“Guess he’s plugged,” said Smith.  “But he ain’t cashed.  Hear him breathe? ...  Heaves like a sick hoss.”

Gulden reached with brawny arm and with one pull he dragged the miner off the seat and out into the road, where he flopped with a groan.  There was blood on his neck and hands.  Gulden bent over him, tore at his clothes, tore harder at something, and then, with a swing, he held aloft a broad, black belt, sagging heavy with gold.

“Hah!” he boomed.  It was just an exclamation, horrible to hear, but it did not express satisfaction or exultation.  He handed the gold-belt to the grinning Budd, and turned to the young man.

“Got any gold?”

“No.  I—­I wasn’t a miner,” replied the youth huskily.

Gulden felt for a gold-belt, then slapped at his pockets.  “Turn round!” ordered the giant.

“Aw, Gul let him go!” remonstrated Jesse Smith.

Blicky laid a restraining hand upon Gulden’s broad shoulder.

“Turn round!” repeated Gulden, without the slightest sign of noticing his colleagues.

But the youth understood and he turned a ghastly livid hue.

“For God’s sake—­don’t murder me!” he gasped.  “I had—­nothing—­no gold—­no gun!”

Gulden spun him round like a top and pushed him forward.  They went half a dozen paces, then the youth staggered, and turning, he fell on his knees.

“Don’t—­kill—­me!” he entreated.

Joan, seeing Jim Cleve stiffen and crouch, thought of him even in that horrible moment; and she gripped his arm with all her might.  They must endure.

The other bandits muttered, but none moved a hand.

Gulden thrust out the big gun.  His hair bristled on his head, and his huge frame seemed instinct with strange vibration, like some object of tremendous weight about to plunge into resistless momentum.

Even the stricken youth saw his doom.  “Let—­me—­pray!” he begged.

Joan did not fault, but a merciful unclamping of muscle-bound rigidity closed her eyes.

“Gul!” yelled Blicky, with passion.  “I ain’t a-goin’ to let you kill this kid!  There’s no sense in it.  We’re spotted back in Alder Creek. ...  Run, kid!  Run!”

Then Joan opened her eyes to see the surly Gulden’s arm held by Blicky, and the youth running blindly down the road.  Joan’s relief and joy were tremendous.  But still she answered to the realizing shock of what Gulden had meant to do.  She leaned against Cleve, all within and without a whirling darkness of fire.  The border wildness claimed her then.  She had the spirit, though not the strength, to fight.  She needed the sight and sound of other things to restore her equilibrium.  She would have welcomed another shock, an injury.  And then she was looking down upon the gasping miner.  He was dying.  Hurriedly Joan knelt beside him to lift his head.  At her call Cleve brought a canteen.  But the miner could not drink and he died with some word unspoken.