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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Golden Woman, by Ridgwell Cullum
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Golden Woman
+       A Story of the Montana Hills
+
+Author: Ridgwell Cullum
+
+Release Date: August 7, 2009 [EBook #29628]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN WOMAN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ The Golden Woman
+
+
+ A Story of the Montana Hills
+
+
+ By RIDGWELL CULLUM
+
+ AUTHOR OF
+ "The Way of the Strong," "The Law Breakers,"
+ "The Trail of the Axe,"  Etc.
+
+ With Frontispiece in Colors
+
+ A. L. BURT COMPANY
+
+ Publishers        New York
+
+ Published by Arrangement with GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
+
+
+
+
+ Copyright, 1913, by
+ GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
+ Published February, 1916
+
+ _All rights reserved_
+ Printed in U. S. A.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "It's the same book, dear, only a different chapter."]
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+
+       I. AUNT MERCY                                   9
+      II. OVER THE TELEPHONE                          20
+     III. THE PARIAH                                  26
+      IV. TWO MEN OF THE WILDERNESS                   39
+       V. THE STEEPS OF LIFE                          54
+      VI. OUT OF THE STORM                            73
+     VII. A SIMPLE MANHOOD                            85
+    VIII. THE SECRET OF THE HILL                      96
+      IX. GATHERING FOR THE FEAST                    106
+       X. SOLVING THE RIDDLE                         110
+      XI. THE SHADOW OF THE PAST                     121
+     XII. THE GOLDEN WOMAN                           133
+    XIII. THE CALL OF YOUTH                          149
+     XIV. A WHIRLWIND VISIT                          158
+      XV. THE CLAIMS OF DUTY                         165
+     XVI. GOLD AND ALLOY                             177
+    XVII. TWO POINTS OF VIEW                         187
+   XVIII. WHEN LIFE HOLDS NO SHADOWS                 204
+     XIX. A STUDY IN MISCHIEF                        217
+      XX. THE ABILITIES OF MRS. RANSFORD             229
+     XXI. THE MEETING ON THE TRAIL                   240
+    XXII. A MAN'S SUPPORT                            246
+   XXIII. THE BRIDGING OF YEARS                      258
+    XXIV. BEASLEY PLAYS THE GAME                     273
+     XXV. BUCK LAUGHS AT FATE                        286
+    XXVI. IRONY                                      301
+   XXVII. THE WEB OF FATE                            313
+  XXVIII. A BLACK NIGHT                              325
+    XXIX.  BEASLEY IN HIS ELEMENT                    334
+     XXX. THE MOVING FINGER                          356
+    XXXI. THE JOY OF BEASLEY                         364
+   XXXII. STRONGER THAN DEATH                        374
+  XXXIII. THE TEMPEST BREAKS                         389
+   XXXIV. THE EYES OF THE HILLS                      402
+    XXXV. FROM OUT OF THE ABYSS                      407
+   XXXVI. THE CATACLYSM                              420
+  XXXVII. ALONE--                                    427
+ XXXVIII. --IN THE WILDERNESS                        432
+   XXXIX. LOVE'S VICTORY                             439
+
+
+
+
+The Golden Woman
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+AUNT MERCY
+
+
+An elderly woman looked up from the crystal globe before her. The
+sound of horse's hoofs, clattering up to the veranda, had caught her
+attention. But the hard, gray eyes had not yet recovered their normal
+frigidity of expression. There were still traces in them of the
+groping mind, searching on, amidst the chaos of a world unseen. Nor
+was Mercy Lascelles posing at the trade which yielded her something
+more than her daily bread. She had no reason for pose. She was an
+ardent and proficient student of that remote science which has for its
+field of research the border-land between earthly life and the
+ultimate.
+
+For some moments she gazed half-vacantly through the window. Then
+alertness and interest came back to her eyes, and her look resumed its
+normal hardness. It was an unlovely face, but its unloveliness lay in
+its expression. There was something so unyielding in the keen,
+aquiline nose and pointed chin. The gray eyes were so cold. The
+pronounced brows were almost threatening in their marking and
+depression. There was not a feature in her face that was not handsome,
+and yet, collectively, they gave her a look at once forbidding, and
+even cruel.
+
+There was no softening, there never was any softening in Mercy
+Lascelles' attitude toward the world now. Years ago she may have given
+signs of the gentler emotions of her woman's heart. It is only
+reasonable to suppose that at some time or other she possessed them.
+But now no one was ever permitted beyond the harsh exterior. Perhaps
+she owed the world a grudge. Perhaps she hoped, by closing the doors
+of her soul, her attitude would be accepted as the rebuff she intended
+to convey.
+
+"Is that you, Joan?" she demanded in a sharp, masterful tone.
+
+"It certainly is, auntie," came the gentle, girlish response from the
+veranda.
+
+The next moment the door of the little morning-room opened, and a tall
+girl stood framed in its white setting.
+
+Joan Stanmore possessed nothing whatever in common with her aunt. She
+was of that healthy type of American girl that treats athletics as a
+large part of her education. She was tall and fair, with a mass of
+red-gold hair tucked away under the mannish hat which was part of her
+dark green, tightly-fitting riding habit. Her brow was broad, and her
+face, a perfect oval, was open and starred with a pair of fearless
+blue eyes of so deep a hue as to be almost violet. Her nose and mouth
+were delicately moulded, but her greatest beauty lay in the exquisite
+peach-bloom of her soft, fair skin.
+
+Joan Stanmore was probably the handsomest girl in St. Ellis City, in a
+suburb of which she and her aunt lived. She was certainly one of the
+most popular girls, in spite of the overshadowing threat of an aunt
+whom everybody disliked and whom most people feared. Her disposition
+was one of serene gentleness, yet as fearless and open as her
+beautiful eyes suggested. She was of a strongly independent spirit
+too, but, even so, the woman in her was never for a moment jeopardized
+by it; she was never anything but a delightful femininity, rejoicing
+wholesomely in the companionship of the opposite sex.
+
+She and her aunt had lived for five years in this suburb of St. Ellis.
+They had left New York for the southwest because the profession of
+the elder woman had gained unpleasant notoriety in that city of
+contradictions. The calling of the seer had appealed well enough to
+the citizens individually, but a wave of moral rectitude, hurling its
+municipal government spluttering upon a broken shore of repentance,
+had decided it to expurgate such wickedness from its midst, lest the
+local canker become a pestilence which might jeopardize the immortal
+soul of the citizen, and, incidentally, hand the civic control over to
+the opposition party.
+
+So aunt and orphaned niece had moved westward, seeking immunity in a
+region where such obscure professions were regarded with a more
+lenient eye. Joan had little enough sympathy with her relative's
+studies. She neither believed in them, nor did she disbelieve. She was
+so young, and so full of that vitality which makes for the wholesome
+enjoyment of life, as viewed through eyes as yet undimmed by the
+bitterness of experience, that she had neither time, place, nor
+serious thought for such matters. Her only interest, if interest it
+could be called, was an occasional wonderment at the extent of the
+harvest Aunt Mercy reaped out of the credulity of the merchant and
+finance-princes of the city. This, and the state of her aunt's health,
+as pronounced by Dr. Valmer, were the only things which ever brought
+such matters as "crystal gazing" and scientific astrology into her
+mind. Otherwise horoscopes, prognostications, warnings, omens, passed
+her by as mere words to raise a smile of youthful derision at the
+expense of those who heaped money for such readings into the seer's
+lap.
+
+Joan was in no way dependent upon her aunt. Living with her was a
+matter of personal choice. Mercy Lascelles was her only relative for
+one thing, and the elder woman being a lonely spinster, it seemed only
+right that Joan should make her home under her scarcely hospitable
+roof. Then, too, there was another reason which influenced the girl.
+It was a purely sentimental reason, such as at her age might well
+appeal to her. A whisper had reached her to the effect that, hard and
+unsympathetic as her Aunt Mercy was, romance at one time had place in
+her life--a romance which left her the only sufferer, a romance that
+had spelt a life's disaster for her. To the adamantine fortune-teller
+was attributed a devotion so strong, so passionate in the days of her
+youth that her reason had been well-nigh unhinged by the hopelessness
+of it. The object of it was her own sister's husband, Joan's father.
+It was said that at the moment of his death Mercy Lascelles' youth
+died too. All softness, all gentleness passed out of her life and left
+her the hard, prematurely aged woman she now was.
+
+As a consequence Joan felt that her duty lay beside a woman whom Fate
+had treated so ill; that duty demanded that an effort must be made to
+bring a little brightness into so solitary and loveless a life.
+
+So her choice was made. And as she grew accustomed to the stern
+companionship she often found herself wondering how a woman of such
+curiously harsh disposition could ever have been the victim of such a
+passion as was attributed to her. It was almost inconceivable,
+especially when she tried to picture the father, whom she had never
+known, but who was reputed to be such an intensely human man, so full
+of the many frailties of a Wall Street gambler.
+
+Joan now saw the crystal lying in her aunt's lap. She saw, too, the
+fevered eyes lifted to her face. And with an uncomfortable feeling of
+disaster pending she moved across to the window-seat and flung herself
+upon the pile of down cushions.
+
+"I do hope you're not--not seeing things again, auntie," she said in
+an anxious voice, her eyes fixed resentfully upon the detested
+crystal. "You know Dr. Valmer forbade you--practicing for at least six
+months," she added warningly.
+
+"Dr. Valmer's a fool," came the sharp retort.
+
+The girl flushed. It was not the words: it was the manner that could
+so hurt. But this time she felt it her duty to continue. Her aunt's
+health was seriously affected, and the doctor had warned her
+personally about it.
+
+"I dare say he is, auntie," she protested. "But you pay him good
+dollars for being one. What is the use of it if you don't take his
+advice?"
+
+Just for a second a peculiar look flashed into Mercy's eyes. Then she
+allowed them to drop to the crystal in her lap.
+
+"Go and change your habit. It will keep you busy on your own affairs.
+They need all your attention--just now."
+
+The rudeness left Joan untouched. She was too seriously concerned.
+
+Mercy Lascelles had only recently recovered from a bad nervous
+breakdown, the result, so Dr. Valmer, the specialist, assured her, of
+the enormous strain of her studies. He had warned Joan of the danger
+to her aunt's mental balance, and begged her to use every effort to
+keep her from her practice. But Joan found her task well-nigh
+impossible, and the weight of her responsibility was heavy upon her.
+
+She turned away to the window and gazed out. She was feeling rather
+hopeless. There were other things worrying her too, small enough
+things, no doubt, but sufficiently personal to trouble her youthful
+heart and shadow all her thought with regret. She was rapidly learning
+that however bright the outlook of her life might be there were always
+clouds hovering ready to obscure the smiling of her sun.
+
+She looked at the sky as though the movement were inspired by her
+thought. There was the early summer sun blazing down upon an already
+parching earth. And there, too, were the significant clouds, fleecy
+white clouds for the most part, but all deepening to a heavy, gray
+density. At any moment they might obscure that ruddy light and pour
+out their dismal measure of discomfort, turning the world from a
+smiling day-dream to a nightmare of drab regret.
+
+Her mood lightened as she turned to the picture of the garden city in
+which they lived. It was called a garden city, but, more properly, it
+was a beautiful garden village, or hamlet. The place was all hills and
+dales, wood-clad from their crowns to the deepest hollows in which the
+sandy, unmade roads wound their ways.
+
+Here and there, amidst the perfect sunlit woodlands, she could see the
+flashes of white, which indicated homes similar to their own. They
+were scattered in a cunningly haphazard fashion so as to preserve the
+rural aspect of the place, and constructed on lines that could under
+no circumstances offend the really artistic eye. And yet each house
+was the last word in modernity; each house represented the
+abiding-place of considerable wealth.
+
+Yes, there was something very beautiful in all this life with which
+she was surrounded. The pity of it was that there must be those clouds
+always hovering. She glanced up at the sky again. And with a shiver
+she realized that the golden light had vanished, and a great
+storm-cloud was ominously spreading its purplish pall.
+
+At that moment her aunt's voice, low and significant, reached her from
+across the room. And its tone told her at once that she was talking to
+herself.
+
+"You fool--you poor fool. It awaits you as surely as it awaits
+everybody else. Ride on. Your fate awaits you. And thank your God it
+is kept hidden from your blinded eyes."
+
+Joan started.
+
+"Auntie!"
+
+A pair of cold, gray eyes lifted to her face. The shaking, bony hands
+clutched nervously at the crystal. The eyes stared unseeingly into the
+girl's face for some moments, then slowly the fever crept into them
+again--the fever which the doctor had warned Joan against.
+
+"Oh, auntie, put--put that away." Joan sprang from her seat and ran to
+the other's side, where she knelt imploringly. "Don't--don't talk so.
+You--frighten me." Then she hurried on as though to distract the
+woman's attention. "Listen to me. I want to tell you about my ride. I
+want to tell about----"
+
+"You need tell me nothing. I know it all," Mercy broke in, roughly
+pushing the clinging hands from about her spare waist. "You rode with
+young Sorley this morning--Dick Sorley. He asked you to marry him. He
+told you that since he had known you he had made a small fortune on
+Wall Street. That he had followed you here because you were the only
+woman in the world for him. He told you that life without you was
+impossible, and many other foolish things only fitted for the
+credulity of a young girl. You refused him. You regretted your refusal
+in conventional words. And he rode away, back to his hotel, and--his
+fate."
+
+The girl listened breathlessly, wondering at the accuracy of this
+harsh recapitulation of the events of her morning ride. But as the
+final words fell from the seer's lips she cried out in protest--
+
+"Oh, auntie. His fate? How? How? What do you mean? How do you know all
+this?"
+
+Joan had risen to her feet and stood eyeing her aunt in wonder and
+amazement. The elder woman fondled her crystal in her thin hands. A
+look akin to joy suddenly leapt into her burning eyes. Her lips were
+parted so that they almost smiled.
+
+"It is here, here. All here," she declared exultingly. "The mandates
+of Fate are voiced amongst the stars, and the moving hand delineates
+unerringly the enactments--here--here." She raised the crystal and
+gazed upon it with eyes alight with ecstasy. "It is for the eye to
+see, and for the mind to read. But the brain that comprehends must
+know no thought of human passions, no human emotions. There is nothing
+hidden in all the world from those who seek with the power of heart
+and brain."
+
+Joan's amazement passed. It was replaced by something like horror and
+even terror as she listened. To her the words were dreadful, they
+spoke of the woman's straining brain, and her thoughts flew to the
+doctor's verdict. Was this the madness he had feared? Was this the
+final crash of a brain driven to breaking-point? The questions flew
+through her mind only to be swept aside by the recollection of what
+her aunt had told her of her morning ride. It was true--true. Every
+word of it. Where could the insanity lie? No--no. It could not be.
+But--but--such a power!
+
+Her thoughts were cut short. Again her aunt was speaking. But now her
+voice had once more resumed its customary harshness. The fire had died
+out of her eyes. Again the dreaded crystal was lying in her lap,
+fondled by loving fingers. And something approaching a chuckle of
+malice was underlying the words which flowed so rapidly from her thin
+lips.
+
+"Haven't you learned yet? Can't you read what the hand of Fate is
+trying to point out to your blinded eyes? Did not the man Cahusac ask
+you to marry him? Did not you refuse him? And did not he die of
+typhoid within two weeks of committing that foolishness? And Charlie
+Hemming. He dared to make love to you. What then? Didn't he make a
+fortune on the Cotton Exchange? Didn't he tell you that it was you who
+brought him his luck? Luck? Your luck is disaster--disaster disguised.
+What happened? Hemming plunged into an orgie of riotous living when
+you refused him. Didn't he squander his fortune, bolt to Mexico, and
+in twelve months didn't he get shot as a rebel and a renegade, and
+thus add himself to the list of the victims of your--so-called
+'luck'? Luck! Oh, the madness, the blindness of it!"
+
+The woman's passionate bitterness had lost all sense of proportion.
+She saw only through her straining nerves. And the injustice of it all
+brought swift protest to Joan's lips.
+
+"You are wrong. You are cruel--bitterly, wickedly cruel, auntie," she
+cried. "How am I responsible? What have I done?"
+
+In an instant the gray eyes were turned upon her with something akin
+to ferocity, and her voice rang with passion.
+
+"Wrong? Cruel? I am stating undeniable facts. I am telling you what
+has happened. And now I am going to tell you the result of your
+morning's ride. How are you responsible? What have you done? Dick
+Sorley has gone to his fate as surely as though you had thrust a knife
+through his heart."
+
+"Aunt! How--how dare----?"
+
+"How dare I say such things? Because I am telling you the truth--which
+you cannot bear to face. You must and shall hear it. Who are you to
+escape the miseries of life such as we all have to suffer? Such as you
+have helped to make _me_ suffer."
+
+"Don't--don't!" Joan covered her face with her hands, as though to
+shut out the sight of that cruel, working face before her--as though
+to shut out of her mind the ruthless accusation hurled at her.
+
+But the seer was full of the bitterness so long stored up in her
+heart, and the moment had come when she could no longer contain it
+beneath the cold mask she had worn for twenty years. The revelation
+was hers. Her strange mind and senses had witnessed the scenes that
+now held her in the grip of their horror. They had driven her to the
+breaking-point, and no longer had she thought for anything but her own
+sufferings, and the injustice that a pariah should walk at large,
+unknown to the world, unknown to itself.
+
+"Don't?" The woman laughed mirthlessly. Her thin lips parted, but the
+light in her eyes was unrelenting. "I tell you it is so. Dick Sorley
+has gone to his fate. Straight to his doom from your side. You sent
+him to it. I have witnessed the whole enactment of it here--in this
+crystal. You, and you alone, have killed him--killed him as surely as
+though you had deliberately murdered him! Hark! That is the telephone
+bell ringing----"
+
+She paused as the shrill peal of the instrument rang through the room.
+There was a prolonged ringing. Then it broke off. Then again and again
+it rang, in short, impatient jerks.
+
+"Go to it, girl. Go and listen to the message. You say I am cruel.
+Hear what that senseless thing has to tell you. Listen to the voice at
+the other end. It is at the hospital. The doctor is there, and he will
+speak to you. And in a ward adjacent, your discarded lover
+lies--dead."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+OVER THE TELEPHONE
+
+
+From the depths of her high-backed chair Mercy Lascelles stared at the
+white door beyond which Joan had just vanished. Her gaunt figure was
+no longer huddled over the fateful crystal she still clutched in her
+two hands. Her brain was busy, and her eyes were hot and feverish.
+
+She was not thinking of the girl. She was not even thinking of the
+message traveling over the wire at that moment. That she knew. For her
+it had no greater significance than that it was the corroboration
+necessary to convince the girl who was receiving it--to convince her
+of the truth of that which she had charged her with.
+
+Her mind was far away, back in the dim years of her earlier womanhood.
+Back amidst scenes of disaster through which she had long since
+passed. All the old pain and suffering was at the surface again. Again
+was she torn by the bitterness and injustice that had robbed her of
+all that seemed good to her in life. Again through her mental picture
+moved the figures of two men and one woman, the characters who went to
+make up the cast of her wretched drama. Her feelings were once more
+afire with hatred, hatred for one, and, for the others, a profound,
+contemptuous bitterness.
+
+But hatred was dominant. The memory of one of those men had always
+power to drive her to the verge of madness. He was a handsome,
+brown-haired man of powerful physique. A man whose gentle manner and
+swift, hot temper she abhorred, and the memory of whose influence upon
+her life had still power to grind to ashes every gentle feeling she
+ever possessed.
+
+It was of one of his terrible tempers she was thinking now. He had
+displayed a fury she could never, would never forget. It was a memory
+that tripped her even now at every turn, till it had become something
+akin to an obsession.
+
+Every detail of the scene was as clear cut in her mind as a hideous
+cameo, every word he had uttered, the accusations, the insinuations he
+had made. Even the room, with its simple furnishings, its neatness,
+its air of care--her care--stood out sharply in her memory. She
+remembered it all so well. She was in the midst of preparing Charles
+Stanmore's supper, and Joan, only a couple of weeks old, was fast
+asleep in an adjoining bedroom. He had chosen this time to call,
+because he knew that she, Mercy, would be alone.
+
+She remembered his handsome face clouded with sullen anger and
+jealousy when she let him in at the door of the apartment. And then
+his first words when he took up his position before the hard-coal
+stove in the parlor--
+
+"So you've pitched everything to the devil, and taken up your abode
+with Charlie," he began, in tones of jealous fury. "And he--he is your
+brother-in-law."
+
+There was no mistaking his meaning. He intended that she should make
+no mistake, for he added a laugh--a hateful laugh--to his words.
+
+This was the man who had asked her to marry him almost numberless
+times. This was the man whom she had refused time and again, making it
+plain that, however hopelessly, her love was given to another. This
+was the man who knew that she had come at her sister's death to care
+for the little, new-born, motherless, baby girl, and help the man whom
+she had always loved out of the hopeless dilemma in which he found
+himself. This was the man who was the lifelong friend of Charles
+Stanmore, whose mistress he was accusing her of having become.
+
+She remembered the sudden anger which leapt to her brain. She
+remembered, too, the thought which came in its midst, and formulated
+her instant retort.
+
+"Yes," she said coldly. "I have."
+
+Then she saw the real man as she had now come to regard him. She
+remembered the sudden blaze of his eyes, the ghastly pallor of his
+face, the look of almost insane jealousy which he turned upon her. And
+then came that never-to-be-forgotten insult, those words which had
+seared themselves upon her woman's heart as though branded thereon
+with red-hot irons.
+
+"And you are the woman I have loved. Woman?" He laughed. "It's too
+good for you. Do you know what we men call such creatures as you? All
+this time you have waited--waited, and the moment your poor sister is
+in her grave, almost before the blood in her veins is cold, you seize
+your opportunity to fulfil your mad desire. Taking advantage of
+Charlie's wretchedness and trouble, you force yourself upon him. You
+force a position upon him from which there is no escape. The world
+will accept the position at the value you intend, and he is powerless
+to do anything but accept it too. You meant to have him, and I suppose
+he is yours by now. And all this time I have wasted an honest love on
+you--you----"
+
+And she had answered him, calmly and deliberately, before he could
+utter the filthy epithet she knew he intended.
+
+"Please keep your voice down, or--or you'll wake little Joan."
+
+Even now she could never quite understand her own attitude at the
+moment. Something inside her was urging her to fly at his throat and
+tear the foul words from it. Yet there was something gripping her,
+something compelling her to a calmness she was powerless to resist.
+
+Then, as swiftly as he had blazed into fury, had come a miraculous
+change in the man. Perhaps it was the effect of her calm, perhaps it
+was something in the man himself. Anyway the madness abruptly died out
+of his eyes and left him shaking. He strove to speak, but no words
+came. He passed his hand across his forehead as though to remove
+something that was clouding his brain. He turned from her fixed stare
+as though he could no longer support it. He moved across the room. He
+hesitated. He turned to her. She did not see the movement, for her
+back was now turned, but somehow she felt it.
+
+Then she heard his footsteps again, and, finally, the rattle of the
+door handle as he clutched it. After that came his voice. All the
+anger, the jealousy, had gone out of it. It was low, gentle,
+imploring. But she did not move.
+
+"Mercy, Mercy! For--forgive me. I----"
+
+"Never!"
+
+Oh, the scorn, the hatred she had flung into the word!
+
+The next she remembered was that he passed swiftly and silently from
+the room. Then, then at last her woman's weakness, a weakness she now
+so cordially despised, overcame her, and she fell into a chair and
+wept.
+
+But her weakness was short-lived. Her spirit rose in rebellion, and
+her tears ceased to flow as the cruel iron entered her soul. She
+pondered long and deeply, and presently she went on with her
+preparations for Charles Stanmore's supper as though nothing unusual
+had occurred.
+
+Nor, when he came home, did she tell him, nor did she ever by word or
+act permit the secret of that interview to pass out of her keeping.
+But the memory of it was forever with her. Day and night she hugged it
+to herself, she nursed it, and fostered it for all those twenty years,
+the bitterness, the cruel injustice of the insult, grinding its way
+till it became a part of the very essence of her being.
+
+Suddenly a cry broke in upon her reverie. She started, and her eyes
+lit with a gleam of satisfaction. Her mind had returned to the
+present, and she called out--
+
+"Joan!"
+
+Without waiting for an answer she left her seat, and, crossing swiftly
+to the door, flung it wide open.
+
+Joan staggered in, and, dropping into the welcoming arms of a
+rocking-chair, she buried her face in her hands.
+
+Mercy Lascelles stood silently contemplating the bowed head. There was
+no sympathy in her attitude. Her heart was cold and hard as steel. But
+she was interested in the cause rather than the effect.
+
+After a while the storm of grief slackened. The racking sobs came at
+longer intervals. Then it was that Mercy Lascelles broke the silence.
+
+"Well?" she demanded sharply.
+
+The tear-stained face was slowly lifted, and the sight of the girl's
+distress was heart-breaking.
+
+"He is dead," Joan said in a choking voice. Then, with something like
+resentment--"Are--are you satisfied?"
+
+Mercy went back to her chair and her beloved crystal. And after a
+moment she began to speak in a low, even tone, as though reciting a
+well-learnt lesson.
+
+"It was at the crossing of 36th Street and Lisson Avenue, here the
+street cars cross, here some also turn off. It was the fault of his
+horse. The creature shied at a heavy truck. Two cars were approaching
+from east and west. The shying horse slipped on the granite paving,
+fell, and was caught between the two meeting cars before they could
+pull up. The horse was killed on the spot, and--the rider was----"
+
+"Don't, auntie! Don't say it! Yes, yes, he was taken to the hospital,
+and died of his injuries. But don't speak of his terrible mutilations.
+I--I can't bear it."
+
+Again Joan buried her face in her hands as though to shut out the
+horror of it all. But the elder woman had no such scruples.
+
+"Why harrow yourself with the picture?" she demanded brusquely.
+"Imagination can add nothing to the fact. Tears will not change one
+detail. They will only add to your distress. Dick Sorley left your
+side to go to certain death. Nothing could have averted that. Such was
+his fate--through you."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE PARIAH
+
+
+Joan suddenly threw up her head. There was resentment in the violet
+depths of her eyes, and her whole expression had hardened. It was as
+though something of her youth, her softness, had passed from her.
+
+"You must tell me, auntie," she demanded in a tone as cold as the
+other's. "I--I don't understand. But I mean to. You accuse me with the
+responsibility of--this. Of responsibility for all that has happened
+to those others. You tell me I am cursed. It is all too much--or too
+little. Now I demand to know that which you know--all that there is to
+know. It is my right. I never knew my father or mother, and you have
+told me little enough of them. Well, I insist that you shall tell me
+the right by which you dare to say such things to me. I know you are
+cruel, that you have no sympathy for any one but--yourself. I know
+that you grudge the world every moment of happiness that life
+contains. Well, all this I try to account for by crediting you with
+having passed through troubles of which I have no knowledge. But it
+does not give you the right to charge me with the things you do. You
+shall tell me now the reason of your accusations, or I will leave this
+home forever, and will never, of my own free will, set eyes on you
+again."
+
+Mercy's thin lips parted into a half-smile.
+
+"And I intend that you shall know these things," she replied promptly.
+"You shall know them from my lips. Nor has any one more right to the
+telling than I." The smile died abruptly, leaving her burning eyes
+shining in an icy setting. "I am cruel, eh?" she went on intensely.
+"Cruel because I have refused to bend beneath the injustice of my
+fellows and the persecutions of Fate. Cruel because I meet the world
+in the spirit in which it has received me. Why should I have sympathy?
+The world has robbed me of the only happiness I ever desired. What
+obligation, then, is mine? You are right. I have no sympathy for any
+living creature--none!"
+
+Joan offered no comment. She was waiting--waiting for the explanation
+she had demanded. She was no longer the young girl just returned
+flushed with the healthy glow of her morning ride. Life had taken on a
+fresh tone for her since then. It seemed as if years had suddenly
+passed over her head and carried her into the middle of life.
+
+"You shall have your explanation," Mercy went on after a moment's
+pause. "I will give it you from the beginning. I will show you how it
+comes that you are a pariah, shedding disaster upon all men who come
+under your influence."
+
+"A pariah!"
+
+Joan's eyes suddenly lit with horror at the loathsome epithet.
+
+"Yes. Pariah!" There was no mistaking the satisfaction which the use
+of the word seemed to give the other woman. In her eyes was a
+challenge which defied all protest.
+
+As Joan had no further comment she went on--
+
+"But they were all blind--blind to the curse under which you were
+born--under which you live. You shall have your wish. You shall know
+the right which I have for charging these things at your door. And the
+knowledge of it will forever shatter the last castle of your
+day-dreams."
+
+Something of awe took hold of the listening girl. Something of terror,
+too. What was the mystery into which she was blindly delving? Knowing
+her aunt as she did, she felt, by her manner, that her words were the
+prelude to disclosures that meant disaster to herself. And as the
+other proceeded her half-frightened eyes watched her, fascinated by
+the deliberateness of manner and the passionate sincerity underlying
+every word of the story she told.
+
+"Listen," she said, checking her voice to a low, even monotone. "You
+are the child of disaster if ever woman was. Your father was a poor,
+weak fool, a big, handsome, good-hearted fool whom Nature had endowed
+with nothing more than a perfect exterior. He was a Wall Street man,
+of a sort. One of those gamblers who live on the fringe of the big
+financial circles, and most of whom gather their livelihood from the
+crumbs falling from the rich man's table, but are ready to steal them
+when the fall is not sufficient to fill their hungry mouths. For three
+years he and I were engaged to be married."
+
+She paused, and her hot eyes dropped to the crystal in her lap. Then
+she went on, with harsh sarcasm breaking the level of her tone--
+
+"For three years we waited for the coming of that trifling luck which
+would enable us to marry. For three years I worked silently, joyfully,
+to fill the wonderful bottom drawer which never failed to inspire me
+with courage and hope. You see I--loved your father."
+
+Again she paused, and Joan forgot something of her own trouble as she
+noted the evident pain these memories gave to her aunt.
+
+"The luck came. It was small enough. But with the little money I had
+it was just sufficient. The license was procured. The wedding was
+fixed. And I--well, God was good, the world was good, and life was a
+joy beyond all dreams. You see I, too, was young then. My only
+relative was a younger sister. She was a beautiful girl with red-gold
+hair. And she was in business in California. I sent for her to come to
+the wedding."
+
+Joan gave a tense sigh. She knew what was to follow. The red-gold hair
+told its own story. Mercy Lascelles raised a pair of stony eyes, and
+her thin lips were smiling.
+
+"I can see you understand," she said, without emotion. "Yes, she came,
+and she stole your father from me. Oh, yes! she was handsome enough to
+steal any man. She was even more beautiful than you are. It was just
+before we were to be married. Less than a week. A good time to steal
+him from me--after three years of waiting." She laughed bitterly. "She
+stole him, and I--I cursed her. Oh, I didn't cry out! I simply cursed
+her, I cursed her offspring, and burned every garment I had made or
+bought for the wedding in my parlor stove. I sat by and watched the
+fire as it hungrily devoured each record of my foolish day-dreams. And
+as each one vanished in cinder and smoke I cursed her from the very
+bottom of my heart."
+
+The woman laughed again, and Joan could not repress a shudder at the
+sound.
+
+"Twelve months she had of him. And during those twelve months both he
+and she nearly drove me mad in their efforts to make me marry your
+father's great friend and fellow gambler. His name doesn't matter. He
+was a brown-haired creature, who was, if possible, a greater gambler
+than your father. But unlike your father his luck was phenomenal. He
+grew rich whilst Charles Stanmore, with every passing week, grew
+poorer. And for twelve long months he persecuted me with his
+attentions. He never left me alone. I sometimes think he was crazy in
+his desire to marry me. He knew the whole of my wretched story, yet it
+made no difference. He swore to me in his mildly deliberate way that I
+should marry him. Perhaps I ought to have read the real character of
+the man underlying his gentle manner, but, poor fool that I was, I
+didn't. It was left to later events to open my eyes, events which were
+to teach me that under the guise of friendship he hated Charles
+Stanmore, because--because, in spite of everything, I still loved him.
+
+"At the end of those twelve months my cup of bitterness was filled to
+overflowing. You were born. You, with your deep-blue eyes and red-gold
+hair. You, Charles Stanmore's child--but not mine."
+
+Her voice died out, and Joan understood something of the passion in
+this strange woman's soul. But the next moment a hard laugh jarred her
+nerves. It was a laugh that had no mirth. Only was it an audible
+expression designed to disguise real feelings.
+
+"Oh, I had no grudge against you. You--you with your crumpled face and
+big blue eyes. You could make no difference to my life as I saw it.
+And yet you did." The woman's fingers suddenly clutched the crystal in
+her lap with a force that left the thin tips of them white and
+bloodless. "You did. A difference that in my maddest dreams I could
+never have hoped for. You brought with you the curse of disaster from
+which there was no escape for those to whom you belonged.
+
+"I can see it all now," she went on exultingly. "I can see it as I saw
+it then, every detail of it. Your father's gambling had brought him
+down to something like want. A week before you were born his home was
+sold up, and he and your mother took shelter in a tiny three-roomed
+apartment for which they had no money to pay the rent. In desperation
+he came to _me_--to _me_ for help. And I gave it him. The day before
+you were born I gave him the money for the expenses of your birth and
+to tide him over for three months. It was almost all I had in the
+world." Again came that mirthless laugh. Then she hurried on. "But the
+temptation was too much for Charles Stanmore, gambler that he was. He
+suddenly found himself with money in his pocket and hope in his
+foolish soul. There was a big wheat operation going on at the moment,
+and every penny of the money, along with all the credit he could
+procure, he plunged into it."
+
+"And lost it all?" Joan whispered.
+
+The other shook her head.
+
+"No. The influence of your strange fate was at work. On the day that
+you saw light Charles Stanmore was a comparatively rich man. And your
+mother--was dead."
+
+Joan breathed a deep sigh.
+
+"Yes, wheat went up by leaps and bounds, and your father was delirious
+with joy. He stood over you--I can see him now--and talked at you in
+his foolish, extravagant way. 'You're the brightest, happiest,
+luckiest little hoodlam that ever came into the world,' he cried. 'And
+your name is "Golden," my little Golden Woman, for if ever there was
+a golden kiddie in the world you are she. Gold? Why, you've showered
+it on me. Luck? Why, I verily believe if you'd been around you'd
+have brought luck to Jonah when he got mixed up with the whale's
+internals.' And then, just as he finished, the bolt fell. The doctor
+came in from the next room and took him aside. Your mother was dead."
+
+A sob broke from the listening girl, a great sob of sympathy for the
+kindly, weak, irresponsible father she had never known.
+
+"Your father's disaster looked like my blessing. I had no regrets for
+the woman," Mercy went on. "He was mine now by every right. The thief
+had come by her reckoning. So I seized the opportunity that was thrust
+in my way. Mine was the right to care for him and help him in his
+trouble, nor have I shame in saying that I took it.
+
+"But the curse of your life was working full and sure. But for your
+existence I should never have taken that step. But for that step other
+matters would never have occurred. When your father's--friend
+discovered what I had done his fury knew no bounds. His insults were
+unforgettable--at least by me. But I persisted. For a great hope was
+at work within me that now your mother was gone eventually Charles
+Stanmore might come back to his allegiance, and I might step into her
+place. It was a foolish hope, but--I loved your father.
+
+"Bah!" she went on impatiently. "It is no use raking amongst those
+ashes. The details don't matter to you. Those things are dead. And
+only is their effect alive to-day. My hopes were never to be
+fulfilled. How should they be with the curse of your father's golden
+girl involving us all in disaster. Let me cut the wretched history as
+short as I can. At first money was plentiful enough, and luck in that
+direction seemed to border on the marvelous. To give you an instance
+your father--imbecile that he was--swore he would test it in your own
+interests. He hunted round till he found the most hair-brained,
+wildcat company ever floated for the purpose of robbing moneyed fools,
+and invested ten thousand dollars in it as a life-dowry for you. It
+was the joke of all his gambling friends. It was like pitching dollar
+bills into the Hudson. And then in a month the miraculous happened.
+After a struggle the company boomed, and you were left with a
+competence for life. Yes, at first money was plentiful enough, but
+your father never got over his shock of your mother's death. Sometimes
+I used to think his brain was weakening. Anyway, he plunged into a
+wild vortex of gambling. He drank heavily, and indulged himself in
+excesses from which he had always kept clear up to that time. He took
+to cards in a manner that frightened even me, used as I was to his
+weaknesses. And in all these things his friend encouraged and indulged
+him.
+
+"The end was not far off. How could it be? Your father's luck waned
+and his debauches increased. He grew nervous and worried. But he
+persisted in his mode of life. Then, in a little while, I knew that he
+was borrowing. He never touched your money. But he was borrowing
+heavily. This man whom I had come to regard as his evil genius
+undoubtedly lent him money--much money. Then came a particularly bad
+time. For two days Charles Stanmore went about like a madman. What the
+trouble was I never knew--except that it was a question of money. And
+this terminated in the night of disaster toward which everything had
+been driving."
+
+Mercy Lascelles' voice dropped to a low, ominous pitch, and she paused
+as though to draw all the threads of memory into one firm grasp. Her
+look, too, changed. But it was a change quite unnoticed by Joan.
+
+"It was one night in the apartment. I had gone to bed. They, your
+father and his--friend, were in the parlor. They had quarreled during
+the evening over some money affairs which I did not understand. Your
+father was headstrong, as he always was, and the other, well, he
+rarely raised his voice--he was one of those quiet men who disguise
+their purposes under a calm atmosphere--as a rule. However, on this
+occasion high words had passed, and I knew that stormy feelings were
+underlying the calm which finally ensued. At last, when they sat down
+to a heavy game of baccarat, I crept away to bed.
+
+"I don't know how long I had been in bed when it happened. I know I
+was asleep, for I wakened suddenly with a great sense of shock, and
+sat up trying to realize what had happened. It took me some moments. I
+know my mind ran over a dozen things before I decided what to do. I
+remembered that we were alone in the place. The servants had been
+dismissed more than a week before. There was only you, and your
+father, and me in the place. Then I remembered that his friend was
+there, and I had left them playing cards. Instantly I got out of bed.
+I slipped on a dressing-gown and crept out into the passage. I moved
+silently toward the door of the sitting-room. It was wide open. I had
+left it shut. The gas was full on. I reached the door and cautiously
+peered in. But there was no need for caution. Your father had fallen
+forward in his chair, and lay with his head, face downward, upon the
+table. He was dead and--the other had gone. I ran to the dead man's
+side and raised him up. It was too late. All--all I had or cared for
+in the world had been taken from me by the hand of the murderer."
+
+"Murdered?" Joan whispered in horrified tones.
+
+"Yes, murdered!" came the swift, vehement retort. "Shot--shot through
+the heart, and in the stomach--and his murderer had fled. Oh, God,
+shall I ever forget that moment!"
+
+The woman fell back in her chair, her whole withered body shaking with
+emotion. Then with an effort she pulled herself together and went on
+more calmly--
+
+"I hardly know what I did. All I remember is that I gave the alarm,
+and presently had the police there. I told them all I could, and gave
+the name and description of--the man who had done the deed. But it was
+useless. He had gone--bolted. Nor was he ever seen or heard of again.
+The curse had worked out. You, your father's golden girl, were left
+orphaned to the care of the woman to whom your very existence was an
+ineradicable wrong, and who, through your coming, had been robbed of
+all that made life possible."
+
+She raised her crystal and held it poised on the gathered finger-tips
+of one hand. And when she spoke again her voice had gained strength
+and tone.
+
+"Since those days I have learnt to read the words that are written by
+the hand of Fate. And here--here is the open book. It is all here. The
+storm of disaster that brought you into the world will dog your
+footsteps. You are cursed with the luck that leads to disaster.
+Wherever you go men will bless your name, and, almost in the same
+breath, their blessings shall turn to the direst curses. It is not I
+who am speaking. My tongue utters the words, but the writing of Fate
+has been set forth for me to interpret. Wherever you go, wherever you
+be, you cannot escape the destiny set out for you. I tell you you are
+a leper, a pariah, whom all men, for their own safeguarding, must
+shun."
+
+All through the final pronouncement Joan sat transfixed with horror. A
+leper! A pariah! Nor, in the light of those things which to her own
+knowledge had happened, could she doubt the hideous denunciation. She
+had heard and understood that ill-luck could and did pursue its
+victims. But this! Oh, it was too terrible--too cruel! For an instant
+she thought of the doctor and his words of warning. But one glance at
+the bowed figure, again intent upon her crystal, and the thought
+passed. The story she had listened to was too real, too full of those
+things which had driven her poor aunt to her present unyielding
+attitude toward the world to be the ravings of an insane mind. And
+suddenly panic gripped her, that panic which, in a moment of weakness,
+so easily tends toward self-destruction.
+
+"Is--is there no hope, auntie?" she asked helplessly.
+
+Mercy Lascelles looked up from the crystal. She eyed her niece
+steadily, as though to read all there was hidden behind the desperate
+blue eyes.
+
+Slowly she shook her head.
+
+Again came that spasm of panic, and Joan seemed to hurl her whole
+young strength into denial.
+
+"But there is. There must be," she cried, with a fierceness that held
+the other in something like astonishment. "There must be," she
+reiterated desperately. "No God could be so cruel--so--so wicked.
+What have I done to deserve this? The injustice is demoniacal. Far
+better go and throw myself before a passing train than live to carry
+such a pestilence with me wherever I go through life. If you can read
+these things--read on. Read on and tell me, for I swear that I will
+not live with this curse forever tied about my neck."
+
+"You will live--you must live. It is written here." Mercy pointed at
+the crystal. Then she laughed her cold, mirthless laugh. "There was
+one power that served me, that helped me to save my reason through all
+those early days. God knows how it may help you--for I can't see. I
+loved your father with a passion nothing, no disaster could destroy. I
+loved him so that I could crush every other feeling down, subservient
+to my passion. Go you, child, and find such a love. Go you and find a
+love so strong that no disaster can kill it. And maybe life may still
+have some compensations for you, maybe it will lift the curse from
+your suffering shoulders. It--it is the only thing in the world that
+is stronger than disaster. It is the only thing in the world that is
+stronger than--death."
+
+Joan had no answer. She stared straight ahead of her, focusing some
+trifling detail of the pattern on the wall paper. Her face was
+stony--stony as the face of the woman who was watching her. The
+moments passed rapidly. A minute passed, and neither spoke.
+
+Then at last the girl abruptly rose from her seat. Almost mechanically
+she moved over to a mirror, and, removing her hat, deftly patted her
+beautiful hair till it assumed its wonted appearance. And quite
+suddenly she turned about.
+
+"I have nearly fifty thousand dollars, auntie. I am going to realize
+that capital. I am going to leave this house--I am going to leave it
+forever. I shall change my name, and cover up my tracks, for I intend
+going where I am not known. I am going where men cannot figure in my
+life, which I intend to begin all over again. The burden Fate has
+imposed upon me is too great. I am going to run from it."
+
+She laughed. And her laugh was as mirthless as her aunt's had been.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+TWO MEN OF THE WILDERNESS
+
+
+The westering sun was drooping heavily toward its fiery couch. The
+purple of evening was deepening from the east, meeting and blending
+softly with the gold of the dying day. A great furnace of ruddy cloud
+rose above the mountain-tops, lighting the eternal snows of the peaks
+and ancient glaciers with a wealth of kaleidoscopic color. Viewed from
+the plains below there might have been a great fire raging among the
+hill-caps, where only snow and ice could provide the fuel.
+
+The radiant colors of sunset held the quiet eyes of a solitary
+horseman riding amidst the broken lands of the lesser foot-hills. He
+was a big man, of powerful shoulders and stout limbs. He was a man of
+fifty or thereabouts, yet his hair was snow white, a perfect mane that
+reached low upon his neck, touching the soft collar of his cotton
+shirt. His face was calm with something of the peace of the world
+through which he was riding, something of the peace which comes to
+those who have abandoned forever the strife of the busy life beyond.
+It only needed the garb of the priest, and his appearance would have
+matched perfectly his sobriquet, "the Padre."
+
+But Moreton Kenyon was clad in the rough moleskin, the riding boots
+and general make-up of the western life to which he belonged. Even he
+carried the protecting firearms by which to administer the personal
+laws of the wilderness. His whole appearance, the very horse under
+him, a prairie-bred broncho of excellent blood, suggested a man who
+knew the life amidst which he lived, and was more than capable of
+surviving it.
+
+Whatever his appearance, whatever his capacity for the rougher corners
+of earth, Moreton Kenyon was a man of great kindliness, of great
+sympathy, as the mission from which he was now returning might well
+have testified. Those who knew him best held him in deep affection.
+Those who knew him less withheld their judgment, but never failed to
+treat him with a courtesy not usual amongst the derelicts of an
+out-world camp.
+
+Just now something of the smallness of human life, of human aims and
+efforts, of human emotions, was occupying the busy brain behind his
+reflective eyes. The scene before him, upon which he had so often
+looked, never failed to remind him of the greatness of that which lay
+beyond the ken of man. Somehow it exalted his thoughts to planes to
+which no association with his kind could ever have exalted them. It
+never failed to inspire him with a reverence for the infinity of power
+which crowned the glory of creation, and reduced self to a humble
+realization of its atomic place in the great scheme of the Creator.
+
+His horse ambled easily over the ribbon-like trail, which seemed to
+rise out of the eastern horizon from nowhere, and lose itself
+somewhere ahead, amidst the dark masses of forest-crowned hills. The
+journey was nearly over. Somewhere ahead lay the stable, which could
+be reached at leisure in the cool of the evening, and neither master
+nor beast seemed to feel the need for undue haste.
+
+As the light slowly faded out and left the snow-white hill-crests drab
+with the gray of twilight, the man's mind reverted to those things
+which had sent him on his journey. Many doubts had assailed him by the
+way, doubts which set him debating with himself, but which rarely made
+him turn from a purpose his mind was once set upon. He knew that his
+action involved more than his own personal welfare, and herein had
+lain the source of his doubt. But he had clearly argued every point
+with himself, and through it all had felt the rightness of his
+purpose.
+
+Then, too, he had had the support of that other with whom he was
+concerned. And he smiled as he thought of the night when his decision
+had been taken. Even now the picture remained in his mind of the eager
+face of his youthful prot�g� as they discussed the matter. The younger
+man had urged vehemently, protesting at every objection, that they two
+had no right to live in comparative comfort with women and children
+starving about them.
+
+He remembered young Buck's eager eyes, large dark-brown eyes that
+could light with sudden, almost volcanic heat, or smile their soft,
+lazy smile of amusement at the quaintnesses of life about him. The
+Padre understood the largeness of heart, the courage which urged him,
+the singleness of purpose which was always his. Then, when their
+decision had been taken, he remembered the abrupt falling back of the
+man into the quiet, almost monosyllabic manner which usually belonged
+to him.
+
+Yes, Buck was a good lad.
+
+The thought carried him back to days long gone by, to a time when a
+lad of something less than eight years, clad in the stained and worn
+garb of a prairie juvenile, his feet torn and bleeding, his large
+brown eyes staring out of gaunt, hungry sockets, his thin, pinched,
+sunburnt face drawn by the ravages of starvation, had cheerfully
+hailed him from beneath the shelter of a trail-side bush.
+
+That was nearly twenty years ago, but every detail of the meeting was
+still fresh in his memory. His horse had shied at the sudden
+challenge. He remembered he had thrashed the creature with his spurs.
+And promptly had come the youthful protest.
+
+"Say, you needn't to lick him, mister," the boy piped in his thin
+treble. "Guess he'll stand if you talk to him."
+
+Strangely enough the man had almost unconsciously obeyed the mandate.
+And the memory of it made him smile now. Then had followed a dialogue,
+which even now had power to stir every sympathy of his heart. He
+started by casually questioning the starving apparition.
+
+"Where you from, sonny?" he asked.
+
+And with that unequivocal directness, which, after twenty years, still
+remained with him, the boy flung out a thin arm in the direction of
+the eastern horizon.
+
+"Back ther', mister."
+
+The natural sequence was to ask him whither he was bound, and his
+answer came with a similar gesture with his other hand westward.
+
+"Yonder."
+
+"But--but who're your folks? Where are they?" the Padre had next
+hazarded. And a world of desolation was contained in the lad's
+half-tearful reply--
+
+"Guess I ain't got none. Pop an' ma's dead. Our farm was burnt right
+out. Y' see there was a prairie fire. It was at night, an' we was
+abed. Pop got me out, an' went back for ma. I never see him agin. I
+never see ma. An' ther' wa'an't no farm left. Guess they're sure
+dead."
+
+He fought the tears back manfully, in a way that set the Padre
+marveling at his courage.
+
+After a moment he continued his interrogation.
+
+"What's your name?" he asked.
+
+"Buck," came the frank response.
+
+"Buck--what?"
+
+"Buck--jest plain, mister."
+
+"But your father's name--what was that?"
+
+"Pop."
+
+"Yes, yes. That's what you called him. What did the folks call him?"
+
+"Ther' wa'an't no folks. Jest pop, an' ma, an' me."
+
+A great lump had risen in the man's throat as he looked down into
+those honest, hungry eyes. And for a moment he was at a loss. But the
+boy solved his dilemma in a way that proved the man in after-life.
+
+"Say, you ain't a farmer?" he inquired, with a speculative glance over
+his general outfit.
+
+"Well, I am--in a small way," the Padre had replied, with a
+half-smile.
+
+The boy brightened at once.
+
+"Then mebbe you can give me a job--I'm lookin' for a job."
+
+The wonder of it all brought a great smile of sympathy to the
+man's eyes now, as he thought of that little starving lad of eight
+years old, homeless, wandering amidst the vastness of all that
+world--looking for a "job." It was stupendous, and he had sat
+marveling until the lad brought him back to the business in hand.
+
+"Y' see I kin milk--an'--an' do chores around. Guess I can't plough
+yet. Pop allus said I was too little. But mebbe I kin grow--later.
+I--I don't want no wages--on'y food. Guess I'm kind o' hungry,
+mister."
+
+Nor, for a moment, could the man make any reply. The pathos of it all
+held him in its grip. He leant over and groped in his saddle-bag for
+the "hardtack" biscuits he always carried, and passed the lad a
+handful.
+
+He remembered how the boy snatched the rough food from his hands.
+There was something almost animal in the way he crammed his mouth
+full, and nearly choked himself in his efforts to appease the craving
+of his small, empty stomach. In those moments the man's mind was made
+up. He watched in silence while the biscuit vanished. Then he carried
+out his purpose.
+
+"You can have a job," he said. "I've only a small farm, but you can
+come and help me with it."
+
+"Do you mean that, mister?" the boy asked, almost incredulously.
+
+Then, as the Padre had nodded, a sigh of thankfulness escaped the
+young lips, which were still covered with the crumbs of his recent
+meal.
+
+"Say, I'm glad. Y' see I was gettin' tired. An' ther' didn't seem to
+be no farms around--nor nuthin'. An' it's lonesome, too, at nights,
+lyin' around."
+
+The man's heart ached. He could stand no more of it.
+
+"How long have you been sleeping--out?"
+
+"Three nights, mister."
+
+Suddenly the Padre reached out a hand.
+
+"Here, catch hold, and jump."
+
+The boy caught the strong hand, and was promptly swung up into the
+saddle behind his benefactor. The next moment they were speeding back
+over the trail to the lad's new home. Nor was the new-born hope solely
+beating in the starving child's heart. The lonely farmer felt that
+somehow the day was brighter, and the green earth more beautiful--for
+that meeting.
+
+Such had been the coming together of these two, and through all the
+long years of weary toil since then they still remained together,
+working shoulder to shoulder in a relationship that soon became
+something like that of father and son. The Padre remained the
+farmer--in a small way. But the boy--well, as had been prophesied by
+his dead father, later on he grew big enough to plough the furrows of
+life with a strong and sure hand.
+
+The man's reflections were broken into abruptly. The time and distance
+had passed more rapidly than he was aware of. The eager animal under
+him raised its head, and, pricking its small ears and pulling heavily
+on the reins, increased its pace to a gallop. Then it was that the
+Padre became suddenly aware that the home stretch had been reached,
+and before him lay a long, straight decline in the trail which split a
+dense pine-wood bluff of considerable extent.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A man was lounging astride of a fallen pine log. His lean shoulders
+were propped against the parent stump. All about him were other stumps
+left by those who had made the clearing in the woods. Beyond this the
+shadowy deep of the woods ranged on every side, except where the red
+sand of a trail broke the monotony of tone.
+
+Near by two horses stood tethered together by a leading rein. One was
+a saddle-horse, and the other was equipped with a well-loaded
+pack-saddle. It was no mean burden of provisions. The carcass of a
+large, black-tailed deer sprawled across the back of the saddle, while
+on one side were secured three bags of flour, and on the other
+several jack-rabbits were strung together. But the powerful beast
+remained unconcernedly nibbling at the sparse green peeping here and
+there through the carpet of rotting pine cones and needles which
+covered the ground.
+
+The man's eyes were half-closed, yet he was by no means drowsing. On
+the contrary, his mind was essentially busy, and the occasional
+puckering of his dark brows, and the tightening of his strong jaws,
+suggested that his thoughts were not always pleasant.
+
+After a while he sat up. But his movement was only the restlessness
+caused by the worry of his thought. And the gaze he turned upon his
+foraging horses was quite preoccupied.
+
+A change, however, was not long in coming. Simultaneously both horses
+threw up their heads, and one of them gave a sharp, comprehensive
+snort. Instantly the man's large brown eyes lit, and a pleasant
+expectancy shone in their depths. He was on his feet in an instant,
+and his tall figure became alert and vibrant with the lithe activity
+which was so wonderfully displayed in his whole poise. He, too, had
+become aware of a disturbing element in the silent depths of the
+woods.
+
+He moved across to the trail, and, glancing down it, from out of the
+silence reached him the distant, soft plod of hoofs in its heavy
+covering of sand. His look of satisfaction deepened as he turned back
+to his horses and tightened the cinchas of the saddles, and replaced
+the bits in their mouths. Then he picked up the Winchester rifle
+propped against a tree stump and turned again to the trail.
+
+A moment later another horseman appeared from beyond the fringe of
+pines and drew up with an exclamation.
+
+"Why, Buck, I didn't reckon to find you around here!" he cried
+cordially.
+
+"No." The young man smiled quietly up into the horseman's face. The
+welcome of his look was unmistakable. No words of his could have
+expressed it better.
+
+The Padre sprang from his saddle with the lightness of a man of half
+his years, and his eyes rested on the pack-saddle on Buck's second
+horse.
+
+"For the--folks?" he inquired.
+
+"Guess so. That's the last of the flour."
+
+For a moment a shadow passed across the Padre's face. Then it as
+suddenly brightened.
+
+"How's things?" he demanded, in the stereotyped fashion of men who
+greet when matters of importance must be discussed between them.
+
+"So," responded Buck.
+
+The Padre glanced quickly round, and his eyes fell on the log which
+had provided the other with a seat.
+
+"Guess there's no hurry. Let's sit," he said, indicating the log. "I'm
+a bit saddle weary."
+
+Buck nodded.
+
+They left the horses to their own devices, and moved across to the
+log.
+
+"Quite a piece to Leeson Butte," observed Buck casually, as he dropped
+upon the log beside his friend.
+
+"It surely is," replied the Padre, taking the young man in with a
+quick, sidelong glance.
+
+Buck was good to look at, so strong, so calmly reliant. Every glance
+of his big brown eyes suggested latent power. He was not strikingly
+handsome, but the pronounced nose, the level, wide brows, the firm
+mouth and clean-shaven chin, lifted him far out of the common. He was
+clad simply. But his dress was perfectly suitable to the life of the
+farmer-hunter which was his. His white moleskin trousers were tucked
+into the tops of his Wellington boots, and a cartridge belt, from
+which hung a revolver and holster, was slung about his waist. His
+upper covering was a simple, gray flannel shirt, gaping wide open
+across his sunburnt chest, and his modest-hued silk handkerchief tied
+loosely about his neck.
+
+"Leeson Butte's getting quite a city," Buck went on presently.
+
+"That's so," replied the Padre, still bent upon his own thoughts.
+
+After that it was quite a minute before either spoke. Yet there seemed
+to be no awkwardness.
+
+Finally it was the Padre who broached the matters that lay between
+them.
+
+"I got ten thousand dollars for it!" he said.
+
+"The farm?" Buck's interrogation was purely mechanical. He knew well
+enough that the other had purposely gone to Leeson Butte to sell the
+farm on which they had both lived so long.
+
+The Padre nodded.
+
+"A fancy price," he said. "The lawyers closed quick. It was a woman
+bought it. I didn't see her, though she was stopping at the hotel. I
+figured on getting seven thousand five hundred dollars, and only asked
+ten thousand dollars as a start. Guess the woman must have wanted it
+bad. Maybe she's heard they're prospecting gold around. Well, anyway
+she ought to get some luck with it, she's made it easy for us to help
+the folks."
+
+Buck's eyes were steadily fixed on the horses.
+
+"It makes me feel bad seeing those fellers chasin' gold, and never a
+color to show--an' all the while their womenfolk an' kiddies that thin
+for food you can most see their shadows through 'em."
+
+The eyes of the elder man brightened. The other's words had helped to
+hearten him. He had felt keenly the parting with his farm after all
+those years of labor and association. Yet, to a mind such as his, it
+had been impossible to do otherwise. How could he stand by watching a
+small community, such as he was surrounded with, however misguided in
+their search for gold, painfully and doggedly starving before his very
+eyes? For the men perhaps his sympathy might have been less keen, but
+the poor, long-suffering women and the helpless children--the thought
+was too painful. No, he and Buck had but their two selves to think of.
+They had powerful hands with which to help themselves. Those others
+were helpless--the women and children.
+
+There was compensation in his sacrifice when he remembered the large
+orders for edible stores he had placed with the merchants of Leeson
+Butte before leaving that town.
+
+"There's a heap of food coming along for them presently," he said
+after a pause.
+
+Buck nodded.
+
+"I've been settin' that old fur fort to rights, way up in the hills
+back ther'," he said, pointing vaguely behind them. "Guess we'd best
+move up ther' now the farm's--sold. We'll need a few bits of furniture
+from the farm. That right--now you've sold it?"
+
+"Yes. I made that arrangement. She didn't seem to mind anything I
+suggested. She must be a bully sort of woman. I'm sorry I didn't see
+her. The lawyer says she comes from St. Ellis."
+
+"Young?" suggested Buck.
+
+The Padre shook his head.
+
+"I wouldn't say so. A young woman with money wouldn't be likely to
+hide herself in these hills."
+
+"That's so. Guess it's the gold fetching her--the gold that isn't
+here."
+
+"Gold's a cursed thing," said the Padre reflectively.
+
+"Yet none of 'em seem to shy at the curse." Buck smiled in his slow
+way.
+
+"No. Not without experiencing it." The Padre's eyes were still
+serious. Then he went on, "We shan't farm any up there--at the fur
+fort?"
+
+Buck shook his head.
+
+"It means clearing every inch of land we need. Guess we best hunt, as
+we said. We'll make out with pelts. There's the whole mountains for
+traps."
+
+The other stared over at the horses, and his face was very grave.
+After a while he turned directly to his companion, and his eyes were
+mildly anxious.
+
+"See here, Buck," he said, with what seemed unnecessary emphasis.
+"I've thought a heap on the way back--home. It seems to me I'm not
+acting square by you. And I've made up my mind." He paused. Buck did
+not change his position, and his eyes were carefully avoiding those of
+his companion. Then the Padre went on with a decision that somehow
+lacked confidence. "You must take half the money, and--and get busy
+your own way. We've done farming, so there's no reason for you to hang
+around here. You're a man now, and you've your way to make in the
+world. You see, when we had the farm I thought it was good for you.
+It would be yours when I died, and then who knows, in time, how
+valuable it might become? Now it's all different. You see the hills
+are best for me." He smiled strainedly. "They've always been good
+friends to me. But----"
+
+"Yes, you don't fancy leavin' the hills." Buck's eyes wore a curious
+expression. They were half-smiling, half-angry. But the other could
+not see them. The Padre jumped eagerly at his words.
+
+"Just so. I've known them so long now that there doesn't seem to be
+any other world for me. Even Leeson Butte makes me feel--er--strange."
+
+Buck nodded. Then he changed the subject.
+
+"Say, we don't sleep at the farm to-night," he said. "The blankets are
+up at the old fort. That's why I got around here. When's she comin'
+along?"
+
+"In two or three days." The Padre had no choice but to follow the
+younger man's lead. "She's sending along a farm woman first. She's
+going to run the place herself."
+
+"Ther's no man comin'?" Buck half turned to his friend.
+
+"I don't think so."
+
+"They can't do it--hereabouts," Buck retorted quickly. "That farm
+needs a man."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Buck rose abruptly and went over to the horses.
+
+"Going?" inquired the Padre.
+
+"I'll get along with the vittles, and hand 'em over to the boys. Guess
+I'll git back to the fort in a few hours."
+
+The Padre sat hesitating. He watched the movements of his companion
+without observing them.
+
+"Buck!"
+
+The other paused as he was about to put his foot into the stirrup. He
+glanced over his shoulder.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"About that money. There's five thousand of it yours."
+
+"Not on your life, Padre!"
+
+The elder man sighed as he stood up, and his look changed so that it
+almost seemed as if a weight had been lifted from his mind. Their eyes
+met as Buck swung himself into the saddle.
+
+"Then we're going to the hills--together?" he said smilingly.
+
+"Sure," responded Buck promptly. Then he added, "But we're goin' to
+hunt--not farm."
+
+His decisive manner left no room for doubt, and the Padre, moving over
+to him, held out his hand. They gripped till the elder man winced.
+
+"I'm glad I found you on the trail that time," he said, looking
+squarely into the steady brown eyes. "I've always been glad, but--I'm
+gladder still now."
+
+"Me, too," said Buck, with a light laugh. "Guess I'd have hated to ha'
+fed the coyotes."
+
+Buck swung round to the trail, leading his packhorse, and the Padre
+went back to his horse. Just as he was about to mount the younger
+man's voice reached him again. He paused.
+
+"Say, what's the woman's name?" Buck inquired.
+
+"Eh?" The Padre looked startled. "The woman that bought the farm?"
+
+"Yes--sure."
+
+The elder man's face flushed painfully. It was a curious sight. He
+looked as stupidly guilty as any schoolboy.
+
+"I--I can't say. I never asked." He felt absurdly foolish and tried to
+explain. "You see, I only dealt with the lawyer."
+
+Buck shook his head, and smiled in his slow fashion.
+
+"Sold the farm, an' don't know who to! Gee!"
+
+It was good to hear his laugh as he rode away. The Padre watched him
+till he was out of sight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE STEEPS OF LIFE
+
+
+Buck leant over his horse's withers as the laboring creature clawed
+tenaciously up the face of the rugged hill. His whole poise was that
+of sympathetic straining. Nor were his eyes a whit less eager than
+those of the faithful animal under him.
+
+He was making the last twenty yards of the climb up Devil's Hill from
+the side on which lay the new home adopted by the Padre and himself.
+Hitherto this point of approach had been accepted as inaccessible for
+a horseman, nor, until now, had Buck seen reason to dispute the
+verdict. But, to-day, a sudden impulse had constrained him to make the
+attempt, not from any vainglorious reason, or from the recklessness
+which was so much a part of his nature, but simply that somewhere high
+up on the great table-land at the summit of the hill he hoped to find
+an answer to a riddle that was sorely puzzling him.
+
+It had been a great struggle even on the lower and more gradual
+slopes, for the basaltic rocks were barren, and broken, and slippery.
+There was no gripping soil, or natural foothold. Just the weather-worn
+rocks which offered no grip to C�sar's metal-shod hoofs. Yet the
+generous-hearted beast had floundered on up to the last stretch, where
+the hill rose abruptly at a perilous angle.
+
+It was a terrible scramble. As he looked above, at the point where the
+sky-line was cut by the broken rocks, even the reckless heart of the
+man quailed. Yet there was no turning back. To do so meant certain
+disaster. No horse, however sure-footed, could ever hope to make the
+descent by the way they had come. Buck had looked back just for one
+brief second, but his eyes had instantly turned again for relief to
+the heights above. Disaster lay behind him. To go on--well, if he
+failed to reach the brow of the blackened hill it would mean disaster
+anyway. And a smile of utter recklessness slowly lit his face.
+
+So, with set jaws and straining body, he urged C�sar to a last supreme
+effort, and the great black creature responded gallantly. With head
+low to the ground, his muscles standing out like ropes upon his
+shoulders, his forelegs bent like grappling-hooks, his quarters tucked
+beneath him, he put his giant heart into the work. Step by step, inch
+by inch he gained, yawing and sliding, stumbling and floundering,
+making way where all way seemed impossible. Slowly they crept up,
+slowly, slowly they neared that coveted line. Buck was breathing hard.
+C�sar was blowing and had thrown his mouth agape, a sign that beyond
+this he could make no further effort. Five yards--two yards. The
+jagged line seemed to come down to meet them. At last, with a final
+spring, the great horse trampled it under foot.
+
+Buck heaved a sigh of relief.
+
+"Gee!" he murmured. Then with the wide, black plain stretching before
+him, its limits lost in a strange mist, he flung out of the saddle.
+
+He stared about him curiously. Devil's Hill was in no way new to him.
+Many a time he had visited its mysterious regions, but always had he
+approached it from the prospecting camp, or his own farm, both of
+which lay away on the northern side of it.
+
+A wide plateau, nearly two miles in extent, stretched out before him.
+It was as flat as the proverbial board, with just one isolated rock
+towering upon its bosom. This was the chief object of interest now.
+Away in the distance he beheld its ghostly outline, almost lost in the
+ruddy atmosphere which, just now, seemed to envelop the whole of that
+Western world.
+
+It was a desolate scene. So desolate as to carry a strange sense of
+depression to the heart of the horseman. There was not a tree in
+sight--nor a single blade of grass. There was nothing but the funereal
+black of basaltic rock, of which the hill seemed to be one solid mass.
+Such was its desolation that even the horse seemed to be drooping at
+the sight of it. It was always the same with Buck. There was an
+influence about the place which always left him feeling rather
+hopeless. He knew the old Indian stories of superstition. He knew the
+awe in which the more ignorant among the white folk held this hill.
+But these things left him unaffected. He only regarded it from his own
+personal observations, which were not very enlivening.
+
+Apart from the fact that not one atom of vegetation would grow either
+upon the surface or slopes of Devil's Hill, no snows in winter had
+ever been known to settle upon its uninviting bosom. Long before the
+snow touched its surface, however low the temperature of the
+atmosphere, however severe a blizzard might be raging--and the Montana
+blizzards are notorious for their severity--the snow was turned to
+water, and a deluge of rain hissed upon its surface.
+
+Then, too, there was that mystery rock in the distance of the great
+plateau. It was one of Nature's little enigmas with which she loves to
+puzzle the mind of man. How came it there, shot up in the midst of
+that wide, flat stretch of rock? It stood within a few hundred yards
+of the eastern brink of the hill which, in its turn, was another
+mystery. The eastern extremity was not a mere precipice, it was a vast
+overhang which left Yellow Creek, upon whose banks the mining camps
+were pitched, flowing beneath the roof of a giant tunnel supported by
+a single side.
+
+The rock on the plateau reared its misshapen head to the heavens at a
+height of something over two hundred feet, and its great base formed a
+vast cavern out of which, fanwise, spread a lake of steaming water,
+which flowed on to the very brink of the hill where it overshadowed
+the creek below. Thus it was, more than half the lake was held
+suspended in mid-air, with no other support than the parent hill from
+which its bed projected. It was an awesome freak of nature, calculated
+to astonish even eyes that were accustomed to the sight of it.
+
+But Buck was not thinking of these things now. He was looking at the
+view. He was looking at the sky. He was looking from this great height
+for an explanation of the curious, ruddy light in the sunless sky, the
+teeming haze which weighted down the brain, and, with the slightest
+movement, opened the pores of the skin and set the perspiration
+streaming.
+
+In all his years of the Montana hills he had never experienced such a
+curious atmospheric condition. Less than an hour ago he had left the
+Padre at the fur fort under a blazing summer sky, with the crisp
+mountain air whipping in his nostrils. Then, quite of a sudden, had
+come this change. There were no storm-clouds, and yet storm was in
+every breath of the superheated air he took. There was no wind, nor
+anything definite to alarm except this sudden blind heat and the
+purple hue which seemed to have spread itself over the whole world.
+Thus it was, as he neared the mysterious mountain, he had made up his
+mind to its ascent in the hope of finding, there upon the unwholesome
+plateau, the key to the atmospheric mystery.
+
+But none seemed to be forthcoming, so, turning at last to the patient
+C�sar, he once more returned to the saddle and rode on to the barren
+shores of Devil's Lake.
+
+The lake was a desolate spot. The waters stretched out before him,
+still, and silent, and black. There was not even a ripple upon its
+steaming surface. Here the haze hung as it always hung, and the cavern
+was belching forth deep mists, like the breathing of some prehistoric
+monster. He glanced up at the birdless rock above, and into the broken
+outlines of it he read the distorted features of some baleful, living
+creature, or some savage idol. But there was no answer here to the
+questions of his mind, any more than there had been on the rest of the
+plateau, so he rode on along the edge of the water.
+
+He reached the extreme end of the lake and paused again. He could go
+no farther, for nothing but a rocky parapet, less than twenty feet
+wide, barred the waters from tumbling headlong to the depths below.
+
+After a moment C�sar grew restless, his equine nerves seemed to be on
+a jangle, and the steadying hand of his master had no effect. His eyes
+were wistful and dilated, and he glanced distrustfully from side to
+side, snorting loudly his evident alarm. Buck moved him away from his
+proximity to the water, and turned to a critical survey of the remoter
+crests of the Rocky Mountains.
+
+The white snowcaps had gone. The purple of the lesser hills, usually
+so delicate in their gradings, were lost in one monotony of dull red
+light. The nearer distance was a mere world of ghostly shadows tinged
+with the same threatening hue, and only the immediate neighborhood was
+in any way clean cut and sharp to the eye. His brows drew together in
+perplexity. Again, down there in the valley, beyond the brink of the
+plateau, the dull red fog prevailed, and yet through it he could see
+the dim picture of grass-land, of woods, of river, and the rising
+slopes of more hills beyond.
+
+No, the secret of the atmospheric phenomenon was not up here, and it
+was useless to waste more time. So he moved off, much to his impatient
+horse's relief, in a direction where he knew a gentle slope would lead
+him from the hilltop to the neighborhood of the old farm and the ford
+across Yellow Creek.
+
+But even this way the road required negotiation, for the same bald
+rocks and barrenness offered no sure foothold. However, C�sar was used
+to this path, and made no mistakes. His master gave him his head, and,
+with eyes to the ground, the sure-footed beast moved along with almost
+cat-like certainty. At last the soft soil of the valley was reached
+again, and once more the deepening woods swallowed them up.
+
+The end of Buck's journey lay across Yellow Creek, where a few
+miserable hovels sheltered a small community of starving gold-seekers,
+and thither he now hastened. On his way he had a distant view of the
+old farm. He would have preferred to have avoided it, but that was
+quite impossible. He had not yet got over the parting from it, which
+had taken place the previous day. To him had fallen the lot of handing
+it over to the farm-wife who had been sent on ahead from Leeson Butte
+to prepare it for her employer's coming. And the full sense of his
+loss was still upon him. Wrong as he knew himself to be, he resented
+the newcomer's presence in his old home, and could not help regarding
+her as something in the nature of a usurper.
+
+The camp to which he was riding was a wretched enough place. Nor could
+Nature, here in her most luxuriant mood, relieve it from its sordid
+aspect. A few of the huts were sheltered at the fringe of the dark
+woods, but most were set out upon the foreground of grass, which
+fronted the little stream.
+
+As Buck approached he could not help feeling that they were the most
+deplorable huts ever built. They were like a number of inverted square
+boxes, with roofs sloping from front to back. They were made out of
+rough logs cut from the pine woods, roofed in with an ill-laid thatch
+of mud and grass, supported on the lesser limbs cut from the trees
+felled to supply the logs. How could such despairing hovels ever be
+expected to shelter men marked out for success? There was disaster,
+even tragedy, in every line of them. They were scarcely even shelters
+from the elements. With their broken mud plaster, their doorless
+entrances, their ill-laid thatch, they were surely little better than
+sieves.
+
+Then their surroundings of garbage, their remnants of coarse garments
+hanging out upon adjacent bushes, their lack of every outward sign of
+industrial prosperity. No, to Buck's sympathetic eyes, there was
+tragedy written in every detail of the place.
+
+Were not these people a small band of regular tramp gold-seekers? What
+was their outlook? What was their perspective? The tramp gold-seeker
+is a creature apart from the rest of the laboring world. He is not an
+ordinary worker seeking livelihood in a regular return from his daily
+effort. He works under the influence of a craze that is little less
+than disease. He could never content himself with stereotyped
+employment.
+
+Besides, the rot of degradation soon seizes upon his moral nature. No
+matter what his origin, what his upbringing, his education, his
+pursuit of gold seems to have a deadening effect upon all his finer
+instincts, and reduces him swiftly to little better than the original
+animal. Civilization is forgotten, buried deep beneath a mire of
+moral mud, accumulated in long years, and often in months only of
+association with the derelicts and "hard cases" of the world. Rarely
+enough, when Fortune's pendulum swings toward one more favored
+individual, a flickering desire to return to gentler paths will
+momentarily stir amidst the mire, but it seldom amounts to more than
+something in the nature of a drunkard's dream in moments of sobriety,
+and passes just as swiftly. The lustful animal appetite is too
+powerful; it demands the sordid pleasures which the possession of gold
+makes possible. Nor will it be satisfied with anything else. A tramp
+gold-seeker is irreclaimable. His joy lies in his quest and the dreams
+of fortune which are all too rarely fulfilled Every nerve centre is
+drugged with his lust, and, like all decadents, he must fulfil the
+destiny which his own original weakness has marked out for him.
