The Golden Woman: A Story of the Montana Hills Page 11

  CHAPTER XI

  THE SHADOW OF THE PAST

  The gleaming prongs of the fork were sharply withdrawn, and a pleasantvoice greeted the girl.

  "Guess that was a near thing," it said half-warningly.

  Joan had started back, but at the sound of the voice she quicklyrecovered herself.

  "It was," she agreed. Then as she looked into the smiling eyes of thestranger she began to laugh.

  "Another inch an' more an' you'd sure have been all mussed up on thatpile of barn litter," he went on, joining in her laugh.

  "I s'pose I should," Joan nodded, her mirth promptly sobering to abroad smile.

  She had almost forgotten her purpose so taken up was she in observingthis "scallawag," as Mrs. Ransford had called him. Nor did it take herimpressionable nature more than a second to decide that her worthyhousekeeper was something in the nature of a thoroughly stupid woman.She liked the look of him. She liked his easy manner. More than allshe liked the confident look of his dark eyes and his sunburnt face,so full of strength.

  "Hayforks are cussed things anyway," the man said, flinging theimplement aside as though it had offended him.

  Joan watched him. She was wondering how best to approach the questionsin her mind. Somehow they did not come as easily as she hadanticipated. It was one thing to make up her mind beforehand, andanother to put her decision into execution. He was certainly not therough, uncouth man she had expected to find. True, his language wasthe language of the prairie, and his clothes, yes, they surelybelonged to his surroundings, but there was none of the uncleannessabout them she had anticipated.

  It was his general manner, however, that affected her chiefly. Howtall and strong he was, and the wonderful sunburn on his clean-cutface and massive arms! Then he had such an air of reserve. No, it wasnot easy.

  Finally, she decided to temporize, and wait for an opening. And inthat she knew in her heart she was yielding to weakness.

  "My housekeeper tells me it was you who handed the farm over to her?"she said interrogatively.

  The man's eyes began to twinkle again.

  "Was that your--housekeeper?" he inquired.

  "Yes--Mrs. Ransford."

  Joan felt even less at her ease confronted by those twinkling eyes.

  "She's a--bright woman."

  The man casually picked up a straw and began to chew it.

  Joan saw that he was smiling broadly, and resented it. So she threwall the dignity she could summon into her next question.

  "Then you must be Mr. Moreton Kenyon!" she said.

  The man shook his head.

  "Wrong. That's the 'Padre,'" he announced curtly.

  Joan forgot her resentment in her surprise.

  "The 'Padre'! Why, I thought Mr. Kenyon was a farmer!"

  The man nodded.

  "So he is. You see folks call him Padre because he's a real goodfeller," he explained. Then he added: "He's got white hair, too. Awhole heap of it. That sort o' clinched it."

  The dark eyes had become quite serious again. There was even a tenderlight in them as he searched the girl's fair face. He was wonderingwhat was yet to come. He was wondering how this interview was to bearon the future. In spite of his easy manner he dreaded lest the threatsof Mrs. Ransford were about to be put into execution.

  Joan accepted his explanation.

  "I see," she said. Then, after a pause: "Then who are you?"

  "Me? Oh, I'm 'Buck,'" he responded, with a short laugh.

  "Buck--who?"

  "Jest plain 'Buck.'" Again came that short laugh.

  "Mr. Kenyon's son?"

  The man shook his head, and Joan tried again.

  "His nephew?"

  Again came that definite shake. Joan persisted, but with growingimpatience.

  "Perhaps you're--his partner?" she said, feeling that if he againshook his head she must inevitably shake him.

  But she was spared a further trial. Buck had been quick to realizeher disappointment. Nor had he any desire to inspire her anger. On thecontrary, his one thought was to please and help her.

  "You see we're not related. Ther's nuthin' between us but that he'sjest my great big friend," he explained.

  His reward came promptly in the girl's sunny smile. And the sight ofit quickened his pulses and set him longing to hold her again in hisarms as he had done only yesterday. Somehow she had taken a place inhis thoughts which left him feeling very helpless. He never rememberedfeeling helpless before. It was as though her coming into his life hadrobbed him of all his confidence. Yesterday he had found a womanalmost in rags. Yesterday she was in trouble, and it had seemed thesimplest thing in the world for him to take her in his arms and carryher to the home he knew to be hers. Now--now, all that confidence wasgone. Now an indefinable barrier, but none the less real, had beenraised between them. It was a barrier he felt powerless to break down.This beautiful girl, with her deep violet eyes and wonderful red-goldhair, clad in her trim costume of lawn and serge, seemed to him like acreature from an undreamed-of world, and as remote from him as ifthousands of miles separated them. He sighed as Joan went on with herexamination--

  "I suppose you have come to fetch some of your big friend'sbelongings?" she said pleasantly.

  For answer Buck suddenly flung out a protecting arm.

  "Say, you're sure getting mussed with that dirty litter," he saidalmost reproachfully. "See, your fixin's are right agin it. Say----"

  Joan laughed outright at his look of profound concern.

  "That doesn't matter a bit," she exclaimed. "I must get used to being'mussed-up.' You see, I'm a farmer--now."

