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"Now for the deal.... Who wants cards?... I've organized my Border Legion. I'll have absolute control, whether there're ten men or a hundred. Now, whose names go down in my book?" Red Pearce stepped up and labored over the writing of his name. Blicky, Jones, Williams, and others followed suit. They did not speak, but each shook hands with the leader.
Blicky and Smith were cutting the horses out of their harness: Beady Jones, like a ghoul, searched the dead men; the three bandits whom Joan knew only by sight were making up a pack; Budd was standing beside the stage with his, expectant grin; and Gulden, with the agility of the gorilla he resembled, was clambering over the top of the stage.
Blicky grasped Kells's arm and threw his weight upon it to keep it down. "I fetched thet parson here," he yelled, "an you ain't a-goin' to kill him!... Help, Jesse!... He's crazy! He'll do it!" Jesse Smith ran to Blicky's aid and tore the gun out of Kells's hand. Jim Cleve grasped the preacher by the shoulders and, whirling him around, sent him flying out of the door.
They fought, but it was only play. They were gleeful. Blicky secured the prize and he held it aloft in triumph. Assuredly he would have waved it had it not been so heavy. Gulden drew out several small sacks, which he provokingly placed on the seat in front of him. The bandits below howled in protest.
His sense of direction, his equilibrium, had become affected. His awful roar still sounded above the din, but it was weakening. His giant's strength was weakening. His legs bent and buckled under him. All at once he whipped out his two big guns and began to fire as he staggered at random. He killed the wounded Blicky. In the melee he ran against Jesse Smith and thrust both guns at him.
Suggestion alone would have drawn her then and Kells's passionate force was hypnotic. "Yes," she whispered. He appeared to control a developing paroxysm of rage. "That settles you," he declared darkly. "But I'll do one more decent thing by you. I'll marry you." Then he wheeled to his men. "Blicky, there's a parson down in camp. Go on the run. Fetch him back if you have to push him with a gun."
At sight of Kells he threw the gloves aloft and took no note of them when they fell. "STRIKE!" he called, piercingly. "No!" ejaculated Kells, intensely. Bate Wood let out a whoop which was answered by the men hurrying up the slope. "Been on for weeks!" panted Blicky. "It's big. Can't tell how big.
"Share and share alike!" he thundered, now black in the face. "Do you fools want to waste time here on the road, dividing up this gold?" "What you say goes," shouted Budd. There was no dissenting voice. "What a stake!" ejaculated Blicky. "Gul, the boss had it figgered. Strange, though, he hasn't showed up!" "Where'll we go?" queried Gulden. "Speak up, you men."
Joan watched Kells intently while he listened to this breathless narrative of a gold strike, and she was repelled by the singular flash of brightness a radiance that seemed to be in his eyes and on his face. He did not say a word, but his men shouted hoarsely around Blicky.
Blicky was gray of face and wild of aspect. "Jesse's come!" he yelled, hoarsely, at Kells. "He jest fell off his hoss all in! He wants you an' all the gang! He's seen a million dollars in gold-dust!" Absolute silence ensued after that last swift and startling speech. It broke to a commingling of yells and shouts. Blicky wheeled his horse and Kells started on a run.
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