+
+Buck understood something of all this without reasoning it out in
+his simple mind. He understood with a heart as reckless as their own,
+but with a brain that had long since gathered strength from the
+gentle wisdom of the man who was a sort of foster-father to him. He
+did not pity. He felt he had no right to pity, but he had a deep
+sympathy and love for the strongly human motives which stirred these
+people. Success or failure, he saw them as men and women whose many
+contradictory qualities made them intensely lovable and sometimes even
+objects for respect, if for nothing else, at least for their very
+hardihood and courage.
+
+He rode up to the largest hut, which stood beyond the shadow of a
+group of pine-trees, and dropped out of the saddle. With careful
+forethought he loosened the cinchas of C�sar's saddle and removed the
+bit from his mouth. Then, with one last look at the purpling heavens,
+he pushed aside the tattered blanket which hung across the doorway and
+strode into the dimly-lit apartment.
+
+It was a silent greeting that welcomed him. His own "Howdy" met with
+no verbal response. But every eye of the men lying about on blankets
+outspread upon the dusty floor was turned in his direction.
+
+The scene was strange enough, but for Buck it had nothing new. The
+gaunt faces and tattered clothing had long since ceased to drive him
+to despairing protest. He knew, in their own phraseology, they were
+"up against it"--the "it" in this case meaning the hideous spectre of
+starvation. He glanced over the faces and counted seven of them. He
+knew them all. But, drawing forward an upturned soap-box, he sat down
+and addressed himself to Curly Saunders, who happened to be lying on
+his elbow nearest the door.
+
+"Say, I just came along to give you word that vittles are on the way
+from Leeson Butte," he said, as though the fact was of no serious
+importance.
+
+Curly, a short, thick-set man of enormous strength and round, youngish
+face, eased himself into a half-sitting position. But before he could
+answer another man, with iron-gray hair, sat up alertly and eyed their
+visitor without much friendliness.
+
+"More o' the Padre's charity?" he said, in a manner that suggested
+resentment at the benefit he had no intention of refusing. Curiously
+enough, too, his careless method of expression in no way disguised the
+natural refinement of his voice.
+
+Buck shook his head, and his eyes were cold.
+
+"Don't guess there's need of charity among friends, Beasley."
+
+Beasley Melford laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh.
+
+"Guess it makes him feel good dopin' out stuff to us same as if we was
+bums," he said harshly.
+
+"Shut up!" cried a voice from a remote corner. Buck looked over and
+saw a lean, dark man hugging his knees and smoking a well-burnt briar
+pipe. The same voice went on: "Guess you'd sicken most anybody,
+Beasley. You got a mean mind. Guess the Padre's a hell of a bully
+feller."
+
+"He sure is," said Montana Ike, lolling over on to his side and
+pushing his canvas kit-bag into a more comfortable position. "You was
+sayin' there was vittles comin' along, Buck? Guess ther' ain't no
+'chawin'' now?"
+
+"Tobacco, sure," responded Buck with a smile.
+
+One by one the men sat up on their frowsy blankets. The thought of
+provisions seemed to have roused them from their lethargy. Buck's eyes
+wandered over the faces peering at him out of the murky shadows. The
+squalor of the hut was painful, and, with the knowledge that help was
+at hand, the sight struck him even more forcibly.
+
+"Quit work?" he asked a moment later, in his abrupt fashion.
+
+Somebody laughed.
+
+Buck looked round for an answer. And again his eyes caught the steely,
+ironical gleam in the man Beasley's.
+
+"The last o' Slaney's kids 'passed in' last night. Guess we're goin'
+to bury her."
+
+Buck nodded. He had no words. But he carefully avoided looking in the
+direction of Slaney Dick, who sat in a far corner smoking his pipe and
+hugging his great knees.
+
+Beasley went on in the same half-mocking tone--
+
+"Guess it's up to me to read the service over her."
+
+"You!"
+
+Buck could not help the ejaculation. Beasley Melford was an unfrocked
+Churchman. Nor was it known the reason of his dismissal from his
+calling. All Buck knew was that Beasley was a man of particularly low
+morals and detestable nature. The thought that he was to administer
+the last rites of the Church over the dead body of a pure and innocent
+infant set his every feeling in active protest. He turned to Slaney.
+
+"The Padre buried the others?" he said questioningly.
+
+It was Dick's partner, Abe Allinson, who took it upon himself to
+answer.
+
+"Y' see the Padre's done a heap. Slaney's missis didn't guess we'd
+orter worrit him. That's how she said."
+
+Buck suddenly swung round on Beasley.
+
+"Fix it for to-morrow, an' the Padre'll be right along."
+
+He looked the ex-Churchman squarely in the eye. He was not making a
+request. His words were an emphatic refusal to allow the other the
+office. It was Slaney who answered him.
+
+"I'm glad," he said. Then, as an afterthought, "an' the missis'll be
+glad, too."
+
+After that nobody seemed inclined to break the silence. Nor was it
+until somebody hawked and spat that the spell was broken.
+
+"We bin holdin' a meetin'," said Curly Saunders heavily. "Y' see, it
+ain't no good."
+
+Buck nodded at the doorway.
+
+"You mean----?"
+
+"The prospect," Beasley broke in and laughed. "Say, we sure been
+suckers stayin' around so long. Ther' ain't no gold within a hundred
+miles of us. We're just lyin' rottin' around like--stinkin' sheep."
+
+Curly nodded.
+
+"Sure. That's why we held a meeting. We're goin' to up stakes an'
+git."
+
+"Where to?"
+
+Buck's quick inquiry met with a significant silence, which Montana Ike
+finally broke.
+
+"See here," he cried, with sudden force. "What's the use in astin'
+fool questions? Ther' ain't no gold, ther' ain't nuthin'. We got color
+fer scratchin' when we first gathered around like skippin' lambs, but
+ther's nuthin' under the surface, an' the surface is played right
+out. I tell you it's a cursed hole. Jest look around. Look at yonder
+Devil's Hill. Wher'd you ever see the like? That's it. Devil's Hill.
+Say, it's a devil's region, an' everything to it belongs to the devil.
+Ther' ain't nuthin' fer us--nuthin', but to die of starvin'. Ah,
+psha'! It's a lousy world. Gawd, when I think o' the wimminfolk it
+makes my liver heave. Say, some of them pore kiddies ain't had milk
+fer weeks, an' we only ke'p 'em alive thro' youse two fellers. Say,"
+he went on, in a sudden burst of passion, "we got a right, same as
+other folk, to live, an' our kids has, an' our wimmin too. Mebbe we
+ain't same as other folks, them folks with their kerridges an' things
+in cities, mebbe our kiddies ain't got no names by the Chu'ch, an' our
+wimmin ain't no Chu'ch writin' fer sharin' our blankets, but we got a
+right to live, cos we're made to live. An' by Gee! I'm goin' to live!
+I tell youse folk right here, ther's cattle, an' ther's horses, an'
+ther's grain in this dogone land, an' I'm goin' to git what I need of
+'em ef I'm gettin' it at the end of a gun! That's me, fellers, an'
+them as has the notion had best foller my trail."
+
+The hungry eyes of the man shone in the dusk of the room. The harsh
+lines of his weak face were desperate. Every word he said he meant,
+and his whole protest was the just complaint of a man willing enough
+to accept the battle as it came, but determined to save life itself by
+any means to his hand.
+
+It was Beasley who caught at the suggestion.
+
+"You've grit, Ike, an' guess I'm with you at any game like that."
+
+Buck waited for the others. He had no wish to persuade them to any
+definite course. He had come there with definite instructions from the
+Padre, and in his own time he would carry them out.
+
+A youngster, who had hitherto taken no part in the talk, suddenly
+lifted a pair of heavy eyes from the torn pages of a five-cent novel.
+
+"Wal!" he cried abruptly. "Wot's the use o' gassin'? Let's light right
+out. That's how we sed 'fore you come along, Buck." He paused, and a
+sly grin slowly spread over his features. Then, lowering his voice to
+a persuasive note, he went on, "Here, fellers, mebbe ther' ain't
+more'n cents among us. Wal, I'd sure say we best pool 'em, an' I'll
+set right out over to Bay Creek an' git whisky. I'll make it in four
+hours. Then we'll hev jest one hell of a time to-night, an' up stakes
+in the morning, fer--fer any old place out o' here. How's that?"
+
+"Guess our few cents don't matter, anyways," agreed Curly, his dull
+eyes brightening. "I'd say the Kid's right. I ain't lapped a sup o'
+rye in months."
+
+"It ain't bad fer Soapy," agreed Beasley. "Wot say, boys?"
+
+He glanced round for approval and found it in every eye except
+Slaney's. The bereaved father seemed utterly indifferent to anything
+except his own thoughts, which were of the little waxen face he had
+watched grow paler and paler in his arms only yesterday morning, until
+he had laid the poor little dead body in his weeping woman's lap.
+
+Buck felt the time had come for him to interpose. He turned on Beasley
+with unmistakable coldness.
+
+"Guess the Padre got the rest of his farm money yesterday--when the
+woman came along," he said. "An' the vittles he ordered are on the
+trail. I'd say you don't need to light out--yet."
+
+Beasley laughed offensively.
+
+"Still on the charity racket?" he sneered.
+
+Buck's eyes lit with sudden anger.
+
+"You don't need to touch the vittles," he cried. "You haven't any
+woman, and no kiddies. Guess there's nothing to keep you from getting
+right out."
+
+He eyed the man steadily, and then turned slowly to the others.
+
+"Here, boys, the Padre says the food and canned truck'll be along
+to-morrow morning. And you can divide it between you accordin' to your
+needs. If you want to get out it'll help you on the road. And he'll
+hand each man a fifty-dollar bill, which'll make things easier. If you
+want to stop around, and give the hill another chance, why the fifty
+each will make a grub stake."
+
+The proposition was received in absolute silence. Even Beasley had no
+sneering comment. The Kid's eyes were widely watching Buck's dark
+face. Slaney had removed his pipe, and, for the moment, his own
+troubles were forgotten under a sudden thrill of hope. Curly Saunders
+sat up as though about to speak, but no words came. Abe Allinson,
+Ike, and Blue Grass Pete contented themselves with staring their
+astonishment at the Padre's munificence. Finally Slaney hawked and
+spat.
+
+"Seems to me," he said, in his quiet, drawling voice, "the Padre sold
+his farm to help us out."
+
+"By Gee! that's so," exclaimed Curly, thumping a fist into the palm of
+his other hand.
+
+The brightening eyes lit with hope. The whole atmosphere of the place
+seemed to have lost something of its depression.
+
+Ike shook his head.
+
+"I'm gettin' out. But say, the Padre's a bully feller."
+
+Abe nodded.
+
+"Ike's right. Slaney an' me's gettin' out, too. Devil's Hill's a
+cursed blank."
+
+"Me, too," broke in the Kid. "But say, wot about poolin' our cents for
+whisky?" he went on, his young mind still intent upon the contemplated
+orgie.
+
+It was Buck who helped the wavering men to their decision. He
+understood them. He understood their needs. The ethics of the
+proposition did not trouble him. These men had reached a point where
+they needed a support such as only the fiery spirits their stomachs
+craved could give them. The Padre's help would come afterward. At the
+moment, after the long weeks of disappointment, they needed something
+to lift them, even if it was only momentarily. He reached round to his
+hip-pocket and pulled out two single-dollar bills and laid them on the
+dusty ground in front of him.
+
+"Ante up, boys," he said cheerfully. "Empty your dips. The Kid's
+right. An' to-morrow you can sure choose what you're going to do."
+Then he turned to the Kid. "My plug C�sar's outside. Guess you best
+take him. He'll make the journey in two hours. An' you'll need to
+bustle him some, because ther's a kind o' storm gettin' around right
+smart. Eh?" He turned and glanced sharply at Beasley. "You got a
+dollar?"
+
+"It's fer whisky," leered the ex-Churchman, as he laid the dirty paper
+on the top of Buck's.
+
+In two minutes the pooling was completed and the Kid prepared to set
+out. Eight dollars was all the meeting could muster--eight dollars
+collected in small silver, which represented every cent these men
+possessed in the world. Buck knew this. At least he could answer for
+everybody except perhaps Beasley Melford. That wily individual he
+believed was capable of anything. He was sure that he was capable of
+accepting anything from anybody, while yet being in a position to more
+than help himself.
+
+Buck went outside to see the Kid off, and some of the men had gathered
+in the doorway. They watched the boy swing himself into the saddle,
+and the desperate shadows had lightened on their hungry faces. The
+buoyancy of their irresponsible natures was reasserting itself. That
+bridge, which the Padre's promise had erected between their despair
+and the realms of hope, however slight its structure, was sufficient
+to lift them once more to the lighter mood so natural to them.
+
+So their tongues were loosened, and they offered their messenger
+the jest from which they could seldom long refrain, the coarse,
+deep-throated jest which sprang from sheer animal spirits rather than
+any subtlety of wit. They forgot for the time that until Buck's coming
+they had contemplated the burial of a comrade's only remaining
+offspring. They forgot that the grieving father was still within the
+hut, his great jaws clenched upon the mouthpiece of his pipe, his
+hollow eyes still gazing straight in front of him. That was their way.
+There was a slight ray of hope for them, a brief respite. There was
+the thought, too, of eight dollars' worth of whisky, a just portion of
+which was soon to be in each stomach.
+
+But Buck was not listening to them. He had almost forgotten the
+messenger riding away on his treasured horse, so occupied was he by
+the further change that had occurred in the look of the sky and in the
+atmosphere of the valley. Presently he lifted one strong, brown hand
+to his forehead and wiped the beads of perspiration from it.
+
+"Phew! What heat! Here," he cried, pointing at Devil's Hill, away to
+his left, "what d'you make of that?"
+
+For a moment all eyes followed the direction of his outstretched arm.
+And slowly there grew in them a look of awe such as rarely found place
+in their feelings.
+
+The crown of the hill, the whole of the vast, black plateau was
+enveloped in a dense gray fog. Above that hung a mighty, thunderous
+pall of purple storm-cloud. Back, away into the mountains in billowy
+rolls it extended, until the whole distance was lost in a blackness as
+of night.
+
+It was Curly Saunders who broke the awed silence.
+
+"Jumpin' Mackinaw!" he cried. Then he looked after their departing
+messenger. "Say, that feller oughtn't to've gone to Bay Creek. He'll
+never make it."
+
+Beasley, whose feelings were less susceptible, and whose mind was set
+on the promised orgie, sneered at the other's tone.
+
+"Skeered some, ain't you? Tcha'! It's jest wind----"
+
+But he never completed his sentence. At that instant the whole of the
+heavens seemed to split and gape open. A shaft of light, extending
+from horizon to horizon, paralyzed their vision. It was accompanied by
+a crash of thunder that set their ear-drums well-nigh bursting. Both
+lightning and the thunder lasted for what seemed interminable minutes
+and left their senses dazed, and the earth rocking beneath their
+feet. Again came the blinding light, and again the thunder crashed.
+Then, in a moment, panic had set in, and the tattered blanket had
+fallen behind the last man as a rush was made for the doubtful shelter
+of the hut.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+OUT OF THE STORM
+
+
+The challenge had gone forth. In those two vivid shafts of light,
+in the deafening peals of thunder the war of elements had been
+proclaimed, and these men of the wilderness understood something of
+their danger.
+
+Thereafter, for some moments, a threatening silence reigned
+everywhere. The birds, the insects even, all life seemed to crouch,
+hushed and expectant. The valley might have been the valley of death,
+so still, so dark, so threatening was the superheated atmosphere that
+hung over it.
+
+The men within the shelter of the hut waited, and only Buck and Blue
+Grass Pete stood near the blanket-covered doorway. There was little
+enough confidence in the inefficient shelter of the hut, but it was
+their natural retreat and so they accepted it. Then the moment of
+tension passed, and Buck, glancing swiftly round the hut, seized a
+hammer and hastily secured the covering of the doorway.
+
+"She'll be on us right smart," he observed to Pete, who assisted him
+while the others looked on.
+
+"Yes," replied Pete resignedly. "Guess we're goin' to git it good."
+There was not only resignation, but indifference in his tone.
+
+Buck glanced up at the roof, and the rest followed his gaze curiously.
+He shook his head.
+
+"It's worse than----"
+
+But he did not finish what he had to say. A strange hissing broke from
+the distance, like the sound of rushing water, and, with each passing
+moment, it grew in volume until, out of the heart of it, a
+deep-throated roar boomed over the hilltops.
+
+It was a great wind-storm leaping down from the everlasting snows of
+the mountains, tearing its way through the lean branches of the
+forest-tops, the wide-gaping valleys, and rushing up the hillsides
+with a violence that tore limbs from the parent trunks and rooted out
+trees that had withstood a thousand storms. It was the deep breath of
+the storm fiend launched upon a defenseless earth, carrying wreck and
+destruction whithersoever its blast was turned.
+
+"By Jing'!"
+
+It was Montana Ike who voiced the awe crowding every heart.
+
+But his exclamation brought the practical mind of Buck to
+consideration of their needs. His eyes turned again to the roof, and
+Pete voiced his thoughts.
+
+"She'll carry away like--like a kite when it hits us," he declared.
+Several more pairs of eyes were turned helplessly upward. Suddenly
+Buck swung round upon the doorway.
+
+"Here she comes," he cried. "Holy----!"
+
+With a rush and a deafening roar the wind hit the building and set it
+rocking. Buck and Pete flung themselves with arms outspread against
+the ballooning blanket, and it held. Again the wind crashed against
+the sides of the hut. Some one flung himself to the two men's
+assistance. Then came a ripping and tearing, and the thatch hissed
+away on the breath of the storm like straw caught in a whirlwind. The
+men gazed stupidly up at the blackened heavens, which were now like
+night. There was nothing to be done. What could they do? They were
+helpless. And not even a voice could make itself heard in the howling
+of the wind as it shrieked about the angles of the building.
+
+Then came the rain. It fell in great drops whose sheer weight and size
+carried them, at the moment of impact, through the ragged shirts to
+the warm flesh beneath. In a second, it seemed, a waterspout was upon
+them and was pouring its tide into the roofless hut.
+
+With the deluge, the elemental battle began in desperate earnest. Peal
+after peal of thunder crashed directly overhead, and with it came such
+a display of heavenly pyrotechnics that in their wildest moments these
+men had never dreamed of. Their eyes were blinded, and their ear-drums
+were bursting with the incessant hammering of the thunder.
+
+But the wind had passed on, shrieking and tearing its way into the dim
+distance until its voice was utterly drowned in the sterner
+detonations of the battle.
+
+Drenched to the skin, knee-deep in water, the men stood herded
+together like sheep in a pen. Their blankets were awash and floated
+about, tangling their legs in the miniature lake that could not find
+rapid enough exit through the doorway. They could only stand there
+stupidly. To go outside was to find no other shelter, and only the
+more openly to expose themselves to the savage forks of lightning
+playing across the heavens in such blinding streaks. Nor could they
+help the women even if they needed help in the other huts. The roofs
+and doors would or would not hold, and, in the latter case, until the
+force of the storm abated no help could serve them.
+
+The storm showed no signs of abatement. The black sky was the sky of
+an unlit night. There was no lightening in any direction, and the
+blinding flashes amidst the din of thunder only helped to further
+intensify the pitchy vault. The splitting of trees amidst the chaos
+reached the straining ears, and it was plain that every flash of light
+was finding a billet for its forked tongue in the adjacent forests.
+
+The time dragged on. How long or how short was the period of the storm
+none of the men wondered or cared. The rapidity of the thunder
+crashes, the swift successions of lightning entirely held them, and,
+strong as they were, these things kept their nerves jumping.
+
+Once in the midst of it all a man suddenly cried out. His cry came
+with a more than usually brilliant flash of purplish, steel-blue fire.
+The intensity of it carried pain to the now supersensitive nerves of
+his vision, and he turned and flung himself with his face buried upon
+his arm against the dripping wall. It was Beasley Melford. He stood
+there cowering, a dreadful terror shaking his every nerve.
+
+The others turned stupidly in his direction, but none had thought for
+his suffering. Each was hard pressed to face the terror of it all
+himself; each was wondering at what moment his own limits would be
+reached. Buck alone showed no sign of the nervous tension. His deep
+brown eyes watched the group about him, automatically blinking with
+every flash of light, and with only the slightest possible start as
+the thunder crashed into his ears.
+
+He was thinking, too--thinking hard of many things. The Padre was out
+in the hills with gun and traps. Would he have anticipated the swift
+rising storm and regained the shelter of the stout old fort? With the
+boom of falling trees going on about them, with the fiery crackle of
+the blazing light as it hit the topmost branches of the adjacent
+forest, he wondered and hoped, and feared for the old man in the same
+thought.
+
+Then there were those others. The women and children in the other
+huts. How were they faring? But he remembered that the married
+quarters were better built than this hut had been, and he drew comfort
+from the thought. And what of the Kid, and of C�sar?
+
+More than two hours passed before any change came. The deafening peals
+of thunder seemed as though they would never lessen in tone. The
+night-like heavens seemed as though no sun could ever hope to
+penetrate them again. And the streaming rain--was there ever such a
+deluge since the old Biblical days!
+
+Buck understood now the nature of the storm. Probably twenty years
+would elapse before another cloudburst would occur again, and the
+thought set him speculating upon the effect this might have upon the
+lake on Devil's Hill. What might not happen? And then the creek below!
+He remembered that these huts of the gold-seekers were on the
+low-lying banks of the creek. What if it flooded? He stirred uneasily,
+and, turning to the doorway, opened a loose fold in the blanket and
+peered out.
+
+He saw the creek in a sudden blaze of light, and in that momentary
+brilliance he saw that the rushing water was rising rapidly. A grave
+feeling of uneasiness stirred him and he turned back to his
+companions. For once in his life he felt utterly helpless.
+
+Another hour passed. The atmospheric heat had passed, and the men
+stood shivering in the water. The chill was biting into their very
+bones, but still there was no respite. Twice more Buck turned anxious
+eyes upon the creek. And each time his alarm increased as the blinding
+light revealed the rapid rise of the water. He dared not voice his
+fears yet. He understood the condition of mind prevailing. To warn his
+companions would be to set them rushing to get their womenfolk out of
+their shelters, and this must not be thought of--yet.
+
+He had just arrived at the conclusion that he would abide by his next
+observation when the long-looked-for change began. It came as suddenly
+as the rising of the storm itself. It came in a rapid lightening of
+the sky overhead. From black to gray it turned almost in a second. A
+dull, ominous, rolling world of gray rain-clouds. The thunder died
+away and the blinding flashes came no more. It was as though the storm
+had been governed by one all-powerful will and the word to "cease
+fire" had been hurled across the heavens as the last discharge of
+monstrous artillery had been fired. Then, with the lifting of the
+darkness, the rain slackened too, and the deluge eased.
+
+Buck sighed his relief, and Curly Saunders, from near by, audibly
+expressed his.
+
+"She's lettin' up," he growled.
+
+Pete caught at his words.
+
+"It sure is."
+
+Buck was about to speak, but his lips remained open and he stood
+listening.
+
+What was that?
+
+Something was moving beyond the doorway. Something touched the
+blanket as though seeking support. Then it slid down, its movement
+visible in the bulging of the drenched cloth. This was followed by a
+heavy, squelching flop. The body, whatever it was, had fallen into the
+streaming water pouring from within the hut. Then came a long-drawn,
+piteous moan that held the men gazing silently and stupidly at the
+sagging blanket.
+
+It was while they stood thus that the rain ceased altogether, and the
+great storm-clouds broke and began to disperse, and a watery sunbeam
+lit the wreck of the passing storm. As its light poured in upon the
+wretched interior a second moan, short and weak but distinctly
+audible, reached the astounded ears of the men. There was a moment's
+pause as it died out, then Buck's arm shot out, and, seizing the edge
+of the blanket, he ripped it from its fastenings and let it fall to
+the ground. Instantly every neck was set craning, and every eye was
+alight with wonder, for there, half-resting upon the sill of the
+doorway, and half-lying upon the ground with the water streaming
+everywhere about her, lay the huddled, half-drowned figure of a young
+woman.
+
+"It's--it's a--woman," cried Pete stupidly, unable to contain his
+astonishment longer.
+
+"It sure is," murmured Curly, with equal brightness.
+
+But while they gave the company the benefit of their keenness of
+perception Buck had dropped upon his knees and was bending over the
+wretched victim of the storm. He raised her, and drew her tenderly
+into his arms.
+
+"'Tain't one of ours," announced Ike over his shoulder.
+
+"No." Buck's monosyllable displayed no great interest in his remark.
+
+Amidst a dead silence Buck suddenly straightened up, with the
+dripping figure clasped tightly in his strong arms. A great pity shone
+in his eyes as he gazed down into the fair young face. It was the
+first time in all his life he had held a woman in his arms, and the
+sensation of it made him forget those others about him.
+
+Suddenly Ike's voice aroused him.
+
+"By Gar!" he cried. "Jest look at that red ha'r. Say, easy, boys,
+we're treadin' it around in the mud."
+
+It was true. The great masses of the girl's red-gold hair had fallen
+loose and were trailing in the water as Buck held her. It reached from
+the man's shoulder, where her head was pillowed, and the heavy-footed
+men were trampling the ends of it into the mud. Ike stooped and
+rescued the sodden mass, and laid it gently across Buck's shoulders.
+
+For a moment the sun shone down upon the wondering group. The clouds
+had broken completely, and were scattering in every direction as
+though eager to escape observation after their recent shameful
+display. No one seemed to think of moving out into the rapidly warming
+open. They were content to gather about Buck's tall figure and gape
+down at the beautiful face of the girl lying in his arms.
+
+It was Beasley Melford who first became practical.
+
+"She's alive, anyway," he said. "Sort o' stunned. Mebbe it's the
+lightnin'."
+
+Pete turned, a withering glance upon his foxy face.
+
+"Lightnin' nuthin'," he cried scornfully. "If she'd bin hit she'd ha'
+bin black an' dead. Why, she--she ain't even brown. She's white as
+white." His voice became softer, and he was no longer addressing the
+ex-Churchman. "Did y' ever see sech skin--so soft an' white? An' that
+ha'r, my word! I'd gamble a dollar her eyes is blue--ef she'd jest
+open 'em."
+
+He reached out a great dirty hand to touch the beautiful whiteness of
+the girl's throat with a caressing movement, but instantly Buck's
+voice, sharp and commanding, stayed his action.
+
+"Quit that!" he cried. "Ke'p your durned hands to yourself," he added,
+with a strange hoarseness.
+
+Pete's eyes lit angrily.
+
+"Eh? What's amiss?" he demanded. "Guess I ain't no disease."
+
+Beasley chuckled across at him, and the sound of his mirth infuriated
+Buck. He understood the laugh and the meaning underlying it.
+
+"Buck turned wet nurse," cried the ex-Churchman, as he beheld the
+sudden flush on the youngster's face.
+
+"You can ke'p your durned talk," Buck cried. "You Beasley--and the lot
+of you," he went on recklessly. "She's no ord'nary gal; she's--she's a
+lady."
+
+Curly and Ike nodded agreement.
+
+But Beasley, whatever his fears of the storm, understood the men of
+his world. Nor had he any fear of them, and Buck's threat only had the
+effect of rousing the worst side of his nature, at all times very near
+the surface.
+
+"Lady? Psha'! Write her down a woman, they're all the same, only
+dressed different. Seems to me it's better they're all just women. An'
+Pete's good enough for any woman, eh, Pete? She's just a nice, dandy
+bit o' soft flesh an' blood, eh, Pete? Guess you like them sort, eh,
+Pete?"
+
+The man's laugh was a hideous thing to listen to, but Pete was not
+listening. Buck heard, and his dark face went ghastly pale, even
+though his eyes were fixed on the beautiful face with its closed,
+heavily-lashed eyes. Pete's attention was held by the delicate
+contours of her perfect figure and the gaping, bedraggled white
+shirt-waist, where the soft flesh of her fair bosom showed through,
+and the delicate lace and ribbons of her undergarments were left in
+full view.
+
+No one offered Beasley encouragement and his laugh fell flat. And when
+Curly spoke it was to express something of the general thought.
+
+"Wonder how she came here?" he said thoughtfully.
+
+"Seems as though the storm had kind o' dumped her down," Abe Allinson
+admitted.
+
+Again Beasley chuckled.
+
+"Say, was ther' ever such a miracle o' foolishness as you fellers? You
+make me laff--or tired, or something. Wher'd she come from? Ain't the
+Padre sold his farm?" he demanded, turning on Buck. "Ain't he sold it
+to a woman? An' ain't he expectin' her along?"
+
+Buck withdrew his eyes from the beautiful face, and looked up in
+answer to the challenge.
+
+"Why, yes," he said, his look suddenly hardening as he confronted
+Beasley's face. "I had forgotten. This must surely be Miss--Miss Rest.
+That's the name Mrs. Ransford, the old woman at the farm, said. Rest."
+He repeated the name as though it were pleasant to his ears.
+
+"Course," cried Curly cheerfully. "That's who it is--sure."
+
+"Rest, eh? Miss--Rest," murmured the preoccupied Pete. Then he added,
+half to himself, "My, but she's a dandy! Ain't--ain't she a pictur',
+ain't she----?"
+
+Buck suddenly pushed him aside, and his action was probably rougher
+than he knew. But for some reason he did not care. For some reason he
+had no thought for any one but the fair creature lying in his arms.
+His head was throbbing with a strange excitement, and he moved swiftly
+toward the door, anxious to leave the inquisitive eyes of his
+companions behind him.
+
+As he reached the door Beasley's hateful tones arrested him.
+
+"Say, you ain't takin' that pore thing up to the fort, are you?" he
+jeered.
+
+Buck swung about with the swiftness of a panther. His eyes were ablaze
+with a cold fire.
+
+"You rotten outlaw parson!" he cried.
+
+He waited for the insult to drive home. Then when he saw the fury in
+the other's face, a fury he intended to stir, he went on--
+
+"Another insinuation like that an' I'll shoot you like the dog you
+are," he cried, and without waiting for an answer he turned to the
+others. "Say, fellers," he went on, "I'm takin' this gal wher' she
+belongs--down to the farm. I'm goin' to hand her over to the old woman
+there. An' if I hear another filthy suggestion from this durned skunk
+Beasley, what I said goes. It's not a threat. It's a promise, sure,
+an' I don't ever forgit my promises."
+
+Beasley's face was livid, and he drew a sharp breath.
+
+"I don't know 'bout promises," he said fiercely. "But you won't find
+me fergittin' much either."
+
+Buck turned to the door again and threw his retort over his shoulder.
+
+"Then you sure won't forgit I've told you what you are."
+
+"I sure won't."
+
+Nor did Buck fail to appreciate the venom the other flung into his
+words. But he was reckless--always reckless. And he hurried through
+the doorway and strode off with his still unconscious burden.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+A SIMPLE MANHOOD
+
+
+All thought of Beasley Melford quickly became lost in feelings of a
+deeper and stronger nature as Buck passed out into the open. His was
+not a nature to dwell unnecessarily upon the clashings of every-day
+life. Such pinpricks were generally superficial, to be brushed aside
+and treated without undue consideration until such time as some
+resulting fester might gather and drastic action become necessary. The
+fester had not yet gathered, therefore he set his quarrel aside for
+the time when he could give it his undivided attention.
+
+As he strode away the world seemed very wide to Buck. So wide, indeed,
+that he had no idea of its limits, nor any desire to seek them. He
+preferred that his eyes should dwell only upon those things which
+presented themselves before a plain, wholesome vision. He had no
+desire to peer into the tainted recesses of any other life than that
+which he had always known. And in his outlook was to be witnessed the
+careful guidance of his friend, the Padre. Nor was his capacity
+stunted thereby, nor his strong manhood. On the contrary, it left him
+with a great reserve of power to fight his little battle of the
+wilderness.
+
+Yet surely such a nature as his should have been dangerously open to
+disaster. The guilelessness resulting from such a simplicity of life
+ought surely to have fitted him for a headlong rush into the pitfalls
+which are ever awaiting the unwary. This might have been so in a man
+of less strength, less reckless purpose. Therein lay his greatest
+safeguard. His was the strength, the courage, the resource of a mind
+trained in the hard school of the battle for existence in the
+wilderness, where, without subtlety, without fear, he walked over
+whatever path life offered him, ready to meet every obstruction, every
+disaster, with invincible courage.
+
+It was through this very attitude that his threat against Beasley
+Melford was not to be treated lightly. His comrades understood it.
+Beasley himself knew it. Buck had assured him that he would shoot him
+down like a dog if he offended against the unwritten laws of
+instinctive chivalry as he understood them, and he would do it without
+any compunction or fear of consequences.
+
+A woman's fame to him was something too sacred to be lightly treated,
+something quite above the mere consideration of life and death. The
+latter was an ethical proposition which afforded him, where a high
+principle was in the balance against it, no qualms whatsoever. It was
+the inevitable result of his harsh training in the life that was his.
+The hot, rich blood of strong manhood ran in his veins, but it was the
+hot blood tempered with honesty and courage, and without one single
+taint of meanness.
+
+As he passed down the river bank, beyond which the racing waters
+flowed a veritable torrent, he saw the camp women moving about outside
+their huts. He saw them wringing out their rain-drenched garments.
+Thus he knew that the storm had served their miserable homes badly,
+and he felt sorry for them.
+
+For the most part they were heavy, frowsy creatures, slatternly and
+uncouth. They came generally from the dregs of frontier cities, or
+were the sweepings of the open country, gleaned in the debauched
+moments of the men who protected them. Nor, as his eyes wandered in
+their direction, was it possible to help a comparison between them and
+the burden of delicate womanhood he held in his arms, a comparison
+which found them painfully wanting.
+
+He passed on under the bold scrutiny of those feminine eyes, but they
+left him quite unconscious. His thoughts had drifted into a wonderful
+dreamland of his own, a dreamland such as he had never visited before,
+an unsuspected dreamland whose beauties could never again hold him as
+they did now.
+
+The sparkling sunlight which had so swiftly followed in the wake of
+the storm, lapping up the moisture of the drenching earth with its
+fiery tongue, shed a radiance over the familiar landscape, so that it
+revealed new and unsuspected beauties to his wondering eyes. How came
+it that the world, his world, looked so fair? The distant hills, those
+hills which had always thrilled his heart with the sombre note of
+their magnificence, those hills which he had known since his earliest
+childhood, with their black, awe-inspiring forests, they were somehow
+different, so different.
+
+He traced the purple ridges step by step till they became a blurred,
+gray monotony of tone fading away until it lost itself in the
+glittering white of the snowcaps. Everything he beheld in a new light.
+No longer did those hills represent the battle-ground where he and the
+Padre fought out their meagre existence. They had suddenly become one
+vast and beautiful garden where life became idyllic, where existence
+changed to one long joy. The torrents had shrunk to gentle streams,
+babbling their wonderful way through a fairy-land of scented gardens.
+The old forceful tearing of a course through the granite hearts of the
+hills was a thought of some long-forgotten age far back in the dim
+recesses of memory. The gloom of the darkling forests, too, had passed
+into the sunlit parks of delight. The rugged canyons had given place
+to verdant valleys of succulent pasture. The very snows themselves,
+those stupendous, changeless barriers, suggested nothing so much as
+the white plains of perfect life.
+
+The old harsh lines of life had passed, and the sternness of the
+endless battle had given way to an unaccountable joy.
+
+Every point that his delighted eyes dwelt upon was tinged with
+something of the beatitude that stirred his senses. Every step he took
+was something of an unreality. And every whispering sound in the
+scented world through which he was passing found an echo of music in
+his dreaming soul.
+
+Contact with the yielding burden lying so passive in his strong arms
+filled him with a rapture such as he had never known. The thought of
+sex was still far from his mind, and only was the manhood in him
+yielding to the contact, and teaching him through the senses that
+which his upbringing had sternly denied him.
+
+He gazed down upon the wonderful pale beauty of the girl's face. He
+saw the rich parted lips between which shone the ivory of her perfect,
+even teeth. The hair, so rich and flowing, dancing with glittering
+beams of golden light, as, stirring beneath the breath of the
+mountains, it caught the reflection of a perfect sun.
+
+How beautiful she was. How delicate. The wonderful, almost transparent
+skin. He could trace the tangle of small blue veins like a fairy web
+through which flowed the precious life that was hers. And her
+eyes--those great, full, round pupils hidden beneath the veil of her
+deeply-fringed lids! But he turned quickly from them, for he knew that
+the moment she awoke his dream must pass into a memory.
+
+His gaze wandered to the swanlike roundness of her white throat, to
+the gaping shirt-waist, where the delicate lace and tiny ribbon peeped
+out at him. It was all so wonderful, so marvelous. And she was in his
+arms--she, this beautiful stranger. Yet somehow she did not seem like
+a stranger. To his inflamed fancy she seemed to have lain in his arms
+all his life, all her life. No, she was no stranger. He felt that she
+belonged to him, she was part of himself, his very life.
+
+Still she slept on. He suddenly found himself moving with greater
+caution, and he knew he was dreading the moment when some foolish
+stumble of his should bring her back to that life which he feared yet
+longed to behold. He longed for the delight of watching the play of
+emotions upon her lovely features, to hear her speak and laugh, and to
+watch her smile. He feared, for he knew that with her waking those
+delicious moments would be lost to him forever.
+
+So he dreamed on. In his inmost soul he knew he was dreaming, and, in
+his reckless fashion, he desired the dream to remain unending. He saw
+the old fur fort no longer the uncouth shelter of two lonely lives,
+but a home made beautiful by a presence such as he had never dreamed
+of, a presence that shed beauty upon all that came under the spell of
+its influence. He pictured the warmth of delight which must be the
+man's who lived in such an atmosphere.
+
+His muscles thrilled at the thought of what a man might do under such
+an inspiration. To what might he not aspire? To what heights might he
+not soar? Success must be his. No disaster could come--
+
+The girl stirred in his arms. He distinctly felt the movement, and
+looked down into her face with sudden apprehension. But his anxiety
+was swiftly dispelled, and a tender smile at once replaced the look in
+his dark eyes. No, she had not yet awakened, and so he was content.
+
+But the incident had brought him realization. His arms were stiff and
+cramped, and he must rest them. Strong man that he was he had been
+wholly unaware of the distance he had carried her.
+
+He gently laid her upon the grass and looked about him. Then it was
+that wonder crept into his eyes. He was at the ford of the creek, more
+than two miles from the camp, and on the hither bank, where the road
+entered the water, a spring cart lay overturned and broken, with the
+team of horses lying head down, buried beneath the turbulent waters as
+they raced on down with the flood.
+
+Now he understood the full meaning of her presence in the camp. His
+quick eyes took in every detail, and at once her coming was explained.
+He turned back in the direction whence he had come, and his mind flew
+to the distance of the ford from the camp. She had bravely faced a
+struggle over two miles of a trail quite unknown to her when the worst
+storm he had ever known was at its height. His eyes came back to the
+face of the unconscious girl in even greater admiration.
+
+"Not only beautiful but----"
+
+He turned away to the wreck, for there were still things he wished to
+know. And as he glanced about him he became more fully aware of the
+havoc of the storm. Even in the brilliant sunshine the whole prospect
+looked woefully jaded. Everywhere the signs told their pitiful tale.
+All along the river bank the torn and shattered pines drooped
+dismally. Even as he stood there great tree trunks and limbs of trees
+were washed down on the flood before his eyes. The banks were still
+pouring with the drainings of the hills and adding their quota to the
+swelling torrent.
+
+But the overturned spring cart held most interest just now, and he
+moved over to it. The vehicle was a complete wreck, so complete,
+indeed, that he wondered how the girl had escaped without injury. Two
+trunks lay near by, evidently thrown out by the force of the upset,
+and it pleased him to think that they had been saved to their owner.
+He examined them closely. Yes, the contents were probably untouched by
+the water. But what was this? The initials on the lid were "J. S." The
+girl's name was Rest. At least so Mrs. Ransford had stated. He
+wondered. Then his wonder passed. These were very likely trunks
+borrowed for the journey. He remembered that the Padre had a leather
+grip with other initials than his own upon it.
+
+Where was the teamster? He looked out at the racing waters, and the
+question answered itself. Then he turned quickly to the girl. Poor
+soul, he thought, her coming to the farm had been one series of
+disasters. So, with an added tenderness, he stooped and lifted her
+gently in his arms and proceeded on his way.
+
+At last he came to the farm, which only that morning he had so eagerly
+avoided. And his feelings were not at all unpleasant as he saw again
+the familiar buildings. The rambling house he had known so long
+inspired him with a fresh joy at the thought of its new occupant. He
+remembered how it had grown from a log cabin, just such as the huts of
+the gold-seekers, and how, with joy and pride, he and the Padre had
+added to it and reconstructed as the years went by. He remembered the
+time when he had planted the first wild cucumber, which afterward
+became an annual function and never failed to cover the deep veranda
+with each passing year. There, too, was the cabbage patch crowded with
+a wealth of vegetables. And he remembered how careful he had been to
+select a southern aspect for it. The small barns, the hog-pens, where
+he could even now hear the grunting swine grumbling their hours away.
+The corrals, two, across the creek, reached by a log bridge of their
+own construction. Then, close by stood the nearly empty hay corrals,
+waiting for this year's crop. No, the sight of these things had no
+regrets for him now. It was a pleasant thought that it was all so
+orderly and flourishing, since this girl was its future mistress.
+
+He reached the veranda before his approach was realized by the
+farm-wife within. Then, as his footsteps resounded on the rough
+surface of the flooring of split logs, Mrs. Ransford came bustling out
+of the parlor door.
+
+"Sakes on me!" she cried, as she beheld the burden in her visitor's
+arms. "If it ain't Miss Rest all dead an' done!" Her red hands went up
+in the air with such a comical tragedy, and her big eyes performed
+such a wide revolution in their fat, sunburnt setting that Buck
+half-feared an utter collapse. So he hurriedly sought to reassure
+her, and offered a smiling encouragement.
+
+"I allow she's mostly done, but I guess she's not dead," he said
+quickly.
+
+The old woman heaved a tragic sigh.
+
+"My! but you made me turn right over, as the sayin' is. You should
+ha' bin more careful, an' me with my heart too, an' all. The doctor
+told me as I was never to have no shock to speak of. They might set
+up hem--hemoritch or suthin' o' the heart, what might bring on
+sing--sing--I know it was suthin' to do with singin', which means I'd
+never live to see another storm like we just had, not if it sure come
+on this minit----"
+
+"I'm real sorry, ma'm," said Buck, smiling quietly at the old woman's
+volubility, but deliberately cutting it short. "I mean about the shock
+racket. Y' see she needs fixin' right, an' I guess it's up to you to
+git busy, while I go an' haul her trunks up from the creek."
+
+Again the woman's eyes opened and rolled.
+
+"What they doin' in the creek?" she demanded with sudden heat. "Who
+put 'em ther'? Some scallawag, I'll gamble. An' you standin' by seein'
+it done, as you might say. I never did see sech a place, nor sech
+folk. To think o' that pore gal a-settin' watchin' her trunks bein'
+pushed into the creek by a lot o' loafin' bums o' miners, an' no one
+honest enough, nor man enough to raise a hand to--to----"
+
+"With respec', ma'm, you're talkin' a heap o' foolishness," cried Buck
+impatiently, his anxiety for the girl overcoming his deference for the
+other's sex. "If you'll show me the lady's room I'll carry her right
+into it an' set her on her bed, an'----"
+
+"Mercy alive, what's the world a-comin' to!" cried the indignant
+farm-wife. "Me let the likes o' you into the gal's bedroom! You? Guess
+you need seein' to by the State, as the sayin' is. I never heard the
+like of it. Never. An' she jest a slip of a young gal, too, an' all."
+
+But Buck's patience was quite exhausted, and, without a moment's
+hesitation, he brushed the well-meaning but voluble woman aside and
+carried the girl into the house. He needed no guidance here. He knew
+which was the best bedroom and walked straight into it. There he laid
+the girl upon an old chintz-covered settee, so that her wet clothes
+might be removed before she was placed into the neat white bed waiting
+for her. And the clacking tongue of Ma Ransford pursued his every
+movement.
+
+"It's an insult," she cried angrily. "An insult to me an' mine, as you
+might say. Me, who's raised two daughters an' one son, all of 'em
+dead, more's the pity. First you drown the gal an' her baggage, an'
+then you git carryin' her around, an' walkin' into her virgin bedroom
+without no by your leave, nor nuthin'."
+
+But Buck quite ignored her protests. He felt it was useless to
+explain. So he turned back and gave his final instructions from the
+doorway.
+
+"You jest get her right to bed, ma'm, an' dose her," he said amiably.
+"I'd guess you best give her hot flannels an' poultices an' things
+while I go fetch her trunks. After that I'll send off to Bay Creek fer
+the doctor. He ain't much, but he's better than the hoss doctor fer
+womenfolk. Guess I'll git back right away."
+
+But the irate farm-wife, her round eyes blazing, slammed the door in
+his face as she flung her final word after him.
+
+"You'll git back nuthin'," she cried furiously. "You let me git you
+back here agin an' you'll sure find a sort o' first-class hell runnin'
+around, an' you won't need no hot flannels nor poultices to ke'p you
+from freezin' stone cold."
+
+Then, with perfect calmness and astonishing skill, she flung herself
+to the task of caring for her mistress in that practical, feminine
+fashion which, though he may appreciate, no man has ever yet quite
+understood.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE SECRET OF THE HILL
+
+
+It was the morning following the great storm, a perfect day of
+cloudless sunshine, and the Padre and Buck were on their way from the
+fur fort to the camp. Their mission was to learn the decision of its
+inhabitants as to their abandonment of the valley; and in the Padre's
+pocket was a large amount of money for distribution.
+
+The elder man's spirits were quietly buoyant. Nor did there seem to be
+much reason why they should be. But the Padre's moods, even to his
+friends, were difficult to account for. Buck, on the contrary, seemed
+lost in a reverie which held him closely, and even tended to make his
+manner brusque.
+
+But his friend, in the midst of his own cheerful feelings, would not
+allow this to disturb him. Besides, he was a far shrewder man than his
+simple manner suggested.
+
+"It's well to be doing, lad," he said, after some considerable
+silence. "Makes you feel good. Makes you feel life's worth a bigger
+price than we mostly set it at."
+
+His quiet eyes took the other in in a quick, sidelong glance. He saw
+that Buck was steadily, but unseeingly, contemplating the black slopes
+of Devil's Hill, which now lay directly ahead.
+
+"Guess you aren't feeling so good, boy?" he went on after a moment's
+thoughtful pause.
+
+The direct challenge brought a slow smile to Buck's face, and he
+answered with surprising energy--
+
+"Good? Why, I'm feelin' that good I don't guess even--even Beasley
+could rile me this mornin'."
+
+The Padre nodded with a responsive smile.
+
+"And Beasley can generally manage to rile you."
+
+"Yes, he's got that way, surely," laughed Buck frankly. "Y' see
+he's--he's pretty mean."
+
+"I s'pose he is," admitted the other. Then he turned his snow-white
+head and glanced down at the lean flanks of C�sar as the horse walked
+easily beside his mare.
+
+"And that boy, Kid, was out in all that storm on your C�sar," he went
+on, changing the subject quickly from the man whom he knew bore him an
+absurd animosity. "A pretty great horse, C�sar. He's looking none the
+worse for fetching that whisky either. Guess the boys'll be getting
+over their drunk by now. And it's probably done 'em a heap of good.
+You did right to encourage 'em. Maybe there's folks would think
+differently. But then they don't just understand, eh?"
+
+"No."
+
+Buck had once more returned to his reverie, and the Padre smiled. He
+thought he understood. He had listened overnight to a full account of
+the arrival of the new owner of their farm, and had gleaned some
+details of her attractiveness and youth. He knew well enough how
+surely the isolated mountain life Buck lived must have left him open
+to strong impressions.
+
+They set their horses at a canter down the long declining trail which
+ran straight into the valley above which Devil's Hill reared its ugly
+head. And as they went the signs of the storm lay everywhere about
+them. Their path was strewn with d�bris. The havoc was stupendous.
+Tree trunks were lying about like scattered nine-pins. Riven trunks,
+split like match-wood by the lightning, stood beside the trail, gaunt
+and hopeless. Partially-severed limbs hung drooping, their weeping
+foliage appealing to the stricken world about them for a sympathy
+which none could give. Even the hard, sun-baked trail, hammered and
+beaten to an iron consistency under a hundred suns of summer, was
+scored with now dry water-courses nearly a foot deep. With all his
+knowledge and long experience of the mountains even the Padre was
+filled with awe at the memory of what he had witnessed.
+
+"Makes you think, Buck, doesn't it?" he said, pointing at a stately
+forest giant stretched prone along the edge of the trail, its proud
+head biting deeply into the earth, and its vast roots lifting twenty
+and more feet into the air. "I was out in the worst of it, too," he
+went on thoughtfully. Then he smiled at the recollection of his puny
+affairs while the elements had waged their merciless war. "I was
+taking a golden fox out of a trap, 'way back there on the side of the
+third ridge. While I was doing it the first two crashes came. A
+hundred and more yards away two pines, big fellers, guess they were
+planted before the flood, were standing out solitary on a big rock
+overhanging the valley below. They were there when I first bent over
+the trap. When I stood up they were gone--rock and all. It made me
+think then. Guess it makes me think more now."
+
+"It surely was a storm," agreed Buck absently.
+
+They reached the open valley, and here the signs were less, so, taking
+advantage of the clearing, they set their horses at a fast gallop.
+Their way took them skirting the great slope of the hill-base, and
+every moment was bearing them on toward the old farm, for that way,
+some distance beyond, lay the ford which they must cross to reach the
+camp.
+
+Neither seemed inclined for further talk. Buck was looking straight
+out ahead in the direction of the farm, and his preoccupation had
+given place to a smile of anticipation. The Padre was intent upon the
+black slopes of the hill. Farther along, the hill turned away toward
+the creek, and the trail bore to the left, passing on the hither side
+of a great bluff of woods which stretched right up to the very corrals
+of the farm. It was here, too, where the overhang of the suspended
+lake came into view, where Yellow Creek poured its swift, shallow
+torrent in the shadowed twilight of the single-walled tunnel and the
+gold-seekers held their operations in a vain quest of fortune.
+
+They had just come abreast of this point and the Padre was observing
+the hill with that never-failing interest with which the scene always
+filled him. He believed there was nothing like it in all the world,
+and regarded it as a stupendous example of Nature's engineering. But
+now, without warning, his interest leapt to a pitch of wonderment that
+set his nerves thrilling and filled his thoughtful eyes with an
+unaccustomed light of excitement. One arm shot out mechanically,
+pointing at the black rocks, and a deep sigh escaped him.
+
+"Mackinaw!" he cried, pulling his horse almost on to its haunches.
+"Look at that!"
+
+Buck swung round, while C�sar followed the mare's example so abruptly
+that his master was almost flung out of the saddle.
+
+He, too, stared across in the direction indicated. And his whispered
+exclamation was an echo of the other's astonishment.
+
+"By the----!"
+
+Then on the instant an almost unconscious movement, simultaneously
+executed, set their horses racing across the open in the direction of
+the suspended lake.
+
+The powerful C�sar, with his lighter burden, was the first to reach
+the spot. He drew up more than two hundred yards from where the domed
+roof forming the lake bed hung above the waters of the creek. He could
+approach no nearer, and his rider sat gazing in wonder at the
+spectacle of fallen rock and soil, and the shattered magnificence of
+the acres of crushed and broken pine woods which lay before him.
+
+The whole face of the hill for hundreds and hundreds of feet along
+this side had been ruthlessly rent from its place and flung broadcast
+everywhere, and, in the chaos he beheld, Buck calculated that hundreds
+of thousands of tons of the blackened rock and subsoil had been
+dislodged by the tremendous fall.
+
+Just for an instant the word "washout" flashed through his mind. But
+he dismissed it without further consideration. How could a washout
+sever such rock? Even he doubted the possibility of lightning causing
+such destruction. No, his thoughts flew to an earth disturbance of
+some sort. But then, what of the lake? He gazed up at where the rocky
+arch jutted out from the parent hill, and apprehension made him
+involuntarily move his horse aside. But his observation had killed the
+theory of an earth disturbance. Anything of that nature must have
+brought the lake down. For the dislodgment began under its very
+shadow, and had even further deepened the yawning cavern beneath its
+bed.
+
+The Padre's voice finally broke his reflections, and its tone
+suggested that he was far less awed, and, in consequence, his thoughts
+were far more practical.
+
+"Their works are gone," he said regretfully. "I'd say there's not a
+sluice-box nor a conduit left. Maybe even their tools are lost. Poor
+devils!"
+
+The man's calm words had their effect. Buck at once responded to the
+practical suggestion.
+
+"They don't leave their tools," he said. Then he pointed up at the
+lake. "Say, what if that had come down? What if the bowels o' that
+hill had opened up an' the water been turned loose? What o' the camp?
+What o' the women an'--the kiddies?"
+
+His imagination had been stirred again. Again the Padre's practice
+brought him back.
+
+"You don't need to worry that way, boy. It hasn't fallen. Guess the
+earth don't fancy turning her secrets loose all at once."
+
+Buck sighed.
+
+"Yet I'd say the luck sure seems rotten enough."
+
+There was no answer, and presently the Padre pointed at the face of
+the hill.
+
+"It was a washout," he said with quiet assurance. "See that face? It's
+softish soil. Some sort of gravelly stuff that the water got at. Sort
+of gravel seam in the heart of the rock."
+
+Buck followed the direction indicated and sat staring at it. Then
+slowly a curious look of hope crept into his eyes. It was the fanciful
+hope of the imaginative.
+
+"Here," he cried suddenly, "let's get a peek at it. Maybe--maybe the
+luck ain't as bad as we think." And he laughed.
+
+"What d'you mean?" asked the Padre sharply.
+
+For answer he had to put up with a curt "Come on." And the next moment
+he was following in C�sar's wake as he picked his way rapidly amongst
+the trees skirting the side of the wreckage. Their way lay inland from
+the creek, for Buck intended to reach the cliff face on the western
+side of the fall. It was difficult going, but, at the distance, safe
+enough. Not until they drew in toward the broken face of the hill
+would the danger really begin. There it was obvious enough to anybody.
+The cliff was dangerously overhanging at many points. Doubtless the
+saturation which had caused the fall had left many of those great
+projections sufficiently loose to dislodge at any moment.
+
+Buck sought out what he considered to be the most available spot and
+drew his horse up. The rest must be done on foot. No horse could hope
+to struggle over such a chaotic path. At his suggestion both animals
+were tethered within the shelter of trees. At least the trees would
+afford some slight protection should any more of the cliff give way.
+
+In less than a quarter of an hour they stood a hundred feet from the
+actual base of the cliff, and Buck turned to his friend.
+
+"See that patch up there," he said, pointing at a spread of reddish
+surface which seemed to be minutely studded with white specks. "Guess
+a peek at it won't hurt. Seems to me it's about ten or twelve feet up.
+Guess ther' ain't need for two of us climbin' that way. You best wait
+right here, an' I'll git around again after a while."
+
+The Padre surveyed the patch, and his eyes twinkled.
+
+"Ten or twelve feet?" he said doubtfully. "Twenty-five."
+
+"May be."
+
+"You think it's----?"
+
+Buck laughed lightly.
+
+"Can't say what it is--from here."
+
+The other sat down on an adjacent rock.
+
+"Get right ahead. I'll wait."
+
+Buck hurried away, and for some moments the Padre watched his slim
+figure, as, scrambling, stumbling, clinging, he made his way to where
+the real climb was to begin. Nor was it until he saw the tall figure
+halt under an overhanging rock, which seemed to jut right out over his
+head, and look up for the course he must take in the final climb, that
+Buck's actual danger came home to the onlooker. He was very little
+more given to realizing personal danger than Buck himself, but now a
+sudden apprehension for the climber gripped him sharply.
+
+He stirred uneasily as he saw the strong hands reach up and clutch the
+jutting facets. He even opened his mouth to offer a warning as he saw
+the heavily-booted feet mount to their first foothold. But he
+refrained. He realized it might be disconcerting. A few breathless
+moments passed as Buck mounted foot by foot. Then came the thing the
+Padre dreaded. The youngster's hold broke, and a rock hurtled by him
+from under his hand and very nearly dislodged him altogether.
+
+In an instant the Padre was on his feet with the useless intention of
+going to his aid, but, even as he stood up, his own feet shot from
+under him, and he fell back heavily upon the rock from which he had
+just risen.
+
+With an impatient exclamation he looked down to discover the cause of
+his mishap. There it lay, a loose stone of yellowish hue. He stooped
+to remove it, and, in a moment, his irritation was forgotten. In a
+moment everything else was forgotten. Buck was forgotten. The peril of
+the hill. The cliff itself. For the moment he was lifted out of
+himself. Years had passed away, his years of life in those hills. And
+something of the romantic dreams of his early youth thrilled him once
+again.
+
+He stood up bearing the cause of his mishap clasped in his two hands
+and stared down at it. Then, after a long while, he looked up at the
+climbing man. He stood there quite still, watching his movements with
+unseeing eyes. His interest was gone. The danger had somehow become
+nothing now. There was no longer any thought of the active figure
+moving up the face of the hill with cat-like clinging hands and feet.
+There was no longer thought for his success or failure.
+
+Buck reached his goal. He examined the auriferous facet with close
+scrutiny and satisfaction. Then he began the descent, and in two
+minutes he stood once more beside the Padre.
+
+"It's high-grade quartz," he cried jubilantly as he came up.
+
+The Padre nodded, his mind on other things.
+
+"I'd say the luck's changed," Buck went on, full of his own discovery
+and not noticing the other's abstraction. He was enjoying the thought
+of the news he had to convey to the starving camp. "I'd say there's
+gold in plenty hereabouts and the washout----"
+
+The Padre suddenly thrust out his two hands which were still grasping
+the cause of his discomfiture. He thrust them out so that Buck could
+not possibly mistake the movement.
+
+"There surely is--right here," he said slowly.
+
+Buck gasped. Then, with shining eyes, he took what the other was
+holding into his own two hands.
+
+"Gold!" he cried as he looked down upon the dull yellow mass.
+
+"And sixty ounces if there's a pennyweight," added the Padre
+exultantly. "You see I--I fell over it," he explained, his quiet eyes
+twinkling.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+GATHERING FOR THE FEAST
+
+
+Two hours later saw an extraordinary change at the foot of Devil's
+Hill. The wonder of the "washout" had passed. Its awe was no longer
+upon the human mind. The men of the camp regarded it with no more
+thought than if the destruction had been caused by mere blasting
+operations. They were not interested in the power causing the wreck,
+but only in their own motives, their own greedy longings, their own
+lust for the banquet of gold outspread before their ravening eyes.
+
+The Padre watched these people his news had brought to the hill with
+tolerant, kindly eye. He saw them scattered like a small swarm of bees
+in the immensity of the ruin wrought by the storm. They had for the
+time forgotten him, they had forgotten everything in the wild moment
+of long-pent passions unloosed--the danger which overhung them, their
+past trials, their half-starved bodies, their recent sufferings. These
+things were thrust behind them, they were of the past. Their present
+was an insatiable hunger for finds such as had been thrust before
+their yearning eyes less than an hour ago.
+
+He stood by and viewed the spectacle with a mind undisturbed, with a
+gentle philosophy inspired by an experience which he alone could
+appreciate. It was a wonderful sight. The effort, the haste, the
+almost insane intentness of these people seeking the yellow metal, the
+discovery of which was the whole bounds of their horizon. He felt
+that it was good to see them. Good that these untamed passions should
+be allowed full sway. He felt that such as these were the advance
+guard of all human enterprise. Theirs was the effort, theirs the
+hardship, the risk; and after them would come the trained mind,
+perhaps the less honest mind, the mind which must harness the result
+of their haphazard efforts to the process of civilization's evolution.
+He even fancied he saw something of the influence of this day's work
+upon the future of that mountain world.
+
+But there was regret too in his thought. It was regret at the
+impossibility of these pioneers ever enjoying the full fruits of their
+labors. They would enjoy them in their own way, at the moment, but
+such enjoyment was not adequate reward for their daring, their
+sacrifice, their hardihood. Well enough he knew that they were but the
+toilers in a weed-grown vineyard, and that it would fall to the lot of
+the skilled husbandman to be the man who reaped the harvest.
+
+It was a picture that would remain long enough in his memory. The
+flaying picks rising and falling amongst the looser d�bris, the
+grinding scrape of the shovel, turning again and again the heavy red
+gravel. The shouts of hoarse voices hailing each other in jubilant
+tones, voices thrilling with a note of hope such as they had not known
+for weeks. He saw the hard muscles of sunburnt arms standing out
+rope-like with the terrific labor they were engaged in. And in the
+background of it all he saw the grim spectacle of the blackened hill,
+frowning down like some evil monster, watching the vermin life eating
+into a sore it was powerless to protect.
+
+It was wonderful, the transformation of these things. And yet it was
+far less strange than his witness of the spectacle of the beaten,
+hopeless men he had helped so long up in the camp. He was glad.
+
+He was glad, too, that even Buck had been caught in the fever of the
+moment. He saw him with the rest, with borrowed tools, working with a
+vigor and enthusiasm quite unsurpassed by the most ardent of the
+professional gold-seekers. Yet he knew how little the man was tainted
+with the disease of these others. He had no understanding whatever of
+the meaning of wealth. And the greed of gold had left him quite
+untouched. His was the virile, healthy enthusiasm for a quest for
+something which was hidden there in the wonderful auriferous soil, a
+quest that the heart of any live man is ever powerless to resist.
+
+With him it would last till sundown, maybe, and after that the fever
+would pass from his veins. Then the claims of the life that had always
+been his would reassert themselves.
+
+After a while the Padre's thoughts drifted to the pressing
+considerations of the future. Several times he had heard the shouts of
+men who had turned a nugget up in the gravel. And at each such cry he
+had seen the rush of others, and the feverish manner in which they
+took possession of the spot where the lucky individual was working and
+hustled him out. It was in these rushes that he saw the danger lying
+ahead.
+
+Hitherto these men had been accustomed to the slow process of washing
+"pay-dirt." It was not only slow, but unemotional. It had not the
+power to stir the senses to a pitch of excitement like this veritable
+Tom Tiddler's ground, pitchforked into their very laps by one of
+Nature's freakish impulses.
+
+With this thought came something very like regret at the apparent
+richness of the find. Something must be done, and done without delay,
+to regulate the situation. The place must be arranged in claims, and
+definite regulations must be laid down and enforced by a council of
+the majority. He felt instinctively that this would be the only way to
+avert a state of anarchy too appalling to contemplate. It would be an
+easy matter now, but a hopeless task to attempt later on. Yes, a big
+trouble lay in those rushes, which seemed harmless enough at present.
+And he knew that his must be the work of straightening out the
+threatened tangle.
+
+But for the moment the fever must be allowed to run riot. It must work
+itself out with the physical effort of hard muscles. In the calm of
+rest after labor counsel might be offered and listened to. But not
+until then.
+
+So that memorable day wore on to its close. The luck had come not in
+the petty find such as these men had looked for, but in proportions of
+prodigal generosity such as Nature sometimes loves to bestow upon
+those whom she has hit the hardest. She had called to her aid those
+strange powers of which she is mistress and hurled them headlong to do
+her bidding. She had bestowed her august consent, and lo, the earth
+was opened, and its wealth poured out at the very feet of those who
+had so long and so vainly sought it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+SOLVING THE RIDDLE
+
+
+The new owner of the Padre's farm had quite recovered from the effects
+of her disastrous journey. Youth and a sound constitution, and the
+overwhelming ministrations of Mrs. Ransford had done all that was
+needed to restore her.
+
+She was sitting in an old, much-repaired rocking-chair, in what was
+obviously the farm's "best" bedroom. Her trunks, faithfully recovered
+from the wreck of the cart by the only too willing Buck, stood open on
+the floor amidst a chaotic setting of their contents, while the old
+farm-wife herself stood over them, much in the attitude of a faithful
+and determined watch-dog.
+
+The girl looked on indifferent to the confusion and to the damage
+being perpetrated before her very eyes. She was lost in thoughts of
+her own which had nothing to do with such fripperies as lawns, and
+silks, and _su�des_, or any other such feminine excitements. She was
+struggling with recollection, and endeavoring to conjure it. There was
+a blank in her life, a blank of some hours, which, try as she would,
+she could not fill in. It was a blank, as far as she could make out,
+which terminated in her arrival at the farm _borne in the arms of some
+strange man_.
+
+Well might such a thought shut out considerations like the almost
+certain destruction of a mere wardrobe at the hands of her ignorant
+but well-meaning helper. It would have been exciting, too, but for her
+memory of the latter stages of her journey. They were still painful.
+There was still uncertainty as to what had happened to the teamster
+and the horses.
+
+At last, however, she abandoned further attempt to solve the riddle
+unaided, and decided to question her housekeeper.
+
+"Was it the same man who brought those trunks--I mean the same man
+who--brought me here?" she demanded sharply.
+
+"It surely was," replied Mrs. Ransford, desisting for a moment from
+her efforts to bestow a pile of dainty shoes into a night-dress case
+of elaborate drawn thread work. "An' a nice mess he's got things in.
+Jest look at 'em all tossed about, same as you might toss slap-jacks,
+as the sayin' is. It's a mercy of heaven, an' no thanks to him, you've
+got a rag fit to wear. It surely ain't fer me to say it, but it's real
+lucky I'm here to put things right for you. Drat them shoes! I don't
+guess I'll ever git 'em all into this bag, miss--ma'm--I mean miss,
+mum."
+
+Something of the tragedy of her wardrobe became evident to the girl
+and she went to the rescue.
+
+"I'm sorry, but they don't go in there," she said, feeling that an
+apology was due for her interference in such well-intended efforts.
+"That's--you see, that's my sleeping-suit case," she added gently.
+
+"Sleepin'-soot?" A pair of round, wondering eyes stared out through
+the old woman's glasses.
+
+The girl pointed at the silk trousers and jacket lying just inside the
+nearest trunk, and the farm-wife picked them up gingerly, letting them
+unfold as she did so. Just for one moment she inspected them, then
+she hurriedly let them drop back into the trunk as though they were
+some dangerous reptile, and, folding her arms, glared into the girl's
+smiling face in comical reproach.
+
+"You sure don't wear them pants, miss--at night? Not reely?" she
+exclaimed in horrified tones.
+
+The girl's smile hardened.
+
+"Why, yes. Lots of girls wear sleeping-suits nowadays."
+
+"You don't say!"
+
+The old woman pursed up her lips in strong disapproval. Then, with a
+disdainful sniff, she went on--
+
+"Wot gals ain't comin' to I don't know, I'm sure. Wot with silk next
+their skin an' them draughty stockin's, as you might say, things is
+gettin' to a pretty pass. Say, I wouldn't put myself into them pants,
+no, not if the President o' the United States was to stand over me an'
+wouldn't let me put on nuthin' else."
+
+The girl refrained from reply, but the obvious impossibility of the
+feat appealed to her sense of humor. However, the solution of her
+riddle was of prevailing interest, so she returned again to her
+questioning.
+
+"Did he say how he found me?" she demanded. "Did he tell you any--any
+particulars of what happened to the cart, and--and the teamster?"
+
+"No, ma'm--miss, beggin' your pardin,--that he didn't. I never see
+sech a fresh feller outside a noospaper office. An' him the owner of
+this farm that was, but isn't, as you might say. You take my word for
+it he'll come to a bad end, he sure will. Wot with them wicked eyes of
+his, an' that black, Dago-lookin' hair. I never did see a feller who
+looked more like a scallawag than him. Makes me shiver to think of
+him a-carryin' you in his two arms. Wher' from sez I--_an' why_?"
+
+"Because I couldn't walk, I expect," the girl replied easily.
+
+The farm-wife shook a fat, warning finger at her.
+
+"Oh, ma'm--miss--that's wot he says! You jest wait till you've got
+more experience o' scallawags like him an' you'll sure know. Wot I sez
+is men's that full o' tricks wher' females is to be deceived it 'ud
+take 'em a summer vacation sortin' 'emselves out. Men is shockin'
+scallawags," she finished up, flinging the shoes pell-mell into the
+open trunk.
+
+A further rescue of her property was necessary and the girl protested.
+
+"Please don't bother any more with those clothes," she cried
+hurriedly. "I'll see to them myself." Then, as the woman proceeded to
+mop her perspiring brow with a pair of silk stockings, she sprang up
+and thrust a hand-towel toward her. "Use this; you'll find it more
+absorbent than--er--silk."
+
+The old woman thanked her profusely, and made the exchange. And when
+the operation was completed the relieved girl returned to her seat and
+went on with her examination.
+
+"What did you say his name was?"
+
+"I didn't say. An' he didn't tell me, neither. Fellers like him ain't
+never ready with their names. Maybe he calls himself Moreton Kenyon.
+Y' see he was the same as handed the farm over, an' you tol' me, back
+ther' in Leeson Butte, you'd bo't Moreton Kenyon's farm. 'Moreton
+Kenyon!' Sort o' high-soundin' name for such a scallawag. I don't
+never trust high-soundin' names. They're most like whitewash. You
+allus set that sort o' stuff on hog-pens an' sech, as you might say."
+
+"Perhaps he's not as bad as you suspect," the girl suggested kindly.
+"Lots of good people start by making a bad impression."
+
+"I don't know what that means," cried the other promptly. "But I do
+know what a scallawag is, an' that's him."
+
+It was useless to seek further information from such a source, so the
+girl abandoned the attempt, and dismissed the pig-headed housekeeper
+to her work, work which she felt she was far better suited to than
+such a delicate operation as the straightening out a wardrobe.
+
+When Mrs. Ransford had taken her unwilling departure, not without
+several well-meaning protests, the girl bent her own energies to
+restoring order to her wardrobe. Nor was it an easy task. The
+masculine manner of the bedroom left much to be desired in those
+little depositories and cupboards, without which no woman can live in
+comfort. And during the process of disposing her belongings many
+mental notes were made for future alterations in the furnishings of
+her new abode.
+
+It was not a bad room, however. The simplicity and cleanliness of it
+struck wholesomely upon her. Yes, in spite of what her lieutenant had
+said about him, Mr. Moreton Kenyon was certainly a man of some
+refinement. She had never heard that such neatness and cleanliness was
+the habit amongst small bachelor farmers in the outlands of the West.
+And this was the man who had carried her--where from?
+
+Again she sat down in the rocker and gave herself up to the puzzlement
+of those hours of her unconsciousness. The last event that was clear
+in her mind was the struggle of the teamster to keep his horses
+head-on for the bank of the flooded river. She remembered the surging
+waters, she remembered that the bottom of the cart was awash, and that
+she sat with her feet lifted and resting on the side of the vehicle.
+She remembered that the horses were swimming before the driver's
+flogging whip and blasphemous shoutings. All this was plain enough
+still. Then came the man's order to herself. He warned her to get
+ready to jump, and she had been quick to realize the necessity. In
+spite of the horses' wildest struggles the cart was being washed
+down-stream. Then had come his final shout. And she had jumped on the
+instant.
+
+At this point of her recollections things became confused. She had a
+hazy memory of floundering in the water, also she remembered a heavy
+blow on the shoulder. Then some one seemed to seize hold of her. It
+must have been the teamster, though she did not remember seeing him in
+the water. How she got out was a mystery to her. Again it must have
+been the teamster. Then what of him? Mrs. Ransford had not spoken of
+him. Had he, too, escaped? or had he--she shuddered. For some moments
+her thoughts depressed her. The thought of a brave man's life
+sacrificed for her was too terrible.
+
+But after a while she continued in a lighter strain. It was at this
+point that the blank began. True, she seemed to have some dim
+recollection of a rough hut. It seemed to be made of logs. Then, too,
+she had a dreamy sort of cognizance of a number of men's voices
+talking. Then--no, there was nothing more after that. Nothing until
+she awoke and found herself in bed, with a strange doctor standing
+over her.
+
+It was all very puzzling, but--she turned toward the window as the
+afternoon sun fell athwart it and lit the plain interior of her new
+bedroom, searching the corners and the simple furnishings of the
+carpetless room.
+
+From where she sat she could see the barns and corrals, and beyond
+them the heavy-hued pine woods. Then, away out far, far in the
+distance, the endless white snowcaps of the purpling hills. What a
+scene to her unaccustomed eyes. The breadth of it. The immensity.
+
+She drew a deep breath and sat up.
+
+She was dressed in a simple white shirt-waist and blue serge skirt,
+and her masses of red-gold hair were loosely coiled about her
+well-shaped head. The eager light of interest in her violet eyes lit
+her beautiful young face, lending it an animation which added a
+wonderful vitality to her natural beauty. The firm, rich lips were
+parted eagerly. The wide-open eyes, so deeply intelligent, shone with
+a lustre of delight there was no mistaking. Her rounded bosom rose and
+fell rapidly as the glad thought flew through her brain that
+this--this was her new home, where she was to forget the past and shut
+out all recollection of that evil shadow which had so long pursued
+her.
+
+Yes, this was the beginning of her new life. Joan Stanmore was dead,
+and out of the ashes had arisen Joan Rest, ready to face the world in
+a spirit of well-doing bachelorhood. Here, here in the wild mountain
+world, where men were few and apart from her old life, she could face
+the future with perfect confidence.
+
+She breathed a deep sigh of contentment and lolled back in the rocker,
+dropping her eyes from the snow-crowned hills to the precious little
+farm that was all hers. Then, in an instant, she sat up again as the
+tall figure of a young man appeared round the corner of the barn.
+
+For some moments she followed his movements wonderingly. He walked
+straight over to the hay corral with long, easy strides. There was
+none of the slouch of a man idling about him. His whole attitude was
+full of distinct purpose. She saw him enter the corral and mount the
+half-cut haystack, and proceed to cut deeper into it. A moment later
+he pitched the loose hay to the ground, and himself slid down on to
+it. Then, stooping, he gathered it in his arms and left the corral.
+
+Now she saw his face for the first time. It was dark. Nor could she be
+certain that his coloring was due to sunburn. His eyes were dark, too,
+and his hair. He was a good-looking man, she decided, and quite young.
+But how tall. And what shoulders. She wondered who he was, and what he
+was doing on her farm.
+
+Then, of a sudden, she remembered she had spoken of a hired man to
+Mrs. Ransford. Had she----?
