The Border Legion

"No, damn--you! No!" cried Kells, in hoarse, broken fury. With both

hands before him he seemed to push back the sight of that gold, of

Gulden, of the malignant men, of a horrible temptation.

"Reckon, boss, thet yellow streak is operatin'!" sang out Jesse

Smith.

But neither gold, nor Gulden, nor men, nor taunts ruined Kells at

this perhaps most critical crisis of his life. It was the mad,

clutching, terrible opportunity presented. It was the strange and

terrible nature of the wager. What vision might have flitted through

the gambler's mind! But neither vision of loss nor gain moved him.

There, licking like a flame at his soul, consuming the good in him

at a blast, overpowering his love, was the strange and magnificent

gamble. He could not resist it.

Speechless, with a motion of his hand, he signified his willingness.

"Blicky, shuffle the cards," boomed Gulden.

Blicky did so and dropped the deck with a slap in the middle of the

table.

"Cut!" called Gulden.

Kells's shaking hand crept toward the deck.

Jim Cleve suddenly appeared to regain power of speech and motion.

"Don't, Kells, don't!" he cried, piercingly, as he leaped forward.

But neither Kells nor the others heard him, or even saw his

movement.

Kells cut the deck. He held up his card. It was the king of hearts.

What a transformation! His face might have been that of a corpse

suddenly revivified with glorious, leaping life.

"Only an ace can beat thet!" muttered Jesse Smith into the silence.

Gulden reached for the deck as if he knew every card left was an

ace. His cavernous eyes gloated over Kells. He cut, and before he

looked himself he let Kells see the card.

"You can't beat my streak!" he boomed.

Then he threw the card upon the table. It was the ace of spades.

Kells seemed to shrivel, to totter, to sink. Jim Cleve went quickly

to him, held to him.

"Kells, go say good--by to your girl!" boomed Gulden. "I'll want her

pretty soon. ... Come on, you Beady and Braverman. Here's your

chance to get even."

Gulden resumed his seat, and the two bandits invited to play were

eager to comply, while the others pressed close once more.

Jim Cleve led the dazed Kells toward the door into Joan's cabin. For

Joan just then all seemed to be dark.

When she recovered she was lying on the bed and Jim was bending over

her. He looked frantic with grief and desperation and fear.

"Jim! Jim!" she moaned, grasping his hands. He helped her to sit up.

Then she saw Kells standing there. He looked abject, stupid, drunk.

Yet evidently he had begun to comprehend the meaning of his deed.