“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.”
“Did he—insult you?” Buck asked sharply, ignoring the rest.
Joan looked quickly into the man’s hot eyes, and in that moment realized the necessity for prudence. The fierce spirit was shining there. That only partly tamed spirit, which made her so glad when she thought of it.
“Oh, no,” she said. “It wasn’t that he insulted me. No—no. Don’t think that. Only he went out of his way to tell me these things, to make me miserable. I was angry then, but I’ve got over it now. It—it doesn’t matter. You see I just told you because—because——”
“If that man insulted you, I’d—kill him!”