"Sakes on us," she cried, her fat face turning a sort of pea-green, "if only my pore George D.----"
But Joan's patience could stand no more.
"For goodness' sake go back to your kitchen, you absurd creature. I'll see to the matter. I----"
But the old woman wobbled to her feet almost weeping.
"Now, don't 'ee, miss," she cried in her tearful anxiety, getting her form of address right the first time. "Don't 'ee be rash. Ther'll be blood spilt, ther' sure will. Ther's on'y one way, miss, you must talk 'em nice, an', an' if they go fer to take liberties, you--why you," she edged toward her kitchen, "you jest send for me right away."
She hurried out, and the moment she was out of sight fled precipitately to the farthest extremity of her own domain and armed herself with the heavy iron shaker of the cook-stove.
In the meantime Joan went to the door and flung it wide open. In spite of the farm-wife's warnings she had not a shadow of doubt as to the peaceful object of the visitation, and rather felt that in some sort of way it was intended as an expression of good-will and greeting. Had not Buck told her that they held her in the light of some sort of benefactor? So she stood in the doorway erect and waiting, with a calm face, on which there was not a shadow of a smile.
She took in the gathering at a glance, and her eyes came to rest upon the foremost figure of Montana Ike. She noted his slim, boyish figure, the weak, animal expression shining in his furtive eyes. To her he looked just what he was, a virile specimen of reckless young manhood, of vicious and untamed spirit. She saw at once that he was standing out from his companions, and understood that, for the moment at least, he was their leader.
"Good-evening," she said, her attitude mechanically unbending.
"Evenin', miss," responded Ike bravely, and then relapsed into a violent condition of blushing through his dirt.
He stood there paralyzed at the girl's beauty. He just gaped foolishly at her, his eyes seeking refuge in dwelling upon the well-cut skirt she wore and the perfect whiteness of the lawn shirt-waist, which permitted the delicate pink tinge of her arms and shoulders to show through it.
All his bravery was gone--all his assurance. If his life had depended on it not one word of an address on behalf of his fellows could he have uttered.
Joan saw his confusion, and mercifully came to his rescue.
"You wish to see me?" she inquired, with a smile which plunged the boy into even more hopeless confusion.