+
+Her reflections were cut short by the sudden appearance of the
+farm-wife from the house. The old woman trotted hastily across the
+yard toward the barn, her fat sides shaking as she waddled, and her
+short, stout arms violently gesticulating. Joan needed nothing more
+than the good woman's back view to tell her that the dame was very
+angry, and that it was the stranger who had inspired her wrath. She
+waited, smiling, for the _d�nouement_.
+
+It came quickly. It came with the reappearance of the stranger round
+the corner of the barn. What a splendid specimen of a man, she
+thought, as she watched the expression of unruffled calm on his strong
+features. His shirt sleeves were rolled well up above his elbows, and
+even at that distance she could see the deep furrows in his arms
+where the rope-like muscles stood out beneath the thin, almost
+delicate skin.
+
+But her attention was quickly diverted by the clacking of the
+farm-wife's tongue. She could hear it where she sat with the window
+tight shut. And though she could not hear the words it was plain
+enough from the violence of her gesticulations that she was rating the
+patient man soundly. So patent was it, so dreadful, that even in her
+keenest interest Joan found herself wondering if Mr. Ransford were
+dead, and hoping that, if he were, his decease had occurred in early
+youth.
+
+Nor had the man made any attempt at response. She was sure of it,
+because she had watched his firm lips, and they had not moved. Perhaps
+he had found retort impossible. It was quite possible, for the other
+had not paused a moment in her tirade. What a flow. It was colossal,
+stupendous. Joan felt sorry for the man.
+
+What a patience he had. Nor had his expression once altered. He merely
+displayed the thoughtful attention that one might bestow, listening to
+a brilliant conversationalist or an interesting story. It was too
+ridiculous, and Joan began to laugh.
+
+Then the end came abruptly and without warning. Mrs. Ransford just
+swung about and trotted furiously back to the house. Her face was
+flaming, and her fat arms, flourishing like unlimber flails, were
+pointing every verbal threat she hurled over her shoulder at the spot
+where the man had stood. Yes, he had vanished again round the corner
+of the barn, and the poor woman's best efforts were quite lost upon
+the warm summer air.
+
+But her purpose was obvious, and Joan prepared herself for a
+whirlwind visitation. Nor had she long to wait. There was a shuffling
+of feet out in the passage, and, the next moment, the door of her room
+was unceremoniously flung open and the indignant woman staggered in.
+
+"Well, of all the impidence, of all the sass, of all the ignorant bums
+that ever I----!" She exploded, and stood panting under the strain of
+her furious emotions.
+
+But Joan felt she really must assert herself. This sort of reign of
+terror must not go on.
+
+"Don't fluster yourself, Mrs. Ransford," she said calmly. "I'll see to
+the matter myself."
+
+But she might as well have attempted to stem the tide of the river
+that had wrecked her journey as stay the irate woman's tongue.
+
+"But it's him!" she cried. "Him, that low-down scallawag that carried
+you in his arms an' walked right into this yere bedroom an' laid you
+on your own virgin bed without no by your leave nor nuthin'. Him, as
+saw your trunks drownded an' you all mussed up with water, without
+raisin' a hand to help, 'less it was to push you further under----"
+
+But Joan was equal to no more. She pushed the well-meaning creature on
+one side and hurried out of the house, while the echoes of the other's
+scathing indictment died down behind her.
+
+Joan did not hesitate. It was not her way to hesitate about anything
+when her mind was made up. And just now she was determined to find out
+the real story of what had happened to her. She was interested. This
+man had carried her. He had brought her trunks up. And--yes, she liked
+the look of him.
+
+But she felt it necessary to approach the matter with becoming
+dignity. She was not given much to standing on her dignity, but she
+felt that in her association with the men of these parts she must
+harden herself to it. All friendships with men were banned. This she
+was quite decided upon. And she sighed as she passed round the angle
+of the barn.
+
+Her sigh died at its birth, however, and she was brought to a short
+and terrified halt. Two prongs of a hayfork gleamed viciously within
+three inches of her horrified eyes, and, behind them, with eyes no
+less horrified, stood the dark-haired stranger.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE SHADOW OF THE PAST
+
+
+The gleaming prongs of the fork were sharply withdrawn, and a pleasant
+voice greeted the girl.
+
+"Guess that was a near thing," it said half-warningly.
+
+Joan had started back, but at the sound of the voice she quickly
+recovered herself.
+
+"It was," she agreed. Then as she looked into the smiling eyes of the
+stranger she began to laugh.
+
+"Another inch an' more an' you'd sure have been all mussed up on that
+pile of barn litter," he went on, joining in her laugh.
+
+"I s'pose I should," Joan nodded, her mirth promptly sobering to a
+broad smile.
+
+She had almost forgotten her purpose so taken up was she in observing
+this "scallawag," as Mrs. Ransford had called him. Nor did it take her
+impressionable nature more than a second to decide that her worthy
+housekeeper was something in the nature of a thoroughly stupid woman.
+She liked the look of him. She liked his easy manner. More than all
+she liked the confident look of his dark eyes and his sunburnt face,
+so full of strength.
+
+"Hayforks are cussed things anyway," the man said, flinging the
+implement aside as though it had offended him.
+
+Joan watched him. She was wondering how best to approach the questions
+in her mind. Somehow they did not come as easily as she had
+anticipated. It was one thing to make up her mind beforehand, and
+another to put her decision into execution. He was certainly not the
+rough, uncouth man she had expected to find. True, his language was
+the language of the prairie, and his clothes, yes, they surely
+belonged to his surroundings, but there was none of the uncleanness
+about them she had anticipated.
+
+It was his general manner, however, that affected her chiefly. How
+tall and strong he was, and the wonderful sunburn on his clean-cut
+face and massive arms! Then he had such an air of reserve. No, it was
+not easy.
+
+Finally, she decided to temporize, and wait for an opening. And in
+that she knew in her heart she was yielding to weakness.
+
+"My housekeeper tells me it was you who handed the farm over to her?"
+she said interrogatively.
+
+The man's eyes began to twinkle again.
+
+"Was that your--housekeeper?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes--Mrs. Ransford."
+
+Joan felt even less at her ease confronted by those twinkling eyes.
+
+"She's a--bright woman."
+
+The man casually picked up a straw and began to chew it.
+
+Joan saw that he was smiling broadly, and resented it. So she threw
+all the dignity she could summon into her next question.
+
+"Then you must be Mr. Moreton Kenyon!" she said.
+
+The man shook his head.
+
+"Wrong. That's the 'Padre,'" he announced curtly.
+
+Joan forgot her resentment in her surprise.
+
+"The 'Padre'! Why, I thought Mr. Kenyon was a farmer!"
+
+The man nodded.
+
+"So he is. You see folks call him Padre because he's a real good
+feller," he explained. Then he added: "He's got white hair, too. A
+whole heap of it. That sort o' clinched it."
+
+The dark eyes had become quite serious again. There was even a tender
+light in them as he searched the girl's fair face. He was wondering
+what was yet to come. He was wondering how this interview was to bear
+on the future. In spite of his easy manner he dreaded lest the threats
+of Mrs. Ransford were about to be put into execution.
+
+Joan accepted his explanation.
+
+"I see," she said. Then, after a pause: "Then who are you?"
+
+"Me? Oh, I'm 'Buck,'" he responded, with a short laugh.
+
+"Buck--who?"
+
+"Jest plain 'Buck.'" Again came that short laugh.
+
+"Mr. Kenyon's son?"
+
+The man shook his head, and Joan tried again.
+
+"His nephew?"
+
+Again came that definite shake. Joan persisted, but with growing
+impatience.
+
+"Perhaps you're--his partner?" she said, feeling that if he again
+shook his head she must inevitably shake him.
+
+But she was spared a further trial. Buck had been quick to realize
+her disappointment. Nor had he any desire to inspire her anger. On the
+contrary, his one thought was to please and help her.
+
+"You see we're not related. Ther's nuthin' between us but that he's
+jest my great big friend," he explained.
+
+His reward came promptly in the girl's sunny smile. And the sight of
+it quickened his pulses and set him longing to hold her again in his
+arms as he had done only yesterday. Somehow she had taken a place in
+his thoughts which left him feeling very helpless. He never remembered
+feeling helpless before. It was as though her coming into his life had
+robbed him of all his confidence. Yesterday he had found a woman
+almost in rags. Yesterday she was in trouble, and it had seemed the
+simplest thing in the world for him to take her in his arms and carry
+her to the home he knew to be hers. Now--now, all that confidence was
+gone. Now an indefinable barrier, but none the less real, had been
+raised between them. It was a barrier he felt powerless to break down.
+This beautiful girl, with her deep violet eyes and wonderful red-gold
+hair, clad in her trim costume of lawn and serge, seemed to him like a
+creature from an undreamed-of world, and as remote from him as if
+thousands of miles separated them. He sighed as Joan went on with her
+examination--
+
+"I suppose you have come to fetch some of your big friend's
+belongings?" she said pleasantly.
+
+For answer Buck suddenly flung out a protecting arm.
+
+"Say, you're sure getting mussed with that dirty litter," he said
+almost reproachfully. "See, your fixin's are right agin it. Say----"
+
+Joan laughed outright at his look of profound concern.
+
+"That doesn't matter a bit," she exclaimed. "I must get used to being
+'mussed-up.' You see, I'm a farmer--now."
+
+The other's concern promptly vanished. He loved to hear her laugh.
+
+"You never farmed any?" he asked.
+
+"Never." Joan shook her head in mock seriousness. "Isn't it desperate
+of me? No, I'm straight from a city."
+
+Buck withdrew his gaze from her face and glanced out at the hills. But
+it was only for a moment. His eyes came back as though drawn by a
+magnet.
+
+"Guess you'll likely find it dull here--after a city," he said at
+last. "Y' see, it's a heap quiet. It ain't quiet to me, but then I've
+never been to a city--unless you call Leeson Butte a city. Some folks
+feel lonesome among these big hills."
+
+"I don't think I shall feel lonesome," Joan said quickly. "The peace
+and quiet of this big world is all I ask. I left the city to get away
+from--oh, from the bustle of it all! Yes, I want the rest and quiet of
+these hills more than anything else in the world."
+
+The passionate longing in her words left Buck wondering. But he nodded
+sympathetically.
+
+"I'd say you'd get it right here," he declared. Then he turned toward
+the great hills, and a subtle change seemed to come over his whole
+manner. His dark eyes wore a deep, far-away look in which shone a
+wonderfully tender affection. It was the face of a man who, perhaps
+for the first time, realizes the extent and depth of his love for the
+homeland which is his.
+
+"It's big--big," he went on, half to himself. "It's so big it
+sometimes makes me wonder. Look at 'em," he cried, pointing out at the
+purpling distance, "rising step after step till it don't seem they can
+ever git bigger. An' between each step there's a sort of world
+different from any other. Each one's hidden all up, so pryin' eyes
+can't see into 'em. There's life in those worlds, all sorts of life.
+An' it's jest fightin', lovin', dyin', eatin', sleepin', same as
+everywhere else. There's a big story in 'em somewhere--a great big
+story. An' it's all about the game of life goin' on in there, jest the
+same as it does here, an' anywher'. Yes, it's a big story and hard to
+read for most of us. Guess we don't ever finish readin' it,
+anyway--until we die. Don't guess they intended us to. Don't guess it
+would be good for us to read it easy."
+
+He turned slowly from the scene that meant so much to him, and smiled
+into Joan's astonished eyes.
+
+"An' you're goin' to git busy--readin' that story?" he asked.
+
+The startled girl found herself answering almost before she was aware
+of it.
+
+"I--I hope to," she said simply.
+
+Then she suddenly realized her own smallness. She felt almost
+overpowered with the bigness of what the man's words had shown her. It
+was wonderful to her the thought of this--this "scallawag." The word
+flashed through her mind, and with it came an even fuller realization
+of Mrs. Ransford's stupidity. The man's thought was the poet's insight
+into Nature's wonderlands. He was speaking of that great mountain
+world as though it were a religion to him, as if it represented some
+treasured poetic ideal, or some lifelong, priceless friendship.
+
+She saw his answering nod of sympathy, and sighed her relief. Just for
+one moment she had been afraid. She had been afraid of some sign of
+pity, even contempt. She felt her own weakness without that. Now she
+was glad, and went on with more confidence.
+
+"I'm going to start from the very beginning," she said, with something
+akin to enthusiasm. "I'm going to start here--right here, on my very
+own farm. Surely the rudiments must lie here--the rudiments that must
+be mastered before the greater task of reading that story is begun."
+She turned toward the blue hills, where the summer clouds were wrapped
+about the glistening snowcaps. "Yes," she cried, clasping her hands
+enthusiastically, "I want to learn it all--all." Suddenly she turned
+back and looked at him with a wonderful, smiling simplicity. "Will you
+help me?" she said eagerly. "Perhaps--in odd moments? Will you help me
+with those--lessons?"
+
+Buck's breath came quickly, and his simple heart was set thumping in
+his bosom. But his face was serious, and his eyes quite calm as he
+nodded.
+
+"It'll be dead easy for you to learn," he said, a new deep note
+sounding in his voice. "You'll learn anything I know, an' much more,
+in no time. You can't help but learn. You'll be quicker to understand,
+quicker to feel all those things. Y' see I've got no sort of
+cleverness--nor nuthin'. I jest look around an' see things--an' then,
+then I think I know." He laughed quietly at his own conceit. "Oh, yes!
+sometimes I guess I know it all. An' then I get sorry for folks that
+don't, an' I jest wonder how it comes everybody don't understand--same
+as me. Then something happens."
+
+"Yes, yes."
+
+Joan was so eager she felt she could not wait for the pause that
+followed. Buck laughed.
+
+"Something happens, same as it did yesterday," he went on. "Oh, it's
+big--it sure is!" he added. And he turned again to his contemplation
+of the hills.
+
+But Joan promptly recalled his wandering attention.
+
+"You mean--the storm?" she demanded.
+
+Buck nodded.
+
+"That--an' the other."
+
+"What--other?"
+
+"The washout," he said.
+
+Then, as he saw the look of perplexity in the wide violet eyes, he
+went on to explain--
+
+"You ain't heard? Why, there was a washout on Devil's Hill, where for
+nigh a year they bin lookin' for gold. Y' see they knew the gold was
+there, but couldn't jest locate it. For months an' months they ain't
+seen a sign o' color. They bin right down to 'hard pan.' They wer'
+jest starvin' their lives clear out. But they'd sank the'r pile in
+that hill, an' couldn't bring 'emselves to quit. Then along comes the
+storm, an' right wher' they're working it washes a great lump o' the
+hill down. Hundreds o' thousands o' tons of rock an' stuff it would
+have needed a train load of dynamite to shift."
+
+"Yes, yes." Joan's eagerness brought her a step nearer to him. "And
+they found----"
+
+"Gold!" Buck laughed. "Lumps of it."
+
+"Gold--in lumps!" The girl's eyes widened with an excitement which the
+discovery of the precious metal ever inspires.
+
+The man watched her thoughtfully.
+
+"Why aren't you there?" Joan demanded suddenly.
+
+"Can't jest say." Buck shrugged. "Maybe it's because they bin lookin'
+fer gold, an'--wal, I haven't."
+
+"Gold--in lumps!" Again came the girl's amazed exclamation, and Buck
+smiled at her enthusiasm.
+
+"Sure. An' they kind o' blame you for it. They sort o' fancy you
+brought 'em their luck. Y' see it came when you got around their hut.
+They say ther' wasn't no luck to the place till you brought it. An'
+now----"
+
+Joan's eyes shone.
+
+"Oh, I'm so glad. I'm so glad I've brought them----"
+
+But her expression of joy was never completed. She broke off with a
+sharp ejaculation, and the color died out of her cheeks, leaving her
+so ghastly pale that the man thought she was about to faint. She
+staggered back and leant for support against the wall of the barn, and
+Buck sprang to her side. In a moment, however, she stood up and
+imperiously waved him aside.
+
+There was no mistaking the movement. Her whole manner seemed to have
+frozen up. The frank girlishness had died as completely as though it
+had never been, and the man stood abashed, and at a loss for
+understanding.
+
+Now he saw before him a woman still beautiful, but a woman whose eyes
+had lost every vestige of that happy light. Despair was written in
+every feature, despair and utter hopelessness. Her mouth, that
+beautiful mouth so rich and delicate, was now tight shut as of one in
+great suffering, and deep, hard lines had suddenly gathered about the
+corners of it. The change smote him to the heart, but left him utterly
+helpless.
+
+Realization had come. Joan had suddenly remembered all that lay behind
+her--all that had driven her to seek the remoteness of the wild
+Western world. She had sought to flee from the fate which her Aunt
+Mercy had told her was hers, and now she knew that she might as well
+try to flee from her own shadow.
+
+Oh, the horror of it all! These people believed that she had brought
+them their luck. _She knew that she had._ What was the disaster that
+must follow? What lives must go down before the sword a terrible Fate
+had placed in her hand? For the moment panic held her in its grip. For
+a moment it seemed that death alone could save her from the dread
+consequences of the curse that was upon her. It was cruel, cruel--the
+desolation, the hopelessness of it all. And in her sudden anguish she
+prayed that death might be visited upon her.
+
+But even amidst the horror of her realization the influence of the
+man's presence was at work. She knew he was there a witness to the
+terror she could not hide, and so she strove for recovery.
+
+Then she heard him speak, and at the sound of his quiet tone her
+nerves eased and she grew calmer.
+
+"I don't guess you recovered from the storm. I'd sure say you need
+rest," Buck said in his gentle, solicitous fashion. And in her heart
+Joan thanked him for the encouragement his words gave her. He had
+asked no questions. He had expressed no astonishment, and yet she knew
+he must have realized that her trouble was no physical ailment.
+
+"Yes," she said, jumping at the opening he had given her, "I'm tired.
+I'll--I'll go back to the house."
+
+Buck nodded, disguising his anxiety beneath a calm that seemed so
+natural to him.
+
+"Jest get back an' rest. You needn't worry any 'bout the hosses, an'
+cows, an' things. I'm fixin' them for the night, an' I'll be right
+along in the morning to do the chores. Y' see I know this farm, an'
+all that needs doin'. Guess I was raised on it," he added, with a
+smile, "so the work's sort o' second nature to me."
+
+Joan's chance had come, but she passed it by. She knew she ought to
+have refused his help. She ought to have, as Mrs. Ransford had said,
+sent him about his business. But she did nothing of the sort. She
+accepted. She did more. She held out her hand to him, and let him take
+it in both of his in a friendly pressure as she thanked him.
+
+"I'm--I'm very grateful," she said weakly. And the man flushed under
+his sunburn, while his temples hammered as the hot young blood mounted
+to his brain.
+
+A moment later Buck stood staring at the angle of the barn round which
+Joan had just vanished. He was half-dazed, and the only thing that
+seemed absolutely real to him was the gentle pressure of her hand as
+it had rested in his. He could feel it still; he could feel every
+pressure of the soft, warm flesh where it had lain on his hard palms.
+And all the time he stood there his whole body thrilled with an
+emotion that was almost painful.
+
+At last he stirred. He stooped and picked up the discarded fork. He
+had no definite purpose. He was scarcely aware of his action. He held
+it for a moment poised in the air. Then slowly he let the prongs of it
+rest on the ground, and, leaning his chin on his hands clasped about
+the haft, stared out at the hills and gave himself up to such a dream
+as never before had entered his life.
+
+The sun was dipping behind the snowcaps, and for half an hour the work
+he had voluntarily undertaken remained untouched.
+
+How much longer he would have remained lost in his wonderful dreaming
+it would have been impossible to tell. But he was ruthlessly awakened,
+and all his youthful ardor received a cold douche as the evening quiet
+was suddenly broken by the harsh voices of the crowd of gold-seekers,
+whom he suddenly beheld approaching the farm along the trail.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE GOLDEN WOMAN
+
+
+Buck wondered as he noted the extraordinary picture of jubilation
+which the approaching crowd presented. In all his association with
+these people he had never witnessed anything to equal it or even come
+near it. He never remembered anything like a real outburst of joy
+during the long, dreary months since they had first camped on the
+banks of Yellow Creek.
+
+He watched the faces as they drew near. From the shelter of the barn,
+whither he had retreated, he had them in full view. He looked for the
+old, weary signs of their recent privations and sufferings. There were
+none, not one. They had passed as utterly as though they had never
+been.
+
+It was a spectacle in which he found the greatest pleasure. The men
+were clad in their work-stained clothing, their only clothing. Their
+faces remained unwashed, and still bore the accumulations of dusty
+sweat from their day's fevered labors. But it was the light in their
+eyes, their grinning faces, the buoyancy of their gait that held him.
+He heard their voices lifted in such a tone as would have seemed
+impossible only a few days ago. The loud, harsh laugh, accompanying
+inconsequent jests and jibes, it was good to hear. These men were
+tasting the sweets of a moment of perfect happiness. Buck knew well
+enough that soon, probably by the morrow, the moment would have
+passed, and they would have settled again to the stern calling of
+their lives.
+
+All his sympathy was with them, and their joy was reflected in his own
+feelings. Their hope was his hope, their buoyancy was his buoyancy.
+For his happiness was complete at the moment, and thus he was left
+free to feel with those others. Such was his own wonderful exaltation
+that the thought of the termination of these people's suffering was
+the final note that made his joy complete.
+
+He laid his fork aside and waited till they had passed his retreat.
+The object of their journey was obviously the farmhouse, and he felt
+that he must learn their further purpose. He remembered Joan's going
+from him. He had seen the pain and trouble in her beautiful eyes, and
+so he feared that the sudden rush of animal spirits in these people
+would drive them to extravagances, well enough meant, but which might
+worry and even alarm her.
+
+He moved quickly out of the barn and looked after them. They had
+reached the house, and stood like a herd of subdued and silly sheep
+waiting for a sign from their leader. It was a quaint sight. The laugh
+and jest had died out, and only was the foolish grin left. Yes, they
+certainly had a definite purpose in their minds, but they equally
+certainly were in doubt as to how it should be carried out.
+
+Buck drew nearer without attracting their attention. The men were so
+deeply engaged with the dilemma of the moment that he might almost
+have joined the group without observation. But he merely desired to be
+on hand to help should the troubled girl need his help. He had no
+desire to take active part in the demonstration. As he came near he
+heard Beasley's voice, and the very sound of it jarred unpleasantly on
+his ears. The man was talking in that half-cynical fashion which was
+never without an added venom behind it.
+
+"Well," he heard him exclaim derisively, "wot's doin'? You're all
+mighty big talkers back ther' in camp, but I don't seem to hear any
+bright suggestions goin' around now. You start this gorl-durned racket
+like a pack o' weak-headed fools, yearnin' to pitch away what's been
+chucked right into your fool laps jest fer one o' Blue Grass Pete's
+fat-head notions. Well, wot's doin'? I ask."
+
+"You ke'p that ugly map o' yours closed," cried Pete hotly. "_You_
+ain't bein' robbed any."
+
+"Guess I'll see to that," retorted Beasley, with a grin. "The feller
+that robs me'll need to chew razors fer a pastime. If it comes to that
+you're yearnin' fer glory at the Padre's expense--as usual."
+
+Buck's ears tingled, and he drew closer. Beasley always had a knack of
+so blending truth with his personal venom that it stung far more than
+downright insult. He wondered what the Padre's generosity had been,
+and wherein lay its connection with their present purpose. The
+explanation was not long in coming, for Montana Ike took up the
+challenge amidst a storm of ominous murmurs from the gathered men.
+
+"Don't take nuthin' from him," cried the youngster scornfully. Then he
+turned on Beasley fiercely. "You need Buck around to set you right,
+Mister Lousy Beasley," he cried. "We ain't robbin' anybody, an' sure
+not the Padre. He found that nugget, an' it's his to give or do wot he
+likes with. The gal brought us the luck, an' the Padre guessed it was
+only right she should have the first find. That nugget was the first
+find, an' the Padre found it. Wal!" But as no reply was forthcoming he
+hurried on, turning his tongue loose in the best abuse he could
+command at the moment. "You're a rotten sort o' skunk anyway, an' you
+ain't got a decent thought in your diseased head. I'd like to say
+right here that you hate seein' a sixty-ounce lump o' gold in any
+other hands than your own dirty paws. That's your trouble, so jest
+shut right up while better folks handles a matter wot's a sight too
+delicate fer a rotten mind like yours."
+
+The smile had returned to every face except the foxy features of the
+ex-Churchman, who for once had no adequate retort ready. Curly
+Saunders nodded appreciation, and helped to solve the momentary
+dilemma prevailing.
+
+"That's sure done it fer you, Montana," he cried gleefully. "You make
+the presentation. I'd say I never heard so elegant a flow of argyment
+in this yer camp. You'll talk most pretty to the leddy."
+
+"An' it ain't fer me to say I can't do it if need be, neither," said
+Montana modestly. "Don't guess it's much of a stunt yappin' pretty to
+a sorrel-topped gal."
+
+Abe Allinson laughed.
+
+"It's sure up to you, Ike," he said. "Guess you best git busy right
+away."
+
+The rest waited for the youngster's acceptance of the responsibility,
+which promptly came with perfect good-will.
+
+"Gee! But you're a gritty outfit," he cried, with a wide grin.
+"Say, I guess you'd need a fence around you shootin' jack-rabbits.
+Jack-rabbits is ter'ble fierce. Guess you'd most be skeered to death
+at a skippin' lamb bleatin' fer its mother. Can't say I ever heerd
+tell as a feller need be skeered of a pair o' gal's eyes, nor a sight
+o' red ha'r. You said it was red, Pete, didn't you? I'd sure say a
+bright feller don't need to worry any over talkin' pretty to a gal
+like that. She's up agin a proposition if she thinks she ken skeer me.
+Wher' is she? Jest call her out. She's goin' to git her med'cine right
+here in the open. I ain't doin' no parlor tricks."
+
+The boy stood out from the crowd with a decided show of mild bravado,
+but he glanced about him, seeking the moral support of his fellows.
+
+"You best knock on the door, Ike," said Curly quietly.
+
+Ike hesitated. Then he turned doubtfully to those behind.
+
+"You--you mean that?" he inquired. "You ain't foolin' none?" Then, as
+though realizing his own weakness, he began to bluster. "Cos I ain't
+takin' no foolin' in a racket o' this sort. An' any feller thinks he
+ken fool me'll sure hate hisself when I'm through with him."
+
+A mild snicker greeted his "big talk," and the boy flushed hotly. He
+was half-inclined to add further resentment, but, second thoughts
+prevailing, he abruptly turned to the door and hammered on it as
+though anticipating stern resistance from those within.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Inside the house Mrs. Ransford was debating the situation with her
+mistress. She had witnessed the advance of the besieging party, and,
+half-frightened and half-resentful, the latter perhaps the more
+plainly manifested, she was detailing in unmeasured terms her opinions
+and fears to the still harassed girl.
+
+"Jest git a peek at 'em through the window, miss--'ma'm' I should say,
+on'y I don't allus remember right, as you might say. Ther's twenty an'
+more o' the lowest down bums ever I see outside a State penitentiary.
+They're sure the most ter'blest lot ever I did see. An' they got
+'emselves fixed up wi' guns an' knives, an' what not an' sech, till
+you can't see the color o' their clothes fer the dirt on 'em. I'll
+swar' to goodness, as the sayin' is, they ain't never see no water
+sence they was christened, if they ever was christened, which I don't
+believe no gospel preacher would ever so demean himself. An' as fer
+soap, say, they couldn't even spell it if you was to hand 'em the
+whole soap fact'ry literature of a fi'-cent daily noos-sheet. They're
+jest ter'ble, an' it seems to me we sure need a reg'ment o' United
+States Cavalry settin' around on horses an' field guns to pertect us,
+ef we're to farm this one-hossed layout. They're 'bad men,' mum,
+miss--which I made a mistake ag'in--that's wot they are. I've read
+about 'em in the fi'-cent comics, so I sure know 'em when I see 'em.
+You can't never make no mistake. They're jest goin' to shoot us all up
+to glory, an' they'll dance around on our corpses, same as if they was
+nuthin', nor no account anyways."
+
+In spite of her recent shock Joan found herself smiling at the strange
+mixture of fear and anger in the old woman's manner. But she felt it
+necessary to check her flow of wild accusations. She guessed easily
+enough who the men were that were approaching the house, but their
+object remained a mystery.
+
+"You're hasty. You mustn't judge these people by their appearance.
+They're----"
+
+But the feverish tongue was promptly set clacking again.
+
+"An' wot, I asks, is they to be judged by if not by wot they are? They
+jest come along a-yowlin', an' a-shootin' off'n their guns an' things,
+same as they allus do when they's on the war-path. Scalps, that's wot
+they's after. Scalps, no more an' no less. An' to think o' me at my
+time o' life a-fallin' a prey to Injuns, as you might say. Oh, if on'y
+my pore George D. Ransford was alive! He'd 'a' give 'em scalps. He was
+a man, sure, even though he did set around playin' poker all night
+when I was in labor with my twins. He was a great fighter was George
+D.--as the marks on my body ken show to this very day."
+
+At that instant there was a terrific knocking at the door which opened
+directly into the parlor in which the waiting women were standing, and
+the farm-wife jumped and staggered back, and, finally, collapsed into
+an adjacent chair.
+
+"Sakes on us," she cried, her fat face turning a sort of pea-green,
+"if only my pore George D.----"
+
+But Joan's patience could stand no more.
+
+"For goodness' sake go back to your kitchen, you absurd creature. I'll
+see to the matter. I----"
+
+But the old woman wobbled to her feet almost weeping.
+
+"Now, don't 'ee, miss," she cried in her tearful anxiety, getting her
+form of address right the first time. "Don't 'ee be rash. Ther'll be
+blood spilt, ther' sure will. Ther's on'y one way, miss, you must talk
+'em nice, an', an' if they go fer to take liberties, you--why you,"
+she edged toward her kitchen, "you jest send for me right away."
+
+She hurried out, and the moment she was out of sight fled
+precipitately to the farthest extremity of her own domain and armed
+herself with the heavy iron shaker of the cook-stove.
+
+In the meantime Joan went to the door and flung it wide open. In spite
+of the farm-wife's warnings she had not a shadow of doubt as to the
+peaceful object of the visitation, and rather felt that in some sort
+of way it was intended as an expression of good-will and greeting. Had
+not Buck told her that they held her in the light of some sort of
+benefactor? So she stood in the doorway erect and waiting, with a calm
+face, on which there was not a shadow of a smile.
+
+She took in the gathering at a glance, and her eyes came to rest upon
+the foremost figure of Montana Ike. She noted his slim, boyish figure,
+the weak, animal expression shining in his furtive eyes. To her he
+looked just what he was, a virile specimen of reckless young manhood,
+of vicious and untamed spirit. She saw at once that he was standing
+out from his companions, and understood that, for the moment at least,
+he was their leader.
+
+"Good-evening," she said, her attitude mechanically unbending.
+
+"Evenin', miss," responded Ike bravely, and then relapsed into a
+violent condition of blushing through his dirt.
+
+He stood there paralyzed at the girl's beauty. He just gaped foolishly
+at her, his eyes seeking refuge in dwelling upon the well-cut skirt
+she wore and the perfect whiteness of the lawn shirt-waist, which
+permitted the delicate pink tinge of her arms and shoulders to show
+through it.
+
+All his bravery was gone--all his assurance. If his life had depended
+on it not one word of an address on behalf of his fellows could he
+have uttered.
+
+Joan saw his confusion, and mercifully came to his rescue.
+
+"You wish to see me?" she inquired, with a smile which plunged the boy
+into even more hopeless confusion.
+
+As no answer was forthcoming she looked appealingly at the other
+faces.
+
+"It's very kind of you all to come here," she said gently. "Is--is
+there anything I can--do for you?"
+
+Suddenly Beasley's voice made itself heard.
+
+"Git busy, Ike, you're spokesman," he cried. "Git on with the
+presentation--ladle out the ad--dress. You're kind o' lookin'
+foolish."
+
+He followed up his words with his unpleasant laugh, and it was the
+sting the youthful leader needed.
+
+He turned fiercely on the speaker, his momentary paralysis all
+vanished.
+
+"Ef I'm spokesman," he cried, "guess we don't need no buttin' in from
+Beasley Melford." Then he turned again quickly. "Astin' your pardon,
+miss," he added apologetically.
+
+"That's all right," said Joan, smiling amiably. "What are you
+'spokesman' for?"
+
+The boy grinned foolishly.
+
+"Can't rightly say, missie." Then he jerked his head in his comrades'
+direction. "Guess if you was to ast _them_, they'd call theirselves
+_men_."
+
+"I didn't say 'who,' I said 'what,'" Joan protested, with a laugh at
+his desperately serious manner.
+
+"'What?'" he murmured, smearing his dirty forehead with a horny hand
+in the effort of his task. Then he brightened. "Why, gener'ly
+speakin'," he went on, with sudden enthusiasm, "they ain't much
+better'n skippin' sheep. Y' see they want to but darsent.
+So--wal--they jest set me up to sling the hot air."
+
+The girl looked appealingly at the rough faces for assistance. But
+instead of help she only beheld an expression of general discontent
+turned on the unconscious back of the spokesman. And coming back to
+the boy she pursued the only course possible.
+
+"I--I don't think I quite understand," she said.
+
+Ike readily agreed with her.
+
+"I'm durned sure you can't," he cried heartily. "They jest think it a
+rotten kind of a job handin' a red-ha'r'd gal a few words an' an
+a'mighty fine hunk o' gold. That's cos they ain't been dragged up jest
+right. You can't expect elegant feedin' at a hog trough. Now it's kind
+o' diff'rent wi' me. I----"
+
+"Oh, quit," cried the sharp voice of the exasperated Abe Allinson. And
+there was no doubt but he was speaking for the rest of the audience.
+
+Pete followed him in a tone of equal resentment.
+
+"That ain't no sort o' way ad--dressin' a leddy," he said angrily.
+
+"Course it ain't," sneered Beasley. "Ther's sure bats roostin' in your
+belfry, Ike."
+
+The boy jumped round on the instant. His good-nature could stand the
+jibes of his comrades generally, but Beasley's sneers neither he nor
+any one else could endure.
+
+"Who's that yappin'?" the youngster cried, glowering into the
+speaker's face. "That the feller Buck called an outlaw passon?" he
+demanded. His right hand slipped to the butt of his gun. "Say you,"
+he cried threateningly, "if you got anything to say I'm right here
+yearnin' to listen."
+
+Joan saw the half-drawn weapon, and in the same instant became aware
+of a movement on the part of the man Beasley. She was horrified,
+expecting one of those fierce collisions she had heard about. But the
+moment passed, and, though she did not realize it, it was caused by
+Ike's gun leaving its holster first.
+
+Her woman's fear urged her, and she raised a protesting hand.
+
+"Please--please," she cried, her eyes dilating with apprehension.
+"What have I done that you should come here to quarrel?"
+
+Buck in the background smiled. He was mentally applauding the girl's
+readiness, while he watched the others closely.
+
+Ike turned to her again, and his anger had merged into a comical look
+of chagrin.
+
+"Y' see, missie," he said in a fresh tone of apology, "ther's fellers
+around here wi' no sort o' manners. They're scairt to death makin' a
+big talk to a red-ha'r'd gal, so I jest got to do it. An' I sez it, it
+ain't easy, folks like me speechin' to folks like you----"
+
+"Oh, git on!" cried Pete in a tired voice.
+
+"Your hot air's nigh freezin'," laughed Soapy Kid.
+
+"Quit it," cried Ike hotly. "Ain't they an ignorant lot o' hogs?" he
+went on, appealing to the smiling girl. "Y' see, missie, we're right
+glad you come along. We're prospectin' this layout fer gold an'----"
+
+"An' we ain't had no sort o' luck till you got around," added Pete
+hastily.
+
+"In the storm," nodded Curly Saunders.
+
+"All mussed-up an' beat to hell," cried Ike, feeling that he was being
+ousted from his rights.
+
+"Yes, an' Buck carried you to home, an' rode in fer the doc, an' had
+you fixed right," cried Abe.
+
+Ike looked round indignantly.
+
+"Say, is youse fellers makin' this big talk or me? ain't yearnin', if
+any feller's lookin' fer glory."
+
+His challenge was received with a chorus of laughter.
+
+"You're doin' fine," cried the Kid.
+
+Ike favored the speaker with a contemptuous stare and returned to his
+work. He shrugged.
+
+"They ain't no account anyway, missie," he assured her, "guess they're
+sore. Wal, y' see you come along in the storm, an' what should happen
+but the side o' Devil's Hill drops out, an' sets gold rollin' around
+like--like taters fallin' through a rotten sack. 'Gold?' sez we, an'
+gold it is. 'Who bro't us sech luck?' we asts. An' ther' it is right
+ther', so ther' can't be no mistake. Jest a pore, sick gal wi' red
+ha'r, all beat to hell an'----"
+
+"Gee, ain't it beautiful!" sneered Curly.
+
+Soapy pretended to weep, and Abe thumped him heavily on the back.
+
+"Cheer up, Kid," he grinned. "'Tain't as bad as it seems. Ike'll feel
+better after he's had his vittles."
+
+Pete sniggered.
+
+"Ain't he comic?" he cried. Then, seizing the opportunity, while Ike
+turned round to retort he hustled him aside and usurped his place.
+
+"Say, missie, it's jest this, you're the Golden Woman who bro't us our
+luck. Some of us ain't got your name right, nor nuthin'. Anyway that
+don't figger nuthin'. We ain't had no luck till you come along, so
+you're jest our Golden Woman, an' we're goin' to hand you----"
+
+Joan started back as though the man had struck her. Her beautiful
+cheeks went a ghastly pallor.
+
+"No--no!" she cried half-wildly.
+
+"And why for not?" demanded Pete.
+
+"But my name is Joan," she cried, a terrible dread almost overpowering
+her. "You see 'Golden' isn't my real name," she explained, without
+pausing to think. "That's only a nickname my father ga--gave me. I--I
+was christened 'Joan.'"
+
+Pete slapped his thigh heavily, and a great grin spread over his face.
+
+"Say, don't it beat the band?" he cried in wild delight. "Don't it?"
+he repeated, appealing to the world at large. "'Golden.' That's her
+name, an' we only hit on it cos she's got gold ha'r, an' bro't us
+gold. An' all the time her pa used to call her 'Golden.' Can you beat
+it?" Then he looked into Joan's face with admiring eyes. "Say, missie,
+that's your name for jest as long as you stop around this layout.
+That's her name, ain't it, boys?" He appealed to the crowd. "Here,
+give it her good an' plenty, boys. Hooray for the 'Golden Woman'!"
+
+Instantly the air was filled with a harsh cheering that left the girl
+almost weeping in her terror and misery. But the men saw nothing of
+the effect of their good-will. They were only too glad to be able to
+find such an outlet to their feelings. When the cheering ceased Pete
+thrust out an arm toward her. His palm was stretched open, and lying
+on it was the great yellow nugget that the Padre had found--the first
+find of the "strike."
+
+"That's it, missie," he cried, his wild eyes rolling delightedly.
+"Look right ther'. That's fer you. The Padre found it, an' it's his
+to give, an' he sent it to you. That's the sort o' luck you bro't us."
+
+The crowd closed in with necks craning to observe the wonderful nugget
+of gold; to the finding of its kind their lives were devoted. Beasley
+was at Pete's elbow, the greediest of them all.
+
+"It wasn't no scrapin' an' scratchin' luck," the enthusiastic Pete
+hurried on. "It was gold in hunks you bro't us."
+
+Beasley's eyes lit, and Buck, watching closely, edged in.
+
+"It's a present to you, missie," Pete went on. "That's wot we come
+for. Jest to hand you that nugget. Nigh sixty ounces solid gold, an'
+the first found at this yer camp."
+
+Balanced on his hand he thrust it farther out for the girl to take,
+but she shrank back. Beasley saw the movement and laughed. He pointed
+at it and leered up into her face.
+
+"You're sure right," he cried. "Don't you touch it. Jest look at it.
+Say, can't you fellers see, or are you blind? She ain't blind. She can
+see. She's seen wot's ther'. It's a death's head. Gold? Gee, I tell
+you it's a death's head! Look at them eye-sockets," he cried, pointing
+at the curious moulding of the nugget. "Ther's the nose bones, an' the
+jaw. Look at them teeth, too, all gold-filled, same as if a dentist
+had done 'em." He laughed maliciously. "It's a dandy present fer a
+lady. A keepsake!"
+
+The men were crowding to see the markings which Beasley pointed out.
+They were quite plain. They were so obvious that something like horror
+lit the superstitious faces. Beasley, watching, saw that he had made
+his point, so he hurried on--
+
+"Don't you touch it, miss," he cried gleefully, as though he
+thoroughly enjoyed delivering his warning. "It's rotten luck if you
+do. That gold is Devil's gold. It's come from Devil's Hill, in a
+Devil's storm. It's a death's head, an' there's all the trouble in the
+world in it. There's----"
+
+His prophecy remained uncompleted. He was suddenly caught by a
+powerful hand, and the next instant he found himself swung to the
+outskirts of the crowd with terrific force.
+
+In a furious rage he pulled himself together just in time to see Buck,
+pale with anger, seize the nugget from Pete's outstretched palm.
+
+"You don't need to worry with the trouble in that gold," he said with
+biting coldness, raising it at arm's length above his head.
+
+Then before any one was aware of his intention he flung it with all
+his force upon the flagstone at Joan's feet. Quickly he stooped and
+picked it up again, and again flung it down with all his strength. He
+repeated the process several times, and finally held it out toward the
+troubled girl.
+
+"You ken take it now," he said, his whole manner softening. "Guess
+Beasley's 'death's head' has gone--to its grave. Ther' ain't no sort
+o' trouble can hurt any, if--you only come down on it hard enough. The
+trouble ain't in that gold now, only in the back of Beasley's head.
+An' when it gets loose, wal--I allow there's folks around here won't
+see it come your way. You can sure take it now."
+
+Joan reached out a timid hand, while her troubled violet eyes looked
+into Buck's face as though fascinated. The man moved a step nearer,
+and the small hand closed over the battered nugget.
+
+"Take it," he said encouragingly. "It's an expression of the good
+feelings of the boys. An' I don't guess you need be scared of _them_."
+
+Joan took the gold, but there was no smile in her eyes, no thanks on
+her lips. She stepped back to her doorway and passed within.
+
+"I'm tired," she said, and her words were solely addressed to Buck. He
+nodded, while she closed the door. Then he turned about.
+
+"Wal!" he said.
+
+And his manner was a decided dismissal.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE CALL OF YOUTH
+
+
+The fur fort was a relic of ancient days, when the old-time traders of
+the North sent their legions of pelt hunters from the far limits of
+the northern ice-world to the sunny western slopes of the great
+American continent. It was at such a place as this, hemmed in amidst
+the foot-hills, that they established their factor and his handful of
+armed men; lonely sentries at the gates of the mountain world, to levy
+an exorbitant tax upon the harvest of furs within.
+
+Here, within the ponderous stockade, now fallen into sore decay,
+behind iron-bound doors secured by mighty wooden locks, and barred
+with balks of timber, sheltered beneath the frowning muzzles of half a
+dozen futile carronades, they reveled in obscene orgies and committed
+their barbaric atrocities under the name of Justice and Commerce. Here
+they amassed wealth for the parent companies in distant lands, and
+ruthlessly despoiled the wild of its furry denizens.
+
+These were the pioneers, sturdy savages little better than the red man
+himself, little better in their lives than the creatures upon which
+they preyed. But they were for the most part men, vigorous, dauntless
+men who not only made history, but prepared the way for those who were
+to come after, leaving them a heritage of unsurpassable magnificence.
+
+Now, this old-time relic afforded a shelter for two lonely men, whose
+only emulation of their predecessors was in the craft that was theirs.
+In all else there remained nothing in common, unless it were that
+common asset of all pioneers, a sturdy courage. They certainly lacked
+nothing of this. But whereas the courage of their predecessors,
+judging them by all historical records, in quality belonged largely to
+the more brutal side of life, these men had no such inspiration. Their
+calling was something in the nature of a passionate craving for the
+exercise of wits and instincts in a hard field where the creatures of
+the wild meet the human upon almost equal terms.
+
+Isolation was nothing new to these men. The remotenesses of the back
+world had been their life for years. They understood its every mood,
+and met them with nerves in perfect tune. The mountains filled their
+whole outlook. They desired nothing better, nothing more.
+
+Yet it seemed strange that this should be. For the Padre had not
+always lived beyond the fringes of civilization. He was a man of
+education, a man of thought and even culture. These things must have
+been obvious to the most casual observer. In Buck's case it was easier
+to understand. He had known no other life than this. And yet he, too,
+might well have been expected to look askance at a future lost to all
+those things which he knew to lay beyond. Was he not at the threshold
+of life? Were not his veins thrilling with the rich, red tide of
+youth? Were not all those instincts which go to make up the sum of
+young human life as much a part of him as of those others who haunted
+the banks of Yellow Creek? The whole scheme was surely unusual. The
+Padre's instinct was to roam deeper and deeper into the wild, and
+Buck, offered his release from its wondrous thrall, had refused it.
+
+Thus they embraced this new home. The vast and often decaying timbers,
+hewn out of the very forests they loved, cried out with all the old
+associations they bore and held them. The miniature citadel contained
+within the trenchant stockade, the old pelt stores, roofless and
+worm-eaten, the armory which still suggested the clank of half-armored
+men, who lived only for the joy of defying death. The factor's house,
+whence, in the days gone by, the orders for battle had been issued,
+and the sentence of life and death had been handed out with scant
+regard for justice. Then there were the ruined walls of the
+common-room, where the fighting men had caroused and slept. The scenes
+of frightful orgies held in this place were easy to conjure. All these
+things counted in a manner which perhaps remained unacknowledged by
+either. But nevertheless they were as surely a part of the lure as the
+chase itself, with all its elemental attraction.
+
+They had restored just as much of the old factor's house as they
+needed for their simple wants. Two rooms were all they occupied, two
+rooms as simple and plain as their own lives. Buck had added a new
+roof of logs and clay plaster. He had set up two stretchers with
+straw-stuffed paillasses for beds. He had manufactured a powerful
+table, and set it upon legs cut from pine saplings. To this he had
+added the removal of a cook-stove and two chairs, and their own
+personal wardrobe from the farm, and so the place was complete. Yet
+not quite. There was an arm rack upon the wall of the living-room, an
+arm rack that had at one time doubtless supported the old flintlocks
+of the early fur hunters. This he had restored, and laden it with
+their own armory and the spare traps of their craft; while their only
+luxury was the fastening up beside the doorway of a frameless
+looking-glass for shaving purposes.
+
+They required a place to sleep in, a place in which to store their
+produce, a place in which to break their fast and eat their meal at
+dusk. Here it lay, ready to their hand, affording them just these
+simple necessities, and so they adopted it.
+
+But the new life troubled the Padre in moments when he allowed himself
+to dwell upon the younger man's future. He had offered him his
+release, at the time he had parted with the farm, from a sense of
+simple duty. It would have been a sore blow to him had Buck accepted,
+yet he would have submitted readily, even gladly, for he felt that
+with the passing of the farm out of their hands he had far more
+certainly robbed Buck of all provision for his future than he had
+deprived himself, who was the actual owner. He felt that in seeking to
+help the little starving colony he had done it, in reality, at Buck's
+expense.
+
+Something of this was in his mind as he pushed away from their frugal
+breakfast-table. He stood in the doorway filling his pipe, while Buck
+cleared the tin plates and pannikins and plunged them into the boiler
+of hot water on the stove.
+
+He leant his stalwart shoulders against the door casing, and stared
+out at the wooded valley which crossed the front of the house. Beyond
+it, over the opposite rise, he could see the dim outline of the crest
+of Devil's Hill several miles away.
+
+He felt that by rights Buck should be there--somewhere there beyond
+the valley. Not because the youngster had any desire for the wealth
+that was flowing into the greedy hands of the gold-seekers. It was
+simply the thought of a man who knows far more of the world than he
+cares to remember. He felt that in all honesty he should point out the
+duties of a man to himself in these days when advancement alone
+counts, and manhood, without worldly position, goes for so very
+little. He was not quite sure that Buck didn't perfectly understand
+these things for himself. He had such a wonderful understanding and
+insight. However, his duty was plain, and it was not his way to shrink
+from it.
+
+Buck was sprinkling the earth floor preparatory to sweeping it when
+the Padre let his eyes wander back into the room.
+
+"Got things fixed?" he inquired casually.
+
+"Mostly." Buck began to sweep with that practiced hand which never
+raises a dust on an earthen floor.
+
+The Padre watched his movements thoughtfully.
+
+"Seems queer seeing you sweeping and doing chores like a--a hired
+girl." He laughed presently.
+
+Buck looked up and rested on his broom. He smilingly surveyed his
+early benefactor and friend.
+
+"What's worryin'?" he inquired in his direct fashion.
+
+The Padre stirred uneasily. He knocked the ashes from his pipe and
+pressed the glowing tobacco down with the head of a rusty nail.
+
+"Oh, nothing worrying," he said, turning back to his survey of the
+valley beyond the decaying stockade. "The sun'll be over the hilltops
+in half an hour," he went on.
+
+But the manner of his answer told Buck all he wanted to know. He too
+glanced out beyond the valley.
+
+"Yes," he ejaculated, and went on sweeping. A moment later he paused
+again. "Guess I can't be out at the traps till noon. Mebbe you ken do
+without me--till then?"
+
+"Sure." The Padre nodded at the valley. Then he added: "I've been
+thinking."
+
+"'Bout that gold strike? 'Bout me? You bin thinkin' I ought to quit
+the traps, an'--make good wi' them. I know."
+
+The elder man turned back sharply and looked into the dark eyes with a
+shrewd smile.
+
+"You generally get what I'm thinking," he said.
+
+"Guess you're not much of a riddle--to me," Buck laughed, drawing the
+moist dust into a heap preparatory to picking it up.
+
+The Padre laughed too.
+
+"Maybe you know how I'm feeling about things, then? Y' see there's
+nothing for you now but half the farm money. That's yours anyway. It
+isn't a pile. Seems to me you ought to be--out there making a big
+position for yourself." He nodded in the direction of Devil's Hill.
+
+"Out of gold?"
+
+"Why not? It's an opportunity."
+
+"What for?" Buck inquired, without a semblance of enthusiasm.
+
+"Why, for going ahead--with other folks."
+
+Buck nodded.
+
+"I know. Goin' to a city with a big pile. A big house. Elegant
+clothes. Hired servants. Congress. Goin' around with a splash of big
+type in the noospapers."
+
+"That's not quite all, Buck." The man at the door shook his head. "A
+man when he rises doesn't need to go in for--well, for vulgar display.
+There are a heap of other things besides. What about the intellectual
+side of civilization? What about the advancement of good causes? What
+about--well, all those things we reckon worth while out here? Then,
+too, you'll be marrying some day."
+
+Buck picked up the dust and carefully emptied it into the blazing
+stove. He watched it burn for a moment, and then replaced the round
+iron top.
+
+"Marryin' needs--all those things?" he inquired at last.
+
+"Well, I wouldn't say that," returned the other quickly. He knew
+something was lying behind Buck's quiet manner, and it made him a
+little uncomfortable. "Most men find a means of marrying when they
+want to--if they're men. Look here," he went on, with a sudden
+outburst of simple candor, "I want to be fair to you, and I want you
+to be fair to yourself. There's an opportunity over there"--he pointed
+with his pipe in the direction of Devil's Hill--"an opportunity to
+make a pile, which will help you to take a position in the world. I
+don't want you to stay with me from any mistaken sense of gratitude or
+duty. It is my lot, and my desire, to remain in these hills. But
+you--you've got your life before you. You can rise to the top if you
+want to. I know you. I know your capacity. Take your share of the farm
+money, and--get busy."
+
+"An' if I don't want to--get busy?" Buck's dark eyes were alight with
+a curious, intense warmth.
+
+The Padre shrugged and pushed his pipe into the corner of his mouth.
+
+"There's nothing more to be said," he replied.
+
+"But ther' is, Padre. There sure is," cried Buck, stepping over to him
+and laying one hand on the great shoulder nearest him. "I get all you
+say. I've got it long ago. You bin worryin' to say all this since ever
+you got back from sellin' the farm. An' it's like you. But you an' me
+don't jest figger alike. You got twenty more years of the world than
+me, so your eyes look around you different. That's natural. You're
+guessin' that hill is an opportunity for me. Wal, I'm guessin' it
+ain't. Mebbe it is for others, but not for me. I got my opportunity
+twenty years ago, an' you give me that opportunity. I was starvin' to
+death then, an' you helped me out. You're my opportunity, an' it makes
+me glad to think of it. Wher' you go I go, an' when we both done, why,
+I guess it won't be hard to see that what I done an' what you done was
+meant for us both to do. We're huntin' pelts for a livin' now, an'
+when the time comes for us to quit it, why, we'll both quit it
+together, an' so it'll go on. It don't matter wher' it takes us. Say,"
+he went on, turning away abruptly. "Guess I'll jest haul the drinkin'
+water before I get."
+
+The Padre turned his quiet eyes on the slim back.
+
+"And what about when you think of marrying?" he asked shrewdly.
+
+Buck paused to push the boiler off the stove. He shook his head and
+pointed at the sky.
+
+"Guess the sun's gettin' up," he said.
+
+The Padre laughed and prepared to depart.
+
+"Where you off to this morning?" he inquired presently.
+
+"That gal ain't got a hired man, yet," Buck explained simply, as he
+picked up his saddle. Then he added ingenuously, "Y' see I don't guess
+she ken do the chores, an' the old woman ain't got time to--for
+talkin'."
+
+The Padre nodded while he bent over the breech of his Winchester. He
+had no wish for Buck to see the smile his words had conjured.
+
+Buck swung his saddle on to his shoulder and passed out of the hut in
+the direction of the building he had converted into a barn. And when
+he had gone the Padre looked after him.
+
+"He says she's handsome, with red-gold hair and blue eyes," he
+murmured. Then a far-away look stole into his steady eyes, and their
+stare fixed itself upon the doorway of the barn through which Buck had
+just vanished. "Curious," he muttered. "They've nicknamed her
+'Golden,' which happened to be a nickname--her father gave her."
+
+He stood for some moments lost in thought. Then, suddenly pulling
+himself together, he shouldered his rifle and disappeared into the
+woods.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+A WHIRLWIND VISIT
+
+
+Joan was idling dispiritedly over her breakfast. A long, wakeful night
+had at last ended in the usual aching head and eyes ringed with
+shadows. She felt dreary, and looked forward drearily to inspecting
+her farm--which, in her normal state, would have inspired nothing but
+perfect delight--with something like apprehension.
+
+Her beginning in the new life had been swamped in a series of
+disastrous events which left her convinced of the impossibility of
+escape from the painful shadow of the past. All night her brain had
+been whirling in a perfect chaos of thought as she reviewed her advent
+to the farm. There had been nothing, from her point of view, but
+disaster upon disaster. First her arrival. Then--why, then the "luck"
+of the gold find. In her eyes, what was that but the threat of
+disaster to come? Had not her aunt told her that this extraordinary
+luck that she must ever bring was part of the curse shadowing her
+life? Then the coincidence of her nickname. It was truly hideous. The
+very incongruity of it made it seem the most terrible disaster of all.
+Surely, more than anything else, it pointed the hand of Fate. It was
+her father's nickname for her, and he--he had been the worst sufferer
+at her hands.
+
+The whole thing seemed so hopeless, so useless. What was the use of
+her struggle against this hateful fate? A spirit of rebellion urged
+her, and she felt half-inclined to abandon herself to the life that
+was hers; to harden herself, and, taking the cup life offered her,
+drain it to the dregs. Why should she waste her life battling with a
+force which seemed all-powerful? Why should she submit to the terror
+of it? What were the affairs of these others to her? She was not
+responsible. Nothing in the whole sane world of ethics could hold her
+responsible.
+
+The spirit of rebellion, for the moment, obtained the upper hand. She
+had youth; Fortune had bestowed a face and figure upon her that she
+need not be ashamed of, and a healthy capacity for enjoyment. Then why
+should she abandon all these gifts because of a fate for which she was
+in no way responsible?
+
+She pushed back her chair from the table, and crossed to the open
+front door.
+
+The sun was not yet up, and the morning air was dewy and fresh with
+perfumes such as she had never experienced in St. Ellis. It was--yes,
+it was good to be alive on such a day in spite of everything.
+
+She glanced out over the little farm--her farm. Yes, it was all hers,
+bought and paid for, and she still had money for all her needs and to
+do those things she wanted to do. She turned away and looked back into
+the little parlor with its simple furnishings, its mannish odds and
+ends upon the wall. She heard the sounds of the old housekeeper busy
+in her heavy, blundering way with the domestic work of her home. She
+had so many plans for the future, and every one in its inception had
+given her the greatest delight. Now--now this hideous skeleton had
+stepped from its cupboard and robbed her of every joy. No, she would
+not stand it. She would steel her heart to these stupid, girlish
+superstitions. She would--
+
+Her gloomy reflections were abruptly cut short. There was a rush and
+clatter. In a perfect whirlwind of haste a horseman dashed up, dragged
+his horse back on to its haunches as he pulled up, and flung out of
+the saddle.
+
+It was the boy, Montana Ike. He grabbed his disreputable hat from his
+ginger head, and stared agape at the vision of loveliness he had come
+in search of.
+
+"Good--good-morning," Joan said, hardly knowing how to greet this
+strange apparition.
+
+The boy nodded, and moistened his lips as though consumed by a sudden
+thirst.
+
+For a moment they stared stupidly at each other. Then Joan, feeling
+the awkwardness of the situation, endeavored to relieve it.
+
+"Daylight?" she exclaimed interrogatively, "and you not yet out at
+the--where the gold is?"
+
+Ike shook his head and grinned the harder. Then his tongue loosened,
+and his words came with a sudden rush that left the girl wondering.
+
+"Y' see the folks is eatin' breakfast," he said. "Y' see I jest cut it
+right out, an' come along. I heard Pete--you know Blue Grass
+Pete--he's a low-down Kentuckian--he said he tho't some un orter git
+around hyar case you was queer after last night. Sed he guessed he
+would. Guess I'll git back 'fore they're busy. It'll take 'em all
+hustlin' to git ahead o' me."
+
+"That's very kind," Joan replied mechanically. But the encouragement
+was scarcely needed. The boy rushed on, like a river in flood time.
+
+"Oh, it ain't zac'ly kind!" he said. "Y' see they're mostly a low-down
+lot, an' Pete's the low-downest. He's bad, is Pete, an' ain't no
+bizness around a leddy. Then Beasley Melford. He's jest a durned skunk
+anyways. Don't guess Curly Saunders ain't much account neither. He
+makes you sick to death around a whisky bottle. Abe Allinson, he's
+sort o' mean, too. Y' see Abe's Slaney Dick's pardner, an' they bin
+workin' gold so long they ain't got a tho't in their gray heads 'cept
+gold an' rot-gut rye. Still, they're better'n the Kid. The Kid's soft,
+so we call him Soapy. Guess you orter know 'em all right away. Y' see
+it's easy a gal misbelievin' the rights o' folks."
+
+Joan smiled. Something of the man's object was becoming plain.
+
+She studied his face while he was proceeding to metaphorically nail up
+each of these men's coffins, and the curious animal alertness of it
+held her interest. His eyes were wide and restless, and a hardness
+marked the corners of his rather loose mouth. She wondered if that
+hardness were natural, or whether it had been acquired in the
+precarious life that these people lived.
+
+"It's just as well to know--everybody," she said gently.
+
+"Oh, it sure is, in a country like this," the man went on confidently.
+"That's why I come along. Fellers chasin' gold is a hell of a bad
+outfit. Y' see, I ain't bin long chasin' gold, an' I don't figger to
+keep at it long neither. Y' see, I got a good claim. Guess it's sure
+the best. We drew lots for 'em last night. It was the Padre fixed that
+up. He's a great feller, the Padre. An' I got the best one--wher' the
+Padre found that nugget you got. Oh, I'm lucky--dead lucky! Guess
+I'll git a pile out o' my claim, sure. A great big pile. Then I'm
+goin' to live swell in a big city an' have a great big outfit of folks
+workin' fer me. An' I'll git hooked up with a swell gal. It'll be a
+bully proposition. Guess the gal'll be lucky, cos I'll have such a big
+pile."
+
+The youngster's enthusiasm and conceit were astounding. Nor could Joan
+help the coldness they inspired in her voice.
+
+"She will be lucky--marrying you," she agreed. "But--aren't you afraid
+you'll miss something if the others get out to the hill before you? I
+mean, they being such a bad lot."
+
+The man became serious for a second before he answered. Then, in a
+moment, his face brightened into a grin of confidence.
+
+"Course you can't trust 'em," he said, quite missing Joan's desire to
+be rid of him. "But I don't guess any of 'em's likely to try monkey
+tricks. Guess if any feller robbed me I'd shoot him down in his
+tracks. They know that, sure. Oh, no, they won't play no monkey
+tricks. An' anyway, I ain't givin' 'em a chance."
+
+He moved toward his horse and replaced the reins over its neck in
+spite of his brave words. Joan understood. She saw the meanness
+underlying his pretended solicitation for her well-being. All her sex
+instincts were aroused, and she quite understood the purpose of the
+somewhat brutal youth.
+
+"You're quite right to give them no chances," she said coldly. "And
+now, I s'pose, you're going right out to your claim?"
+
+"I am that," exclaimed the other, with a gleam of cupidity in his
+shifty eyes. "I'm goin' right away to dig lumps of gold fer to buy
+di'monds fer that gal."
+
+He laughed uproariously at his pleasantry as he leapt into the saddle.
+But in a moment his mirth had passed, and his whole expression
+suddenly hardened as he bent down from the saddle.
+
+"But ef Pete comes around you git busy an' boot him right out. Pete's
+bad--a real bad un. He's wuss'n Beasley. Wal, I won't say he's wuss.
+But he's as bad. Git me?"
+
+Joan nodded. She had no alternative. The fellow sickened her. She had
+been ready to meet him as one of these irresponsible people, ignorant,
+perhaps dissipated, but at least well-meaning. But here she found the
+lower, meaner traits of manhood she thought were only to be found
+amongst the dregs of a city. It was not a pleasant experience, and she
+was glad to be rid of him.
+
+"I think I understand. Good-bye."
+
+"You're a bright gal, you sure are," the youth vouchsafed cordially.
+"I guessed you'd understand. I like gals who understand quick. That's
+the sort o' gal I'm goin' to hitch up with." He grinned, and crushed
+his hat well down on his head. "Wal, so long. See you ag'in. Course I
+can't git around till after I finish on my claim. Guess you won't feel
+lonesome tho', you got to git your farm fixed right. Wal, so long."
+
+Joan nodded as the man rode off, thankful for the termination of his
+vicious, whirlwind visit. Utterly disgusted, she turned back to the
+house to find Mrs. Ransford standing in the doorway.
+
+"What's he want?" the old woman demanded in her most uncompromising
+manner.
+
+The girl laughed mirthlessly.
+
+"I think he wants a little honesty and kindliness knocked into his
+very warped nature," she declared, with a sigh.
+
+"Warped? Warped?" The old woman caught at the word, and it seemed to
+set her groping in search of adequate epithets in which to express her
+feelings. "I don't know what that means. But he's it anyways--they all
+are."
+
+And she vanished again into the culinary kingdom over which she
+presided.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE CLAIMS OF DUTY
+
+
+Half an hour later Joan left the house for the barn.
+
+In that brief space she had lived through one of those swiftly-passing
+epochs in human life when mind, heart and inclination are brought into
+something approaching actual conflict. But, stern as the fight with
+weakness had been, she had emerged chastened and victorious.
+Realization had come to her--realization of whither her troubles had
+been leading her. She knew she must not abandon herself to the
+selfishness which her brief rebellion had prompted. She was young,
+inexperienced, and of a highly-sensitive temperament, but she was not
+weak. And it was this fact which urged her now. Metaphorically
+speaking, she had determined to tackle life with shirt sleeves rolled
+up.
+
+She knew that duty was not only duty, but something which was to yield
+her a measure of happiness. She knew, too, that duty was not only to
+be regarded from a point of view of its benefit to others. There
+was a duty to oneself--which must not be claimed for the sin of
+selfishness--just as surely as to others; that in its thoroughness of
+performance lay the secret of all that was worth having in life, and
+that the disobedience of the laws of such duty, the neglect of them,
+was to outrage the canons of all life's ethics, and to bring down upon
+the head of the offender the inevitable punishment.
+
+She must live her life calmly, honestly, whatever the fate hanging
+over her. That was the first and most important decision she arrived
+at. She must not weakly yield to panic inspired by superstitious
+dread. To do so was, she felt, to undermine her whole moral being. She
+must ignore this shadow, she must live a life that defied its power.
+And when the cloud grew too black, if that method were not sufficient
+to dispel it, she must appeal for alleviation and support from that
+Power which would never deny its weak and helpless creatures. She knew
+that human endurance of suffering was intended to be limited, and that
+when that limit was honestly reached support was still waiting for the
+sufferer.
+
+Thus she left the house in a chastened spirit, and once more full of
+youthful courage. The work, the new life she had chosen for herself,
+must fill every moment of her waking hours. And somehow she felt that
+with her stern resolve had come a foretaste of that happiness she
+demanded of life. Her spirits rose as she neared the barn, and a wild
+excitement filled her as she contemplated a minute inspection of her
+belongings and her intention to personally minister to their wants.
+
+Something of the instinct of motherhood stirred in her veins at the
+thought. These were hers to care for--hers to attend and "do" for. She
+laughed as she thought of the family awaiting her. What a family. Yes,
+why not? These creatures were for the guardianship of the human race.
+With all their physical might they were helpless dependents on human
+aid. Yes, they must be thought for and cared for. They were her
+family. And she laughed again.
+
+The barn was a sturdy building. Nor was it unpicturesque with its
+solid, dovetailed lateral logs and heavy thatched roof. She saw that
+it was built with the same care and finish as the house that was now
+her home. She could not help wondering at the manner of man who had
+designed and built it. She saw in it such deliberateness, such skill.
+There was nothing here of the slap-dash prairie carpenter she had read
+of--the man who flung up buildings simply for the needs of the moment.
+These were buildings that might last for ages and still retain all
+their original weather-proof comfort for the creatures they sheltered.
+She felt pleased with this man Moreton Kenyon.
+
+She passed round the angle of the building to the doorway, and paused
+for a moment to admire the scheme of the farm. Every building fronted
+on a largish open space, which was split by the waters of Yellow
+Creek, beyond which lay the corrals. Here was forethought. The
+operative part of the farm was hidden from the house, and every detail
+of it was adjacent one to another. There was the wagon shed with a
+wagon in it, and harvesting implements stabled in perfect order. There
+were the hog-pens, the chicken-houses; the sheds for milch cows. There
+was the barn and the miniature grain store; then, across the creek, a
+well, with accompanying drinking-trough, corrals with lowing kine in
+them; a branding cage. And beyond these she could see a vista of
+fenced pastures.
+
+As she stood reveling in the survey of her little possession the
+thought recurred to her that this was hers, all hers. It was the home
+of her family, and she laughed still more happily as she passed into
+the barn.
+
+Pushing the door open she found herself greeted in the half-light by a
+chorus of equine whinnying such as she had never before experienced,
+and the sound thrilled her. There stood the team of great Clydesdale
+horses, their long, fiddle heads turned round staring at her with
+softly inquiring eyes. She wanted to cry out in her joy, but,
+restraining herself, walked up beside the nearest of them and patted
+its glossy sides. Her touch was a caress which more than gave
+expression to her delight.
+
+Those were precious moments to Joan. They were so precious, indeed,
+that she quite forgot the purpose which had brought her there. She
+forgot that it was hers to tend and feed these great, helpless
+creatures. It was enough for her to sit on the swinging bail between
+the stalls, and revel in the gentle nuzzling of two velvety noses. In
+those first moments her sensations were unforgettable. The joy of it
+all held her in its thrall, and, for the moment at least, there was
+nothing else in the world.
+
+The moments passed unheeded. Every sound was lost to her. And so it
+came about that she did not hear the galloping of a horse approaching.
+She did not hear it come to a halt near by. She did not even notice
+the figure that presently filled the doorway. And only did her first
+realization of the intrusion come with the pleasant sound of a man's
+deep voice.
+
+"Bob an' Kitty's kind o' friendly, Miss Joan," it said.
+
+The girl turned with a jump and found herself confronted by Buck's
+smiling face. And oddly enough her first flash of thought was that
+this man had used her own name, and not her nickname, and she was
+grateful to him.
+
+Then she saw that he had the fork in his hand with which she had first
+seen him, and she remembered his overnight promise to do those very
+things for her which she had set out to do, but, alas! had forgotten
+all about.
+
+His presence became a reproach at once, and a slight pucker of
+displeasure drew her even brows together.
+
+"You're very kind," she began, "but----"
+
+Buck's smile broadened.
+
+"'But's' a ter'ble word," he said. "It most always goes ahead of
+something unpleasant." He quietly laid the fork aside, and, gathering
+an armful of hay, proceeded to fill Kitty's manger. "Now what
+you wer' going to say was something like that old--I mean your
+housekeeper--said, only you wouldn't say it so mean. You jest want to
+say I'm not to git around doing the chores here for the reason you
+can't accept favors, an' you don't guess it would be right to offer me
+pay, same as a 'hired' man."
+
+He hayed Bob's manger, and then loosened both horses' collar chains.
+
+"If you'll sit on the oat-box I'll turn 'em round an' take 'em to
+water at the trough. That's it."
+
+Joan obeyed him without a word, and the horses were led out. And while
+they were gone the girl was left to an unpleasant contemplation of the
+situation. She determined to deal with the matter boldly, however, and
+began the moment he returned.
+
+"You're quite right, Mr. Buck," she began.
+
+"Buck--jest plain Buck," he interrupted her. "But I hadn't jest
+finished," he went on deliberately. "I want to show you how you can't
+do those things the old--your housekeeper was yearnin' to do. Y' see,
+you can't get a 'hired' man nearer than Leeson Butte. You can't get
+him in less'n two weeks. You can't do the chores yourself, an' that
+old--your housekeeper ain't fit to do anything but make hash. Then you
+can't let the stock go hungry. Besides all of which you're doing me a
+real kindness letting me help you out. Ther's no favor to you. It's
+sure to me, an' these creatures which can't do things for themselves.
+So it would be a sound proposition to cut that 'but' right out of our
+talk an' send word to your lawyer feller in Leeson Butte for a 'hired'
+man. An' when he gits around, why--well, you won't be needin' me."
+
+All the time he was speaking his fork was busy clearing the stalls of
+their litter, and, at the finish, he leant on the haft of it and
+quizzically smiled into the girl's beautiful, half-troubled face.
+
+Joan contemplated protesting, but somehow his manner was so friendly,
+so frank and honest, that she felt it would be ungracious of her.
+Finally he won the day, and she broke into a little laugh of yielding.
+
+"You talk too--too well for me," she cried. "I oughtn't to accept,"
+she added. "I know I oughtn't, but what am I to do? I can't do--these
+things." Then she added regretfully: "And I thought it would be all so
+simple."
+
+Buck saw her disappointment, and it troubled him. He felt in a measure
+responsible, so he hastened to make amends.
+
+"Wal, y' see, men are rough an' strong. They can do the things needed
+around a farm. I don't guess women wer' made for--for the rough work
+of life. It ain't a thing to feel mean about. It's jest in the nature
+of things."
+
+Joan nodded. All the time he was speaking she had been studying him,
+watching the play of expression upon his mobile features rather than
+paying due attention to his words.
+
+She decided that she liked the look of him. It was not that he
+was particularly handsome. He seemed so strong, and yet so--so
+unconcerned. She wondered if that were only his manner. She knew that
+often volcanic natures, reckless, were hidden under a perfect calm.
+She wondered if it were so in his case. His eyes were so full of a
+brilliant dark light. Yes, surely this man roused might be an
+interesting personality. She remembered him last night. She remembered
+the strange, superheated fire in those same eyes when he had hurled
+the gold at her feet. Yes, she felt sure a tremendous force lay behind
+his calmness of manner.
+
+The man's thoughts were far less analytical. His was not the nature to
+search the psychology of a beautiful girl. To him Joan was the most
+wonderful thing on earth. She was something to be reverenced, to be
+worshipped. His imagination, fired by all his youthful impulse,
+endowed her with every gift that the mind of simple manhood could
+conceive, every virtue, every beauty of mind as well as body.
+
+Joan watched him for some moments as he continued his work. It was
+wonderful how easy he made it seem, how quickly it was done. She even
+found herself regretting that in a few minutes the morning "chores"
+would be finished, and this man would be away to--where?
+
+"You must have been up very early to get over here," she said
+designedly. Her girlish curiosity and interest could no longer be
+denied. She must find out what he was and what he did for a living.
+
+"I'm mostly up early," he replied simply.
+
+"Yes, of course. But--you have your own--stock to see to?"
+
+She felt quite pleased with her cunning. But her pleasure was
+short-lived.
+
+"Sure," he returned, with disarming frankness.
+
+"It really doesn't seem fair that you should have the double work,"
+she went on, with another attempt to penetrate his reserve.
+
+Buck's smile was utterly baffling. He walked to the door of the barn
+and gave a prolonged, low whistle. Then he came back.
+
+"It sure wouldn't be fair if I didn't," he said simply.
+
+"But you must have heaps to do on your--farm," Joan went on, feeling
+that she was on the right track at last "Look at what you're doing for
+me. These horses, the cattle, the--the pigs and things. I've no doubt
+you have much more to see to of your own."
+
+At that moment the head of C�sar appeared in the doorway. He stared
+round the familiar stable evidently searching for his master. Finally
+catching sight of him, he clattered in to the place and rubbed his
+handsome head against Buck's shoulder.
+
+"This is my stock," Buck said, affectionately rubbing the creature's
+nose. "An' I generally manage to see to him while the kettle's boilin'
+for breakfast."
+
+Just for a moment Joan felt abashed at her deliberate attempt to pump
+her companion. Then the quick, inquiring survey of the beautiful horse
+was too much for her, and she left her seat to join in the caresses.
+
+"Isn't he a beauty?" she cried, smoothing his silken face from the
+star on his forehead to the tip of his wide muzzle.
