The Border Legion by Zane Grey (books suggested by bill gates txt) 📗

“Share and share alike!” boomed the giant Gulden.

“Say!” called Kells, gaily, “aren't you fellows going to eat first?”

Shouts of derision greeted his sally.

“I'll eat gold-dust,” added Budd.

“Have it your own way, men,” responded Kells. “Blicky, get the scales down off of that shelf.... Say, I'll bet anybody I'll have the most dust by sundown.”

More shouts of derision were flung at him.

“Who wants to gamble now?”

“Boss, I'll take thet bet.”

“Haw! Haw! You won't look so bright by sundown.”

Then followed a moment's silence, presently broken by a clink of metal on the table.

“Boss, how'd you ever git wind of this big shipment of gold?” asked Jesse Smith.

“I've had it spotted. But Handy Oliver was the scout.”

“We'll shore drink to Handy!” exclaimed one of the bandits.

“An' who was sendin' out this shipment?” queried the curious Smith. “Them bags are marked all the same.”

“It was a one-man shipment,” replied Kells. “Sent out by the boss miner of Alder Creek. They call him Overland something.”

That name brought Joan to her feet with a thrilling fire. Her uncle, old Bill Hoadley, was called “Overland.” Was it possible that the bandits meant him? It could hardly be; that name was a common one in the mountains.

“Shore, I seen Overland lots of times,” said Budd. “An' he got wise to my watchin' him.”

“Somebody tipped it off that the Legion was after his gold,” went on Kells. “I suppose we have Pearce to thank for that. But it worked out well for us. The hell we raised there at the lynching must have thrown a scare into Overland. He had nerve enough to try to send his dust to Bannack on the very next stage. He nearly got away with it, too. For it was only lucky accident that Handy heard the news.”

The name Overland drew Joan like a magnet and she arose to take her old position, where she could peep in upon the bandits. One glance at Jim Cleve told her that he, too, had been excited by the name. Then it occurred to Joan that her uncle could hardly have been at Alder Creek without Jim knowing it. Still, among thousands of men, all wild and toiling and self-sufficient, hiding their identities, anything might be possible. After a few moments, however, Joan leaned to the improbability of the man being her uncle.

Kells sat down before the table and Blicky stood beside him with the gold-scales. The other bandits lined up opposite. Jim Cleve stood to one side, watching, brooding.

“You can't weigh it all on these scales,” said Blicky.

“That's sure,” replied Kells. “We'll divide the small bags first.... Ten shares—ten equal parts!... Spill out the bags. Blick. And hurry. Look how hungry Gulden looks!... Somebody cook your breakfast while we divide the gold.”

“Haw! Haw!”

“Ho! Ho!”

“Who wants to eat?”

The bandits were gay, derisive, scornful, eager, like a group of boys, half surly, half playful, at a game.

“Wal, I shore want to see my share weighted,” drawled Budd.

Kells moved—his gun flashed—he slammed it hard upon the table.

“Budd, do you question my honesty?” he asked, quick and hard.

“No offense, boss. I was just talkin'.”

That quick change of Kells's marked a subtle difference in the spirit of the bandits and the occasion. Gaiety and good humor and badinage ended. There were no more broad grins or friendly leers or coarse laughs. Gulden and his groups clustered closer to the table, quiet, intense, watchful, suspicious.

It did not take Kells and his assistant long to divide the smaller quantity of the gold.

“Here, Gulden,” he said, and handed the giant a bag. Jesse.... Bossert.... Pike.... Beady.... Braverman... “Blicky.”

“Here, Jim Cleve, get in the game,” he added, throwing a bag at Jim. It was heavy. It hit Jim with a thud and dropped to the ground. He stooped to reach it.

“That leaves one for Handy and one for me,” went on Kells. “Blicky, spill out the big bag.”

Presently Joan saw a huge mound of dull, gleaming yellow. The color of it leaped to the glinting eyes of the bandits. And it seemed to her that a shadow hovered over them. The movements of Kells grew tense and hurried. Beads of sweat stood out upon his brow. His hands were not steady.

Soon larger bags were distributed to the bandits. That broke the waiting, the watchfulness, but not the tense eagerness. The bandits were now like leashed hounds. Blicky leaned before Kells and hit the table with his fist.

“Boss, I've a kick comin',” he said.

“Come on with it,” replied the leader.

“Ain't Gulden a-goin' to divide up thet big nugget?”

“He is if he's square.”

A chorus of affirmatives from the bandits strengthened Kells's statement. Gulden moved heavily and ponderously, and he pushed some of his comrades aside to get nearer to Kells.

“Wasn't it my right to do a job by myself—when I wanted?” he demanded.

“No. I agreed to let you fight when you wanted. To kill a man when you liked!... That was the agreement.”

“What'd I kill a man for?”

No one answered that in words, but the answer was there, in dark faces.

“I know what I meant,” continued Gulden. “And I'm going to keep this nugget.”

There was a moment's silence. It boded ill to the giant.

“So—he declares himself,” said Blicky, hotly. “Boss, what you say goes.”

“Let him keep it,” declared Kells, scornfully. “I'll win it from him and divide it with the gang.”

That was received with hoarse acclaims by all except Gulden. He glared sullenly. Kells stood up and shook a long finger in the giant's face.

“I'll win your nugget,” he shouted. “I'll beat you at any game.... I call your hand.... Now if you've got any nerve!”

“Come on!” boomed the giant, and he threw his gold down upon the table with a crash.

The bandits closed in