"Cheer up, Kid," he grinned. "'Tain't as bad as it seems. Ike'll feel better after he's had his vittles."
Pete sniggered.
"Ain't he comic?" he cried. Then, seizing the opportunity, while Ike turned round to retort he hustled him aside and usurped his place.
"Say, missie, it's jest this, you're the Golden Woman who bro't us our luck. Some of us ain't got your name right, nor nuthin'. Anyway that don't figger nuthin'. We ain't had no luck till you come along, so you're jest our Golden Woman, an' we're goin' to hand you----"
Joan started back as though the man had struck her. Her beautiful cheeks went a ghastly pallor.
"No--no!" she cried half-wildly.
"And why for not?" demanded Pete.
"But my name is Joan," she cried, a terrible dread almost overpowering her. "You see 'Golden' isn't my real name," she explained, without pausing to think. "That's only a nickname my father ga--gave me. I--I was christened 'Joan.'"
Pete slapped his thigh heavily, and a great grin spread over his face.
"Say, don't it beat the band?" he cried in wild delight. "Don't it?" he repeated, appealing to the world at large. "'Golden.' That's her name, an' we only hit on it cos she's got gold ha'r, an' bro't us gold. An' all the time her pa used to call her 'Golden.' Can you beat it?" Then he looked into Joan's face with admiring eyes. "Say, missie, that's your name for jest as long as you stop around this layout. That's her name, ain't it, boys?" He appealed to the crowd. "Here, give it her good an' plenty, boys. Hooray for the 'Golden Woman'!"
Instantly the air was filled with a harsh cheering that left the girl almost weeping in her terror and misery. But the men saw nothing of the effect of their good-will. They were only too glad to be able to find such an outlet to their feelings. When the cheering ceased Pete thrust out an arm toward her. His palm was stretched open, and lying on it was the great yellow nugget that the Padre had found--the first find of the "strike."
"That's it, missie," he cried, his wild eyes rolling delightedly. "Look right ther'. That's fer you. The Padre found it, an' it's his to give, an' he sent it to you. That's the sort o' luck you bro't us."
The crowd closed in with necks craning to observe the wonderful nugget of gold; to the finding of its kind their lives were devoted. Beasley was at Pete's elbow, the greediest of them all.
"It wasn't no scrapin' an' scratchin' luck," the enthusiastic Pete hurried on. "It was gold in hunks you bro't us."