“Jack, you’re being double-crossed here—­an’ by more ’n one,” he said, deliberately.  “But if you want me to talk you’ve got to guarantee no gun-play.”

“Speak up, Red,” replied Kells, with a glinting eye.  “I swear there won’t be a gun pulled.”

The other men shifted from one foot to another and there were deep-drawn breaths.  Jim Cleve alone seemed quiet and cool.  But his eyes were ablaze.

“Fust off an’ for instance here’s one who’s double-crossin’ you,” said Pearce, in slow, tantalizing speech, as if he wore out this suspense to torture Kells.  And without ever glancing at Joan he jerked a thumb, in significant gesture, at her.

Joan leaned back against the wall, trembling and cold all over.  She read Pearce’s mind.  He knew her secret and meant to betray her and Jim.  He hated Kells and wanted to torture him.  If only she could think quickly and speak!  But she seemed dumb and powerless.

“Pearce, what do you mean?” demanded Kells.

“The girl’s double-crossin’ you,” replied Pearce.  With the uttered words he grew pale and agitated.

Suddenly Kells appeared to become aware of Joan’s presence and that the implication was directed toward her.  Then, many and remarkable as had been the changes Joan had seen come over him, now occurred one wholly greater.  It had all his old amiability, his cool, easy manner, veiling a deep and hidden ruthlessness, terrible in contrast.

“Red, I thought our talk concerned men and gold and—­things,” he said, with a cool, slow softness that had a sting, “but since you’ve nerve enough or are crazy enough to speak of—­her—­why, explain your meaning.”

Pearce’s jaw worked so that he could scarcely talk.  He had gone too far—­realized it too late.

“She meets a man—­back there—­at her window,” he panted.  “They whisper in the dark for hours.  I’ve watched an’ heard them.  An’ I’d told you before, but I wanted to make sure who he was. ...  I know him now! ...  An’ remember I seen him climb in an’ out—­”

Kells’s whole frame leaped.  His gun was a flash of blue and red and white all together.  Pearce swayed upright, like a tree chopped at the roots, and then fell, face up, eyes set—­dead.  The bandit leader stood over him with the smoking gun.

“My Gawd, Jack!” gasped Handy Oliver.  “You swore no one would pull a gun—­an’ here you’ve killed him yourself! ...  You’ve double-crossed yourself!  An’ if I die for it I’ve got to tell you Red wasn’t lyin’ then!”

Kells’s radiance fled, leaving him ghastly.  He stared at Oliver.

“You’ve double-crossed yourself an’ your pards,” went on Oliver, pathetically.  “What’s your word amount to?  Do you expect the gang to stand for this? ...  There lays Red Pearce dead.  An’ for what?  Jest once—­relyin’ on your oath—­he speaks out what might have showed you.  An’ you kill him! ...  If I knowed what he knowed I’d tell you now with thet gun in your hand!  But I don’t know.  Only I know he wasn’t lyin’. ...  Ask the girl! ...  An’ as for me, I reckon I’m through with you an’ your Legion.  You’re done, Kells—­your head’s gone—­you’ve broke over thet slip of a woman!”