But Joan was thinking only how glad she was of his coming. His explanation did not matter in the least. She had been home from the camp something over an hour, and had seen some one ride up to the barn without recognizing Buck or the familiar Cæsar. So she had hastened to investigate. Something of her gladness at sight of him was in the manner of her greeting now, and Buck's despondency began to fall from him as he realized her unfeigned pleasure.
"I'm so glad you came," Joan went on impulsively. "So glad, so glad. I've been in camp to order things for--for my aunt's coming. You know your Padre told me to send for her. I mailed the letter this morning."
"You--sent for your aunt?"
In a moment the whole hideous position of the Padre came upon him, smothering all his own personal feelings, all his pleasure, all his doubts and fears.
"Why--yes." Joan's eyes opened wide in alarm. "Have I done wrong? He said, send for her."
Buck shook his head and moved out of the stall.
"You sure done dead right. The Padre said it."
"Then what was the meaning in your--what you said?"
Buck smiled.
"Nothing--just nothing."
Joan eyed him a moment in some doubt. Then she passed the matter over, and again the pleasure at his coming shone forth.
"Oh, Buck," she cried, "there are some mean people in the world. I've been talking to that horror, Beasley. He is a horror, isn't he? He's been telling me something of the talk of the camp. He's been telling me how--how popular I am," she finished up with a mirthless laugh.
"Popular? I--I don't get you."
Buck's whole expression had changed at the mention of Beasley's name. Joan had no reason to inquire his opinion of the storekeeper.
"You wouldn't," she hastened on. "You could never understand such wicked meanness as that man is capable of. I'm sure he hates me, and only told me these--these things to make me miserable. And I was feeling so happy, too, after seeing your Padre," she added regretfully.
"An' what are the things he's been sayin'?"
Buck's jaws were set.
"Oh, I can't tell you what he said, except--except that the men think I'm responsible for the death of those two. The other things were too awful. It seems I'm--I'm the talk of the camp in--in an awful way. He says they hate me. But I believe it's simply him. You see, he's tried to--to ingratiate himself with me--oh, it's some time back, and I--well, I never could stand him, after that time when the boys gave me the gold. I wish they had never given me that gold. He still persists it's unlucky, and I--I'm beginning to think so, too."