+
+Just for a second her hand came into contact with the man's, and, all
+unconscious, she let it remain. Then suddenly realizing the position
+she drew it away rather sharply.
+
+Buck made no move, but had she only looked up she must have noted the
+sudden pallor of his face. That brief touch, so unconscious, so
+unmeaning, had again set his pulses hammering through his body. And it
+had needed all his control to repress the fiery impulse that stirred
+him. He longed to kiss that soft white hand. He longed to take it in
+his own strong palms and hold it for his own, to keep it forever. But
+the moment passed, and when he spoke it was in the same pleasant, easy
+fashion.
+
+"I kind o' thought I ought to let him go with the farm," he said,
+"only the Padre wouldn't think of it. He'd have made a dandy feller
+for you to ride."
+
+But Joan was up in arms in a moment.
+
+"I'd never have forgiven you if you'd parted with him," she cried.
+"He's--he's perfectly beautiful."
+
+Buck nodded.
+
+"He's a good feller." And his tone said far more than his words.
+
+He led the beast to the door, and, giving him an affectionate slap,
+sent him trotting off.
+
+"I must git busy," he said, with a laugh. "The hay needs cuttin'.
+Guess I'll cut till dinner. After that I've got to quit till sundown.
+I'll go right on cuttin' each mornin' till your 'hired' man comes
+along. Y' see if it ain't cut now we'll be too late. I'll just throw
+the harness on Kitty an' Bob an' leave 'em to git through with their
+feed while I see the hogs fed. Guess that old--your housekeeper can
+milk? I ran the cows into the corral as I came up. Seems to me she
+could do most things she got fixed on doing."
+
+Joan laughed.
+
+"She was 'fixed' on sending you about what she called 'your
+business,'" she said slyly.
+
+Buck raised his brows in mock chagrin.
+
+"Guess she succeeded, too. I sure got busy right away--until you come
+along, and--and got me quittin'."
+
+"Oh!" Joan stared at him with round eyes of reproach. Then she burst
+out laughing. "Well, now you shall hear the truth for that, and you'll
+have to answer me too, Mr. Buck."
+
+"Buck--jest plain Buck."
+
+The girl made an impatient little movement.
+
+"Well, then, 'Buck.' I simply came along to thank you, and to tell you
+that I couldn't allow your help--except as a 'hired' man. And--I'm
+afraid you'll think me very curious--I came to find out who you were,
+and how you came to find me and bring me home here. And--and I wanted
+to know--well, everything about my arrival. And you--you've made it
+all very difficult. You--insist on doing all this for me.
+You're--you're not so kind as I thought."
+
+Joan's complaint was made half-laughingly and half-seriously. Buck saw
+the reality underlying her words, but determined to ignore it and only
+answer her lighter manner.
+
+"If you'd only asked me these things I'd have told you right away," he
+protested, smiling. "Y' see you never asked me."
+
+"I--I was trying to," Joan said feebly.
+
+Buck paused in the act of securing Kitty's harness.
+
+"That old--your housekeeper wouldn't ha' spent a deal of time trying,"
+he said dryly.
+
+Joan ignored the allusion.
+
+"I don't believe you intend to tell me now," she said.
+
+Buck left the stall and stood before the corn-box. His eyes were still
+smiling though his manner was tremendously serious.
+
+"You're wantin' to know who I am," he said. Then he paused, glancing
+out of the doorway, and the girl watched the return of that thoughtful
+expression which she had come to associate with his usual manner.
+"Wal," he said at last, in his final way, "I'm Buck, and I was picked
+up on the trail-side, starving, twenty years ago by the Padre. He's
+raised me, an' we're big friends. An' now, since we sold his farm,
+we're living at the old fur fort, back ther' in the hills, and we're
+goin' to get a living pelt hunting. I've got no folks, an' no name
+except Buck. I was called Buck. All I can remember is that my folks
+were farmers, but got burnt out in a prairie fire, and--burnt to
+death. That's why I was on the trail starving when the Padre found
+me."
+
+Joan's eyes had softened with a gentle sympathy, but she offered no
+word.
+
+"'Bout the other," the man went on, turning back to the girl, and
+letting his eyes rest on her fair face, "that's easy, too. I was at
+the shack of the boys in the storm. You come along an' wer' lying
+right ther' on the door-sill when I found you. I jest carried you
+right here. Y' see, I guessed who you wer'. Your cart was wrecked on
+the bank o' the creek----"
+
+"And the teamster?" Joan's eyes were eagerly appealing.
+
+Buck turned away.
+
+"Oh, guess he was ther' too." Then he abruptly moved toward the
+horses. "Say, I'll get on an' cut that hay."
+
+Joan understood. She knew that the teamster was dead. She sighed
+deeply, and as the sound reached him Buck looked round. It was on the
+tip of his tongue to say some word of comfort, for he knew that Joan
+had understood that the man was dead, but the girl herself, under the
+influence of her new resolve, made it unnecessary. She rose from her
+seat, and her manner suggested a forced lightness.
+
+"I'll go and feed the chickens," she said. "I--I ought to be capable
+of doing that."
+
+Buck smiled as he prepared to go and see to the hogs.
+
+"Guess you won't have trouble--if you know what to give 'em," he said.
+
+Nor was he quite sure if the girl were angry or smiling as she hurried
+out of the barn.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+GOLD AND ALLOY
+
+
+The seedling of success planted in rank soil generally develops a
+wild, pernicious growth which, until the summer of its life has
+passed, is untameable and pollutes all that with which it comes into
+contact. The husbandman may pluck at its roots, but the seed is flung
+broadcast, and he finds himself wringing his hands helplessly in the
+wilderness.
+
+So it was on the banks of Yellow Creek. The seedling was already
+flinging its tendrils and fastening tightly upon the life of the
+little camp. The change had come within three weeks of the moment when
+the Padre had gazed upon that first wonderful find of gold. So rapid
+was its development that it was almost staggering to the man who stood
+by watching the result of the news he had first carried to the camp.
+
+The Padre wandered the hills with trap and gun. Nothing could win him
+from the pursuit which was his. But his eyes were wide open to those
+things which had somehow become the care of his leisure. Many of his
+evenings were spent in the camp, and there he saw and heard the things
+which, in his working moments, gave him food for a disquietude of
+thought.
+
+He knew that the luck that had come to the camp was no ordinary luck.
+His first find had suggested something phenomenal, but it was nothing
+to the reality. A wealth almost incalculable had been yielded by a
+prodigal Nature. Every claim into which he, with the assistance of the
+men of the camp, had divided the find, measured carefully and balloted
+for, was rich beyond all dreams. Two or three were richer than the
+others, but this was the luck of the ballot, and the natural envy
+inspired thereby was of a comparatively harmless character.
+
+At first the thought of these things was one of a pleasant
+satisfaction. These men had waited, and suffered, and starved for
+their chance, and he was glad their chance had come. How many had
+waited, and suffered and starved, as they had done, and done all those
+things in vain? Yes, it was a pleasant thought, and it gave him zest
+and hope in his own life.
+
+The first days passed in a perfect whirlwind of joy. Where before had
+sounded only the moanings of despair, now the banks of Yellow Creek
+rang with laughter and joyous voices, bragging, hoping, jesting. One
+and all saw their long-dimmed hopes looming bright in the prospect of
+fulfilment.
+
+Then came a change. Just at first it was hardly noticeable. But it
+swiftly developed, and the shrewd mind of the watcher in the hills
+realized that the days of halcyon were passing all too swiftly. Men
+were no longer satisfied with hopes. They wanted realities.
+
+To want the realities with their simple, unrestrained passions, and
+the means of obtaining them at their disposal, was to demand them. To
+demand them was to have them. They wanted a saloon. They wanted an
+organized means of gambling, they wanted a town, with all its means of
+satisfying appetites that had all too long hungered for what they
+regarded as the necessary pleasures of life. They wanted a means of
+spending the accumulations gleaned from the ample purse of mother
+Nature. And, in a moment, they set about the work of possessing these
+things.
+
+As is always the case the means was not far to seek. It needed but one
+mind, keener in self-interest than the rest, and that mind was to
+hand. Beasley Melford, at no time a man who cared for the physical
+hardships of the life of these people, saw his opportunity and
+snatched it. He saw in it a far greater gold-mine than his own claim
+could ever yield him, and he promptly laid his plans.
+
+He set to work without any noise, any fuss. He was too foxy to shout
+until his purpose was beyond all possibility of failure. He simply
+disappeared from the camp for a week. His absence was noted, but no
+one cared. They were too full of their own affairs. The only people
+who thought on the matter were the Padre and Buck. Nor did they speak
+of it until he had been missing four days. Then it was, one evening as
+they were returning from their traps, the Padre gave some inkling of
+what had been busy in his thoughts all day.
+
+"It's queer about Beasley," he said, pausing to look back over a great
+valley out of which they had just climbed, and beyond which the
+westering sun was shining upon the distant snow-fields.
+
+Buck turned sharply at the sound of his companion's voice. They were
+not given to talking much out on these hills.
+
+"He's been away nigh four days," he said, and took the opportunity of
+shifting his burden of six freshly-taken fox pelts and lighting his
+pipe.
+
+The Padre nodded.
+
+"I think he'll be back soon," he said. Then he added slowly: "It seems
+a pity."
+
+"His coming back?" Buck eyed his companion quickly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Wher' d'you reckon he's gone?"
+
+The elder man raised a pair of astonished brows.
+
+"Why, to Leeson Butte," he said decidedly. Then he went on quietly,
+but with neither doubt nor hesitation: "There's a real big change
+coming here--when Beasley gets back. These men want drink, they are
+getting restless for high play. They are hankering for--for the
+flesh-pots they think their gold entitles them to. Beasley will give
+them all those things when he comes back. It's a pity."
+
+Buck thought for some moments before he answered. He was viewing the
+prospect from the standpoint of his years.
+
+"They must sure have had 'em anyway," he said at last.
+
+"Ye--es."
+
+The Padre understood what was in the other's mind.
+
+"You see," he went on presently, "I wasn't thinking of that so much.
+It's--well, it amounts to this. These poor devils are just working to
+fill Beasley's pockets. Beasley's the man who'll benefit by this
+'strike.' In a few months the others will be on the road again, going
+through all--that they've gone through before."
+
+"I guess they will," Buck agreed. His point of view had changed. He
+was seeing through the older eyes. After that they moved on toward
+their home lost in the thoughts which their brief talk had inspired.
+
+In a few days the Padre's prophecy was fulfilled. Beasley returned
+from Leeson Butte at the head of a small convoy. He had contrived his
+negotiations with a wonderful skill and foresight. His whole object
+had been secrecy, and this had been difficult. To shout the wealth of
+the camp in Leeson Butte would have been to bring instantly an
+avalanche of adventurers and speculators to the banks of Yellow Creek.
+His capital was limited to the small amount he had secretly hoarded
+while his comrades were starving, and the gold he had taken from his
+claim. The latter was his chief asset not from its amount, but its
+nature. Therefore he had been forced to take the leading merchant in
+the little prairie city into his confidence, and to suggest a
+partnership. This he had done, and a plausible tongue, and the sight
+of the wonderful raw gold, had had the effect he desired. The
+partnership was arranged, the immediate finance was forthcoming, and,
+for the time at least, Leeson Butte was left in utter ignorance of its
+neighboring Eldorado.
+
+Once he had made his deal with Silas McGinnis, Beasley promptly opened
+his heart in characteristic fashion.
+
+"They're all sheep, every one of 'em," he beamed upon his confederate.
+"They'll be so easy fleecin' it seems hardly worth while. All they
+need is liquor, and cards, and dice. Yes, an' a few women hangin'
+around. You can leave the rest to themselves. We'll get the gilt, and
+to hell with the dough under it. Gee, it's an elegant proposition!"
+And he rubbed his hands gleefully. "But ther' must be no delay. We
+must get busy right away before folks get wind of the luck. I'll need
+marquees an' things until I can get a reg'lar shanty set up. Have you
+got a wood spoiler you can trust?"
+
+McGinnis nodded.
+
+"Then weight him down with money so we don't need to trust him too
+much, and ship him out with the lumber so he can begin right away.
+We're goin' to make an elegant pile."
+
+In his final remark lay the key-note of his purpose. But the truth of
+it would have been infinitely more sure had the pronoun been singular.
+
+Never was so much popularity extended to Beasley in his life as at the
+moment of his return to camp. When the gold-seekers beheld his convoy,
+with the wagons loaded with all those things their hearts and stomachs
+craved, the majority found themselves in a condition almost ready to
+fling welcoming arms about his neck. Their wishes had been expressed,
+their demands made, and now, here they were fulfilled.
+
+A rush of trade began almost before the storekeeper's marquee was
+erected. It began without regard to cost, at least on the purchasers'
+parts. The currency was gold, weighed in scales which Beasley had
+provided, and his exorbitant charges remained quite unheeded by the
+reckless creatures he had marked down for his victims.
+
+In twenty-four hours the camp was in high revelry. In forty-eight
+Beasley's rough organization was nearing completion. And long before
+half those hours had passed gold was pouring into the storekeeper's
+coffers at a pace he had never even dreamed of.
+
+But the first rush was far too strenuous to be maintained for long.
+The strain was too great even for such wild spirits as peopled the
+camp. It soared to its height with a dazzling rapidity, culminating in
+a number of quarrels and fights, mixed up with some incipient
+shooting, after which a slight reaction set in which reduced it to a
+simmer at a magnificently profitable level for the foxy storekeeper.
+Still, there remained ample evidence that the Devil was rioting in the
+camp and would continue to do so just as long as the lure of gold
+could tempt his victims.
+
+Then came the inevitable. In a few days it became apparent that the
+news of the "strike" had percolated abroad. Beasley's attempt at
+secrecy had lasted him just sufficiently long to establish himself as
+the chief trader. Then came the rush from the outside.
+
+It was almost magical the change that occurred in one day. The place
+became suddenly alive with strangers from Leeson Butte and Bay Creek,
+and even farther afield. Legitimate traders came to spy out the land.
+Loafers came in and sat about waiting for developments. Gamblers,
+suave, easy, ingratiating, foregathered and started the ball of high
+stakes rolling. And in their wake came all that class of carrion which
+is ever seeking something for nothing. But the final brand of
+lawlessness was set on the camp by the arrival of a number of jaded,
+painted women, who took up their abode in a disused shack sufficiently
+adjacent to Beasley's store to suit their purposes. It was all very
+painful, all very deplorable. Yet it was the perfectly natural
+evolution of a successful mining camp--a place where, before the firm
+hand of Morality can obtain its restraining grip, human nature just
+runs wild.
+
+The seedling had grown. Its rank tendrils were everywhere reaching out
+and choking all the better life about it. Its seeds were scattered
+broadcast and had germinated as only such seeds can. It only remained
+for the husbandman to gaze regretful and impotent upon his handiwork.
+His hand had planted the seedling, and now--already the wilderness was
+beyond all control.
+
+Something of this was in the Padre's mind as he sat in his doorway
+awaiting Buck's return for the night. The dusk was growing, and
+already the shadows within the ancient stockade were black with
+approaching night. The waiting man had forgotten his pipe, so deeply
+was he engrossed with his thoughts, and it rested cold in his powerful
+hand.
+
+He sat on oblivious of everything but that chain of calm reasoning
+with which he tried to tell himself that the things happening down
+there on the banks of the Yellow Creek must be. He told himself that
+he had always known it; that the very fact of this lawlessness pointed
+the camp's prosperity, and showed how certainly the luck had come to
+stay. Later, order would be established out of the chaos, but for the
+moment there was nothing to be done but--wait. All this he told
+himself, but it left him dissatisfied, and his thoughts concentrated
+upon the one person he blamed for all the mischief. Beasley was the
+man--and he felt that wherever Beasley might be, trouble would never
+be far----What was that?
+
+An unusual sound had caught and held his attention. He rose quickly
+from his seat and stood peering out into the darkness which he had
+failed to notice creeping on him. There was no mistaking it. The sound
+of running feet was quite plain. Why running?
+
+He turned about and moved over to the arm rack. The next moment he was
+in the doorway again with his Winchester at his side.
+
+A few moments later a short, stocky man leapt out of the darkness and
+halted before him. As the Padre recognized him his finger left the
+trigger of his gun.
+
+"For Gawd's sake don't shoot, Padre!"
+
+It was Curly Saunders' voice, and the other laid his gun aside.
+
+"What's amiss?" demanded the Padre, noting the man's painful gasping
+for breath.
+
+For a moment Curly hesitated. Then, finally, between heavy breaths he
+answered the challenge.
+
+"I got mad with the Kid--Soapy," he said. "Guess I shot him up. He
+ain't dead an' ain't goin' to die, but Beasley, curse him, set 'em on
+to lynch me. They're all mad drunk--guess I was, too, 'fore I started
+to run--an' they come hot foot after me. I jest got legs of 'em an'
+come along here. It's--it's a mighty long ways."
+
+The Padre listened without moving a muscle--the story so perfectly
+fitted in with his thoughts.
+
+"The Kid isn't dead? He isn't going to die?" His voice had neither
+condemnation nor sympathy in it.
+
+"No. It's jest a flesh wound on the outside of his thigh."
+
+"What was the trouble?"
+
+"Why, the durned young skunk wus jest tryin' to set them--them women
+payin' a 'party' call on the gal at the farm, an' they wus drunk
+enough to do it. It made me mad--an'--an', wal, we got busy with our
+tongues, an' I shot him up fair an' squar'."
+
+"And how about Beasley?"
+
+"Why, it was him set the Kid to git the women on the racket. When he
+see how I'd stopped it he got madder than hell, an' went right out fer
+lynchin' me. The boys wus drunk enough to listen to his lousy talk."
+
+"Was he drunk?"
+
+"Not on your life. Beasley's too sweet on the dollars. But I guess
+he's got his knife into that Golden Woman of ours."
+
+The Padre had no more questions to ask. He dropped back into the room
+and lit the oil lamp.
+
+"Come right in, Curly," he said kindly. Then he laid his rifle on the
+table and pointed at it. "The magazine's loaded plumb up. Guess no man
+has a right to give up his life without a kick. That'll help you if
+they come along--which they won't. Maybe Buck'll be along directly.
+Don't shoot him down. Anyway he's got C�sar with him--so you'll know.
+I'm going down to the camp."
+
+For a second the two men looked into each other's eyes. The Padre read
+the suspicion in Curly's. He also saw the unhealthy lines in his
+cheeks and round his mouth. Nor could he help feeling disgusted at the
+thoughts of the fortune that had come to the camp and brought all
+these hideous changes in its wake.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"I'm not giving you away," he said. "Guess I'll be back in an hour."
+
+Curly nodded and moved over to one of the two chairs.
+
+"Thanks, Padre," he said as the other passed quickly out of the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+TWO POINTS OF VIEW
+
+
+Beasley Melford was in a detestable mood. For one reason his miserable
+bar was empty of all customers, and, for another, he knew that he was
+responsible for the fact.
+
+Had he any sense of humor, the absurdity of the thing must have forced
+itself upon him and possibly helped to improve his temper. But he had
+no humor, and so abandoned himself to the venomous temper that was
+practically the mainspring of his life.
+
+He cursed his absent customers. He cursed the man, Curly Saunders. He
+cursed the girl whom the trouble had been about. But more than all he
+cursed himself for his own folly in permitting a desire to bait Joan
+Rest to interfere with his business.
+
+In his restless mood he sought to occupy himself, and, nothing else
+offering, he cleared his rough counter of glasses, plunged them into a
+bucket of filthy water, and set them out to drain. Then he turned his
+attention to his two oil lamps. He snuffed them with his dirty fingers
+in a vain attempt to improve their miserable light. Then, seating
+himself upon his counter, he lit a cheap green cigar and prepared to
+wait.
+
+"Damn 'em all anyway," he muttered comprehensively, and abandoned
+himself to watching the hands of a cheap alarm clock creeping on
+toward the hour of nine.
+
+Apparently the soothing influence of his cigar changed the trend of
+his thoughts, for presently he began to smile in his own unpleasant
+way. He was reviewing the scene which his venom had inspired, and the
+possibilities of it--at the moment delayed, but not abandoned--gave
+him a peculiar sense of gratification.
+
+He was thinking, too, of Joan Rest and some others. He was thinking of
+the day of her arrival in the camp, and the scene that had followed
+Buck's discovery of her. He could never forgive that scene, or those
+who took part in it. Buck, more surely than anybody else, he could
+never forgive. He had always hated Buck and his friend the Padre. They
+had been in a position to hand out benefits to the starving camp, and
+patronage was an intolerable insult to a man of his peculiar venom.
+The thought that he owed those men anything was anathema to him, for
+he knew in his heart that they despised him.
+
+Since the day of Joan's coming he had pondered upon how he could pay
+Buck something of that which he owed him for the insult that still
+rankled. He had been called an "outlaw parson," and the truth of the
+appellation made the insult only the more maddening. Nothing else
+could have hurt the man so much as to remind him of the downfall which
+had reduced him to an "outlaw parson."
+
+He had told Buck then that he would not forget. He might have added
+that he could not forget. So, ever since, he had cast about for any
+and every means of hurting the man who had injured him, and his
+curiously mean mind set him groping in the remotest and more subtle
+directions. Nor had it taken him long to locate the most vulnerable
+point in Buck's armor. He had realized something of the possibilities
+at the first coming of Joan. He had seen then the effect of the
+beautiful inanimate body upon the man's susceptibilities. It had been
+instantaneous. Then had come that scene at the farm, and Buck's
+further insult over the gold which he had hated to see pass into the
+girl's possession. It was then that the first glimmer of an opening
+for revenge had shown itself to him.
+
+The rest was the simple matter of camp gossip. Here he learned,
+through the ridicule bestowed upon Montana Ike and Pete, who were
+always trying to outdo each other in their rivalry for the favors of
+Joan, and who never missed an opportunity of visiting the farm when
+they knew they would find her there, of Buck's constant attendance
+upon Joan. He needed very little of his evil imagination to tell him
+the rest. With Buck in love with the woman it was a simple enough
+process to his scheming mind to drive home his revenge upon the
+man--through her.
+
+The necessary inspiration had come that night, when the four women
+vultures, plying their trade of preying upon the men in his bar, had
+reached a sufficient degree of drunkenness. Then it had occurred to
+his devilish mind to bribe them into going across to the farm and
+paying what he was pleased to call a "party" call upon its mistress,
+and, in their own phraseology, to "raise hell with her."
+
+It was a master stroke. Then had come Curly's interference. The fool
+had spoilt it all. Nobody but Curly had attempted to interfere. The
+men had all been too drunk to bother, and the women had jumped at the
+chance of morally rending a virtuous member of their own sex.
+
+He laughed silently as he thought of it all. But his laugh only
+expressed his gratification at the subtlety of his ideas. His failure
+still annoyed him. Curly had stood champion for this Golden Woman, as
+they called her. Well, it wasn't his, Beasley's, fault if he hadn't
+paid for his interference by this time. The men were quite drunk
+enough to hang him, or shoot him for "doing up" young Kid, who had
+been a mere tool in the matter. He cordially hoped they had. Anyway,
+the sport at Joan's expense was too good to miss, and the night was
+still young.
+
+The prospect almost entirely restored his good-humor, and he was still
+smiling when the door was suddenly pushed open and the Padre's burly
+figure appeared on the threshold.
+
+The saloon-keeper's smile died at sight of the familiar white hair. Of
+all the people on Yellow Creek this was the man he least wanted to see
+at the moment. But he was shrewd enough to avoid any sign of open
+antagonism. He knew well enough that Moreton Kenyon was neither a fool
+nor a coward. He knew that to openly measure swords with him was to
+challenge a man of far superior intellect and strength, and the
+issue was pretty sure to go against him. Besides, this man they
+affectionately called the Padre had the entire good-will of the place.
+
+But though he always avoided open antagonism the storekeeper never let
+go his grip on his dislike. He clung to it hoping to discover some
+means of breaking the man's position in the camp and bringing about an
+utter revulsion of the public feeling for him. There was much about
+the Padre that gave him food for thought. One detail in particular was
+always in his mind, a detail such as a mind like his was bound to
+question closely. He could never understand the man's object in the
+isolation of the life he had lived for so many years here in the back
+country of the West.
+
+However, he was only concerned at the moment with the object of this
+unusual visit, and his shrewd speculation turned upon the pursuit of
+Curly.
+
+"Evenin', Padre," he said, with a cordiality the most exacting could
+have found no fault with.
+
+"Good-evening," replied the newcomer, smiling pleasantly as he glanced
+round the sordid hovel. Then he added: "Times are changed, sure.
+But--where are your customers?"
+
+Beasley's quick eyes gazed sharply at the perfect mask of disarming
+geniality. He was looking for some sign to give him a lead, but there
+was only easy good-nature in the deep gray eyes beneath their shaggy
+brows.
+
+"Guess they're out chasin' that fool-head Curly Saunders," he said
+unguardedly. However, he saw his mistake in an instant and tried to
+rectify it. "Y' see they're always skylarkin' when they git liquor
+under their belts."
+
+"Skylarking?" The Padre propped himself against the bar, and his eyes
+suddenly rested on an ugly stain on the sand floor.
+
+Beasley followed his glance, and beheld the pool of blood which had
+flowed from the Kid's wound. He cursed himself for not having
+obliterated it. Then, in a moment, he decided to carry the matter with
+a high hand.
+
+"Psha'! What's the use'n beatin' around!" he said half-defiantly.
+"They're chasin' Curly to lynch him for shootin' up the Kid."
+
+The Padre gave a well-assumed start and emitted a low whistle. Then he
+turned directly toward the counter.
+
+"You best have a drink on me--for the good of the house," he said.
+"I'll take rye."
+
+Beasley swung himself across the counter with a laugh.
+
+"Say, that beats the devil!" he cried. "I'll sure drink with you. No
+one sooner."
+
+The Padre nodded.
+
+"Splendid," he smiled. Then as the other passed glasses and the
+bottle, he went on: "Tell us about it--the racket, I mean."
+
+Beasley helped himself to a drink and laughed harshly.
+
+"Wal, I didn't get it right," he said, raising his glass. "Here's
+'how'!" He gulped down his drink and set the empty glass on the
+counter. "Y' see, I was handin' out drinks when the racket started.
+They were all muckin' around with them four sluts that come in town
+the other day. Guess they was all most sloshed to the gills. First
+thing I know they were quarreling, then some un got busy with a gun.
+Then they started chasin' Curly, an' I see the Kid lying around shot
+up. It was jest a flesh wound, an' I had him boosted out to his own
+shack. His partner, Pete--they struck a partnership, those two--why, I
+guess he's seein' to him. 'Tain't on'y a scratch."
+
+The Padre set his glass down. He had not drunk his liquor at a gulp
+like the other.
+
+"Pity," he said, his eyes turned again to the blood-stained floor. "I
+s'pose it was the women--I mean the cause?"
+
+The man's manner was so disarming that Beasley felt quite safe in
+"opening out."
+
+"Pity?" he laughed brutally. "Wher's the pity? Course it was the
+women. It's always the women. Set men around a bunch of women and
+ther's always trouble. It's always been, and it always will be. Ther's
+no pity about it I can see. We're all made that way, and those who set
+us on this rotten earth meant it so, or it wouldn't be."
+
+The Padre's gray eyes surveyed the narrow face before him. This man,
+with his virulent meanness, his iron-gray hair, his chequered past,
+always interested him.
+
+"And do you think this sort of trouble would occur if--if the men
+hadn't been drunk?" he asked pointedly.
+
+Beasley's antagonism surged, but his outward seeming was perfectly
+amiable.
+
+"Meaning me?" he asked, with a grin.
+
+The Padre shrugged.
+
+"I was thinking that these things have been occurring ever since the
+camp was flooded with----"
+
+"Rye!" Beasley's eyes sparkled. He reached the Padre's now empty glass
+and gave him a fresh one, pushing the bottle toward him. "You'll hev a
+drink on me, an' if you've got time, I'll tell you about this thing."
+
+The other submitted, and the drink was poured out. The Padre ignored
+his.
+
+"Get right ahead," he said in his easy way.
+
+Beasley leered over the rim of his glass as he drank his whisky.
+
+"You think it's rye," he said, setting his glass down with unnecessary
+force. "An' I say it's the women--or the woman. Trouble come to this
+camp with that tow-headed gal over at the farm. Anybody with two eyes
+could see that. Anybody that wasn't as blind as a dotin' mother. The
+boys are all mad 'bout her. They're plumb-crazed. They got her
+tow-head and sky-blue eyes on their addled brains, an' all the
+youngsters, anyway, are fumin' jealous of each other, and ready to
+shoot, or do anything else that comes handy, to out the other feller.
+That's the root of the trouble--an' you brought that about selling her
+your farm."
+
+Beasley had let himself go intending to aggravate, but the other's
+manner still remained undisturbed.
+
+"But this only happens when they're drunk," he said mildly.
+
+Beasley's angry impatience broke out.
+
+"Tcha'! Drunk or sober it don't make any difference. I tell you the
+whole camp's on edge over that gal. It only needs a word to set things
+hummin'. It's that gal! She's a Jonah, a Hoodoo to us all--to this
+place. She's got rotten luck all over her--and you brought her here.
+You needn't try an' sling mud at me fer handing them the rot-gut the
+boys ask for. Get that woman out of the place and things'll level up
+right away."
+
+The man's rudeness still seemed to have no effect.
+
+"But all this doesn't seem to fit in with--with this affair to-night,"
+the Padre argued. "You said it began, you thought, over the four women
+you allow in here."
+
+Beasley was being steadily drawn without knowing it. His swift-rising
+spleen led him farther into the trap.
+
+"So it did," he snapped. Then he laughed mirthlessly. "Y' see some one
+suggested those gals pay a 'party' call on your Golden Woman," he said
+with elaborate sarcasm. "And it was because Mr. Curly Saunders sort o'
+fancies he's got some sort of right to that lady he butted in and shot
+up the Kid."
+
+"Who suggested it?" asked the other quickly, his mild gray eyes
+hardening.
+
+"Why, the Kid."
+
+The Padre looked the saloon-keeper squarely in the eye.
+
+"And who put it into that foolish boy's head?" he asked slowly.
+
+Beasley's face purpled with rage.
+
+"You needn't to put things that way with me," he cried. "If you got
+things to say, say 'em right out. You reckon I was the man who
+suggested----"
+
+"I do."
+
+The Padre's eyes were wide open. The hard gray gleam literally bored
+into the other's heated face. He stood up, his whole body rigid with
+purpose.
+
+"I say right here that you were responsible for it all. The Kid wasn't
+capable of inventing such a dirty trick on a decent girl. He was
+sufficiently drunk to be influenced by you, and, but for Curly's
+timely interference, you would doubtless have had your rotten way. I
+tell you the trouble, whatever trouble happens in this camp, is
+trouble which you are directly or indirectly responsible for. These
+men, in their sober senses, are harmless. Give them the poison you
+charge extortionately for and they are ready to do anything. I warn
+you, Beasley, to be careful what you do--be damned careful. There are
+ways of beating you, and, by thunder! I'll beat you at your own game!
+Good-night!"
+
+The Padre turned and walked out, leaving the discomfited storekeeper
+speechless with rage, his narrow eyes glaring after him.
+
+Moreton Kenyon was never a man to allow an impulse of anger to get the
+better of him. All that he had said to Beasley he had made up his mind
+to say before starting for the camp. There was only one way of dealing
+with the man's genius for mischief. And that way did not lie in the
+direction of persuasion or moral talk. Force was the only thing such a
+nature as his would yield to. The Padre knew well enough that such
+force lay to his command should he choose to exert his influence in
+the camp. He was man of the world enough to understand that the moral
+condition of the life in this camp must level itself. It could not be
+regulated--yet. But the protection of a young and beautiful girl was
+not only his duty, but the duty of every sane citizen in the district,
+and he was determined it should be carried out. There was no ordinary
+law to hold this renegade in check, so, if necessary, he must be
+treated to the harshness of a law framed by the unpracticed hands of
+men who only understood the wild in which they lived.
+
+On his way home the Padre encountered Buck, who had been back to the
+fur fort, and, learning from Curly the facts of what had occurred, was
+now on his way to join his friend.
+
+They paused to talk for some minutes, and their talk was upon those
+things which were still running through their minds in a hot tide of
+resentment. After a while they parted, Buck to continue his way to the
+camp, and the Padre to his home.
+
+"I think it's all right for to-night," the Padre said as he prepared
+to move off. "I don't think he'll make another attempt. Anyway, the
+boys will be sober. But you might have an eye on him."
+
+Buck nodded, and in the darkness the fierce anger in his dark eyes was
+lost to his companion.
+
+"I'll be to home when the camp's abed," he said. "I'll sure see the
+gal safe."
+
+So they parted, leaving the Padre perfectly confident in Buck's
+ability to make good his assurance.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was a wild scene inside the drinking-booth over which the
+ex-Churchman presided. The men had returned from their fruitless
+pursuit of their intended victim. And as they came in, no longer
+furiously determined upon a man's life, but laughing and joking over
+the events of their blind journey in the darkness, Beasley saw that
+they were rapidly sobering.
+
+Still raging inwardly at the result of the Padre's visit he set to
+work at once, and, before any one else could call for a drink, he
+seized the opportunity himself. He plied them with a big drink at his
+own expense, and so promptly enlisted their favor--incidentally
+setting their appetites for a further orgie with a sharpness that it
+would take most of the night to appease.
+
+The ball set rolling by his cunning hand quickly ran riot, and soon
+the place again became the pandemonium which was its nightly habit.
+Good-humor was the prevalent note, however. The men realized now, in
+their half-sober senses, that the Kid was only wounded, and this
+inclined them to leniency toward Curly. So it was quickly evident that
+their recently-intended victim need no longer have any fear for his
+life. He was forgiven as readily and as easily as he had been
+condemned.
+
+So the night proceeded. The roulette board was set going again in one
+corner of the hut and a crowd hung about it, while the two operators
+of it, "Diamond" Jack and his partner, strangers to the place, raked
+in their harvest. The air was thick with the reek of cheap cigars,
+sold at tremendous prices, and the foul atmosphere of stale drink.
+The usual process of a further saturation had set in. Nor amidst the
+din of voices was there a discordant note. Even the cursings of the
+losers at the roulette board were drowned in the raucous din of
+laughter and loud-voiced talk around the bar.
+
+As time went on Beasley saw that his moment was rapidly approaching.
+The shining, half-glazed eyes, the sudden outbursts of wild whoopings,
+told him the tale he liked to hear. And he promptly changed his own
+attitude of bonhomie, and began to remind those who cared to listen of
+the fun they had all missed through Curly's interference. This was
+done at the same time as he took to pouring out the drinks himself in
+smaller quantities, and became careless in the matter of making
+accurate change for the bigger bills of his customers.
+
+Beasley's hints were not long in bearing the fruit he desired. Some
+one recollected the women who had been participants in their earlier
+frolic, and instantly there was a clamor for their presence.
+
+Beasley grinned. He was feeling almost joyous.
+
+The women readily answered the summons. They came garbed in long,
+flowing, tawdry wrappers, the hallmark of the lives they lived. Nor
+was it more than seconds before they were caught in the whirl of the
+orgie in progress.
+
+The sight was beyond all description in its revolting and hideous
+pathos. These blind, besotted men hovered about these wrecks of
+womanhood much in the manner of hungry animals. They plied them with
+drink, and sought to win their favors by ribald jesting and talk as
+obscene as their condition of drunkenness would permit them, while the
+women accepted their attentions in the spirit in which they were
+offered, calculating, watching, with an eye trained to the highest
+pitch of mercenary motive, for the direction whence the greatest
+benefit was to come.
+
+Beasley was watching too. He knew that the Padre's threat had been no
+idle one, but he meant to forestall its operation. The Padre was away
+to his home by now. Nothing that he could do could operate until the
+morning, when these men were sober. He had got this night, at least,
+in which to satisfy his evil whim.
+
+His opportunity came sooner than he expected. One of the girls, quite
+a young creature, whose originally-pretty face was now distorted and
+bloated by the life she lived, suddenly appealed to him. She jumped up
+from the bench on which she had been sitting listening to the drunken
+attentions of a stranger who bored her, and challenged the
+saloon-keeper with a laugh and an ingratiating wink.
+
+"Say, you gray-headed old beer-slinger," she cried, "how about that
+'party' call you'd fixed up for us? Ain't ther' nuthin' doin' since
+that mutt with the thin yeller thatch got busy shootin'? Say, he got
+you all scared to a pea shuck."
+
+She laughed immoderately, and, swaying drunkenly, was caught by the
+attentive stranger.
+
+"Quit it, Mamie," protested one of the other girls. "If you want
+another racket I don't. You're always raisin' hell."
+
+"Quit yourself," shrieked Mamie in sudden anger. "I ain't scared of a
+racket." She turned to Beasley, who was pouring out a round of drinks
+for Abe Allinson, now so drunk that he had to support himself against
+the counter. "Say, you don't need to be scared, that feller's out o'
+the way now," she jeered. "Wot say? Guess it would be a 'scream.'"
+
+Beasley handed the change of a twenty-dollar bill to Abe and turned to
+the girl.
+
+"Sure it would," he agreed promptly, his face beaming. Then he added
+cunningly: "But it's you folks are plumb scared."
+
+"Who the h---- scared of a gal like that?" Mamie yelled at him, her
+eyes blazing. "I ain't. Are you, Lulu? You, Kit?" She turned to the
+other women, but ignored the protesting Sadie.
+
+Lulu sprang from the arms of a man on whose shoulder she had been
+reclining.
+
+"Scared?" she cried. "Come right on. I'm game. Beasley's keen to give
+her a twistin'--well, guess it's always up to us to oblige." And she
+laughed immoderately.
+
+Kit joined in. She cared nothing so long as she was with the majority.
+And it was Beasley himself who finally challenged the recalcitrant
+Sadie.
+
+"Guess you ain't on, though," he said, and there was something like a
+threat in his tone.
+
+Sadie shrugged.
+
+"It don't matter. If the others----"
+
+"Bully for you, Sadie!" cried Mamie impulsively. "Come right on! Who's
+comin' to get the 'scream'?" she demanded of the men about her, while
+Beasley nodded his approval from his stand behind the bar.
+
+But somehow her general invitation was not received with the same
+enthusiasm the occasion had met with earlier in the evening. The
+memory of the Kid still hovered over some of the muddled brains, and
+only a few of those who were in the furthest stages of drunkenness
+responded.
+
+Nothing daunted, however, the girl Mamie, furiously anxious to stand
+well with the saloon-keeper, laughed over at him.
+
+"We'll give her a joyous time," she shrieked. "Say, what's her name?
+Joan Rest, the Golden Woman! She'll need the rest when we're through.
+Come on, gals. We'll dance a cancan on her parlor table. Come on."
+
+She made a move and the others prepared to follow. Several of the men,
+laughing recklessly, were ready enough to go whither they led. Already
+Mamie was within a pace of the closed door when a man suddenly pushed
+Abe Allinson roughly aside, leant his right elbow on the counter, and
+stood with his face half-turned toward the crowd. It was Buck. His
+movements had been so swift, so well calculated, that Beasley found
+himself looking into the muzzle of the man's heavy revolver before he
+could attempt to defend himself.
+
+"Hold on!"
+
+Buck's voice rang out above the din of the barroom. Instantly he had
+the attention of the whole company. The girls stood, staring back at
+him stupidly, and the men saw the gun leveled at the saloon-keeper's
+head. They saw more. They saw that Buck held another gun in his left
+hand, which was threatening the entire room. Most of them knew him.
+Some of them didn't. But one and all understood the threat and waited
+motionless. Nor did they have to wait long.
+
+"Gals," said Buck sternly, "this racket's played out. Ther's been
+shootin' to-night over the same thing. Wal, ther's going to be more
+shootin' if it don't quit right here. If you leave this shanty to go
+across to the farm to molest the folks there, Beasley, here, is a dead
+man before you get a yard from the door."
+
+Then his glance shifted so that the saloon-keeper came into his focus,
+while yet he held a perfect survey of the rest of the men.
+
+"Do you get me, Beasley?" he went on coldly. "You're a dead man if
+those gals go. An' if you send them to the farm after this--ever--I'll
+shoot you on sight. Wal?"
+
+Beasley knew when he was beaten. He had reckoned only on the Padre. He
+had forgotten Buck. However, he wouldn't forget him in the future.
+
+"You can put up your gun, Buck," he said, with an assumption of
+geniality that deceived no one, and Buck least of all. "Quit your
+racket, gals," he went on. Then he added with the sarcasm he generally
+fell back on in such emergencies: "Guess this gentleman feels the same
+as Curly--only he ain't as--hasty."
+
+The girls went slowly back to their seats, and Buck, lowering his
+guns, quietly restored them both to their holsters.
+
+Beasley watched him, and as he saw them disappear his whole manner
+changed.
+
+"Now, Mister Buck," he said, with a snarl, "I don't guess I need
+either your dollars or your company on my premises. You'll oblige
+me--that door ain't locked." And he pointed at it deliberately for the
+man to take his departure.
+
+But Buck only laughed.
+
+"Don't worry, Beasley," he said. "I'm here--till you close up for the
+night."
+
+And the enraged saloon-keeper had a vision of a smile at his expense
+which promptly lit the faces of the entire company.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+WHEN LIFE HOLDS NO SHADOWS
+
+
+The mellow evening light glows with a living warmth of color upon
+hill, and valley, and plain. The myriad tints shine in perfect
+harmony, for Nature is incapable of discord whether in her reign of
+beauty or her moments of terror. Discord belongs to the imperfect
+human eye, the human brain, the human heart. Thus must the most
+perfect human creation be ever imperfect.
+
+But Nature's perfections are never lost upon the human mind. They are
+not intended to be lost. They serve well their purpose of elevating,
+of uplifting all thought, and affording inspiration for all that which
+is good and beautiful in hearts thrilling with emotions which need
+strong support to save them from their own weaknesses.
+
+Something of this influence was at work in the hearts of a man and a
+girl riding over the hard sand trail in the pleasant evening light.
+The man's youthful heart was thrilling with a hope he dared not
+attempt to define, and could not if he would. His every feeling was
+inspired by a joy he had no proper understanding of. The glance of his
+dark eyes bespoke his mood, and his buoyancy seemed to communicate
+itself to the great horse under him. All he knew was that the glory of
+the day was all about him, and, beside him, Joan was riding the
+Padre's sturdy horse.
+
+The girl at his side was no less uplifted. At the moment shadows
+troubled her not at all. They were gone, merged into soft, hazy gauzes
+through which peeped the scenes of life as she desired life to be, and
+every picture was rose-tinted with the wonderful light of an evening
+sun.
+
+Her fair young face was radiant; a wonderful happiness shone in the
+violet depths of her eyes. Her sweet lips were parted, displaying her
+even, white teeth, and her whole expression was much that of a child
+who, for the first time, opens its eyes to the real joy of living.
+Every now and again she drew a deep, long sigh of content and
+enjoyment.
+
+For a while they rode in silence, their bodies swaying easily to the
+rhythmic gait of the horses. Their direction lay toward the sun, that
+direction which ever makes for hope. Ahead of them, and behind them,
+lay the forest of tall, garbless trunks, their foliage-crowned,
+disheveled heads nodding in the light breezes from the hilltops, which
+left the lower atmosphere undisturbed. The scented air, pungent with
+pleasant odors, swept them by as their horses loped easily along. It
+was a moment of perfect peace, a moment when life could hold no
+shadows.
+
+But such feelings are only for the silent moments of perfect
+companionship. The spoken word, which indexes thought, robs them of
+half their charm and beauty. The girl felt something of this as the
+calm voice of her companion broke the wonderful spell.
+
+"That feller's shaping well," he said, his thoughts for the moment
+evidently upon the practical side of her comfort.
+
+The girl nodded. That look of rapturous joy had left her, and she too
+became practical.
+
+"I think so--when Mrs. Ransford leaves him alone," she said, with a
+little laugh. "She declares it is always necessary to harass a 'hired'
+man from daylight to dark. If I were he I'd get out into the pastures,
+or hay sloughs, or forest, or somewhere, and stay there till she'd
+gone to bed. Really, Buck, she's a terrible woman."
+
+In the growing weeks of companionship Joan had learned to use this
+man's name as familiarly as though she had known him all her life. It
+would have seemed absurd to call him anything but Buck now. Besides,
+she liked doing so. The name fitted him. "Buck;" it suggested to
+her--spirit, independence, courage, everything that was manly; and she
+had long ago decided that he was all these things--and more.
+
+Buck laughed in his quiet fashion. He rarely laughed loudly. Joan
+thought it sounded more like a deep-throated gurgle.
+
+"She sure is," he declared heartily.
+
+"Of course," Joan smiled. "You have crossed swords with her."
+
+The man shook his head.
+
+"Not me," he said. "She did the battlin'. Guess I sat tight. You see,
+words ain't as easy to a man, as to--some women."
+
+Joan enjoyed the tact of his remark. She leant forward and smoothed
+the silky neck of the Padre's horse, and Buck's admiring eyes took in
+the perfect lines of her well-cut habit. He had never seen anything
+like it before, and failed to understand the excellence of its
+tailoring, but he knew that everything about this girl was wonderfully
+beautiful, and he would have liked to have been able to tell her so.
+
+As he watched her he could not help thinking of the moment when he had
+held her in his arms. It was a thought almost always with him, a
+thought which never failed to stir his pulses and set them racing.
+
+"But you see I can't do without her," the girl went on as she sat up
+in her saddle again. "She's a good worker, herself. She's taught me a
+good deal already. Oh, yes," she smiled at his look of incredulity,
+"I've begun my lessons. I am learning all I can, preparing for the
+bigger lessons of this--this"--she gave a comprehensive glance at the
+hills--"wonderful world."
+
+Buck nodded. But he rode on in silence, his face for the moment
+clouded with deep thought. He was thinking of that night in Beasley's
+store. He was thinking of what might have happened there if those
+women had carried out their purpose. He was wondering what the lessons
+might be that this girl might yet find herself confronted with. The
+matter troubled him. And Joan's surreptitious glance into his face
+warned her that the cloud had obscured his sun.
+
+The man finally broke the silence.
+
+"Have you got any menfolk?" he asked abruptly.
+
+Joan turned quickly.
+
+"No--why?"
+
+"An uncle--a brother. Maybe a--father?"
+
+There was something almost anxious in Buck's manner as he enumerated
+the possible relationships.
+
+But the girl shook her head at each one, and he went on in a tone of
+disappointment.
+
+"It's kind of a pity," he observed. Then, in answer to the girl's
+quick look of inquiry, he added evasively: "You see it's lonesome for
+a gal--out in these hills."
+
+Joan knew that that was not the reason of his inquiry, and she smiled
+quietly at her horse's ears.
+
+"Why did you want to know if I had--menfolk?" she asked. "I mean the
+real reason." She looked up frankly smiling, and compelled his
+attention.
+
+Buck was not easy to corner, even though he had no experience of
+women. Again Joan heard his strange gurgle, and her smile broadened.
+
+"You could sure learn your lessons easier with your menfolk around to
+help you," he said.
+
+For a second the girl's face dropped. Then she laughed good-humoredly.
+
+"You're smart, Buck," she exclaimed. "But--but you're most
+exasperating. Still, I'll tell you. The only relative I have in the
+world, that I know of, is--Aunt Mercy."
+
+"Ah! she's a woman."
+
+"Yes, a woman."
+
+"It's a pity." Suddenly Buck pointed ahead at a great mass of towering
+rock above the trees. "There's Devil's Hill!" he exclaimed.
+
+Joan looked up, all eager delight to behold this wonderful hill Buck
+had brought her out to see. She expected something unusual, for
+already she had listened to several accounts of this place and the
+gold "strike" she was supposed to have brought about. Nor was she
+disappointed now, at least at first. She stared with wondering eyes at
+the weird, black giant raising its ugly head in a frowning threat
+above them, and gave a gasp of surprise.
+
+Then in a moment her surprise died out, and into her eyes crept a
+strange look of repulsion and even fear. She had no words to offer.
+She made no move. It was almost as if she sat fascinated like some
+harmless bird held by the hypnotic stare of a python. So long did she
+remain silent that Buck at last turned and looked into her face. And
+something like alarm caught and held him when he beheld her gray look
+of horror as she faced the gloomy crags mounting up before them.
+
+He too looked out ahead. But his imagination failed him, and his eyes
+came back to her. The change in her happy, smiling eyes was
+incredible. Her smile had gone utterly--the bright color of her
+cheeks. There was no awe in her look, neither curiosity nor
+admiration. To him it almost seemed that her whole body was thrilled
+with an utter repugnance and loathing at what she beheld.
+
+"It's--ugly," he hazarded at last.
+
+"It's--it's dreadful." The girl's reply came in a tone there was no
+mistaking. It was one of concentrated detestation.
+
+"You don't--like it?" Buck felt helpless.
+
+But Joan's next words left him without any doubt.
+
+"I--I think I--hate it," she said harshly.
+
+Buck drew rein on the instant.
+
+"Then we'll get back to home."
+
+But Joan had no such intention.
+
+"No--no!" she exclaimed quickly. "We'll go on. I want to see it. I--I
+_must_ see it."
+
+Her manner had suddenly become agitated, and Buck was left wondering
+the more. She was stirred with strange feelings which embodied a dozen
+different emotions, and it was the sight of that great black crown,
+like the head of a Gorgon, which had inspired them. Its fascination
+was one of cruel attraction. Its familiarity suggested association
+with some part of her life. It seemed as if she belonged to it, or
+that it belonged to her--that in some curious way it was actually a
+part of her life. And all the time her detestation, her fear surged
+through her heart and left her revolting. But she knew she must go on.
+Its fascination claimed her and drew her, calling to her with a
+summons she dared not disobey--had no real desire to disobey.
+
+It was she who took the lead now. She pressed on at a rapid gallop.
+Her fair young face was set and cold. She remained silent, and her
+manner forbade the man's interruption.
+
+But Buck kept pace with her, and a great sympathy held him silent too.
+He had no real understanding of her mood, only he knew that, for the
+moment, his presence had no place in her thought.
+
+So they drew toward the shadow of the hill. Each was lost in disturbed
+reflections. Joan was waiting, expectant of she knew not what, and the
+man, filled with puzzlement, knew that the solution lay only with the
+girl beside him.
+
+It had been his thought to point out the things which his practiced
+mind suggested as of interest, but now, as he beheld the rapt
+expression of her face, it all became different. Therefore he checked
+the eager C�sar and let her lead the way.
+
+Joan had no observation for anything as she rode on right up to the
+very shadow of the suspended lake. Then, almost mechanically, as
+though urged by some unseen hand, she drew up sharply. She was no
+longer looking at the hill, she sat in her saddle limply, and stared
+vacantly at the rough workings of the miners which had been abandoned
+for the day.
+
+Still Buck waited in silence.
+
+At last he had his reward. The girl made a movement almost like a
+shiver. Then she sat up erect. The color came back to her cheeks and
+she turned to him with eyes in which a ghost of a smile flitted.
+
+"I--I had forgotten," she said half-apologetically. "This is what has
+brought prosperity to the camp. This is what has saved them from
+starvation. We--we should owe it gratitude."
+
+"I don't guess the rocks need gratitude," replied Buck quietly.
+
+"No!"
+
+Joan looked up at the black roof above her and shivered.
+
+"It's a weird place, where one might well expect weird happenings."
+
+Buck smiled. He was beginning to obtain some insight into the girl's
+mood. So used was he to the gloomy hill that its effect was quite lost
+on him. Now he knew that some superstitious chord had been struck in
+the girl's feelings, and this strange hill had been the medium of its
+expression.
+
+He suddenly leant forward. Resting on the horn of his saddle he looked
+into the fair face he so loved. He had seen that haunted look in her
+face before. He remembered his first meeting with her at the barn. Its
+termination had troubled him then. It had troubled him since. He
+remembered the incident when the gold had been presented to her. Again
+he had witnessed that hunted, terrified look, that strange
+overpowering of some painful thought--or memory.
+
+Now he felt that she needed support, and strove with all his power to
+afford it her.
+
+"Guess ther's nothing weird outside the mind of man," he said.
+"Anyway, nothing that needs to scare folk." He turned and surveyed the
+hill and the wonderful green country surrounding them. "Get a look
+around," he went on, with a comprehensive gesture. "This rock--it's
+just rock, natural rock; it's rock you'll find most anywhere. It's got
+dumped down right here wher' most things are green, an' dandy, an'
+beautiful to the eye; so it looks queer, an' sets your thoughts
+gropin' among the cobwebs of mystery. Ther's sure no life to it but
+the life of rock. This great overhang has just been cut by washouts of
+centuries in spring, when the creek's in flood, an' it just happens
+ther's a hot sulphur lake on top, fed by a spring. I've known it these
+years an' years. Guess it's sure always been the same. It ain't got
+enough to it to scare a jack-rabbit."
+
+Joan shook her head. But the man was glad to see the return of her
+natural expression, and that her smiling eyes were filled with a
+growing interest He knew that her strange mood was passing.
+
+He went on at once in his most deliberate fashion.
+
+"You needn't to shake your head," he said, with a smile of confidence.
+"It's jest the same with everything. It sure is. We make life what it
+is for ourselves. It's the same for everybody, an' each feller gets
+busy makin' it different. The feller that gets chasin' trouble don't
+need to run. He only needs to set around and shout. Guess it'll come
+along if he's yearnin' for it. But it don't come on its own. That's
+sure as sure. Keep brain an' body busy doin' the things that lie
+handy, an' when you got to make good among the rocks of life, why, I
+sure guess you won't find a rock half big enough to stop you."
+
+Watching the deep glowing eyes of the man Joan felt that his
+confidence was not merely the confidence of brave words. A single
+glance into his purposeful face left the definite impression that his
+was a strength that is given to few. It was the strength of a simple,
+honest mind as yet unfouled by the grosser evils of an effete
+civilization. His was the force and courage of the wild--the impulse
+which governs all creatures who live in the midst of Nature's
+battle-grounds.
+
+"That's--that's because you're so strong you feel that way," she said,
+making no attempt to disguise the admiration she felt. "The burden of
+life does not always fall so easily. There are things, too, in spite
+of what you say, that we cannot control--evils, I mean evils which
+afflict us."
+
+Buck glanced away down the creek. Then his eyes came back to her, and
+a new resolve lay behind them.
+
+"I'm no stronger than others," he said. "Guess I haven't ha'f the
+strength of some. I'd say----" he paused. Then he went on, his eyes
+gazing fearlessly into hers: "I'd say I haven't ha'f the strength of a
+gal who gives up the city--a young gal jest beginning a woman's life
+with 'most everything in her favor--an' comes right out here to farm
+without a livin' soul to pass her a hand. I ain't got ha'f the courage
+of a gal who does that jest because she's chased by thoughts that
+worry her an' make her days no better than to set her--hatin' them.
+Strength? Say, when you ken laff an' all the time feel that life ain't
+ha'f so pleasant as death, why, I'd sure say ther' ain't no greater
+strength this side of the check-taker's box."
+
+Joan could hardly believe her ears as she listened. Astonishment,
+resentment, helplessness, incredulity, all struggled for place. How
+had this man discovered her secret? How? How? What did he know
+besides? For a moment her feelings robbed her of speech and betrayed
+themselves in her expressive face.
+
+But the man's smile, so easy, so disarming, held her. He saw and
+understood, and he hastened to reassure her.
+
+"Guess I ain't pryin'," he said bluntly. "These things just come along
+to my tongue, feeling you were troubled at this--hill. You've told me
+a heap since you come to the farm. You told me things which I don't
+guess you wer' yearnin' to tell any one. But you didn't tell 'em with
+your tongue. An' I don't guess you need to. Set your mind easy. You're
+scared to death of some trouble which ain't of your seekin'--wal, I
+don't believe in such trouble."
+
+Then he laughed in so unconcerned, so buoyant and whole-hearted a
+fashion that Joan's confidence and hope leapt again.
+
+"Say," he added, as he saw the brightening of her face, "when you
+fancy that trouble's gettin' around, when you fancy it's good an' big,
+an' a whole heap to carry, why, you can pass it right on to me. I'm
+yearnin' to get busy with jest sech a proposition."
+
+Buck's manner was irresistible. Joan felt herself swept along by it.
+She longed there and then to tell him the whole of her miserable
+little story. Yes, he made it seem so small to her now. He made it, at
+the moment, seem like nothing. It was almost as though he had
+literally lifted her burden and was bearing the lion's share of it
+himself. Her heart thrilled with gratitude, with joy in this man's
+wonderful comradeship. She longed to open her heart to him--to implore
+him to shield her from all those terrible anxieties which beset her.
+She longed to feel the clasp of his strong hand in hers and know that
+it was there to support her always. She felt all these things without
+one shadow of fear--somehow his very presence dispelled her shadows.
+
+But only did she permit her warm smile to convey something of all she
+felt as she rejected his offer.
+
+"You don't know what you are asking," she said gently. Then she shook
+her head. "It is impossible. No one can shift the burdens of life on
+to the shoulders of another--however willing they be. No one has the
+right to attempt it. As we are born, so we must live. The life that is
+ours is ours alone."
+
+Buck caught at her words with a sudden outburst of passionate
+remonstrance.
+
+"You're wrong--dead wrong," he declared vehemently, his eyes glowing
+with the depth of feeling stirring him, a hot flush forcing its way
+through the deep tanning of his cheeks. "No gal has a right to carry
+trouble with a man around to help. She's made for the sunlight, for
+the warmth an' ease of life. She's made to set around an' take in all
+those good things the good God meant for her so she can pass 'em right
+on to the kiddies still to be born. A woman's jest the mother of the
+world. An' the men she sets on it are there to see her right. The
+woman who don't see it that way is wrong--dead wrong. An' the man that
+don't get right up on to his hind legs an' do those things--wal, he
+ain't a man."
+
+It was a moment Joan would never forget. As long as she lived that
+eager face, with eyes alight, the rapid tongue pouring out the
+sentiments of his simple heart must ever remain with her. It was a
+picture of virile manhood such as in her earliest youth she had
+dreamed of, a dream which had grown dimmer and dimmer as she
+progressed toward womanhood and learned the ways of the life that had
+been hers. Here it was in all reality, in all its pristine simplicity,
+but--she gathered up her reins and moved her horse round, heading him
+toward home.
+
+"I'm glad I came out here--in the wilderness," she said earnestly.
+"I'm glad, too, that I came to see this great black hill. Yes, and I'm
+glad to think that I have begun the lessons which this great big world
+is going to teach me. For the rest--we'd better go home. Look! The
+daylight is going."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+A STUDY IN MISCHIEF
+
+
+Nearly three months had passed and all Beasley Melford's affairs were
+amply prospering. His new saloon was the joy of his heart. It had been
+completed more than a week, which week had been something in the
+nature of a triumph of financial success. The camp was booming as he
+had never dared to hope it would boom. Traders were opening up
+business all round him, and the output of gold was increasing every
+day. But, with all this rapid development, with all the wrangling and
+competition going on about him, he was the centre of the commercial
+interests of Yellow Creek, and his saloon was the centre of all its
+traffic.
+
+But he was quite alive to the fact that he must maintain his position
+and custom by keeping well in line, even just a little ahead of all
+competition. He knew that to rest on his oars would be to court swift
+disaster. It must be his constant thought to make his place more and
+more attractive, to listen to the voice of public requirements, and
+seize every opportunity of catering for them.
+
+His saloon was no better than a gambling-hell and drinking-booth, the
+dry goods side of his enterprise being almost insignificant. For he
+knew that the more surely his customers could indulge in such pastimes
+in comparative comfort the more surely he would keep them. So he made
+these things the basis of his trade. But there were other needs to be
+provided for. Therefore, on the completion of his new saloon, and the
+moment his vanity had been satisfied by the erection of a great board
+top, set up on the pitch of the roof, announcing in blatant lettering
+that it was "Melford's Hotel," he set to work to erect a dance hall
+and a livery barn. He foresaw the necessity of running a stage, and he
+never lost sight of the fact that a great number of the women of the
+class he wished to see about were invading the place. Then, too, the
+dance hall could be used as a boarding establishment for those who had
+no homes of their own.
+
+It was a precious thought, and, after a journey to Leeson Butte to
+consult his partner, these matters were put in hand. He no longer
+worked single-handed. His establishment was increased by the advent of
+a bartender, a Chinese cook, and a livery stable keeper. These, and
+some casual labor from among the loafers, supplied him with all the
+help he so far found necessary.
+
+The bar and the gambling-tables were always his own care. These were
+the things he would never trust to other hands. The bartender was his
+helper only, who was never allowed to escape the observation of his
+lynx eyes.
+
+Yes, Beasley Melford was flourishing as he intended to flourish, and
+his satisfaction was enormous. In the mornings he was always busy
+supervising the work, in the afternoons he gave himself what leisure
+his restless spirit demanded. But in the evenings he gathered his
+harvest by rascally methods of flagrant extortion.
+
+It was during the latter part of his afternoon leisure that he was
+suddenly disturbed by the appearance of Montana Ike in his bar. He was
+stretched full length upon his counter, comfortably reviewing a
+perfect maze of mental calculations upon the many schemes which he
+had in hand, when the youngster pushed the swing door open and
+blustered in.
+
+Beasley was sitting up in an instant. He hated this sort of sudden
+disturbance. He hated men who rushed at him. He could never be certain
+of their intentions. When he saw who his visitor was there was very
+little friendliness in his greeting.
+
+"Wot in hell you want rushin' that way?" he demanded arrogantly.
+"Guess your thirst ain't on a time limit."
+
+But the ginger-headed youth ignored his ill-temper. He was too full of
+his own affairs. He simply grinned.
+
+"Fish out them durned scales o' yours," he cried gleefully. "Fish 'em
+out, an' set your big weights on 'em. Ther' ain't goin' to be no chat
+nor drink till you weighed in. Then I guess the drink'll be right up
+to you."
+
+Beasley's mood changed like lightning. He swung over behind his bar
+and dropped to the floor on the other side, his eyes alight, and every
+faculty alert for trade.
+
+"Wot's it?" he demanded. "Struck it big?" he went on as the dingy gold
+scales were produced from the shelf at the back. Then he laughed
+amiably. "It needs to be big, wakin' me in my slack time."
+
+"Oh, it's big enuff," cried Ike confidently, his eager, young, animal
+face alight with pleasure.
+
+He watched the other with impatient eyes as he deliberately picked out
+the weights. But Beasley was too slow, and, with an impatient
+exclamation, he snatched up the biggest of them and set it on the
+somewhat delicate scales with a heavy hand.
+
+"Say, you're rapid as a sick funeral," he cried. "I ain't got no time
+to waste. What I got here'll need that--an' more. Ther'!"
+
+Beasley's temper was never easy, and his narrow eyes began to sparkle.
+
+"You're mighty fresh," he cried. "Guess I'm----"
+
+But his remark remained unfinished. With a boisterous laugh the boy
+flung a small canvas bag on the counter and emptied its contents
+before the other's astonished eyes.
+
+"Ther'," he cried gleefully. "I want dollars an' dollars from you. An'
+you'll sure see they ain't duds."
+
+Beasley's eyes opened wide. In a moment he had forgotten his
+ill-humor.
+
+From the gold spread out before him he looked up into the other's face
+with a half-suspicious, wholly incredulous stare.
+
+"You got that from your claim--to-day?" he asked.
+
+"An' wher' in hell else?"
+
+"Sure!" Beasley fingered the precious nuggets lovingly. "Gee! Ther's
+nigh five hundred dollars there."
+
+"Fi' hundred--an' more," cried Ike anxiously.
+
+But Beasley's astonishment was quickly hidden under his commercial
+instincts. He would have called them "commercial."
+
+"We'll soon fix that," he said, setting the scales.
+
+Ike leant against the bar watching the man finger his precious ore as
+he placed each of the six nuggets in the scale and weighed them
+separately. He took the result down on paper and worked their separate
+values out at his own market prices. In five minutes the work was
+completed, and the man behind the bar looked up with a grin.
+
+"I don't gener'ly make a bad guess," he said blandly. "But I reckoned
+'em a bit high this journey. Ther's four hundred an' seventy-six
+dollars comin' to you--ha'f cash an' ha'f credit. Is it a deal?"
+
+The other's face flamed up. A volcanic heat set him almost shouting.
+
+"To hell!" he cried fiercely. "Ther's fi' hundred dollars ther' if
+ther's a cent. An' I want it all cash."
+
+Beasley shook his head. He had this boy's exact measure, and knew just
+how to handle him.
+
+"The scales don't lie," he said. "But ther', it's the way wi' youse
+fellers. You see a chunk o' gold an' you don't see the quartz stickin'
+around it. Here, I'll put a hundred an' seventy-six credit an' the
+rest cash. I can't speak fairer."
+
+He drew a roll of bills from his hip-pocket and began counting the
+three hundred out. He knew the sight of them was the best argument he
+could use. It never failed. Nor did it do so now.
+
+Ike grumbled and protested in the foulest language he was capable of,
+but he grabbed the dollars when they were handed to him, and stowed
+them into his hip-pocket with an eagerness which suggested that he
+feared the other might repent of his bargain. And Beasley quickly
+swept the precious nuggets away and securely locked them in his safe,
+with the certain knowledge that his profit on the deal was more than
+cent for cent.
+
+"You'll take rye," he said as he returned his keys to his pocket. "An'
+seein' it's your good day, an' it's on me, we'll have it out o' this
+thirteen-year-old bottle."
+
+He pushed the bottle across the counter and watched Ike pour himself
+out a full "four fingers." The sight of his gluttony made Beasley feel
+glad that the thirteen-year-old bottle had been replenished that
+morning from the common "rot-gut" cask. After their drink he became
+expansive.
+
+"That's an elegant claim of yours, Ike," he said, taking up his
+favorite position on the bar. "It's chock full of alluvial. Don't
+scarcely need washing. Guess I must ha' paid you two thousand dollars
+an' more since--since we got busy. Your luck was mighty busy when they
+cast the lots."
+
+"Luck? Guess I'm the luckiest hoboe in this layout," Ike cried with a
+confidence that never seemed to require the support of rye whisky.
+
+Beasley's eyes sparkled maliciously.
+
+"How about Pete?" he grinned. He knew that Ike had an utter
+detestation of Pete, and did not have to guess at the reason. "I paid
+him more than that by fi' hundred. How's that?"
+
+"Tcha'! Pete ain't no account anyways," Ike retorted angrily. "Say, he
+pitches his dollars to glory at poker 'most every night. Pete ain't
+got no sort o' savee. You don't see me bustin' my wad that way."
+
+"How about the gals? Guess you hand 'em a tidy pile."
+
+"Gals!" Ike suddenly became thoughtful. His gaze wandered toward the
+window. Then he abruptly turned back to the bar and clamored for
+another drink. "We'll have that thirteen-year-old," he cried. "An'
+guess I'll have a double dose. Gals!" he went on, with a sneer, as the
+other watched him fill a brimming tumbler.
+
+"Ther's sure on'y one gal around here. That's why I got around now.
+Guess I'm payin' her a 'party' call right now, 'fore the folks get
+around. Say, I'm goin' to marry that gal. She's sure a golden woman.
+Golden! Gee, it sounds good!"
+
+Beasley grinned. He was on a hot trail and he warmed to his work.
+
+"Goin' to ask her now?" he inquired amiably, eyeing the spirit the man
+had poured out.
+
+Ike laughed self-consciously.
+
+"Sure," he said, draining his glass.
+
+"What about Pete?"
+
+Ike looked sharply into the other's grinning face. Then he banged his
+glass angrily on the counter and moved toward the door.
+
+"Pete ken go plumb to hell!" he cried furiously over his shoulder as
+he passed out.
+
+Beasley dropped nimbly from his counter and looked after him through
+the window. He saw him vault into the saddle and race away down the
+trail in the direction of the farm.
+
+His eyes were smiling wickedly.
+
+"Don't guess Pete's chasin' ther' to suit you, Master Ike," he
+muttered. "Marry that gal, eh? Not on your life. You pore silly guys!
+You're beat before you start--beat a mile. Buck's got you smashed to a
+pulp. Kind of wish I'd given you less cash and more credit. Hello!"
+
+He swung round as the door was again thrust open. This time it was
+Blue Grass Pete who strode into the room.
+
+"Wher's Ike?" he demanded without preamble the moment he beheld the
+grinning face of the saloon-keeper.
+
+"Gee!" Beasley's grin suddenly broke out into a loud laugh. He brought
+his two hands down on the counter and gave himself up to the joy of
+the moment.
+
+Pete watched him with growing unfriendliness.
+
+"You're rattled some," he said at last, with elaborate sarcasm. Then,
+as Beasley stood up choking with laughter and rubbing his eyes, he
+went on: "Seems to me I asked you a civil question."
+
+Beasley nodded, and guffawed again.
+
+"You sure did," he said at last, stifling his mirth as he beheld the
+other's threatening frown. "Well, I ain't laffin' at you. It's--it's
+jest at things."
+
+But Pete had no sense of humor. He disliked Beasley, and simply wanted
+his information now.
+
+"Ike been along?" he demanded doggedly.
+
+Beasley spluttered. Then he subsided into a malicious grin again.
+
+"Sure," he said. "He's been in with a fat wad. Say, he's a lucky
+swine. 'Most everything comes his way. Guess he can't never touch bad.
+He's ahead on the game, he's a golden-haired pet with the gals, an' he
+gits gold in--lumps."
+
+But Pete's dark face and hungry eyes showed no appreciation, and
+Beasley knew that the man's mood was an ugly one.
+
+"Wher's he now?"
+
+"Can't jest say. I didn't ask him wher' he was goin'. Y' see I cashed
+his gold, and we had a drink. He seemed excited some. Guess he was
+sort of priming himself. Maybe he's gone along to the gals. Have a
+drink?"
+
+"No--yes, give us a horn of rye."
+
+The man behind the bar pushed the bottle across.
+
+"What you needin' him for?" he asked with apparent unconcern.
+
+Pete snatched at his drink.
+
+"That ain't your affair," he retorted surlily.
+
+"Sure it ain't. I jest asked--casual."
+
+Pete banged his empty glass on the counter.
+
+"I'm needin' him bad," he cried, his eyes furiously alight. "I'm
+needin' him cos I know the racket he's on. See? He quit his claim
+early cos--cos----"
+
+"Cos he's goin' to pay a 'party' call on that Golden Woman," cried
+Beasley, appearing to have made a sudden discovery. "I got it, now.
+That's why he was in sech a hurry. That's why he needed a good dose o'
+rye. Say, that feller means marryin' that gal. I've heard tell he's
+got it all fixed with her. I've heard tell she's dead sweet on him.
+Wal, I ain't sure but wot it's natural. He's a good looker; so is she.
+An' he's a bright boy. Guess he's got the grit to look after a gal
+good. He's a pretty scrapper. Another drink?"
+
+Pete refilled his glass. His fury was at bursting-point, and Beasley
+reveled in the devil now looking out of his angry eyes.
+
+"He's gone across ther' now?" he demanded, after swallowing his second
+drink. His question was ominously quiet.
+
+Beasley saw the man's hands finger the guns at his waist. It was a
+movement the sight of which gave him a wonderful satisfaction.
+
+"Seems like it," he said. "Though course I can't rightly say. I see
+him ride off down the trail that way----"
+
+"Here, I'll take another drink. I'm goin' after----"
+
+"Say, you ain't goin' to butt in with two folks courtin'?" cried
+Beasley, blandly innocent.
+
+But Pete had no reply. He drained his third drink and, flinging the
+glass down, bolted out of the bar; while Beasley turned with a
+malicious chuckle, and scrupulously entered up three drinks against
+the man's name on the slate.
+
+"I'd give somethin' to see it," he muttered. Then he rubbed out the
+entry he had made. "Guess I'll make it six drinks. He's too rattled to
+remember."
+
+Ten minutes later a number of men were lounging in the saloon, and
+Beasley, in the leisure of administering to their wants, was relating
+to them the story of the afternoon's events. At the conclusion he
+added his own comment, which was not without definite purpose.
+
+"Say, if they ain't jest like two dogs worritin' a bone you got me
+plumb beat," he said. Then he added with an air of outraged virtue:
+"I'd like to say right here she's jest playin' them fellers for their
+wads. Oh, she's a keen one, her eyes is right on to business. She'll
+sure have 'em shootin' each other right up. Seems to me a gal like
+that ain't no right in this yer city. She's a scandal to the place.
+An' a danger. Wot we fellers needs to figure on is the liberty an'
+safety of our citizens, an' anything calc'lated to be a danger to that
+needs to git seen to."
+
+Some of the men concurred half-heartedly. They were men who had come
+into the camp with the rush, and were anxious to keep in with the
+saloon-keeper. Still, even they were very little stirred by his
+appeal. They cared not the least bit in the world who was shot up, or
+who did the shooting, so long as they were not personally concerned
+beyond the r�le of spectators.
+
+So for once his mischief fell flat. It was too early in the day to
+make the impression he needed. They were not sufficiently primed with
+rye. So Beasley contented himself with insinuating the bottle toward
+doubtful customers, and easing his disappointment by making all the
+trade he could.
+
+But presently a diversion occurred by the advent of Buck. He rode up,
+his great horse loaded down with the carcasses of three splendid deer.
+He had brought them in for sale. Game was a precious thing in this
+camp, where a diet of simple beef ruled.
+
+The moment he displayed his wares there was a rush to bid for them,
+and Beasley, much to his chagrin, found himself forced to pay boom
+prices before he could secure them for retailing. He paid ungraciously
+enough. If there was one man more than another in the camp he
+begrudged anything to it was Buck. Besides, it made him utterly
+furious to think that he never came up against this man on any
+debatable matter but what he managed to come off worst.
+
+However, his policy forced him to stifle his resentment, and he paid,
+mentally adding another item to the long list of his personal
+animosities to be wiped out at some future date.
+
+But Buck's presence was an opportunity for mischief not to be
+altogether missed. Nor was Beasley the man to let the moment pass
+without availing himself of it. Buck's interest in Joan was something
+to be played upon at all times. Therefore he drew him aside in a
+manner as portentous and ingratiating as he could make it.
+
+Buck, wondering at his drift, submitted all unwillingly.
