The Furnace of Gold Part 31

She made a somewhat wild attempt at a toilet of her hair--in case the wind had ripped the tell-tale strands from beneath her hat. Then with utter faintness in her being, and weakness in her knees, she prepared to give him reception.

He had slowed his horse to a walk. He rode up deliberately, scrutinizing in obvious puzzlement the figure before him in the sand.

"Hullo," he said, while still a rod away, "what in blazes are you doing here, man--are you lost?"

Beth nodded. "I'm afraid I am." Her utterance was decidedly girlish, and quavering.

"Lost your voice somewhere, too, I reckon," said Van. "Where are you going? Where are you from?"

"Starlight," answered Beth, at a loss for a better reply, and making an effort to deepen her tones as she talked. "I lost my horse in the storm."

Van looked around the valley.

"Did, hey? Didn't happen to see a stray roof, anywhere, did you? I lost one."

"I--haven't seen anything," faltered Both, whose only wish was to have him say something about her escape from this terrible place. "But something frightened my pony."

"I was curious to see how far that roof would hike, that's all," he told her by way of explanation of his presence here on his horse, and he turned to look at her again. "Didn't you know this so-called cut-off to Starlight would take you more time than the road?"

"No, I--I didn't know it," said Beth, afraid he must presently penetrate her masquerade if he looked like that upon her. "What do you advise me to do?"

He ignored her question, demanding:

"Say, is your name Kent?--Glenmore Kent?"

Beth felt her heart begin new gymnastics. This was her cue.

"Why, yes. But--how did you know--know me?"

"I've met your sister, in Goldite. You can't get to Starlight to-night."

She had pa.s.sed muster! A herd of wild emotions were upon her. But first here was her predicament--and what he said was not at all rea.s.suring. Certain alarms that his coming had banished returned in a vague array.

She showed her dread in her eyes. "Perhaps I could get to Goldite."

"How?" He was half unconsciously patting Suvy, the horse, whose ecstasy thereat was not to be concealed.

Beth knew not how. She wished Van would cease that study of her face.

Perhaps she could think more clearly.

"Why--I suppose I could walk--if I knew the way," she said. "Is it very far? I admit I'm bewildered. I was lost."

"It would be a long ride," he told her. "A lost man is hopeless. I couldn't even show you the way so you could keep it--especially at night."

New fears came surging upon her in all their force and numbers.

"But--what shall I do?"

Van reflected.

"My claim is the nearest camp from here, since the wind took down that shack. And that was abandoned anyway. Can you hike some twenty-odd miles?"

Twenty-odd miles!--on foot! For a second she was almost tempted to disclose herself, and beg him, for something a trifle more sympathetic than what he seemed to be offering another fellow man. But that could not be done. And night was descending rapidly. The twilight was brief--and on the wane.

"Why--perhaps so," she answered, attempting to smile. "I'll try."

Something in her smile went straight to his heart--he wondered why. To feel as he did towards this unknown man, even the brother of the girl he madly loved--this was certainly absurd. It was not to be explained; it was simply upon him, that was enough. He dismounted.

"Here, get on my horse and ride. I want to walk and stretch my legs."

Beth all but gasped. She!--ride on Suvy!--the horse she had seen so nearly kill this man!--a horse that might perhaps permit no other living thing upon his back! Yet she knew not how to refuse--and to walk very far would be impossible.

"I'm--afraid I'm a very poor horseman," she admitted guardedly. "If your pony should happen----"

Van had thought that Suvy might resent a stranger's liberties. He turned to the broncho peculiarly.

"How about it, boy?" he asked the horse gravely. "I want you to stand for it, savvy?" He looked at the animal inquiringly. How he knew that Suvy consented was only for him to comprehend. He squared about to Beth, who was watching with wonder, and something far softer, in her heart. "Get on," he said. "He was raised as a cradle for babies."

Beth was pale, but she had to be a man. She stepped to the broncho's side and mounted to the saddle. Suvy trembled in every sinew of his being.

Van gave him a pat on the neck again, turned his back and started straight northward. The pony followed at his heels like a dog with a master he loves.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE NIGHT IN THE DESERT

At ten o'clock that night the moon had not yet risen. Its glow was on the eastern sky, however, and at length it appeared, a broken orb with its waning side lopped from its bulk.

Beth was still in the saddle. She was utterly exhausted; she could scarcely remain in her seat. For more than an hour Van had plodded onward without even turning to speak. They had talked intermittently, and he had told her his name. Far off in the dimness of the desert level--the floor of a second mighty valley--a lone coyote began his dismal howling. Beth, on the horse, felt a chill go down her spine.

Van seemed not to hear. The howl was repeated from time to time intermittently, like the wail of a ghost, forever lost to hope.

When the moon at last shone fairly on the broncho and the girl, Van cast a glance at her face. He was startled. The young rider looked so much like Beth--and looked so utterly tired!

Van halted, and so did the pony. The man looked up at his companion.

"You're in no fit condition to go on," he said. "What's the use of our trying to make it? To camp right here is as good as going on all night, which don't suit my legs worth a cent."

Beth was wearied almost to collapse. But--to camp out here--all night!--they two! Aside from the terrors that had crept to her soul at sound of the distant coyote, this present aspect of the situation was appalling. Indeed, she began to see that whether they went on or remained, she must spend the night in this man's company.

She was almost too tired to care how such a thing would appear. He thought her a man--it had been inescapable--there was nothing she could do to prevent the course of events. And come what might she must presently slip from that saddle, in her weakness, faintness, and hunger, if the penalty were all but life itself.

"I'm--sure I can walk--and let you ride," she said. "I'd like to go on, but I know I can't sit here any longer."

She tried to dismount by herself--as any man must do. In her stiffness she practically fell from the saddle, sinking on her side upon the ground. Only for a second was she prostrate thus at his feet, but her coat fell back from her kahki vest--and a gleam of the moonlight fell upon a bright little object, pinned above her heart.

Van beheld it--and knew what it was--his nugget, washed from the "Laughing Water" claim!