As no answer was forthcoming she looked appealingly at the other faces.
"It's very kind of you all to come here," she said gently. "Is--is there anything I can--do for you?"
Suddenly Beasley's voice made itself heard.
"Git busy, Ike, you're spokesman," he cried. "Git on with the presentation--ladle out the ad--dress. You're kind o' lookin' foolish."
He followed up his words with his unpleasant laugh, and it was the sting the youthful leader needed.
He turned fiercely on the speaker, his momentary paralysis all vanished.
"Ef I'm spokesman," he cried, "guess we don't need no buttin' in from Beasley Melford." Then he turned again quickly. "Astin' your pardon, miss," he added apologetically.
"That's all right," said Joan, smiling amiably. "What are you 'spokesman' for?"
The boy grinned foolishly.
"Can't rightly say, missie." Then he jerked his head in his comrades' direction. "Guess if you was to ast them, they'd call theirselves men."
"I didn't say 'who,' I said 'what,'" Joan protested, with a laugh at his desperately serious manner.
"'What?'" he murmured, smearing his dirty forehead with a horny hand in the effort of his task. Then he brightened. "Why, gener'ly speakin'," he went on, with sudden enthusiasm, "they ain't much better'n skippin' sheep. Y' see they want to but darsent. So--wal--they jest set me up to sling the hot air."
The girl looked appealingly at the rough faces for assistance. But instead of help she only beheld an expression of general discontent turned on the unconscious back of the spokesman. And coming back to the boy she pursued the only course possible.
"I--I don't think I quite understand," she said.
Ike readily agreed with her.
"I'm durned sure you can't," he cried heartily. "They jest think it a rotten kind of a job handin' a red-ha'r'd gal a few words an' an a'mighty fine hunk o' gold. That's cos they ain't been dragged up jest right. You can't expect elegant feedin' at a hog trough. Now it's kind o' diff'rent wi' me. I----"
"Oh, quit," cried the sharp voice of the exasperated Abe Allinson. And there was no doubt but he was speaking for the rest of the audience.
Pete followed him in a tone of equal resentment.
"That ain't no sort o' way ad--dressin' a leddy," he said angrily.
"Course it ain't," sneered Beasley. "Ther's sure bats roostin' in your belfry, Ike."
The boy jumped round on the instant. His good-nature could stand the jibes of his comrades generally, but Beasley's sneers neither he nor any one else could endure.
"Who's that yappin'?" the youngster cried, glowering into the speaker's face. "That the feller Buck called an outlaw passon?" he demanded. His right hand slipped to the butt of his gun. "Say you," he cried threateningly, "if you got anything to say I'm right here yearnin' to listen."