“No—­no.  We’d never last so long.  Killings rouse a mining-camp after a while—­gold fever or no.  That means a vigilante band.”

“We can belong to the vigilantes, just as well as to your Legion,” said Gulden.

The effect of this was to make Gulden appear less of a fool than Kells supposed him.  The ruffians nodded to one another.  They stirred restlessly.  They were animated by a strange and provocative influence.  Even Red Pearce and the others caught its subtlety.  It was evil predominating in evil hearts.  Blood and death loomed like a shadow here.  The keen Kells saw the change working toward a transformation and he seemed craftily fighting something within him that opposed this cold ruthlessness of his men.

“Gulden, suppose I don’t see it your way?” he asked.

“Then I won’t join your Legion.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll take the men who stand by me and go clean up that gold-camp.”

From the fleeting expression on Kells’s face Joan read that he knew Gulden’s project would defeat his own and render both enterprises fatal.

“Gulden, I don’t want to lose you,” he said.

“You won’t lose me if you see this thing right,” replied Gulden.  “You’ve got the brains to direct us.  But, Kells, you’re losing your nerve. ...  It’s this girl you’ve got here!”

Gulden spoke without rancor or fear or feeling of any kind.  He merely spoke the truth.  And it shook Kells with an almost ungovernable fury.

Joan saw the green glare of his eyes—­his gray working face—­the flutter of his hand.  She had an almost superhuman insight into the workings of his mind.  She knew that then—­he was fighting whether or not to kill Gulden on the spot.  And she recognized that this was the time when Kells must kill Gulden or from that moment see a gradual diminishing of his power on the border.  But Kells did not recognize that crucial height of his career.  His struggle with his fury and hate showed that the thing uppermost in his mind was the need of conciliating Gulden and thus regaining a hold over the men.

“Gulden, suppose we waive the question till we’re on the grounds?” he suggested.

“Waive nothing.  It’s one or the other with me,” declared Gulden.

“Do you want to be leader of this Border Legion?” went on Kells, deliberately.

“No.”

“Then what do you want?”

Gulden appeared at a loss for an instant reply.  “I want plenty to do,” he replied, presently.  “I want to be in on everything.  I want to be free to kill a man when I like.”

“When you like!” retorted Kells, and added a curse.  Then as if by magic his dark face cleared and there was infinite depth and craftiness in him.  His opposition, and that hint of hate and loathing which detached him from Gulden, faded from his bearing.  “Gulden, I’ll split the difference between us.  I’ll leave you free to do as you like.  But all the others—­every man—­must take orders from me.”