could cope with him.

  "Bill and his pard were thinking too much of--of the ransom I'm after,"went on Kells, with a short laugh. "Come on now. Ride close to me."

  Joan turned into the trail with his laugh ringing in her ears. Did sheonly imagine a mockery in it? Was there any reason to believe a wordthis man said? She appeared as helpless to see through him as she was inher predicament.

  They had entered a canon, such as was typical of that mountain range,and the winding trail which ran beneath the yellow walls was one unusedto travel. Joan could not make out any old tracks, except those of deerand cougar. The crashing of wild animals into the chaparral, andthe scarcely frightened flight of rabbits and grouse attested to thewildness of the place. They passed an old tumbledown log cabin, onceused, no doubt, by prospectors and hunters. Here the trail ended. YetKells kept on up the canon. And for all Joan could tell the walls grewonly the higher and the timber heavier and the space wilder.

  At a turn, when the second pack-horse, that appeared unused to his task,came fully into Joan's sight, she was struck with his resemblance tosome horse with which she was familiar. It was scarcely an impressionwhich she might have received from seeing Kells's horse or Bill's or anyone's a few times. Therefore she watched this animal, studying his gaitand behavior. It did not take long for her to discover that he was nota pack-horse. He resented that burden. He did not know how to swing it.This made her deeply thoughtful and she watched closer than ever.
Allat once there dawned on her the fact that the resemblance here was toRoberts's horse. She caught her breath and felt again that cold gnawingof fear within her. Then she closed her eyes the better to remembersignificant points about Roberts's sorrel--a white left front foot, anold diamond brand, a ragged forelock, and an unusual marking, a lightbar across his face. When Joan had recalled these, she felt so certainthat she would find them on this pack-horse that she was afraid to openher eyes. She forced herself to look, and it seemed that in one glanceshe saw three of them. Still she clung to hope. Then the horse, pickinghis way, partially turning toward her, disclosed the bar across hisface.

  Joan recognized it. Roberts was not on his way home. Kells had lied.Kells had killed him. How plain and fearful the proof! It verifiedRoberts's gloomy prophecy. Joan suddenly grew sick and dizzy. She reeledin her saddle. It was only by dint of the last effort of strength andself-control that she kept her seat. She fought the horror as if it werea beast. Hanging over the pommel, with shut eyes, letting her ponyfind the way, she sustained this shock of discovery and did not let itutterly overwhelm her. And as she conquered the sickening weakness hermind quickened to the changed aspect of her situation. She understoodKells and the appalling nature of her peril. She did not know how sheunderstood him now, but doubt had utterly fled. All was clear, real,grim, present. Like a child she had been deceived, for no reason shecould see. That talk of ransom was false. Likewise Kells's assertionthat he had parted company with Halloway and Bill because he would notshare the ransom--that, too, was false. The idea of a ransom, in thislight, was now ridiculous. From that first moment Kells had wanted her;he had tried to persuade Roberts to leave her, and, failing, had killedhim; he had rid himself of the other two men--and now Joan knew she hadheard shots back there. Kells's intention loomed out of all hisdark brooding, and it stood clear now to her, dastardly, worse thancaptivity, or torture, or death--the worst fate that could befall awoman.

  The reality of it now was so astounding. True--as true as those storiesshe had deemed impossible! Because she and her people and friends hadappeared secure in their mountain camp and happy in their work andtrustful of good, they had scarcely credited the rumors of just suchthings as had happened to her. The stage held up by roadagents, a lonelyprospector murdered and robbed, fights in the saloons and on the trails,and useless pursuit of hardriding men out there on the border, elusiveas Arabs, swift as Apaches--these facts had been terrible enough,without the dread of worse. The truth of her capture, the meaning ofit, were raw, shocking spurs to Joan Randle's intelligence and courage.Since she still lived, which was strange indeed in the illuminatinglight of her later insight into Kells and his kind, she had to meet himwith all that was catlike and subtle and devilish at the command of awoman. She had to win him, foil him, kill him--or go to her death. Shewas no girl to be dragged into the mountain fastness by a desperado andmade a plaything. Her horror and terror had worked its way deep intothe depths of her and uncovered powers never suspected, never beforerequired in her scheme of life. She had no longer any fear. She matchedherself against this man. She anticipated him. And she felt like a womanwho had lately been a thoughtless girl, who, in turn, had dreamedof vague old happenings of a past before she was born, of impossibleadventures in her own future. Hate and wrath and outraged womanhood werenot wholly the secret of Joan Randle's flaming spirit.