The Golden Woman Part 23

"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 a.n.a.lytical. 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 "ch.o.r.es"

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 Caesar 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 pa.s.sed, 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 a.s.sociate 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.