The Golden Woman Part 18

Inside the house Mrs. Ransford was debating the situation with her mistress. She had witnessed the advance of the besieging party, and, half-frightened and half-resentful, the latter perhaps the more plainly manifested, she was detailing in unmeasured terms her opinions and fears to the still hara.s.sed girl.

"Jest git a peek at 'em through the window, miss--'ma'm' I should say, on'y I don't allus remember right, as you might say. Ther's twenty an'

more o' the lowest down b.u.ms ever I see outside a State penitentiary.

They're sure the most ter'blest lot ever I did see. An' they got 'emselves fixed up wi' guns an' knives, an' what not an' sech, till you can't see the color o' their clothes fer the dirt on 'em. I'll swar' to goodness, as the sayin' is, they ain't never see no water sence they was christened, if they ever was christened, which I don't believe no gospel preacher would ever so demean himself. An' as fer soap, say, they couldn't even spell it if you was to hand 'em the whole soap fact'ry literature of a fi'-cent daily noos-sheet. They're jest ter'ble, an' it seems to me we sure need a reg'ment o' United States Cavalry settin' around on horses an' field guns to pertect us, ef we're to farm this one-hossed layout. They're 'bad men,' mum, miss--which I made a mistake ag'in--that's wot they are. I've read about 'em in the fi'-cent comics, so I sure know 'em when I see 'em.

You can't never make no mistake. They're jest goin' to shoot us all up to glory, an' they'll dance around on our corpses, same as if they was nuthin', nor no account anyways."

In spite of her recent shock Joan found herself smiling at the strange mixture of fear and anger in the old woman's manner. But she felt it necessary to check her flow of wild accusations. She guessed easily enough who the men were that were approaching the house, but their object remained a mystery.

"You're hasty. You mustn't judge these people by their appearance.

They're----"

But the feverish tongue was promptly set clacking again.

"An' wot, I asks, is they to be judged by if not by wot they are? They jest come along a-yowlin', an' a-shootin' off'n their guns an' things, same as they allus do when they's on the war-path. Scalps, that's wot they's after. Scalps, no more an' no less. An' to think o' me at my time o' life a-fallin' a prey to Injuns, as you might say. Oh, if on'y my pore George D. Ransford was alive! He'd 'a' give 'em scalps. He was a man, sure, even though he did set around playin' poker all night when I was in labor with my twins. He was a great fighter was George D.--as the marks on my body ken show to this very day."

At that instant there was a terrific knocking at the door which opened directly into the parlor in which the waiting women were standing, and the farm-wife jumped and staggered back, and, finally, collapsed into an adjacent chair.

"Sakes on us," she cried, her fat face turning a sort of pea-green, "if only my pore George D.----"

But Joan's patience could stand no more.

"For goodness' sake go back to your kitchen, you absurd creature. I'll see to the matter. I----"

But the old woman wobbled to her feet almost weeping.

"Now, don't 'ee, miss," she cried in her tearful anxiety, getting her form of address right the first time. "Don't 'ee be rash. Ther'll be blood spilt, ther' sure will. Ther's on'y one way, miss, you must talk 'em nice, an', an' if they go fer to take liberties, you--why you,"

she edged toward her kitchen, "you jest send for me right away."

She hurried out, and the moment she was out of sight fled precipitately to the farthest extremity of her own domain and armed herself with the heavy iron shaker of the cook-stove.

In the meantime Joan went to the door and flung it wide open. In spite of the farm-wife's warnings she had not a shadow of doubt as to the peaceful object of the visitation, and rather felt that in some sort of way it was intended as an expression of good-will and greeting. Had not Buck told her that they held her in the light of some sort of benefactor? So she stood in the doorway erect and waiting, with a calm face, on which there was not a shadow of a smile.

She took in the gathering at a glance, and her eyes came to rest upon the foremost figure of Montana Ike. She noted his slim, boyish figure, the weak, animal expression s.h.i.+ning in his furtive eyes. To her he looked just what he was, a virile specimen of reckless young manhood, of vicious and untamed spirit. She saw at once that he was standing out from his companions, and understood that, for the moment at least, he was their leader.

