Gulden appeared well and strong, and but for the bandage on his head
would have been as she remembered him. He manifested interest in the
gambling of the players by surly grunts. Presently he said something
to Kells.

"What?" queried the bandit, sharply, wheeling, the better to see
Gulden.

The noise subsided. One gamester laughed knowingly.

"Lend me a sack of dust?" asked Gulden.

Kells's face showed amaze and then a sudden brightness.

"What! You want gold from me?"

"Yes. I'll pay it back."

"Gulden, I wasn't doubting that. But does your asking mean you've
taken kindly to my proposition?"

"You can take it that way," growled Gulden. "I want gold." "I'm
mighty glad, Gulden," replied Kells, and he looked as if he meant
it. "I need you. We ought to get along. ... Here."

He handed a small buckskin sack to Gulden. Someone made room for him
on the other side of the table, and the game was resumed. It was
interesting to watch them gamble. Red Pearce had a scale at his end
of the table, and he was always measuring and weighing out gold-
dust. The value of the gold appeared to be fifteen dollars to the
ounce, but the real value of money did not actuate the gamblers.
They spilled the dust on the table and ground as if it were as
common as sand. Still there did not seem to be any great quantity of
gold in sight. Evidently these were not profitable times for the
bandits. More than once Joan heard them speak of a gold strike as
honest people spoke of good fortune. And these robbers could only
have meant that in case of a rich strike there would be gold to
steal. Gulden gambled as he did everything else. At first he won and
then he lost, and then he borrowed more from Kells, to win again. He
paid back as he had borrowed and lost and won--without feeling. He
had no excitement. Joan's intuition convinced her that if Gulden had
any motive at all in gambling it was only an antagonism to men of
his breed. Gambling was a contest, a kind of fight.