The Golden Woman: A Story of the Montana Hills

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXIV

  BEASLEY PLAYS THE GAME

  Joan lost no time in carrying out the Padre's wishes. Such was herchanged mood, such was the strength of her new-born hope, such was thewonderful healing his words had administered to her young mind, that,for the time at least, her every cloud was dispersed, lost in aperfect sheen of mental calm.

  The change occurred from the moment of her return home. So changedindeed was she that her rough but faithful housekeeper, dull ofperception to all those things outside the narrow focus of her life indomestic service, caught a faint glimpse of it without anythingapproaching a proper understanding. She realized an added energy,which seriously affected her own methods of performing her duties andcaused her to make a mental note that her young mistress was assuming"airs" which did not fit in with her inexperience of those thingsamidst which she, the farm-wife, had floundered all her life. Sheheard her moving about the house, her joy and hope finding outlet insong such as had never echoed through the place before. And promptlyshe set this new phase down to the result of her associations with theyoung "scallawag" Buck. She noted, too, an added care in her toilet,and this inspired the portentous belief that she was "a-carryin' on"with the same individual. But when it came to a general "turning-out"of the living-rooms of the house, a matter which added an immenseamount of effort to her own daily duties, her protest found immediatevent in no uncertain terms.

  It came while the midday dinner was in preparation. It rose toboiling-point amidst the steam from her cooking pots. Finally itbubbled over, much as might one of her own kettles.

  Joan was standing in the kitchen giving her orders preparatory todeparting to the camp, whither she was going to mail her letter to heraunt at Beasley's store.

  "You see," she was saying, "I'll have to make some changes in thehouse. I'm expecting my aunt from St. Ellis to come and stay with me.She won't be able to do with the things which have been sufficient forme. She will have my room. I shall buy new furniture for it. I shallget Beasley to order it for me from Leeson Butte. Then I shall use thelittle room next yours. And while we're making these changes we'llhave a general housecleaning. You might begin this afternoon on theroom I am going to move into."

  The old woman turned with a scarlet face. It may have been the resultof the heat of cooking. Then again it may have had other causes.

  "An' when, may I ast, do I make bricks?" she inquired with ponderoussarcasm.

  Joan stood abashed for a moment. So unexpected was the retort, so muchwas it at variance with her own mood that she had no answer ready, andthe other was left with the field to herself.

  "Now jest look right here, Miss Joan--ma'm," she cried, flourishing acooking spoon to point her words. "I ain't a woman of many words by nomeans, as you might say, but what I sure says means what I mean, nomore an' no less, as the sayin' is. I've kep' house all my life, an' Ireckon ther's no female from St. Ellis ken show _me_. I've bin a wifean' a mother, an' raised my offsprings till they died. I did fer a manas knew wot's wot in my George D. An' if I suffered fer it, it wasjest because I know'd my duty an' did it, no matter the consequencesto me an' mine. I tell you right here, an' I'm a plain-spoken womanwho's honest, as the sayin' is, I turn out no house, nor room, nornothin' of an afternoon. I know my duty an' I do it. Ther's a chapterof the Bible fer every day o' my life, an' it needs digestin'good--with my dinner. An' I don't throw it up fer nobody."

  "But--but----" Joan began to protest, but the other brushed objectionaside with an added flourish of her spoon.

  "It ain't no use fer you to persuade, nor cajole, nor argify. What Isays goes fer jest so long as I'm willin' to accept your ter'bleordinary wages, which I say right here won't be fer a heap long timeif things don't change some. I'm a respectable woman an' wife thatwas, but isn't, more's the pity, an' it ain't my way to chase aroundthe house a-screechin' at the top o' my voice jest as though I'd comefrom a cirkis. You ain't got your mind on your work. You ain't gotyour heart in it, singin' all over the house, like--like one o' thembrazen cirkis gals. No, nor wot with scallawags a-comin' aroundsparkin' you, an' the boys shootin' theirselves dead over you, an'folks in the camp a-callin' of you a Jony gal, I don't guess I'll needto stay an' receive con--contamination, as you might say. That's howI'm feelin'; an' bein' a plain woman, an' a 'specterble widow ofGeorge D., who was a man every inch of him, mind you, if he had hisfailin's, chasin' other folks' cattle, an' not readin' their brandsright, why, out it comes plump like a bad tooth you're mighty glad tobe rid of, as the sayin' is."

