At last he stirred. He stooped and picked up the discarded fork. He had no definite purpose. He was scarcely aware of his action. He held it for a moment poised in the air. Then slowly he let the prongs of it rest on the ground, and, leaning his chin on his hands clasped about the haft, stared out at the hills and gave himself up to such a dream as never before had entered his life.
The sun was dipping behind the snowcaps, and for half an hour the work he had voluntarily undertaken remained untouched.
How much longer he would have remained lost in his wonderful dreaming it would have been impossible to tell. But he was ruthlessly awakened, and all his youthful ardor received a cold douche as the evening quiet was suddenly broken by the harsh voices of the crowd of gold-seekers, whom he suddenly beheld approaching the farm along the trail.
CHAPTER XII
THE GOLDEN WOMAN
Buck wondered as he noted the extraordinary picture of jubilation which the approaching crowd presented. In all his association with these people he had never witnessed anything to equal it or even come near it. He never remembered anything like a real outburst of joy during the long, dreary months since they had first camped on the banks of Yellow Creek.
He watched the faces as they drew near. From the shelter of the barn, whither he had retreated, he had them in full view. He looked for the old, weary signs of their recent privations and sufferings. There were none, not one. They had passed as utterly as though they had never been.