The Golden Woman

"Are you the proprietor of the livery stables?"

He turned about with a start. Such a question in that camp seemed superfluous. It was absurd. He looked up, and his astonished eyes fell upon the vision of an extremely well-dressed, refined-looking woman whom he judged to be anything over fifty. But what held his attention most was the lean, emaciated face and penetrating eyes. There was something of the witch about it, as there was about the bowed figure. But more than all she was a stranger.

He admitted the impeachment in the midst of his astonishment with an abruptness equal to her own.

"Sure," he said, and waited.

"Where will I find the sheriff of this place?"

Beasley's eyes opened wider.

"Guess ther' ain't no sheriff in this camp."

The woman's next words came impatiently.

"Why isn't there? Is there a lawyer?"

Beasley grinned. His astonishment was giving place to curiosity and speculation. He tapped the revolver at his hip.

"We're mostly our own lawyers around here," he said easily.

But the woman ignored his levity.

"Where can I find one--a lawyer, or sheriff?" she demanded with an added imperiousness.

"Guess Leeson Butte's nearest."

The stranger considered a moment. Beasley's eyes never left her. He had noticed the refinement of her accent, and wondered the more.

"How can I get there--best?" the woman next demanded.

"Guess I ken let you have a team," Beasley said with alacrity. He smelt good business.

"How much?"

"Fifty dollars. In an' out--with teamster."

"Does he know the way?"

"Sure."

The woman eyed him steadily.

"I don't want any mistakes. This--is a case of murder."

Beasley's interest suddenly redoubled. The problem was growing in its attractiveness.

"Who's the feller?" he asked unguardedly.

"That's not your business." The woman's eyes were cold. "Send the team over to the farm down the river in two hours' time. The horses must be able to travel fast. Here's the money."

The saloon-keeper took the money promptly. But for once his astonishment held him silent. Mercy Lascelles had reached the door to go. Then she seemed to change her mind. She paused.

"There's fifty dollars more when I get back--if you keep your tongue quiet," she said warningly. "I don't want my business to get around. I should say gossip travels fast amongst the hills. That's what I don't want."

"I see."

It was all the astonished man could think of to say at the moment. But he managed an abundant wink in a markedly friendly way.

His wink missed fire, however, for the woman had departed; and by the time he reached the door to look after her he saw her mounting the wagon, which was drawn by the heavy team from Joan's farm, and driven by her hired man.