Dizzily Joan arose, and with Cleve half supporting her she backed off the road to a seat on the bank.  She saw the bandits now at business-like action.  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.  Suddenly from under the driver’s seat he hauled a buckskin sack.  It was small, but heavy.  He threw it down to Budd, almost knocking over that bandit.  Budd hugged the sack and yelled like an Indian.  The other men whooped and ran toward him.  Gulden hauled out another sack.  Hands to the number of a dozen stretched clutchingly.  When he threw the sack there was a mad scramble.  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.  Then the giant, with his arm under the seat, his huge frame bowed, heaved powerfully upon something, and his face turned red.  He halted in his tugging to glare at his bandit comrades below.  If his great cavernous eyes expressed any feeling it was analogous to the reluctance manifest in his posture—­he regretted the presence of his gang.  He would rather have been alone.  Then with deep-muttered curse and mighty heave he lifted out a huge buckskin sack, tied and placarded and marked.

“One hundred pounds!” he boomed.

It seemed to Joan then that a band of devils surrounded the stage, all roaring at the huge, bristling demon above, who glared and bellowed down at them.

Finally Gulden stilled the tumult, which, after all, was one of frenzied joy.

“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.”

The unanimous selection was Cabin Gulch.  Plainly Gulden did not like this, but he was just.

“All right.  Cabin Gulch it is.  But nobody outside of Kells and us gets a share in this stake.”

Many willing hands made short work of preparation.  Gulden insisted on packing all the gold upon his saddle, and had his will.  He seemed obsessed; he never glanced at Joan.  It was Jesse Smith who gave the directions and orders.  One of the stage-horses was packed.  Another, with a blanket for a saddle, was given Cleve to ride.  Blicky gallantly gave his horse to Joan, shortened his stirrups to fit her, and then whistled at the ridgy back of the stage-horse he elected to ride.  Gulden was in a hurry, and twice he edged off, to be halted by impatient calls.  Finally the cavalcade was ready; Jesse Smith gazed around upon the scene with the air of a general overlooking a vanquished enemy.