  The woman turned back to her cooking. Her manner was gravelydisapproving, and she had managed to convey a sting which somehow hurtJoan far more than she was willing to admit. Her refusal to undertakethe added work was merely churlish and disconcerting, but those otherremarks raised a decided anger not untouched by a feeling of shame andhurt. But Joan did not give way to any of these feelings in her reply.She did the only dignified thing possible.

  "You need not wait until your dissatisfaction with me overwhelms you,Mrs. Ransford," she said promptly. "I engaged you by the month, and Ishall be glad if you will leave me to-day month." Then she added witha shadow of reproach: "Really, I thought you were made of betterstuff."

  But her attitude had a far different result to what she had expected.She turned to go, preferring to avoid a further torrent of abuse fromthe harsh old woman, when the spoon flourished in the air as the widowof George D. swung round from her pots with an amazing alacrity.

  "You ain't chasin' me out, Miss Joan--ma'm?" she cried aghast, herround eyes rolling in sudden distress. "Why, miss--ma'm, I never meantno harm--that I didn't. Y' see I was jest sore hearin' them sayin'things 'bout you in the camp, an' you a-singin' made me feel youdidn't care nuthin'. An' these scallawags a-comin' around a-sassin'you, an' a-kissin' you, sort o' set my blood boilin'. No, miss--ma'm,you ain't a-goin' to chase me out! You wouldn't now, would you?" sheappealed. "Jest say you won't, an' I'll have the house turned sheerupside down 'fore you know wher' you are. There, jest think of it. Youmay need some un to ke'p that scallawag Buck in his place. How yougoin' to set about him without me around? I ain't quittin' this daymonth, am I, miss--ma'm?"

  The old woman's abject appeal was too much for Joan's soft heart, andher smiling eyes swiftly told the waiting penitent that the sentencewas rescinded. Instantly the shadow was lifted from the troubled face.

  "It was your own fault, Mrs. Ransford," Joan said, struggling toconceal her amusement. "However, if you want to stay----Well, I mustdrive into the camp before dinner, and we'll see about the little roomwhen I return."

  "That we will, mum--miss. That we will," cried the farm-wife incordial relief as Joan hurried out of the room.

  * * * * *

  Joan drew up at Beasley's store just as that individual was preparingto adjourn his labors for dinner. The man saw her coming from the doorof his newly-completed barn, and softly whistled to himself at thesight of the slim, girlish figure sitting in the wagon behind theheavy team of horses he had so long known as the Padre's.

  This was only the third time he had seen the girl abroad in the camp,and he wondered at the object of her visit now.

  Whatever malice he bore her, and his malice was of a nature only to beunderstood by his warped mind, his admiration was none the less forit. Not a detail of her appearance escaped his quick, lustful eyes.Her dainty white shirt-waist was covered by the lightest of dustcoats, and her pretty face was shadowed by a wide straw hat whichprotected it from the sun's desperate rays. Her deeply-fringed eyesshone out from the shade, and set the blood pulsing through the man'sveins. He saw the perfect oval of her fair face, with its ripe, fulllips and delicate, small nose, so perfect in shape, so regular in itssetting under her broad open brow. Her wonderful hair, thatruddy-tinted mass of burnished gold which was her most strikingfeature, made him suck in a whistling breath of sensual appreciation.Without a moment's hesitation, hat in hand he went to meet her.

  As he came up his foxy eyes were alight with
what he intended for agrin of amiability. Whatever his peculiarly vindictive nature he wasmore than ready to admit to himself the girl's charms.

  "Say, Miss Golden," he cried, purposely giving her the name thepopular voice had christened her, "it's real pleasant of you to getaround. Guess the camp's a mighty dull show without its lady citizens.Maybe you'll step right up into my storeroom. I got a big line of newgoods in from Leeson. Y' see the saloon ain't for such as you," helaughed. "Guess it does for the boys all right. I'm building a slap-upstore next--just dry goods an' notions. Things are booming right now.They're booming so hard there's no keepin' pace. I'll tie your hossesto this post."

  His manner was perfect in its amiability, but Joan detested it becauseof the man. He could never disguise his personality, and Joan wasbeginning to understand such personalities as his.

  "Thanks," she said coldly, as, taking advantage of his being occupiedwith the horses, she jumped quickly from the vehicle. "I came to maila letter," she said, as she moved on up to the big barn which wasBeasley's temporary storehouse, "and to give you a rather large orderfor furnishing and things."

