"Red, what's got into you?" he hissed. "You're cross-grained lately.
You're sore. Any more of this and I'll swear you're a disorganizer. ...
Now, Budd, you keep your mouth shut. And you, Cleve, you pay no
heed to Budd if he does gab. ... We're in bad and all the men have
chips on their shoulders. We've got to stop fighting among
ourselves."

"Wal, boss, there's a power of sense in a good example," dryly
remarked Bate Wood. His remark calmed Kells and eased the situation.

"Jim, did you meet Gulden?" queried Kells, eagerly.

"Can't find him anywhere," replied Cleve. "I've loafed in the
saloons and gambling-hells where he hangs out. But he didn't show
up. He's in camp. I know that for a fact. He's laying low for some
reason."

"Gulden's been tipped off, Jim," said Kells, earnestly. "He told
Bate Wood you were out to kill him."

"I'm glad. It wasn't a fair hand you were going to deal him,"
responded Cleve. "But who gave my job away? Someone in this gang
wants me done for--more than Gulden."

Cleve's flashing gaze swept over the motionless men and fixed
hardest upon Red Pearce. Pearce gave back hard look for hard look.

"Gulden told Oliver more," continued Kells, and he pulled Cleve
around to face him. "Gulden swore he saw Creede alive last night. ...