The Golden Woman Part 33

"I said I was busy," she cried deliberately. "Surely that should be sufficient."

But the man had no intention of accepting his dismissal.

"It jest depends wot a feller's come around for," he said, no whit disconcerted. "Mebbe you won't find you're busy when you heard what I got to say." He laughed immoderately. Beasley's whisky was at work, and he had no fear for the purpose in hand.

Suddenly he dived a hand into his hip-pocket and drew out the bills the saloon-keeper had paid him.

"Look at them," he cried in a voice that was high-pitched with elation. "Ther's dollars an' dollars ther', but 'tain't nuthin' to wot's to come. Say, I got another cache o' gold waitin' back ther' at my shack, but I ain't handin' it to Beasley," he went on cunningly.

"Oh, no, not me! I'm a business guy, I am. I hold that up, an' all the rest I git from my patch, an' I'm goin' to cash it in Leeson b.u.t.te, at the bank, fer a proper exchange. See? Oh, I ain't no sucker, I ain't.

An' a feller needs a heap o' dollars, treatin' his gal right."

Joan hardly knew how to deal with such a situation. Besides, the now obvious condition of the man alarmed her. However, he gave her no opportunity to reply. For, delighted with his own talk, he went on promptly--

"Now I tho't a whole heap since I got this wad. A wad like this takes you thinkin', that is, ef you ain't a low-down rattle-brain like Pete, or a psalm-smitin' son-of-a-moose like that feller, Buck. Course they ain't got no sort o' savvee, anyways, so they don't count nuthin'. But wi' a feller like me things is diff'rent. Now, this is what I got fixed. Y' see you can't have no sort of a time in this yer camp, but it's diff'rent in Leeson b.u.t.te. Guess we'll get a buggy from the camp an' drive into Leeson. Ther's dance halls ther', an' they run a decent faro joint at a place I know. An' they sell elegant rye, too. Wal, we'll git that buggy, an' git fixed up reg'lar in Leeson, an' have a bully time, an' git right back to here an' run this yer farm between us. How's that?"

"I--I don't think I understand."

Joan's alarm grew. This man was deliberately proposing to marry her.

Supported by the nerve his half-drunken condition inspired, his senses were so inflamed that he took the whole matter for granted. She looked into his sensual young face, the hard eyes, and at the loose lips that surrounded his unclean teeth, and something like panic seized her.

However, she knew she must not show her fear.

But he was waiting. And in reality her reply came without any hesitation. She shook her head.

"You've made a mistake," she said decidedly but gently. "I have no intention of marrying anybody." Then, taking her courage in both hands, she permitted something of her dislike and contempt to creep into her manner. "It seems to me you take a great deal too much for granted. You come here when you think you will, wholly uninvited, and, from the first, you hint broadly that you regard me as--as the person you intend to marry. That is presumption, to put it mildly, and I have no use for people who--presume."

She moved as though to return to the house. But Ike, all his confidence suddenly merged into a volcanic heat, reached out a hand to detain her. His hand came into rough contact with the soft flesh of her shoulder, and, shaking it off, she faced him with flaming eyes.

"Don't dare to do that again," she cried, with bosom heaving. "Go, leave this farm instantly. Remember you are trespa.s.sing here!"

Her anger had outweighed all her alarm, even, perhaps, all discretion.

For the man was in no mood to accept his dismissal easily.

"So that's it, is it?" he cried with a sudden hoa.r.s.eness. "Oho, my lady! We're putting on airs," he sneered. "Not good enough, eh?

Presuming, am I? An' who in blazes are you that you can't be touched?

Seems to me a decent honest citizen's jest as good fer you as fer any other gal, an' my dollars are clean. What in thunder's amiss?" Then his heat lessened, and his manner became more ingratiating. "See here, Golden," he went on persuasively, "you don't mean that, sure! Wot's the matter with me? I ain't weak-kneed, nor nuthin'. I ain't scared o'

no man. I'd sc.r.a.p the devil ef you ast me. An' say, just think wot we ken do with the dollars. You'd make a real upstander in a swell house, with folks waitin' around on you, an' di'monds an' things. Say, I'm jest bustin' to make good like that. You can't jest think how much gold ther' is in my patch--an' you brought it along with you. You give it to me--your luck."

There was something almost pathetic in his pleading, and for a brief moment a shade of sympathy softened the girl.

"Please don't persist, Ike," she said almost gently. "Still, I can never marry you. It's--it's--absurd," she added, with a touch of impatience she could not wholly keep back.

But that touch of impatience suddenly set fire again to the man's underlying intolerance of being thwarted.

"Absurd, is it?" He laughed with a curious viciousness which once more disturbed the girl. "Absurd fer you to marry me," he cried harshly.

"Absurd fer you, cos I ain't got no smarmy eddication, cos I ain't dressed in swaller tails an' kids, same as city folks. Oh, I know!

You're a leddy--a city-raised leddy, an' I--I'm jest a prairie hog.

That's it. You ain't got no use fer me. You jest come along right here an' laff, an' laff at us folks. Oh, you needn't to say you hav'n't!"

as she raised a protesting hand. "Think I'm blind, think I'm deaf. Me!

Say, you shown it right along jest so plain ther' wer'n't no need to tell it in langwidge." He broke off for a moment as though his anger had robbed him of further speech, and Joan watched the growing purpose in his hot eyes. Her own face was the color of marble. She was inwardly trembling, but she stood her ground with eyes stonily cold.

