The Golden Woman

His manhood dictated this, and he had no thought of personal danger, or toward what painful destiny it might carry him. The future belonged to the future, life and death were things of no more account than waking to daylight, or the profound slumbers of night. Those who would injure him or his friend must be dealt with in the only way he understood. To outwit them was his first thought, but he must defeat their ends if it cost him his life.

This was the man who had learned from the book of Life, as it is written in the earth's rough places. He was not naturally desperate, but, as with the creatures of the forests, which had taught him so many lessons, when brought to bay in defense of their own, so he was ready to bare his teeth--and use them.

He reached for the lantern with the thought of extinguishing it. But he changed his mind. There was no window that the light might become a beacon. He would close the door and leave it burning.

He turned to pass out, but remained where he was. The Padre was standing in the doorway, and his steady eyes were upon the saddled horses.

Buck had no word of greeting to offer. His dark eyes were intently fixed upon the other's face. In a moment his friend turned to him.

"It's just on nine, Buck," he said, in his kindest fashion. "We haven't eaten yet--it's ready."

It was Buck's turn to glance over at the horses so busily eating their oats. A curious smile lit his eyes. He knew well enough that the other had more than fathomed the meaning of those preparations. He was glad he had made no attempt to conceal them. That sort of thing was never his way. He had nothing to conceal from his friend.

"I had a few chores to git fixed," he said easily, indicating the horses. "They'll sure need a good feed before daylight, I guess."

The Padre pointed at his belt and revolvers.

"And you're sleeping in--them."

"Guess I'm not sleepin'--to-night."

"No--I suppose not."

The Padre looked into the strong young face with a speculative glance.

Buck returned his look with a sudden eagerness.

"You heard?" he asked sharply.

"I've heard--Mercy is back."

Buck watched him turn away to continue his survey of the horses.

"So have you--I s'pose," the older man went on a moment later, indicating the horses.

"Yep. Guess they'll need to do a long journey soon. Mebbe--to-night."

"Cæsar?" said the Padre.

"Both," returned Buck, with an emphasis, the meaning of which could not well be missed.