The Golden Woman Part 30

"Say," he added, as he saw the brightening of her face, "when you fancy that trouble's gettin' around, when you fancy it's good an' big, an' a whole heap to carry, why, you can pa.s.s it right on to me. I'm yearnin' to get busy with jest sech a proposition."

Buck's manner was irresistible. Joan felt herself swept along by it.

She longed there and then to tell him the whole of her miserable little story. Yes, he made it seem so small to her now. He made it, at the moment, seem like nothing. It was almost as though he had literally lifted her burden and was bearing the lion's share of it himself. Her heart thrilled with grat.i.tude, with joy in this man's wonderful comrades.h.i.+p. She longed to open her heart to him--to implore him to s.h.i.+eld her from all those terrible anxieties which beset her.

She longed to feel the clasp of his strong hand in hers and know that it was there to support her always. She felt all these things without one shadow of fear--somehow his very presence dispelled her shadows.

But only did she permit her warm smile to convey something of all she felt as she rejected his offer.

"You don't know what you are asking," she said gently. Then she shook her head. "It is impossible. No one can s.h.i.+ft the burdens of life on to the shoulders of another--however willing they be. No one has the right to attempt it. As we are born, so we must live. The life that is ours is ours alone."

Buck caught at her words with a sudden outburst of pa.s.sionate remonstrance.

"You're wrong--dead wrong," he declared vehemently, his eyes glowing with the depth of feeling stirring him, a hot flush forcing its way through the deep tanning of his cheeks. "No gal has a right to carry trouble with a man around to help. She's made for the sunlight, for the warmth an' ease of life. She's made to set around an' take in all those good things the good G.o.d meant for her so she can pa.s.s 'em right on to the kiddies still to be born. A woman's jest the mother of the world. An' the men she sets on it are there to see her right. The woman who don't see it that way is wrong--dead wrong. An' the man that don't get right up on to his hind legs an' do those things--wal, he ain't a man."

It was a moment Joan would never forget. As long as she lived that eager face, with eyes alight, the rapid tongue pouring out the sentiments of his simple heart must ever remain with her. It was a picture of virile manhood such as in her earliest youth she had dreamed of, a dream which had grown dimmer and dimmer as she progressed toward womanhood and learned the ways of the life that had been hers. Here it was in all reality, in all its pristine simplicity, but--she gathered up her reins and moved her horse round, heading him toward home.

"I'm glad I came out here--in the wilderness," she said earnestly.

"I'm glad, too, that I came to see this great black hill. Yes, and I'm glad to think that I have begun the lessons which this great big world is going to teach me. For the rest--we'd better go home. Look! The daylight is going."

CHAPTER XIX

A STUDY IN MISCHIEF

Nearly three months had pa.s.sed and all Beasley Melford's affairs were amply prospering. His new saloon was the joy of his heart. It had been completed more than a week, which week had been something in the nature of a triumph of financial success. The camp was booming as he had never dared to hope it would boom. Traders were opening up business all round him, and the output of gold was increasing every day. But, with all this rapid development, with all the wrangling and compet.i.tion going on about him, he was the centre of the commercial interests of Yellow Creek, and his saloon was the centre of all its traffic.

But he was quite alive to the fact that he must maintain his position and custom by keeping well in line, even just a little ahead of all compet.i.tion. He knew that to rest on his oars would be to court swift disaster. It must be his constant thought to make his place more and more attractive, to listen to the voice of public requirements, and seize every opportunity of catering for them.

His saloon was no better than a gambling-h.e.l.l and drinking-booth, the dry goods side of his enterprise being almost insignificant. For he knew that the more surely his customers could indulge in such pastimes in comparative comfort the more surely he would keep them. So he made these things the basis of his trade. But there were other needs to be provided for. Therefore, on the completion of his new saloon, and the moment his vanity had been satisfied by the erection of a great board top, set up on the pitch of the roof, announcing in blatant lettering that it was "Melford's Hotel," he set to work to erect a dance hall and a livery barn. He foresaw the necessity of running a stage, and he never lost sight of the fact that a great number of the women of the cla.s.s he wished to see about were invading the place. Then, too, the dance hall could be used as a boarding establishment for those who had no homes of their own.

It was a precious thought, and, after a journey to Leeson b.u.t.te to consult his partner, these matters were put in hand. He no longer worked single-handed. His establishment was increased by the advent of a bartender, a Chinese cook, and a livery stable keeper. These, and some casual labor from among the loafers, supplied him with all the help he so far found necessary.

