Reluctantly Joan took down Dandy Dale’s things from the pegs, and with a recurring shame she divested herself of part of her clothes and donned the suit and boots and mask and gun.  Her spirit rose, however, at the thought that this would be a disguise calculated to aid her in the escape with Cleve.  But why had Kells ordered the change?  Was he in danger and did he mean to flee from Alder Creek?  Joan found the speculation a relief from that haunting, persistent thought of Jim Cleve and Gulden.  She was eager to learn, still she hesitated at the door.  It was just as hard as ever to face those men.

But it must be, so with a wrench she stepped out boldly.

Kells looked worn and gray.  He had not slept.  But his face did not wear the shade she had come to associate with his gambling and drinking.  Six other men were present, and Joan noted coats and gloves and weapons and spurs.  Kells turned to address her.  His face lighted fleetingly.

“I want you to be ready to ride any minute,” he said.

“Why?” asked Joan.

“We may have to, that’s all,” he replied.

His men, usually so keen when they had a chance to ogle Joan, now scarcely gave her a glance.  They were a dark, grim group, with hard eyes and tight lips.  Handy Oliver was speaking.

“I tell you, Gulden swore he seen Creede—­on the road—­in the lamplight—­last night after Jim Cleve got here.”

“Gulden must have been mistaken,” declared Kells, impatiently.

“He ain’t the kind to make mistakes,” replied Oliver.

“Gul’s seen Creede’s ghost, thet’s what,” suggested Blicky, uneasily.  “I’ve seen a few in my time.”

Some of the bandits nodded gloomily.

“Aw!” burst out Red Pearce.  “Gulden never seen a ghost in his life.  If he seen Creede he’s seen him alive!”

“Shore you’re right, Red,” agreed Jesse Smith.

“But, men—­Cleve brought in Creede’s belt—­and we’ve divided the gold,” said Kells.  “You all know Creede would have to be dead before that belt could be unbuckled from him.  There’s a mistake.”

“Boss, it’s my idee thet Gul is only makin’ more trouble,” put in Bate Wood.  “I seen him less than an hour ago.  I was the first one Gul talked to.  An’ he knew Jim Cleve did for Creede.  How’d he know?  Thet was supposed to be a secret.  What’s more, Gul told me Cleve was on the job to kill him.  How’d he ever find thet out? ...  Sure as God made little apples Cleve never told him!”

Kells’s face grew livid and his whole body vibrated.  “Maybe one of Gulden’s gang was outside, listening when we planned Cleve’s job,” he suggested.  But his look belied his hope.

“Naw!  There’s a nigger in the wood-pile, you can gamble on thet,” blurted out the sixth bandit, a lean faced, bold-eye, blond-mustached fellow whose name Joan had never heard.

“I won’t believe it,” replied Kells, doggedly.  “And you, Budd, you’re accusing somebody present of treachery—­or else Cleve.  He’s the only one not here who knew.”