CHAPTER XII
THE GOLDEN WOMAN
Buck wondered as he noted the extraordinary picture of jubilationwhich the approaching crowd presented. In all his association withthese people he had never witnessed anything to equal it or even comenear it. He never remembered anything like a real outburst of joyduring the long, dreary months since they had first camped on thebanks 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 theold, weary signs of their recent privations and sufferings. There werenone, not one. They had passed as utterly as though they had neverbeen.
It was a spectacle in which he found the greatest pleasure. The menwere clad in their work-stained clothing, their only clothing. Theirfaces remained unwashed, and still bore the accumulations of dustysweat from their day's fevered labors. But it was the light in theireyes, their grinning faces, the buoyancy of their gait that held him.He heard their voices lifted in such a tone as would have seemedimpossible only a few days ago. The loud, harsh laugh, accompanyinginconsequent jests and jibes, it was good to hear. These men weretasting the sweets of a moment of perfect happiness. Buck knew wellenough that soon, probably by the morrow, the moment would havepassed, and they would have settled again to the stern calling oftheir lives.
All his sympathy was with them, and their joy was reflected in his ownfeelings. Their hope was his hope, their buoyancy was his buoyancy.For his happiness was complete at the moment, and thus he was leftfree to feel with those others. Such was his own wonderful exaltationthat the thought of the termination of these people's suffering wasthe 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 feltthat he must learn their further purpose. He remembered Joan's goingfrom him. He had seen the pain and trouble in her beautiful eyes, andso he feared that the sudden rush of animal spirits in these peoplewould drive them to extravagances, well enough meant, but which mightworry and even alarm her.
He moved quickly out of the barn and looked after them. They hadreached the house, and stood like a herd of subdued and silly sheepwaiting for a sign from their leader. It was a quaint sight. The laughand jest had died out, and only was the foolish grin left. Yes, theycertainly had a definite purpose in their minds, but they equallycertainly were in doubt as to how it should be carried out.
Buck drew nearer without attracting their attention. The men were sodeeply engaged with the dilemma of the moment that he might almosthave joined the group without observation. But he merely desired to beon hand to help should the troubled girl need his help. He had nodesire to take active part in the demonstration. As he came near heheard Beasley's voice, and the very sound of it jarred unpleasantly onhis ears. The man was talking in that half-cynical fashion which wasnever without an added venom behind it.
"Well," he heard him exclaim derisively, "wot's doin'? You're allmighty big talkers back ther' in camp, but I don't seem to hear anybright suggestions goin' around now. You start this gorl-durned racketlike a pack o' weak-headed fools, yearnin' to pitch away what's beenchucked right into your fool laps jest fer one o' Blue Grass Pete'sfat-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 fellerthat robs me'll need to chew razors fer a pastime. If it comes to thatyou're yearnin' fer glory at the Padre's expense--as usual."
Buck's ears tingled, and he drew closer. Beasley always had a knack ofso blending truth with his personal venom that it stung far more thandownright insult. He wondered what the Padre's generosity had been,and wherein lay its connection with their present purpose. Theexplanation was not long in coming, for Montana Ike took up thechallenge amidst a storm of ominous murmurs from the gathered men.
"Don't take nuthin' from him," cried the youngster scornfully. Then heturned on Beasley fiercely. "You need Buck around to set you right,Mister Lousy Beasley," he cried. "We ain't robbin' anybody, an' surenot the Padre. He found that nugget, an' it's his to give or do wot helikes with. The gal brought us the luck, an' the Padre guessed it wasonly right she should have the first find. That nugget was the firstfind, an' the Padre found it. Wal!" But as no reply was forthcoming hehurried on, turning his tongue loose in the best abuse he couldcommand at the moment. "You're a rotten sort o' skunk anyway, an' youain't got a decent thought in your diseased head. I'd like to sayright here that you hate seein' a sixty-ounce lump o' gold in anyother hands than your own dirty paws. That's your trouble, so jestshut right up while better folks handles a matter wot's a sight toodelicate fer a rotten mind like yours."
The smile had returned to every face except the foxy features of theex-Churchman, who for once had no adequate retort ready. CurlySaunders nodded appreciation, and helped to solve the momentarydilemma prevailing.
"That's sure done it fer you, Montana," he cried gleefully. "You makethe presentation. I'd say I never heard so elegant a flow of argymentin 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," saidMontana modestly. "Don't guess it's much of a stunt yappin' pretty toa sorrel-topped gal."
Abe Allinson laughed.
"It's sure up to you, Ike," he said. "Guess you best git busy rightaway."
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 deathat a skippin' lamb bleatin' fer its mother. Can't say I ever heerdtell as a feller need be skeered of a pair o' gal's eyes, nor a sighto' red ha'r. You said it was red, Pete, didn't you? I'd sure say abright feller don't need to worry any over talkin' pretty to a gallike 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 righthere 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, asthough realizing his own weakness, he began to bluster. "Cos I ain'ttakin' no foolin' in a racket o' this sort. An' any feller thinks heken fool me'll sure hate hisself when I'm through with him."
