The girl leant back on her cushions, and her whole despairing attitude became an appeal to his manhood. The last vestige of Buck’s jealousy passed from him. He longed to tell her all there was in his heart. He longed to take her in his arms and comfort her, and protect her from every shadow the whole wide world held for her. He longed to tell her of the love that was his, and how no power on earth could change it. But he did none of these things.
“The things you’re callin’ yourself don’t sound wholesome,” he said simply. “I can’t see they fit in anyway. Guess they ain’t natural.”
Joan caught at the word.
“Natural!” she cried. “Is any of it natural?” She laughed hysterically.
Buck nodded.
“It’s all natural,” he said. “You’ve hit it. You don’t need my word. Jest you ask the Padre. He’ll give it you all. He’ll tell you jest how notions can make a cuss of any life, an’ how to get shut of sech notions. He’s taught me, an’ he’ll teach you. I can’t jest pass his words on. They don’t git the same meaning when I say ’em. I ain’t wise to that sort of thing. But ther’s things I am wise to, and they’re the things he’s taught me. You’re feeling mean, mean an’ miser’ble, that makes me ter’ble mean to see. Say, Miss Joan, I ain’t much handin’ advice. I ain’t got brain enough to hand that sort of thing around, but I’d sure ask you to say right here ther’ ain’t no cuss on your life, an’ never was. You jest guess there’s a cuss around chasin’ glory at your expense. Wal, git right up, an’ grit your teeth an’ fight good. Don’t sit around feeling mean. If you’d do that, I tell you that cuss’ll hit the trail so quick you won’t git time to see it, an’ you’ll bust yourself laffin’ to think you ever tho’t it was around your layout. An’ before I done talkin’ I’ll ast you to remember that when menfolks git around insultin’ a helpless gal, cuss or no cuss, he’s goin’ to git his med’cine good—an’ from me.”
Buck’s effort had its reward. The smile that had gradually found its way into his own eyes caught something of a reflection in those of the girl. He had dragged her from the depths of her despair by the force of the frank courage that was his. He had lifted her by the sheer strength and human honesty which lay at the foundation of his whole, simple nature. Joan sighed, and it was an acknowledgment of his success.
“Thank you, Buck,” she said gently. “You are always so good to me. You have been so ever since I came. And goodness knows you have little enough reason for it, seeing it is I who have turned you out of this home of yours——”
“We got your money,” interrupted Buck, almost brusquely. “This farm was the Padre’s. You never turned me out. An’ say, the Padre don’t live a big ways from here. Maybe you’d like him to tell you about cusses an’ things.” His eyes twinkled. “He’s sure great on cusses.”
But Joan did not respond to the lightness of his manner, and Buck realized that her trouble was still strong upon her.