+
+"Say," Beasley began, the moment they were out of ear-shot of the
+rest, "guess you ain't bin around the farm lately--I mean this
+afternoon?"
+
+Buck looked him coldly in the eye.
+
+"No--why?"
+
+Beasley returned his look in consummate irritation. He pretended to be
+annoyed at his coolness. He shrugged and turned away, speaking over
+his shoulder as he went.
+
+"Oh, nuthin'! Guess it might be as well if you had."
+
+He went back to his bar, and in a moment was busy again at his trade.
+Buck looked after him for one doubting second. Then he too turned away
+and went out to his horse.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+THE ABILITIES OF MRS. RANSFORD
+
+
+Joan was smiling happily, watching the waging of a droll little
+farmyard warfare. Just now her life was running very smoothly, and the
+shadows of memory were steadily receding. She had almost forgotten the
+few unpleasant moments when she had first beheld the repellent
+ugliness of Devil's Hill nearly a week ago. Since then nothing had
+occurred to raise fresh alarm, and memory, with that pleasant knack
+inspired of perfect physical health, had gently mellowed and lost
+something of its power to disturb.
+
+It was a curious scene. The farm was still, so still, in the glowing
+afternoon heat. The cattle were out in the pastures filling themselves
+with the succulent grass and dozing the long daylight hours away. The
+"hired" man was out with the team, breaking a new patch of prairie
+land in the interim between the haying and harvesting. The hogs were
+gently snuffling in their pens, and a few hens and cockerels were
+amiably flirting whilst scratching about amongst the barn litter in
+that busy, inconsequent manner so suggestive to the human mind of
+effort for the sheer delight of being busy.
+
+It was a scene such as she had often dreamed of, and something which
+very nearly approached her ideal.
+
+Here, in one corner of the yard, where she stood, sun-bonneted to
+shelter her face from the burning attentions of the summer sun,
+leaning idly against a water barrel standing at the corner of the
+barn, she watched the farmyard comedy which was rapidly threatening to
+disturb the general peace. A large hen with a late-hatched brood of
+chicks, whose colors suggested the polygamous conditions under which
+her matrimonial affairs were carried on, with feathers ruffled and
+comb flaming, with head lowered and beak agape, was angrily defying an
+absurd-looking pig which had scarcely passed its sucking age.
+
+They had met quite suddenly round the corner of the implement shed.
+For the moment they stood disconcerted, while the agitated hen clucked
+alarm at her offspring. The pig, squealing in a high treble, was
+standing with snout twitching and front feet apart, a picture of
+idiotic confusion. Perhaps the hen, with the superior feminine
+knowledge of her age, understood something of the situation, and
+appreciated the young porker's inability. Anyway, she took the
+initiative in aggression, and, vainly struggling to cover her rather
+riotous brood with outspread wings, cackled furiously and prepared for
+the onslaught which secretly she knew was not forthcoming.
+
+The porker's mind seemed to be in a whirl of doubt, for he looked
+vainly from side to side to find some adequate means of escape. His
+sense did not carry him sufficiently far to prompt him to turn tail
+and bolt for safety. He just stood there and continued his helpless
+baby squealing. This was all the old hen needed to drive her to
+extremities. Realizing his weakness she gave one fluttering spring,
+scattering her chicks in all directions, pecked the pig's nose
+violently, turned something like a somersault as she landed on the
+ground, gathered herself together, and incontinently fled, leaving
+her brood to care for themselves. Thus the pig was left looking after
+her with an expression in its silly eyes that suggested to the girl
+nothing so much as an amazed wonder as to what the fuss was all about.
+
+Joan stood convulsed with laughter. The pig interested her vastly more
+than the hen, and she waited the further working of its stupid mind.
+But she was disappointed. Its momentary confusion had passed, and,
+lowering its pink snout, it groveled on in search of offal, the
+delights of which its young mind was just awakening to.
+
+She had moved away to pass on toward the house when she was startled
+by the sound of a harsh laugh close behind her. She turned and found
+herself staring into the grinning face of Montana Ike.
+
+She was angry and not without a qualm of apprehension. This man had
+become a constant caller at the farm at all sorts of odd and
+unexpected moments. And his attitude was such that she thoroughly
+resented him. In his vaunting, braggadocio manner he had assumed a
+sort of proprietary interest in her and her affairs.
+
+The moment she faced him, his confident attitude became more
+pronounced.
+
+"Comic, ain't it?" he suggested. Then he added, as though to assure
+her of his appreciation: "Nigh as comic as a cirkis."
+
+But all Joan's delight in the scene was gone. Her beautiful eyes were
+sparkling angrily. She made up her mind then and there to be rude to
+the man. She would not have him about the place.
+
+"What do you want?" she inquired bluntly.
+
+The boy's grin remained, but his furtive eyes opened a shade wider.
+
+"Wot do I want? Gee! You're feelin' friendly." Then he put on a manner
+he intended to be facetious. "An' me left my patch o' pay-dirt, an'
+all, to pay a 'party' call. Say, Miss Golden, that ain't sassiety ways
+in this yer camp."
+
+His attempt at pleasantry went for nothing. Joan, studying the man
+closely, saw that his face was flushed, and, even at that distance,
+she could smell the drink he had been imbibing. She must get rid of
+him, but it was not so easy to her gentle nature. However, she took a
+firm stand.
+
+"Maybe not," she said coldly. "But when people make 'party' calls they
+generally do it at convenient times. I'm very busy."
+
+The man laughed in the harsh manner she disliked and rather feared.
+
+"Kind o' seemed busy when I got around. Y' see you was sure that busy
+you didn't hear my hoss comin' along, you never see me git off him an'
+leave him back ther', an' me come along over an' stand watchin' you
+doin' nuthin' fer nigh fi' minutes. Oh, you're sure busy!"
+
+Joan flushed. She knew she had lied, but to be told so by this man was
+infuriating. She made no attempt to further disguise her feelings.
+
+"I said I was busy," she cried deliberately. "Surely that should be
+sufficient."
+
+But the man had no intention of accepting his dismissal.
+
+"It jest depends wot a feller's come around for," he said, no whit
+disconcerted. "Mebbe you won't find you're busy when you heard what I
+got to say." He laughed immoderately. Beasley's whisky was at work,
+and he had no fear for the purpose in hand.
+
+Suddenly he dived a hand into his hip-pocket and drew out the bills
+the saloon-keeper had paid him.
+
+"Look at them," he cried in a voice that was high-pitched with
+elation. "Ther's dollars an' dollars ther', but 'tain't nuthin' to
+wot's to come. Say, I got another cache o' gold waitin' back ther' at
+my shack, but I ain't handin' it to Beasley," he went on cunningly.
+"Oh, no, not me! I'm a business guy, I am. I hold that up, an' all the
+rest I git from my patch, an' I'm goin' to cash it in Leeson Butte, at
+the bank, fer a proper exchange. See? Oh, I ain't no sucker, I ain't.
+An' a feller needs a heap o' dollars, treatin' his gal right."
+
+Joan hardly knew how to deal with such a situation. Besides, the now
+obvious condition of the man alarmed her. However, he gave her no
+opportunity to reply. For, delighted with his own talk, he went on
+promptly--
+
+"Now I tho't a whole heap since I got this wad. A wad like this takes
+you thinkin', that is, ef you ain't a low-down rattle-brain like Pete,
+or a psalm-smitin' son-of-a-moose like that feller, Buck. Course they
+ain't got no sort o' savvee, anyways, so they don't count nuthin'. But
+wi' a feller like me things is diff'rent. Now, this is what I got
+fixed. Y' see you can't have no sort of a time in this yer camp, but
+it's diff'rent in Leeson Butte. Guess we'll get a buggy from the camp
+an' drive into Leeson. Ther's dance halls ther', an' they run a decent
+faro joint at a place I know. An' they sell elegant rye, too. Wal,
+we'll git that buggy, an' git fixed up reg'lar in Leeson, an' have a
+bully time, an' git right back to here an' run this yer farm between
+us. How's that?"
+
+"I--I don't think I understand."
+
+Joan's alarm grew. This man was deliberately proposing to marry her.
+Supported by the nerve his half-drunken condition inspired, his senses
+were so inflamed that he took the whole matter for granted. She looked
+into his sensual young face, the hard eyes, and at the loose lips that
+surrounded his unclean teeth, and something like panic seized her.
+However, she knew she must not show her fear.
+
+But he was waiting. And in reality her reply came without any
+hesitation. She shook her head.
+
+"You've made a mistake," she said decidedly but gently. "I have no
+intention of marrying anybody." Then, taking her courage in both
+hands, she permitted something of her dislike and contempt to creep
+into her manner. "It seems to me you take a great deal too much for
+granted. You come here when you think you will, wholly uninvited, and,
+from the first, you hint broadly that you regard me as--as the person
+you intend to marry. That is presumption, to put it mildly, and I have
+no use for people who--presume."
+
+She moved as though to return to the house. But Ike, all his
+confidence suddenly merged into a volcanic heat, reached out a hand to
+detain her. His hand came into rough contact with the soft flesh of
+her shoulder, and, shaking it off, she faced him with flaming eyes.
+
+"Don't dare to do that again," she cried, with bosom heaving. "Go,
+leave this farm instantly. Remember you are trespassing here!"
+
+Her anger had outweighed all her alarm, even, perhaps, all discretion.
+For the man was in no mood to accept his dismissal easily.
+
+"So that's it, is it?" he cried with a sudden hoarseness. "Oho, my
+lady! We're putting on airs," he sneered. "Not good enough, eh?
+Presuming, am I? An' who in blazes are you that you can't be touched?
+Seems to me a decent honest citizen's jest as good fer you as fer any
+other gal, an' my dollars are clean. What in thunder's amiss?" Then
+his heat lessened, and his manner became more ingratiating. "See here,
+Golden," he went on persuasively, "you don't mean that, sure! Wot's
+the matter with me? I ain't weak-kneed, nor nuthin'. I ain't scared o'
+no man. I'd scrap the devil ef you ast me. An' say, just think wot we
+ken do with the dollars. You'd make a real upstander in a swell house,
+with folks waitin' around on you, an' di'monds an' things. Say, I'm
+jest bustin' to make good like that. You can't jest think how much
+gold ther' is in my patch--an' you brought it along with you. You give
+it to me--your luck."
+
+There was something almost pathetic in his pleading, and for a brief
+moment a shade of sympathy softened the girl.
+
+"Please don't persist, Ike," she said almost gently. "Still, I can
+never marry you. It's--it's--absurd," she added, with a touch of
+impatience she could not wholly keep back.
+
+But that touch of impatience suddenly set fire again to the man's
+underlying intolerance of being thwarted.
+
+"Absurd, is it?" He laughed with a curious viciousness which once more
+disturbed the girl. "Absurd fer you to marry me," he cried harshly.
+"Absurd fer you, cos I ain't got no smarmy eddication, cos I ain't
+dressed in swaller tails an' kids, same as city folks. Oh, I know!
+You're a leddy--a city-raised leddy, an' I--I'm jest a prairie hog.
+That's it. You ain't got no use fer me. You jest come along right here
+an' laff, an' laff at us folks. Oh, you needn't to say you hav'n't!"
+as she raised a protesting hand. "Think I'm blind, think I'm deaf. Me!
+Say, you shown it right along jest so plain ther' wer'n't no need to
+tell it in langwidge." He broke off for a moment as though his anger
+had robbed him of further speech, and Joan watched the growing purpose
+in his hot eyes. Her own face was the color of marble. She was
+inwardly trembling, but she stood her ground with eyes stonily cold.
+She made no attempt to speak now, or defend herself against his
+accusations. She knew it would be useless. Only she longed in her mind
+for the presence of Buck to protect her from the insult she felt to be
+coming. Nor was she mistaken.
+
+The man's pause gave way before the surge of his anger.
+
+"See here," he suddenly cried, as though he had just arrived at a
+decision. "I ain't an easy man to laff at, as the folks around here
+knows. Ther' ain't no man around here can laff at Montana Ike, an' I
+don't guess no gal wi' red ha'r's goin' to neither. See?" He glanced
+swiftly round the farm. There was no one in sight. Suddenly one great
+hand shot out and he seized the girl by the arm in a crushing,
+powerful grasp and dragged her to him.
+
+"You guess you ken laff at me," he cried, seizing her with both hands
+and holding her in spite of her struggles. "Wal, you ken laff after
+you kissed me. You ken laff, oh, yes! when I tell the folks you kissed
+me. Seems to me the laff'll mostly be with me."
+
+He drew her toward him while she struggled violently. Then she
+shrieked for help, but she knew the only help she could hope for was
+the wholly inadequate help of her housekeeper. She shrieked Mrs.
+Ransford's name with all her power, while the man's face came nearer.
+It was quite hopeless; she knew she could not defend herself. And the
+half-drunken man was laughing as though he enjoyed her terror.
+
+She felt his hot breath on her cheeks, she closed her eyes to shut out
+the sight of his grinning face. He released his hold with one hand and
+flung his arm about her waist. She fought with might and main,
+shrieking with all the power of her lungs. She suddenly felt the
+impress of his hot lips on her cheek, not once, but a dozen times.
+Then of a sudden he released her with a bitter oath, as the shrieking
+voice of Mrs. Ransford sounded close by, and the thwack of a heavy
+broom fell upon his head and shoulders.
+
+"I'll teach you, you miser'ble hoboe!" cried the old woman's strident
+voice as her powerful arms swung her lusty broom aloft. "I'll teach
+you, you scallawag!" Thwack fell the broom, and, releasing Joan, the
+man sought to protect his head with his arms. "I'll give you a dose
+you won't fergit, you scum o' creation!" Thwack went the broom again.
+"Wait till the folks hear tell o' this, you miser'ble, miser'ble cur!"
+Again the broom fell, and the man turned to flee. "You'd run, would
+you? Git a fork, Miss Joan!" With a surprising rush the fat creature
+lunged another smash at the man's head with her favorite weapon.
+
+The blow fell short, for Ike had made good his retreat. And curiously
+enough he made no attempt to disarm her, or otherwise stand his ground
+once he was beyond the range of her blows. Perhaps he realized the
+immensity of his outrage, perhaps he foresaw what might be the result
+to himself when the story of his assault reached the camp. Perhaps it
+was simply that he had a wholesome terror of this undoubted virago.
+Anyway, he bolted for his horse and vaulted into the saddle, galloping
+away as though pursued by something far more hurtful than a fat
+farm-wife's avalanche of vituperation.
+
+"Mussy on us!" cried the old woman, flinging her broom to the ground
+as the man passed out of sight. "Mussy me, wot's he done to you, my
+pretty?" she cried, rushing to the girl's side and catching her to her
+great bosom. "There, there, don't 'e cry, don't 'e to cry for a
+scallawag like that," she said, as the girl buried her face on her
+shoulder and sobbed as though her heart would break. "There, there,"
+she went on, patting the girl's shoulder, "don't 'e demean yerself
+weppin' over a miser'ble skunk like that. Kiss yer, did he? Kiss yer!
+Him! Wal, he won't kiss nobody no more when the folks is put wise. An'
+I'll see they gets it all. You, a 'Merican gal, kissed by a hog like
+that. Here, wipe yer cheeks wi' this overall; guess they'll sure
+fester if you don't. Ther', that's better," she went on as Joan,
+choking back her sobs, presently released herself from her bear-like
+embrace.
+
+"It's my own fault," the girl said tearfully. "I ought never to have
+spoken to him at all. I----"
+
+But Mrs. Ransford gave her no chance to finish what she had to say.
+
+"Wot did I tell you?" she cried, with a power of self-righteousness.
+"Wot did I tell you? You ain't got no right to git a hob-a-nobbin'
+with sech scum. They're all scallawags, every one of 'em. Men!--say,
+these yer hills is the muck-hole o' creation, an' the men is the
+muck. I orter know. Didn't I marry George D. Ransford, an' didn't I
+raise twins by him, as you might say, an' didn't I learn thereby, an'
+therewith, as the sayin' is, that wi' muck around there's jest one way
+o' cleanin' it up an' that's with a broom! Come right into the house,
+pretty. You're needin' hot milk to soothe your nerves, my pore, pore!
+Come right in. Guess I'm a match fer any male muck around these hills.
+Mussy on us, what's that!"
+
+Both women started and stood staring with anxious, terrified eyes down
+the trail which led to the camp. Two shots had been fired almost
+simultaneously, and now, as they waited in horrified silence, two more
+shots rang out, echoing against the hills in the still air with
+ominous threat. After that all was quiet again.
+
+Presently the strained look in the farm-wife's face relaxed, and she
+turned to her charge.
+
+"That's him," she cried, with a swift return to her angry,
+contemptuous manner. "It's him showin' off--like all them scallawags.
+Come right in, missie," she added, holding out her hands to lead the
+girl home.
+
+But her kindly intention received an unexpected shock. Joan brushed
+her roughly aside, and her look was almost of one suddenly demented.
+
+"No, no," she cried in a voice of hysterical passion. "You don't
+understand. You can't understand. Those shots--oh! It is my fate--my
+curse. I must go!"
+
+And she fled down the trail in the direction whence the sound had
+proceeded--fled, leaving Mrs. Ransford staring stupidly after her, a
+prey to utter bewilderment.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+THE MEETING ON THE TRAIL
+
+
+The quiet was profound. All the world seemed so still. There was no
+sign of life, yet the warm air was thrilling with the unseen life of
+an insect world. The heat haze rose from the soft, deep surface sand
+of the trail, and the grass-lined edges looked parched beneath the
+glare of the summer sun. There was no breath from the mountains down
+here, where the forest trees crowded in on either side, forming a
+great screen against the cooling breezes, and holding the heat like
+the sides of an oven.
+
+A startled bird fluttered amongst the branches of a tree with that
+restless movement which so surely indicates the alarm of some subtle
+sense which no other creature possesses in so keen a degree. An
+answering rustle came from near by. And in a moment this was followed
+by a bustling rush among the leaves as two winged mates fled farther
+into the forest. Yet the sudden flight seemed quite unnecessary.
+
+Again the stillness was broken. This time it was by the harsh voice of
+a black carrion. This too was followed by movement, only the movement
+had no haste or suggestion of fear. It was simply the heavy flapping
+of slow-moving wings. Two enormous crows launched themselves upon the
+air from the topmost branches of a distant tree, and perched on the
+crest of another at the trail-side.
+
+They sat there in solemn, unmoving silence, but with eyes alert and
+watchful, and who might tell the thought passing through their
+unwholesome minds!
+
+But now a further sound broke the stillness--a sound which perhaps
+accounted for the movements of the birds. A soft patter grew out of
+the distance like the pad of muffled feet. But it was faint and
+seemingly far off. The sharp eyes of the feathered watchers were
+scanning the horizon from their lofty perches. The sound grew. And as
+it grew the waiting carrion turned to view both distances of the
+trail. It was evident that the growing sound had a double source.
+
+The padding feet became more distinct. Yes, the sounds were sharper.
+The softness had gone, developing into the rhythmic beat of hard hoofs
+speeding from either direction. Two horses were galloping down the
+trail at a rapid pace, and quickly it became evident that their
+meeting must occur somewhere almost directly beneath the watchful eyes
+of the waiting birds.
+
+Nearer and nearer came the hoof-beats. The birds were plucking at
+their feathers with an unconcern all too apparent. They ruffled their
+wings and preened their plumage, a sure indication of satisfaction.
+One of the galloping horses slackened its gait. Perhaps its rider had
+heard the approach of that other, and, with the curious instinctive
+suspicion of the western trail, prepared to pass him under the best
+conditions for defensiveness. Perhaps it was simply the natural action
+of a horseman on the trail.
+
+But the horse from the other direction had slackened speed too. His
+rider, too, had reduced his gait to a walk.
+
+The birds overhead ceased their preening and looked below for the
+possible development they seem to be ever awaiting. It makes no
+difference, they follow the trail of all animal life, waiting,
+waiting, with a patience inexhaustible, for the moment of stillness
+which tells them that life has passed and the banquet awaits them.
+
+One of the horsemen came into full view from the height above. The
+second horseman appeared round a bend. Both men were mounted on the
+lean, hard-muscled horses of prairie breeding. They were spare of
+flesh and uncared for, but their muscles were hard and their legs
+clean. Between them a bend in the trail still intervened, but with
+each moment they were drawing nearer to each other.
+
+Right under the tree upon which the crows were perched Pete drew rein
+and sat listening to the shuffling gait of the oncoming horse. The
+man's lean face was dark with a brooding hatred. His eyes were
+fiercely alight with expectancy. A revolver lay across his thigh, the
+butt of it firmly grasped in a hand clutching it with desperate
+purpose.
+
+The trail was the trail to the farm. Ike had gone to the farm. A
+horseman was returning along that trail from the direction of the
+farm. Such was the argument behind his aggressive action. It was a
+simple argument which in his sober senses might have needed support to
+urge him to the course he now contemplated. But he was not sober;
+Beasley had seen to that. He was no more sober than was Ike.
+
+Ike's horse was moving slowly--much slower than its usual walking gait
+The man was craning forward. Who, he wondered, was riding toward the
+farm, and for what purpose? His right hand was on the butt of his
+revolver, but his weapon was still in its holster, for his action was
+purely precautionary in a country where, when a man has enemies, or
+has done those things which he knows his fellows resent, it is
+advisable to look for no support outside his own ability to defend
+himself.
+
+He remembered the screams of Joan, and he knew how the hills echoed.
+He wondered, and wondering he regretted something of what he had done.
+But he regretted it only for possible consequences to himself. In
+reality he reveled in the warm memory of the feel of the girl's soft
+cheek.
+
+His horse reached the bend. He could no longer hear the hoof-beats of
+the other. He drew up with a sudden, nervous movement, and his gun
+left its holster. But his nerves passed, and, with a foul oath, he
+urged his horse forward. He rounded the bend and came face to face
+with the figure of Blue Grass Pete.
+
+"Wher' you bin?" demanded the latter in a manner that was a deliberate
+insult.
+
+Ike did the only thing his wit could prompt. He laughed. It was a
+harsh, mirthless laugh, which was equally an insult.
+
+"Quit it!" roared Pete in a blind fury. "Wher' you bin, I say?"
+
+Ike abandoned his laugh, but his face was furiously grinning.
+
+"Bin?" he echoed. "I bin wher' you needn't to go--wher' it ain't no
+use your goin'," he cried, his love of boast prompting him. "I bin to
+fix things up. She's goin' to mar----"
+
+A shot rang out. Ike's face blanched, but like lightning his pistol
+bit out its retort. Pete reeled and recovered himself, and again he
+fired. Ike leant forward as though seeking support from the horn of
+his saddle. Pete had fallen forward on to his horse's neck. Ike raised
+his gun and fired again, but there had really been no need for the
+shot. Even as his gun spoke the other man fell to the ground and
+rolled over. His dark face was turned upward, so that the waiting
+crows had a full view of it.
+
+After that Ike remained quite still. His pale face, turning to a
+greenish hue in contrast to his ginger hair, was staring down at the
+result of his handiwork. But his eyes were almost unseeing. He was
+faint and weary, and in great pain.
+
+The moments passed. At last he stirred. But his movement was merely to
+clutch with feeble fingers at the mane of his horse. Vainly his left
+hand clawed amongst the lank hair, while the fingers of his right
+released their grip upon his pistol and let it clatter to the ground.
+
+He crouched there breathing heavily, while a harsh croak from above
+split the air. Again he moved as though the sound had awakened him. He
+strove to sit up, to lift the reins, and to urge his horse forward.
+The beast moved in response to his effort. But the movement was all
+that was needed. The man reeled, lost his balance, and fell heavily to
+the ground. He too had rolled on to his back--he too was gazing up
+with unseeing eyes at the dark-hued carrion whose patience was
+inexhaustible.
+
+For a moment all was still. Then the horses moved as by common
+consent. They drew near to each other, and their noses met in that
+inquiring equine fashion which suggests friendly overtures. They stood
+thus for a while. Then both moved to the side of the trail and began
+to graze upon the parching grass after the unconcerned manner of
+their kind.
+
+The heavy flapping of wings told of a fresh movement in the trees
+above. Two great black bodies swung out upon the air. They circled
+round as though assuring themselves that all was as they could wish
+it. Then they settled again. But this time it was on the boughs of a
+low bush less than six feet above the staring faces of their intended
+victims.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+A MAN'S SUPPORT
+
+
+Buck looked up as two crows flew low over his head and passed on their
+way, croaking out their alarm and dissatisfaction. Mechanically his
+eyes followed their movements. For he was well versed in the sights,
+and sounds, and habits of his world.
+
+Presently he turned again to the trail, and the expression of his eyes
+had changed to one of speculation. C�sar was traveling eagerly. He had
+not yet forgotten that farther on along that trail lay the old barn
+which had been his home from his earliest recollections.
+
+Buck had had no intention of making this visit to the farm when he
+left Beasley's saloon. He had not had the remotest intention of
+carrying out the man's broadly-given hint. A hint from Beasley was
+always unwelcome to him, and generally roused an obstinate desire to
+take an opposite course. Nor was it until he reached the ford of the
+creek that the significance of the man's tone penetrated his dislike
+of him. Quite abruptly he made up his mind to keep straight on.
+Curiosity, added to a slight feeling of uneasiness, urged him, and,
+leaving the ford behind him, he kept on down the trail.
+
+His decision once taken, he felt easier as he rode on. Besides, he
+admitted to himself now, he was rather thankful to the saloon-keeper
+for providing him with something in the nature of an excuse for such a
+visit. He was different from those others, who, in perfect confidence
+and ignorance, required not the least encouragement to persecute Joan
+with their attentions. He found it more than difficult to realize that
+his visits were anything but irksome to the new owner of the farm now
+that she had settled down with the adequate support of her "hired"
+man.
+
+Joan's graciousness to him was the one great delight of his every
+waking hour. But he dreaded the moment when her manner might become
+the mere tolerance she displayed toward Ike and Pete, and any of the
+others who chose to make her farm a halting-place. So his visits had
+become rarer; far rarer than made for his own peace of mind, for Joan
+was always in his thoughts.
+
+Tramping the long trail of the mountains her smiling eyes were always
+somewhere ahead of him, encouraging him, and shedding a radiance of
+hope and delight upon the dullest moments of his routine. Never for
+one moment was the delightful picture of her presence absent from his
+thoughts. And to him there was nothing in the whole wide world so
+fair, and sweet, and worthy of the worship he so willingly cast at her
+feet.
+
+His life had always been full in his wilderness of Nature's splendor.
+In his moments of leisure he had been more than happily content in the
+pleasant friendship of the man who had sheltered him from childhood.
+But now--now as he looked back over all those years, the associations
+seemed dull and empty--empty of all that made life worth living. Not
+only had he come to realize the woman's place in a man's life. It was
+the old story of the fruit of knowledge. Woman had always been a
+sealed book to him. Now, at last, the cover had been turned and the
+pages lay before him for the reading. He yearned for Joan with all
+the strength and passionate ardor of his strong young heart. Nor, even
+in his yearning, had he full understanding of the real depths of his
+feelings.
+
+How could he study or analyze them? His love had no thought of the
+world in it. It had no thought of anything that could bring it down to
+the level of concrete sensation. He could not have told one feeling
+that was his. With Joan at his side he moved in a mental paradise
+which no language could depict. With Joan at his side he lived with
+every nerve pulsating, attuned to a perfect consciousness of joy. With
+Joan at his side there was nothing but light and radiance which filled
+every sense with a happiness than which he could conceive no greater.
+Alone, this great wide world about him was verily a wilderness.
+
+The man's feelings quickly mastered his momentary uneasiness as his
+horse bore him on toward his goal. The forest path over which he was
+traveling had lost its hue of gloom which the shadowed pine woods ever
+convey. There was light everywhere, that light which comes straight
+from the heart and is capable of lending radiance even to the
+grave-side itself.
+
+The trail lay straight ahead of him for some distance. Then it swerved
+in a big sweep away to the left. He knew this bend. The farm lay
+something less than half a mile beyond it. As they neared it C�sar
+pricked his ears and whinnied. Buck leant forward and patted his neck
+out of the very joy of anticipation. It almost seemed to him as if the
+creature knew who was waiting at the end of the journey and was
+rejoicing with him. For once he had misunderstood the mood of his
+horse.
+
+He realized this in a moment. The eager creature began to move with a
+less swinging stride, and his gait quickly became something in the
+nature of a "prop." They were round the bend, and the horse whinnied
+again. This time it raised its head and snorted nervously. And
+instantly Buck was alive to the creature's anxiety. He understood the
+quick glancing from side to side, and the halting of that changing
+step which is always a sign of fear.
+
+Ahead the trail completed the letter S it had begun. They were nearing
+the final curve to the right. Buck searched the distance for the cause
+of C�sar's apprehension. And all unconsciously his mind went back to
+the winging of the crows overhead and the sound of their harsh voices.
+He spurred the creature sharply, and steadied him down.
+
+They reached the final bend and passed round it, and in a moment Buck
+had an answer to the questions in his mind. It was a terrible
+spectacle that greeted his eyes as he reined his horse in and brought
+him to an abrupt halt. He had reached the battle-ground where death
+had claimed its toll of human passion. There, swiftly, almost
+silently, two men had fought out their rivalry for a woman's favor--a
+favor given to neither.
+
+It needed little enough imagination to read the facts. All the
+ingredients of the swift-moving drama were there before his eyes--the
+combatants stretched out in the sand of the trail, with staring eyes
+and dropping jaws, gazing up at the brilliant vault of the heavens,
+whither, may be, their savage spirits had fled; the woman crouching
+down at the roadside with face buried upon outstretched arms, her
+slight body heaving with hysterical sobs; the horses, horses he knew
+well enough by sight, lost to the tragedy amidst the more succulent
+roots of the parching grass beneath the shadow of overhanging trees.
+
+One glance at the combatants told Buck all he wanted to know. They
+were dead. He had been too long upon the western trail to doubt the
+signs he beheld. His duty and inclination were with the living. In a
+moment he was out of the saddle and at Joan's side, raising her from
+her position of grief and misery in arms as gentle as they were
+strong.
+
+He had no real understanding of the necessities of the moment. All he
+knew, all he desired, was to afford the girl that help and protection
+he felt she needed. His first thought was to keep her from a further
+sight of what had occurred. So he held her in his arms, limp and
+yielding, for one uncertain moment. Then, for the second time in his
+life, he bore her off toward her home.
+
+But now his feelings were of a totally different nature. There was
+neither ecstasy nor dreaming. He was anxious and beset. As he bore her
+along he spoke to her, encouraging her with gentle words of sympathy
+and hope. But her fainting condition left him no reward, and her
+half-closed eyes, filled with unshed tears, remained dull and
+unresponsive.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+No sound broke the stillness in the parlor at the farm. Buck was
+leaning against the small centre-table gravely watching the bowed head
+of the silently-weeping girl, who was seated upon the rough settle
+which lined the wall. Her slight figure was supported by the pillows
+which had been set in place by the ministering hands of Mrs. Ransford.
+
+Buck's reception by the farm-wife had been very different on this
+occasion. She had met him with his burden some distance down the
+trail, whither she had followed her young mistress, whose fleetness
+had left her far behind. Her tongue had started to clack at once, but
+Buck was in no mood to put up with unnecessary chatter. A peremptory
+order had had the astonishing effect of silencing her, and a further
+command had set her bustling to help her mistress.
+
+Once immediate needs had been attended to, the man told his story
+briefly, and added his interpretation of the scene he had just
+witnessed. He further dispatched the old woman to summon the hired man
+from his ploughing, and, for once, found ready obedience where he
+might well have expected nothing but objection.
+
+Thus it was the man and girl were alone in the parlor. Buck was
+waiting for Joan's storm of tears to pass.
+
+The moment came at last, and quite abruptly. Joan stirred; she flung
+her head up and dashed the weak tears from her eyes, struggling
+bravely for composure. But the moment she spoke her words belied the
+resolution, and showed her still in the toils of an overwhelming
+despair.
+
+"What can I do?" she cried piteously. "What am I to do? I can see
+nothing--nothing but disaster in every direction. It is all a part of
+my life; a part of me. I cannot escape it. I have tried to, but--I
+cannot. Oh, I feel so helpless--so helpless!"
+
+Buck's eyes shone with love and pity. He was stirred to the depths of
+his manhood by her appeal. Here again was that shadow she had spoken
+of before, that he had become familiar with. He tried to tell himself
+that she was simply unnerved, but he knew her trouble was more than
+that. All his love drove him to a longing for a means of comforting
+her.
+
+"Forget the things you seen," he said in a low tone. And he felt that
+his words were bald--even stupid.
+
+The girl's troubled eyes were looking up into his in a desperate hope.
+It was almost as if this man were her only support, and she were
+making one final appeal before abandoning altogether her saving hold.
+
+"Forget them? Oh, Buck, Buck, you don't know what you are saying. You
+don't understand--you can't, or you would not speak like that. You
+see," she went on, forgetting in her trouble that this man did not
+know her story, "Ike was here. Here! He made--love to me. He--he
+kissed me. He brutally kissed me when I had no power to resist him.
+And now--now this has happened."
+
+But the man before her had suddenly changed while she was speaking.
+The softness had left his eyes. They had suddenly become hot, and
+bloodshot, and hard. His breath came quickly, heavily, his thin
+nostrils dilating with the furious emotion that swept through his
+body. Ike had kissed her. He had forgotten all her sufferings in his
+own sudden, jealous fury.
+
+Joan waited. The change in the man had passed unobserved by her. Then,
+as no answer was forthcoming, she went on--
+
+"Wherever I go it is the same. Death and disaster. Oh, it is awful!
+Sometimes I think I shall go mad. Is there no corner of the earth
+where I can hide myself from the shadow of this haunting curse?"
+
+"Ike kissed you?"
+
+Buck's voice grated harshly. Somehow her appeal had passed him by.
+All his better thoughts and feelings were overshadowed for the moment.
+A fierce madness was sweeping through his veins, his heart, his brain,
+a madness of feeling such as he had never before experienced.
+
+The girl answered him, still without recognizing the change.
+
+"Yes," she said in a dull, hopeless way. "And the inevitable happened.
+It followed swiftly, surely, as it always seems to follow. He is
+dead."
+
+"He got it--as he should get it. He got no more than he'd have got if
+I'd been around."
+
+Buck's mood could no longer escape her. She looked into the hard,
+young face, startled. She saw the fury in his eyes, the clenched jaws,
+with their muscles outstanding with the force of the fury stirring
+him.
+
+The sight agitated her, but somehow it did not frighten. She half
+understood. At least she thought she did. She read his resentment as
+that of a man who sees in the outrage a breaking of all the laws of
+chivalry. She missed the real note underlying it.
+
+"What does his act matter?" she said almost indifferently, her mind on
+what she regarded as the real tragedy. "He was drunk. He was not
+responsible. No, no. It is not that which matters. It was the other.
+He left me--to go to his death. Had Pete not been waiting for him it
+would have been just the same. Disaster! Death! Oh! can you not see?
+It is the disaster which always follows me."
+
+Her protest was not without its effect. So insistent was she on the
+resulting tragedy that Buck found himself endeavoring to follow her
+thought in spite of his own feelings. She was associating this
+tragedy with herself--as part of her life, her fate.
+
+But it was some moments before the man was sufficiently master of
+himself--before he could detach his thought altogether from the human
+feelings stirring him. The words sang on his ear-drums. "He--he kissed
+me." They were flaming through his brain. They blurred every other
+thought, and, for a time, left him incapable of lending her that
+support he would so willingly give her. Finally, however, his better
+nature had its way. He choked down his jealous fury, and strove to
+find means of comforting her.
+
+"It's all wrong," he cried, with a sudden force which claimed the
+girl's attention, and, for the time at least, held her troubled
+thought suspended. "How can this be your doing? Why for should it be a
+curse on you because two fellers shoot each other up? They hated each
+other because of you. Wal--that's natural. It's dead human. It's been
+done before, an' I'm sure guessin' it'll be done again. It's not you.
+It's--it's nature--human nature. Say, Miss Joan, you ain't got the
+lessons of these hills right yet. Folks out here are diffrent to city
+folks. That is, their ways of doin' the same things are diff'rent. We
+feel the same--that's because we're made the same--but we act
+diff'rent. If I'd bin around, I'd have shot Ike--with a whole heap of
+pleasure. An' if I had, wher's the cuss on you? Kissin' a gal like
+that can't be done around here."
+
+"But Pete was not here. He didn't know."
+
+Joan was quick to grasp the weakness of his argument.
+
+"It don't matter a cent," cried Buck, his teeth clipping his words.
+"He needed his med'cine--an' got it."
+
+Joan sighed hopelessly.
+
+"You don't understand, and--and I can't tell it you all. Sometimes I
+feel I could kill myself. How can I help realizing the truth? It is
+forced on me. I am a leper, a--a pariah."
+
+The girl leant back on her cushions, and her whole despairing attitude
+became an appeal to his manhood. The last vestige of Buck's jealousy
+passed from him. He longed to tell her all there was in his heart. He
+longed to take her in his arms and comfort her, and protect her from
+every shadow the whole wide world held for her. He longed to tell her
+of the love that was his, and how no power on earth could change it.
+But he did none of these things.
+
+"The things you're callin' yourself don't sound wholesome," he said
+simply. "I can't see they fit in anyway. Guess they ain't natural."
+
+Joan caught at the word.
+
+"Natural!" she cried. "Is any of it natural?" She laughed
+hysterically.
+
+Buck nodded.
+
+"It's all natural," he said. "You've hit it. You don't need my word.
+Jest you ask the Padre. He'll give it you all. He'll tell you jest how
+notions can make a cuss of any life, an' how to get shut of sech
+notions. He's taught me, an' he'll teach you. I can't jest pass his
+words on. They don't git the same meaning when I say 'em. I ain't wise
+to that sort of thing. But ther's things I am wise to, and they're the
+things he's taught me. You're feeling mean, mean an' miser'ble, that
+makes me ter'ble mean to see. Say, Miss Joan, I ain't much handin'
+advice. I ain't got brain enough to hand that sort of thing around,
+but I'd sure ask you to say right here ther' ain't no cuss on your
+life, an' never was. You jest guess there's a cuss around chasin'
+glory at your expense. Wal, git right up, an' grit your teeth an'
+fight good. Don't sit around feeling mean. If you'd do that, I tell
+you that cuss'll hit the trail so quick you won't git time to see it,
+an' you'll bust yourself laffin' to think you ever tho't it was around
+your layout. An' before I done talkin' I'll ast you to remember that
+when menfolks git around insultin' a helpless gal, cuss or no cuss,
+he's goin' to git his med'cine good--an' from me."
+
+Buck's effort had its reward. The smile that had gradually found its
+way into his own eyes caught something of a reflection in those of the
+girl. He had dragged her from the depths of her despair by the force
+of the frank courage that was his. He had lifted her by the sheer
+strength and human honesty which lay at the foundation of his whole,
+simple nature. Joan sighed, and it was an acknowledgment of his
+success.
+
+"Thank you, Buck," she said gently. "You are always so good to me. You
+have been so ever since I came. And goodness knows you have little
+enough reason for it, seeing it is I who have turned you out of this
+home of yours----"
+
+"We got your money," interrupted Buck, almost brusquely. "This farm
+was the Padre's. You never turned me out. An' say, the Padre don't
+live a big ways from here. Maybe you'd like him to tell you about
+cusses an' things." His eyes twinkled. "He's sure great on cusses."
+
+But Joan did not respond to the lightness of his manner, and Buck
+realized that her trouble was still strong upon her.
+
+He waited anxiously, watching for the signs of her acceptance of his
+invitation. But they were not forthcoming. The deep violet of her eyes
+seemed to grow deeper with a weight of thought, and gradually the
+man's hopes sank. He had wanted her to see his friend, he had wanted
+his friend to see her. But more than all he had wanted to welcome her
+to his own home. Nor was the reason of his desire clear even to
+himself.
+
+At last she rose from her seat and crossed over to the window, just as
+the sound of voices heralded the return of Mrs. Ransford and the hired
+man. It was at that moment she turned to him, speaking over her
+shoulder.
+
+"They've got back," she said. "What are you going to do?"
+
+"Send those--others--on into camp."
+
+"Yes." Joan shivered.
+
+Then she came back to him, and stood with one hand resting on the
+table.
+
+"I--I think I should like to see the Padre. Will you take me to him
+one day?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+THE BRIDGING OF YEARS
+
+
+It was nearly a week later that Joan paid her visit to the fur fort.
+
+The Padre moved about the room a little uncertainly. Its plainness
+troubled him, but its cleanliness was unquestionable. Both he and Buck
+had spent over two hours, earlier in the day, setting the place to
+rights and preparing for their visitor.
+
+He shook his head as he viewed the primitive condition of the
+furniture. It was all very, very home-made. There was not one seat he
+felt to be suitable to offer to a lady. He was very dissatisfied.
+Dissatisfied with it all, and particularly with Buck for bringing Joan
+to this wretched mountain abode. It would have been far better had he
+called at the farm. It even occurred to him now as curious that he had
+never done so before.
+
+Yet perhaps it was not so curious after all. He had been attached to
+the home which had sheltered him all those years, the home his own two
+hands had built. Yes, it was different making a place, building it,
+driving every nail oneself, setting up every fence post, turning every
+clod of soil. It was different to purchasing it, ready-made, or hiring
+labor. He had no desire to go near the farm again. That, like other
+things, had passed out of his life forever.
+
+Three times he rearranged the room in the vain hope of giving it an
+added appearance of comfort, but the task was hopeless. Finally, he
+sat down and lit his pipe, smiling at his almost childish desire that
+his home should find favor in the eyes of the girl Buck was bringing
+to see him.
+
+Buck had told him very little. He had spoken of the visit, and hinted
+at Joan's desire for advice. He had been very vague. But then that was
+Buck's way in some things. It was not often that he had need to go
+into reasons in his intercourse with his friend. Such a perfect
+understanding had always existed between them that they were rarely
+discoursive. He had told the Padre of the shooting, and explained the
+apparent cause. He had also told him of the reception of the news in
+the camp, and how a small section of the older inhabitants had adopted
+an attitude of resentment against the innocent cause of it. He had
+shown him that there was plainly no sympathy, or very little, for Joan
+when the story was told. And to the elder man this was disquieting.
+Buck had treated it with the contempt of youth, but the Padre had
+detected in it a food for graver thought than he let the boy
+understand.
+
+It would be time enough to break up Buck's confidence should any
+trouble develop. In the meantime he had understood that there was
+something like real necessity for him to see this girl. If she needed
+any help then it was plainly his duty to give it her. And, besides,
+there was another reason. Buck desired this interview.
+
+He smiled to himself as he thought of the turn events had taken with
+Buck. He must have been blind indeed if he had not seen from the very
+first the way things were going. The boy had fallen hopelessly in love
+with the first girl with whom he had definitely been brought into
+contact. And why not? Yes, he was rather anxious to see and talk with
+this girl who had set the boy's heart on fire.
+
+Yet it seemed strange. Buck had never been anything but a boy to him.
+He had never really grown up. He was still the small, pathetic figure
+he had first encountered on the trail-side. And now here he was
+hopelessly, madly in love with a girl. He would never forget the fire
+of jealousy that had lain behind his words when Buck had told him that
+Ike had forcibly kissed her.
+
+His thought lost its more sympathetic note, and he became grave. Love
+had come into this youngster's life, and he wondered in what direction
+it would influence it. He knew well enough, no one better, how much
+damage love could do. He knew well enough the other, and right side of
+the picture. But Buck was an unusual experiment. Even to him, who knew
+the boy so well, he was still something of a problem in many ways. One
+thing was certain. He would get the trouble badly, and time alone
+could show what ravages and complications might be forthcoming.
+
+He rose from his chair and knocked out his pipe. Then, in smiling
+dismay, he sniffed the air. He had done the very thing he had meant to
+avoid. He shook his white head, and opened wide both the window and
+the door in the hope that the fresh mountain air would sweeten the
+atmosphere before the girl's arrival.
+
+But his hopes were quickly dashed. As he took up his position in the
+doorway, prepared to extend her the heartiest greeting, he heard the
+clatter of hoofs on the trail, and the man and the girl rode into the
+stockade.
+
+Buck had departed to perform his usual evening tasks. He had gone to
+water and feed the horses, to "buck" cord-wood for the stove, and to
+draw the water for their household purposes. He was full early with
+his work, but he was anxious that the Padre and Joan should remain
+undisturbed. Such was his faith in the Padre that he felt that on this
+visit depended much of the girl's future peace of mind.
+
+Now the white-haired man and the girl were alone--alone with the ruddy
+westering sun pouring in through window and door, in an almost
+horizontal shaft of gracious light. Joan was sitting bending over the
+cook-stove, her feet resting on the rack at the foot of the oven, her
+hands outstretched to the warming glow of the fire. The evenings in
+the hills, even in the height of summer, were never without a nip of
+cold which drifted down from the dour, ages-old glaciers crowning the
+distant peaks. She was talking, gazing into the glowing coals. She was
+piecing out her story as it had been told her by her Aunt Mercy,
+feeling that only with a full knowledge of it could this wise old
+white-haired friend of Buck's understand and help her.
+
+The Padre was sitting close under the window. His back was turned to
+it, so that his face was almost lost in the shadow. And it was as
+well. As the story proceeded, as incident after incident was unfolded,
+the man's face became gray with unspeakable emotion, and from robust
+middle age he jumped to an old, old man.
+
+But Joan saw none of this. Never once did she turn her eyes in his
+direction. She was lost in painful recollections of the hideous things
+with which she seemed to be surrounded. She told him of her birth,
+those strange circumstances which her aunt had told her of, and which
+now, in her own cold words, sounded so like a fairy tale. She told him
+of her father and her father's friend, the man who had always been his
+evil genius. She told him of her father's sudden good fortune, and of
+the swift-following disaster. She told him of his dreadful death at
+the hands of his friend. Then she went on, mechanically reciting the
+extraordinary events which had occurred to her--how, in each case
+where men sought her regard and love, disaster had followed hard upon
+their heels; how she had finally fled before the disaster which dogged
+her; how she had come here, here where she thought she might be free
+from associations so painful, only to find that escape was impossible.
+
+"I need not tell you what has happened since I came," she finished up
+dully. "You know it all. They say I brought them their luck. Luck? Was
+there ever such luck? First my coming cost a man's life, and now--now
+Ike and Pete. What is to follow?"
+
+The Padre had not once interrupted her in her long story, and, even
+now, as the last sound of her voice died out, it was some moments
+before he spoke.
+
+The fire in the grate rustled and the cinders shook down.
+
+It was then that the girl stirred as though suddenly made aware of the
+silence. Immediately the man's voice, cold--almost harsh, in contrast
+to his usual tone, startled her.
+
+"'Rest' is not your name," he said. "You have changed your name--to
+further aid your escape from----"
+
+"How do you know that?" Then the girl went on, wondering at the man's
+quickness of understanding. "I had not intended telling you. But it
+doesn't matter. Nothing seems to matter. Evidently my disguise is
+useless with you. No, my name is not Rest. My father was Charles
+Stanmore."
+
+The man made no reply. He did not move. His keen eyes were on the
+red-gold hair so neatly coiled about the girl's head. His lips were
+compressed, and a deep frown had disturbed the usual serenity of his
+broad brow.
+
+For a moment Joan bowed her head, and her hands clasped tightly as
+they were held toward the fire. Presently her voice sounded again. It
+began low, held under a forced calm.
+
+"Is there no hope?" she implored him. "Buck said you could help me.
+What have I done that these things should curse my life? I only want
+peace--just a little peace. I am content to live and die just as I am.
+I desire nothing more than to be left--alone."
+
+"Who told you--all this?" The Padre's voice had no sympathy.
+
+"My aunt. Aunt Mercy."
+
+"You were--happy before she told you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why did she tell you?"
+
+"I don't know. At least--yes, she told me so as to warn me. So that I
+might avoid bringing disaster upon those whom I had no desire to
+hurt."
+
+The Padre rose from his seat and crossed to where the girl was
+sitting. He stood for a moment just behind her chair. Then, very
+gently, he laid one sunburnt hand upon her shoulder.
+
+"Little girl," he said, with a wonderful kindliness that started the
+long-threatened tears to the girl's eyes, "you've got a peck of
+trouble inside that golden head of yours. But it's all in there.
+There's none of it outside. Look back over all those things you've
+told me. Every one of them. Just show me where your hand in them lies.
+There is not a disaster that you have mentioned but what possesses its
+perfectly logical, natural cause. There is not one that has not been
+duplicated, triplicated, ah! dozens and dozens of times since this
+quaint old world of ours began. You believe it is due to your
+influence because a silly old woman catches you in an overwrought
+moment and tells you so. She has implanted a parasite in your little
+head that has stuck there and grown out of all proportion. Believe me,
+child, you cannot influence the destinies of men. You have no say in
+the matter. As we are made, so we must work out our own salvation. It
+has been your lot to witness many disasters, but had these things
+occurred with other girls as the central figure, would you have
+attributed this hideous curse to their lives? Would you? Never. But
+you readily attribute it to your own. I am an old man my dear; older
+to-day, perhaps, by far than my years call for. I have seen so much of
+misery and trouble that sometimes I have thought that all life is just
+one long sea of disaster. But it isn't--unless we choose to make it
+so. You are rapidly making yours such. You are naturally generous, and
+kind, and sympathetic. These things you have allowed to develop in you
+until they have become something approaching disease. Vampires sucking
+out all your nervous strength. Abandon these things for a while. Live
+the life the good God gave you. Enjoy your living moments as you were
+intended to enjoy them. And be thankful that the sun rises each
+morning, and that you can rise up from your bed refreshed and ready
+for the full play of heart, and mind, and limbs. Disasters will go on
+about you as they go on about me, and about us all. But they do not
+belong to us. That is just life. That is just the world and its
+scheme. There are lessons in all these things for us to learn--lessons
+for the purification of our hearts, and not diseases for our silly,
+weak brains. Now, little girl, I want you to promise that you will
+endeavor to do as I say. Live a wholesome, healthy life. Enjoy all
+that it is given you to enjoy. Where good can be done, do it. Where
+evil lies, shun it. Forget all this that lies behind you, and--Live!
+Evil is merely the absence of Good. Life is all Good. If we deny that
+good, then there is Evil. Live your life with all its blessings, and
+your God will bless _you_. This is your duty to yourself; to your
+fellows; to life; to your God."
+
+Joan had risen from her seat. Her face was alight with a hope that had
+not been there for many days. The man's words had taken hold of her.
+Her troubled mind could not withstand them. He had inspired her with a
+feeling of security she had not known for weeks. Her tears were no
+longer tears of despair. They were tears of thankfulness and hope. But
+when she spoke her words seemed utterly bald and meaningless to
+express the wave of gratitude that flooded her heart.
+
+"I will; I will," she cried with glistening eyes. "Oh, Padre!" she
+went on, with happy impulse, "you don't know what you've done for
+me--you don't know----"
+
+"Then, child, do something for me." The man was smiling gravely down
+into the bright, upturned face. "You must not live alone down there at
+the farm. It is not good in a child so young as you. Get some
+relative to come and share your home with you."
+
+"But I have no one--except my Aunt Mercy."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"You see she is my only relative. But--but I think she would come if I
+asked her."
+
+"Then ask her."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Padre was sitting in the chair that Joan had occupied. He too was
+bending over the stove with his hands outstretched to the warming
+blaze. Perhaps he too was feeling the nip of the mountain air. Feeling
+it more than usual to-night. Buck was sitting on the edge of the table
+close by. He had just returned from taking Joan back to the farm.
+
+The young man's journey home had been made in a condition of mental
+exhilaration which left him quite unconscious of all time and
+distance. The change wrought in Joan had been magical, and C�sar, for
+once in his life, felt the sharp spur of impatience in the man's eager
+desire to reach his friend and speak something of the gratitude he
+felt.
+
+But habit was strong upon Buck, and his gratitude found no outlet in
+words when the moment came. Far from it. On his arrival he found the
+Padre sitting at their fireside without even the most ordinary welcome
+on his lips. A matter so unusual that it found Buck dumb, waiting for
+the lead to come, as he knew it inevitably would, in the Padre's own
+good time.
+
+It took longer than he expected, however, and it was not until he had
+prepared their frugal supper that the elder man stirred from his moody
+contemplation of the fire.
+
+He looked up, and a smile struggled painfully into his eyes.
+
+"Hungry, Buck?" he inquired.
+
+"So!"
+
+"Ah! then sit right down here, boy, an' light your pipe. There's
+things I want to say--first."
+
+"Get right ahead." Buck drew up a chair, and obediently filled and lit
+his pipe.
+
+"Life's pretty twisted," the Padre began, his steady gray eyes smiling
+contemplatively. "So twisted, it makes you wonder some. That girl's
+happier now, because I told her there were no such things as cusses.
+Yes, it's all queer."
+
+He reached out and helped himself from Buck's tobacco pouch. Then he,
+too, filled and lit his pipe.
+
+"You've never asked me why I live out here," he went on presently.
+"Never since I've known you. Once or twice I've seen the question in
+your eyes, but--it never stayed there long. You don't ask many
+questions, do you, Buck?"
+
+The Padre puffed slowly at his pipe. His manner was that of a man
+looking back upon matters which had suddenly acquired an added
+interest for him. Yet the talk he desired to have with this youngster
+inspired an ill-flavor.
+
+"If folks want to answer questions ther' ain't no need to ask 'em."
+Buck's philosophy interested the other, and he nodded.
+
+"Just so. That's how it is with me--now. I want to tell you--what
+you've never asked. You'll see the reason presently."
+
+Buck waited. His whole manner suggested indifference. Yet there was a
+thoughtful look in his dark eyes.
+
+"That girl," the Padre went on, his gaze returning to a contemplation
+of the fire. "She's put me in mind of something. She's reminded me how
+full of twists and cranks life is. She's full of good. Full of good
+thoughts and ideals. Yet life seems to take a delight in impressing
+her with a burden so unwholesome as to come very nearly undoing all
+the good it has endowed her with. It seems queer. It seems devilish
+hard. But I generally notice the harder folk try in this world the
+heavier the cross they have to carry. Maybe it's the law of fitness.
+Maybe folks must bear a burden at their full capacity so that the
+result may be a greater refining. I've thought a lot lately. Sometimes
+I've thought it's better to sit around and--well, don't worry with
+anything outside three meals a day. That's been in weak moments. You
+see, we can't help our natures. If it's in us to do the best we
+know--well, we're just going to do it, and--and hang the result."
+
+"H'm." Buck grunted and waited.
+
+"I was thinking of things around here," the other went on. "I was
+wondering about the camp. It's a stinking hole now. It's full of
+everything--rotten. Yet they think it's one huge success, and they
+reckon we helped them to it."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Why, by feeding them when they were starving, and so making it
+possible for them to hang on until Nature opened her treasure-house."
+
+Buck nodded.
+
+"I see."
+
+"All I see is--perhaps through our efforts--we've turned loose a hell
+of drunkenness and debauchery upon earth. These people--perhaps
+through our efforts--have been driven along the very path we would
+rather have saved them from. The majority will end in disaster. Some
+have already done so. But for our help this would not have been."
+
+"They'd jest have starved."
+
+"We should not have sold our farm, and Ike and Pete would have been
+alive now."
+
+"In Ike's case it would have been a pity."
+
+The Padre smiled. He took Buck's protest for what it was worth.
+
+"Yes, life's pretty twisted. It's always been the same with me.
+Wherever I've got busy trying to help those I had regard for I
+generally managed to find my efforts working out with a result I never
+reckoned on. That's why I am here."
+
+The Padre smoked on for some moments in silence.
+
+"I was hot-headed once," he went on presently. "I was so hot-headed
+that I--I insulted the woman I loved. I insulted her beyond
+forgiveness. You see, she didn't love me. She loved my greatest
+friend. Still, that's another story. It's the friend I want to talk
+about. He was a splendid fellow. A bright, impetuous gambler on the
+New York Stock Exchange. We were both on Wall Street. I was a gambler
+too. I was a lucky gambler, and he was an unlucky one. In spite of my
+love for the woman, who loved him, it was my one great desire to help
+him. My luck was such that I believed I could do it--my luck and my
+conceit. You see, next to the woman I loved he was everything in the
+world to me. Do you get that?"
+
+Buck nodded.
+
+"Well, in spite of all I could and did do, after a nice run of luck
+which made me think his affairs had turned for the better, a spell of
+the most terrible ill-luck set in. There was no checking it. He rode
+headlong for a smash. I financed him time and again, nearly ruining
+myself in my effort to save him. He took to drink badly. He grew
+desperate in his gambling. In short, I saw he had given up all hope.
+Again I did the best I could. I was always with him. My object was to
+endeavor to keep him in check. In his drinking bouts I was with him,
+and when he insisted on poker and other gambling I was there to take a
+hand. If I hadn't done these things--well, others would have, but with
+a different object. By a hundred devices I managed to minimize the bad
+results of his wild, headstrong career.
+
+"Then the end came. Had I been less young, had I been less hopeful for
+him, less wrapped up in him, I must have foreseen it. We were playing
+cards in his apartments. His housekeeper and his baby girl were in a
+distant room. They were in bed. You see, it was late at night. It was
+the last hand. His luck had been diabolical, but the stakes were
+comparatively low. I shall never forget the scene. His nerves were
+completely shattered. He picked up his hand, glanced at it--we were
+playing poker--jack pots--and flung it down. 'I'm done,' he cried,
+and, kicking back his chair, rose from the table. He moved a pace away
+as though to go to the side-table where the whisky and soda stood. I
+thought he meant having a drink. His back was turned to me. The next
+moment I heard shots. He seemed to stumble, swung round with a sort of
+jerk, and fell face downward across the table.
+
+"I jumped to his assistance. But--he was dead. He had shot himself
+through the heart and in the stomach. My horror? Well, it doesn't
+matter now. I was utterly and completely unnerved. If I hadn't been
+perhaps I should have acted differently. I should have called
+his--housekeeper. I should have summoned the police--a doctor. But I
+did none of these. My horror and grief were such that I--fled; fled
+like the coward I was. Nor did I simply flee from the house. I left
+everything, and fled from the city that night. It was not until some
+days afterward that I realized what my going meant to me. You see, I
+had left behind me, in his housekeeper, the woman I loved--and had
+insulted past forgiveness. I was branded as his murderer. Do you see?
+She loved him, and was his housekeeper. Oh, there was nothing wrong in
+it! I knew that. His baby girl was the child of his dead wife. Several
+times I thought of returning to establish my innocence, but somehow my
+conduct and my story wouldn't have fitted in the eyes of a jury.
+Besides, there was that insulted woman. She had accused me of the
+murder. It was quite useless to go back. It meant throwing away my
+life. It was not worth it. So I came here."
+
+Buck offered no comment for a long time. Comment seemed unnecessary.
+The Padre watched him with eyes striving to conceal their anxiety.
+
+Finally, Buck put a question that seemed unnecessary.
+
+"Why d'you tell me now?" he asked. His pipe had gone out and he pushed
+it into his hip-pocket.
+
+The Padre's smile was rather drawn.
+
+"Because of you. Because of my friend's--baby girl."
+
+"How?"
+
+"The child's name was Joan. Joan Rest is the daughter of Charles
+Stanmore--the man I am accused of murdering. This afternoon I advised
+her to have some one to live with her--a relative. She is sending for
+the only one she has. It is her aunt, Stanmore's housekeeper--the
+woman I insulted past forgiveness."
+
+Not for an instant did Buck's expression change.
+
+"Why did you advise--that?" he asked.
+
+The Padre's eyes suddenly lit with a subdued fire, and his answer came
+with a passion such as Buck had never witnessed in him before.
+
+"Why? Why? Because you love this little Joan, daughter of my greatest
+friend. Because I owe it to you--to her--to face my accusers and prove
+my innocence."
+
+The two men looked long and earnestly into each other's eyes. Then the
+Padre's voice, sharp and strident, sounded through the little room.
+
+"Well?"
+
+Buck rose from his seat.
+
+"Let's eat, Padre," he said calmly. "I'm mighty hungry." Then he came
+a step nearer and gripped the elder man's hand. "I'm right with you,
+when things--get busy."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+BEASLEY PLAYS THE GAME
+
+
+Joan lost no time in carrying out the Padre's wishes. Such was her
+changed mood, such was the strength of her new-born hope, such was the
+wonderful healing his words had administered to her young mind, that,
+for the time at least, her every cloud was dispersed, lost in a
+perfect sheen of mental calm.
+
+The change occurred from the moment of her return home. So changed
+indeed was she that her rough but faithful housekeeper, dull of
+perception to all those things outside the narrow focus of her life in
+domestic service, caught a faint glimpse of it without anything
+approaching a proper understanding. She realized an added energy,
+which seriously affected her own methods of performing her duties and
+caused her to make a mental note that her young mistress was assuming
+"airs" which did not fit in with her inexperience of those things
+amidst which she, the farm-wife, had floundered all her life. She
+heard her moving about the house, her joy and hope finding outlet in
+song such as had never echoed through the place before. And promptly
+she set this new phase down to the result of her associations with the
+young "scallawag" Buck. She noted, too, an added care in her toilet,
+and this inspired the portentous belief that she was "a-carryin' on"
+with the same individual. But when it came to a general "turning-out"
+of the living-rooms of the house, a matter which added an immense
+amount of effort to her own daily duties, her protest found immediate
+vent in no uncertain terms.
+
+It came while the midday dinner was in preparation. It rose to
+boiling-point amidst the steam from her cooking pots. Finally it
+bubbled over, much as might one of her own kettles.
+
+Joan was standing in the kitchen giving her orders preparatory to
+departing to the camp, whither she was going to mail her letter to her
+aunt at Beasley's store.
+
+"You see," she was saying, "I'll have to make some changes in the
+house. I'm expecting my aunt from St. Ellis to come and stay with me.
+She won't be able to do with the things which have been sufficient for
+me. She will have my room. I shall buy new furniture for it. I shall
+get Beasley to order it for me from Leeson Butte. Then I shall use the
+little room next yours. And while we're making these changes we'll
+have a general housecleaning. You might begin this afternoon on the
+room I am going to move into."
+
+The old woman turned with a scarlet face. It may have been the result
+of the heat of cooking. Then again it may have had other causes.
+
+"An' when, may I ast, do I make bricks?" she inquired with ponderous
+sarcasm.
+
+Joan stood abashed for a moment. So unexpected was the retort, so much
+was it at variance with her own mood that she had no answer ready, and
+the other was left with the field to herself.
+
+"Now jest look right here, Miss Joan--ma'm," she cried, flourishing a
+cooking spoon to point her words. "I ain't a woman of many words by no
+means, as you might say, but what I sure says means what I mean, no
+more an' no less, as the sayin' is. I've kep' house all my life, an' I
+reckon ther's no female from St. Ellis ken show _me_. I've bin a wife
+an' a mother, an' raised my offsprings till they died. I did fer a man
+as knew wot's wot in my George D. An' if I suffered fer it, it was
+jest because I know'd my duty an' did it, no matter the consequences
+to me an' mine. I tell you right here, an' I'm a plain-spoken woman
+who's honest, as the sayin' is, I turn out no house, nor room, nor
+nothin' of an afternoon. I know my duty an' I do it. Ther's a chapter
+of the Bible fer every day o' my life, an' it needs digestin'
+good--with my dinner. An' I don't throw it up fer nobody."
+
+"But--but----" Joan began to protest, but the other brushed objection
+aside with an added flourish of her spoon.
+
+"It ain't no use fer you to persuade, nor cajole, nor argify. What I
+says goes fer jest so long as I'm willin' to accept your ter'ble
+ordinary wages, which I say right here won't be fer a heap long time
+if things don't change some. I'm a respectable woman an' wife that
+was, but isn't, more's the pity, an' it ain't my way to chase around
+the house a-screechin' at the top o' my voice jest as though I'd come
+from a cirkis. You ain't got your mind on your work. You ain't got
+your heart in it, singin' all over the house, like--like one o' them
+brazen cirkis gals. No, nor wot with scallawags a-comin' around
+sparkin' you, an' the boys shootin' theirselves dead over you, an'
+folks in the camp a-callin' of you a Jony gal, I don't guess I'll need
+to stay an' receive con--contamination, as you might say. That's how
+I'm feelin'; an' bein' a plain woman, an' a 'specterble widow of
+George D., who was a man every inch of him, mind you, if he had his
+failin's, chasin' other folks' cattle, an' not readin' their brands
+right, why, out it comes plump like a bad tooth you're mighty glad to
+be rid of, as the sayin' is."
+
+The woman turned back to her cooking. Her manner was gravely
+disapproving, and she had managed to convey a sting which somehow hurt
+Joan far more than she was willing to admit. Her refusal to undertake
+the added work was merely churlish and disconcerting, but those other
+remarks raised a decided anger not untouched by a feeling of shame and
+hurt. But Joan did not give way to any of these feelings in her reply.
+She did the only dignified thing possible.
+
+"You need not wait until your dissatisfaction with me overwhelms you,
+Mrs. Ransford," she said promptly. "I engaged you by the month, and I
+shall be glad if you will leave me to-day month." Then she added with
+a shadow of reproach: "Really, I thought you were made of better
+stuff."
+
+But her attitude had a far different result to what she had expected.
+She turned to go, preferring to avoid a further torrent of abuse from
+the harsh old woman, when the spoon flourished in the air as the widow
+of George D. swung round from her pots with an amazing alacrity.
+
+"You ain't chasin' me out, Miss Joan--ma'm?" she cried aghast, her
+round eyes rolling in sudden distress. "Why, miss--ma'm, I never meant
+no harm--that I didn't. Y' see I was jest sore hearin' them sayin'
+things 'bout you in the camp, an' you a-singin' made me feel you
+didn't care nuthin'. An' these scallawags a-comin' around a-sassin'
+you, an' a-kissin' you, sort o' set my blood boilin'. No, miss--ma'm,
+you ain't a-goin' to chase me out! You wouldn't now, would you?" she
+appealed. "Jest say you won't, an' I'll have the house turned sheer
+upside down 'fore you know wher' you are. There, jest think of it. You
+may need some un to ke'p that scallawag Buck in his place. How you
+goin' to set about him without me around? I ain't quittin' this day
+month, am I, miss--ma'm?"
+
+The old woman's abject appeal was too much for Joan's soft heart, and
+her smiling eyes swiftly told the waiting penitent that the sentence
+was rescinded. Instantly the shadow was lifted from the troubled face.
+
+"It was your own fault, Mrs. Ransford," Joan said, struggling to
+conceal her amusement. "However, if you want to stay----Well, I must
+drive into the camp before dinner, and we'll see about the little room
+when I return."
+
+"That we will, mum--miss. That we will," cried the farm-wife in
+cordial relief as Joan hurried out of the room.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Joan drew up at Beasley's store just as that individual was preparing
+to adjourn his labors for dinner. The man saw her coming from the door
+of his newly-completed barn, and softly whistled to himself at the
+sight of the slim, girlish figure sitting in the wagon behind the
+heavy team of horses he had so long known as the Padre's.
+
+This was only the third time he had seen the girl abroad in the camp,
+and he wondered at the object of her visit now.
+
+Whatever malice he bore her, and his malice was of a nature only to be
+understood by his warped mind, his admiration was none the less for
+it. Not a detail of her appearance escaped his quick, lustful eyes.
+Her dainty white shirt-waist was covered by the lightest of dust
+coats, and her pretty face was shadowed by a wide straw hat which
+protected it from the sun's desperate rays. Her deeply-fringed eyes
+shone out from the shade, and set the blood pulsing through the man's
+veins. He saw the perfect oval of her fair face, with its ripe, full
+lips and delicate, small nose, so perfect in shape, so regular in its
+setting under her broad open brow. Her wonderful hair, that
+ruddy-tinted mass of burnished gold which was her most striking
+feature, made him suck in a whistling breath of sensual appreciation.
+Without a moment's hesitation, hat in hand he went to meet her.
+
+As he came up his foxy eyes were alight with what he intended for a
+grin of amiability. Whatever his peculiarly vindictive nature he was
+more than ready to admit to himself the girl's charms.
+
+"Say, Miss Golden," he cried, purposely giving her the name the
+popular voice had christened her, "it's real pleasant of you to get
+around. Guess the camp's a mighty dull show without its lady citizens.
+Maybe you'll step right up into my storeroom. I got a big line of new
+goods in from Leeson. Y' see the saloon ain't for such as you," he
+laughed. "Guess it does for the boys all right. I'm building a slap-up
+store next--just dry goods an' notions. Things are booming right now.
+They're booming so hard there's no keepin' pace. I'll tie your hosses
+to this post."
+
+His manner was perfect in its amiability, but Joan detested it because
+of the man. He could never disguise his personality, and Joan was
+beginning to understand such personalities as his.
+
+"Thanks," she said coldly, as, taking advantage of his being occupied
+with the horses, she jumped quickly from the vehicle. "I came to mail
+a letter," she said, as she moved on up to the big barn which was
+Beasley's temporary storehouse, "and to give you a rather large order
+for furnishing and things."
+
+She produced a paper with her list of requirements, and handed it to
+him.
+
+"You see, I'm refurnishing the farm," she went on, while the man
+glanced an appreciative eye over the extensive order. "Can you do
+those things?" she asked as he looked up from his perusal.
+
+"Why, yes. There's nothing difficult there. What we can't do here we
+can send on to Leeson Butte for. I've got some elegant samples of
+curtains just come along. Maybe you'll step inside?"
+
+In spite of her dislike of the man Joan had no hesitation in passing
+into the storeroom. She had no desire in the world to miss the joy of
+inspecting a fresh consignment of dry goods. She felt almost as
+excited, and quite as much interested, as though she were visiting one
+of the great stores in St. Ellis.
+
+In a few moments she was lost in a close inspection of the display.
+Nor had she any thought, or wonder, that here in the wilderness, on
+the banks of Yellow Creek, such things should already have found their
+way. For a long time the keen man of business expended his arts of
+persuasion upon her, and, by the time the girl had exhausted his
+stock, he had netted a sound order. His satisfaction was very evident,
+and now he was prepared to regard her rather as a woman than a
+customer.
+
+"Makes you think some," he observed, with a wave of his hand in the
+direction of the piled-up fabrics and unopened cases. Then he laughed
+in a way that jarred upon the girl. "Ther's money to burn here. Money!
+Whew!" Then his eyes became serious. "If it only lasts!"
+
+"Why shouldn't it?" asked Joan unsuspiciously. She had finished, and
+was anxious to get away. But the man seemed to want to talk, and it
+seemed churlish to deny him.
+
+Beasley shook his head, while his eyes devoured her appealing beauty.
+
+"It won't," he said decidedly. "It's too big--too rich. Besides----"
+
+"Besides what?"
+
+The man's eyes had lost their grin. They were the eyes of the real
+man.
+
+"It's--devil's luck. I've said it all along. Only ther's sech plaguey
+knowalls around they won't believe it. Buck now--I got nothing against
+Buck. He's a good citizen. But he's got a streak o' yeller in him, an'
+don't hold with no devil's luck. Maybe you remember." He grinned
+unpleasantly into the girl's eyes.
+
+She remembered well enough. She was not likely to forget the manner in
+which Buck had come to her help. She flushed slightly.
+
+"What do you mean by 'a streak of yellow'?" she demanded coldly.
+
+"It don't need a heap of explaining. He's soft on mission talk."
+
+Joan's flush deepened. This man had a mean way of putting things.
+
+"If you mean that he doesn't believe in--in superstitions, and that
+sort of thing, if you mean he's just a straightforward,
+honest-thinking man--well, I agree with you."
+
+Beasley was enjoying the spectacle of the warmth which prompted her
+defense. She was devilish pretty, he admitted to himself.
+
+"Maybe you feel that way," he said, in a tone that jarred. "Say," he
+went on shrewdly, "I'm no sucker, I'm not one of these slobs chasin'
+gold they're eager to hand on to the first guy holdin' out his hand.
+I'm out to make a pile. I had a claim in the ballot. Maybe it's a good
+claim. I ain't troubled to see. Why? I'll tell you. Maybe I'd have
+taken a few thousand dollars out of it. Maybe a heap. Maybe only a
+little. Not good--with all these slobs around." He shook his head. "I
+figured I'd git the lot if I traded. I'd get the show of _all_ of the
+claims. See? The 'strike' ain't goin' to last. It's a pocket in the
+hill, an' it'll peter out just as dead sure as--well as can be. An'
+when it's petered out there's going to be jest one feller around here
+who's made a profit--an' it ain't one of those who used the
+sluice-boxes. No, you can believe what you like. This 'strike' was
+jest a devil's laugh at folks who know no better. An' master Buck has
+handed you something of devil's luck when he made you take that gold."
+
+There was something very keen about this man, and in another Joan
+might have admired it; but Beasley's mind was tainted with such a
+vicious meanness that admiration was impossible.
+
+"I don't believe it," said Joan staunchly. "Neither does Buck. He
+would never willingly hand me the trouble you suggest."
+
+Her words were the result of an impetuous defense of the absent man.
+To hear this man attack Buck was infuriating. But the moment she had
+uttered them, the moment she had seen their effect, that meaning laugh
+which they brought to the storekeeper's lips, she wished they had
+never been spoken.
+
+"Don't guess Buck needs to scrap fer himself with you around, Miss
+Golden," he laughed. "Gee! He's in luck. I wonder!"
+
+Joan choked back her swift-rising indignation. The man wasn't worth
+it, she told herself, and hurriedly prepared to depart. But Beasley
+had no intention of letting her go like that.
+
+"I wonder whether he is in luck, though," he went on quickly, in a
+tone he knew the girl would not be able to resist. His estimate was
+right. She made no further move to go.
+
+"How?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, nuthin' of consequence," he said aggravatingly. "I was just
+thinking of the way folks are talking." Then he laughed right out; and
+if Joan had only understood the man she would have known that his
+merriment was but the precursor of something still more unpleasant.
+
+But such natures as his were quite foreign to her. She merely
+instinctively disliked him.
+
+"What do you mean?" she asked unsuspiciously.
+
+Beasley was serious again, and wore an air of deprecation when he
+answered her.
+
+"Oh!" he exclaimed, "'tain't nuthin'. Y' see folks are always most
+ready to gas around. It's 'bout them two boys. They're hot about 'em.
