not amaze. From the moment Pearce began his speech she had been
prepared for the revelation of her runaway lover's name. She
trembled, and grew a little sick. Jim had made no idle threat.
What would she have given to live over again the moment that had
alienated him?

"Jim Cleve," mused Kells. "Never heard of him. And I never forget a
name or a face. What's he like?"

"Clean, rangy chap, big, but not too big," replied Pearce. "All
muscle. Not more'n twenty three. Hard rider, hard fighter, hard
gambler an' drinker--reckless as hell. If only you can steady him,
boss! Ask Bate what he thinks."

"Well!" exclaimed Kells in surprise. "Strangers are everyday
occurrences on this border. But I never knew one to impress you
fellows as this Cleve. ... Bate, what do you say? What's this Cleve
done? You're an old head. Talk, sense, now."

"Done?" echoed Wood, scratching his grizzled head. "What in the hell
ain't he done? ... He rode in brazener than any feller thet ever
stacked up against this outfit. An' straight-off he wins the outfit.
I don't know how he done it. Mebbe it was because you seen he didn't
care fer anythin' or anybody on earth. He stirred us up. He won all
the money we had in camp--broke most of us--an' give it all back. He
drank more'n the whole outfit, yet didn't get drunk. He threw his
gun on Beady Jones fer cheatin' an' then on Beady's pard, Chick
Williams. Didn't shoot to kill--jest winged 'em. But say, he's the
quickest and smoothest hand to throw a gun thet ever hit this
border. Don't overlook thet. ... Kells, this Jim Cleve's a great