The bar and the gambling-tables were always his own care. These were the things he would never trust to other hands. The bartender was his helper only, who was never allowed to escape the observation of his lynx eyes.

Yes, Beasley Melford was flouris.h.i.+ng as he intended to flourish, and his satisfaction was enormous. In the mornings he was always busy supervising the work, in the afternoons he gave himself what leisure his restless spirit demanded. But in the evenings he gathered his harvest by rascally methods of flagrant extortion.

It was during the latter part of his afternoon leisure that he was suddenly disturbed by the appearance of Montana Ike in his bar. He was stretched full length upon his counter, comfortably reviewing a perfect maze of mental calculations upon the many schemes which he had in hand, when the youngster pushed the swing door open and bl.u.s.tered in.

Beasley was sitting up in an instant. He hated this sort of sudden disturbance. He hated men who rushed at him. He could never be certain of their intentions. When he saw who his visitor was there was very little friendliness in his greeting.

"Wot in h.e.l.l you want rus.h.i.+n' that way?" he demanded arrogantly.

"Guess your thirst ain't on a time limit."

But the ginger-headed youth ignored his ill-temper. He was too full of his own affairs. He simply grinned.

"Fish out them durned scales o' yours," he cried gleefully. "Fish 'em out, an' set your big weights on 'em. Ther' ain't goin' to be no chat nor drink till you weighed in. Then I guess the drink'll be right up to you."

Beasley's mood changed like lightning. He swung over behind his bar and dropped to the floor on the other side, his eyes alight, and every faculty alert for trade.

"Wot's it?" he demanded. "Struck it big?" he went on as the dingy gold scales were produced from the shelf at the back. Then he laughed amiably. "It needs to be big, wakin' me in my slack time."

"Oh, it's big enuff," cried Ike confidently, his eager, young, animal face alight with pleasure.

He watched the other with impatient eyes as he deliberately picked out the weights. But Beasley was too slow, and, with an impatient exclamation, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the biggest of them and set it on the somewhat delicate scales with a heavy hand.

"Say, you're rapid as a sick funeral," he cried. "I ain't got no time to waste. What I got here'll need that--an' more. Ther'!"

Beasley's temper was never easy, and his narrow eyes began to sparkle.

"You're mighty fresh," he cried. "Guess I'm----"

But his remark remained unfinished. With a boisterous laugh the boy flung a small canvas bag on the counter and emptied its contents before the other's astonished eyes.

"Ther'," he cried gleefully. "I want dollars an' dollars from you. An'

you'll sure see they ain't duds."

Beasley's eyes opened wide. In a moment he had forgotten his ill-humor.

From the gold spread out before him he looked up into the other's face with a half-suspicious, wholly incredulous stare.

"You got that from your claim--to-day?" he asked.

"An' wher' in h.e.l.l else?"

"Sure!" Beasley fingered the precious nuggets lovingly. "Gee! Ther's nigh five hundred dollars there."

"Fi' hundred--an' more," cried Ike anxiously.

But Beasley's astonishment was quickly hidden under his commercial instincts. He would have called them "commercial."

"We'll soon fix that," he said, setting the scales.

Ike leant against the bar watching the man finger his precious ore as he placed each of the six nuggets in the scale and weighed them separately. He took the result down on paper and worked their separate values out at his own market prices. In five minutes the work was completed, and the man behind the bar looked up with a grin.

"I don't gener'ly make a bad guess," he said blandly. "But I reckoned 'em a bit high this journey. Ther's four hundred an' seventy-six dollars comin' to you--ha'f cash an' ha'f credit. Is it a deal?"

The other's face flamed up. A volcanic heat set him almost shouting.

"To h.e.l.l!" he cried fiercely. "Ther's fi' hundred dollars ther' if ther's a cent. An' I want it all cash."

Beasley shook his head. He had this boy's exact measure, and knew just how to handle him.

"The scales don't lie," he said. "But ther', it's the way wi' youse fellers. You see a chunk o' gold an' you don't see the quartz stickin'

around it. Here, I'll put a hundred an' seventy-six credit an' the rest cash. I can't speak fairer."

He drew a roll of bills from his hip-pocket and began counting the three hundred out. He knew the sight of them was the best argument he could use. It never failed. Nor did it do so now.