  She produced a paper with her list of requirements, and handed it tohim.

  "You see, I'm refurnishing the farm," she went on, while the manglanced an appreciative eye over the extensive order. "Can you dothose things?" she asked as he looked up from his perusal.

  "Why, yes. There's nothing difficult there. What we can't do here wecan send on to Leeson Butte for. I've got some elegant samples ofcurtains just come along. Maybe you'll step inside?"

  In spite of her dislike of the man Joan had no hesitation in passinginto the storeroom. She had no desire in the world to miss the joy ofinspecting a fresh consignment of dry goods. She felt almost asexcited, and quite as much interested, as though she were visiting oneof the great stores in St. Ellis.

  In a few moments she was lost in a close inspection of the display.Nor had she any thought, or wonder, that here in the wilderness, onthe banks of Yellow Creek, such things should already have found theirway. For a long time the keen man of business expended his arts ofpersuasion upon her, and, by the time the girl had exhausted hisstock, he had netted a sound order. His satisfaction was very evident,and now he was prepared to regard her rather as a woman than acustomer.

  "Makes you think some," he observed, with a wave of his hand in thedirection of the piled-up fabrics and unopened cases. Then he laughedin a way that jarred upon the girl. "Ther's money to burn here. Money!Whew!" Then his eyes became serious. "If it only lasts!"

  "Why shouldn't it?" asked Joan unsuspiciously. She had finished, andwas anxious to get away. But the man seemed to want to talk, and itseemed churlish to deny him.

  Beasley shook his head, while his eyes devoured her appealing beauty.

  "It won't," he said decidedly. "It's too big--too rich. Besides----"

  "Besides what?"

  The man's eyes had lost their grin. They were the eyes of the realman.

  "It's--devil's luck. I've said it all along. Only ther's sech plagueyknowalls around they won't believe it. Buck now--I got nothing againstBuck. He's a good citizen. But he's got a streak o' yeller in him, an'don't hold with no devil's luck. Maybe you remember." He grinnedunpleasantly into the girl's eyes.

  She remembered well enough. She was not likely to forget the manner inwhich Buck had come to her help. She flushed slightly.

  "What do you mean by 'a streak of yellow'?" she demanded coldly.

  "It don't need a heap of explaining. He's soft on mission talk."

  Joan's flush deepened. This man had a mean way of putting things.

  "If you mean that he doesn't believe in--in superstitions, and thatsort of thing, if you mean he's just a straightforward,honest-thinking man--well, I agree with you."

  Beasley was enjoying the spectacle of the warmth which prompted herdefense. She was devilish pretty, he admitted to himself.

  "Maybe you feel that way," he said, in a tone that jarred. "Say," hewent on shrewdly, "I'm no sucker, I'm not one of these slobs chasin'gold they're eager to hand on to the first guy holdin' out his hand.I'm out to make a pile. I had a claim in the ballot. Maybe it's a goodclaim. I ain't troubled to see. Why? I'll tell you. Maybe I'd havetaken a few thousand dollars out of it. Maybe a heap. Maybe only alittle. Not good--with all these slobs around." He shook his head. "Ifigured I'd git the lot if I traded. I'd get the show of _all_ of theclaims. See? The 'strike' ain't goin' to last. It's a pocket in thehill, an' it'll peter out just as dead sure as--well as can be. An'when it's petered out there's going to be jest one feller around herewho's made a profit--an' it ain't one of those who used thesluice-boxes. No, you can believe what you like. This 'strike' wasjest a devil's laugh at folks who know no better. An' master Buck hashanded you something of devil's luck when he made you take that gold."

  There was something very keen about this man, and in another Joanmight have admired it; but Beasley's mind was tainted with such avicious meanness that admiration was impossible.

  "I don't believe it," said Joan staunchly. "Neither does Buck. Hewould never willingly hand me the trouble you suggest."

  Her words were the result of an impetuous defense of the absent man.To hear this man attack Buck was infuriating. But the moment she haduttered them, the moment she had seen their effect, that meaning laughwhich they brought to the storekeeper's lips, she wished they hadnever been spoken.

  "Don't guess Buck needs to scrap fer himself with you around, MissGolden," he laughed. "Gee! He's in luck. I wonder!"

