Then Kells turned with a bright gleam upon his face.  “And you—­ Pearce?”

“I’d say yes in a minute if I’d not have to take a hand in thet job,” replied Pearce, with a hard laugh.  “Gulden won’t be so easy to kill.  He’ll pack a gunful of lead.  I’ll gamble if the gang of us cornered him in this cabin he’d do for most of us before we killed him.”

“Gul sleep alone, no one knows where,” said Handy Oliver.  “An’ he can’t be surprised.  Red’s correct.  How’re we goin’ to kill him?”

“If you gents will listen you’ll find out,” rejoined Jesse Smith.  “Thet’s the job for young Cleve.  He can do it.  Sure Gulden never was afraid of any man.  But somethin’ about Cleve bluffed him.  I don’t know what.  Send Cleve out after Gulden.  He’ll call him face to face, anywhere, an’ beat him to a gun! ...  Take my word for it.”

“Jesse, that’s the grandest idea you ever had,” said Kells, softly.  His eyes shone.  The old power came back to his face.  “I split on Gulden.  With him once out of the way—!”

“Boss, are you goin’ to make thet Jim Cleve’s second job?” inquired Pearce, curiously.

“I am,” replied Kells, with his jaw corded and stiff.  “If he pulls thet off you’ll never hear a yap from me so long as I live.  An’ I’ll eat out of Cleve’s hand.”

Joan could bear to hear no more.  She staggered to her bed and fell there, all cramped as if in a cold vise.  However Jim might meet the situation planned for murdering Creede, she knew he would not shirk facing Gulden with deadly intent.  He hated Gulden because she had a horror of him.  Would these hours of suspense never end?  Must she pass from one torture to another until—?

Sleep did not come for a long time.  And when it did she suffered with nightmares from which it seemed she could never awaken.

The day, when at last it arrived, was no better than the night.  It wore on endlessly, and she who listened so intently found it one of the silent days.  Only Bate Wood remained at the cabin.  He appeared kinder than usual, but Joan did not want to talk.  She ate her meals, and passed the hours watching from the window and lying on the bed.  Dusk brought Kells and Pearce and Smith, but not Jim Cleve.  Handy Oliver and Blicky arrived at supper-time.

“Reckon Jim’s appetite is pore,” remarked Bate Wood, reflectively.  “He ain’t been in to-day.”

Some of the bandits laughed, but Kells had a twinge, if Joan ever saw a man have one.  The dark, formidable, stern look was on his face.  He alone of the men ate sparingly, and after the meal he took to his bent posture and thoughtful pacing.  Joan saw the added burden of another crime upon his shoulders.  Conversation, which had been desultory, and such as any miners or campers might have indulged in, gradually diminished to a word here and there, and finally ceased.  Kells always at this hour had a dampening effect upon his followers.  More and more he drew aloof from them, yet he never realized that.  He might have been alone.  But often he glanced out of the door, and appeared to listen.  Of course he expected Jim Cleve to return, but what did he expect of him?  Joan had a blind faith that Jim would be cunning enough to fool Kells and Pearce.  So much depended upon it!