The man finally broke the silence.
"Have you got any menfolk?" he asked abruptly.
Joan turned quickly.
"No--why?"
"An uncle--a brother. Maybe a--father?"
There was something almost anxious in Buck's manner as he enumerated the possible relationships.
But the girl shook her head at each one, and he went on in a tone of disappointment.
"It's kind of a pity," he observed. Then, in answer to the girl's quick look of inquiry, he added evasively: "You see it's lonesome for a gal--out in these hills."
Joan knew that that was not the reason of his inquiry, and she smiled quietly at her horse's ears.
"Why did you want to know if I had--menfolk?" she asked. "I mean the real reason." She looked up frankly smiling, and compelled his attention.
Buck was not easy to corner, even though he had no experience of women. Again Joan heard his strange gurgle, and her smile broadened.
"You could sure learn your lessons easier with your menfolk around to help you," he said.
For a second the girl's face dropped. Then she laughed good-humoredly.
"You're smart, Buck," she exclaimed. "But--but you're most exasperating. Still, I'll tell you. The only relative I have in the world, that I know of, is--Aunt Mercy."
"Ah! she's a woman."
"Yes, a woman."
"It's a pity." Suddenly Buck pointed ahead at a great mass of towering rock above the trees. "There's Devil's Hill!" he exclaimed.
Joan looked up, all eager delight to behold this wonderful hill Buck had brought her out to see. She expected something unusual, for already she had listened to several accounts of this place and the gold "strike" she was supposed to have brought about. Nor was she disappointed now, at least at first. She stared with wondering eyes at the weird, black giant raising its ugly head in a frowning threat above them, and gave a gasp of surprise.
Then in a moment her surprise died out, and into her eyes crept a strange look of repulsion and even fear. She had no words to offer. She made no move. It was almost as if she sat fascinated like some harmless bird held by the hypnotic stare of a python. So long did she remain silent that Buck at last turned and looked into her face. And something like alarm caught and held him when he beheld her gray look of horror as she faced the gloomy crags mounting up before them.
He too looked out ahead. But his imagination failed him, and his eyes came back to her. The change in her happy, smiling eyes was incredible. Her smile had gone utterly--the bright color of her cheeks. There was no awe in her look, neither curiosity nor admiration. To him it almost seemed that her whole body was thrilled with an utter repugnance and loathing at what she beheld.