"Reckon I'll go along with you, then," replied Roberts.
"Your company's not wanted."
"Wal, I'll go anyway."
This was only play at words, Joan thought. She divined in Roberts a
cold and grim acceptance of something he had expected. And the voice
of Kells--what did that convey? Still the man seemed slow, easy,
kind, amiable.
"Haven't you got any sense, Roberts?" he asked.
Roberts made no reply to that.
"Go on home. Say nothing or anything--whatever you like," continued
Kells. "You did me a favor once over in California. I like to
remember favors. Use your head now. Hit the trail."
"Not without her. I'll fight first," declared Roberts, and his hands
began to twitch and jerk.
Joan did not miss the wonderful intentness of the pale-gray eyes
that watched Roberts--his face, his glance, his hands.
"What good will it do to fight?" asked Kells. He laughed coolly.
"That won't help her ... You ought to know what you'll get."
"Kells--I'll die before I leave that girl in your clutches," flashed
Roberts. "An' I ain't a-goin' to stand here an' argue with you. Let
her come--or--"
"You don't strike me as a fool," interrupted Kells. His voice was
suave, smooth, persuasive, cool. What strength--what certainty
appeared behind it! "It's not my habit to argue with fools. Take the
chance I offer you. Hit the trail. Life is precious, man! ... You've
no chance here. And what's one girl more or less to you?"
"Kells, I may be a fool, but I'm a man," passionately rejoined
Roberts. "Why, you're somethin' inhuman! I knew that out in the
gold-fields. But to think you can stand there--an' talk sweet an'
pleasant--with no idee of manhood! ... Let her come now--or--or I'm
a-goin' for my gun!"
"Roberts, haven't you a wife--children?"
"Yes, I have," shouted Roberts, huskily. "An' that wife would disown
me if I left Joan Randle to you. An' I've got a grown girl. Mebbe
some day she might need a man to stand between her an' such as you,
Jack Kells!"
All Roberts' pathos and passion had no effect, unless to bring out
by contrast the singular and ruthless nature of Jack Kells.
"Will you hit the trail?"
"No!" thundered Roberts, Until then Joan Randle had been fascinated, held by the swift
interchange between her friend and enemy. But now she had a
convulsion of fear. She had seen men fight, but never to the death.
Roberts crouched like a wolf at bay. There was a madness upon him.
He shook like a rippling leaf. Suddenly his shoulder lurched--his
arm swung.