  The other's concern promptly vanished. He loved to hear her laugh.

  "You never farmed any?" he asked.

  "Never." Joan shook her head in mock seriousness. "Isn't it desperateof me? No, I'm straight from a city."

  Buck withdrew his gaze from her face and glanced out at the hills. Butit was only for a moment. His eyes came back as though drawn by amagnet.

  "Guess you'll likely find it dull here--after a city," he said atlast. "Y' see, it's a heap quiet. It ain't quiet to me, but then I'venever been to a city--unless you call Leeson Butte a city. Some folksfeel lonesome among these big hills."

  "I don't think I shall feel lonesome," Joan said quickly. "The peaceand quiet of this big world is all I ask. I left the city to get awayfrom--oh, from the bustle of it all! Yes, I want the rest and quiet ofthese hills more than anything else in the world."

  The passionate longing in her words left Buck wondering. But he noddedsympathetically.

  "I'd say you'd get it right here," he declared. Then he turned towardthe great hills, and a subtle change seemed to come over his wholemanner. His dark eyes wore a deep, far-away look in which shone awonderfully tender affection. It was the face of a man who, perhapsfor the first time, realizes the extent and depth of his love for thehomeland which is his.

  "It's big--big," he went on, half to himself. "It's so big itsometimes makes me wonder. Look at 'em," he cried, pointing out at thepurpling distance, "rising step after step till it don't seem they canever git bigger. An' between each step there's a sort of worlddifferent from any other. Each one's hidden all up, so pryin' eyescan't see into 'em. There's life in those worlds, all sorts of life.An' it's jest fightin', lovin', dyin', eatin', sleepin', same aseverywhere else. There's a big story in 'em somewhere--a great bigstory. An' it's all about the game of life goin' on in there, jest thesame as it does here, an' anywher'. Yes, it's a big story and hard toread for most of us. Guess we don't ever finish readin' it,anyway--until we die. Don't guess they intended us to. Don't guess itwould be good for us to read it easy."

  He turned slowly from the scene that meant so much to him, and smiledinto Joan's astonished eyes.

  "An' you're goin' to git busy--readin' that story?" he asked.

  The startled girl found herself answering almost before she was awareof it.

  "I--I hope to," she said simply.

  Then she suddenly realized her own sma
llness. She felt almostoverpowered with the bigness of what the man's words had shown her. Itwas wonderful to her the thought of this--this "scallawag." The wordflashed through her mind, and with it came an even fuller realizationof Mrs. Ransford's stupidity. The man's thought was the poet's insightinto Nature's wonderlands. He was speaking of that great mountainworld as though it were a religion to him, as if it represented sometreasured poetic ideal, or some lifelong, priceless friendship.

  She saw his answering nod of sympathy, and sighed her relief. Just forone moment she had been afraid. She had been afraid of some sign ofpity, even contempt. She felt her own weakness without that. Now shewas glad, and went on with more confidence.

  "I'm going to start from the very beginning," she said, with somethingakin to enthusiasm. "I'm going to start here--right here, on my veryown farm. Surely the rudiments must lie here--the rudiments that mustbe mastered before the greater task of reading that story is begun."She turned toward the blue hills, where the summer clouds were wrappedabout the glistening snowcaps. "Yes," she cried, clasping her handsenthusiastically, "I want to learn it all--all." Suddenly she turnedback and looked at him with a wonderful, smiling simplicity. "Will youhelp me?" she said eagerly. "Perhaps--in odd moments? Will you help mewith those--lessons?"

  Buck's breath came quickly, and his simple heart was set thumping inhis bosom. But his face was serious, and his eyes quite calm as henodded.

  "It'll be dead easy for you to learn," he said, a new deep notesounding in his voice. "You'll learn anything I know, an' much more,in no time. You can't help but learn. You'll be quicker to understand,quicker to feel all those things. Y' see I've got no sort ofcleverness--nor nuthin'. I jest look around an' see things--an' then,then I think I know." He laughed quietly at his own conceit. "Oh, yes!sometimes I guess I know it all. An' then I get sorry for folks thatdon't, an' I jest wonder how it comes everybody don't understand--sameas me. Then something happens."

  "Yes, yes."

  Joan was so eager she felt she could not wait for the pause thatfollowed. Buck laughed.

  "Something happens, same as it did yesterday," he went on. "Oh, it'sbig--it sure is!" he added. And he turned again to his contemplationof the hills.

  But Joan promptly recalled his wandering attention.

  "You mean--the storm?" she demanded.

  Buck nodded.

  "That--an' the other."

  "What--other?"

  "The washout," he said.

  Then, as he saw the look of perplexity in the wide violet eyes, hewent on to explain--

  "You ain't heard? Why, there was a washout on Devil's Hill, where fornigh a year they bin lookin' for gold. Y' see they knew the gold wasthere, but couldn't jest locate it. For months an' months they ain'tseen a sign o' color. They bin right down to 'hard pan.' They wer'jest starvin' their lives clear out. But they'd sank the'r pile inthat hill, an' couldn't bring 'emselves to quit. Then along comes thestorm, an' right wher' they're working it washes a great lump o' thehill down. Hundreds o' thousands o' tons of rock an' stuff it wouldhave needed a train load of dynamite to shift."

