The Golden Woman Part 4

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Buck," came the frank response.

"Buck--what?"

"Buck--jest plain, mister."

"But your father's name--what was that?"

"Pop."

"Yes, yes. That's what you called him. What did the folks call him?"

"Ther' wa'an't no folks. Jest pop, an' ma, an' me."

A great lump had risen in the man's throat as he looked down into those honest, hungry eyes. And for a moment he was at a loss. But the boy solved his dilemma in a way that proved the man in after-life.

"Say, you ain't a farmer?" he inquired, with a speculative glance over his general outfit.

"Well, I am--in a small way," the Padre had replied, with a half-smile.

The boy brightened at once.

"Then mebbe you can give me a job--I'm lookin' for a job."

The wonder of it all brought a great smile of sympathy to the man's eyes now, as he thought of that little starving lad of eight years old, homeless, wandering amidst the vastness of all that world--looking for a "job." It was stupendous, and he had sat marveling until the lad brought him back to the business in hand.

"Y' see I kin milk--an'--an' do ch.o.r.es around. Guess I can't plough yet. Pop allus said I was too little. But mebbe I kin grow--later.

I--I don't want no wages--on'y food. Guess I'm kind o' hungry, mister."

Nor, for a moment, could the man make any reply. The pathos of it all held him in its grip. He leant over and groped in his saddle-bag for the "hardtack" biscuits he always carried, and pa.s.sed the lad a handful.

He remembered how the boy s.n.a.t.c.hed the rough food from his hands.

There was something almost animal in the way he crammed his mouth full, and nearly choked himself in his efforts to appease the craving of his small, empty stomach. In those moments the man's mind was made up. He watched in silence while the biscuit vanished. Then he carried out his purpose.

"You can have a job," he said. "I've only a small farm, but you can come and help me with it."

"Do you mean that, mister?" the boy asked, almost incredulously.

Then, as the Padre had nodded, a sigh of thankfulness escaped the young lips, which were still covered with the crumbs of his recent meal.

"Say, I'm glad. Y' see I was gettin' tired. An' ther' didn't seem to be no farms around--nor nuthin'. An' it's lonesome, too, at nights, lyin' around."

The man's heart ached. He could stand no more of it.

"How long have you been sleeping--out?"

"Three nights, mister."

Suddenly the Padre reached out a hand.

"Here, catch hold, and jump."

The boy caught the strong hand, and was promptly swung up into the saddle behind his benefactor. The next moment they were speeding back over the trail to the lad's new home. Nor was the new-born hope solely beating in the starving child's heart. The lonely farmer felt that somehow the day was brighter, and the green earth more beautiful--for that meeting.

Such had been the coming together of these two, and through all the long years of weary toil since then they still remained together, working shoulder to shoulder in a relations.h.i.+p that soon became something like that of father and son. The Padre remained the farmer--in a small way. But the boy--well, as had been prophesied by his dead father, later on he grew big enough to plough the furrows of life with a strong and sure hand.

The man's reflections were broken into abruptly. The time and distance had pa.s.sed more rapidly than he was aware of. The eager animal under him raised its head, and, p.r.i.c.king its small ears and pulling heavily on the reins, increased its pace to a gallop. Then it was that the Padre became suddenly aware that the home stretch had been reached, and before him lay a long, straight decline in the trail which split a dense pine-wood bluff of considerable extent.

A man was lounging astride of a fallen pine log. His lean shoulders were propped against the parent stump. All about him were other stumps left by those who had made the clearing in the woods. Beyond this the shadowy deep of the woods ranged on every side, except where the red sand of a trail broke the monotony of tone.

Near by two horses stood tethered together by a leading rein. One was a saddle-horse, and the other was equipped with a well-loaded pack-saddle. It was no mean burden of provisions. The carca.s.s of a large, black-tailed deer sprawled across the back of the saddle, while on one side were secured three bags of flour, and on the other several jack-rabbits were strung together. But the powerful beast remained unconcernedly nibbling at the spa.r.s.e green peeping here and there through the carpet of rotting pine cones and needles which covered the ground.

The man's eyes were half-closed, yet he was by no means drowsing. On the contrary, his mind was essentially busy, and the occasional puckering of his dark brows, and the tightening of his strong jaws, suggested that his thoughts were not always pleasant.

After a while he sat up. But his movement was only the restlessness caused by the worry of his thought. And the gaze he turned upon his foraging horses was quite preoccupied.

A change, however, was not long in coming. Simultaneously both horses threw up their heads, and one of them gave a sharp, comprehensive snort. Instantly the man's large brown eyes lit, and a pleasant expectancy shone in their depths. He was on his feet in an instant, and his tall figure became alert and vibrant with the lithe activity which was so wonderfully displayed in his whole poise. He, too, had become aware of a disturbing element in the silent depths of the woods.

He moved across to the trail, and, glancing down it, from out of the silence reached him the distant, soft plod of hoofs in its heavy covering of sand. His look of satisfaction deepened as he turned back to his horses and tightened the cinchas of the saddles, and replaced the bits in their mouths. Then he picked up the Winchester rifle propped against a tree stump and turned again to the trail.

A moment later another horseman appeared from beyond the fringe of pines and drew up with an exclamation.

"Why, Buck, I didn't reckon to find you around here!" he cried cordially.

"No." The young man smiled quietly up into the horseman's face. The welcome of his look was unmistakable. No words of his could have expressed it better.

The Padre sprang from his saddle with the lightness of a man of half his years, and his eyes rested on the pack-saddle on Buck's second horse.

"For the--folks?" he inquired.

"Guess so. That's the last of the flour."

For a moment a shadow pa.s.sed across the Padre's face. Then it as suddenly brightened.

"How's things?" he demanded, in the stereotyped fas.h.i.+on of men who greet when matters of importance must be discussed between them.

"So," responded Buck.

The Padre glanced quickly round, and his eyes fell on the log which had provided the other with a seat.

"Guess there's no hurry. Let's sit," he said, indicating the log. "I'm a bit saddle weary."

Buck nodded.

They left the horses to their own devices, and moved across to the log.