She made no attempt to speak now, or defend herself against his accusations. She knew it would be useless. Only she longed in her mind for the presence of Buck to protect her from the insult she felt to be coming. Nor was she mistaken.

The man's pause gave way before the surge of his anger.

"See here," he suddenly cried, as though he had just arrived at a decision. "I ain't an easy man to laff at, as the folks around here knows. Ther' ain't no man around here can laff at Montana Ike, an' I don't guess no gal wi' red ha'r's goin' to neither. See?" He glanced swiftly round the farm. There was no one in sight. Suddenly one great hand shot out and he seized the girl by the arm in a crus.h.i.+ng, powerful grasp and dragged her to him.

"You guess you ken laff at me," he cried, seizing her with both hands and holding her in spite of her struggles. "Wal, you ken laff after you kissed me. You ken laff, oh, yes! when I tell the folks you kissed me. Seems to me the laff'll mostly be with me."

He drew her toward him while she struggled violently. Then she shrieked for help, but she knew the only help she could hope for was the wholly inadequate help of her housekeeper. She shrieked Mrs.

Ransford's name with all her power, while the man's face came nearer.

It was quite hopeless; she knew she could not defend herself. And the half-drunken man was laughing as though he enjoyed her terror.

She felt his hot breath on her cheeks, she closed her eyes to shut out the sight of his grinning face. He released his hold with one hand and flung his arm about her waist. She fought with might and main, shrieking with all the power of her lungs. She suddenly felt the impress of his hot lips on her cheek, not once, but a dozen times.

Then of a sudden he released her with a bitter oath, as the shrieking voice of Mrs. Ransford sounded close by, and the thwack of a heavy broom fell upon his head and shoulders.

"I'll teach you, you miser'ble hoboe!" cried the old woman's strident voice as her powerful arms swung her l.u.s.ty broom aloft. "I'll teach you, you scallawag!" Thwack fell the broom, and, releasing Joan, the man sought to protect his head with his arms. "I'll give you a dose you won't fergit, you sc.u.m o' creation!" Thwack went the broom again.

"Wait till the folks hear tell o' this, you miser'ble, miser'ble cur!"

Again the broom fell, and the man turned to flee. "You'd run, would you? Git a fork, Miss Joan!" With a surprising rush the fat creature lunged another smash at the man's head with her favorite weapon.

The blow fell short, for Ike had made good his retreat. And curiously enough he made no attempt to disarm her, or otherwise stand his ground once he was beyond the range of her blows. Perhaps he realized the immensity of his outrage, perhaps he foresaw what might be the result to himself when the story of his a.s.sault reached the camp. Perhaps it was simply that he had a wholesome terror of this undoubted virago.

Anyway, he bolted for his horse and vaulted into the saddle, galloping away as though pursued by something far more hurtful than a fat farm-wife's avalanche of vituperation.

"Mussy on us!" cried the old woman, flinging her broom to the ground as the man pa.s.sed out of sight. "Mussy me, wot's he done to you, my pretty?" she cried, rus.h.i.+ng to the girl's side and catching her to her great bosom. "There, there, don't 'e cry, don't 'e to cry for a scallawag like that," she said, as the girl buried her face on her shoulder and sobbed as though her heart would break. "There, there,"

she went on, patting the girl's shoulder, "don't 'e demean yerself weppin' over a miser'ble skunk like that. Kiss yer, did he? Kiss yer!

Him! Wal, he won't kiss n.o.body no more when the folks is put wise. An'

I'll see they gets it all. You, a 'Merican gal, kissed by a hog like that. Here, wipe yer cheeks wi' this overall; guess they'll sure fester if you don't. Ther', that's better," she went on as Joan, choking back her sobs, presently released herself from her bear-like embrace.

"It's my own fault," the girl said tearfully. "I ought never to have spoken to him at all. I----"

But Mrs. Ransford gave her no chance to finish what she had to say.

"Wot did I tell you?" she cried, with a power of self-righteousness.

"Wot did I tell you? You ain't got no right to git a hob-a-n.o.bbin'

with sech sc.u.m. They're all scallawags, every one of 'em. Men!--say, these yer hills is the muck-hole o' creation, an' the men is the muck. I orter know. Didn't I marry George D. Ransford, an' didn't I raise twins by him, as you might say, an' didn't I learn thereby, an'

therewith, as the sayin' is, that wi' muck around there's jest one way o' cleanin' it up an' that's with a broom! Come right into the house, pretty. You're needin' hot milk to soothe your nerves, my pore, pore!

Come right in. Guess I'm a match fer any male muck around these hills.

Mussy on us, what's that!"

Both women started and stood staring with anxious, terrified eyes down the trail which led to the camp. Two shots had been fired almost simultaneously, and now, as they waited in horrified silence, two more shots rang out, echoing against the hills in the still air with ominous threat. After that all was quiet again.

Presently the strained look in the farm-wife's face relaxed, and she turned to her charge.

"That's him," she cried, with a swift return to her angry, contemptuous manner. "It's him showin' off--like all them scallawags.

Come right in, missie," she added, holding out her hands to lead the girl home.

But her kindly intention received an unexpected shock. Joan brushed her roughly aside, and her look was almost of one suddenly demented.

"No, no," she cried in a voice of hysterical pa.s.sion. "You don't understand. You can't understand. Those shots--oh! It is my fate--my curse. I must go!"