“Huh!  Nothing new in that,” replied Gulden.  “I belonged to one once.  It was in Algiers.  They called it the Royal Legion.”

“Algiers.  What’s thet?” asked Bate Wood.

“Africa,” replied Gulden.

“Say, Gul, you’ve been around some,” said Red Pearce, admiringly.  “What was the Royal Legion?”

“Nothing but a lot of devils from all over.  The border there was the last place.  Every criminal was safe from pursuit.”

“What’d you do?”

“Fought among ourselves.  Wasn’t many in the Legion when I left.”

“Shore thet ain’t strange!” exclaimed Wood, significantly.  But his inference was lost upon Gulden.

“I won’t allow fighting in my Legion,” said Kells, coolly.  “I’ll pick this band myself.”

“Thet’s the secret,” rejoined Wood.  “The right fellers.  I’ve been in all kinds of bands.  Why, I even was a vigilante in ’51.”

This elicited a laugh from his fellows, except the wooden-faced Gulden.

“How many do we want?” asked Red Pearce.

“The number doesn’t matter.  But they must be men I can trust and control.  Then as lieutenants I’ll need a few young fellows, like you, Red.  Nervy, daring, cool, quick of wits.”

Red Pearce enjoyed the praise bestowed upon him and gave his shoulders a swagger.  “Speakin’ of that, boss,” he said, “reminds me of a chap who rode into Cabin Gulch a few weeks ago.  Braced right into Beard’s place, where we was all playin’ faro, an’ he asks for Jack Kells.  Right off we all thought he was a guy who had a grievance, an’ some of us was for pluggin’ him.  But I kinda liked him an’ I cooled the gang down.  Glad I did that.  He wasn’t wantin’ to throw a gun.  His intentions were friendly.  Of course I didn’t show curious about who or what he was.  Reckoned he was a young feller who’d gone bad sudden-like an’ was huntin’ friends.  An’ I’m here to say, boss, that he was wild.”

“What’s his name?” asked Kells.

“Jim Cleve, he said,” replied Pearce.

Joan Randle, hidden back in the shadows, forgotten or ignored by this bandit group, heard the name Jim Cleve with pain and fear, but not amaze.  From the moment Pearce began his speech she had been prepared for the revelation of her runaway lover’s name.  She trembled, and grew a little sick.  Jim had made no idle threat.  What would she have given to live over again the moment that had alienated him?

“Jim Cleve,” mused Kells.  “Never heard of him.  And I never forget a name or a face.  What’s he like?”

“Clean, rangy chap, big, but not too big,” replied Pearce.  “All muscle.  Not more’n twenty three.  Hard rider, hard fighter, hard gambler an’ drinker—­reckless as hell.  If only you can steady him, boss!  Ask Bate what he thinks.”

“Well!” exclaimed Kells in surprise.  “Strangers are everyday occurrences on this border.  But I never knew one to impress you fellows as this Cleve. ...  Bate, what do you say?  What’s this Cleve done?  You’re an old head.  Talk, sense, now.”