The Golden Woman Part 20

Joan took the gold, but there was no smile in her eyes, no thanks on her lips. She stepped back to her doorway and pa.s.sed 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 ama.s.sed wealth for the parent companies in distant lands, and ruthlessly despoiled the wild of its furry denizens.

These were the pioneers, st.u.r.dy 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 unsurpa.s.sable 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 a.s.set of all pioneers, a st.u.r.dy 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 pa.s.sionate 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 a.s.sociations 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 pailla.s.ses 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-gla.s.s 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 pa.s.sing 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 ch.o.r.es 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 e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, 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 grat.i.tude 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."