+Y' see Pete was a mighty popular feller, an' Ike had good friends. Y'
+see they were always good spenders--an' most folks like good
+spenders. But ther'--'tain't nuthin' that needs tellin' you. Guess
+it'll only make a dandy gal like you feel mean."
+
+The man's purpose must have been evident to anybody less simple than
+Joan. As it was she jumped at the bait so skilfully held out.
+
+"But you must tell me," she said, remembering Mrs. Ransford's remarks.
+"I insist on knowing if it is anything concerning me."
+
+Beasley's air was perfect. His eyes were as frankly regretful as he
+could make them.
+
+"Wal," he said, "it certainly does concern you--but I'd rather not say
+it."
+
+"Go on."
+
+Joan's face was coldly haughty.
+
+"I wouldn't take it too mean," said Beasley warningly. "I sure
+wouldn't. You see folks say a heap o' things that is trash. They guess
+it's your doin' 'bout them boys. They reckon you played 'em one ag'in
+t'other for their wads, an' both o' them ag'in--Buck. Y' see--mind I'm
+jest tellin' you cos you asked--they guess you ast 'em both to supper
+that evenin'. Pete said he was ast, an' Ike let on the same. You ast
+'em both for the fun of the racket. An' you had Buck around to watch
+the fun. Yes, they're pretty hot. An' you can't blame 'em, believin'
+as they do. One of 'em--I forget who it rightly was--he called you the
+camp Jonah. Said just as long as you wer' around ther'd be trouble. He
+was all for askin' you to clear right out. He said more than that, but
+I don't guess you need to know it all."
+
+"But I do need to know it all. I need to know all they said, and--who
+said it."
+
+Joan's eyes were blazing. Beasley made no attempt to conceal his
+satisfaction, and went on at once--
+
+"Course I can't give you names. But the facts I don't guess I'm likely
+to forget--they made me so riled. They said that farm of yours was
+just a blind. It--it was--well, you'd come along here for all you
+could get--an' that----"
+
+Joan cut him short.
+
+"That's enough," she cried. "You needn't tell me any more. I--I
+understand. Oh, the brutal, heartless ruffians! Tell me. Who was it
+said these things? I demand to know. I insist on the names. Oh!"
+
+The girl's exasperation was even greater than Beasley had hoped for.
+He read, too, the shame and hurt underlying it, and his satisfaction
+was intense. He felt that he was paying her off for some of the
+obvious dislike she had always shown him, and it pleased him as it
+always pleased him when his mischief went home. But now, having
+achieved his end, he promptly set about wriggling clear of
+consequences, which was ever his method.
+
+"I'd like to give you the names," he said frankly. "But I can't. You
+see, when fellers are drunk they say things they don't mean, an' it
+wouldn't be fair to give them away. I jest told you so you'd be on
+your guard--just to tell you the folks are riled. But it ain't as bad
+as it seems. I shut 'em up quick, feeling that no decent citizen could
+stand an' hear a pretty gal slandered like that. An' I'll tell you
+this, Miss Golden, you owe me something for the way I made 'em quit.
+Still," he added, with a leer, "I don't need payment. You see, I was
+just playin' the game."
+
+Joan was still furious. And somehow his wriggling did not ring true
+even in her simple ears.
+
+"Then you won't tell me who it was?" she cried.
+
+Beasley shook his head.
+
+"Nuthin' doin'," he said facetiously.
+
+"Then you--you are a despicable coward," she cried. "You--oh!" And she
+almost fled out of the hated creature's storeroom.
+
+Beasley looked after her. The satisfaction had gone from his eyes,
+leaving them wholly vindictive.
+
+"Coward, am I, ma'm!" he muttered. Then he looked at the order for
+furniture which was still in his hand.
+
+The sight of it made him laugh.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+BUCK LAUGHS AT FATE
+
+
+The telling of the Padre's story cost Buck a wakeful night. It was not
+that he had any doubts either of the truth of the story, or of his
+friend. He needed no evidence to convince him of either. Or rather,
+such was his nature that no evidence could have broken his faith and
+friendship. Strength and loyalty were the key-note of his whole life.
+To him the Padre was little less than a god, in whom nothing could
+shake his belief. He honored him above all men in the world, and, such
+as it was, his own life, his strength, his every nerve, were at his
+service. Moreover, it is probable that his loyalty would have been no
+whit the less had the man pleaded guilty to the crime he was accused
+of.
+
+No, it was not the story he had listened to which kept him wakeful. It
+was not the rights or wrongs, or the significance of it, that inspired
+his unrest. It was something of a far more personal note.
+
+It was the full awakening of a mind and heart to a true understanding
+of themselves. And the manner of his awakening had been little short
+of staggering. He loved, and his love had risen up before his eyes in
+a manner the full meaning of which he had only just realized. It was
+his friend who had brought about his awakening, his friend who had put
+into brief words that which had been to him nothing but a delicious
+dream.
+
+The man's words rang through his brain the night long.
+
+"Why? Why?" they said. "Because you love this little Joan, daughter of
+my greatest friend. Because I owe it to you--to her, to face my
+accusers and prove my innocence."
+
+That brief passionate declaration had changed the whole outlook of his
+life. The old days, the old thoughts, the old unexpressed feelings and
+hazy ambitions had gone--swept away in one wave of absorbing passion.
+There was neither future nor past to him now. He lived in the thought
+of this woman's delightful presence, and beyond that he could see
+nothing.
+
+Vaguely he knew that much must lay before him. The past, well, that
+was nothing. He understood that the drift of life's stream could no
+longer carry him along without his own effort at guidance. He knew
+that somewhere beyond this dream a great battle of Life lay waiting
+for his participation. He felt that henceforth he was one of those
+struggling units he had always regarded as outside his life. And all
+because of this wonderful sunlight of love which shone deep into the
+remotest cells of brain and heart. He felt strong for whatever lay
+before him. This perfect sunshine, so harmonious with every feeling,
+thrilled him with a virile longing to go out and proclaim his defiance
+against the waiting hordes in Life's eternal battle. No road could be
+so rough as to leave him shrinking, no fight so fierce that he was not
+confident of victory, no trouble so great that it could not be borne
+with perfect cheerfulness. As he had awakened to love so had he
+awakened to life, yearning and eager.
+
+As the long night wore on his thought became clearer, more definite.
+So that before his eyes closed at last in a broken slumber he came to
+many decisions for the immediate future. The greatest, the most
+momentous of these was that he must see Joan again without delay. He
+tried to view this in perfect coolness, but though the decision
+remained with him the fever of doubt and despair seized him, and he
+became the victim of every fear known to the human lover's heart. To
+him who had never known the meaning of fear his dread became tenfold
+appalling. He must see her--and perhaps for the last time in his life.
+This interview might well terminate once and for all every thought of
+earthly happiness, and fling him back upon the meagre solace of a
+wilderness, which now, without Joan, would be desolation indeed.
+
+Yet he knew that the chances must be faced now and at once. For
+himself he would probably have delayed, rather basking in the sunshine
+of uncertainty than risk witnessing the swift gathering clouds which
+must rob him of all light forever. But he was not thinking only of
+himself. There was that other, that white-haired, lonely man who had
+said, "Because you love this little Joan."
+
+The wonderful unselfishness of the Padre had a greater power to stir
+Buck's heart than any other appeal. His sacrifice must not be
+permitted without a struggle. He knew the man, and he knew how useless
+mere objection would be. Therefore his duty lay plain before him. Joan
+must decide, and on her decision must his plans all be founded. He had
+no reason to hope for a return of his love. On the contrary, it seemed
+absurd even to hope, and in such an event then the Padre's sacrifice
+would be unnecessary. If on the other hand--but he dared not let the
+thought take shape. All he knew was that with Joan at his side no
+power of law should touch one single white hair of the Padre's head,
+while the breath of life remained in his body.
+
+It was a big thought in the midst of the most selfish of human
+passions. It was a thought so wide, that, in every aspect, it spoke of
+the great world which had been this man's lifelong study. It told of
+sublime lessons well learned. Of a mind and heart as big, and broad,
+and loyal as was the book from which the lessons had been studied.
+
+With the morning light came a further steadiness of decision. But with
+it also came an added apprehension, and lack of mental peace. The
+world was radiant about him with the wonder of his love, but his
+horizon was lost in a mist of uncertainty and even dread.
+
+The morning dragged as such intervening hours ever drag, but at length
+they were done with, and the momentous time arrived. Neither he nor
+the Padre had referred again to their talk. That was their way. Nor
+did any question pass between them until C�sar stood saddled before
+the door.
+
+The Padre was leaning against the door casing with his pipe in his
+mouth. His steady eyes were gravely thoughtful.
+
+"Where you making this afternoon?" he inquired, as Buck swung into the
+saddle.
+
+Buck nodded in the direction of Joan's home.
+
+"The farm."
+
+The Padre's eyes smiled kindly.
+
+"Good luck," he said. And Buck nodded his thanks as he rode away.
+
+But Buck's outward calm was studied. For once in his life his
+confidence had utterly failed him. He rode over the trail in a dazed
+condition which left him almost hopeless by the time he reached the
+familiar corrals of the girl's home. As a consequence he reduced
+C�sar's pace to a walk with something almost childlike in his desire
+to postpone what he now felt must be his farewell to the wonderful
+dream that had been his.
+
+But even at a walk the journey must come to an end. In his case it
+came all too soon for his peace of mind, and, to his added disquiet,
+he found himself at the door of the old barn. Just for one moment he
+hesitated. Then he lightly dropped to the ground. The next moment the
+horse itself had taken the initiative. With none of its master's
+scruples it clattered into the barn, and, walking straight into its
+old familiar stall, commenced to search in the corners of the manger
+for the sweet-scented hay usually awaiting it.
+
+The lead was irresistible to the man. He followed the creature in,
+removed its bridle and loosened the cinchas of the saddle. Then he
+went out in search of hay.
+
+His quest occupied several minutes. But finally he returned with an
+ample armful and filled up the manger. Then came upon him a further
+avalanche of doubt, and he stood beside his horse, stupidly smoothing
+the beautiful creature's warm, velvet neck while it nuzzled its
+fodder.
+
+"Why--is that you, Buck?"
+
+The exclamation startled the man out of his reverie and set his pulses
+hammering madly. He turned to behold Joan framed in the doorway. For a
+moment he stared stupidly at her, his dark eyes almost fearful. Then
+his answer came quietly, distinctly, and without a tremor to betray
+the feelings which really stirred him.
+
+"It surely is," he said. Then he added, "I didn't know I was coming
+along when you were up at the fort yesterday."
+
+But Joan was thinking only how glad she was of his coming. His
+explanation did not matter in the least. She had been home from the
+camp something over an hour, and had seen some one ride up to the barn
+without recognizing Buck or the familiar C�sar. So she had hastened to
+investigate. Something of her gladness at sight of him was in the
+manner of her greeting now, and Buck's despondency began to fall from
+him as he realized her unfeigned pleasure.
+
+"I'm so glad you came," Joan went on impulsively. "So glad, so glad.
+I've been in camp to order things for--for my aunt's coming. You know
+your Padre told me to send for her. I mailed the letter this morning."
+
+"You--sent for your aunt?"
+
+In a moment the whole hideous position of the Padre came upon him,
+smothering all his own personal feelings, all his pleasure, all his
+doubts and fears.
+
+"Why--yes." Joan's eyes opened wide in alarm. "Have I done wrong? He
+said, send for her."
+
+Buck shook his head and moved out of the stall.
+
+"You sure done dead right. The Padre said it."
+
+"Then what was the meaning in your--what you said?"
+
+Buck smiled.
+
+"Nothing--just nothing."
+
+Joan eyed him a moment in some doubt. Then she passed the matter over,
+and again the pleasure at his coming shone forth.
+
+"Oh, Buck," she cried, "there are some mean people in the world. I've
+been talking to that horror, Beasley. He is a horror, isn't he? He's
+been telling me something of the talk of the camp. He's been telling
+me how--how popular I am," she finished up with a mirthless laugh.
+
+"Popular? I--I don't get you."
+
+Buck's whole expression had changed at the mention of Beasley's name.
+Joan had no reason to inquire his opinion of the storekeeper.
+
+"You wouldn't," she hastened on. "You could never understand such
+wicked meanness as that man is capable of. I'm sure he hates me, and
+only told me these--these things to make me miserable. And I was
+feeling so happy, too, after seeing your Padre," she added
+regretfully.
+
+"An' what are the things he's been sayin'?"
+
+Buck's jaws were set.
+
+"Oh, I can't tell you what he said, except--except that the men think
+I'm responsible for the death of those two. The other things were too
+awful. It seems I'm--I'm the talk of the camp in--in an awful way. He
+says they hate me. But I believe it's simply him. You see, he's tried
+to--to ingratiate himself with me--oh, it's some time back, and
+I--well, I never could stand him, after that time when the boys gave
+me the gold. I wish they had never given me that gold. He still
+persists it's unlucky, and I--I'm beginning to think so, too."
+
+"Did he--insult you?" Buck asked sharply, ignoring the rest.
+
+Joan looked quickly into the man's hot eyes, and in that moment
+realized the necessity for prudence. The fierce spirit was shining
+there. That only partly tamed spirit, which made her so glad when she
+thought of it.
+
+"Oh, no," she said. "It wasn't that he insulted me. No--no. Don't
+think that. Only he went out of his way to tell me these things, to
+make me miserable. I was angry then, but I've got over it now. It--it
+doesn't matter. You see I just told you because--because----"
+
+"If that man insulted you, I'd--kill him!"
+
+Buck had drawn nearer to her. His tall figure was leaning forward, and
+his eyes, so fiercely alight, burned down into hers in a manner that
+half frightened her, yet carried with it a feeling that thrilled her
+heart with an almost painful delight. There was something so magnetic
+in this man's outburst, something so sweeping to her responsive
+nature. It was almost as though he had taken her in his two strong
+hands and made her yield obedience to his dominating will. It gave her
+a strange and wonderful confidence. It made her feel as if this power
+of his must possess the same convincing strength for the rest of the
+world. That he must sway all who came into contact with him. Her
+gladness at his visit increased. It was good to feel that he was near
+at hand.
+
+But her woman's mind sought to restrain him.
+
+"Please--please don't talk like that," she said, in a tone that
+carried no real conviction. "No, Beasley would not dare insult me--for
+himself."
+
+The girl drew back to the oat-box, and seated herself. Buck's moment
+of passion had brought a deep flush to his cheeks, and his dark eyes
+moved restlessly.
+
+"Why did you tell me?"
+
+There was no escaping the swift directness of this man's mind. His
+question came with little less force than had been his threat against
+Beasley. He was still lashed by his thought of the wretched
+saloon-keeper.
+
+But Joan had no answer ready. Why had she told him? She knew. She knew
+in a vague sort of way. She had told him because she had been sure of
+his sympathy. She had told him because she knew his strength, and to
+lean on that always helped her. Without questioning herself, or her
+feelings, she had come to rely upon him in all things.
+
+But his sharp interrogation had given her pause. She repeated his
+question to herself, and somehow found herself avoiding his gaze.
+Somehow she could give him no answer.
+
+Buck chafed for a moment in desperate silence. He turned his hot eyes
+toward the door, and stared out at the distant hills. C�sar rattled
+his collar chain, and scattered the hay in his search for the choicest
+morsels. The heavy draft horses were slumbering where they stood.
+Presently the man's eyes came back to the girl, devouring the beauty
+of her still averted face.
+
+"Say," he went on presently, "you never felt so that your head would
+burst, so that the only thing worth while doin' would be to kill some
+one?" He smiled. "That's how I feel, when I know Beasley's been
+talkin' to you."
+
+Joan turned to him with a responsive smile. She was glad he was
+talking again. A strange discomfort, a nervousness not altogether
+unpleasant had somehow taken hold of her, and the sound of his voice
+relieved her.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"No," she said frankly. "I--don't think I ever feel that way. But I
+don't like Beasley."
+
+Buck's heat had passed. He laughed.
+
+"That was sure a fool question to ask," he said. "Say, it 'ud be like
+askin' a dove to get busy with a gun."
+
+"I've heard doves are by no means the gentle creatures popular belief
+would have them."
+
+"Guess ther's doves--an' doves," Buck said enigmatically. "I can't
+jest see you bustin' to hurt a fly."
+
+"Not even Beasley?"
+
+Joan laughed slily.
+
+But Buck ignored the challenge. He stirred restlessly. He thrust his
+fingers into the side pockets of the waist-coat he wore hanging open.
+He withdrew them, and shifted his feet. Then, with a sudden, impatient
+movement, he thrust his slouch hat back from his forehead.
+
+"Guess I can't say these things right," he gulped out with a swift,
+impulsive rush. "What I want to say is that's how I feel when anything
+happens amiss your way. I want to say it don't matter if it's Beasley,
+or--or jest things that can't be helped. I want to get around and set
+'em right for you----"
+
+Joan's eyes were startled. A sudden pallor had replaced the smile on
+her lips, and drained the rich, warm color from her cheeks.
+
+"You've always done those things for me, Buck," she interrupted him
+hastily. "You've been the kindest--the best----"
+
+"Don't say those things," Buck broke in with a hardly restrained
+passion. "It hurts to hear 'em. Kindest? Best? Say, when a man feels
+same as me, words like them hurt, hurt right in through here," he
+tapped his chest with an awkward gesture. "They drive a man nigh
+crazy. A man don't want to hear them from the woman he loves. Yes,
+loves!"
+
+The man's dark eyes were burning, and as the girl rose from her seat
+he reached out one brown hand to detain her. But his gesture was
+needless. She made no move to go. She stood before him, her proud
+young face now flushing, now pale with emotion, her wonderful eyes
+veiled lest he should read in their depths feelings that she was
+struggling to conceal. Her rounded bosom rose and fell with the
+furious beatings of a heart she could not still.
+
+"No, no," the man rushed on, "you got to hear me, if it makes you hate
+me fer the rest of your life. I'm nothing but jest a plain feller
+who's lived all his life in this back country. I've got no education,
+nothin' but jest what I am--here. An' I love you, I love you like
+nothing else in all the world. Say," he went on, the first hot rush of
+his words checking, "I bin gropin' around these hills learning all
+that's bin set there for me to learn. I tried to learn my lessons
+right. I done my best. But this one thing they couldn't teach me.
+Something which I guess most every feller's got to learn some time.
+An' you've taught me that.
+
+"Say." The restraint lost its power, and the man's great passion swept
+him on in a swift torrent. "I never knew a gal since I was raised. I
+never knew how she could git right hold of your heart, an' make the
+rest of the world seem nothing. I never knew how jest one woman could
+set the sun shining when her blue eyes smiled, and the storm of
+thunder crowding over, when those eyes were full of tears. I never
+dreamed how she could get around in fancy, and walk by your side
+smilin' and talkin' to you when you wandered over these lonesome hills
+at your work. I never knew how she could come along an' raise you up
+when you're down, an' most everything looks black. I've learned these
+things now. I've learned 'em because you taught me."
+
+He laughed with a sort of defiance at what he felt must sound
+ridiculous in her ears. "You asked me to teach you! Me teach you! Say,
+it's you taught me--everything. It's you taught me life ain't just a
+day's work an' a night's sleep. It's you taught me that life's a
+wonderful, wonderful dream of joy an' delight. It's you taught me the
+sun's shining just for _me_ alone, an' every breath of these mountains
+is just to make _me_ feel good. It's you taught me to feel there's
+nothing on God's earth I couldn't and wouldn't do to make you happy.
+You, who taught me to Live! You, with your wonderful blue eyes, an'
+your beautiful, beautiful face. You, with your mind as white an' pure
+as the mountain snow, an' your heart as precious as the gold our folks
+are forever chasin'. I love you, Joan. I love you, every moment I
+live. I love you so my two hands ain't enough by a hundred to get
+helping you. I love you better than all the world. You're jest--jest
+my whole life!"
+
+He stood with his arms outstretched toward the shrinking girl. His
+whole body was shaking with the passion that had sent his words
+pouring in a tide of unthought, unconsidered appeal. He had no
+understanding of whither his words had carried him. All he knew was
+that he loved this girl with his whole soul and body. That she could
+love him in return was something unbelievable, yet he must tell her.
+He must tell her all that was in his simple heart.
+
+He waited. It seemed ages, but in reality it was only moments.
+
+Presently Joan looked up. She raised her eyes timidly, and in a moment
+Buck saw that they were filled with unshed tears. He started forward,
+but she shrank back farther. But it was not with repugnance. Her
+movement was almost reluctant, yet it was decided. It was sufficient
+for the man, and slowly, hopelessly he dropped his arms to his sides
+as the girl's voice so full of distress at last broke the silence.
+
+"Oh, Buck, Buck, why--oh, why have you said these things to me? You
+don't know what you have done. Oh, it was cruel of you."
+
+"Cruel?" Buck started. The color faded from his cheeks. "Me cruel--to
+you?"
+
+"Yes, yes. Don't you understand? Can't you see? Now--now there is
+nothing left but--disaster. Oh, to think that I should have brought
+this upon you--you of all men!"
+
+Buck's eyes suddenly lit. Unversed as he was in all such matters, he
+was not blind to the feeling underlying her words. But the light
+swiftly died from his eyes as he beheld the great tears roll slowly
+down the girl's fair cheeks, and her face droop forward into her
+hands.
+
+In a moment all restraint was banished in the uprising of his great
+love. Without a thought of consequences he bridged the intervening
+space at one step, and, in an instant, his arms were about the slim,
+yielding figure he so tenderly loved. In a moment his voice, low,
+tender, yet wonderful in its consoling strength, was encouraging her.
+
+"Disaster?" he said. "Disaster because I love you? Where? How? Say,
+there's no disaster in my love for you. There can't be. All I ask, all
+I need is jest to make your path--easier. Your troubles ain't yours
+any longer. They sure ain't. They're mine, now, if you'll jest hand
+'em to me. Disaster? No, no, little gal. Don't you to cry. Don't. Your
+eyes weren't made for cryin'. They're jest given you to be a man's
+hope. For you to see just how much love he's got for you."
+
+Joan submitted to his embrace for just so long as he was speaking.
+Then she looked up with terrified eyes and released herself.
+
+"No, no, Buck. I must not listen. I dare not. It is my fate. My
+terrible fate. You don't understand. Beasley was right. I _was_
+responsible for Ike's death. For Pete's death. But not in the way he
+meant. It is my curse. They loved me, and--disaster followed
+instantly. Can't you see? Can't you see? Oh, my dear, can't you see
+that this same disaster must dog you--now?"
+
+Buck stared. Then he gathered himself together.
+
+"Your fate?"
+
+"Yes, yes. I am cursed. Oh," Joan suddenly gave a shrill laugh that
+was painful to hear. "Every man that has ever told me--what you have
+told me--has met with disaster, and--death."
+
+For one second no sound broke the stillness of the barn but the
+restless movements of C�sar. Then, suddenly, a laugh, a clear, buoyant
+laugh, full of defiance, full of incredulity, rang through the
+building.
+
+It was Buck. He moved forward, and in a moment the girl was lying
+close upon his breast.
+
+"Is that the reason you mustn't, daren't, listen to me?" he cried, in
+a voice thrilling with hope and confidence. "Is that the only reason?
+Jest because of death an' disaster to me? Jest that, an'--nothing
+more? Tell me, little gal. Tell me or--or I'll go mad."
+
+"Yes, yes. But oh, you don't----"
+
+"Yes, I do. Say, Joan, my little, little gal. Tell me. Tell me right
+now. You ain't--hatin' me for--for loving you so bad. Tell me."
+
+Joan hid her face, and the tall man had to bend low to catch her
+words.
+
+"I couldn't hate you, Buck. I--I----"
+
+But Buck heard no more. He almost forcibly lifted the beautiful,
+tearful face to his, as he bent and smothered it with kisses.
+
+After a few moments he stood her away from him, holding her slight
+shoulders, one in each hand. His dark eyes were glowing with a wild
+happiness, a wonderful, reckless fire, as he peered into her blushing
+face.
+
+"You love me, little gal? You love me? Was ther' ever such a thought
+in the mind of sane man? You love me? The great big God's been mighty
+good to me. Disaster? Death? Let all the powers of man or devil come
+along, an' I'll drive 'em back to the hell they belong to."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+IRONY
+
+
+The hills roll away, banking on every side, mounting up, pile on pile,
+like the mighty waves of a storm-swept ocean. The darkening splendor,
+the magnificent ruggedness crowds down upon the narrow open places
+with a strange sense of oppression, almost of desolation. It seems as
+if nothing on earth could ever be so great as that magnificent world,
+nothing could ever be so small as the life which peoples it.
+
+The oppression, the desolation grows. The silent shadows of the
+endless woods crowd with a suggestion of horrors untold, of mysteries
+too profound to be even guessed at. A strange feeling as of a reign of
+enchantment pervading sets the flesh of the superstitious creeping.
+And the narrow, patchy sunlight, by its brilliant contrast, only
+serves to aggravate the sensitive nerves.
+
+Yet in the woods lurk few enough dangers. It is only their dark
+stillness. They are still, still in the calm of the brightest day, or
+in the chill of a windless night. A timid bear, a wolf who spends its
+desolate life in dismal protest against a solitary fate, the crashing
+rush of a startled caribou, the deliberate bellow of a bull moose,
+strayed far south from its northern fastnesses. These are the harmless
+creatures peopling the obscure recesses. For the rest, they are the
+weird suggestions of a sensitive imagination.
+
+The awe, however, is undeniable and the mind of man can never wholly
+escape it. Familiarity may temper, but inborn human superstition is
+indestructible. The brooding silence will shadow the lightest nature.
+The storms must ever inspire wonder. The gloom hushes the voice. And
+so the growing dread. Man may curse the hills in his brutal moments,
+the thoughtful may be driven to despair, the laughter-loving may seek
+solace in tears of depression. But the fascination clings. There is no
+escape. The cloy of the seductive drug holds to that world of mystery,
+and they come to it again, and yet again.
+
+Something of all this was vaguely drifting through the mind of one of
+the occupants of a four-horsed, two-wheeled spring cart as it rose
+upon the monstrous shoulder of one of the greater hills. Before it lay
+a view of a dark and wild descent, sloping away unto the very bowels
+of a pit of gloom. The trail was vague and bush-grown, and crowding
+trees dangerously narrowed it. To the right the hill fell sharply away
+at the edge of the track, an abyss that might well have been
+bottomless for aught that could be seen from above. To the left the
+crown of the hill rose sheer and barren, and only at its foot grew the
+vegetation that so perilously narrowed the track. Then, ahead, where
+the trail vanished, a misty hollow, dark and deep--the narrowing walls
+of a black canyon.
+
+The blue eyes of the teamster were troubled. Was there ever such a
+country for white man to travel? His horses were jaded. Their lean
+sides were tuckered. Gray streaks of sweat scored them from shoulder
+to flank.
+
+The man lolled heavily in his driving seat in the manner of the
+prairie teamster. He knew there was trouble ahead, but it was
+practically all he did know of the journey before him.
+
+As the cart topped the rise he bestirred himself. His whip flicked the
+air without touching the horses, and he chirrupped encouragingly. The
+weary but willing creatures raised their drooping heads, their ribs
+expanded as they drew their "tugs" taut, and, at a slow, shuffling
+trot, they began the descent.
+
+A voice from behind caused the man to glance swiftly over his
+shoulder.
+
+"It's no use asking you where we are now, I suppose?" it said in a
+peevish tone.
+
+But the teamster's mood was its match.
+
+"Not a heap, I guess, ma'm," he retorted, and gave up his attention to
+avoiding the precipice on his right.
+
+"How far is the place supposed to be?"
+
+The woman's unease was very evident. Her eyes were upon the darkening
+walls of the canyon toward which they were traveling.
+
+"Eighty miles from Crowsfoot. That's how the boss said, anyways."
+
+"How far have we come now?"
+
+The man laughed. There seemed to be something humorous in his
+passenger's inquiries.
+
+"Crowsfoot to Snarth's farm, thirty-five miles, good. Snarth's to
+Rattler Head, thirty. Sixty-five. Fifteen into this precious camp on
+Yellow Creek. Guess we bin comin' along good since sun-up, an' now
+it's noon. Countin' our stop fer breakfast we ought to make thirty odd
+miles. Guess we come a good hundred." He laughed again.
+
+The woman gave an exclamation of impatience and vexation.
+
+"I think your employer ought to be ashamed of himself sending you to
+do the journey. You don't know where you are, or what direction we're
+going in. The horses are nearly foundered, and we may be miles and
+miles from our destination. What are you going to do?"
+
+"Ke'p goin' jest as long as the hosses ken ke'p foot to the ground.
+Guess we'll ease 'em at the bottom, here. It's nigh feed time. Say,
+ma'm, it ain't no use worritin'. We'll git som'eres sure. The sun's
+dead ahead."
+
+"What's the use of that?" Mercy Lascelles snapped at the man's easy
+acceptance of the situation. "I wish now I'd come by Leeson Butte."
+
+"That's sure how the boss said," retorted the man. "The Leeson trail
+is the right one. It's a good trail, an' I know most every inch of it.
+You was set comin' round through the hills. Guessed you'd had enough
+prairie on the railroad. It's up to you. Howsum, we'll make somewheres
+by nightfall. Seems to me I got a notion o' that hill, yonder. That
+one, out there," he went on, pointing with his whip at a bald, black
+cone rising in the distance against the sky. "That kind o' seems like
+the peak o' Devil's Hill. I ain't jest sure, but it seems like."
+
+Mercy looked in the direction. Her eyes were more angry than anxious,
+yet anxiety was her principal feeling.
+
+"I hope to goodness it is. Devil's Hill. A nice name. That's where the
+camp is, isn't it? I wish you'd hurry on."
+
+The teamster spat over the dashboard. A grim smile crept into his
+eyes. His passenger had worried him with troublesome questions all
+the journey, and he had long since given up cursing his boss for
+sending him on the job.
+
+"'Tain't no use," he said shortly. Then he explained. "Y' see, it 'ud
+be easy droppin' over the side of this. Guess you ain't yearnin' fer
+glory that way?"
+
+"We'll never get in at this pace," the woman cried impatiently.
+
+But the teamster was losing patience, too. Suddenly he became very
+polite, and his pale blue eyes smiled mischievously down upon his
+horses' backs.
+
+"Guess we don't need to hurry a heap, ma'm," he said. "Y' see, in
+these hills you never can tell. Now we're headin' fer that yer canyon.
+Maybe the trail ends right ther'."
+
+"Good gracious, man, then what are we going to do?"
+
+"Do? Why, y' see, ma'm, we'll have to break a fresh trail--if that
+dogone holler ain't one o' them bottomless muskegs," he added
+thoughtfully.
+
+He flicked his whip and spat again. His passenger's voice rose to a
+sharp staccato.
+
+"Then for goodness' sake why go on?" she demanded.
+
+"Wal, y' see, you can't never tell till you get ther' in these hills.
+Maybe that canyon is a river, an' if so the entrance to it's nigh sure
+a muskeg. A bottomless muskeg. You seen 'em, ain't you? No? Wal,
+they're swamps, an' if we get into one, why, I guess ther's jest Hail
+Columby, or some other fool thing waitin' for us at the bottom. Still
+ther' mayn't be no muskeg. As I sez, you never can tell, tho' ther'
+most gener'ly is. Mebbe that's jest a blank wall without no trail.
+Mebbe this trail ends at a sheer drop of a few hundred feet an' more.
+Mebbe agin the trail peters out 'fore we get ther'. That's the way in
+these yer hills, ma'm; you never can tell if you get lost. An' gittin'
+lost is so mighty easy. Course we ain't likely to starve till we've
+eat up these yer dogone ol' hosses. Never eaten hoss? No? 'Tain't so
+bad. Course water's easy, if you don't light on one o' them fever
+swamps. Mountain fever's pretty bad. Still, I don't guess we'll git
+worried that way, ma'm. I'd sure say you're pretty tough fer mountain
+fever to git a holt of. It's the time that's the wust. It might take
+us weeks gittin' out,--once you git lost proper. But even so I don't
+guess ther's nothin' wuss than timber wolves to worry us. They're
+mean. Y' see they're nigh allus starvin'--or guess they are. B'ars
+don't count a heap, less you kind o' run into 'em at breedin' season.
+Le's see, this is August. No, 'tain't breedin' season." He sighed as
+if relieved. Then he stirred quickly and glanced round, his face
+perfectly serious. "Guess you got a gun? It's allus good to hev a gun
+round. You never ken tell in these yer hills--when you git lost
+proper."
+
+"Oh, you're a perfect fool. Go on with your driving." Mercy sat back
+in her seat fuming, while the teamster sighed, gently smiling down at
+his horses.
+
+"Mebbe you're right, ma'm," he said amiably. "These dogone hills makes
+fools o' most fellers, when they git lost proper--as I'd sure say we
+are now."
+
+But the man had achieved his object. The woman desisted from further
+questioning. She sat quite still, conscious of the unpleasant fact
+that the man was laughing at her, and also perfectly aware that his
+incompetence was responsible for the fact that they were utterly lost
+amongst the wild hills about them.
+
+She was very angry. Angry with the man, angry with herself, for not
+being guided by the hotel keeper at Crowsfoot, but more than all she
+was angry with Joan for bidding her make the journey.
+
+Yet she had been unable to resist the girl's appeal. Her inability was
+not from any sentimental feeling or sympathy. Such feelings could
+never touch her. But the appeal of the manner in which her curse still
+followed the girl, and the details she had read through the lines of
+her letter, a letter detailing the circumstances of her life on Yellow
+Creek, and written under the impulse and hope inspired by the Padre's
+support had given her the keenest interest. All the mystical side of
+her nature had been stirred in a manner she could not deny, had no
+desire to deny.
+
+Yes, she had come to investigate, to observe, to seek the truth of her
+own pronouncement. She had come without scruple, to watch their
+effect. To weigh them in the balance of her scientific mysticism. She
+had come to watch the struggles of the young girl in the toils which
+enveloped her. Her mind was the diseased mind of the fanatic, prompted
+by a nature in which cruelty held chief place.
+
+But now had come this delay. Such was her nature that personal danger
+ever appalled her. Death and disaster in the abstract were nothing to
+her, but their shadows brushing her own person was something more than
+terrifying. And as she thought of the immensity of the world about
+her, the gloom, the awful hush, the spirit of the hills got hold of
+her and left her full of apprehension.
+
+The teamster now devoted his whole attention to his whereabouts. His
+passenger's interminable questioning silenced, he felt more at his
+ease. And feeling at his ease he was able to bring his prairie-trained
+faculties to bear on the matter in hand. As they progressed down the
+slope he closely observed the tall, distant crown which he thought he
+recognized, and finally made up his mind that his estimate was right.
+It certainly was the cone crown of Devil's Hill. Thus his certainty
+now only left him concerned with the ultimate development of the trail
+they were on.
+
+It was quite impossible to tell what that might be. The road seemed to
+be making directly for the mouth of the canyon, and yet all his
+experience warned him that such a destination would be unusual. It
+must turn away. Yet where? How?
+
+He searched ahead on the hillside above him for a modification of its
+slope. And a long way ahead he fancied he detected such an indication.
+But even so, the modification was so slight that there seemed little
+enough hope.
+
+He kept on with dogged persistence. To return was not to be thought of
+yet. Any approach to vacillation now would be quite fatal.
+
+The trail was fading out to little more than a double cattle track,
+and the farther he looked along it the more indistinct it seemed to
+become. Yet it continued, and the ever downward slope went on, and on.
+
+His anxious eyes were painfully alert. Where? Where? He was asking
+himself with every jog of his weary horses. Then all of a sudden his
+questions ceased, and a decided relief leapt into his eyes as he drew
+his horses up to a halt.
+
+He turned to his passenger and pointed with his whip at the hill
+abreast of them, his eyes undoubtedly witnessing his relief.
+
+"See that, ma'm?" he cried. And Mercy beheld a narrow, rough flight of
+steps cut in the face of the hill. Each step was deliberately
+protected with a timber facing securely staked against "washouts," and
+though the workmanship was rough it was evidently the handiwork of men
+who thought only of endurance. It rose from the trail-side in a
+slanting direction, and, adopting the easiest course on the slope,
+wound its way to the very crown of the hill, over the top of which it
+vanished.
+
+"Well?"
+
+The woman's inquiry was ungracious enough.
+
+"Why, that's the meanin' o' this yer trail." The man pointed above.
+"That sure leads somewheres."
+
+"I suppose it does."
+
+Mercy snapped her reply.
+
+"Sure," said the man. "There's shelter up ther', anyways. An' by the
+looks o' them steps I'd say folks is livin' ther' right now."
+
+"Then for goodness' sake go up and see, and don't sit there wasting
+time. I never had to deal with such a perfect fool in my life. Pass
+the reins over to me, and I'll wait here."
+
+The man grinned. But instead of handing her the reins he secured them
+to the iron rail of the cart.
+
+"Guess them hosses know best wot to do 'emselves," he observed
+quietly, as he scrambled from the cart. "Best let 'em stand
+theirselves, ma'm,--you never know wot's along the end of that
+trail--muskegs is----" His final jibe was lost in a deep-throated
+chuckle as he began the steep ascent before him.
+
+Mercy watched him with angry eyes. The man added impertinence to his
+foolishness, and the combination was altogether too much for her
+temper. But for the fact that she required his services, she would
+well have wished that he might fall and break his neck. But her chief
+concern was to reach her destination, so she watched him climb the
+long steps in the hope that some comforting result might follow.
+
+As the man rose higher and higher, and his figure grew smaller, his
+climb possessed an even greater interest for Mercy Lascelles than she
+admitted. She began to appreciate the peril of it, and peril, in
+others, always held her fascinated.
+
+He was forced to move slowly, clinging closely with both hands to the
+steps above him. It would be easy to slip and fall, and she waited for
+that fall. She waited with nerves straining and every faculty alert.
+
+So absorbed was she that she had forgotten the horses, forgotten her
+own position, everything, in the interest of the moment. Had it been
+otherwise, she must have noticed that something had attracted the
+drooping horses' attention. She must have observed the suddenly lifted
+heads, and pricked ears. But these things passed her by, as did the
+approach of a solitary figure bearing a burden of freshly taken fox
+pelts, which quite enveloped its massive shoulders.
+
+The man was approaching round a slight bend in the trail, and the
+moment the waiting cart came into view, he stood, startled at the
+apparition. Then he whistled softly, and glanced back over the road he
+had come. He looked at a narrow point where the trail suddenly ended,
+a sharp break where the cliff dropped away abruptly, and further
+progress could only be made by an exhausting downward climb by a
+skilled mountaineer.
+
+Then he came slowly on, his gray eyes closely scrutinizing the figure
+in the cart. In a moment he saw that it was a woman, and, by her
+drooping pose, recognized that she was by no means young. His eyes
+took on a curious expression--half doubt, half wonder, and his face
+grew a shade paler under his tan. But the change only lasted a few
+seconds. He quickly pulled himself together, and, shaking his white
+head thoughtfully, continued his way toward the vehicle with the
+noiseless gait which moccasins ever give to the wearer. He reached the
+cart quite unobserved. The woman's whole attention was absorbed by the
+climbing man, and the newcomer smiled curiously as he passed a
+greeting.
+
+"You've hit a wrong trail, haven't you?" he inquired.
+
+The woman in the cart gave a frantic start, and clutched at the side
+rail as though for support. Then her eyes came on a level with the
+man's smiling face, and fear gave way to a sudden expression of
+relentless hatred.
+
+"You?" she cried, and her lean figure seemed to crouch as though about
+to spring.
+
+The man returned her stare without flinching. His eyes still wore
+their curious smile.
+
+"Yes," he said. "It is I."
+
+The woman's lips moved. She swallowed as though her throat had
+suddenly become parched.
+
+"Moreton Bucklaw," she murmured. "And--and after all these years."
+
+The man nodded. Then several moments passed without a word.
+
+Finally it was the man who spoke. His manner was calm, so calm that
+no one could have guessed a single detail of what lay between these
+two, or the significance of their strange meeting.
+
+"You've hit a bad trail," he said. "There's a big drop back there.
+These steps go on up to my home. The old fort. They're an old short
+cut to this valley. Guess your man'll need to unhitch his horses and
+turn the cart round. He can't get it round else. Then, if you go back
+past the shoulder of the hill, you'll see an old track, sharp to your
+right. That leads into the trail that'll take you right on down to the
+farm where little Joan lives." He moved toward the steps. "I'll tell
+your man," he said.
+
+He mounted the steps with the ease of familiarity, his great muscles
+making the effort appear ridiculously easy. A little way up he paused,
+and looked down at her.
+
+"Guess I shall see you again?" he said, with the same curious smile in
+his steady eyes.
+
+And the woman's reply came sharply up the hillside to him. It came
+with all the pent-up hatred of years, concentrated into one sentence.
+The hard eyes were alight with a cold fury, which, now, in her
+advancing years, when the freshness and beauty that had once been hers
+could no longer soften them, was not without its effect upon the man.
+
+"Yes. You will see me again, Moreton Bucklaw."
+
+And the man continued the ascent with a feeling as though he had
+listened to the pronouncement of his death sentence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+THE WEB OF FATE
+
+
+Joan had looked forward to her aunt's coming with very mixed feelings.
+There were moments when she was frankly glad at the prospect of a
+companionship which had been hers since her earliest childhood. Her
+nature had no malice in it, and the undoubted care, which, in her
+early years, the strange old woman had bestowed upon her counted for
+much in her understanding of duty and gratitude. Then, besides,
+whatever Aunt Mercy's outlook, whatever the unwholesomeness of the
+profession she followed with fanatical adherence, she was used to her,
+used to her strangenesses, her dark moments. If affection had never
+been particularly apparent in the elder woman's attitude toward her,
+there had certainly been a uniform avoidance of the display of any
+other feeling until those last few days immediately preceding her own
+flight from St. Ellis. Habit was strong with Joan, so strong, indeed,
+that in her happy moments she was glad at the thought of the return
+into her life of the woman who had taken the place of her dead
+parents.
+
+Then, too, even the memory of that frenzied morning, when Aunt Mercy,
+laboring under her awful disease of mysticism, had assumed the r�le
+of prophetess, and accuser, and hurled at her troubled head a
+denunciation as cruel as it was impossible, had lost something of its
+dread significance and sting. At the time it had been of a blasting
+nature, but now--now, since she had conferred with Buck's great
+friend, since Buck's wonderful support had been added to her life, all
+the harshness of the past appeared in a new and mellowed light. She
+believed she saw her aunt as she really was, a poor, torn creature,
+whose mind was diseased, as a result of those early fires of
+disappointment through which she had passed.
+
+The Padre had denied the fate that this aunt had convinced her of.
+Buck had defied it, and laughed it out of countenance. These men, so
+strong, so capable, had communicated to her receptive nature something
+of the hope and strength that was theirs. Thus she was ready to
+believe, to stand shoulder to shoulder with them, feeling that in the
+future nothing could hurt her. So she was ready for her aunt's coming.
+
+But to live up to her determination was not always easy. She had
+yielded to all her old superstitious dread at the moment when Buck had
+first opened her eyes to the wonderful love that had so silently, so
+unknown, yet so swiftly grown up in her heart for him. In that
+delicious awakening, when lost in a joy almost inconceivable, when her
+defenses were at their weakest, the enemy's attack had come swiftly
+and surely. Her very love had aided it. Her dread for the man had
+gripped her heart, and all her mind and senses had gone back to the
+unspeakable fears she had only just learnt to deny. Nor was it until
+his denial, a denial given with that wonderful laugh of confidence,
+had she been able to drag herself back to the new path which his
+white-haired friend had marked out for her.
+
+Since then, however, she had been able to contemplate her aunt's
+coming in something of the spirit in which she desired to welcome
+her. She felt that now, at least, she was proof against the
+unwholesome thought of the woman's diseased mind. There were certain
+unacknowledged trepidations as the time drew near, but these she
+contrived to smother under the excitement and interest of preparing
+her house for the reception, and the radiant confidence of Buck, which
+never failed to support her.
+
+Every morning and every evening brought Buck's strong presence to the
+farm for a brief visit. And each visit was a dream of delight to the
+simple, loving girl. All day long, as she labored through her
+household cares, and the affairs of the farm she lived in, she dwelt
+on the memory of the morning visit, or looked forward to her lover's
+coming as the sun reached the western skies. Every night, when she
+sought the snow-white ease of her bed, it was to spend her few
+remaining minutes of waking dwelling on the happiness of past moments,
+and ultimately to anticipate in dreams the delights of the morrow.
+
+So the days sped rapidly by and the time for Aunt Mercy's arrival drew
+on. And with each passing day the shadows receded, her trepidations
+became less and less, until they almost reached the vanishing-point.
+She felt that in Buck's love no shadow could live. With him at her
+side she need have no fear of evil. He was exalted by the very
+wholesomeness of his mind and heart, and the strength and confidence
+that was his, far, far above the level of hideous superstitions and
+happenings. His love for her, her love for him were too great, far too
+great, for disaster to ever touch them.
+
+Then came Aunt Mercy.
+
+She came in the middle of an oppressive afternoon. The days of late
+had assumed an extraordinary oppressiveness for the season of the
+year. She came amidst the peaceful calm when all farm life seems to be
+wrapped in a restful somnolence, when the animal world has spent its
+morning energies, and seeks rest that it may recuperate for the
+affairs surrounding its evening meal.
+
+With her coming Joan's first realization was of dismay at the manner
+in which she had underestimated the woman's personality, how strangely
+absence had distorted her view of the mind behind those hard, gray
+eyes. And with this realization came an uneasy feeling that the power
+and influence which had sent her rushing headlong from her home, to
+seek the peace of the wilderness, was no fancy of a weak, girlish
+mind, but a force, a strong, living force, which made itself felt the
+instant she came into the woman's uncanny presence again.
+
+She was just the same unyielding creature she had always known. Her
+peevish plaint at the journey, her railing at the stupidity and
+impertinence of the teamster, her expressed disgust at the country,
+her complaining of everything. These things were just what Joan must
+have expected, had she not lived away from her aunt, and so lost her
+proper focus. Joan did her best to appease her. She strove by every
+art of her simple mind to interest her and divert her thought and mood
+into channels less harsh. But she had little success, and it quickly
+became apparent that the lapse of time since her going from home had
+aggravated rather than improved the strange mental condition under
+which her aunt labored.
+
+After the first greetings, and Joan had conducted her to her room,
+which she had spent infinite time and thought in arranging, the old
+woman remained there to rest until supper-time. Then she reappeared,
+and, by the signs of her worn, ascetic face, the cruel hollows about
+those adamant eyes, the drawn cheeks and furrowed brow, the girl
+realized that rest with her was not easy to achieve. She saw every
+sign in her now that in the old days she had learned to dread so
+acutely.
+
+However, there was no help for it. She knew it was not in the nature
+of that busy brain to rest, and one day the breaking-point would be
+reached, and the end would come suddenly.
+
+But at supper-time there was a definite change in her aunt's mental
+attitude. Whereas before her whole thought had been for the outpouring
+of her complaint at her personal discomforts, now all that seemed to
+have been forgotten in something which held her alert and watchful.
+Joan had no thought or suspicion of the working of the swift-moving
+brain. Only was she pleased, almost delighted at the questioning and
+evident interest in her own affairs.
+
+The meal was nearly over. Aunt Mercy, as was her habit, had eaten
+sparingly, while she alternately listened to the details of the girl's
+farm life, the manner of the gold camp, the history of her arrival
+there and the many vicissitudes which had followed, and voiced the
+questions of her inquisitorial mind. Now she leant back in her chair
+and slowly sipped a cup of strong, milkless tea, while her eyes
+watched the girl's expressive face.
+
+Joan had purposely avoided mention of the many details which had had
+such power to disturb her in the past. She had no desire to afford a
+reopening of the scene she had endured that morning at St. Ellis. But
+Mercy Lascelles was not to be thwarted by any such simple subterfuge.
+
+"You've told me a lot of what doesn't matter," she said sharply, after
+a pause, while she sipped her tea. "Now tell me something that does."
+She glanced down at the flashing diamond rings upon her fingers. "By
+your letter you have not escaped from those things you hoped to--when
+you left St. Ellis."
+
+Joan started. She was sitting with her elbows on the table, her chin
+resting on her clasped hands. Mercy Lascelles observed the start, but
+offered no comment. She waited. She could afford to wait. She had read
+and understood the girl's letter. Besides, there was something else in
+her mind. Something else which required piecing into the web which
+linked their lives together. She knew that it held an important place,
+but its exact position her busy brain was still groping to resolve.
+
+"Do you want me to talk about--those things?" the girl asked half
+appealingly. "Is it necessary? I am very happy, auntie, so happy that
+I don't want to risk losing a moment of it. I have not always been
+happy since I came here."
+
+The hard, gray eyes suddenly lifted to the girl's face, and there was
+mocking in their depths.
+
+"You mentioned them light-heartedly enough in your letter. You spoke
+of the death of two men to point your assurance that their death had
+nothing to do with your--fate. Some one had reassured you. Some one
+had made plain the absurdity that such a fate could ever be. Some one
+had shown you that such convictions only lived in the human mind and
+had no actual place in the scheme of things. Surely with this
+wonderful truth behind you, you need not shrink from details of things
+which have no connection with your life."
+
+The icy sarcasm would not be denied. It was the old note Joan had been
+so familiar with. Its sting was as poignant as ever, but somehow now
+it stirred her to a defense of those who had come to her aid in her
+direst need.
+
+But this was her aunt's first day on the farm. She felt she must
+restrain herself. She tried to smile, but it was a weakly attempt.
+
+"You are quite unchanged, auntie," she said.
+
+"I might say the same of you, Joan," came the sharp retort.
+
+But Joan shook her head.
+
+"You would be quite wrong. I have changed so much that you can never
+make me believe again in--all that which you made me believe before.
+Let me be frank. Nothing but my conviction that I am no more cursed by
+an evil fate than is every other living creature would have induced me
+to ask you here. I have asked you to come here and share my home
+because you are my aunt, my only relative, who has been good to me in
+the past. Because I am lonely here without you, and--and--oh, don't
+you understand? There are only us two left. Yes, I want to be with
+you." She broke off, but in a moment went on rapidly. "But this could
+never have been had I still believed what you made me believe. Under
+that old shadow I would have gone to the ends of the world rather than
+have been near you. Can't you understand? Let us forget it all--let us
+begin a new life together."
+
+Mercy shook her head. She was quite unmoved by the girl's appeal.
+
+"There is only one life. There is no beginning again. Those who talk
+like that are fools. That is why I say you, too, are unchanged." The
+woman's eyes lit. They suddenly became filled with that cold fire
+which Joan knew so well. "You think you are changed. You think by an
+effort of will--your own, combined with that of another, you have
+escaped that which has followed you from your birth. You think that
+every disaster that has ever occurred to those with whom you have been
+associated, and those who have belonged to you, can be accounted for
+naturally. You, with your foolish brain, and the equally foolish brain
+of that other. Why, girl, you deny it in every line of the letter you
+wrote me. It is there--there in every word, in its very atmosphere.
+You are lying to yourself under the influence of this other--who lies
+to you. Prove what you say if you want me to believe. The scientific
+mind must have proof, undeniable, irrefutable proof. Statements, mere
+statements of unbelief are meaningless things which do not convince
+even their authors. If you need to convince yourself, and convince me,
+then engage yourself to some man, marry him, and I tell you now you
+will bring about the direst tragedy that ever befel human creature."
+
+"I--I have done what--what you dare me to do. I have engaged myself to
+marry. I am going to marry the man I love more than life itself."
+
+Joan had risen from her seat. She stood erect, her beautiful head
+thrown back. An ecstatic light shone in the deep velvet softness of
+her eyes. But even as she spoke a sudden paling lessened the delicate
+bloom of her cheeks.
+
+The other, with her cold eyes leveled at her, was quick to observe.
+
+"And who is--your victim?"
+
+Joan's pallor increased as she stared for a moment with dilating eyes
+at the woman who could be capable of such cruelty. Then, of a sudden,
+a protest of such bitterness sprang to her lips that even Mercy
+Lascelles was startled.
+
+"Oh, God, was there ever such callous heartlessness in human creature?
+Was there ever such madness in sane woman? You ask me to prove my
+convictions, you ask me for the one method by which even you can be
+convinced, and when I show you how far my new faith has carried me you
+taunt me by asking who is my--victim. Oh, aunt, for the love of all
+you ever held dear, leave me in peace. Let me prove to you my own
+destiny, but leave me in peace until I have done so, or--failed. Can
+you not see that I am trying to preserve my sanity? And by every word
+and look you are driving me to the verge of madness. The man I love
+knows all, he and his great friend. He knows all you have ever told
+me, and his love is the strongest and bravest. He laughs this fate to
+scorn, he has no fears for himself, or for me. I tell you you shall
+have your proof. But you must leave me in peace."
+
+For a moment it almost seemed as if her aunt were abashed at the
+passion of her protest. She withdrew her cold stare, and, with her
+jeweled hands folded in her lap, gazed down at the white table-cloth.
+She waited until Joan dropped despairingly back into her chair, then
+she looked up, and her glance was full of malicious irony.
+
+"You shall have your way--after to-night. You shall not hear one
+word of warning from me. But to-night you must let me have my way.
+You say you believe. I tell you I _know_. You must do your best,
+and--fail. Have your way." She withdrew her gaze and her eyes became
+introspective. "Who is this man--you say you are going to marry?"
+
+Joan warmed under the change in her aunt's manner. Her relief at the
+other's assurance was almost boundless, although the effect of the
+woman's previous attitude was to leave her far less sure of herself.
+
+"It is Buck," she said impulsively. "He is the great friend of the man
+from whom I bought this farm. Oh, auntie, wait until you see him. You
+will realize, as I have, his strength, his goodness. You will have no
+doubts when you know him. You will understand that he has no fear of
+any--any supernatural agencies, has no fear of any fancied fate that
+may be awaiting him. Auntie, he is tall, so tall, and--oh, he's
+wonderful. And his name, Buck--don't you like it? It is so like him.
+Buck--independence, courage, confidence. And, oh, auntie, I love him
+so."
+
+Mercy remained quite unmoved. It almost seemed doubtful if she heard
+and understood all the simple girlishness in her niece's rhapsody, so
+preoccupied she seemed with her own thoughts.
+
+"It was his friend, you say, who has taught you that--you have nothing
+further to fear? And who is this paragon?"
+
+"He is the man who sold me the farm. He is such a good, kind creature.
+He is loved and respected by every soul in the place. He is so wise,
+too,--he is quite wonderful. You know, he only sold his farm to me to
+keep the miners from starving before they found the gold. He is a sort
+of foster-father to Buck. He found him when he was a little
+boy--picked him up on the trail-side. That's about twenty years ago,
+soon after the Padre--that's what they call him--first came here."
+
+"Yes, yes; but his name?"
+
+Mercy had little patience with such detail as interested the fresh
+young mind of the girl.
+
+"Moreton Kenyon."
+
+The eyes of the old woman shot a swift glance into the girl's face.
+
+"Moreton--who?"
+
+"Kenyon."
+
+Mercy sat up in her chair. Her whole figure was poised alertly. Her
+eyes were no longer uninterested. She was stirred to swift mental
+activity. She knew that the web was readjusting itself. The portion
+she had been seeking to place was finding its own position.
+
+"He has a head of thick white hair. He has gray eyes, darkly fringed.
+He is a man of something over fifty. His shoulders are massive. His
+limbs sturdy and powerful."
+
+Mercy detailed her description of the man in sharp, jerky sentences,
+each one definite and pointed. She spoke with the certainty of
+conviction. She was not questioning.
+
+Joan's surprise found vent in a wondering interrogation.
+
+"Then, you have seen him? You know him?"
+
+Her aunt laughed. It was a painful, hideous laugh, suggesting every
+hateful feeling rather than mirth. Joan was shocked, and vaguely
+wondered when she had ever before heard her aunt laugh.
+
+"Know him? Yes, I know him." The laugh was gone and a terrible look
+had suddenly replaced the granite hardness of her eyes. "I have known
+him all my life. I saw him only to-day, in the hills. He knew me. Oh,
+yes, he knew me, and I knew him. We have reason to know each other.
+But his name is not Moreton Kenyon. It is--Moreton Bucklaw."
+
+Joan's wonder gave place to alarm as the other's venomous manner
+increased. The look in her eyes she recognized as the look she had
+seen in the woman's eyes when she had first listened to the story of
+her childhood.
+
+"Moreton Bucklaw?"
+
+"Yes, Moreton Bucklaw," her aunt cried, with sudden vehemence, which
+seemed to grow with every word she spoke. "Moreton Bucklaw. Do you
+understand? No, of course you don't. So this is your paragon of
+goodness and wisdom. This is the man who has told you that your
+fate only exists in distorted fancy. This is the man who is the
+foster-father of your wonderful Buck, who defies the curse of disaster
+which dogs your feet. Child, child, you have proved my words out of
+your own lips. The disaster you deny is hard upon your heels, hard
+upon the heels of this man you love. Your own hand, the hand even of
+your lover, is in it. Was it fate that brought you here? Was it fate
+that you should love this man? Was it fate that made my teamster lose
+his way and so bring me face to face with this man, almost at the door
+of his own home? Was it fate that brought me here? Yes, yes, yes! I
+tell you it was fate that did all these things--your fate. The curse
+from which you can never escape. Moreton Bucklaw!" She mouthed the
+words with insane glee. "It is almost laughable," she cried. "You have
+promised to marry the foster-son of the man who is shortly to pay the
+penalty for the murder of--your father."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+A BLACK NIGHT
+
+
+The Padre sat staring into space before the stove. Buck was in his
+favorite position at the open door, gazing out into the darkness of
+the night. As he smoked his evening pipe he was thinking, as usual, of
+the woman who was never quite out of his thoughts. He was intensely
+happy in the quiet fashion that was so much a part of him. It seemed
+to him unbelievable that he could have lived and been content before
+he met Joan. Now there could be no life without her, no world even.
+She pervaded his every sense, his whole being, with her beautiful
+presence.
+
+He breathed deeply. Yes, it was all very, very wonderful. Then, by
+degrees, his thoughts ran on to the expected arrival of Joan's
+relative--that aunt whom he had heard so much about from the Padre.
+And in a moment an uneasy feeling made him shift his position. The
+Padre's story was still vivid in his mind; he could never forget it.
+Nor could he forget this woman's place in it. These thoughts set him
+speculating uneasily as to the possible result of her visit.
+
+He surreptitiously glanced over at the silent figure beside the stove.
+The man's pipe was still in his mouth, but it had gone out. Also he
+saw, in that quick glance, that the fire in the stove had fallen low.
+But he made no move to replenish it. The night was very sultry.
+
+He turned again to his contemplation of the outer world. The night was
+black, jet black. There was not a star visible. The mountain air had
+lost its cool snap, the accustomed rustle of the woods was gone. There
+was a tense stillness which jarred in an extraordinary degree.
+
+"A desperate, dark night," he said suddenly. He was merely voicing his
+thought aloud.
+
+The sound of his voice roused the other from his reverie. The Padre
+lifted his head and removed the pipe from between his teeth.
+
+"Yes--and hot. Throw us your tobacco."
+
+Buck pitched his pouch across, but remained where he was.
+
+"Guess that leddy's down at the farm by now," Buck went on. "Joan was
+guessing she'd get around to-day. That's why I didn't go along there."
+
+"Yes, she is there." The Padre lit his pipe and smoked steadily.
+
+Buck turned quickly.
+
+"How d'you know?"
+
+"I met her on the trail. They missed their way this morning and hit
+the trail below here, at the foot of the steps."
+
+"You didn't--let her see you?" Buck asked, after a pause.
+
+The Padre smiled.
+
+"I spoke to her. I put her on the right trail."
+
+"You spoke to her?" Buck's tone was half incredulous. "Did
+she--recognize you?"
+
+The other nodded.
+
+"You see, I've not changed much--except for my hair."
+
+"What did she do--say?"
+
+The Padre's smile remained.
+
+"Said--I should see her again."
+
+For some moments the two men faced each other across the room. The
+yellow lamplight plainly revealed their different expressions. The
+Padre's smile was inimitable in its sphinx-like obscurity, but Buck's
+eyes were frankly troubled.
+
+"And that means?" Buck's question rang sharply.
+
+"She has neither forgotten nor--forgiven."
+
+Buck returned abruptly to his contemplation of the night, but his
+thoughts were no longer the happy thoughts of the lover. Without
+knowing it he was proving to himself that there were other things in
+the world which could entirely obscure the happy light which the
+presence of Joan shed upon his life.
+
+The Padre sat back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head,
+while his pipe burned hot and the smoke of it rose thickly. It was the
+only outward sign he gave of any emotion. Buck suddenly forgot the
+night. A desperate thought was running hotly through his brain. His
+friend's admission had set his fertile young brain working furiously.
+It was traveling just whither a vivid imagination carried it. A
+reckless purpose was swiftly formulating.
+
+After a while he turned again. His resolve was taken on the impulse of
+the moment.
+
+"Padre," he said, "you shall never----" But his sentence remained
+incomplete. He broke off, listening.
+
+The other was listening too.
+
+There was the sharp cracking of a forest tree--one of those mysterious
+creakings which haunt the woodland night. But there was another sound
+too. The trained ears of these men caught its meaning on the instant.
+It was the vague and distant sound of wheels upon the soft bed of the
+sandy trail.
+
+"A heavy wagon, an'--two hosses," said Buck.
+
+The Padre nodded.
+
+"Coming from the direction of the farm. Sounds like the old team,--and
+they're being driven too fast for heavy horses. Joan hasn't got a
+saddle-horse of her own."
+
+His last remark explained his conviction, and the suggestion found
+concurrence in Buck's mind.
+
+They waited, and the sound grew louder. Then, without a word, Buck
+passed out of the room.
+
+A few minutes later the rumble of wheels ceased, and the Padre heard
+Buck's voice greeting Joan.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A tragic light shone in Joan's eyes as she stood in the centre of the
+room glancing from her lover to his friend. She was searching for an
+opening for what she had come to say. Her distraught brain was
+overwhelmed with thoughts she could not put into words. She had driven
+over with the heavy team and wagon because she had no other means of
+reaching these two, and unless she reached them to-night she felt that
+by morning her sanity must be gone. Now--now--she stood speechless
+before them. Now, her brain refused to prompt her tongue. All was
+chaos in her mind, and her eyes alone warned the men of the object of
+her coming.
+
+It was the Padre's voice that finally guided her. He read without
+hesitation or doubt the object of her mission.
+
+"Yes," he said simply. "I am Moreton Bucklaw, the man accused of your
+father's murder."
+
+Suddenly the girl's head drooped forward, and her hands covered her
+face as though to shut out the terrible truth which the man's words
+conveyed.
+
+"O God!" she cried. "Then she was not lying to me."
+
+Buck's eyes, fierce, almost savage at the sight of the girl's despair,
+shot a swift glance at his friend. It was a glance which only the
+white-haired man could have understood. To the looker-on it would have
+expressed a terrible threat. To the Padre it was the expression of a
+heart torn to shreds between love and friendship.
+
+"If she told you I killed him--she was lying."
+
+The man had not raised his tone. There was no other emotion in his
+manner than distress for the girl's suffering.
+
+Joan looked up, and a gleam of hope struggled through her despair.
+
+"Then it's not true? Oh, I knew it--I knew it! She _was_ lying to me.
+She _was_ lying to me as she has always lied to me. Oh, thank God,
+thank God!" She dropped back into the chair that had been placed for
+her, but which up to that moment she had ignored.
+
+The two men waited for her emotion to pass. Buck as yet had nothing to
+say. And the Padre knew that until she was mistress of herself words
+would only be wasted.
+
+Presently she looked up. Her eyes were dry, and the agony that had
+sent her upon her headlong mission was passing. The Padre's relief
+showed in the smile with which he met her glance. Buck stood steadily
+regarding her, longing to help her, but knowing that his time had not
+come yet.
+
+"Tell me," she said, struggling hard for steadiness. "Tell me all--for
+I--I cannot seem to understand anything."
+
+The Padre bowed his head.
+
+"You know your own story. It is all substantially true that Mercy
+Lascelles has told you. All, that is, except that she claims I killed
+your father. She did not see your father die. I did. I was the only
+one who saw him die--by his own hand, a desperate and ruined man.
+Listen, and I will tell you the whole story without concealing one
+tittle of my own doings and motives."
+
+Half an hour passed while the man's even voice recited without emotion
+all the details leading up to Charles Stanmore's death. He kept
+nothing back--his own love for the then handsome Mercy, and the
+passionate insult he had offered her, when, in her love for the dead
+man, she became his housekeeper. He intended that, for Buck's sake,
+this girl should know everything, nor had he the least desire for any
+concealment on personal account. He did not spare his own folly and
+the cowardice of his flight. He felt that concealment of any sort
+could only injure Buck, whom at all costs he must not hurt. He even
+analyzed, with all the logic at his command, Mercy Lascelles' motives
+in accusing him. He declared his belief in her desire to marry the
+widowed man and her own consequent hatred of himself, whose presence
+was a constant thwart to her plans.
+
+And when he had finished something of the trouble had passed out of
+the girl's eyes. The color had returned to her cheeks, and he knew
+that he had achieved his purpose.
+
+"I suppose it is terrible to you, child, to hear me speak of your
+aunt, one of your own sex, a blood relative, in this way," he said in
+conclusion. "But I believe that she is absolutely mad in her hatred of
+me. And now that she has discovered my whereabouts nothing less will
+satisfy her than that I must stand my trial, and--go to the electric
+chair. It is my purpose to stand my trial. It was for that reason,
+when I recognized her this morning, before she even saw me, I
+purposely thrust myself in her way. I intended that she should not
+lack opportunity, and my reason--well, that doesn't much matter."
+
+The girl nodded.
+
+"I think I am glad of your decision," she said simply. "You see, when
+you have established your innocence----"
+
+"I fear that result is--doubtful."
+
+The man's admission was quite frank. Nor was there even a suggestion
+of regret in his voice. But Joan's heart gripped with alarm. The
+thought of such a contingency had never occurred to her simple mind.
+He had not committed murder. Then, of course, he was innocent. It had
+all been made so simple. Now--now she was suddenly overwhelmed with a
+new terror.
+
+"You mean--you cannot prove--your innocence?" she cried incredulously.
+
+"You forget I was the only man with him. I was the last person with
+him. And--I fled when I should have stayed to--help. The circumstances
+are terribly against me."
+
+Joan's throat had suddenly parched. She struggled to speak, but no
+sound came. She looked to Buck for help and the man ran to her side.
+
+The gentle pressure of his protecting arm, as he rested one caressing
+hand upon her shoulder, gave her the relief she needed.
+
+"Oh, Buck, Buck! For the love of Heaven say something--do something,"
+she appealed. "They will kill him for a crime--of which he is
+innocent."
+
+Suddenly the Padre's eyes glowed with a strange light of happiness.
+The girl's appeal to Buck had been the one saving touch in the midst
+of the cloud of tribulation overshadowing him. The daughter of his
+best friend, the daughter of the man he was supposed to have done to
+death, had given her verdict. She believed in his innocence. He sighed
+with the depth of his thankfulness. He could now face whatever lay
+before him with perfect equanimity.
+
+But Buck had yet to play his part in the little drama so swiftly
+working itself out. His part was far different to the passive attitude
+of the other man. He had no tolerance for the possible sacrifice of an
+innocent life at the demand of a crazy woman who had come so nearly
+wrecking the life of the girl he loved. As Joan appealed to him his
+eyes lit with a sudden fire of rebellion. And his answer came in a hot
+rush.
+
+"You think I'm goin' to let him die, Joan?" he cried, the hot blood
+staining his cheeks and brow. "I tell you he won't. I swear to you,
+sure, sure, he shan't die a murderer's death! I tell you right here,
+little gal, ther' ain't a sheriff in the country big enough to take
+him. He says he must give up to arrest when the time comes. Wal, he'll
+have to do it over my dead body."
+
+His words were in answer to Joan's appeal, but they were hurled at the
+man beside the fire, and were a defiance and a challenge from the
+depths of a loyal heart.
+
+The Padre's smile was good to see. But he shook his head. And
+instantly Joan caught at the enthusiasm which stirred her lover and
+hugged it to herself. She sprang to her feet, and a wonderful light
+shone in her eyes.
+
+"Buck is right, Padre. He is right," she cried. "Do you hear? You
+shall not take the risk, you must not. Oh, Padre! you must live for
+our sakes. We know your innocence, then what more is needed after all
+these years? For once let us be your mentors--you who have always been
+the mentor of others. Padre, Padre, you owe this to us. Think of it!
+Think of what it would mean. A murderer's death! You shall not, you
+cannot give yourself up. Buck is right. I, too, am with him."
+
+She turned to the man at her side, and, raising her arms, clasped her
+hands about his neck.
+
+"Buck--my Buck. Let us swear together that, while we have life, he
+shall never be the victim of this crazy, terrible woman. It shall be
+our fight--yours and mine."
+
+Buck gazed down into her beautiful, pleading eyes as he clasped her
+slim body in his strong, young arms. Her eyes were alight with a love,
+radiant in its supremacy over her whole being. Her championship of his
+innocent friend would have endeared her a thousandfold had such a
+thing been possible. In that moment it was as though her courage, her
+loyalty, had completed the bond between them. His jaws gritted tight.
+His eyes shone with a fervent resolution.
+
+"It goes, little gal," he cried. "It's our lives for his. It sure
+goes--every time."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+BEASLEY IN HIS ELEMENT
+
+
+The camp was sweltering under an abnormal heat. There was not one
+breath of the usual invigorating mountain air. A few more degrees of
+humidity, and the cup of endurance would have been filled to
+overflowing and toiling humanity breathing something like sheer
+moisture. The sky was heavy and gray, and a dull sun, as though it too
+had been rendered faint-hearted, was painfully struggling against the
+laden atmosphere.
+
+The work of the camp went on. For hours human nature wrestled with a
+growing inertia which robbed effort of all snap. But gradually, as the
+day wore on, the morning impetus gave way, and peevish tongues voiced
+the general plaint. Men moved about slowly, their tongues actively
+cursing. They cursed the heat as they mopped their dripping brows.
+They cursed the flies, and hurled mighty blows for their destruction.
+They cursed all work, and gold became the last thing in the world they
+desired at such a price. They cursed the camp, the country, but more
+than all they cursed the black hill from which they drew their living.
+
+Then came acknowledgment of defeat. One by one at first, and finally
+in batches, they shouldered their tools and moodily withdrew from the
+attack. As they went weary eyes glanced back with hate and disgust at
+the frowning buttresses of the hill, with awe at the steaming cloud
+hanging above the simmering waters of the suspended lake. The
+depressing shadow of Devil's Hill had for the moment become
+intolerable.
+
+Beasley hated the heat just as cordially as these toilers, but he
+would have hated still more its sudden going, and the consequent
+appeasement of unnatural thirsts, which it was his pleasure and profit
+to slake. His own feelings were at all times subservient to his
+business instincts. This sudden, unaccountable heat meant added profit
+to him, therefore his complaint was half-hearted. It was almost as if
+he feared to give offense to the gods of his good fortune.
+
+Then, too, Beasley had so many things to occupy his busy brain. His
+trade was one that required much scheming, a matter in which he
+reveled at all times. Problems of self-interest were his salt of life,
+and their accurate solution brought him as near earthly happiness as
+well could be.
+
+Curiously enough problems were always coming his way. He chanced upon
+one that morning while busy in his storeroom, his attention divided
+between pricing and stacking new dry goods and smashing flies on the
+back of his superheated neck. And it served him with food for thought
+for the rest of the day.
+
+It took him quite unawares, and for that very reason gave him ample
+satisfaction. He was bending over a pile of rolls of fabric when a
+voice suddenly hailed him from the doorway.
+
+"Are you the proprietor of the livery stables?"
+
+He turned about with a start. Such a question in that camp seemed
+superfluous. It was absurd. He looked up, and his astonished eyes fell
+upon the vision of an extremely well-dressed, refined-looking woman
+whom he judged to be anything over fifty. But what held his attention
+most was the lean, emaciated face and penetrating eyes. There was
+something of the witch about it, as there was about the bowed figure.
+But more than all she was a _stranger_.
+
+He admitted the impeachment in the midst of his astonishment with an
+abruptness equal to her own.
+
+"Sure," he said, and waited.
+
+"Where will I find the sheriff of this place?"
+
+Beasley's eyes opened wider.
+
+"Guess ther' ain't no sheriff in this camp."
+
+The woman's next words came impatiently.
+
+"Why isn't there? Is there a lawyer?"
+
+Beasley grinned. His astonishment was giving place to curiosity and
+speculation. He tapped the revolver at his hip.
+
+"We're mostly our own lawyers around here," he said easily.
+
+But the woman ignored his levity.
+
+"Where can I find one--a lawyer, or sheriff?" she demanded with an
+added imperiousness.
+
+"Guess Leeson Butte's nearest."
+
+The stranger considered a moment. Beasley's eyes never left her. He
+had noticed the refinement of her accent, and wondered the more.
+
+"How can I get there--best?" the woman next demanded.
+
+"Guess I ken let you have a team," Beasley said with alacrity. He
+smelt good business.
+
+"How much?"
+
+"Fifty dollars. In an' out--with teamster."
+
+"Does he know the way?"
+
+"Sure."
+
+The woman eyed him steadily.
+
+"I don't want any mistakes. This--is a case of murder."
+
+Beasley's interest suddenly redoubled. The problem was growing in its
+attractiveness.
+
+"Who's the feller?" he asked unguardedly.
+
+"That's not your business." The woman's eyes were cold. "Send the team
+over to the farm down the river in two hours' time. The horses must be
+able to travel fast. Here's the money."
+
+The saloon-keeper took the money promptly. But for once his
+astonishment held him silent. Mercy Lascelles had reached the door to
+go. Then she seemed to change her mind. She paused.
+
+"There's fifty dollars more when I get back--if you keep your tongue
+quiet," she said warningly. "I don't want my business to get around. I
+should say gossip travels fast amongst the hills. That's what I don't
+want."
+
+"I see."
+
+It was all the astonished man could think of to say at the moment. But
+he managed an abundant wink in a markedly friendly way.
