The Golden Woman Part 39

They're booming so hard there's no keepin' pace. I'll tie your hosses to this post."

His manner was perfect in its amiability, but Joan detested it because of the man. He could never disguise his personality, and Joan was beginning to understand such personalities as his.

"Thanks," she said coldly, as, taking advantage of his being occupied with the horses, she jumped quickly from the vehicle. "I came to mail a letter," she said, as she moved on up to the big barn which was Beasley's temporary storehouse, "and to give you a rather large order for furnis.h.i.+ng and things."

She produced a paper with her list of requirements, and handed it to him.

"You see, I'm refurnis.h.i.+ng the farm," she went on, while the man glanced an appreciative eye over the extensive order. "Can you do those things?" she asked as he looked up from his perusal.

"Why, yes. There's nothing difficult there. What we can't do here we can send on to Leeson b.u.t.te for. I've got some elegant samples of curtains just come along. Maybe you'll step inside?"

In spite of her dislike of the man Joan had no hesitation in pa.s.sing into the storeroom. She had no desire in the world to miss the joy of inspecting a fresh consignment of dry goods. She felt almost as excited, and quite as much interested, as though she were visiting one of the great stores in St. Ellis.

In a few moments she was lost in a close inspection of the display.

Nor had she any thought, or wonder, that here in the wilderness, on the banks of Yellow Creek, such things should already have found their way. For a long time the keen man of business expended his arts of persuasion upon her, and, by the time the girl had exhausted his stock, he had netted a sound order. His satisfaction was very evident, and now he was prepared to regard her rather as a woman than a customer.

"Makes you think some," he observed, with a wave of his hand in the direction of the piled-up fabrics and unopened cases. Then he laughed in a way that jarred upon the girl. "Ther's money to burn here. Money!

Whew!" Then his eyes became serious. "If it only lasts!"

"Why shouldn't it?" asked Joan unsuspiciously. She had finished, and was anxious to get away. But the man seemed to want to talk, and it seemed churlish to deny him.

Beasley shook his head, while his eyes devoured her appealing beauty.

"It won't," he said decidedly. "It's too big--too rich. Besides----"

"Besides what?"

The man's eyes had lost their grin. They were the eyes of the real man.

"It's--devil's luck. I've said it all along. Only ther's sech plaguey knowalls around they won't believe it. Buck now--I got nothing against Buck. He's a good citizen. But he's got a streak o' yeller in him, an'

don't hold with no devil's luck. Maybe you remember." He grinned unpleasantly into the girl's eyes.

She remembered well enough. She was not likely to forget the manner in which Buck had come to her help. She flushed slightly.

"What do you mean by 'a streak of yellow'?" she demanded coldly.

"It don't need a heap of explaining. He's soft on mission talk."

Joan's flush deepened. This man had a mean way of putting things.

"If you mean that he doesn't believe in--in superst.i.tions, and that sort of thing, if you mean he's just a straightforward, honest-thinking man--well, I agree with you."

Beasley was enjoying the spectacle of the warmth which prompted her defense. She was devilish pretty, he admitted to himself.

"Maybe you feel that way," he said, in a tone that jarred. "Say," he went on shrewdly, "I'm no sucker, I'm not one of these slobs chasin'

gold they're eager to hand on to the first guy holdin' out his hand.

I'm out to make a pile. I had a claim in the ballot. Maybe it's a good claim. I ain't troubled to see. Why? I'll tell you. Maybe I'd have taken a few thousand dollars out of it. Maybe a heap. Maybe only a little. Not good--with all these slobs around." He shook his head. "I figured I'd git the lot if I traded. I'd get the show of _all_ of the claims. See? The 'strike' ain't goin' to last. It's a pocket in the hill, an' it'll peter out just as dead sure as--well as can be. An'

when it's petered out there's going to be jest one feller around here who's made a profit--an' it ain't one of those who used the sluice-boxes. No, you can believe what you like. This 'strike' was jest a devil's laugh at folks who know no better. An' master Buck has handed you something of devil's luck when he made you take that gold."

There was something very keen about this man, and in another Joan might have admired it; but Beasley's mind was tainted with such a vicious meanness that admiration was impossible.

"I don't believe it," said Joan staunchly. "Neither does Buck. He would never willingly hand me the trouble you suggest."

Her words were the result of an impetuous defense of the absent man.

To hear this man attack Buck was infuriating. But the moment she had uttered them, the moment she had seen their effect, that meaning laugh which they brought to the storekeeper's lips, she wished they had never been spoken.

"Don't guess Buck needs to sc.r.a.p fer himself with you around, Miss Golden," he laughed. "Gee! He's in luck. I wonder!"

Joan choked back her swift-rising indignation. The man wasn't worth it, she told herself, and hurriedly prepared to depart. But Beasley had no intention of letting her go like that.

"I wonder whether he is in luck, though," he went on quickly, in a tone he knew the girl would not be able to resist. His estimate was right. She made no further move to go.

"How?" she asked.

"Oh, nuthin' of consequence," he said aggravatingly. "I was just thinking of the way folks are talking." Then he laughed right out; and if Joan had only understood the man she would have known that his merriment was but the precursor of something still more unpleasant.

But such natures as his were quite foreign to her. She merely instinctively disliked him.

"What do you mean?" she asked unsuspiciously.

Beasley was serious again, and wore an air of deprecation when he answered her.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "'tain't nuthin'. Y' see folks are always most ready to gas around. It's 'bout them two boys. They're hot about 'em.

Y' see Pete was a mighty popular feller, an' Ike had good friends. Y'

see they were always good spenders--an' most folks like good spenders. But ther'--'tain't nuthin' that needs tellin' you. Guess it'll only make a dandy gal like you feel mean."

The man's purpose must have been evident to anybody less simple than Joan. As it was she jumped at the bait so skilfully held out.

"But you must tell me," she said, remembering Mrs. Ransford's remarks.

"I insist on knowing if it is anything concerning me."

Beasley's air was perfect. His eyes were as frankly regretful as he could make them.

"Wal," he said, "it certainly does concern you--but I'd rather not say it."

"Go on."

Joan's face was coldly haughty.

"I wouldn't take it too mean," said Beasley warningly. "I sure wouldn't. You see folks say a heap o' things that is trash. They guess it's your doin' 'bout them boys. They reckon you played 'em one ag'in t'other for their wads, an' both o' them ag'in--Buck. Y' see--mind I'm jest tellin' you cos you asked--they guess you ast 'em both to supper that evenin'. Pete said he was ast, an' Ike let on the same. You ast 'em both for the fun of the racket. An' you had Buck around to watch the fun. Yes, they're pretty hot. An' you can't blame 'em, believin'

as they do. One of 'em--I forget who it rightly was--he called you the camp Jonah. Said just as long as you wer' around ther'd be trouble. He was all for askin' you to clear right out. He said more than that, but I don't guess you need to know it all."

"But I do need to know it all. I need to know all they said, and--who said it."

Joan's eyes were blazing. Beasley made no attempt to conceal his satisfaction, and went on at once--

"Course I can't give you names. But the facts I don't guess I'm likely to forget--they made me so riled. They said that farm of yours was just a blind. It--it was--well, you'd come along here for all you could get--an' that----"

Joan cut him short.