"Thet's the secret," rejoined Wood. "The right fellers. I've been in
all kinds of bands. Why, I even was a vigilante in '51."

This elicited a laugh from his fellows, except the wooden-faced
Gulden.

"How many do we want?" asked Red Pearce.

"The number doesn't matter. But they must be men I can trust and
control. Then as lieutenants I'll need a few young fellows, like
you, Red. Nervy, daring, cool, quick of wits."

Red Pearce enjoyed the praise bestowed upon him and gave his
shoulders a swagger. "Speakin' of that, boss," he said, "reminds me
of a chap who rode into Cabin Gulch a few weeks ago. Braced right
into Beard's place, where we was all playin' faro, an' he asks for
Jack Kells. Right off we all thought he was a guy who had a
grievance, an' some of us was for pluggin' him. But I kinda liked
him an' I cooled the gang down. Glad I did that. He wasn't wantin'
to throw a gun. His intentions were friendly. Of course I didn't
show curious about who or what he was. Reckoned he was a young
feller who'd gone bad sudden-like an' was huntin' friends. An' I'm
here to say, boss, that he was wild."

"What's his name?" asked Kells.

"Jim Cleve, he said," replied Pearce.

Joan Randle, hidden back in the shadows, forgotten or ignored by
this bandit group, heard the name Jim Cleve with pain and fear, but