's natural. You're
guessin' that hill is an opportunity for me. Wal, I'm guessin' it
ain't. Mebbe it is for others, but not for me. I got my opportunity
twenty years ago, an' you give me that opportunity. I was starvin' to
death then, an' you helped me out. You're my opportunity, an' it makes
me 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 was
meant 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 it
together, 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 and
pointed 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 he
picked up his saddle. Then he added ingenuously, "Y' see I don't guess
she ken do the chores, an' the old woman ain't got time to--for
talkin'."

The Padre nodded while he bent over the breech of his Winchester. He
had 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 in
the direction of the building he had converted into a barn. And when
he had gone the Padre looked after him.

"He says she's handsome, with red-gold hair and blue eyes," he
murmured. Then a far-away look stole into his steady eyes, and their
stare fixed itself upon the doorway of the barn through which Buck had
just 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 pulling
himself together, he shouldered his rifle and disappeared into the
woods.

CHAPTER XIV

A WHIRLWIND VISIT

Joan was idling dispiritedly over her breakfast. A long, wakeful night
had at last ended in the usual aching head and eyes ringed with
shadows. She felt dreary, and looked forward drearily to inspecting
her farm--which, in her normal state, would have inspired nothing but
perfect delight--with something like apprehension.

Her b