The Golden Woman: A Story of the Montana Hills

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE CALL OF YOUTH

  The fur fort was a relic of ancient days, when the old-time traders ofthe North sent their legions of pelt hunters from the far limits ofthe northern ice-world to the sunny western slopes of the greatAmerican continent. It was at such a place as this, hemmed in amidstthe foot-hills, that they established their factor and his handful ofarmed men; lonely sentries at the gates of the mountain world, to levyan exorbitant tax upon the harvest of furs within.

  Here, within the ponderous stockade, now fallen into sore decay,behind iron-bound doors secured by mighty wooden locks, and barredwith balks of timber, sheltered beneath the frowning muzzles of half adozen futile carronades, they reveled in obscene orgies and committedtheir barbaric atrocities under the name of Justice and Commerce. Herethey amassed wealth for the parent companies in distant lands, andruthlessly despoiled the wild of its furry denizens.

  These were the pioneers, sturdy savages little better than the red manhimself, little better in their lives than the creatures upon whichthey preyed. But they were for the most part men, vigorous, dauntlessmen who not only made history, but prepared the way for those who wereto come after, leaving them a heritage of unsurpassable magnificence.

  Now, this old-time relic afforded a shelter for two lonely men, whoseonly emulation of their predecessors was in the craft that was theirs.In all else there remained nothing in common, unless it were thatcommon asset of all pioneers, a sturdy courage. They certainly lackednothing of this. But whereas the courage of their predecessors,judging them by all historical records, in quality belonged largely tothe more brutal side of life, these men had no such inspiration. Theircalling was something in the nature of a passionate craving for theexercise of wits and instincts in a hard field where the creatures ofthe wild meet the human upon almost equal terms.

  Isolation was nothing new to these men. The remotenesses of the backworld had been their life for years. They understood its every mood,and met them with nerves in perfect tune. The mountains filled theirwhole outlook. They desired nothing better, nothing more.

  Yet it seemed strange that this should be. For the Padre had notalways lived beyond the fringes of civilization. He was a man ofeducation, a man of thought and even culture. These things must havebeen obvious to the most casual observer. In Buck's case it was easierto understand. He had known no other life than this. And yet he, too,might well have been expected to look askance at a future lost to allthose things which he knew to lay beyond. Was he not at the thresholdof life? Were not his veins thrilling with the rich, red tide ofyouth? Were not all those instincts which go to make up the sum ofyoung human life as much a part of him as of those others who hauntedthe banks of Yellow Creek? The whole scheme was surely unusual. ThePadre's instinct was to roam deeper and deeper into the wild, andBuck, offered his release from its wondrous thrall, had refused it.

  Thus they embraced this new home. The vast and often decaying timbers,hewn out of the very forests they loved, cried out with all the oldassociations they bore and held them. The miniature citadel containedwithin the trenchant stockade, the old pelt stores, roofless andworm-eaten, the armory which still suggested the clank of half-armoredmen, who lived only for the joy of defying death. The factor's house,whence, in the days gone by, the orders for battle had been issued,and the sentence of life and death had been handed out with scantregard for justice. Then there were the ruined walls of thecommon-room, where the fighting men had caroused and slept. The scenesof frightful orgies held in this place were easy to conjure. All thesethings counted in a manner which perhaps remained unacknowledged byeither. But nevertheless they were as surely a part of the lure as thechase itself, with all its elemental attraction.

  They had restored just as much of the old factor's house as theyneeded for their simple wants. Two rooms were all they occupied, tworooms as simple and plain as their own lives. Buck had added a newroof of logs and clay plaster. He had set up two stretchers withstraw-stuffed paillasses for beds. He had manufactured a powerfultable, and set it upon legs cut from pine saplings. To this he hadadded the removal of a cook-stove and two chairs, and their ownpersonal wardrobe from the farm, and so the place was complete. Yetnot quite. There was an arm rack upon the wall of the living-room, anarm rack that had at one time doubtless supported the old flintlocksof the early fur hunters. This he had restored, and laden it withtheir own armory and the spare traps of their craft; while their onlyluxury was the fastening up beside the doorway of a framelesslooking-glass for shaving purposes.