A mild snicker greeted his "big talk," and the boy flushed hotly. Hewas half-inclined to add further resentment, but, second thoughtsprevailing, he abruptly turned to the door and hammered on it asthough anticipating stern resistance from those within.
* * * * *
Inside the house Mrs. Ransford was debating the situation with hermistress. She had witnessed the advance of the besieging party, and,half-frightened and half-resentful, the latter perhaps the moreplainly manifested, she was detailing in unmeasured terms her opinionsand 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, tillyou can't see the color o' their clothes fer the dirt on 'em. I'llswar' to goodness, as the sayin' is, they ain't never see no watersence they was christened, if they ever was christened, which I don'tbelieve no gospel preacher would ever so demean himself. An' as fersoap, say, they couldn't even spell it if you was to hand 'em thewhole soap fact'ry literature of a fi'-cent daily noos-sheet. They'rejest ter'ble, an' it seems to me we sure need
a reg'ment o' UnitedStates 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 readabout '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 upto glory, an' they'll dance around on our corpses, same as if they wasnuthin', nor no account anyways."
In spite of her recent shock Joan found herself smiling at the strangemixture of fear and anger in the old woman's manner. But she felt itnecessary to check her flow of wild accusations. She guessed easilyenough who the men were that were approaching the house, but theirobject 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? Theyjest 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 wotthey's after. Scalps, no more an' no less. An' to think o' me at mytime o' life a-fallin' a prey to Injuns, as you might say. Oh, if on'ymy pore George D. Ransford was alive! He'd 'a' give 'em scalps. He wasa man, sure, even though he did set around playin' poker all nightwhen I was in labor with my twins. He was a great fighter was GeorgeD.--as the marks on my body ken show to this very day."
At that instant there was a terrific knocking at the door which openeddirectly into the parlor in which the waiting women were standing, andthe farm-wife jumped and staggered back, and, finally, collapsed intoan 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'llsee 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 herform of address right the first time. "Don't 'ee be rash. Ther'll beblood 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 fledprecipitately to the farthest extremity of her own domain and armedherself with the heavy iron shaker of the cook-stove.
In the meantime Joan went to the door and flung it wide open. In spiteof the farm-wife's warnings she had not a shadow of doubt as to thepeaceful object of the visitation, and rather felt that in some sortof way it was intended as an expression of good-will and greeting. Hadnot Buck told her that they held her in the light of some sort ofbenefactor? So she stood in the doorway erect and waiting, with a calmface, on which there was not a shadow of a smile.
She took in the gathering at a glance, and her eyes came to rest uponthe foremost figure of Montana Ike. She noted his slim, boyish figure,the weak, animal expression shining in his furtive eyes. To her helooked just what he was, a virile specimen of reckless young manhood,of vicious and untamed spirit. She saw at once that he was standingout 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 aviolent condition of blushing through his dirt.
He stood there paralyzed at the girl's beauty. He just gaped foolishlyat her, his eyes seeking refuge in dwelling upon the well-cut skirtshe wore and the perfect whiteness of the lawn shirt-waist, whichpermitted the delicate pink tinge of her arms and shoulders to showthrough it.
All his bravery was gone--all his assurance. If his life had dependedon it not one word of an address on behalf of his fellows could hehave uttered.
Joan saw his confusion, and mercifully came to his rescue.
"You wish to see me?" she inquired, with a smile which plunged the boyinto even more hopeless confusion.
As no answer was forthcoming she looked appealingly at the otherfaces.
"It's very kind of you all to come here," she said gently. "Is--isthere anything I can--do for you?"
Suddenly Beasley's voice made itself heard.
"Git busy, Ike, you're spokesman," he cried. "Git on with thepresentation--ladle out the ad--dress. You're kind o' lookin'foolish."
He followed up his words with his unpleasant laugh, and it was thesting the youthful leader needed.
He turned fiercely on the speaker, his momentary paralysis allvanished.
"Ef I'm spokesman," he cried, "guess we don't need no buttin' in fromBeasley 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 athis desperately serious manner.
"'What?'" he murmured, smearing his dirty forehead with a horny handin the effort of his task. Then he brightened. "Why, gener'lyspeakin'," he went on, with sudden enthusiasm, "they ain't muchbetter'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. Butinstead of help she only beheld an expression of general discontentturned on the unconscious back of the spokesman. And coming back tothe 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 arotten kind of a job handin' a red-ha'r'd gal a few words an' ana'mighty fine hunk o' gold. That's cos they ain't been dragged up jestright. You can't expect elegant feedin' at a hog trough. Now it's kindo' diff'rent wi' me. I----"
"Oh, quit," cried the sharp voice of the exasperated Abe Allinson. Andthere 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 yourbelfry, Ike."