+
+His wink missed fire, however, for the woman had departed; and by the
+time he reached the door to look after her he saw her mounting the
+wagon, which was drawn by the heavy team from Joan's farm, and driven
+by her hired man.
+
+As the stranger drove off he leant against the doorway and emitted a
+low whistle. In his own phraseology he was "beat," completely and
+utterly "beat."
+
+But this state of things could not last long. His fertile brain could
+not long remain under such a cloud of astonished confusion. He must
+sort out the facts and piece them together. This he set to work on at
+once.
+
+Abandoning his work in the storeroom he went at once to the barn, and
+gave orders for the dispatch of the team. And herein, for once, he
+traded honestly with his visitor. He ordered his very best team to be
+sent. Perhaps it was in acknowledgment of the problem she had offered
+him.
+
+Then he questioned his helpers. Here he was absolutely despotic. And
+in less than half an hour he had ascertained several important facts.
+He learned that a team had come in from Crowsfoot the previous
+afternoon, bringing a passenger for the farm. The team had remained at
+the farm, likewise the teamster. Only the fact that daylight that
+morning had brought the man into camp for a supply of fodder and
+provisions had supplied them with the news of his presence in the
+district. This had happened before Beasley was up.
+
+With this Beasley went back to the saloon, where his dinner was served
+him in the bar. His bartender was taking an afternoon off. It was a
+thoughtful meal. The man ate noisily with the aid of both knife and
+fork. He had acquired all the habits of the class he had so long mixed
+with. Nor was it until his plate of meat and canned vegetables had
+nearly disappeared that light began to creep into his clouded brain.
+
+He remembered that Joan had refurnished the farm. Why? Because some
+one from the East, no doubt, was coming to stay with her. Who? Mother?
+Aunt? Cousin? Female anyway. Female arrives. Queer-looking female.
+Goes to farm. Stays one night. Comes looking for sheriff next
+morning. A case of murder. No murder been done around here. Where?
+East? Yes. Then there's some one here she's found--or she knows is
+here--and he's wanted for murder. Who?
+
+At this point Beasley grinned. How many might there not be on Yellow
+Creek who could be so charged?
+
+But his shrewd mind was very quick. This woman had not been into camp
+until she visited him. Where had she been? In the hills--coming from
+Crowsfoot. Still she might have been aware of the presence of her man
+before she came--through Joan.
+
+For a moment he was disappointed.
+
+But it was only for a moment. He quickly brightened up. A new idea had
+occurred to him which narrowed his field of possibilities. This woman
+was educated, she belonged to a class he had once known himself. She
+would know nothing of the riffraff of this camp. It must be somebody
+of the same class, or near it, somebody of education----He drew a
+sharp breath, and his wicked eyes lit.
+
+The wildest, the most impossible thought had occurred to him. He
+pondered long upon the passage of the trail from Crowsfoot to the
+farm. He remembered how she did not desire the "gossip" to
+travel--especially to the hills.
+
+Suddenly he hailed his Chinese cook and flung his knife and fork down
+upon his plate. In his elation he forgot the heat, the sticky flies.
+He forgot his usual custom of abstention during the day. He poured
+himself out a long drink of really good whisky, which he gulped down,
+smacking his lips with appreciation before flinging his customary
+curse at the head of his Mongolian servitor.
+
+He had never had such a morning in his life.
+
+Two of the boys came in for a drink. Such was his mood that he upset
+their whole focus of things by insisting that they have it at his
+expense. And when a third came along with a small parcel of gold dust
+he bought it at its full value.
+
+These were significant signs. Beasley Melford was in a generous mood.
+And such a mood in such a man required a lot of inspiration.
+
+But it was not likely to continue for long. And surely enough it
+quickly reached its limit, and resolved itself into his every-day
+attitude, plus a desire to make up, at the first opportunity, the
+losses incurred by his moments of weak generosity.
+
+The heat of the day soon afforded him his desire, for the limp and
+sweating miners straggled back into camp long before their usual
+working day was ended. And what is more, they came to seek solace and
+refreshment under his willing roof.
+
+By the middle of the afternoon the bar was fairly well filled. The
+place was little better than a furnace of humid heat. But under the
+influence of heartening spirits the temperature passed almost
+unnoticed, or at least uncared. Here at least the weary creatures were
+called upon for no greater effort than to deal cards, or raise a glass
+to their lips and hold it there until drained. They could stand any
+heat in the pursuit of such pastimes.
+
+Beasley watched his customers closely. Three tables of poker were
+going, and from each he drew a percentage for the "chips" sold at the
+bar. Each table was well supplied with drinks. A group of five men
+occupied one end of the counter, and two smaller groups were farther
+along. They were all drinking with sufficient regularity to suit his
+purposes. Amongst the crowd gathered he noticed many of the men of the
+original camp. There was Curly Saunders and Slaney at one poker table
+with Diamond Jack. Abe Allinson was in close talk with two financial
+"sharps" from Leeson, at the bar. The Kid was with a number of new
+hands who had only just come in to try their luck. He was endeavoring
+to sell a small share of his claim at a large price. Two others were
+with the larger group at the bar, discussing "outputs" and new methods
+of washing gold. It was a mixed collection of humanity, but there were
+sufficient of the original members of the camp to suit him.
+
+In a lull in the talk, when for a moment only the click of poker
+"chips" and the shuffle of cards broke the silence, Beasley propped
+himself against his counter and, for once, paused from his everlasting
+habit of glass wiping.
+
+"Guess none o' you heard the news?" he inquired, with a grin of
+anticipation.
+
+His first effort failed to produce the effect he desired, so a
+repetition followed quickly. For a moment play was suspended at one of
+the tables, and the men looked up.
+
+"Noos?" inquired Diamond Jack.
+
+The Kid and his youthful companions looked round at the foxy face of
+their host.
+
+"Oh! I don't guess it's nuthin'," said Beasley. "Only--it's so dogone
+queer."
+
+His manner was well calculated. His final remark drew the entire
+barroom. All play and all talk was abruptly held up.
+
+"Wot's queer?" demanded Diamond Jack, while all eyes searched the
+saloon-keeper's sharp face.
+
+Beasley bit the end off a green cigar.
+
+"That's just it," he said. "Ther's suthin' I can't jest make out.
+Say----" he paused while he lit his cigar with a sulphur match. "Any
+you fellers heard of a murder around here lately? Can't say I have."
+
+He puffed leisurely at his cigar. The scattered groups at the bar drew
+closer. There was no question but he now had the attention he desired.
+The blank negative on the faces about him gave him his answer.
+
+"Sure," he observed thoughtfully. "That's wher' I'm beat. But--ther's
+sure murder been done, an' ther's goin' to be a big doin' around--in
+consequence. Ther's word gone in to the sheriff at Leeson, an' the law
+fellers o' that city is raisin' a mighty business to get warrants
+signed. Say, I heerd they're sendin' a dozen dep'ties to hunt these
+hills. Seems to me the guy whoever it is is a pretty hot tough, an'
+he's livin' in the hills. I heard more than that. I heard the murder
+was a low-down racket that if folks knew about it they'd be right out
+fer lynchin' this guy. That's why it's bin kep' quiet. I bin goin'
+over the folks in my mind to locate the--murderer. But it's got me
+beat."
+
+"Ther' ain't bin no murder since the camp got boomin'," said Abe
+Allinson thoughtfully, "'cept you reckon that racket of Ike an'
+Pete's."
+
+Beasley shook his head.
+
+"'Tain't that. That was jest clear shootin'. Though it's queer you
+mention that. Say, this racket's got somethin' to do with that farm.
+It's mighty queer about that farm. That gal's brought a heap of
+mischief. She sure is an all-fired Jonah."
+
+"But what's she to do wi' this new racket?" inquired Slaney.
+
+Beasley shook his head.
+
+"You got me beat again. The sheriff's comin' right out to that farm,
+chasin' some feller for murder. Ther's the fact--plain fact. He's
+comin' to that farm--which shows that gal is mussed-up with the racket
+someways. Now I tho't a heap on this thing. An' I'm guessin' this
+murder must have been done back East. Y' see that gal comes from back
+East. 'Wal, now,' says I, 'how do we shape then?' Why, that gal--that
+Jonah gal--comes right here an' locates some feller who's done murder
+back East. Who is it? I gone over every feller in this yer camp, an'
+'most all are pretty clear accounted for. Then from what I hear the
+sheriff's posse is to work the hills. Who is ther' in the hills?"
+
+Beasley paused for effect. His purpose was rapidly becoming evident.
+He glanced over the faces about him, and knew that the same thought
+was in each mind.
+
+He laughed as though an absurd thought had passed through his mind.
+
+"Course," he exclaimed, "it's durned ridic'lous. Ther's two fellers we
+know livin' in the hills. Jest two. Ther's Buck an'--the Padre. Buck's
+bin around this creek ever since he was raised. I ain't no use for
+Buck. He's kind o' white livered, but he's a straight citizen. Then
+the Padre," he laughed again, "he's too good. Say, he's next best to a
+passon. So it can't be him."
+
+He waited for concurrence, and it came at once.
+
+"I'll swar' it ain't the Padre," cried Curly warmly.
+
+"It sure ain't," agreed Slaney, shaking his serious head.
+
+"The Padre?" cried Abe, with a scornful laugh. "Why, I'd sooner guess
+it's me."
+
+Beasley nodded.
+
+"You're dead right ther', boys," he said, with hearty good-will. "It
+sure ain't the Padre. He's got religion, an' though I'm 'most allus
+curious 'bout folks with religion--it ain't right to say ther's any
+queer reason fer 'em gettin' it. Then the Padre's bin here nigh twenty
+years. Jest fancy! A feller of his eddication chasin' around these
+hills fer twenty years! It's easy fer a feller raised to 'em, like
+Buck. But when you've been a feller in a swell position East, to come
+an' hunt your hole in these hills fer twenty years, why, it's--it's
+astonishin'. Still, that don't make no diff'rence. It can't be the
+Padre. He's got his reasons fer stayin' around here. Wal, nigh all of
+us has got reasons fer bein' here. An' it ain't fer us to ask why. No,
+though I don't usually trust folks who get religion sudden, I ain't
+goin' agin the Padre. He's a white man, sure."
+
+"The whitest around here," cried Curly. He eyed Beasley steadily.
+"Say, you," he went on suspiciously, "who give you all this?"
+
+It was the question Beasley had been waiting for. But he would rather
+have had it from some one else. He twisted his cigar across his lips
+and spat a piece of tobacco leaf out of his mouth.
+
+"Wal," he began deliberately, "I don't guess it's good med'cine
+talkin' names. But I don't mind sayin' right here this thing's made me
+feel mean. The story's come straight from that--that--Jonah gal's
+farm. Yep, it makes me feel mean. Ther's nothin' but trouble about
+that place now--'bout her. I ain't got over Ike and Pete. Wal, I don't
+guess we'll get to the rights of that now. They wer' two bright boys.
+Here are us fellers runnin' this camp fer all we know, all good
+citizens, mind, an' ther' ain't nothin' amiss. We ke'p the place good
+an' clean of rackets. We're goin' to boom into a big concern, an'
+we're goin' to make our piles--clean. An' we got to put up with the
+wust sort of mischief--from this farm. It ain't right. It ain't a
+square shake by a sight. I sez when ther's Jonahs about they need to
+be put right out. An' mark you, that gal, an' that farm are Jonahs.
+Now we got this sheriff feller comin' around with his dep'ties chasin'
+glory after a crook. He'll get his nose into everybody. An' sheriffs'
+noses is quick at gettin' a nasty smell. I ain't sayin' a thing about
+any citizen in this place--but I don't guess any of us has store halos
+about us, an' halos is the only things'll keep any feller safe when
+sheriffs get around."
+
+A murmur of approval greeted his argument. Few of the men in the camp
+desired the presence of a sheriff in their midst. There were few
+enough among them who would care to have the ashes of their past
+disturbed by any law officer. Beasley had struck the right note for
+his purpose.
+
+"How'd you put this Jonah out, Beasley?" cried Diamond Jack.
+
+Beasley thought for a moment.
+
+"How'd I put her out?" he said at last. "That's askin' some. How'd I
+put her out? Say," his face flushed, and his eyes sparkled, "ef I had
+my way I'd burn every stick o' that dogone farm. Then she'd light out.
+That's what I'd do. I ain't got no use for Jonahs. An' I say right
+here I'd give five hundred dollars to see her back turned on this
+place. I tell you, boys, an' I'm speakin' for your good, an' mine, if
+she stops around here we're goin' to get it--we'll get it good. The
+Lord knows how it's goin' to come. But it's comin', I feel it in my
+bones. It's comin' as sure as my name's Beasley."
+
+He threw such a sincerity and earnestness into his manner that he made
+a marked impression. Even Curly Saunders, who, with one or two of the
+older hands, had some sort of regard for the girl they believed had
+founded their fortunes, was not quite without doubts. There was no
+question but mischief did seem to hang about the farm. Ike and Pete
+had been popular enough. The newer people had no sentiment on the
+matter, but they listened with interest to the saloon-keeper, feeling
+that his was the voice of the leading citizen. Besides, the matter of
+the sheriff's coming was not pleasant. Many had spent a great part of
+their lives avoiding such contact.
+
+"Seems to me you're forgettin' that gal brought us our luck," the Kid
+suggested impulsively. "You were ther' when we handed her the----"
+
+"Death's-head," laughed Beasley. Then his face hardened. "Tcha!" he
+cried with some heat. "You make me sick. I told you then, as I tell
+you now, it was that storm brought us our luck, an' it brought us our
+Jonah with it. If you'd got a cent's worth of grit that gal 'ud go. We
+don't wish her harm. I ain't one to wish a gal harm. But go she must
+if we want to be quit of trouble. Still, I'm on'y just sayin' what I
+feel. It don't matter a heap. Ther's the sheriff comin' along to grab
+some one for murder. Maybe he'll chase up a few other rackets to fill
+in his time. It's things of that nature do matter. He's got to git
+some one. Maybe it's some one in the hills. Maybe it ain't.
+Maybe--wal, I sure do hope it ain't--the Padre."
+
+He laughed as he turned to attend the wants of some fresh customers
+who entered the bar at that moment. The malice underlying his jest
+must have been plain to any one observing the man.
+
+With this fresh diversion play at the card tables was resumed while
+the men at the bar fell back into their original groups. But the
+general interest was absorbed in Beasley's news, and the channels of
+talk were diverted. Beasley had sown his seed on fruitful soil. He
+knew it. The coming of a sheriff, or any form of established law, into
+a new mining camp was not lightly to be welcomed by the earliest
+pioneers.
+
+In the midst of this atmosphere a further interest arose. The last
+person Beasley expected to see in his bar at that hour of the day was
+Buck. He was not even sure he wanted to see him after what had passed.
+Yet Buck suddenly pushed his way through the swing-doors.
+
+The saloon-keeper was in the act of replacing the whisky bottle under
+the counter, having just served his fresh customers, when his foxy
+eyes encountered the dark face of the man he most hated on Yellow
+Creek.
+
+In a moment he was all smiles.
+
+"Howdy, Buck," he cried, as though the sight of him was the one thing
+in the world he desired. Then he covertly winked at those nearest him.
+
+His wink conveyed all he intended, and the men turned and eyed the
+newcomer curiously.
+
+Buck responded to the greeting indifferently, and proceeded to
+business. He had not come for the pleasure of the visit. He passed a
+slip of paper across the counter.
+
+"Can you do them for me?" he inquired. "Just cast an eye over that
+list. If you'll get 'em put up I'll ride in in the mornin' an' fetch
+'em out. I'll need 'em early."
+
+His manner was short and cold. It was his way with Beasley, but now
+there was more in his mind to make for brevity.
+
+Beasley studied the paper closely. And as he read down the list a
+smile spread over his mean face. It was a long list of supplies which
+included rifle and revolver ammunition. He whistled softly.
+
+"Mackinaw!" Then he looked up into the dark eyes of the waiting man,
+and his own expressed an unwonted good-humor. "Say, wot's doin' at the
+fort? Gettin' ready for a siege? Or--or are you an' the Padre chasin'
+the long trail?"
+
+Buck's thin cheeks flushed as he pointed at the paper.
+
+"You can do that for me?" he inquired still more coldly.
+
+Beasley shot a swift glance round at the interested faces of the men
+standing by.
+
+"Oh, guess I can do it," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Sure I can do
+it. Say, you fellers ain't lightin' out?"
+
+He winked again. This time it was deliberately at Buck.
+
+"They're winter stores," said Buck shortly.
+
+Then, as Beasley laughed right out, and he became aware of a general
+smile at his expense, he grew hot.
+
+"What's the matter?" he demanded sharply. And his demand was not
+intended for the saloon-keeper alone.
+
+"Ke'p your shirt on, Buck," exclaimed Beasley, with studied
+good-nature. "We couldn't jest help but laff." Then his eyes became
+sentimentally serious. "Y' see, we bin worried some. We wus guessin'
+when you came along. Y' see, ther's a sheriff an' a big posse o'
+dep'ties comin' right along to this yer camp. Y' see, ther's some guy
+chasin' around the hills, an' he's wanted fer--murder."
+
+The man was watching for an effect in Buck's face. But he might as
+well have looked for expression in that of a sphinx.
+
+"Wal?"
+
+It was the only response Buck afforded him.
+
+"Wal," Beasley shifted his gaze. He laughed feebly, and the onlookers
+transferred their attention to him. "Y' see, it was sort o' laffable
+you comin' along buyin' winter stores in August, an' us jest guessin'
+what guy the sheriff would be chasin'--in the hills. He won't be
+smellin' around the fort now?" He grinned amiably into the dark face.
+But deep in his wicked eyes was an assurance which Buck promptly read.
+
+Nor did it take him a second to come to a decision. He returned the
+man's look with a coolness that belied his real feelings. He knew
+beyond question that Mercy Lascelles had already commenced her
+campaign against the Padre. He had learned of her journey into the
+camp from Joan. The result of that journey had not reached him yet. At
+least it was reaching him now.
+
+"You best hand it me straight, Beasley," he said. "Guess nothin'
+straight is a heap in your line. But jest for once you've got no
+corners to crawl around. Hand it out--an' quick."
+
+Buck's manner was dangerously sharp set. There was a smouldering fire
+growing in his passionate eyes. Beasley hesitated. But his hesitation
+was only for the reason of his own growing heat. He made one last
+effort to handle the matter in the way he had originally desired,
+which was with a process of good-humored goading with which he hoped
+to keep the company present on his side.
+
+"Ther's no offense, Buck," he said. "At least ther' sure needn't to
+be. You never could play easy. I wus jest handin' you a laff--same as
+we had."
+
+"I'm waitin'," said Buck with growing intensity, utterly ignoring the
+explanation.
+
+But Beasley's hatred of the man could not be long denied. Besides, his
+last attempt had changed the attitude of the onlookers. There was a
+lurking derision, even contempt in their regard for him. It was the
+result of what had occurred before Buck's coming. They expected him to
+talk as plainly as he had done then. So he gave rein to the venom
+which he could never long restrain.
+
+"Guess I hadn't best ke'p you waitin', sure," he said ironically. Then
+his eyes suddenly lit. "Winter stores, eh?" he cried derisively.
+"Winter stores--an' why'll the Padre need 'em, the good kind Padre,
+when the sheriff's comin' along to round him up fer--murder?"
+
+There was a moment of tense silence as the man flung his challenge
+across the bar. Every eye in the room was upon the two men facing each
+other. In the mind of every one present was only one expectation. The
+lightning-like play of life and death.
+
+But the game they all understood so well was not forthcoming. For once
+Buck's heat was controlled by an iron will. To have shot Beasley down
+where he stood would have been the greatest delight of his life, but
+he restrained the impulse. There were others to think of. He forced
+himself to calmness.
+
+Beasley had fired his shot in the firm conviction it would strike home
+unfailingly. Yet he knew that it was not without a certain random in
+it. Still, after what had been said, it was imperative to show no
+weakening. He was certain the quarry was the Padre, and his
+conviction received further assurance as he watched Buck's face.
+
+For an instant Buck would willingly have hurled the lie in his teeth.
+But to do so would have been to lie himself, and, later, for that lie
+to be proved. There was only one course open to him to counter the
+mischief of this man. He looked squarely into the saloon-keeper's
+face.
+
+"The truth don't come easy to you, Beasley," he said calmly, "unless
+it's got a nasty flavor. Guess that's how it's come your way to tell
+it now."
+
+"Winter stores," laughed the man behind the bar. And he rubbed his
+hands gleefully, and winked his delight in his own astuteness at the
+men looking on.
+
+Then his face sobered, and it seemed as though all his animosity had
+been absorbed in a profound regret. His whole attitude became the
+perfection of a righteous indignation and sympathy, which almost
+deceived Buck himself.
+
+"See here, Buck," he exclaimed, leaning across his bar. "You an' me
+don't always see things the same way. Guess I don't allus hit it with
+the Padre. No, I guess ther' ain't a heap of good feeling among the
+three of us. But before you leave here I want to say jest one thing,
+an' it's this. Sheriff or no sheriff, deputies or no deputies, if
+they're lookin' fer the Padre for murder I say it's a jumped-up fake.
+That man couldn't do a murder, not to save his soul. An' it'll give me
+a whole heap o' pleasure fixin' up your winter stores. An' good luck
+to you both--when you hit the long trail."
+
+A murmur of approval went round the room amongst those of the company
+who remembered the days before the gold strike. And Beasley, in his
+long career of mischief, almost achieved popularity.
+
+Buck could scarcely believe his ears. And his incredulity was not
+lessened as he looked into the furtive eyes of the man who had
+expressed himself so cordially.
+
+But he had been given the opportunity he knew he would need sooner or
+later. He knew that there were men in the camp who would stand by the
+Padre in emergency, and they must know the truth. Since Aunt Mercy's
+campaign had opened, and the news of it was spread abroad, these men
+must be told the facts, and know his own attitude. He might well need
+their assistance in the future, as they, in the past, had needed the
+Padre's.
+
+"I take it you mean that, Beasley," he said without warmth. Then,
+ignoring the man, he turned to those gathered about him. "I don't know
+how Beasley's got this thing, fellers," he said, in his simple
+fashion. "It don't matter, anyway. I hadn't a notion the sheriff was
+comin' along yet, either. That don't matter. Anyways I guessed he
+would be comin' sooner or later, an' that's the reason I'm layin' in
+stores of gun stuff an' things. Yes, he's comin' for the Padre on a
+charge of murder, a low-down charge of murder that he never committed.
+You know the ways of the law, an' how things sure go in such rackets.
+The charge is nigh twenty years old. Wal, maybe it'll be nigh
+impossible for him to prove he didn't do it. It looks that way.
+Anyways, I tell you right here, ther' ain't no sheriff in this country
+goin' to git him while I'm alive. He's raised me from a starvin' kid,
+an' he's bin the biggest thing on earth to me, an' I'm goin' to see
+him through. You fellers, some o' you, know the Padre. You know what
+he's done right here to help folks when they were starvin'. He even
+sold his farm to help. Sold it right out, an' give up twenty years'
+work to hand grub to empty bellies. Wal, they want him fer murder.
+Him, the best and straightest man I ever knew. I ain't got nothin'
+more to say 'cept Beasley's right--the sheriff's comin'. An' when he
+comes he'll find the hills hotter than hell fer him, an' I'll have a
+hand in makin' 'em that way." He turned abruptly to Beasley, and
+pointed at the paper lying on the counter. "You'll do them things for
+me, an' I'll get 'em to-morrow."
+
+He turned away, flinging his farewell back over his shoulder as he
+reached the door.
+
+"So long, fellers," he cried, and pushed his way out.
+
+The moment he had gone every tongue was let loose. The gamblers cashed
+their "chips" at the bar. There was no more play that afternoon.
+Excitement ran high, and discussion was at fever heat. To a man those
+who knew the Padre, and those who didn't, commended Buck's attitude.
+And amongst the older hands of the camp was an ardent desire to take a
+hand in resisting the law. Beasley was in agreement with nearly
+everybody. He expressed a wonderful fury at the absurdity and
+injustice, as he described it, of the charge. And, finally, he
+possessed himself of the floor again for the purposes of his own
+subtle scheming.
+
+"What did I tell you, fellers?" he cried, when he had obtained a
+general hearing. "What did I tell you?" he reiterated in a fine fury.
+"I don't like him, but Buck's a man. A straight, bully feller. He's
+goin' to do the right thing. He'll stand by that Padre feller while
+he's got a breath in his body, an' he'll shoot the sheriff up as sure
+as sure. An' why? Because that feller, the Padre, sold his farm to
+help us old hands. Because he sold his farm to that 'Jonah' gal, who's
+brought all this trouble about. If she hadn't come around Pete an' Ike
+would have bin living now. If she hadn't come around the Padre
+wouldn't be wanted for a murder he never committed. If she hadn't come
+around Buck wouldn't have set himself up agin the law, an' found
+himself chasin' the country over--an outlaw. D'yer see it? You're
+blind if you don't." He brought his clenched fist down on the counter
+in a whirlwind of indignation. "She's got to go," he cried. "I tell
+you, she's got to go. Chase her out. Burn her out. Get rid of her from
+here. An' I got five hundred dollars says--do it."
+
+Beasley knew his men. And in every eye he saw that they were with him
+now. Nor could anything have pleased him more than when Curly shouted
+his sudden sympathy.
+
+"Beasley's right, boys," he cried. "She's brought the rotten luck. She
+must go. Who's to say whose turn it'll be next?"
+
+"Bully for you," cried Beasley. "Curly's hit it. Who's the next victim
+of the rotten luck of this Golden Woman?"
+
+His final appeal carried the day. The men shouted a general approval,
+and Beasley reveled inwardly in his triumph. He had played his hand
+with all the skill at his command--and won. And now he was satisfied.
+He knew he had started the ball rolling. It would grow. In a few hours
+the majority of the camp would be with him. Then, when the time came,
+he would play them for his own ends, and so pay off all his old
+scores.
+
+The Padre would be taken. He would see to that. The sheriff should
+know every detail of Buck's intentions. Buck would ultimately be
+taken--after being outlawed. And Joan--the proud beauty whom Buck was
+in love with--well, if she got out with her life it would be about all
+she would escape with.
+
+Beasley felt very happy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+THE MOVING FINGER
+
+
+The Padre stood at the top of the steps and looked out over the wide
+stretching valley below him. His long day was drawing to a close, but
+he felt no weariness of body. There was a weariness of mind, a
+weariness of outlook. There was something gray and cold and hopeless
+upon his horizon, something which left him regretful of all that which
+lay within his view now.
+
+There was a half smile in his eyes, as, for a moment, they rested on
+the narrow indistinct trail which looked so far below him. He was
+thinking of that apparition he had met only a few days back, the
+apparition which had suddenly leapt out of his past. It was all very
+strange, very wonderful, the working of those mysterious things which
+make it certain that no page in a human creature's life can be turned
+once and for all.
+
+Yes, it was all very wonderful. The hand of Fate had begun to move
+against him when he had greeted that starving fragment of humanity at
+the trail-side, more than twenty years ago. It had moved steadily
+since then in every detail of his life. It had been progressing in the
+work he had done in the building of his farm. Its moving finger had
+pointed every day of Buck's young life. In the necessities of those
+poor gold-seekers it had shown its unerring direction, even in the
+spirit which had prompted him to help them, which involved the
+selling of his farm.
+
+Then he saw its bitter irony. It had done its work by bringing Joan
+into contact with Buck, and, with cruel derision, had shown him how
+unnecessary his sacrifice had been. Then had come all those other
+things, moving so swiftly that it was almost impossible to count each
+step in the iron progress of the moving finger. It had come with an
+overwhelming rush which swept him upon its tide like a feather upon
+the bosom of the torrent. And now, caught in the whirling rapids below
+the mighty falls, he could only await the completion of the sentence
+so long since pronounced.
+
+The smile broadened, spreading gently across his face. He realized he
+was admitting all he had denied to Joan. But the thought brought him
+no weakening. The wisdom of years had taught him much that must not be
+communicated to a younger generation. Life would teach them in their
+turn; they must not learn the truths which lay before them before
+their time. It was better to lie than to destroy the hope of youth.
+
+His conscience was clear, his resolve perfect in its steadiness. The
+happiness of two people was at stake. For Buck he would give up all.
+There was no sacrifice too great. For Joan--she was the fair daughter
+of his oldest friend. His duty was clear by her. There was one course,
+and one course only that he could see for himself. To remove the last
+shadow from these young lives he must face the ordeal which lay before
+him. What its outcome might be he could not quite see, but he was not
+without hope. There were certain details surrounding the death of his
+friend which did not fit in with his guilt. He had no weapon upon him
+in that house. Nor was there the least reason for the crime. He knew
+he would be confronted by the evidence of a woman who hated him, a
+woman capable of manufacturing evidence to suit her own ends. But,
+whatever else she might do, she could not produce a weapon belonging
+to him, nor could she invent a reason for the crime that could not be
+disproved. At least this was the hope he clung to.
+
+However, he knew that he could not leave the shadow of his possible
+guilt to cloud the lives of these two, just setting out on their long
+journey together. The possibilities of it for harm were far too great.
+The ocean of hot, youthful love was far too possible of disaster for
+an unnecessary threat to overshadow it.
+
+No, he had refused the request of these two from the first moment when
+he had realized his duty by them, and now, after careful thought, his
+resolve remained unshaken.
+
+Still, he was not without regret as he gazed out over that vast world
+he had learned to love so well. The thought of possibly never seeing
+it again hurt him. The wide valleys, the fair, green pastures, the
+frowning, mysterious woods with their utter silence, the butting crags
+with their barren crests, or snow-clad shoulders. They held him in a
+thrall of almost passionate devotion. They would indeed be hard to
+part with.
+
+He looked away down the gaping jaws of the valley at the black crest
+of Devil's Hill. It was a point that never failed to attract him, and
+now more so than ever. Was it not round this hill that all his past
+efforts had been concentrated?
+
+He studied it. Its weirdness held him. A heavy mist enveloped its
+crown, that steaming mist which ever hung above the suspended lake.
+It was denser now than usual. It had been growing denser for the last
+two days, and, in a vague way, he supposed that those internal fires
+which heated the water were glowing fiercer than usual. He glanced up
+at the sky, and almost for the first time realized the arduous efforts
+of the westering sun to penetrate the densely humid atmosphere. It was
+stiflingly hot, when usually the air possessed a distinct chill.
+
+But these things possessed only a passing interest. The vagaries of
+the mountain atmosphere rarely concerned him. His vigorous body was
+quite impervious to its changes. He picked up his "catch" of pelts and
+shouldered them. They were few enough, and as he thought of the
+unusual scarcity of foxes the last few days he could not help feeling
+that the circumstance was only in keeping with the rest of the passing
+events of his life.
+
+He made his way along the foot-path which wound its way through the
+pine bluff, in the midst of which the old fur fort lay hidden inside
+its mouldering stockade. He flung the pelts into the storeroom, and
+passed on to the house, wondering if Buck had returned from the camp,
+whither he knew he had been that day.
+
+He found him busy amidst a pile of stores spread out upon the floor
+and table, and a mild surprise greeted the youngster as he looked
+round from his occupation.
+
+"You never said--you were getting stores, Buck?"
+
+The Padre eyed the pile curiously. Finally his eyes paused at the
+obvious ammunition cases.
+
+Buck followed the direction of his gaze.
+
+"No," he said; and turned again to his work of bestowing the goods in
+the places he had selected for them.
+
+The Padre crossed the room and sat down. Then he leisurely began to
+exchange his moccasins for a pair of comfortable house-shoes.
+
+"Had we run short?" he asked presently.
+
+"No."
+
+Buck's manner was touched with something like brusqueness.
+
+"Then--why?"
+
+Buck straightened up, bearing in his arms an ammunition box.
+
+"Because we may need 'em," he said, and bestowed the box under the
+settle with a kick.
+
+"I don't get you--that's revolver ammunition you just put away."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Buck continued his work until the room was cleared. The other watched
+him interestedly. Then as the younger man began to prepare their
+supper the Padre again reverted to it.
+
+"Maybe you'll tell me about 'em--now?" he said, with his easy smile.
+
+Buck had just set the kettle on the stove. He stood up, and a frown of
+perplexity darkened his brow.
+
+"Maybe I won't be able to get to camp again," he said. "Maybe we'll
+need 'em for another reason."
+
+"What other?"
+
+"The sheriff's comin'. That woman's sent for him. I've figgered out he
+can't get along till 'bout to-morrow night, or the next mornin'.
+Anyway it don't do to reckon close on how quick a sheriff can git
+doin'."
+
+The Padre's smile had died out of his eyes. He sighed.
+
+"The sheriff's coming, eh?" Then he went on after a pause. "But these
+stores--I don't see----"
+
+A dark flame suddenly lit Buck's eyes, but though he broke in quickly
+it was without the heat that was evidently stirring within him.
+
+"They're for Joan, an' me--an' you. When the time comes guess we're
+going where no sheriff can follow us, if you don't make trouble. I
+don't guess you need tellin' of the valley below us. You know it, an'
+you know the steps. You know the canyon away on toward Devil's Hill.
+That's the way we're goin'--when the time comes. An' I'd say there
+ain't no sheriff or dep'ties'll care to follow us through that canyon.
+After that we cut away north. Ther's nobody can follow our trail that
+way."
+
+Something almost of defiance grew into his voice as he proceeded. He
+was expecting denial, and was ready to resist it with all his force.
+
+The Padre shook his head.
+
+"Buck, Buck, this is madness--rank madness," he cried. "To resist the
+law in the way your hot head dictates is to outlaw yourselves beyond
+all redemption. You don't understand what you are doing. You don't
+know to what you are condemning this little Joan. You don't know how
+surely your methods will condemn _me_."
+
+But Buck was on fire with rebellion against the injustice of a
+law which claimed the Padre as its victim. He saw the hideous
+possibilities following upon his friend's arrest, and was determined
+to give his life in the service of his defense.
+
+"It's not madness," he declared vehemently. "It's justice, real
+justice that we should defend our freedom. If you wer' guilty, Padre,
+it would be dead right to save yourself. It's sure the right of
+everything to save its life. If you're innocent you sure got still
+more right. Padre, I tell you they mean to fix you. That woman's got
+a cinch she ain't lettin' go. She's lived for this time, Joan's told
+me. She'll raise plumb hell to send you to your death. Padre, just
+listen to us. It's me an' Joan talkin' now. What I say she says. We
+can see these things different to you; we're young. You say it's your
+duty to give up to this woman. We say it's our duty you _shan't_. If
+you give up to her you're giving up to devil's mischief, an' that's
+dead wrong. An' nothin' you can say can show me you got a right to
+help devil's work. We'll light out of here before they come. Us three.
+If you stop here, we stop too, an' that's why I got the ammunition.
+More than that. Ther's others, too, won't see you taken. Ther's
+fellers with us in the camp--fellers who owe you a heap--like I do."
+
+The Padre watched the steam rising from the kettle with moody eyes.
+The youngster was tempting him sorely. He knew Buck's determination,
+his blind loyalty. He felt that herein lay his own real danger. Yes,
+to bolt again, as he had done that time before, would be an easy way
+out. But its selfishness was too obvious. He could not do it. To do so
+would be to drag them in his train of disaster, to blight their lives
+and leave them under the grinding shadow of the law.
+
+No, it could not be.
+
+"Looked at from the way you look at it, there is right enough in what
+you say, boy," he said kindly. "But you can't look at civilized life
+as these mountains teach you to look at things. When the sheriff comes
+I yield to arrest, and I trust in God to help us all. My mind is made
+up."
+
+For some moments Buck stared down at the sturdy friend who had taken
+the place of his dead father. His eyes softened, and their fire died
+out. But there was no rescinding of his desperate decision. He was
+thinking of what it would mean, the thought of this white-haired man
+in the hands of the executioner. He was thinking of the kindly heart
+beating within that stalwart bosom. He was thinking of the wonderful,
+thoughtful kindness for others which was always the motive of his
+life. And a deep-throated curse rose to his lips. But it found no
+utterance. It could not in that presence.
+
+"An' my mind's made up," he jerked out at last, with concentrated
+force. Then he added with an abrupt softening, "Let's eat, Padre. I
+was forgettin'. Mebbe you're hungry some."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+THE JOY OF BEASLEY
+
+
+An unusual number of horses were tethered at the posts outside
+Beasley's saloon, and, a still more unusual thing, their owners, for
+the most part, were not in their usual places within the building.
+Most of them were lounging on the veranda in various attitudes best
+calculated to rest them from the effects of the overpowering heat of
+the day. Beasley was lounging with them. For once he seemed to have
+weakened in his restless energy, or found something of greater
+interest than that of netting questionable gains.
+
+The latter seemed to be the more likely, for his restless eyes
+displayed no lack of mental activity. At any rate, he displayed an
+attitude that afternoon which startled even his bartender. Not once,
+but several times that individual, of pessimistic mood, had been
+called upon to dispense free rations of the worst possible liquor in
+the place, until, driven from wonder to protest, he declared, with
+emphatic conviction and an adequate flow of blasphemy, addressing
+himself to the bottles under the counter, the smeary glasses he
+breathed upon while wiping with a soiled and odoriferous cloth, that
+the boss was "bug--plumb bug." Nevertheless, his own understanding of
+"crookedness" warned him that the man had method, and he was anxious
+to discover the direction in which it was moving. Therefore he
+watched Beasley's doings with appreciative eyes, and his interest grew
+as the afternoon waned.
+
+"He's on a crook lay," he told himself after a while. And the thought
+brightened his outlook upon life, and helped to banish some of his
+pessimism.
+
+The chief feature of interest for him lay in the fact that the men
+foregathered were a collection of those who belonged to the
+"something-for-nothing" class, as he graphically described them. And
+he observed, too, that Beasley was carefully shepherding them. There
+were a few of the older hands of the camp, but these seemed to have
+less interest for his boss. At least he showed far less consideration
+for them. And it quickly became evident that the whole afternoon's
+object was the adequate ingratiation and stimulation of these dregs of
+frontier life.
+
+This the bartender saw quite clearly. For the rest he was content to
+wait. He had spent most of his life in thus waiting and watching the
+nefarious schemes of unscrupulous men.
+
+The heat was overpowering. It was almost an effort to breathe, let
+alone move about. The men lolled, propped against the baulks of timber
+supporting the veranda roof, stretched out on benches, or crouching on
+the raised edge of the wooden flooring. One and all were in a state of
+wiltering in the stewing heat, from which only an intermittent flow of
+fiery spirit could rouse them.
+
+Beasley was the one exception to this general condition of things.
+Mentally he was particularly alert. And, what is more, his temper,
+usually so irritable and fiery, was reduced to a perfect level of good
+humor.
+
+For some moments talk had died out. Then in a sudden fit of
+irritability Abe Allinson kicked a loose stone in the direction of the
+tethered horses.
+
+"Say," he observed, "this 'minds one o' the time we struck color at
+the hill."
+
+His eyes wandered toward the gathering shadows, slowly obscuring the
+grim sides of Devil's Hill. His remark was addressed to no one in
+particular.
+
+Beasley took him up. It was his purpose to keep these men stirring.
+
+"How?" he inquired.
+
+"Why, the heat. Say, git a peek at that sky. Look yonder. The sun. Get
+them durned banks o' cloud swallerin' it right up atop o' them hills.
+Makes you think, don't it? That's storm. It's comin' big--an' before
+many hours."
+
+"For which we'll all be a heap thankful." Beasley laughed. "Another
+day of this an' I'll be done that tender a gran'ma could eat me."
+
+His remark drew a flicker of a smile.
+
+"She'd need good ivories," observed the gambler, Diamond Jack, with
+mild sarcasm.
+
+Beasley took the remark as a compliment to his business capacity, and
+grinned amiably.
+
+"Jack's right. You'd sure give her an elegant pain, else," added
+Curly, in a tired voice. He was steadily staring down the trail in a
+manner that suggested indifference to any coming storm. Somebody
+laughed half-heartedly. But Curly had no desire to enliven things, and
+went on quite seriously.
+
+"Say, when's this bum sheriff gettin' around?" he demanded.
+
+Beasley took him up at once.
+
+"Some time to-night," he said, in a well-calculated tone of
+resentment. "That's why I got you boys around now," he added
+significantly.
+
+"You mean----?" Diamond Jack nodded in the direction of the farm.
+
+Beasley nodded.
+
+"That old crow bait got back early this mornin'," he went on. "I was
+waitin' on her. She guessed she hadn't a thing to say, an' I surely
+was up agin a proposition. So I jest made out I was feelin' good
+seein' her git back, an' told her I wa'an't lookin' for information
+she didn't guess she was givin', and ther' wasn't no need fer her to
+say a thing. She guessed that was so. After that I passed things by,
+sayin' how some o' the boys hated sheriffs wuss'n rattlesnakes--an'
+she laffed. Yes, sir, she laffed, an' it must have hurt her some.
+Anyways she opened out at that, an' said, if any boys hated the sight
+of sheriffs they'd better hunt their holes before sun-up. Guess she
+didn't just use them words, but she give 'em that time limit. Say, if
+I was the Padre I'd sooner have the devil on my trail than that
+old--bunch o' marrow bones."
+
+Slaney looked up from the bench on which he was spread out.
+
+"Guess he'll have wuss'n her when Bob Richards gets around," he said
+gloomily.
+
+"D'you reckon they'll git him--with Buck around?" inquired Curly
+anxiously.
+
+"Buck! Tcha!" Beasley's dislike for the moment got the better of his
+discretion. But he quickly realized his mistake, and proceeded to
+twist his meaning. "It makes me mad. It makes me plumb crazed when I
+think o' that bully feller, the Padre, bein' give dead away by the
+folks at the farm. Buck? Psha'! Who's Buck agin a feller like Bob
+Richards? Bob's the greatest sheriff ever stepped in Montana. He'll
+twist Buck so he won't know rye whisky from sow-belly. Buck's grit,
+elegant grit, but Bob--wal, I'd say he's the wisest guy west of
+Chicago, when it comes to stringin' up a crook."
+
+"I'm with you, boss," cried Diamond Jack, in a quick rage. "This farm
+needs lookin' to to-night sure. We got to git in 'fore sheriffs git
+around. They're playin' a low-down racket. Jonahs don't cut no ice
+with me, but they're chasin' up glory agin the camp. That's how I read
+it. Guess none of us is saints, anyways I don't seem to hear no wings
+flappin'; but givin' folks up to the law is--low."
+
+Abe Allinson grunted, and a general atmosphere of silent approval
+prevailed. Beasley, whose eyes were watching every expression, pushed
+the ball further along.
+
+"Low?" he cried. "You, Jack, don't know the guy we're so dead keen to
+help out. If you did you'd git right up on to your hind legs an' cuss
+terrible--an' you've cussed some in your time. But for him this camp
+wouldn't be the bonanza it is. You wouldn't be nettin' a pile of
+dollars every night in my bar. I wouldn't be runnin' a big proposition
+in dollar makin'. These boys wouldn't be chasin' gold on full bellies.
+Gee, it makes me mad--an' thirsty. Let's get around inside an' see
+what that glass rustler of mine can do."
+
+The response was immediate and complete. No man had ever been known to
+refuse Beasley's hospitality. Everybody drank. And they drank again at
+Diamond Jack's expense. Then later they drank at their own. And all
+the while Beasley, with consummate skill, shepherded them to his own
+ends.
+
+It was truly wonderful to see the manner in which he handled them. He
+adopted the simplest tactics, once he had set the ball rolling,
+contenting himself with dropping in a word here and there every time
+the subject of the sheriff drifted toward his ears. He knew these men.
+He possessed that keenness of insight into his customers which no
+successful saloon-keeper fails to acquire. He understood their
+weaknesses in a manner which left it a simple enough task to play upon
+them. In this case the basis of his procedure was drink--strong, harsh
+whisky, of a violent type.
+
+The banking clouds rose ponderously upon the hilltops, blacking out
+the twilight with an abruptness which must have held deep significance
+for men less occupied. But the dominant overcast of their minds was
+the coming of the sheriff. For many of them it was far more ominous
+than any storm of nature.
+
+The bar filled to overflowing. No one cared to gamble. There would
+have been no room for them, anyway. Even Diamond Jack showed no
+inclination to pursue his trade. Perhaps this was the most significant
+feature of all.
+
+His was a weighty word thrown in the balance of public opinion.
+Perhaps this was the result of his well-understood shrewdness. At any
+rate he never failed to find a ready audience for his opinions, and
+to-night his opinions were strongly and forcefully declared. Beasley
+listened to him with interest, and smiled as he observed him moving
+about amongst the crowd drinking with one, treating another, his
+tongue never idle in his denunciation of sheriffs, and all those who
+called in their aid. It almost seemed as if the man was acting under
+orders, orders, perhaps inspired by a subtler mind, to disguise the
+real source whence they sprang.
+
+The gambler was truly a firebrand, and so well did he handle his
+people, so well did he stir them by his disgust and righteous horror
+at the employment of a sheriff in their midst, that by nine o'clock
+the camp was loud in its clamor for retribution to be visited upon
+those who had brought such a terror into their midst.
+
+Beasley's amiability grew. His bartender watched it in amazement. But
+it oppressed him. His pessimism resented it. He hated joy, and the
+evidences of joy in others. There was real pleasure for him in Diamond
+Jack's hectoring denunciations. It was something which appealed to
+him. Besides, he could see the gambler was harassed, perhaps afraid of
+the sheriff himself. He even envied him his fear. But Beasley's
+satisfaction was depressing, and, as a protest, he neglected to
+overcharge the more drunken of their customers. Beasley must not have
+all the satisfaction.
+
+But, as far as Beasley was concerned, the bartender was little better
+than a piece of furniture that night. His employer had almost
+forgotten his existence. Truth to tell, Beasley had lost his head in
+his disease of venom. One thought, and one thought only urged him.
+To-night, before the advent of the sheriff to seize upon the person of
+the hated Padre, he hoped, by one stroke, to crush the heart of Buck,
+and bow the proud head of the girl who had so plainly showed her
+dislike and contempt for him, in the dust of shame and despair.
+
+It was a moment worth waiting for. It was a moment of joy he would not
+lightly forego. Nor did he care what time, patience, or money it cost
+him. To strike at those whom he hated was as the breath of life to
+him. And he meant to drink deeply of his cup of joy.
+
+His moment came. It came swiftly, suddenly, like most matters of great
+import. His opportunity came at the psychological moment, when the
+last shred of temperance had been torn from wild, lawless hearts,
+which, in such moments, were little better than those of savage
+beasts. It came when the poison of complaint and bitterness had at
+last searched out the inmost recesses of stunted, brutalized minds.
+And Beasley snatched at it hungrily, like a worm-ridden dog will
+snatch at the filthiest offal.
+
+The drunken voice of Abe Allinson lifted above the general din. He was
+lolling against one end of the counter, isolated from his fellows by
+reason of his utterly stupefied condition. He was in a state when he
+no longer had interest for his companions. He rolled about blear-eyed
+and hopelessly mumbling, with a half-emptied glass in his hand, which
+he waved about uncertainly. Suddenly an impotent spasm of rage seemed
+to take hold of him. With a hoarse curse he raised his glass and
+hurled it crashing against the wall. Then, with a wild, prolonged
+whoop he shouted the result of his drunken cogitations.
+
+"We'll burn 'em! Drown 'em! Shoot 'em! Hang 'em! Come on, fellers,
+foller me!"
+
+He made a staggering effort to leave his support. He straightened up.
+For a moment he poised, swaying. Then he pitched forward on his face
+and lay stretched full length upon the floor.
+
+But all had heard. And Beasley snatched at his opportunity. He sprang
+upon the counter in the moment of astonished quiet, and, before
+tongues broke loose again, he had the whole attention of the crowd.
+
+"Here, boys," he cried. "Abe's right. Drunk as he is, he's right. Only
+he sure wants to do too much--more than his legs'll let him." He
+grinned. "We're goin' to do this thing right now. But we're goin' to
+do it like good citizens of a dandy city. We ain't goin' to act like a
+gang of lynchers. We're dealin' with a gal, with gold ha'r an' blue
+eyes, an' we're goin' to deal accordin'. We ain't lookin' fer her
+life. That's too easy, an', wal--she's a woman. No, we're goin' to rid
+this place of her an' all her tribe. We're goin' to make it so she
+can't stop to do no more harm, bringin' sheriffs around. We're goin'
+to burn her home right out, an' we're goin' to set her in her wagon
+an' team, an' let her drive to hell out of here. We're goin' to do it
+right now, before the sheriff gets busy along here. After that we'll
+be too late. Are you game? Who's comin'? We're goin' to burn that
+Jonah farm till ther' ain't a stick left above ground to say it ever
+stood there. That's what we're goin' to do, an' I'm the man who'll
+start the bonfire. Say, we'll make it like a fourth o' July. We'll
+have one royal time--an' we'll be quit of all Jonahs."
+
+As he finished speaking he leapt to the ground amidst the crowd. Nor
+did he need to wait to hear the response to his appeal. It came in one
+of those unanimous, drunken roars, only to be heard in such a place,
+at such a time, or on a battle-field, when insensate fury demands a
+raucous outlet. Every man in the place, lost, for the moment, to all
+the dictates of honest manhood, was ready to follow the leadership of
+one whom, in sober moments, they all disliked. It was an extraordinary
+exhibition of the old savage which ever lies so near the surface in
+men upon the fringe of civilization.
+
+Nor did Beasley give them time to think. His orders came rapidly. The
+bartender, for once his eyes sparkling at the thought of trouble about
+to visit an unsuspecting fellow-creature, hurled himself to the task
+of dealing out one large final drink to everybody. Then when a
+sufficient supply of materials of an inflammatory nature had been
+gathered together, the saloon-keeper placed himself at the head of his
+men, supported by the only too willing Diamond Jack, and the
+procession started out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+STRONGER THAN DEATH
+
+
+From the time of her aunt's going to Leeson Butte to the morning of
+her return to the farm Joan passed through a nightmare of uncertainty
+and hopelessness. Every moment of her time seemed unreal. Her very
+life seemed unreal. It was as though her mind were detached from her
+body, and she was gazing upon the scenes of a drama in which she had
+no part, while yet she was weighted down with an oppressive fear of
+the tragedy which she knew was yet to come.
+
+Every moment she felt that the threat of disaster was growing. That it
+was coming nearer and nearer, and that now no power on earth could
+avert it.
+
+Twice only during that dreary interval of waiting she saw Buck. But
+even his presence did little more than ease her dread and despair,
+leaving it crushing her down the more terribly with the moment of his
+going. He came to her with his usual confidence, but it was only with
+information of his own preparations for his defense of his friend. She
+could listen to them, told in his strong, reliant manner, with hope
+stirring her heart and a great, deep love for the man thrilling her
+every nerve. But with his going came the full realization of the
+significance of the necessity of such preparations. The very
+recklessness of them warned her beyond doubt how small was the chance
+of the Padre's escape. Buck had declared his certainty of outwitting
+the law, even if it necessitated using force against the man whom he
+intended to save.
+
+Left to her own resources Joan found them weak enough. So weak indeed
+that at last she admitted to herself that the evidences of the curse
+that had dogged her through life were no matters of distorted
+imagination. They were real enough. Terribly real. And the admission
+found her dreading and helpless. She knew she had gone back to the
+fatal obsession, which, aided by the Padre and her lover, she had so
+loyally contended. She knew in those dark moments she was weakly
+yielding. These men had come into her life, had sown fresh seeds of
+promise, but they had been sown in soil choked with weeds of
+superstition, and so had remained wholly unfruitful.
+
+How could it be otherwise? Hard upon the heels of Buck's love had come
+this deadly attack of fate upon him and his. The miracle of it was
+stupendous. It had come in a way that was utterly staggering. It had
+come, not as with those others who had gone before, but out of her
+life. It had come direct from her and hers. And the disaster
+threatened was not merely death but disgrace, disgrace upon a good
+man, even upon her lover, which would last as long as they two had
+life.
+
+The sense of tragedy merged into the maddening thought of the
+injustice of it. It was monstrous. It was a tyranny for which there
+was no justification, and it goaded her to the verge of hysteria.
+Whatever she did now the hand of fate would move on irrevocably
+fulfilling its purpose to the bitter end. She knew it. In spite of all
+Buck's confidence, all his efforts to save his friend, the disaster
+would be accomplished, and her lover would be lost to her in the
+vortex of her evil destiny.
+
+Fool--fool that she had been. Wicked even, yes, wicked, that she had
+not foreseen whither her new life was drifting. It was for her to have
+anticipated the shoals of trouble in the tide of Buck's strong young
+life. It was for her to have prevented the mingling of their lives. It
+was for her to have shut him out of her thoughts and denied him access
+to the heart that beat so warmly for him. She had been weak, so weak.
+On every count she had failed to prove the strength she had believed
+herself to possess. It was a heart-breaking thought.
+
+But she loved. It would have been impossible to have denied her love.
+She would not have denied it if she could. Her rebellion against her
+fate now carried her further. She had the right to love this man. She
+had the right which belongs to every woman in the world. And he
+desired her love. He desired it above all things in the world--and he
+had no fear.
+
+Then the strangeness of it. With all that had gone before she had had
+no misgivings until the moment he had poured out all the strength of
+his great love into her yearning ears. She had not recognized the
+danger besetting them. She had not paused to ask a question of
+herself, to think of the possibilities. She loved him, and the thought
+of his love thrilled her even now amidst all her despair. But the
+moment his words of love had been spoken, even with the first
+wonderful thrill of joy had come the reality of awakening. Then--then
+it was that the evil of her fate had unmasked itself and showed its
+hideous features, leering, mocking, in the memory of what had gone
+before, taunting her for her weakly efforts to escape the doom marked
+out for her.
+
+All this she thought of in her black moments. All this and far, far
+more than could ever take shape in words. And her terror of what was
+to come became unspeakable. But through it all one thing, one gleam of
+hope obtruded itself. It was not a tangible hope. It was not even a
+hope that could have found expression. It was merely a picture that
+ever confronted her, even when darkness seemed most nearly to
+overwhelm her.
+
+It was the picture of Buck's young face, full of strength and
+confidence. Somehow the picture was always one of hope. It caught no
+reflection of her own trouble, but lived in her memory undiminished by
+any despair, however black.
+
+Once or twice she found herself wondering at it. Sometimes she felt it
+to be merely a trick of memory to taunt her with that which could
+never be, and so she tried to shut out the vague hopes it aroused.
+But, as time went on, and the hour for her aunt's return drew near,
+the recurrence of the picture became so persistent that it was rarely
+out of her mental vision. It was a wonderful thought. She saw him as
+she had seen him when first he laughed her threat of disaster and
+death to scorn. She could never forget that moment. She could hear his
+laugh now, that laugh, so full of youthful courage, which had rung
+through the old barn.
+
+Pondering thus her mind suddenly traveled back to something which, in
+the midst of all her tribulations, had completely passed out of her
+recollection. She was startled. She was startled so that she gasped
+with the sudden feeling it inspired. What was it? Something her aunt
+had said. Yes, she remembered now. And with memory the very words came
+back to her, full of portentous meaning. And as they rushed pell-mell
+through her straining brain a great uplifting bore her toward that
+hope which she suddenly realized was not yet dead.
+
+"Go you and find a love so strong that no disaster can kill it. And
+maybe life may still have some compensations for you, maybe it will
+lift the curse from your suffering shoulders. It--it is the only thing
+in the world that is stronger than disaster. It is the only thing in
+the world that is stronger than--death."
+
+They were her aunt's words spoken in the vehemence of her prophetic
+passion. It was the one thing, she had warned her, that could save
+her.
+
+Was this the love she had found? Was this the love to lead her to
+salvation--this wonderful love of Buck's? Was this that which was to
+leave life some compensations? Was this that which was stronger than
+disaster--than death? Yes, yes! Her love was her life. And now without
+it she must die. Yes, yes! Buck--young, glorious in his courage and
+strength. He was stronger than disaster, and their love--was it not
+stronger than death?
+
+From the moment of this wonderful recollection, a gentle calm
+gradually possessed her. The straining of those two long wakeful
+nights, the nightmare of dread which had pursued her into the daylight
+hours, left her with a sudden ease of thought she had never hoped to
+find again. It all came back to her. Her aunt had told her whither she
+must seek the key that would unlock the prison gates of fate, and all
+inadvertently she had found it.
+
+In Buck's love must lay her salvation. With that stronger than death
+no disaster could come. He was right, and she was all wrong. He had
+laughed them to scorn--she must join in his laugh.
+
+So at last came peace. The last wakeful night before the morning of
+her aunt's return terminated in a few hours of refreshing, much-needed
+slumber. Hope had dawned, and the morrow must bring the morrow's
+events. She would endeavor to await them with something of the
+confidence which supported Buck.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The room was still, so still that its atmosphere might have been
+likened to the night outside, which was heavy with the presage of
+coming storm. There was a profound feeling of opposing forces at work,
+yet the silence remained undisturbed.
+
+It was nearly nine o'clock, and the yellow lamplight shed its soft
+monotony over the little parlor, revealing the occupants of the room
+in attitudes of tense concentration, even antagonism. Mercy Lascelles
+swayed slowly to and fro in the new rocking-chair Joan had purchased
+for her comfort. Her attenuated figure was huddled down in that
+familiar attitude which the girl knew so well, but her face wore an
+expression which Joan had never beheld before.
+
+Usually her hard eyes were coldly unsmiling. Now they
+smiled--terribly. Usually her thin cheeks were almost dead white in
+their pallor. Now they were flushed and hectic with a suggestion of
+the inward fire that lit her eyes. The harsh mouth was irrevocably
+set, till nose and chin looked as though they soon must meet, while
+the hideous dark rings showed up the cruel glare of her eyes, which
+shone diabolically.
+
+Joan stood some paces away. She was looking down aghast at the
+crouching figure, and her eyes were horrified. This was the first she
+had seen of her relative since her return that morning. The old woman
+had shut herself up in her bedroom, refusing to speak, or to eat, all
+day. But now she had emerged from her seclusion, and Joan had been
+forced to listen to the story of her journey.
+
+It was a painful story, and still more painfully told. It was full of
+a cruel enjoyment such as never in her life Joan had believed this
+woman capable of. Her eccentricities were many, her nervous tendencies
+strange and often weird, but never had such a side of her character as
+she now presented been allowed to rise to the surface.
+
+At first Joan wondered as she listened. She wondered at the fierce
+purpose which underlaid this weakly body. But with each passing
+moment, with each fresh detail of her motives and methods, her wonder
+deepened to a rapidly growing conviction which filled her with horror
+and repulsion. She told herself that the woman was no longer sane. At
+last she had fallen a victim to her racked and broken nerves, as the
+doctors had prophesied. To them, and to the everlasting brooding upon
+her disappointments and injuries for all these long years.
+
+This she felt, and yet the feeling conveyed no real conviction to her
+mind. All she knew was that loathing and repulsion stirred her, until
+the thought revolted her that she was breathing the same air as one
+who could be capable of such vicious cruelty. But she struggled to
+stifle all outward sign. And though she was only partly successful she
+contrived to keep her words calm, even if her eyes, those windows of
+her simple girl's soul, would not submit to such control.
+
+"I'm over fifty now, girl," Mercy finished up, in a low suppressed
+tone, husky with feeling, yet thrilling with a cruel triumph. "Over
+fifty, and, for the last twenty and more years of it, I have waited
+for this moment. I have waited with a patience you can never
+understand because you have never been made to suffer as I have. But I
+knew it would come. I have known it every day of those twenty years,
+because I have read it in that book in which I have read so many
+things which concern human life. I was robbed of life years and years
+ago. Yes, life. I have been a dead woman these twenty years. My life
+was gone when your father died, leaving you, another woman's child, in
+my hands. God in heaven! Sometimes I wonder why I did not strangle the
+wretched life out of you years ago--you, another woman's child, but
+yet with Charles Stanmore's blood in your veins. Perhaps it was
+because of that I spared your life. Perhaps it was because I read your
+fate, and knew you had to suffer, that I preferred my sister's child
+should reap the reward of her mother's crime--yes, crime. Perhaps it
+was that while Charles Stanmore lived my hopes and longings were still
+capable of fulfilment. But he is dead--dead years and years ago. And
+with his death my life went out too. Now there is only revenge. No,
+not revenge," she laughed, "justice to be dealt out. That justice it
+is my joy to see dispensed. That justice it is my joy to feel that my
+hand has brought its administering about.
+
+"I have laid all the information necessary. I have a lawyer in Leeson
+Butte in communication with my man in New York. And--and the sheriff
+and his men will be here before daylight. Oh, yes, I can afford to
+tell you now that the work is accomplished. You shall have no
+opportunity of communicating with your friends. I shall not sleep
+to-night. Nor will you leave this house. There is a means of holding
+you here. A means which will never be far from my hand." She tapped
+the bosom of her dress significantly, and Joan understood that she had
+armed herself. "The arrest will be made while they are still sleeping
+in that old fort of theirs--and your young Buck will pay the penalty
+if he interferes. Yes, yes," she added, rubbing her lean, almost
+skeleton hands together in an access of satisfaction, "when you sip
+your coffee in the morning, my girl, your Buck's foster-father will be
+on his way to the jail from which he will only emerge for the comfort
+of an electric chair. I have endured twenty years of mental torture,
+but--I have not endured them in vain."
+
+The cold, consummate completeness with which the woman detailed her
+carefully considered plans turned Joan's heart to stone. It chilled
+her and left her shivering in the awful heat. For one moment, one weak
+moment when her woman's spirit quailed before the deadly array of
+facts, she felt faint, and one hand sought the table for support. But
+with a tremendous effort she recovered herself. It was the thought of
+Buck which helped her. She could not let him fall into the trap so
+well laid by this--this creature, without an effort to save them both.
+In a flash her mind pictured the scene of the Padre's capture. She saw
+the fort surrounded by the "deputies." She saw the Padre shackled
+before he could rise from his blankets. She saw Buck, under cover of
+ruthless firearms, hurl himself to the rescue and pay for his temerity
+with his life. In a sudden overwhelming passion of appeal she flung
+herself on her knees before the terrible old woman.
+
+"Aunt, aunt!" she cried. "You cannot be so heartless, so cruel. There
+is a mistake. You are mistaken. The Padre swears to his innocence, and
+if you knew him as I know him, as all this countryside knows him, you
+_must_ believe. He is not capable of murder. My father committed
+suicide. Think, think of all that went before his death, and you, too,
+will see that everything points to suicide. Oh, aunt, think of what
+you are doing. The plans you have made _must_ involve the man I love.
+A perfectly innocent man, as even you know. If my father was all your
+world, so is Buck all mine. He will defend the Padre. I know him. And
+as you say he will pay the penalty with his life. If you have one
+grain of pity, if you have one remaining thought of love for my dead
+father, then spare this man to his daughter. Where is the right that
+you should involve Buck? You do not even know him. Oh, aunt, you have
+lived all these twenty years with me. In your own way you have cared
+for me. Sacrifice your enmity against this innocent man. It will give
+you a peace of mind you have never known before, and will give me the
+happiness of the man I love."
+
+Mercy's eyes lit with fine scorn as she caught at Joan's final words.
+
+"The happiness of the man you love!" she cried with passionate anger,
+"Why should I give you your man's love? Why should I help any woman to
+a happiness I have never been allowed to taste? Perhaps it pleases me
+to think that your Buck will be involved. Have I not warned you of the
+disaster which you have permitted him to court? Listen, girl, not one
+detail of all that which I have waited for will I forego. Not one
+detail. When it is accomplished nothing on earth matters to me. The
+sooner I am off it the better. The sooner I leave this world for
+other realms the sooner I shall be able to pursue those others who
+have injured me and passed on to--a fresh habitation. Do you
+understand? Do you understand that I will brook no interference from
+you? Peace, child, I want no more talk. When this night is over I
+leave here--nor shall I ever willingly cross your path again. You are
+another woman's child, and so long as you live, so long as we are
+brought into contact, the sting of the past must ever remain in my
+heart. Go to your bed, and leave me to watch and wait until the
+morning."
+
+The old woman's domination was strong--it was so strong that Joan felt
+appalled before the terrible mental force she was putting forth. The
+horror of her diseased mind sickened her, and filled her with
+something closely allied to terror. But she would not submit. Her love
+was greater than her courage, her power to resist for herself. She was
+thinking of those two men, but most of all she was thinking of Buck.
+She was determined upon another effort. And when that effort was
+spent--upon still another.
+
+"Listen to me, aunt," she cried with no longer any attempt at appeal,
+with no longer any display of regard for this woman as a relation. "I
+am mistress in my own house, and I shall do as I choose. I, too, shall
+sit up and you will have to listen to me."
+
+Mercy smiled ironically.
+
+"Yes, you are mistress in your own house, so long as you do not
+attempt to interfere with my plans. Sit up, girl, if you choose, and
+talk. I am prepared to listen even though your twaddle bores me."
+
+A sound caught Joan's attention, and the desperate position of her
+lover and his friend set thought flashing swiftly through her mind.
+The sound was of Mrs. Ransford moving in the kitchen.
+
+"Then listen to this," she cried. "You have told me that I am cursed.
+You have told me that death and disaster must follow me wherever I go.
+I love Buck. It is the first and only time I shall ever love. I know
+that. He is the love of my whole life. Without him, without his love,
+life to me is inconceivable. He and his love are so precious to me
+that I would give my life for his at any moment--now, if need be. I
+want you to know that. You have armed yourself so that I shall not
+interfere with your plans. I tell you it is useless, for I shall warn
+him--cost me what it may."
+
+She watched the other closely. She watched for the effect of her
+words--every one of which was spoken from the bottom of her heart. The
+effect was what she anticipated. She knew this woman's expressed
+intention was deliberate, and would be carried out. One hand moved
+toward her lean bosom, and Joan knew, without doubt, what she had to
+face. Turning her back deliberately she moved across to the window,
+which was wide open in a vain attempt to cool the superheated room,
+and took up her place near the table, so that she was in full view of
+her aunt's insane eyes. Then she went on at once--
+
+"You call it justice that you would mete out to the Padre. I tell you
+it is a ruthless, cold-hearted revenge, which amounts to deliberate
+murder. It is murder because you know he cannot prove his innocence.
+That, perhaps, is your affair. But Buck's life is mine. And in
+threatening the Padre you threaten him, because he will defend his
+friend to the last. Perhaps by this, in your insane vanity, you hope
+to justify yourself as a seer and prophetess, instead of being
+forced to the admission that you are nothing but a mountebank, an
+unscrupulous mountebank--and even worse. But I will humor you. I will
+show you how your own words are coming back on you. I had almost
+forgotten them, so lost was I in my foolish belief in your powers. You
+told me there was salvation for me in a love that was stronger than
+death. Well, I have found that love. And if, as you claim, there is
+truth in your science, then I challenge you, the disaster and death
+you would now bring about cannot--will not take place. You are only a
+woman of earthly powers, a heartless creature, half demented by your
+venomous hatred of a good man. Your ends can, and will be defeated."
+
+She paused, breathing hard with the emotion which the effort of her
+denunciation had inspired, and in that pause she beheld a vision of
+devilish hatred and purpose such as she could never have believed
+possible in her aunt.
+
+"You would rebel! You challenge me!" cried Mercy, springing from her
+chair with a movement almost unbelievable in so ailing a creature.
+"You are mad--utterly mad. It is not I who am insane, but you--you.
+You call me a mountebank. What has your life been? Has not everything
+I have told you been part of it? Even here--here. Did I not tell you
+you could not escape your curse? Have you escaped it? And you think
+you can escape it now." She laughed suddenly, a hideous laugh which
+set Joan shuddering. "The love you have found must prove itself. You
+say it is the love that will save you. I tell you it is not. Nothing
+can save this man now. Nothing can save your Buck if he interferes
+now. Nothing can save you, if you interfere now. I tell you I have
+taken every care that there is no loophole of escape. No earthly power
+can serve you."
+
+"No earthly power?" Joan echoed the words unconsciously, while she
+stood fascinated by that terrible face so working with malignant
+hatred.
+
+But only for a moment it held her. Her love was stronger that all her
+woman's fears. Her Buck was in danger, and that other. The warning.
+She must get that warning to them.
+
+Suddenly she leant forward upon the table as though to emphasize what
+she had to say.
+
+"Whatever happens to-night, aunt," she cried, her big eyes glowing in
+a growing excitement, her red-gold hair shining like burnished copper
+in the light from the lamp which was so near to it, "I hope God may
+forgive you this terrible wicked spirit which is driving you. Some day
+I may find it in my heart to forgive you. That which I have to do you
+are driving me to, and I pray God I may succeed."
+
+As the last word left her lips she seized the lamp from the table,
+and, with all her strength, hurled it through the open window. As it
+sped it extinguished itself and crashed to the ground outside, leaving
+the room in utter darkness. At the same instant she sprang to the sill
+of the open window, and flung herself from the room. As she, too, fell
+to the ground a shot rang out behind her, and she felt the bullet tear
+through her masses of coiled hair.
+
+But her excitement was at fever heat. She waited for nothing. Her
+lover's life was claiming every nerve in her body. His life, and that
+other's. She scrambled to her feet and dodged clear of the window,
+just as a chorus of harsh execration reached her ears. She looked
+toward the barns and hay corrals whence the sound came, and, on the
+instant, a hideous terror seized upon her. The barn was afire! The hay
+had just been fired! And, in the inky blackness of the night, the
+ruddy glow leapt suddenly and lit up the figures of a crowd of men,
+now shouting and blaspheming at the result of the shot from the house.
+
+For one moment Joan stood still, trembling in every limb, heedless of
+the vengeful creature behind her. She was overwhelmed by the now utter
+and complete hopelessness of her case. Her horses were in the barn
+which had been fired. And they were her only means of reaching her
+lover.
+
+Then in a moment, as she beheld the shouting crowd coming toward the
+house, voicing their intent to burn that, along with its occupants,
+her mind went back to those still within. The wretched woman, whose
+death by burning might save the Padre, and her rough but faithful
+housekeeper. Regardless of all consequences to herself, now regardless
+even of the lives of those two men she had hoped to save, she ran back
+to the house.
+
+Flight alone could save the women inside from this drunken crowd.
+Flight--and at once. For, resentful at the shot which had felled one
+of their comrades, the lawless minds of these creatures saw but one
+course to pursue. Well enough Joan knew their doctrine of a life for a
+life. She must go back. She must save those two from this ravening
+horde.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+THE TEMPEST BREAKS
+
+
+Buck moved out of C�sar's stall. He had just finished lightly securing
+the double cinchas of his saddle. The bulging saddle-bags had been
+made fast behind the cantle and the wallets strapped upon the horn.
+Now the great animal was hungrily devouring an added feed of oats
+which his master had poured into its manger.
+
+The man glanced over the equipments, and moved to the other end of the
+stable, where stood the Padre's heavily built chestnut. It, too, was
+ready saddled as though for a journey. Here again the saddle-bags and
+wallets had been filled and adjusted. Here again the creature was
+devouring an extra feed.
+
+Buck heaved a sigh of satisfaction and turned away to where the
+lantern was hanging on a nail in the wooden wall. Close beside this a
+belt, loaded down with revolver ammunition, and carrying two holsters
+from which the butts of a pair of heavy revolvers protruded, was
+suspended from another nail. This he took down and strapped about his
+waist.
+
+His work for the night was done, and all his preparations made. The
+night itself must direct the further course of action for him. As far
+as he could see he had prepared for every possible development, but,
+as he admitted to himself, he could only see from his own point of
+view. He was at work against two opposing forces. There was the law
+and Bob Richards on the one hand, and, on the other, the Padre, with a
+determination equal to his own. Of the two, he felt that the
+redoubtable Bob, backed by the law, would be far the easier to deal
+with.
+
+This night, he anticipated, was to be the last he spent in that old
+fort. He more than anticipated it; he felt certain. He had heard early
+in the day of the return of Joan's Aunt Mercy, and this was an
+all-sufficient reason for his belief. Since that moment he had
+completed every preparation which before he had only tentatively
+considered; and such matters had been attended to entirely independent
+of his friend.
+
+This had to be. It was useless to inform him of anything, worse than
+useless, until the last moment, when he intended that his schemes
+should be executed to the last detail. After much painful thought he
+had finally decided upon coercion to gain his ends. No mere bluff, but
+a straightforward, honest declaration of his intentions. It was very
+hurtful that he must do this thing. But he could not help it. He had
+resolved on saving his friend from himself, and no considerations of
+personal feelings or, in fact, anybody's feelings, should be allowed
+to stand in his way. He regarded his duty as a man, and not as a
+law-abiding citizen. He had no real understanding of the law. His was
+the only law that guided him, and his law demanded of him, rightly or
+wrongly, the defense from all harm of those whom he loved.
+
+His manhood dictated this, and he had no thought of personal danger,
+or toward what painful destiny it might carry him. The future belonged
+to the future, life and death were things of no more account than
+waking to daylight, or the profound slumbers of night. Those who
+would injure him or his friend must be dealt with in the only way he
+understood. To outwit them was his first thought, but he must defeat
+their ends if it cost him his life.
+
+This was the man who had learned from the book of Life, as it is
+written in the earth's rough places. He was not naturally desperate,
+but, as with the creatures of the forests, which had taught him so
+many lessons, when brought to bay in defense of their own, so he was
+ready to bare his teeth--and use them.
+
+He reached for the lantern with the thought of extinguishing it. But
+he changed his mind. There was no window that the light might become a
+beacon. He would close the door and leave it burning.
+
+He turned to pass out, but remained where he was. The Padre was
+standing in the doorway, and his steady eyes were upon the saddled
+horses.
+
+Buck had no word of greeting to offer. His dark eyes were intently
+fixed upon the other's face. In a moment his friend turned to him.
+
+"It's just on nine, Buck," he said, in his kindest fashion. "We
+haven't eaten yet--it's ready."
+
+It was Buck's turn to glance over at the horses so busily eating their
+oats. A curious smile lit his eyes. He knew well enough that the other
+had more than fathomed the meaning of those preparations. He was glad
+he had made no attempt to conceal them. That sort of thing was never
+his way. He had nothing to conceal from his friend.
+
+"I had a few chores to git fixed," he said easily, indicating the
+horses. "They'll sure need a good feed before daylight, I guess."
+
+The Padre pointed at his belt and revolvers.
