Cabin Gulch Read Free Page B

wash, and again halted, leisurely, as if time was no object. They were all young, under thirty. The two who had not spoken were rough-garbed, coarse-featured, and resembled in general a dozen men Joan saw every day. Kells was of a different stamp. Until he looked at her, he reminded her of someone she had known back in Missouri; after he looked at her, she was aware in a curious sickening way that no such person as he had ever before seen her. He was pale, gray-eyed, intelligent, amiable. He appeared to be a man who had been a gentleman. But there was something strange, intangible, immense about him. Was that the effect of his presence or of his name? Kells? It was only a word to Joan. But it carried a nameless and terrible suggestion. During the last year many dark tales had gonefrom camp to camp in Idaho—some too strange, too horrible for credence—and with every rumor the fame of Kells had grown, and also a fearful certainty of the rapid growth of a legion of evil men out on the border. But no one in the village or from any of the camps ever admitted having seen this Kells. Had fear kept them silent? Joan was amazed that Roberts evidently knew this man.
    Kells dismounted and offered his hand. Roberts took it and shook it constrainedly.
    â€œWhere did we meet last?” asked Kells.
    â€œReckon it was out of Fresno,” replied Roberts, and it was evident that he tried to hide the effect of a memory.
    Then Kells touched his hat to Joan, giving her the fleetest kind of a glance.
    â€œRather off the track, aren’t you?” he asked Roberts.
    â€œReckon we are,” replied Roberts, and he began to lose some of his restraint. His voice sounded clearer and did not halt. “Been trailin’ Miss Randle’s favorite hoss. He’s lost. An’ we got farther’n we had any idee. Then my hoss went lame. ’Fraid we can’t start home tonight.”
    â€œWhere are you from?”
    â€œHoadley. Bill Hoadley’s town back thirty miles or so.”
    â€œWell, Roberts, if you’ve no objection, we’ll camp here with you,” continued Kells. “We’ve got some fresh meat.”
    With that he addressed a word to his comrades, and they repaired to a cedar tree nearby where they began to unsaddle and unpack.
    Then Roberts, bending nearer Joan, as if intent on his own pack, began to whisper hoarsely: “That’s Jack Kells . . . the California road agent. He’s a gunfighter . . . a hell-bent rattlesnake. When I saw him last,he had a rope ’round his neck an’ was bein’ led away to be hanged. I heard afterward he was rescued by pals. Joan, if the idee comes into his head, he’ll kill me. I don’t know what to do. For God’s sake think of somethin’. Use your woman’s wits. We couldn’t be in a wuss fix.”
    Joan felt rather unsteady on her feet, so that it was a relief to sit down. She was cold and sick inwardly, almost stunned. Some great peril menaced her. Men like Roberts did not talk that way without cause. She was brave; she was not unused to danger. But this must be a different kind—compared to which all she had experienced was but insignificant. She could not grasp Roberts’s intimation. Why should he be killed? They had no gold—no valuables. Even their horses were nothing to inspire robbery. It must be that there was peril to Roberts and to her because she was a girl, caught out in the wilds, easy prey for beasts of evil men. She had heard of such things happening. Still she could not believe it possible for her. Roberts could protect her. Then this amiable well-spoken Kells—he was no Western rough—he spoke like an educated man—surely he would not harm her. So her mind revolved around fears, conjectures, possibilities; she could not find her wits. She could not think how to meet the situation, even had she divined what the situation was to be.
    While she sat there in the shade of a