The Golden Woman

Realization had come. Joan had suddenly remembered all that lay behind her--all that had driven her to seek the remoteness of the wild Western world. She had sought to flee from the fate which her Aunt Mercy had told her was hers, and now she knew that she might as well try to flee from her own shadow.

Oh, the horror of it all! These people believed that she had brought them their luck. She knew that she had. What was the disaster that must follow? What lives must go down before the sword a terrible Fate had placed in her hand? For the moment panic held her in its grip. For a moment it seemed that death alone could save her from the dread consequences of the curse that was upon her. It was cruel, cruel--the desolation, the hopelessness of it all. And in her sudden anguish she prayed that death might be visited upon her.

But even amidst the horror of her realization the influence of the man's presence was at work. She knew he was there a witness to the terror she could not hide, and so she strove for recovery.

Then she heard him speak, and at the sound of his quiet tone her nerves eased and she grew calmer.

"I don't guess you recovered from the storm. I'd sure say you need rest," Buck said in his gentle, solicitous fashion. And in her heart Joan thanked him for the encouragement his words gave her. He had asked no questions. He had expressed no astonishment, and yet she knew he must have realized that her trouble was no physical ailment.

"Yes," she said, jumping at the opening he had given her, "I'm tired. I'll--I'll go back to the house."

Buck nodded, disguising his anxiety beneath a calm that seemed so natural to him.

"Jest get back an' rest. You needn't worry any 'bout the hosses, an' cows, an' things. I'm fixin' them for the night, an' I'll be right along in the morning to do the chores. Y' see I know this farm, an' all that needs doin'. Guess I was raised on it," he added, with a smile, "so the work's sort o' second nature to me."

Joan's chance had come, but she passed it by. She knew she ought to have refused his help. She ought to have, as Mrs. Ransford had said, sent him about his business. But she did nothing of the sort. She accepted. She did more. She held out her hand to him, and let him take it in both of his in a friendly pressure as she thanked him.