  "Yes, yes." Joan's eagerness brought her a step nearer to him. "Andthey found----"

  "Gold!" Buck laughed. "Lumps of it."

  "Gold--in lumps!" The girl's eyes widened with an excitement which thediscovery of the precious metal ever inspires.

  The man watched her thoughtfully.

  "Why aren't you there?" Joan demanded suddenly.

  "Can't jest say." Buck shrugged. "Maybe it's because they bin lookin'fer gold, an'--wal, I haven't."

  "Gold--in lumps!" Again came the girl's amazed exclamation, and Bucksmiled at her enthusiasm.

  "Sure. An' they kind o' blame you for it. They sort o' fancy youbrought 'em their luck. Y' see it came when you got around their hut.They say ther' wasn't no luck to the place till you brought it. An'now----"

  Joan's eyes shone.

  "Oh, I'm so glad. I'm so glad I've brought them----"

  But her expression of joy was never completed. She broke off with asharp ejaculation, and the color died out of her cheeks, leaving herso ghastly pale that the man thought she was about to faint. Shestaggered back and leant for support against the wall of the barn, andBuck sprang to her side. In a moment, however, she stood up andimperiously waved him aside.

  There was no mistaking the movement. Her whole manner seemed to havefrozen up. The frank girlishness had died as completely as though ithad never been, and the man stood abashed, and at a loss forunderstanding.

  Now he saw before him a woman still beautiful, but a woman whose eyeshad lost every vestige of that happy light. Despair was written inevery feature, despair and utter hopelessness. Her mouth, thatbeautiful mouth so rich and delicate, was now tight shut as of one ingreat suffering, and deep, hard lines had suddenly gathered about thecorners of it. The change smote him to the heart, but left him utterlyhelpless.

  Realization had come. Joan had suddenly remembered all that lay behindher--all that had driven her to seek the remoteness of the wildWestern world. She had sought to flee from the fate which her AuntMercy had told her was hers, and now she knew that she might as welltry to flee from her own shadow.

  Oh, the horror of it all! These people believed that she had broughtthem their luck. _She knew that she had._ What was the disaster thatmust follow? What lives must go down before the sword a terrible Fatehad placed in her hand? For the moment panic held her in its grip. Fora moment it seemed that death alone could save her from the dreadconsequences of the curse that was upon her. It was cruel, cruel--thedesolation, the hopelessness of it all. And in her sudden anguish sheprayed that death might be visited upon her.

  But even amidst the horror of her realization the influence of theman's presence was at work. She knew he was there a witness to theterror she could not hide, and so she strove for recovery.

  Then she heard him speak, and at the sound of his quiet tone hernerves eased and she grew calmer.

  "I don't guess you recovered from the storm. I'd sure say you needrest," Buck said in his gentle, solicitous fashion. And in her heartJoan thanked him for the encouragement his words gave her. He hadasked no questions. He had expressed no astonishment, and yet she knewhe must have realized that her trouble was no physical ailment.

  "Yes," she said, jumping at the opening he had given her, "I'm tired.I'll--I'll go back to the house."

  Buck nodded, disguising his anxiety beneath a calm that seemed sonatural to him.

  "Jest get back an' rest. You needn't worry any 'bout the hosses, an'cows, an' things. I'm fixin' them for the night, an' I'll be rightalong in the morning to do the chores. Y' see I know this farm, an'all that needs doin'. Guess I was raised on it," he added, with asmile, "so the work's sort o' second nature to me."

  Joan's chance had come, but she passed it by. She knew she ought tohave refused his help. She ought to have, as Mrs. Ransford had said,sent him about his business. But she did nothing of the sort. Sheaccepted. She did more. She held out her hand to him, and let him takeit in both of his in a friendly pressure as she thanked him.

  "I'm--I'm very grateful," she said weakly. And the man flushed underhis sunburn, while his temples hammered as the hot young blood mountedto his brain.

  A moment later Buck stood staring at the angle of the barn round whichJoan had just vanished. He was half-dazed, and the only thing thatseemed absolutely real to him was the gentle pressure of her hand asit had rested in his. He could feel it still; he could feel everypressure of the soft, warm flesh where it had lain on his hard palms.And all the time he stood there his whole body thrilled with anemotion that was almost painful.

  At last he stirred. He stooped and picked up the discarded fork. Hehad no definite purpose. He was scarcely aware of his action. He heldit for a moment poised in the air. Then slowly he let the prongs of itrest on the ground, and, leaning his chin on his hands clasped aboutthe haft, stared out at the hills and gave himself up to such a dreamas never before had entered his life.

  The
sun was dipping behind the snowcaps, and for half an hour the workhe had voluntarily undertaken remained untouched.

  How much longer he would have remained lost in his wonderful dreamingit would have been impossible to tell. But he was ruthlessly awakened,and all his youthful ardor received a cold douche as the evening quietwas suddenly broken by the harsh voices of the crowd of gold-seekers,whom he suddenly beheld approaching the farm along the trail.