  They required a place to sleep in, a place in which to store theirproduce, a place in which to break their fast and eat their meal atdusk. Here it lay, ready to their hand, affording them just thesesimple necessities, and so they adopted it.

  But the new life troubled the Padre in moments when he allowed himselfto dwell upon the younger man's future. He had offered him hisrelease, at the time he had parted with the farm, from a sense ofsimple duty. It would have been a sore blow to him had Buck accepted,yet he would have submitted readily, even gladly, for he felt thatwith the passing of the farm out of their hands he had far morecertainly robbed Buck of all provision for his future than he haddeprived himself, who was the actual owner. He felt that in seeking tohelp the little starving colony he had done it, in reality, at Buck'sexpense.

  Something of this was in his mind as he pushed away from their frugalbreakfast-table. He stood in the doorway filling his pipe, while Buckcleared the tin plates and pannikins and plunged them into the boilerof hot water on the stove.

  He leant his stalwart shoulders against the door casing, and staredout at the wooded valley which crossed the front of the house. Beyondit, over the opposite rise, he could see the dim outline of the crestof Devil's Hill several miles away.

  He felt that by rights Buck should be there--somewhere there beyondthe valley. Not because the youngster had any desire for the wealththat was flowing into the greedy hands of the gold-seekers. It wassimply the thought of a man who knows far more of the world than hecares to remember. He felt that in all honesty he should point out theduties of a man to himself in these days when advancement alonecounts, and manhood, without worldly position, goes for so verylittle. He was not quite sure that Buck didn't perfectly understandthese things for himself. He had such a wonderful understanding andinsight. However, his duty was plain, and it was not his way to shrinkfrom it.

  Buck was sprinkling the earth floor preparatory to sweeping it whenthe Padre let his eyes wander back into the room.

  "Got things fixed?" he inquired casually.

  "Mostly." Buck began to sweep with that practiced hand which neverraises a dust on an earthen floor.

  The Padre watched his movements thoughtfully.

  "Seems queer seeing you sweeping and doing chores like a--a hiredgirl." He laughed presently.

  Buck looked up and rested on his broom. He smilingly surveyed hisearly benefactor and friend.

  "What's worryin'?" he inquired in his direct fashion.

  The Padre stirred uneasily. He knocked the ashes from his pipe andpressed the glowing tobacco down with the head of a rusty nail.

  "Oh, nothing worrying," he said, turning back to his survey of thevalley beyond the decaying stockade. "The sun'll be over the hilltopsin half an hour," he went on.

  But the manner of his answer told Buck all he wanted to know. He tooglanced out beyond the valley.

  "Yes," he ejaculated, and went on sweeping. A moment later he pausedagain. "Guess I can't be out at the traps till noon. Mebbe you ken dowithout me--till then?"

  "Sure." The Padre nodded at the valley. Then he added: "I've beenthinking."

  "'Bout that gold strike? 'Bout me? You bin thinkin' I ought to quitthe traps, an'--make good wi' them. I know."

  The elder man turned back sharply and looked into the dark eyes with ashrewd smile.

  "You generally get what I'm thinking," he said.

  "Guess you're not much of a riddle--to me," Buck laughed, drawing themoist dust i
nto a heap preparatory to picking it up.

  The Padre laughed too.

  "Maybe you know how I'm feeling about things, then? Y' see there'snothing for you now but half the farm money. That's yours anyway. Itisn't a pile. Seems to me you ought to be--out there making a bigposition for yourself." He nodded in the direction of Devil's Hill.

  "Out of gold?"

  "Why not? It's an opportunity."

  "What for?" Buck inquired, without a semblance of enthusiasm.

  "Why, for going ahead--with other folks."

