The Border Legion

Every night Joan had her whispered hour with Cleve, and each

succeeding one was the sweeter. Jim had become a victim of the gold

fever. But, having Joan to steady him, he did not lose his head. If

he gambled it was to help out with his part. He was generous to his

comrades. He pretended to drink, but did not drink at all. Jim

seemed to regard his good fortune as Joan's also. He believed if he

struck it rich he could buy his sweetheart's freedom. He claimed

that Kells was drunk for gold to gamble away. Joan let Jim talk, but

she coaxed him and persuaded him to follow a certain line of

behavior, she planned for him, she thought for him, she influenced

him to hide the greater part of his gold-dust, and let it be known

that he wore no gold-belt. She had a growing fear that Jim's success

was likely to develop a temper in him inimical to the cool, waiting,

tolerant policy needed to outwit Kells in the end. It seemed the

more gold Jim acquired the more passionate he became, the more he

importuned Joan, the more he hated Kells. Gold had gotten into his

blood, and it was Joan's task to keep him sane. Naturally she gained

more by yielding herself to Jim's caresses than by any direct advice

or admonishment. It was her love that held Jim in check.

One night, the instant their hands met Joan knew that Jim was

greatly excited or perturbed.

"Joan," he whispered, thrillingly, with his lips at her ear, "I've

made myself solid with Kells! Oh, the luck of it!"

"Tell me!" whispered Joan, and she leaned against those lips.

"It was early to-night at the Nugget. I dropped in as usual. Kells

was playing faro again with that gambler they call Flash. He's won a

lot of Kells's gold--a crooked gambler. I looked on. And some of the

gang were there--Pearce, Blicky, Handy Oliver, and of course Gulden,

but all separated. Kells was losing and sore. But he was game. All

at once he caught Flash in a crooked trick, and he yelled in a rage.

He sure had the gang and everybody else looking. I expected--and so

did all the gang--to see Kells pull his gun. But strange how

gambling affects him! He only cursed Flash--called him right. You

know that's about as bad as death to a professional gambler in a

place like Alder Creek. Flash threw a derringer on Kells. He had it

up his sleeve. He meant to kill Kells, and Kells had no chance. But

Flash, having the drop, took time to talk, to make his bluff go

strong with the crowd. And that's where he made a mistake. I jumped

and knocked the gun out of his hand. It went off--burned my wrist.

Then I slugged Mr. Flash good--he didn't get up. ... Kells called

the crowd around and, showing the cards as they lay, coolly proved

that Flash was what everybody suspected. Then Kells said to me--I'll

never forget how he looked: 'Youngster, he meant to do for me. I

never thought of my gun. You see! ... I'll kill him the next time we

meet. ... I've owed my life to men more than once. I never forget.

You stood pat with me before. And now you're ace high!'"