  Joan choked back her swift-rising indignation. The man wasn't worthit, she told herself, and hurriedly prepared to depart. But Beasleyhad no intention of letting her go like that.

  "I wonder whether he is in luck, though," he went on quickly, in atone he knew the girl would not be able to resist. His estimate wasright. She made no further move to go.

  "How?" she asked.

  "Oh, nuthin' of consequence," he said aggravatingly. "I was justthinking of the way folks are talking." Then he laughed right out; andif Joan had only understood the man she would have known that hismerriment was but the precursor of something still more unpleasant.

  But such natures as his were quite foreign to her. She merelyinstinctively disliked him.

  "What do you mean?" she asked unsuspiciously.

  Beasley was serious again, and wore an air of deprecation when heanswered her.

  "Oh!" he exclaimed, "'tain't nuthin'. Y' see folks are always mostready to gas around. It's 'bout them two boys. They're hot about 'em.Y' see Pete was a mighty popular feller, an' Ike had good friends. Y'see they were always good spenders--an' most folks like goodspenders. But ther'--'tain't nuthin' that needs tellin' you. Guessit'll only make a dandy gal like you feel mean."

  The man's purpose must have been evident to anybody less simple thanJoan. As it was she jumped at the bait so skilfully held out.

  "But you must tell me," she said, remembering Mrs. Ransford's remarks."I insist on knowing if it is anything concerning me."

  Beasley's air was perfect. His eyes were as frankly regretful as hecould make them.

  "Wal," he said, "it certainly does concern you--but I'd rather not sayit."

  "Go on."

  Joan's face was coldly haughty.

  "I wouldn't take it too mean," said Beasley warningly. "I surewouldn't. You see folks say a heap o' things that is trash. They guessit's your doin' 'bout them boys. They reckon you played 'em one ag'int'other for their wads, an' both o' them ag'in--Buck. Y' see--mind I'mjest tellin' you cos you asked--they guess you ast 'em both to supperthat evenin'. Pete said he was ast, an' Ike let on the same. You ast'em both for the fun of the racket. An' you had Buck around to watchthe fun. Yes, they're pretty hot. An' you can't blame 'em, believin'as they do. One of 'em--I forget who it rightly was--he called you thecamp Jonah. Said just as long as you wer' around ther'd be trouble. Hewas all for askin' you to clear right out. He said more than that, butI don't guess you need to know it all."

  "But I do n
eed to know it all. I need to know all they said, and--whosaid it."

  Joan's eyes were blazing. Beasley made no attempt to conceal hissatisfaction, and went on at once--

  "Course I can't give you names. But the facts I don't guess I'm likelyto forget--they made me so riled. They said that farm of yours wasjust a blind. It--it was--well, you'd come along here for all youcould get--an' that----"

  Joan cut him short.

  "That's enough," she cried. "You needn't tell me any more. I--Iunderstand. Oh, the brutal, heartless ruffians! Tell me. Who was itsaid these things? I demand to know. I insist on the names. Oh!"

  The girl's exasperation was even greater than Beasley had hoped for.He read, too, the shame and hurt underlying it, and his satisfactionwas intense. He felt that he was paying her off for some of theobvious dislike she had always shown him, and it pleased him as italways pleased him when his mischief went home. But now, havingachieved his end, he promptly set about wriggling clear ofconsequences, which was ever his method.

  "I'd like to give you the names," he said frankly. "But I can't. Yousee, when fellers are drunk they say things they don't mean, an' itwouldn't be fair to give them away. I jest told you so you'd be onyour guard--just to tell you the folks are riled. But it ain't as badas it seems. I shut 'em up quick, feeling that no decent citizen couldstand an' hear a pretty gal slandered like that. An' I'll tell youthis, Miss Golden, you owe me something for the way I made 'em quit.Still," he added, with a leer, "I don't need payment. You see, I wasjust playin' the game."

  Joan was still furious. And somehow his wriggling did not ring trueeven in her simple ears.

  "Then you won't tell me who it was?" she cried.

  Beasley shook his head.

  "Nuthin' doin'," he said facetiously.

  "Then you--you are a despicable coward," she cried. "You--oh!" And shealmost fled out of the hated creature's storeroom.

  Beasley looked after her. The satisfaction had gone from his eyes,leaving them wholly vindictive.

  "Coward, am I, ma'm!" he muttered. Then he looked at the order forfurniture which was still in his hand.

  The sight of it made him laugh.