  Buck nodded.

  "I know. Goin' to a city with a big pile. A big house. Elegantclothes. Hired servants. Congress. Goin' around with a splash of bigtype in the noospapers."

  "That's not quite all, Buck." The man at the door shook his head. "Aman when he rises doesn't need to go in for--well, for vulgar display.There are a heap of other things besides. What about the intellectualside of civilization? What about the advancement of good causes? Whatabout--well, all those things we reckon worth while out here? Then,too, you'll be marrying some day."

  Buck picked up the dust and carefully emptied it into the blazingstove. He watched it burn for a moment, and then replaced the roundiron top.

  "Marryin' needs--all those things?" he inquired at last.

  "Well, I wouldn't say that," returned the other quickly. He knewsomething was lying behind Buck's quiet manner, and it made him alittle uncomfortable. "Most men find a means of marrying when theywant to--if they're men. Look here," he went on, with a suddenoutburst of simple candor, "I want to be fair to you, and I want youto be fair to yourself. There's an opportunity over there"--he pointedwith his pipe in the direction of Devil's Hill--"an opportunity tomake a pile, which will help you to take a position in the world. Idon't want you to stay with me from any mistaken sense of gratitude orduty. It is my lot, and my desire, to remain in these hills. Butyou--you've got your life before you. You can rise to the top if youwant to. I know you. I know your capacity. Take your share of the farmmoney, and--get busy."

  "An' if I don't want to--get busy?" Buck's dark eyes were alight witha curious, intense warmth.

  The Padre shrugged and pushed his pipe into the corner of his mouth.

  "There's nothing more to be said," he replied.

  "But ther' is, Padre. There sure is," cried Buck, stepping over to himand laying one hand on the great shoulder nearest him. "I get all yousay. I've got it long ago. You bin worryin' to say all this since everyou got back from sellin' the farm. An' it's like you. But you an' medon't jest figger alike. You got twenty more years of the world thanme, so your eyes look around you different. That's natural. You'reguessin' that hill is an opportunity for me. Wal, I'm guessin' itain't. Mebbe it is for others, but not for me. I got my opportunitytwenty years ago, an' you give me that opportunity. I was starvin' todeath then, an' you helped me out. You're my opportunity, an' it makesme glad to think of it. Wher' you go I go, an' when we both done, why,I guess it won't be hard to see that what I done an' what you done wasmeant for us both to do. We're huntin' pelts for a livin' now, an'when the time comes for us to quit it, why, we'll both quit ittogether, an' so it'll go on. It don't matter wher' it takes us. Say,"he went on, turning away abruptly. "Guess I'll jest haul the drinkin'water before I get."

  The Padre turned his quiet eyes on the slim back.

  "And what about when you think of marrying?" he asked shrewdly.

  Buck paused to push the boiler off the stove. He shook his head andpointed at the sky.

  "Guess the sun's gettin' up," he said.

  The Padre laughed and prepared to depart.

  "Where you off to this morning?" he inquired presently.

  "That gal ain't got a hired man, yet," Buck explained simply, as hepicked up his saddle. Then he added ingenuously, "Y' see I don't guessshe ken do the chores, an' the old woman ain't got time to--fortalkin'."

  The Padre nodded while he bent over the breech of his Winchester. Hehad no wish for Buck to see the smile his words had conjured.

  Buck swung his saddle on to his shoulder and passed out of the hut inthe direction of the building he had converted into a barn. And whenhe had gone the Padre looked after him.

  "He says she's handsome, with red-gold hair and blue eyes," hemurmured. Then a far-away look stole into his steady eyes, and theirstare fixed itself upon the doorway of the barn through which Buck hadjust vanished. "Curious," he muttered. "They've nicknamed her'Golden,' which happened to be a nickname--her father gave her."

  He stood for some moments lost in thought. Then, suddenly pullinghimself together, he shouldered his rifle and disappeared into thewoods.