+
+"And you're sleeping in--them."
+
+"Guess I'm not sleepin'--to-night."
+
+"No--I suppose not."
+
+The Padre looked into the strong young face with a speculative glance.
+
+Buck returned his look with a sudden eagerness.
+
+"You heard?" he asked sharply.
+
+"I've heard--Mercy is back."
+
+Buck watched him turn away to continue his survey of the horses.
+
+"So have you--I s'pose," the older man went on a moment later,
+indicating the horses.
+
+"Yep. Guess they'll need to do a long journey soon. Mebbe--to-night."
+
+"C�sar?" said the Padre.
+
+"Both," returned Buck, with an emphasis, the meaning of which could
+not well be missed.
+
+The Padre's eyes were smiling. He glanced round the tumbled-down old
+barn. They had contrived to house their horses very comfortably, and
+Buck kept them wonderfully cared for. These things appealed to him in
+a way that made him regret many things.
+
+"Who's riding--my plug?" the Padre asked deliberately.
+
+Buck shrugged.
+
+"Why ask?" he said doggedly. "Who generally does? I don't seem to
+guess we need beat around," he went on impatiently. "That ain't bin
+our way, Padre. Guess those hosses are ready for us. They'll be ready
+night an' day--till the time comes. Then--wal, we're both goin' to use
+'em."
+
+The younger man's impatience had no disturbing effect upon the other.
+But his smile deepened to a great look of affection.
+
+"Still chewin' that bone?" he said. Then he shook his head. "What's
+the use? We're just men, you and I; we got our own way of seeing
+things. Twenty years ago maybe I'd have seen things your way. Twenty
+years hence no doubt you'll see things mine----"
+
+"Jest so," Buck broke in, his eyes lighting, and a strong note
+suddenly adding force to his interruption. "But I'm not waitin' twenty
+years so's to see things diff'rent."
+
+"That's what I should have said--twenty years ago."
+
+Buck's face suddenly flushed, and his dark brows drew together as he
+listened to the calm words of his friend. In a moment his answer was
+pouring from his lips in a hot tide which swept his hearer along and
+made him rejoice at the bond which existed between them. Nor, in those
+moments, could he help feeling glad for that day when he had found the
+hungry wayfarer at the trail-side.
+
+"Ther's more than twenty years between us, sure," Buck cried with
+intense feeling. "Nuthin' can alter that, an' ther's sure nuthin' can
+make us see out o' the same eyes, nor feel with the same feelin's.
+Ther's nuthin' can make things seem the same to us. I know that, an'
+it ain't no use you tellin' me. Guess we're made diff'rent that
+way--an' I allow it's as well. If we weren't, wal, I guess neither of
+us would have things right. See here, Padre, you give most everything
+to me you could, ever since you brought me along to the farm. That's
+because it's your way to give. I hadn't nuthin' to give. I haven't
+nuthin' to give now. I can't even give way. Guess you can, though,
+because it's your nature, and because I'm askin' it. Padre, I'm goin'
+to act mean. I'm goin' to act so mean it'll hurt you. But it won't
+hurt you more than it'll hurt me. Mebbe it won't jest hurt you so
+much. But I'm goin' to act that way--because it's my way--when I'm set
+up agin it. You're settin' me up agin it now."
+
+He paused, vainly watching the other's steady eyes for a sign.
+
+"Go on." The Padre's smile was undiminished.
+
+Buck made an impatient movement, and pointed at the horses.
+
+"See them? Ther' they stand," he cried. "Ther' they'll sure stand till
+we both set out for the long trail. I got it all fixed. I got more
+than that fixed. See these guns?" He tapped one of the guns at his
+waist. "They're loaded plumb up. The belt's full of shots. I got two
+repeatin' rifles stowed away, an' their magazines are loaded plumb up,
+too. Wal--unless you say right here you're goin' to hit the trail with
+me, when--things get busy; unless you tell me right out you're goin'
+to let me square off jest a bit of the score you got chalked up agin
+me all these years by lettin' me help you out in this racket, then I'm
+goin' to set right out ther' by the old stockade, and when Bob
+Richards gets around, he an' as many of his dogone dep'ties as I can
+pull down are goin' to get their med'cine. They'll need to take me
+with you, Padre. Guess I'm sharin' that 'chair' with you, if they
+don't hand it me before I get ther'. What I'm sayin' goes, every word
+of it. This thing goes, jest as sure as I'll blow Bob Richards to hell
+before he lays hand on you."
+
+The younger man's eyes shone with a passionate determination. There
+was no mistaking it. His was a fanatical loyalty that was almost
+staggering.
+
+The Padre drew a sharp breath. He had not studied this youngster for
+all those years without understanding something of the recklessness he
+was capable of. Buck's lips were tightly compressed, his thin nostrils
+dilating with the intense feeling stirring him. His cheeks were pale,
+and his dark eyes flashed their burning light in the dim glow of the
+lantern. He stood with hands gripping, and the muscles of his bare
+arms writhed beneath the skin with the force with which they clenched.
+He was strung to an emotion such as the Padre had never before seen in
+him, and it left the older man wavering.
+
+He glanced away.
+
+"Aren't we worrying this thing on the crossways?" he said, endeavoring
+to disguise his real feelings.
+
+But Buck would have none of it. He was in no mood for evasion. In no
+mood for anything but the straightest of straight talk.
+
+"Ther's no crosswise to me," he cried bluntly, with a heat that might
+almost have been taken for anger. Then, in a moment, his manner
+changed. His tone softened, and the drawn brows smoothed. "Say, you
+bin better'n a father to me. You sure have. Can I stand around an' see
+you passed over to a low-down sort o' law that condemns innocent
+folks? No, Padre, not--not even for Joan's sake. I jest love that
+little Joan, Padre. I love her so desprit bad I'd do most anything for
+her sake. You reckon this thing needs doin' for her." He shook his
+head. "It don't. An' if it did, an' she jest wanted it done--which she
+don't--I'd butt in to stop it. Say, I love her that way I want to fix
+her the happiest gal in this country--in the world. But if seein' you
+go to the law without raisin' a hand to stop it was to make her
+happy, guess her chances that way 'ud be so small you couldn't never
+find 'em. If my life figures in her happiness, an' I'm savin' that
+life while you take your chance of penitentiary an'--the 'chair,' wal,
+I guess she'll go miserable fer jest as many years as she goes on
+livin'."
+
+The Padre turned away. It was impossible for him to longer face those
+earnest young eyes pleading to be allowed to give their life for his
+liberty. The reckless prodigality of the youngster's heart filled him
+with an emotion that would not be denied. He moved over to where C�sar
+stood, and smoothed the great creature's silky quarters with a shaking
+hand. Buck's storming he could have withstood, but not--this.
+
+The other followed his every movement, as a beggar watches for the
+glance of sympathy. And as the moments passed, and the Padre remained
+silent, his voice, keyed sharply, further urged him.
+
+"Wal?"
+
+But the other was thinking, thinking rapidly of all those things which
+his conscience, and long years of weary hiding prompted. He was trying
+to adapt his focus anew. His duty had seemed so plain to him. Then,
+too, his inclination had been at work. His intention had not seemed a
+great sacrifice to him. He was weary of it all--these years of
+avoiding his fellows. These years during which his mind had been
+thrown back upon the thought of whither all his youthful, headlong
+follies and--cowardice had driven him. Strong man as he was, something
+of his strength had been undermined by the weary draining of those
+years. He no longer had that desire to escape, which, in youth, had
+urged him. He was almost anxious to face his accusers. And with that
+thought he knew that he was getting old. Yes, he was getting old--and
+Buck--Buck was almost his son. He could not see the boy's young life
+thrown away for him, a life so full of promise, so full of quiet
+happiness. He knew that that would happen if he persisted. He knew
+that every word of Buck's promise would be carried out to the letter.
+That was his way. There was no alternative left now but for him to
+give way. So he turned back and held out his hand.
+
+"What you say--goes," he said huskily. "I--I hope what we're doing is
+right."
+
+Buck caught the strong hand in his, and the other winced under his
+grip.
+
+"Right?" he cried, his eyes shining with a great happiness. "Right?
+You'll save that old woman the worst crime on earth. You're savin' the
+law from a crime which it's no right to commit. You're handin' little
+Joan a happiness you can't even guess at in keepin' your liberty--an'
+me, wal, you're handin' me back my life. Say, I ain't goin' to thank
+you, Padre. I don't guess I know how. That ain't our way." He laughed
+happily. "Guess the score you got agin me is still mountin' right up.
+I don't never seem to git it squared. Wal, we'll let it go. Maybe it's
+almost a pity Bob Richards won't never have the chance of thanking you
+for--savin' his life, too."
+
+The delight in his manner, his shining joy were almost sufficient
+recompense to the Padre. He had given way to this youngster as he
+always gave way. It had been so from the first. Yes, it was always so,
+and--he was glad.
+
+Buck turned toward the door, and, as he did so, his arm affectionately
+linked into that of his friend.
+
+"We'll need that supper, Padre," he said, more soberly. "There's a
+long night, and it ain't easy to guess what may happen before
+daylight. Come right along."
+
+They passed the doorway, but proceeded no farther. Buck held up his
+hand, and they stood listening.
+
+"Wait! Hark!" he cried, and both turned their eyes toward the westward
+hills.
+
+As they stood, a low, faint growl of thunder murmured down the distant
+hillsides, and died away in the long-drawn sigh of a rising wind. The
+wind swept on, and the rustling trees and suddenly creaking branches
+of the forest answered that sharp, keen breath.
+
+"It's coming--from the northwest," said the Padre, as though the
+direction were significant.
+
+"Yes." Buck nodded with understanding. "That's wher' the other come
+from."
+
+They stood for some moments waiting for a further sign. But nothing
+came. The night was pitch black. There was no break anywhere in the
+sky. The lamplight in the house stared out sharp and clear, but the
+house itself, as with the barns and other outbuildings, the stockade,
+even the line of the tree tops where they met the sky, was quite lost
+in the inky night.
+
+"It'll come quick," said the Padre.
+
+"Sure."
+
+They moved on to the house, and in a few minutes were sitting down to
+one of those silent meals which was so much a part of their habit. Yet
+each man was alert. Each man was thinking of those things which they
+knew to be threatening. Each man was ready for what might be
+forthcoming. Be it tempest or disaster, be it battle or death, each
+was ready to play his part, each was ready to accept the verdict as it
+might be given.
+
+Buck was the first to push back from the table. He rose from his seat
+and lit his pipe. Then, as the pungent fumes lolled heavily on the
+superheated air, he passed over to the open window and took his seat
+upon the sill.
+
+The Padre was more leisurely. He remained in his seat and raked out
+the bowl of his pipe with the care of a keen smoker. Then he cut his
+tobacco carefully from his plug, and rolled it thoughtfully in the
+palms of his hands.
+
+"Say, about little Joan," he said abruptly. "Will she join us on----?"
+
+His question remained unfinished. At that instant Buck sprang from his
+seat and leant out of the window. The Padre was at his side in an
+instant.
+
+"What----?"
+
+"Holy Mackinaw! Look!" cried Buck, in an awed tone.
+
+He was pointing with one arm outstretched in a direction where the
+ruined stockade had fallen, leaving a great gaping space. The opening
+was sharply silhouetted against a wide glow of red and yellow light,
+which, as they watched, seemed to grow brighter with each passing
+moment.
+
+Each man was striving to grasp the full significance of what he
+beheld. It was fire. It needed no second thought to convince them of
+that. But where--what? It was away across the valley, beyond the
+further lip which rose in a long, low slope. It was to the left of
+Devil's Hill, but very little. For that, too, was dimly silhouetted,
+even at that distance.
+
+The Padre was the first to speak.
+
+"It's big. But it's not the camp," he said. "Maybe it's the--forest."
+
+For a moment Buck made no answer. But a growing look of alarm was in
+his straining eyes.
+
+"It's not a prairie fire," the Padre went on. "There's not enough
+grass that way. Say, d'you think----" A sudden fear had leapt into his
+eyes, too, and his question remained unfinished.
+
+Buck stirred. He took a deep breach. The alarm in his eyes had
+suddenly possessed his whole being. Something seemed to be clutching
+his heart, so that he was almost stifled.
+
+"It's none o' them things," he said, striving to keep his voice
+steady. Then of a sudden he reached out, and clutched the arm of his
+friend, so that his powerful fingers sank deep into its flesh.
+
+"It's the--farm!" he cried, in a tone that rang with a terrible dread.
+"Come on! The hosses!" And he dashed from the room before the last
+sound of his voice had died out.
+
+The Padre was hard on his heels. With danger abroad he was no laggard.
+Joan--poor little Joan! And there were miles to be covered before her
+lover could reach her.
+
+But the dark shadows of disaster were crowding fast. Evil was abroad
+searching every corner of the mountain world for its prey. Almost in a
+moment the whole scene was changed, and the dull inertia of past days
+was swept aside amidst a hurricane of storm and demoniacal tempest.
+
+A crash of appalling thunder greeted the ears of the speeding men. The
+earth seemed to shake to its very foundations. Ear-splitting
+detonations echoed from crag to crag, and down deep into the valleys
+and canyons, setting the world alive with a sudden chaos. Peal after
+peal roared over the hills, and the lightning played, hissing and
+shrieking upon ironstone crowns, like a blinding display of
+pyrotechnics.
+
+There was no pause in the sudden storm. There was no mercy for
+wretched human nerves. The blinding light was one endless chain,
+sweeping across the heavens as though bent on forever wresting from
+its path the black shadows that defied it.
+
+And amidst all this turmoil, amidst all the devastating roar, which
+shook the earth as though bent on wrecking the very mountains
+themselves, amidst all the blinding, hellish light, so fierce, so
+intense, that the last secrets of the remotest forest depths must be
+yielded up, two horsemen dashed down the trail from the fur fort as
+fast as sharp spurs could drive their eager beasts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+THE EYES OF THE HILLS
+
+
+The thunder roared without intermission. It rose and fell, that was
+all. From a truculent piano it leapt to a titanic crescendo only to
+find relief again in a fierce growling dissatisfaction. It seemed less
+of an elemental war than a physical attack upon a shuddering earth.
+The electric fires rifting the darkness of this out-world night were
+beyond compare in their terror. The radiance of sunlight might well
+have been less than the blaze of a rush candle before the staggering
+brilliancy. It was wild, wild and fearsome. It was vicious and utterly
+terrifying.
+
+Below the quaking earth was in little better case. Only was the scene
+here in closer touch with human understanding. Here the terror was of
+earth, here disaster was of human making. Here the rack of heart was
+in destruction by wanton fire. Shrieking, hissing, crackling, only
+insignificant by comparison with the war of the greater elements,
+flames licked up and devoured with ravening appetites the tinder-like
+structures of Joan's farm.
+
+The girl was standing in the open. A confined enough open space almost
+completely surrounded by fire. Before her were the blazing farm
+buildings, behind her was the raging furnace that once had been her
+home. And on one side of her the flames commingled so as to be
+impassable. Her head was bowed and her eyes were closed, her hands
+were pressed tight over her ears in a vain attempt to shut out
+cognizance of the terror that reigned about and above her. She stood
+thus despairing. She was afraid, terribly afraid.
+
+Beside her was her aunt, that strange creature whose brain had
+always risen superior to the sufferings of the human body. Now
+she was crushed to earth in mute submission to the powers which
+overwhelmed her. She lay huddled upon the ground utterly lost to all
+consciousness. Terror had mercifully saved her from a contemplation of
+those things which had inspired it.
+
+These two were alone. The other woman had gone, fled at the first
+coming of that dreaded fiend--fire. And those others, those wretched,
+besotted creatures whose mischief had brought about this wanton
+destruction, they too had fled. But their flight was in answer to the
+wrathful voice of the heavens which they feared and dreaded above all
+things in the wild world to which they belonged.
+
+Alone, helpless, almost nerveless, Joan waited that end which she felt
+could not long be delayed. She did not know, she could not understand.
+On every hand was a threat so terrible that in her weakness she
+believed that life could not long last. The din in the heavens, the
+torturing heat so fierce and painful. The glare of light which
+penetrated even her closed eyelids, the choking gasps of smoke-laden,
+scorching air with which she struggled. Death itself must come, nor
+could it be far from her now.
+
+The wind rushed madly down from the hilltops. It swept over forest and
+plain, it howled through canyon and crevasse in its eager haste to
+reach the centre of the battle of elements. It pounced upon the
+blinding smoke-cloud and swept it from its path and plunged to the
+heart of the conflagration with a shriek and roar of cruel delight.
+One breath, like the breath of a tornado, and its boisterous lungs
+had sent its mischief broadcast in the flash of an eye. With a howl of
+delight it tore out the blazing roof of the house, and, lifting it
+bodily, hurled it like a molten meteor against the dark walls of the
+adjacent pine forest.
+
+Joan saw nothing of this, she understood nothing. She was blind and
+deaf to every added terror. All she felt, all she understood was
+storm, storm, always storm. Her poor weary brain was reeling, her
+heart was faint with terror. She was alive, she was conscious, but she
+might well have been neither in the paralysis that held her. It meant
+no more that that avalanche of fire, hurled amidst the resinous woods,
+had suddenly brought into existence the greatest earthly terror that
+could visit the mountain world; it meant no more to her that an added
+roar of wind could create a greater peril; it meant no more to her
+that, in a moment, the whole world about her would be in a blaze so
+that the burning sacrifice should be complete. Nothing could possibly
+mean more to her, for she was at the limit of human endurance.
+
+But other eyes, other brains were alive to all these things, eyes and
+minds trained by a knowledge which only that mountain world could
+teach. To them the significance was all absorbing. To them this new
+terror was a thousandfold more appalling than all other storm and
+tempest. With the forest afire there was safety for neither human nor
+beast. With that forest afire flight was well-nigh impossible. With
+that forest afire to save any living creature would be well-nigh a
+miracle, and miracles had no place in their thoughts.
+
+Yet those eyes, so watchful, remained unchanged. Those straining
+brains only strained the harder. Those eager hearts knew no flinching
+from their purpose, and if they quailed it was merely at the natural
+dread for those whom they were seeking to succor.
+
+Even in face of the added peril their purpose remained. The heavens
+might roar their thunders, the lightnings might blind their staring
+eyes, the howling gale might strew their path with every obstruction,
+nothing could change them, nothing could stop them but death itself.
+
+So with horses a-lather they swept along. Their blood-stained spurs
+told their tale of invincible determination. These two men no longer
+sat in their saddles, they were leaning far out of them over their
+racing horses' necks, urging them and easing them by every trick in a
+horseman's understanding. They were making a trail which soon they
+knew would be a path of fire. They knew that with every stride of the
+stalwart creatures under them they were possibly cutting off the last
+hope of a retreat to safety. They knew, none better, that once amidst
+that furnace which lay directly ahead it was something worse than an
+even chance of life.
+
+Buck wiped the dripping sweat out of his eyes that he might get a
+clearer view. The blaze of lightning was of no use to him. It only
+helped to make obscure that which the earthly fires were struggling to
+reveal. The Padre's horse was abreast of his saddle. The sturdy brute
+was leaving C�sar to make the pace while she doggedly pursued.
+
+"We'll make it yet!" shouted Buck, over his shoulder, amidst the roar
+of thunder.
+
+The Padre made no attempt at response. He deemed it useless.
+
+Buck slashed C�sar's flanks with ruthless force.
+
+The blazing farm was just ahead, as was also the roaring fire of the
+forest. It was the latter on which both men were concentrating their
+attention. For the moment its path lay eastward, away to the right of
+the trail. But this they knew was merely the howling force of the
+wind. With a shift of direction by half a point and the gale would
+drive it straight down the trail they were on.
+
+The trail bent away to the left. And as they swung past the turn Buck
+again shouted.
+
+"Now for it!"
+
+He dashed his spurs again at the flanks of his horse, and the great
+beast stretched out for a final burst across the bridge over the
+narrow creek.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+FROM OUT OF THE ABYSS
+
+
+Joan swayed where she stood. She stumbled and fell; and the fall went
+on, and on, and on. It seemed to her that she was rushing down through
+endless space toward terrors beyond all believing. It seemed to her
+that a terrific wind was beating on her, and driving her downward
+toward a fiercely storm-swept ocean, whose black, hideous waves were
+ever reaching up to engulf her.
+
+She cried out. She knew she cried out, and she knew she cried out in
+vain. Some one, it seemed to her, was far, far up above her, watching,
+seeking to aid her, but powerless to respond to her heart-broken
+cries. Still she called, and she knew she must go on calling, till the
+dark seas below drowned the voice in her throat.
+
+Now shadows arose about her, mocking, cruel shadows. They were
+definite figures, but she could not give them definite form in her
+mind. She reached out toward them, clutching vainly at fluttering
+shapes, but ever missing them in her headlong career. She sped on,
+buffeted and hurtling, and torn; on, on, making that hideous journey
+through space.
+
+Her despairing thoughts flashed at lightning speed through her
+whirling brain. Faster they came, faster and faster, till she had no
+time to recognize, no power to hold them. She could see them, yes, she
+could literally see them sweep by, vanishing like shadows in that
+black space of terror.
+
+Then came a sudden accession of sharp stabbing pain. It seemed to tick
+through her body as might a clock, and each stab came as with the sway
+of the pendulum, and with a regularity that was exquisite torture. The
+stabs of pain came quicker, the pendulum was working faster. Faster
+and faster it swung, and so the torture was ever increasing. Now the
+pain was in her head, her eyes, her ears, her brain. The agony was
+excruciating. Her head was bursting. She cried louder and louder, and,
+with every cry, the pain increased until she felt she was going mad.
+Then suddenly the pendulum stopped swinging and her cries and her
+agony ceased, and all was still, silent and dark.
+
+It might have been a moment, or it might have been ages. Suddenly this
+wonderful peace was disturbed. It was as though she had just awakened
+from a deep refreshing sleep in some strange, unfamiliar world. The
+darkness remained, but it was the darkness of peace. The beating wind
+had gone, and she only heard it sighing afar off. She was calling
+again, but no longer in despair. She was calling to that some one far
+above her with the certain knowledge that she would be answered. The
+darkness was passing, too. Yes, and she was no longer falling, but
+soaring up, up, winging her way above, without effort, without pain.
+
+The savage waves were receding, their voices had died to a low murmur,
+like the voice of a still, summer sea on a low foreshore. Now, too,
+between every cry she waited for that answer which she knew must be
+forthcoming. It was some man's voice she was awaiting, some man,
+whose name ever eluded her searching brain. She strained to hear till
+the pulses of her ear-drums throbbed, for she knew when she heard the
+voice she would recognize the speaker.
+
+Hark, there it was, far, far away. Yes, she could hear it, but how far
+she must have fallen. There it was again. It was louder, and--nearer.
+Again and again it came. It was quite plain. It was a voice that set
+her brain and heart afire with longing. It was a voice she loved more
+than all the world. Hark! What was that it said? Yes, there it was
+again.
+
+"Pore little gal, pore little Joan."
+
+Now she knew, and a flood of thankfulness welled up in her heart. A
+great love thrilled through her veins, and tears flooded her eyes,
+tears of thankfulness and joy. Tears for herself, for him, for all the
+world. It was Buck's voice full of pity and a tender love.
+
+In a moment she was awake. She knew she was awake to a sort of dazed
+consciousness, because instantly her brain was flooded with all the
+horror of memory. Memory of the storm, the fire, of the devastation of
+her home.
+
+For long minutes she had no understanding of anything else. She was
+consumed by the tortures of that memory. Yes, it was still storming,
+she could hear the howling of the wind, the roar of thunder, and the
+hiss and crackling of fire. Where was she? Ah, she knew. She was
+outside, with the fire before and behind her. And her aunt was at her
+side. She reached out a hand to reassure herself, and touched
+something soft and warm. But what was that? Surely it was Buck's voice
+again?
+
+"Thank God, little gal, I tho't you was sure dead."
+
+In desperate haste she struggled to rise to her feet, but everything
+seemed to rock and sway under her. And then, as Buck spoke again, she
+abandoned her efforts.
+
+"Quiet, little gal, lie you still, or I can't hold you. You're dead
+safe fer the moment. I've got you. We're tryin' to git out o' this
+hell, C�sar an' me. An' C�sar's sure doin' his best. Don't you worrit.
+The Padre's behind, an' he's got your auntie safe."
+
+Joan's mind had suddenly become quite clear. There was no longer any
+doubt in it. Now she understood where she was. Buck had come to save
+her. She was in his arms, on C�sar's back--and she knew she would be
+saved.
+
+With an effort she opened her eyes and found herself looking into the
+dark face of the man she loved, and a great sigh of contentment
+escaped her. She closed them again, but it was only to open them
+almost immediately. Again she remembered, and looked about her.
+
+Everywhere was the lurid glow of fire, and she became aware of intense
+heat. Above her head was the roar of tempest, and the vivid, hellish
+light of the storm. Buck had called it "hell."
+
+"The whole world seems to be afire," she said suddenly.
+
+Buck looked down into her pale face.
+
+"Well nigh," he said. Then he added, "Yes, it's afire, sure. It's
+afire that bad the Almighty alone guesses if we'll git out."
+
+But his doubt inspired no apprehension. Somehow Joan's confidence was
+the effect of his strong supporting arm.
+
+She stirred again in his arms. But it was very gently.
+
+"Buck," she said, "let me sit up. It will ease you--and help poor
+C�sar. I'm--I'm not afraid now."
+
+Buck gave a deep-throated laugh. He felt he wanted to laugh, now he
+was sure that Joan was alive.
+
+"You don't need. Say, you don't weigh nuthin'. An' C�sar, why, C�sar's
+mighty proud I'm lettin' him carry you."
+
+But the girl had her way, and, in a moment, was sitting up with one
+arm about the man's broad shoulders. It brought her face near to his,
+and Buck bent his head toward her, and kissed the wonderful ripe lips
+so temptingly adjacent.
+
+For a moment Joan abandoned herself to the joy of that kiss. Then the
+rhythmic sway of C�sar's body under her reminded her that there were
+other things. She wanted to ask Buck how they had known and come to
+her help. She wanted to ask a dozen woman's questions. But she
+refrained. Buck had spoken of "hell," and she gazed about her seeking
+the reason of his doubt.
+
+In a few minutes she was aware of it all. In a few minutes she
+realized that he had well named the country through which they were
+riding. In a few minutes she knew that it was a race for life, and
+that their hope was in the great heart of C�sar.
+
+Far as the eye could see in that ruddy light, tortured and distorted
+by the flashes of storm above, was an ocean of fire spread out. The
+crowning billows of smoke, like titanic foam-crests, rolled away
+upward and onward before them. They, too, were ruddy-tinted by the
+reflection from below. They crowded in every direction. They swept
+along abreast of them, they rose up behind them, and the distance was
+lost in their choking midst. The scorching air was laden to
+suffocation by the odors of burning resin. She knew they were on a
+trail, a narrow, confined trail, which was lined by unburnt woods. And
+the marvel of it filled her.
+
+"These woods are untouched," she said.
+
+Again Buck laughed. It was a grim laugh which had no mirth, but yet
+was it dashed by a wonderful recklessness.
+
+"So far," he said. Then he added, with a quick look up at the belching
+smoke, "If they weren't I don't guess we'd be here now. Say, it's
+God's mercy sure this trail heads from the farm southeast. Further on
+it swings away at a fork. One trail goes due east, an' the other
+sou'west. One of 'em's sure cut by the fire. An' the other--wal, it's
+a gamble with luck."
+
+"It's the only way out?" The girl's eyes were wide with her question
+and the knowledge of the meaning of a reply in the affirmative.
+
+"That's so."
+
+"We're like--rats in a trap."
+
+A sharp oath escaped the man's lips.
+
+"We ain't beat yet," he cried fiercely.
+
+The reply was the heart of the man speaking. Joan understood it. And
+from it she understood more. She understood the actual peril in the
+midst of which they were.
+
+There was nothing more to be said. Buck's whole attention was upon the
+billows of smoke and the lurid reflections thereon. The thunders above
+them, the blinding lightnings, left him undisturbed. The wind, the
+smoke and the fire were his only concern now. Already, ahead, he could
+see in the vague light where the trail gave to the left. Beyond that
+was the fork.
+
+Joan gave no thought to these things. She had no right understanding
+of how best they could be served. She was studying the face of the
+man, the dark, brave face that was now her whole world. She was aware
+of the horseman behind, with his burden, she was aware of the horrors
+surrounding them, but the face of the man held her, held her without a
+qualm of fear--now. If death lay before them she was in his arms.
+
+Buck's thoughts were far enough from death. He had snatched the woman
+he loved from its very jaws, and he had no idea of yielding. There was
+no comfort for him in the thought of their dying together. Living,
+yes. Life was more sweet to him just then than ever it had been
+before. And he meant that they two should live on, and on.
+
+They passed the bend and the forking trail loomed up amidst the
+shadows. The crisis had come. And as they reached the vital spot Buck
+took hold of the horse and reined him up. In a moment the Padre was at
+his side with his inanimate burden.
+
+Joan stared at the still form of her relative while the men talked.
+
+"It's got us beat to the eastward," said Buck, without a moment's
+hesitation.
+
+"Yes. The fire's right across the trail. It's impassable."
+
+The Padre's eyes were troubled. The eastward trail led to the open
+plains.
+
+"We must make the other," Buck said sharply, gathering up his reins.
+
+"Yes. That means----"
+
+"Devil's Hill, if the fire ain't ahead of us."
+
+"And if it is?" Curiously enough the Padre, even, seemed to seek
+guidance from Buck.
+
+"It sure will be if we waste time--talkin'."
+
+C�sar leapt at his bit in response to the sharp stroke of the spur.
+
+Now Buck had no thought for anything but the swift traveling fire on
+his left. It was the pace of his horse against the pace at which the
+gale was driving this furnace. It was the great heart of his horse
+against endurance. Would it stand the test with its double burden? If
+they could reach that bald, black hill, there was safety and rest. If
+not--but they must reach it. They must reach it if it was the last
+service he ever claimed from his faithful servant. For once in his
+life the mystery of the hill afforded Buck hope and comfort. For once
+it was a goal to be yearned for, and he could think of no greater
+delight than to rest upon its black summit far from the reach of the
+hungry flames, that now, like an invading army, were seeking by every
+means to envelop him.
+
+Could they make it?
+
+A hundred thoughts and sensations were passing through the man's body
+and mind. He was sub-consciously estimating C�sar's power by the gait
+at which he was traveling. He was guessing at the rate of the racing
+fire. He was calculating the direction of the wind to an absurd
+fraction. He was observing without interest the racing of a strangely
+assorted commingling of forest creatures down the trail, seeking
+safety in flight from the speeding fire. He cared nothing for them. He
+had no feelings of pity for anything or any one but Joan. Every hope
+in his heart, every atom of power in his body, every thought was for
+her well-being and ultimate safety. Oh, for the rain; oh, for such a
+rain as he had seen that time before.
+
+But the storming heavens were dry-eyed and merciless. That freakish
+phenomenon of a raging thunder-storm without the usual deluge of rain
+was abroad with all its deadly danger. It was extraordinary. It was so
+extraordinary that Buck was utterly at a loss. Why, why? And his
+impatient questioning remained without answer. There had been every
+indication of rain and yet none had come----What was that?
+
+C�sar suddenly seemed to sway drunkenly. He shook his head in the
+manner of a horse irritated, and alarm set his ears flat back in his
+head, and he stretched his neck, and, of his own accord, increased his
+pace. Buck saw nothing to cause this sudden disturbance other than
+that which had been with them all the time, and yet his horse's alarm
+was very evident.
+
+A moment later occurred something still more unusual. C�sar stumbled.
+He did not fall. It was a mere false step, and, as he recovered, Buck
+felt the poor beast trembling under him. Was it the end of his
+endurance? No. The horse was traveling even faster than before, and he
+found it necessary to check the faithful creature, an attention that
+quickly aroused its opposition.
+
+Buck's puzzled eyes lifted from his horse to the rapidly nearing fire.
+It must be that C�sar must have realized its proximity, and, in his
+effort to outstrip it, had brought about his own floundering. So he no
+longer checked the willing creature, and the race went on at the very
+limit of the horse's pace. Then, in a moment, again came that absurd
+reeling and uncertainty. And Buck's added puzzlement found expression
+in words, while his eyes watched closely for some definite cause.
+
+"Ther's suthin' amiss with C�sar," he said, with an unconcern of
+manner which his words belied.
+
+"What do you mean?" Joan's eyes lifted to his in sudden alarm. Then
+she added, "I seemed to notice something."
+
+"Seems like he's--drunk." Buck laughed.
+
+"Perhaps--the earth's shaking. I shouldn't wonder, with this--this
+storm."
+
+"Shaking?"
+
+Buck echoed her word, but his mind had suddenly seized upon it with a
+different thought from hers. If the earth were shaking, it would not
+be with the storm above. His eyes peered ahead. Devil's Hill lay less
+than a mile away, and that was where he reckoned the fire would strike
+the trail. Devil's Hill. A sudden uncomfortable repulsion at the
+thought of its barren dome took hold of him. For some subtle reason it
+no longer became the haven to be yearned for that it had been. Rather
+was it a resting-place to be sought only in extremity--if the earth
+were shaking.
+
+His attention now became divided between the fire and C�sar. The horse
+was evidently laboring. He was moving without his accustomed freedom
+of gait, and yet he did not seem to be tiring.
+
+Half the distance to the foot of the hill had been covered. The fire
+was nearing rapidly, so near indeed was it that the air was alive with
+a perfect hail of glowing sparks, swept ahead of it by the terrific
+wind. The scorching air was becoming unendurable, and the mental
+strain made the trail seem endless, and their efforts almost hopeless.
+Buck looked down at the girl's patient face.
+
+"It's hot--hot as hell," he said with another meaningless laugh.
+
+The girl read through his words and the laugh--read through them to
+the thought behind them, and promptly protested.
+
+"Don't worry for me. I can stand--anything now."
+
+The added squeeze of her arm upon his shoulders set Buck's teeth
+gritting.
+
+Suddenly he reined C�sar in.
+
+"I must know 'bout that--shakin'," he said.
+
+For a second the horse stood with heaving body. It was only a moment,
+but in that moment he spread out his feet as though to save himself
+from falling. Then in answer to the spur he sped on.
+
+"It's the earth, sure," cried Buck. And had there been another escape
+he would have turned from the barren hill now rising amidst the
+banking smoke-clouds ahead of him.
+
+"Earthquake!" said the girl.
+
+"Yes."
+
+Nothing more was said. The air scorched their flesh, and Joan was
+fearful lest the falling sparks should fire her clothing. With every
+passing moment C�sar was nearing their forbidding goal. The fire was
+so adjacent that the roar and crackle of it shrieked in their ears,
+and through the trees shone the hideous gleam of flame. It was neck
+and neck, and their hope lay beneath them. Buck raked the creature's
+flanks again with his spurs, and the gallant beast responded. On, on
+they sped at a gait that Buck knew well could not last for long. But
+with every stride the hill was coming nearer, and it almost seemed as
+if C�sar understood their necessity, and his own. Once Joan looked
+back. That sturdy horse of the Padre was doggedly pursuing. Step for
+step he hugged his stable companion's trail, but he was far, far
+behind.
+
+"The Padre," cried Joan. "They are a long way back."
+
+"God help him!" cried Buck, through clenched teeth. "I can't. To wait
+fer him sure means riskin' you."
+
+"But----" Joan broke off and turned her face up to the canopy of smoke
+driving across them. "Rain!" she cried, with a wild thrill of hope.
+"Rain--and in a deluge."
+
+In a moment the very heavens seemed to be emptying their reservoirs.
+It came, not in drops, but in streams that smote the earth, the fire,
+themselves with an almost crushing force. In less than half a minute
+they were drenched to the skin, and the water was pouring in streams
+from their extremities.
+
+"We've won out," cried Buck, with a great laugh.
+
+"Thank God," cried Joan, as she turned her scorched face up to receive
+the grateful water.
+
+Buck eased the laboring C�sar.
+
+"That fire won't travel now, an'--ther's the hill," the man nodded.
+
+They had steadied to a rapid gallop. The hill, as Buck indicated, was
+just ahead. Joan's anxious eyes looked for the beginning of the slope.
+Yes, it was there. Less than two hundred yards ahead.
+
+The air filled with steam as the angry fire strove to battle with its
+arch-enemy. But the rain was as merciless in its onslaught as had been
+the storm, and the fire itself. The latter had been given full scope
+to work its mischief, and now it was being called to its account.
+Heavier and heavier the deluge fell, and the miracle of its
+irresistible power was in the rapid fading of the ruddy glow in the
+smoke-laden atmosphere. The fire was beaten from the outset and its
+retreat before the opposing element was like a panic flight.
+
+In five minutes C�sar was clawing his way up over the boulder-strewn
+slopes of the hill, and Joan knew that, for the time at least, they
+were safe. She knew, too, if the rain held for a couple of hours, the
+blazing woods would be left a cold waste of charred wreckage.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+But the rain did not hold. It lasted something less than a quarter of
+an hour. It was like a merciful act of Providence that came at the one
+moment when it could serve the fugitives. The chances had been all
+against them. Buck had known it. The fire must have met them at the
+foot of the hill and so barred their ultimate escape. The Padre behind
+had been inevitably doomed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+THE CATACLYSM
+
+
+Two hours later two men and a girl gazed out from the plateau of
+Devil's Hill. The whole earth it seemed was a raging sea of fire. Once
+more the forests were ablaze in every direction. The blistering
+tongues of fire had licked up the heavy rain, and were again roaring
+destruction over the land.
+
+Far as the eye could reach the lurid pall of smoke was spread out,
+rolling upward and onward, borne upon the bosom of the gale. In its
+midst, and through it, the merciless flames leapt up and up. The
+booming of falling timbers, and the roar of the flames smote painfully
+upon the hearts of the watchers. It was a spectacle to crush every
+earthly hope. It was a sight so painful as to drive the mind of man
+distracted. In all their lives these people had never imagined such a
+terror. In all their lives they could never witness such again.
+
+They stood there silent and awed. They stood there with eyes straining
+and ear-drums throbbing with the din of the battle. Their horses were
+roaming at will and the still form of Aunt Mercy was at their feet.
+There was no shelter. There was no hope. Only they knew that where
+they stood was safety, at least, from the fire below.
+
+Presently Joan knelt at her aunt's side and studied her ashen features
+in the ruddy light. The woman's unconsciousness had remained through
+all that journey. Or was she dead? Joan could not make up her mind.
+
+Once, as she knelt, she reeled and nearly fell across that still body.
+And when, recovering herself, she looked up at the men she saw that
+they were braced, with feet apart, supporting each other. Then, in the
+roar of the storm she heard Buck's voice shouting in the Padre's ear.
+
+"Guess--ther's more to come yet," he said with a profound
+significance.
+
+She saw the Padre's nod, and she wondered at the fresh danger he saw
+ahead.
+
+Buck turned and looked out over the desolate plateau with troubled
+eyes. She followed his gaze. Strangely she had little fear, even with
+that trouble in her lover's eyes.
+
+The plateau was desperately gloomy. It was hot, too, up there,
+terribly hot. But Joan had no thought for that except that she
+associated it with the hot wind blowing up from below. Her observation
+was narrowed to a complete dependence on Buck. He was her hope, her
+only hope.
+
+Suddenly she saw him reel. Then, in a moment, she saw that both men
+were down on hands and knees, and, almost at the instant, she,
+herself, was hurled flat upon the ground beside the body of her aunt.
+
+The earth was rocking, and now she understood more fully her lover's
+trouble. Her courage slowly began to ebb. She fought against it, but
+slowly a terror of that dreadful hill crept up in her heart, and she
+longed to flee anywhere from it--anywhere but down into that caldron
+of fire below. But the thought was impossible. Death was on every hand
+beyond that hill, and the hill itself was--quaking.
+
+Now Buck was speaking again.
+
+"We'll have to git som'ere from here," he said.
+
+The Padre answered him--
+
+"Where?"
+
+It was an admission of the elder man's weakness. Buck must guide. The
+girl's eyes remained upon her lover's face; she was awaiting his
+reply. She understood, had always known it, that all human help for
+her must come from him.
+
+Her suspense was almost breathless.
+
+"There's shelter by the lake," Buck said, after a long pause. "We can
+get to leeward of the rock, an'--it's near the head of that path
+droppin' to the creek. The creek seems better than anywher'
+else--after this."
+
+His manner was decided, but his words offered poor enough comfort.
+
+The Padre agreed, and, at once, they moved across to Joan. For the
+moment the earth was still again. Its convulsive shudder had passed.
+Joan struggled to her feet, but her increasing terror left her
+clinging to the man she loved. The Padre silently gathered Mercy into
+his arms, and the journey across the plateau began.
+
+But as they moved away the subterranean forces attacked again. Again
+came that awful rocking, and shaking, which left them struggling for a
+foothold. Twice they were driven to their knees, only to stagger on as
+the convulsions lessened. It was a nightmare of nervous tension. Every
+step of the journey was fraught with danger, and every moment it
+seemed as though the hill must fall beneath them to a crumbling
+wreckage.
+
+With heart-sick apprehension Joan watched the growing form of the
+great rock, which formed the source of the lake, as it loomed out of
+the smoke-laden dusk. It was so high, so sheer. What if it fell,
+wrecked with those dreadful earth quakings? But her terror found no
+voice, no protest. She would not add to the burden of these men. The
+rock passed behind them, and her relief was intense as the shadow was
+swallowed up again in the gloom. Then a further relief came to her as
+the edge of the plateau was reached, and the Padre set his burden down
+at the head of the narrow path which suggested a possible escape to
+the creek below.
+
+She threw herself beside her aunt, and heard Buck speaking again to
+his friend.
+
+"Stop right here with the women," he said. "I'm goin' around that
+lake--seems to me we need to get a peek at it."
+
+Joan understood something of what he feared. She remembered the
+weirdness of that suspended lake, and thought with a shudder of the
+dreadful earth quakings. So she watched him go with heart well-nigh
+breaking.
+
+Buck moved cautiously away into the gloom. He knew the lake shore
+well. The evident volcanic origin of it might well answer many
+questions and doubts in his mind. Its rugged shore offered almost
+painful difficulties with the, now, incessant quakings below. But he
+struggled on till he came to the eminence he sought. Here he took up a
+position, lying on his stomach so that he had a wide view of the
+surface of the wind-swept water.
+
+He remained for a long while watching, watching, and striving to
+digest the signs he beheld. They were many, and alarming. But their
+full meaning was difficult to his untutored mind.
+
+Here it was that the Padre ultimately found him. He had been gone so
+long that the elder man's uneasiness for his safety had sent him in
+search.
+
+"What d'you make of it, Buck?" he demanded, as he came up, his
+apprehensions finding no place in his manner.
+
+Buck displayed no surprise. He did not even turn his head.
+
+"The fires are hotting. The water's nigh boiling. There's goin' to be
+a mighty bust-up."
+
+The Padre looked out across the water.
+
+"There's fire around us, fire above us, and now--fire under us. We've
+got to choose which we're going to face, Buck--quick."
+
+The Padre's voice was steady. His feelings were under perfect control.
+
+Buck laughed grimly.
+
+"Ther's fire we know, an' fire we don't. Guess we best take the fire
+we know."
+
+They continued to gaze out across the lake in silence after that. Then
+the Padre spoke again.
+
+"What about the horses?" he asked.
+
+The question seemed to trouble Buck, for he suddenly caught his
+breath. But, in a moment, his answer came with decision.
+
+"Guess they must take their chances," he said. "Same as we have to. I
+hate to leave him, but C�sar's got sense."
+
+"Yes."
+
+The Padre's eyes were fixed upon one spot on the surface of the water.
+It was quite plain, even in that light, that a seething turmoil was
+going on just beneath it. He pointed at the place, but went on talking
+of the other things in his mind.
+
+"Say, you best take this pocketbook. We may get separated before the
+night's out. It's half the farm money. You see--ther's no telling," he
+ended up vaguely.
+
+For one instant Buck removed his eyes from the surface of the lake to
+glance at the snow-white head of his friend. Then he reached out and
+took the pocketbook.
+
+"Maybe Joan'll need it, anyway," he said, and thrust it in his pocket.
+"We must----Say, git busy! Look!"
+
+Buck's quick eyes had suddenly caught sight of a fresh disturbance in
+the water. Of a sudden the whole surface of the lake seemed to be
+rising in a great commotion. And as he finished speaking two terrific
+detonations roared up from somewhere directly beneath them.
+
+In an instant both men were on their feet and racing in headlong
+flight for the point where they had left the women.
+
+"Get Joan!" shouted the Padre from behind. He was less swift of foot
+than Buck. "Get Joan! I'll see to the other."
+
+Buck reached the girl's side. She had heard the explosions of the
+underworld and stood shaking with terror.
+
+"We're up agin it, Joan," he cried. And before the panic-stricken girl
+could reply she was in his strong young arms speeding for the downward
+path, which was their only hope.
+
+"But the Padre! Aunt Mercy!" cried Joan, in a sudden recollection.
+
+"They're comin' behind. He'll see to her----God in heaven!"
+
+A deafening roar, a hundred times greater than the first explosions,
+came from directly beneath the man's feet. The air was full of it. To
+the fugitives it was as if the whole world had suddenly been riven
+asunder. For one flashing moment it seemed to Buck that he had been
+struck with fearful force from somewhere behind him, and as the blow
+fell he was hurled headlong down the precipitous path.
+
+A confused, painful sense of cruel buffeting left him only
+half-conscious. There was a roar in his ears like the bombardment of
+unearthly artillery. It filled his brain to the exclusion of all else,
+while he hugged the girl close in his arms with some instinct of
+saving her, and shielding her from the cruel blows with his own body.
+
+Beyond that he had practically no sensation. Beyond that he had no
+realization whatever. They were falling, falling, and every limb in
+his body seemed to find the obstructions with deadly certainty. How
+far, how long they were falling, whither the awful journey was
+carrying them, these things passed from him utterly.
+
+Then, abruptly, all sensation ceased. The limit of endurance had been
+reached. For him, at least, the battle for life seemed ended. The
+greater forces might contest in bitter rage. Element might war with
+element, till the whole face of the world was changed; for Providence,
+in a belated mercy, had suspended animation, and spared these two poor
+atoms of humanity a further witness of a conflict of forces beyond
+their finite understanding.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+ALONE--
+
+
+"Buck! Buck!"
+
+Faint and small, the cry was lost in the wilderness of silence. It
+died out, a heart-broken moan of despair, fading to nothingness in the
+still, desolate world.
+
+Then came another sound. It was the crash of a falling tree. It was
+louder, but it, too, could scarcely break the stillness, so silent was
+the world, so desolate was it in the absence of all life.
+
+Day had broken. The sky was brilliant with swift-speeding clouds of
+fleecy white. The great sun had lifted well above the horizon, and
+already its warming rays were thirstily drinking from a sodden,
+rain-drenched earth.
+
+The perfect calm of a summer morning reigned. Up above, high up, where
+it was quite lost to the desolation below, a great wind was still
+speeding on the fleecy storm-clouds, brushing them from its path and
+replacing them with the frothing scud of a glorious day. But the air
+had not yet regained its wonted freshness. The reek of charred timber
+was everywhere. It poisoned the air, and held memory whence it would
+willingly escape.
+
+"Oh, Buck, speak to me! Open your eyes! Oh, my love, my dear, dear
+love!"
+
+The cry had grown in pitch. It was the cry of a woman whose whole soul
+is yearning for the love which had been ruthlessly torn from her
+bosom.
+
+Again it died away in a sob of anguish, and all was still again. Not a
+sound broke the appalling quiet. Not a leaf rustled, for the world
+seemed shorn of all foliage. Not a sound came from the insect world,
+for even the smallest, the most minute of such life seemed to have
+fled, or been destroyed. There was neither the flutter of a wing, nor
+the voice of the prowling carnivora, for even the winged denizens of
+the mountains and the haunting scavengers had fled in terror from such
+a wilderness of desolation.
+
+"Buck, oh, my Buck! Speak, speak! He's dead! Oh, my God, he's dead!"
+
+Louder the voice came, and now in its wail was a note of hysteria.
+Fear had made harsh the velvet woman's tones. Fear, and a rising
+resentment against the cruel sentence that had been passed upon her.
+
+She crouched down, rocking herself amidst a low scrub upon which the
+dead leaves still hung where the fires had scorched them. But the fire
+had not actually passed over them. A wide spread of barren rock
+intervened between the now skeleton woods and where the girl sat
+huddled.
+
+In front of her lay the figure of a man, disheveled and bleeding, and
+scarcely recognizable for the staunch youth who had yielded himself to
+the buffets of life that the woman he loved might be spared.
+
+But Joan only saw the radiant young face she loved, the slim, graceful
+figure so full of life and strength. He was hers. And--and death had
+snatched him from her. Death had claimed him, when all that she could
+ever long for seemed to be within her grasp. Death, ruthless, fierce,
+hateful death had crushed out that life in its cruellest, most
+merciless fashion.
+
+She saw nothing of the ruin which lay about her. She had no thought of
+anything else, she had no thought of those others. All she knew was
+that her Buck, her brave Buck, lay before her--dead.
+
+The girl suddenly turned her despairing eyes to the white heavens,
+their deep blue depths turned to a wonderful violet of emotion. Her
+wealth of golden hair hung loose about her shoulders, trailing about
+her on the sodden earth, where it had fallen in the midst of the
+disaster that had come upon her. Her rounded young figure was bent
+like the figure of an aged woman, and the drawn lines of anguish on
+her beautiful face gave her an age she did not possess.
+
+"Oh, he is not dead!" she cried, in a vain appeal. "Tell me he is not
+dead!" she cried, to the limitless space beyond the clouds. "He is all
+I have, all I have in the world. Oh, God, have mercy upon me! Have
+mercy!"
+
+Her only reply was the stillness. The stillness as of death. She
+raised her hands to her face. There were no tears. She was beyond that
+poor comfort. Dry, hard sobs racked her body, and drove the rising
+fever to her poor brain.
+
+For long moments she remained thus.
+
+Then, after a while, her sobs ceased and she became quite still. She
+dropped her hands inertly from her face, and let them lie in her lap,
+nerveless, helpless, while she gazed upon the well-loved features, so
+pale under the grime and tanning of the skin.
+
+She sat quite still for many minutes. It almost seemed as if the power
+of reason had at last left her, so colorless was her look, so
+unchanging was her vacant expression. But at last she stirred. And
+with her movement a strange light grew in her eyes. It was a look
+bordering upon the insane, yet it was full of resolve, a desperate
+resolve. Her lips were tightly compressed, and she breathed hard.
+
+She made no sound. There were no further lamentations. Slowly she
+reached out one hand toward the beloved body. Nor was the movement a
+caress. It passed across the tattered garments, through which the
+painfully contused flesh peered hideously out at her. It moved with
+definite purpose toward one of the gaping holsters upon the man's
+waist-belt. Her hand came to a pause over the protruding butt of a
+revolver. Just for a moment there was hesitation. Then it dropped upon
+it and her fingers clasped the weapon firmly. She withdrew it, and in
+a moment it rested in her lap.
+
+She gazed down upon it with straining, hopeless eyes. It was as if she
+were struggling to nerve herself for that one last act of cowardice
+which the despairing find so hard to resist. Then, with a deep-drawn
+sigh, she raised the weapon with its muzzle ominously pointing at her
+bosom.
+
+Again came a pause.
+
+Then she closed her eyes, as though fearing to witness the passing of
+the daylight from her life, and her forefinger moved to embrace the
+trigger. It reached its object, and its pressure tightened.
+
+But as it tightened, and the trigger even moved, she felt the warm
+grip of a hand close over hers, and the pistol was turned from its
+direction with a wrench.
+
+Her startled eyes abruptly opened, and her grip upon the weapon
+relaxed, while a cry broke from her ashen lips. She had left the gun
+in Buck's hand, and his dark eyes were gazing into hers from his bed
+amongst the crushed branches of the bush amidst which he was lying.
+
+For long moments she stared at him almost without understanding. Then,
+slowly, the color returned to her cheeks and lips, and great tears of
+joy welled up into her loving eyes.
+
+"Buck," she murmured, as the heavy tears slowly rolled down her
+cheeks, and her bosom heaved with unspeakable joy. "My--my Buck."
+
+For answer the man's eyes smiled. Her heaven had opened at last.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+--IN THE WILDERNESS
+
+
+The golden sun was high in the heavens. Its splendor was pouring down
+upon a gently steaming earth. But all its joyous light, all its
+perfect beneficence could not undo one particle of the havoc the long
+dark hours of night had wrought.
+
+High up on a shattered eminence, where a sea of tumbled rock marked
+the face of Devil's Hill, where the great hot lake had been held
+suspended, Joan and Buck gazed out upon the battle-ground of nature's
+forces.
+
+Presently the girl's eyes came back to the face of her lover. She
+could not long keep them from the face, which, such a few hours ago,
+she had believed she would never behold again in life. She felt as
+though he were one returned to her from the grave, and feared lest she
+should wake to find his returning only a dream.
+
+He was a strange figure. The tattered remains of his clothing were
+scarcely enough to cover his nakedness, and Joan, with loving,
+unskilled hands, had lavered and dressed his wounds with portions of
+her own undergarments and the waters of the creek, whither, earlier,
+she had laboriously supported his enfeebled body. But Providence had
+spared him an added mercy besides bringing him back to life. It seemed
+a sheer miracle that his bones had been left whole. His flesh was
+torn, his whole body was terribly bruised and lacerated, but that
+worst of all disasters in life had been spared him, and he was left
+with the painful use of every limb.
+
+But the thought of this miracle left the man untouched. Only did Joan
+remember, and offer up her thankfulness. The man was of the wild, he
+was young, life was with him, life with all its joys and sorrows, all
+its shadowy possibilities, so he recked nothing of what he had
+escaped. That was his way.
+
+While Joan's devoted eyes watched the steady light in his, staring out
+so intently at the wreck of world before him, no word passed her lips.
+It was as though he were the lord of their fate and she waited his
+commands.
+
+But for long Buck had no thought for their personal concerns. He
+forgot even the pains which racked his torn body, he forgot even the
+regrets which the destruction he now beheld had first inspired him
+with. He was marveling, he was awed at the thought of those dread
+elements, those titanic forces he had witnessed at play.
+
+There lay the hideous skeleton picked bare to the bones. Every
+semblance of the beauty lines, which, in the earth's mature
+completion, it had worn, had vanished, and only mouldering remains
+were left. How had it happened? What terrible, or sublime purpose, had
+been achieved during that night of terror? He could not think.
+
+His eyes dropped to that which lay immediately before him. He was
+gazing into chaotic depths of torn black rock amidst which a great
+cascade of water poured out from the bowels of the earth and flowed on
+to join the waters of Yellow Creek. It was the site where had hung the
+suspended lake. Half the great hill had been torn away by some
+terrible subterranean upheaval, which seemed to have solely occurred
+on that side where the lake had been, and where the hill had
+confronted the distant camp. Gone were the workings of the miners.
+Gone was that great bed of auriferous soil. And in their places lay an
+ocean of rock, so vast, so torn, that the power which had hurled it
+broadcast was inconceivable to his staggered mind.
+
+For a while he contemplated the scene with thoughts struggling and
+emotions stirring. Then with a sigh he looked out beyond. The valley
+of the creek, that little narrow strip of open grass-land, bordered by
+pine forests all its length, was gone, too. The creek was now a
+wide-spread expanse of flowing water, which had swept from its path
+the last vestige of the handiwork of those people who had lived upon
+the banks of the original stream.
+
+There was not a sign of a house or log hut to be seen anywhere. Gone,
+gone, swept away like the buildings of children's toy bricks.
+
+What of those who had dwelt where the water now flowed? Had they, too,
+gone on the rushing tide? He wondered. Where had been their escape?
+Maybe they had had time. And yet, somehow it seemed doubtful. The
+skeleton forests stretched out on every hand to a great distance. They
+backed where the camp had stood. They rose up beyond the northern
+limits. To the west of the water it was the same. Had he not witnessed
+the furnace upon that side? And here, here to the south would they
+have faced this terrible barrier belching out its torrential waters,
+perhaps amidst fire and smoke?
+
+He did not know. He could not think. They were gone as everything else
+that indicated life was gone, and--they two were left alone in a
+wilderness of stricken earth.
+
+He sighed again as he thought of the gracious woods which the long
+centuries had built up. All Nature's wonderful labors, the patient
+efforts of ages, wiped out in a few moments of her own freakish mood.
+It was heart-breaking to one who had always loved the wild hills where
+the all-powerful Dame's whimsies had so long run riot.
+
+Then as he stared out upon the steaming horizon where hills greater
+and greater rose up confronting him and narrowed the limits of his
+vision, he saw where the dividing line ran. He remembered suddenly
+that even in her destructions Nature had still controlled. The floods
+of the heavens must have been abruptly poured out at some time during
+the night, or the fire would still be raging on, searching out fresh
+fuel beyond those hills, traveling on on and on through the limitless
+forests which lay to the north, and south, and west.
+
+The memory gave him fresh hope. It told him that the world was still
+outside waiting to welcome them to its hostels. And so he turned at
+last to the patient woman at his side.
+
+"It seems so a'mighty queer, little Joan," he said gently. "It
+seems so a'mighty queer I can't rightly get the hang of things.
+Yesterday--yesterday--why, yesterday all this," he waved an arm to
+indicate the broken world about him, "was as God made it, an' now
+ther's jest ruin--blank ruin that'll take all your life, and mine, an'
+dozens who're comin' after us to--to build up agin. Yesterday this
+camp was full of busy folk chasin' a livin' from the products Nature
+had set here. Now she's wiped 'em out. Why? Yesterday a good man was
+threatened by man's law, an' it looked as if that law was to suck us
+all into its web an' make criminals of us. Now he's gone an' the
+law'll be chased back to hunt around for its prey in places with less
+danger to 'em. It's all queer--mighty queer. An' it's queerer still to
+think of you an' me sittin' here puzzlin' out these things."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Joan nodded without removing her eyes from the face she loved so well.
+Then after a pause she went on--
+
+"You think--he's dead?"
+
+Buck was some time before he answered her. His grave eyes were fixed
+on a spot across the water, where a break in the charred remains of
+the forest revealed a sky-line of green grass.
+
+"How else?" he said, at last. "He was behind me with your aunt. He was
+on the hill. You've scoured what remains of the plateau. Wal, he ain't
+there, an' he didn't come down the path wher' we come. We ain't see
+'em anyways. Yep," he went on, with a sigh, "guess the Padre's dead,
+an' one o' them rocks down ther' is markin' his grave. Seems queer. He
+went with her. She was the woman he had loved. They've gone together,
+even though she just--hated him. He was a good man an'--he'd got grit.
+He was the best man in the world an'--an' my big friend."
+
+His voice was husky with emotion, and something like a sob came with
+his last word, and Joan's eyes filled with tears of sympathy and
+regret.
+
+"Tell me," he went on, after a pause. "I ain't got it right. The fall
+knocked you plumb out. An' then?"
+
+His eyes were still on the distant break of the trees.
+
+"I don't know what happened," Joan said wearily, spreading out her
+drenched skirt to the now blazing sun. "I know I woke up quite
+suddenly, feeling so cold that even my teeth were chattering. The rain
+was falling like--like hailstones. It was dark, so dark, and I was
+terribly afraid. I called to you, but got no answer, and--and I
+thought I was alone. It was terrible. The thunder had ceased, and the
+lightning was no longer playing. There was no longer any forest fire,
+or--or earthquakings. All was still and black, and the rain--oh, it
+was dreadful. I sat where I was, calling you at intervals. I sat on,
+and on, and on, till I thought the dark would never go, that day would
+never break again, and I began to think that all the world had come to
+an end, and I, alone, was left. Then at last the rain stopped, and I
+saw that day was breaking. But it was not until broad daylight that I
+knew where I was. And then--and then I saw you lying close at my feet.
+Oh, Buck, don't let me think of it any more. Don't remind me of it. It
+was awful. I believed you were dead--dead. And it seemed to me that my
+heart died, too. It was so dreadful that I think I--I was mad. And
+then--you saved me--again."
+
+Buck raised a stiff arm and gently drew her toward him with a
+wonderfully protecting movement. The girl yielded herself to him, and
+he kissed her sweet upturned lips.
+
+"No, little Joan, gal. Don't you think of it. We got other things to
+think of--a whole heap."
+
+"Yes, yes," cried the girl eagerly. "We've got life--together."
+
+Buck nodded with a grave smile.
+
+"An' we must sure keep it."
+
+He released her and struggled to his feet, where he stood supporting
+himself by clinging to a projection of rock.
+
+"What do you mean, Buck? What are you going to do?" Joan demanded
+anxiously, springing to her feet and shaking out her drenched skirt.
+
+"Do? Why, look yonder. Ther' across the water. Ther' wher' them
+burnt-up woods break. See that patch o' grass on the sky-line? Look
+close, an' you'll see two--somethings standin' right ther'. Wal, we
+got to git near enough that way so C�sar can hear my whistle."
+
+"C�sar? Is--is that C�sar? Why--how----?"
+
+Buck nodded his head.
+
+"Maybe I'm guessin'. I ain't sayin'. But--wal, you can't be sure this
+ways off. Y' see, C�sar has a heap o' sense, an' his saddle-bags are
+loaded down with a heap o' good food. An' you're needin' that--same as
+me."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+LOVE'S VICTORY
+
+
+The rightness of Buck's conjecture was proved before evening, but not
+without long and painful effort. Joan was utterly weary, and the man
+was reduced to such weakness and disability as, in all his life, he
+had never known.
+
+But they faced their task with the knowledge that with every moment of
+delay in procuring food their chances of escape from that land of ruin
+were lessening. With food, and, consequently, with Buck's horse,
+safety would be practically assured. They would then, too, be able to
+prosecute a search for the man they both had learned to love so well.
+
+With nightfall their hopes were realized, but only at a terrible cost
+to the man. So great had become his weakness and suffering that it was
+Joan who was forced to make provision for the night.
+
+Both horses were grazing together with an unconcern that was truly
+equine. Nor, when reviewed, was their escape the miracle it appeared.
+At the height of the storm they had been left on the farthest confines
+of the plateau of Devil's Hill, where no fire would reach them, and at
+a considerable distance from the lake. Their native terror of fire
+would have held them there in a state bordering on paralysis. In all
+probability no power on earth could have induced them to stir from the
+spot where they had been left, until the drenching rain had blotted
+out the furnace raging below. This had been Buck's thought. Then,
+perhaps, laboring under a fear of the quakings caused by the
+subterranean fires of the hill, and their hungry stomachs crying out
+for food, they had left the dreaded hill in quest of the pastures they
+craved.
+
+The well-stocked saddle-bags, which Buck's forethought had filled for
+the long trail, now provided these lonely wanderers in the wilderness
+with the food they needed, the saddle-blankets and the saddles
+furnished their open-air couches, and the horses, well, the horses
+were there to afford them escape when the time came, and, in the
+meantime, could be left to recover from the effects of the storm and
+stress through which they, too, had passed.
+
+With the following dawn Buck's improvement was wonderful, and Joan
+awoke from a deep, night-long slumber, refreshed and hopeful. An
+overhauling of their supplies showed them sufficient food, used
+sparingly, to last a week. And with this knowledge Buck outlined their
+plans to the girl, who hung upon his every word.
+
+"We can't quit yet," he said, when they had broken their fast.
+
+The girl waited, watching his dark contemplative eyes as they looked
+across the water at the diminished hill.
+
+"Nope," he went on. "We owe him more'n that. We must chase around,
+an'--find him. We must----"
+
+"Yes," Joan broke in, her eyes full of eager acquiescence. "We must
+not leave him--to--to--the coyotes." She shuddered.
+
+"No. Guess I'll git the horses."
+
+"You? Oh, Buck--let me. I am well and strong. It is my turn to do
+something now. Your work is surely finished."
+
+Her pleading eyes smiled up into his, but the man shook his head with
+that decision she had come to recognize and obey almost without
+question.
+
+"Not on your life, little gal," he said, in his kindly, resolute
+fashion, and Joan was left to take her woman's place in their scheme
+of things.
+
+But she shared in the search of the hill and the woods. She shared in
+the ceaseless hunt for three long, weary, heart-breaking days over a
+land of desolation and loneliness. She rode at Buck's side hour after
+hour on the sturdy horse that had served the Padre so faithfully, till
+her body was healthily weary, and her eyes grew heavy with straining.
+But she welcomed the work. For, with the tender mother eye of the
+woman in her, she beheld that which gladdened her heart, and made the
+hardest work a mere labor of love. Each passing day, almost with each
+passing hour, she witnessed the returning vigor of the man she loved.
+His recuperative powers were marvelous, and she watched his bodily
+healing as though he were her own helpless offspring.
+
+For the rest their search was hopeless. The battling forces of a
+storm-riven earth had claimed their toll to the last fraction, and
+with the cunning of the miser had secreted the levy. Not a trace was
+there of any human life but their own. The waters from the hill swept
+the little valley, and hugged to their bosom the secrets that lay
+beneath their surface. And the fall of rock held deeply buried all
+that which it had embraced in its rending. The farm was utterly
+destroyed, and with it had fallen victims every head of stock Joan had
+possessed. The old fur fort had yielded to the fire demon, where, for
+all the ages, it had resisted the havoc of storm. There was nothing
+left to mark the handiwork of man, nothing but the terrible
+destruction it had brought about.
+
+Thus it was on the fourth morning, after breaking their fast, and the
+horses had been saddled, Buck once more packed the saddle-bags and
+strapped them into their places behind the saddles. Joan watched him
+without question. She no longer had any question for that which he
+chose to ordain.
+
+When all was ready he lifted her into her saddle, which she rode
+astride, in the manner of the prairie. She was conscious of his
+strength, now returned to its full capacity. She was nothing in his
+arms now, she might have been a child by the ease with which he lifted
+her. He looked to her horse's bridle, he saw that she was comfortable.
+Then he vaulted into C�sar's saddle with all his old agility.
+
+"Which way, Buck?" The girl spoke with the easy manner of one who has
+little concern, but her eyes belied her words. A strange thrill was
+storming in her bosom.
+
+"Leeson Butte," said Buck, a deep glow shining in his dark eyes.
+
+Joan let her horse amble beside the measured, stately walk of C�sar.
+Her reins hung loose, and her beautiful eyes were shining as they
+gazed out eagerly ahead. She was thrilling with a happiness that
+conflicted with a strange nervousness at the naming of their
+destination. She had no protest to offer, no question. It was as if
+the lord of her destiny had spoken, and it was her happiness and
+desire to obey.
+
+They rode on, and their way lay amidst the charred skeleton of a wide,
+stately wood. The air was still faint with the reek of burning. There
+was no darkness here beyond the blackened tree trunks, for the
+brilliant summer sun lit up the glades, which, for ages, no sun's rays
+had ever penetrated. The sense of ruin was passing from the minds of
+these children of the wilderness. Their focus had already adapted
+itself. Almost, even, their youthful eyes and hearts saw new beauties
+springing up about them. It was the work of that wonderful fount of
+hope, which dies so hardly in us all, and in youth never.
+
+At length they left the mouldering skeletons behind them, and the
+gracious, waving, tawny grass of the plains opened out before their
+gladdened eyes. A light breeze tempered the glorious sunlight, and set
+ripples afloat upon the waving crests of the motionless rollers of a
+grassy ocean.
+
+Buck drew his horse down to a walk beside the girl, and his look had
+lost its reflection of the sadness they were leaving behind. He had no
+desire now to look back. For all his life the memory of his "big
+friend" would remain, for the rest his way lay directly ahead, his
+life, and his--hope.
+
+"It's all wonderful--wonderful out here, little Joan," he said,
+smiling tenderly down upon her sweet face from the superior height at
+which C�sar carried him. "Seems like we're goin' to read pages of
+a--fresh book. Seems like the old book's all mussed up, so we can't
+learn its lessons ever again."
+
+Joan returned the warmth of his gaze. But she shook her head with an
+assumption of wisdom.
+
+"It's the same book, dear, only it's a different chapter. You see the
+story always goes on. It must go on--to the end. Characters drop out.
+They die, or are--killed. Incidents happen, some pleasant, some--full
+of sadness. But that's all part of the story, and must be. The story
+always goes on to the end. You see," she added with a tender smile,
+"the hero's still in the picture."
+
+"An' the--gal-hero."
+
+Joan shook her head decidedly.
+
+"There's no heroine to this story," she said. "You need courage to be
+a heroine, and I--I have none. Do you know, Buck," she went on
+seriously, "when I look back on all that's gone I realize how much my
+own silly weakness has caused the trouble. If I had only had the
+courage to laugh at my aunt's prophecies, my aunt's distorted
+pronouncements, all this trouble would have been saved. I should never
+have come to the farm. My aunt would never have found the Padre. Those
+men would never have fired those woods when they burnt my farm,
+and--and the gentle-hearted Padre would never have lost his life."
+
+It was Buck's turn to shake his head.
+
+"Wrong, wrong, little gal," he said with a warmth of decision. "When
+you came to us--to me, an' we saw your trouble, we jest set to work to
+clear a heap o' cobwebs from your mind. That was up to us, because you
+were sure sufferin', and you needed help. But all we said, all we told
+you not to believe, those things were sure marked out, an' you, an'
+all of us had to go thro' with 'em. We can't talk away the plans o'
+Providence. You jest had to come to that farm. You jest had to do all
+the things you did. Maybe your auntie, in that queer way of hers, told
+you the truth, maybe she saw things us others didn't jest see. Who can
+tell?"
+
+Joan's eyes lit with a startled look as she listened to the man's
+words. They made her wonder at the change in him. Had that terrible
+cataclysm impressed him with a new view of the life by which he was
+surrounded? It might be. Then, suddenly, a fresh thought occurred to
+her. A memory rose up and confronted her, and a sudden joyous anxiety
+thrilled her.
+
+"Do you really think that, Buck?" she cried eagerly. "Do you? Do you?"
+
+"Things seem changed, little gal," he said, half ruefully. "Seems to
+me the past week's been years an' years long." He laughed. "Maybe I
+got older. Maybe I think those things now, same as most folks think
+'em--when they get older."
+
+But Joan was full of her own thought, and she went on eagerly, passing
+his reasons by.
+
+"Listen, Buck, when Aunt Mercy told me all my troubles, she told me
+something else. But it seemed so small by the side of those other
+things, that I--that I almost forgot it. What was it? Her words? Yes,
+yes, I asked her, was there no hope for me? No means by which I could
+be saved from my fate? And she said that my only hope lay in finding a
+love that was stronger than death. These were her words----
+
+"'I loved your father with a passion nothing, no disaster could
+destroy. Go you, child, and find you such a love. Go you and find a
+love so strong that no disaster can kill it. And maybe life may still
+have some compensations for you, maybe it will lift the curse from
+your suffering shoulders. It--it is the only thing in the world that
+is stronger than disaster. It is the only thing in the world that is
+stronger than--death.'"
+
+Her words dropped to a whisper as she finished speaking, and she
+waited, like a criminal awaiting sentence, for the man's judgment on
+them. Her eyes were downcast, and her rounded bosom was stirring
+tumultuously. What would he say? What would he think? And yet she must
+have told him. Was he not the one person in the world who held her
+fate in his hands? Yes, he must know all there was in her mind. And
+she knew in her heart that he would understand as she wanted him to
+understand.
+
+Buck suddenly reined C�sar in, and brought him to a standstill,
+turning him about so that he looked back upon the world they were
+leaving behind them forever. In silence Joan responded to his
+movement, and her horse closed up against the other.
+
+"Guess your auntie's notions were all queer, so queer they're mighty
+hard to understand," he said reflectively. "But seems to me she's hit
+a big truth some way. That curse is sure lifted--sure, sure."
+
+He pointed at the grim outline of Devil's Hill, now fading in the
+distance.
+
+"Look ther' yonder. Yonder's the disaster, yonder is--death. An'
+we--we've sure passed through it. She's right. Our love is stronger
+than disaster--stronger than death."
+
+Then he turned and gazed ardently into her upturned face. "Guess we
+sure found that love together, little gal. An' it's ours to keep
+forever an' ever. Ther' ain't no other love comin' around. I'm yours
+fer jest so long as I have life, an' you--wal, you're jest my whole,
+whole world."
+
+He leant toward her, his dark eyes shining with his great love.
+Reaching out he drew her toward him, his strong, protecting arm
+encircling her slim waist.
+
+"Say, little gal," he went on urgingly, "we're goin' right on now to
+Leeson Butte. Ther's a passon ther' who can fix us right. An' when
+that's done, an' ther' ain't nuthin' in the world can come between us,
+why, then I sure got two mighty strong hands yearnin' to git busy
+handin' you those things which can make a woman's life easy, an'--an'
+happy. Will you come, little Joan? Will you sure come?"
+
+His eager young face was close to hers, and his deep breath fanned her
+warm cheek. She gave him no verbal reply. At that moment she had no
+words. But she turned toward him. And, as she turned, her lips met his
+in one long, passionate kiss. He needed no other reply. She was giving
+him herself. It was the soul of the woman speaking.
+
+Some moments later their horses were again heading for Leeson Butte.
+The eyes of the girl were shining with a happiness such as she had
+never known before, and Buck sat with head erect, and the light of a
+great purpose in his eyes. For a while they rode thus. Then the man's
+eyes twinkled with a sudden thought. For a moment he glanced at the
+golden head so close beside him. Then he smiled.
+
+"Say, little Joan," he cried, "guess you're that gal-hero after all."
+
+Joan responded to his look.
+
+"How?" she inquired, with a heightened color.
+
+"Why, jest git a look at me. Me! You're goin' to marry me! I'd sure
+say you've a heap more grit than any gal-hero I've heard tell of."
+
+Joan surveyed his unkempt figure,--the torn clothing, his unshaven
+face; the bandages made of her own undergarments, which he still
+wore,--and the happy smile on her young face broadened.
+
+"Well, you see, Buck, dear," she said joyously, "you can't be a proper
+hero if you don't carry the scars of battle on you." She sighed
+contentedly. "No, I'm afraid it doesn't need much 'grit' to marry
+you."
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;
+otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's
+words and intent.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Golden Woman, by Ridgwell Cullum
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