The Golden Woman: A Story of the Montana Hills

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XVIII

  WHEN LIFE HOLDS NO SHADOWS

  The mellow evening light glows with a living warmth of color uponhill, and valley, and plain. The myriad tints shine in perfectharmony, for Nature is incapable of discord whether in her reign ofbeauty or her moments of terror. Discord belongs to the imperfecthuman eye, the human brain, the human heart. Thus must the mostperfect human creation be ever imperfect.

  But Nature's perfections are never lost upon the human mind. They arenot intended to be lost. They serve well their purpose of elevating,of uplifting all thought, and affording inspiration for all that whichis good and beautiful in hearts thrilling with emotions which needstrong support to save them from their own weaknesses.

  Something of this influence was at work in the hearts of a man and agirl riding over the hard sand trail in the pleasant evening light.The man's youthful heart was thrilling with a hope he dared notattempt to define, and could not if he would. His every feeling wasinspired by a joy he had no proper understanding of. The glance of hisdark eyes bespoke his mood, and his buoyancy seemed to communicateitself to the great horse under him. All he knew was that the glory ofthe day was all about him, and, beside him, Joan was riding thePadre's sturdy horse.

  The girl at his side was no less uplifted. At the moment shadowstroubled her not at all. They were gone, merged into soft, hazy gauzesthrough which peeped the scenes of life as she desired life to be, andevery picture was rose-tinted with the wonderful light of an eveningsun.

  Her fair young face was radiant; a wonderful happiness shone in theviolet depths of her eyes. Her sweet lips were parted, displaying hereven, white teeth, and her whole expression was much that of a childwho, 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 andenjoyment.

  For a while they rode in silence, their bodies swaying easily to therhythmic gait of the horses. Their direction lay toward the sun, thatdirection 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, whichleft the lower atmosphere undisturbed. The scented air, pungent withpleasant odors, swept them by as their horses loped easily along. Itwas a moment of perfect peace, a moment when life could hold noshadows.

  But such feelings are only for the silent moments of perfectcompanionship. The spoken word, which indexes thought, robs them ofhalf their charm and beauty. The girl felt something of this as thecalm voice of her companion broke the wonderful spell.

  "That feller's shaping well," he said, his thoughts for the momentevidently upon the practical side of her comfort.

  The girl nodded. That look of rapturous joy had left her, and she toobecame practical.

  "I think so--when Mrs. Ransford leaves him alone," she said, with alittle 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'dgone to bed. Really, Buck, she's a terrible woman."

  In the growing weeks of companionship Joan had learned to use thisman's name as familiarly as though she had known him all her life. Itwould have seemed absurd to call him anything but Buck now. Besides,she liked doing so. The name fitted him. "Buck;" it suggested toher--spirit, independence, courage, everything that was manly; and shehad long ago decided that he was all these things--and more.

  Buck laughed in his quiet fashion. He rarely laughed loudly. Joanthought 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 smoothedthe silky neck of the Padre's horse, and Buck's admiring eyes took inthe perfect lines of her well-cut habit. He had never seen anythinglike it before, and failed to understand the excellence of itstailoring, but he knew that everything about this girl was wonderfullybeautiful, 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 hadheld her in his arms. It was a thought almost always with him, athought 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 upin her saddle again. "She's a good worker, herself. She's taught me agood deal already. Oh, yes," she smiled at his look of incredulity,"I've begun my lessons. I am learning all I can, preparing for thebigger lessons of this--this"--she gave a comprehensive glance at thehills--"wonderful world."

  Buck nodded. But he rode on in silence, his face for the momentclouded with deep thought. He was thinking of that night in Beasley'sstore. He was thinking of what might have happened there if thosewomen had carried out their purpose. He was wondering what the lessonsmight be that this girl might yet find herself confronted with. Thematter troubled him. And Joan's surreptitious glance into his facewarned 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 enumeratedthe possible relationships.

  But the girl shook her head at each one, and he went on in a tone ofdisappointment.

  "It's kind of a pity," he observed. Then, in answer to the girl'squick look of inquiry, he added evasively: "You see it's lonesome fora gal--out in these hills."

  Joan knew that that was not the reason of his inquiry, and she smiledquietly at her horse's ears.

  "Why did you want to know if I had--menfolk?" she asked. "I mean thereal reason." She looked up frankly smiling, and compelled hisattention.

