Cabin Gulch by Zane Grey

gathered that Kells’s fame as the master bandit of the whole gold region of Idaho, Nevada, and northeastern California was a fame that he loved as much as the gold he stole. Joan sensed, through the replies of these men and their attitude toward Kells, that his power was supreme. He ruled the robbers and ruffians in his bands and evidently they were scattered from Bannack to Lewiston and all along the border. He had power, likewise, over the border hawks not directly under his leadership. During the weeks of his enforced stay in the cañon there had been a cessation of operations—the nature of which Joan merely guessed—and a gradual accumulation of idle waiting men in the main camp. Also she gathered, but vaguely, that, although Kells had supreme power, the organization he desired was yet far from being consummated. He showed thoughtfulness and irritation by turns, and it was the subject of gold that drew his most intense interest.
    â€œReckon you figgered right, Jack,” said Red Pearce, and paused as if before a long talk, while he refilled his pipe. “Sooner or later there’ll be the biggest gold strike ever made in the West. Wagon trains are metevery day, comin’ across from Salt Lake. Prospectors are workin’ in hordes down from Bannack. All the gulches an’ valleys in the Bear Mountains have their camps. Surface gold everywhere an’ easy to get where there’s water. But there’s diggin’s all over. No big strike yet. It’s bound to come sooner or later. An’ then, when the news hits the main-traveled roads, an’ reaches back into the mountains, there’s goin’ to be a rush that’ll make ’forty-nine an’ ’fifty-one look sick. What do you say, Bate?”
    â€œShore will,” replied a grizzled individual who Kells had called Bate Wood. He was not so young as his companions—more sober, less wild, and slower of speech. “I saw both ‘forty-nine an’ ‘fifty-one. Them was days! But I’m agreein’ with Red. There shore will be hell in this Idaho border sooner or later. I’ve been a prospector, though I never hankered after the hard work of diggin’ gold. Gold is hard to dig . . . easy to lose . . . an’ damn’ easy to get from some other feller. I see the signs of a comin’ strike somewheres in this region. Mebbe it’s on now. There’s thousands of prospectors in twos and threes an’ groups out in the hills, all over. They ain’t a-goin’ to tell when they do make a strike. But the gold must be brought out. An’ gold is heavy. It ain’t easy hid. Thet’s how strikes are discovered. I shore reckon that this year will beat ‘forty-nine an’ ‘fifty-one. An’ fer two reasons. There’s a steady stream of broken an’ disappointed gold-seekers back trailin’ from California. There’s a bigger stream of hopeful an’ crazy fortune-hunters travelin’ in from the East. Then there’s the wimmen an’ gamblers an’ such that hang on. An’ last the men that the war is drivin’ out here. Whenever an’ wherever these streams meet, if there’s a big gold strike, there’ll be the hellishest time the world ever saw.”
    â€œBoys,” said Kells with a ring in his weak voice, “it’ll be a harvest for my Border Legion.”
    â€œFer what?” queried Bate Wood curiously.
    All the others except Gulden turned inquiring and interested faces toward the bandit.
    â€œThe Border Legion,” replied Kells.
    â€œAn’ what in the hell’s that?” asked Red Pearce bluntly.
    â€œWell, if the time’s ripe for the great gold fever you say is coming, then it’s ripe for the greatest band ever organized. I’ll call it the Border Legion.”
    â€œCount me in as right-hand pard,” replied Red with enthusiasm.
    â€œAn’ shore me . . . boss,” added