The boy jumped round on the instant. His good-nature could stand thejibes of his comrades generally, but Beasley's sneers neither he norany one else could endure.
"Who's that yappin'?" the youngster cried, glowering into thespeaker's face. "That the feller Buck called an outlaw passon?" hedemanded. His right hand slipped to the butt of his gun. "Say you,"he cried threateningly, "if you got anything to say I'm right hereyearnin' to listen."
Joan saw the half-drawn weapon, and in the same instant became awareof a movement on the part of the man Beasley. She was horrified,expecting one of those fierce collisions she had heard about. But themoment passed, and, though she did not realize it, it was caused byIke'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'sreadiness, while he watched the others closely.
Ike turned to her again, and his anger had merged into a comical lookof chagrin.
"Y' see, missie," he said in a fresh tone of apology, "ther's fellersaround here wi' no sort o' manners. They're scairt to death makin' abig talk to a red-ha'r'd gal, so I jest got to do it. An' I sez it, itain'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?" hewent on, appealing to the smiling girl. "Y' see, missie, we're rightglad 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 Petehastily.
"In the storm," nodded Curly Saunders.
"All mussed-up an' beat to hell," cried Ike, feeling that he was beingousted from his rights.
"Yes, an' Buck carried you to home, an' rode in fer the doc, an' hadyou fixed right," cried Abe.
Ike looked round indignantly.
"Say, is youse fellers makin' this big talk or me? ain't yearnin', ifany 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 hiswork. He shrugged.
"They ain't no account anyway, missie," he assured her, "guess they'resore. Wal, y' see you come along in the storm, an' what should happenbut the side o' Devil's Hill drops out, an' sets gold rollin' aroundlike--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 rightther', so ther' can't be no mistake. Jest a pore, sick gal wi' redha'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 feelbetter after he's had his vittles."
Pete sniggered.
"Ain't he comic?" he cried. Then, seizing the opportunity, while Iketurned 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 ourluck. Some of us ain't got your name right, nor nuthin'. Anyway thatdon't figger nuthin'. We ain't had no luck till you come along, soyou're jest our Golden Woman, an' we're goin' to hand you----"
Joan started back as though the man had struck her. Her beautifulcheeks 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 overpoweringher. "You see 'Golden' isn't my real name," she explained, withoutpausing to think. "That's only a nickname my father ga--gave me. I--Iwas 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 hername, an' we only hit on it cos she's got gold ha'r, an' bro't usgold. An' all the time her pa used to call her 'Golden.' Can you beatit?" 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 girlalmost weeping in her terror and misery. But the men saw nothing ofthe effect of their good-will. They were only too glad to be able tofind such an outlet to their feelings. When the cheering ceased Petethrust out an arm toward her. His palm was stretched open, and lyingon it was the great yellow nugget that the Padre had found--the firstfind 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 histo 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 nuggetof gold; to the finding of its kind their lives were devoted. Beasleywas at Pete's elbow, the greediest of them all.
"It wasn't no scrapin' an' scratchin' luck," the enthusiastic Petehurried 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 comefor. 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 pointedat 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 cansee. She's seen wot's ther'. It's a death's head. Gold? Gee, I tellyou it's a death's head! Look at them eye-sockets," he cried, pointingat the curious moulding of the nugget. "Ther's the nose bones, an' thejaw. Look at them teeth, too, all gold-filled, same as if a dentisthad done 'em." He laughed maliciously. "It's a dandy present fer alady. 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 horrorlit the superstitious faces. Beasley, watching, saw that he had madehis point, so he hurried on--
"Don't you touch it, miss," he cried gleefully, as though hethoroughly enjoyed delivering his warning. "It's rotten luck if youdo. That gold is Devil's gold. It's come from Devil's Hill, in aDevil's storm. It's a death's head, an' there's all the trouble in theworld in it. There's----"
His prophecy remained uncompleted. He was suddenly caught by apowerful hand, and the next instant he found himself swung to theoutskirts 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 withbiting coldness, raising it at arm's length above his head.
Then before any one was aware of his intention he flung it with allhis force upon the flagstone at Joan's feet. Quickly he stooped andpicked it up again, and again flung it down with all his strength. Herepeated the process several times, and finally held it out toward thetroubled girl.
"You ken take it now," he said, his whole manner softening. "GuessBeasley's 'death's head' has gone--to its grave. Ther' ain't no sorto' trouble can hurt any, if--you only come down on it hard enough. Thetrouble 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'tsee it come your way. You can sure take it now."
Joan reached out a timid hand, while her troubled violet eyes lookedinto 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 goodfeelings 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 onher lips. She stepped back to her doorway and passed within.
"I'm tired," she said, and her words were solely addressed to Buck. Henodded, while she closed the door. Then he turned about.
"Wal!" he said.
And his manner was a decided dismissal.
The Golden Woman: A Story of the Montana Hills Page 12