  Buck was not easy to corner, even though he had no experience ofwomen. Again Joan heard his strange gurgle, and her smile broadened.

  "You could sure learn your lessons easier with your menfolk around tohelp 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 mostexasperating. Still, I'll tell you. The only relative I have in theworld, 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 toweringrock above the trees. "There's Devil's Hill!" he exclaimed.

  Joan looked up, all eager delight to behold this wonderful hill Buckhad brought her out to see. She expected something unusual, foralready she had listened to several accounts of this place and thegold "strike" she was supposed to have brought about. Nor was shedisappointed now, at least at first. She stared with wondering eyes atthe weird, black giant raising its ugly head in a frowning threatabove them, and gave a gasp of surprise.

  Then in a moment her surprise died out, and into her eyes crept astrange 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 someharmless bird held by the hypnotic stare of a python. So long did sheremain silent that Buck at last turned and looked into her face. Andsomething like alarm caught and held him when he beheld her gray lookof horror as she faced the gloomy crags mounting up before them.

  He too looked out ahead. But his imagination failed him, and his eyescame back to her. The change in her happy, smiling eyes wasincredible. Her smile had gone utterly--the bright color of hercheeks. There was no awe in her look, neither curiosity noradmiration. To him it almost seemed that her whole body was thrilledwith 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 nomistaking.
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 wonderingthe more. She was stirred with strange feelings which embodied a dozendifferent emotions, and it was the sight of that great black crown,like the head of a Gorgon, which had inspired them. Its fascinationwas one of cruel attraction. Its familiarity suggested associationwith some part of her life. It seemed as if she belonged to it, orthat it belonged to her--that in some curious way it was actually apart of her life. And all the time her detestation, her fear surgedthrough her heart and left her revolting. But she knew she must go on.Its fascination claimed her and drew her, calling to her with asummons 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 hermanner 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 themoment, his presence had no place in her thought.

  So they drew toward the shadow of the hill. Each was lost in disturbedreflections. Joan was waiting, expectant of she knew not what, and theman, filled with puzzlement, knew that the solution lay only with thegirl beside him.

  It had been his thought to point out the things which his practicedmind suggested as of interest, but now, as he beheld the raptexpression of her face, it all became different. Therefore he checkedthe eager Caesar and let her lead the way.

  Joan had no observation for anything as she rode on right up to thevery shadow of the suspended lake. Then, almost mechanically, asthough urged by some unseen hand, she drew up sharply. She was nolonger looking at the hill, she sat in her saddle limply, and staredvacantly at the rough workings of the miners which had been abandonedfor the day.

  Still Buck waited in silence.

  At last he had his reward. The girl made a movement almost like ashiver. Then she sat up erect. The color came back to her cheeks andshe turned to him with eyes in which a ghost of a smile flitted.

  "I--I had forgotten," she said half-apologetically. "This is what hasbrought prosperity to the camp. This is what has saved them fromstarvation. 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'smood. So used was he to the gloomy hill that its effect was quite loston him. Now he knew that some superstitious chord had been struck inthe girl's feelings, and this strange hill had been the medium of itsexpression.

  He suddenly leant forward. Resting on the horn of his saddle he lookedinto the fair face he so loved. He had seen that haunted look in herface before. He remembered his first meeting with her at the barn. Itstermination had troubled him then. It had troubled him since. Heremembered the incident when the gold had been presented to her. Againhe had witnessed that hunted, terrified look, that strangeoverpowering of some painful thought--or memory.

  Now he felt that she needed support, and strove with all his power toafford 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 thehill and the wonderful green country surrounding them. "Get a lookaround," he went on, with a comprehensive gesture. "This rock--it'sjust rock, natural rock; it's rock you'll find most anywhere. It's gotdumped down right here wher' most things are green, an' dandy, an'beautiful to the eye; so it looks queer, an' sets your thoughtsgropin' among the cobwebs of mystery. Ther's sure no life to it butthe life of rock. This great overhang has just been cut by washouts ofcenturies in spring, when the creek's in flood, an' it just happensther's a hot sulphur lake on top, fed by a spring. I've known it theseyears an' years. Guess it's sure always been the same. It ain't gotenough to it to scare a jack-rabbit."