"Good-evening," she said, her att.i.tude mechanically unbending.

"Evenin', miss," responded Ike bravely, and then relapsed into a violent condition of blus.h.i.+ng through his dirt.

He stood there paralyzed at the girl's beauty. He just gaped foolishly at her, his eyes seeking refuge in dwelling upon the well-cut skirt she wore and the perfect whiteness of the lawn s.h.i.+rt-waist, which permitted the delicate pink tinge of her arms and shoulders to show through it.

All his bravery was gone--all his a.s.surance. If his life had depended on it not one word of an address on behalf of his fellows could he have uttered.

Joan saw his confusion, and mercifully came to his rescue.

"You wish to see me?" she inquired, with a smile which plunged the boy into even more hopeless confusion.

As no answer was forthcoming she looked appealingly at the other faces.

"It's very kind of you all to come here," she said gently. "Is--is there anything I can--do for you?"

Suddenly Beasley's voice made itself heard.

"Git busy, Ike, you're spokesman," he cried. "Git on with the presentation--ladle out the ad--dress. You're kind o' lookin'

foolish."

He followed up his words with his unpleasant laugh, and it was the sting the youthful leader needed.

He turned fiercely on the speaker, his momentary paralysis all vanished.

"Ef I'm spokesman," he cried, "guess we don't need no b.u.t.tin' in from Beasley Melford." Then he turned again quickly. "Astin' your pardon, miss," he added apologetically.

"That's all right," said Joan, smiling amiably. "What are you 'spokesman' for?"

The boy grinned foolishly.

"Can't rightly say, missie." Then he jerked his head in his comrades'

direction. "Guess if you was to ast _them_, they'd call theirselves _men_."

"I didn't say 'who,' I said 'what,'" Joan protested, with a laugh at his desperately serious manner.

"'What?'" he murmured, smearing his dirty forehead with a h.o.r.n.y hand in the effort of his task. Then he brightened. "Why, gener'ly speakin'," he went on, with sudden enthusiasm, "they ain't much better'n skippin' sheep. Y' see they want to but da.r.s.ent.

So--wal--they jest set me up to sling the hot air."

The girl looked appealingly at the rough faces for a.s.sistance. But instead of help she only beheld an expression of general discontent turned on the unconscious back of the spokesman. And coming back to the boy she pursued the only course possible.

"I--I don't think I quite understand," she said.

Ike readily agreed with her.

"I'm durned sure you can't," he cried heartily. "They jest think it a rotten kind of a job handin' a red-ha'r'd gal a few words an' an a'mighty fine hunk o' gold. That's cos they ain't been dragged up jest right. You can't expect elegant feedin' at a hog trough. Now it's kind o' diff'rent wi' me. I----"

"Oh, quit," cried the sharp voice of the exasperated Abe Allinson. And there was no doubt but he was speaking for the rest of the audience.

Pete followed him in a tone of equal resentment.

"That ain't no sort o' way ad--dressin' a leddy," he said angrily.

"Course it ain't," sneered Beasley. "Ther's sure bats roostin' in your belfry, Ike."

The boy jumped round on the instant. His good-nature could stand the jibes of his comrades generally, but Beasley's sneers neither he nor any one else could endure.

"Who's that yappin'?" the youngster cried, glowering into the speaker's face. "That the feller Buck called an outlaw pa.s.son?" he demanded. His right hand slipped to the b.u.t.t of his gun. "Say you,"

he cried threateningly, "if you got anything to say I'm right here yearnin' to listen."

Joan saw the half-drawn weapon, and in the same instant became aware of a movement on the part of the man Beasley. She was horrified, expecting one of those fierce collisions she had heard about. But the moment pa.s.sed, and, though she did not realize it, it was caused by Ike's gun leaving its holster first.

Her woman's fear urged her, and she raised a protesting hand.

"Please--please," she cried, her eyes dilating with apprehension.