The Golden Woman Part 28

"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 a.s.sumption 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 st.u.r.dy 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 hara.s.s 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 surrept.i.tious 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.