  Joan shook her head. But the man was glad to see the return of hernatural expression, and that her smiling eyes were filled with agrowing 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 itis for ourselves. It's the same for everybody, an' each feller getsbusy makin' it different. The feller that gets chasin' trouble don'tneed to run. He only needs to set around and shout. Guess it'll comealong if he's yearnin' for it. But it don't come on its own. That'ssure as sure. Keep brain an' body busy doin' the things that liehandy, an' when you got to make good among the rocks of life, why, Isure guess you won't find a rock half big enough to stop you."

  Watching the deep glowing eyes of the man Joan felt that hisconfidence was not merely the confidence of brave words. A singleglance into his purposeful face left the definite impression that hiswas 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 effetecivilization. His was the force and courage of the wild--the impulsewhich governs all creatures who live in the midst of Nature'sbattle-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 oflife does not always fall so easily. There are things, too, in spiteof what you say, that we cannot control--evils, I mean evils whichafflict us."

  Buck glanced away down the creek. Then his eyes came back to her, anda new resolve lay behind them.

  "I'm no stronger than others," he said. "Guess I haven't ha'f thestrength of some. I'd say----" he paused. Then he went on, his eyesgazing fearlessly into hers: "I'd say I haven't ha'f the strength of agal who gives up the city--a young gal jest beginning a woman's lifewith 'most everything in her favor--an' comes right out here to farmwithout a livin' soul to pass her a hand. I ain't got ha'f the courageof a gal who does that jest because she's chased by thoughts thatworry 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'tha'f so pleasant as death, why, I'd sure say ther' ain't no greaterstrength 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. Howhad this man discovered her secret? How? How? What did he knowbesides? For a moment her feelings robbed her of speech and betrayedthemselves in her expressive face.

  But the man's smile, so easy, so disarming, held her. He saw andunderstood, and he hastened to reassure her.

  "Guess I ain't pryin'," he said bluntly. "These things just come alongto my tongue, feeling you were troubled at this--hill. You've told mea heap since you come to the farm. You told me things which I don'tguess you wer' yearnin' to tell any one. But you didn't tell 'em withyour tongue. An' I don't guess you need to. Set your mind easy. You'rescared to death of some trouble which ain't of your seekin'--wal, Idon't believe in such trouble."

  Then he laughed in so unconcerned, so buoyant and whole-hearted afashion that Joan's confidence and hope leapt again.

  "Say," he added, as he saw the brightening of her face, "when youfancy 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'myearnin' 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 misera
blelittle story. Yes, he made it seem so small to her now. He made it, atthe moment, seem like nothing. It was almost as though he hadliterally lifted her burden and was bearing the lion's share of ithimself. Her heart thrilled with gratitude, with joy in this man'swonderful comradeship. She longed to open her heart to him--to implorehim 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 thatit was there to support her always. She felt all these things withoutone shadow of fear--somehow his very presence dispelled her shadows.

  But only did she permit her warm smile to convey something of all shefelt as she rejected his offer.

  "You don't know what you are asking," she said gently. Then she shookher head. "It is impossible. No one can shift the burdens of life onto the shoulders of another--however willing they be. No one has theright to attempt it. As we are born, so we must live. The life that isours is ours alone."

  Buck caught at her words with a sudden outburst of passionateremonstrance.

  "You're wrong--dead wrong," he declared vehemently, his eyes glowingwith the depth of feeling stirring him, a hot flush forcing its waythrough the deep tanning of his cheeks. "No gal has a right to carrytrouble with a man around to help. She's made for the sunlight, forthe warmth an' ease of life. She's made to set around an' take in allthose good things the good God meant for her so she can pass 'em righton to the kiddies still to be born. A woman's jest the mother of theworld. An' the men she sets on it are there to see her right. Thewoman who don't see it that way is wrong--dead wrong. An' the man thatdon't get right up on to his hind legs an' do those things--wal, heain't a man."

  It was a moment Joan would never forget. As long as she lived thateager face, with eyes alight, the rapid tongue pouring out thesentiments of his simple heart must ever remain with her. It was apicture of virile manhood such as in her earliest youth she haddreamed of, a dream which had grown dimmer and dimmer as sheprogressed toward womanhood and learned the ways of the life that hadbeen hers. Here it was in all reality, in all its pristine simplicity,but--she gathered up her reins and moved her horse round, heading himtoward 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'mglad to think that I have begun the lessons which this great big worldis going to teach me. For the rest--we'd better go home. Look! Thedaylight is going."