His prophecy remained uncompleted. He was suddenly caught by a powerful hand, and the next instant he found himself swung to the outskirts of the crowd with terrific force.
In a furious rage he pulled himself together just in time to see Buck, pale with anger, seize the nugget from Pete’s outstretched palm.
“You don’t need to worry with the trouble in that gold,” he said with biting coldness, raising it at arm’s length above his head.
Then before any one was aware of his intention he flung it with all his force upon the flagstone at Joan’s feet. Quickly he stooped and picked it up again, and again flung it down with all his strength. He repeated the process several times, and finally held it out toward the troubled girl.
“You ken take it now,” he said, his whole manner softening. “Guess Beasley’s ‘death’s head’ has gone—to its grave. Ther’ ain’t no sort o’ trouble can hurt any, if—you only come down on it hard enough. The trouble ain’t in that gold now, only in the back of Beasley’s head. An’ when it gets loose, wal—I allow there’s folks around here won’t see it come your way. You can sure take it now.”
Joan reached out a timid hand, while her troubled violet eyes looked into Buck’s face as though fascinated. The man moved a step nearer, and the small hand closed over the battered nugget.
“Take it,” he said encouragingly. “It’s an expression of the good feelings of the boys. An’ I don’t guess you need be scared of them.”
Joan took the gold, but there was no smile in her eyes, no thanks on her lips. She stepped back to her doorway and passed within.
“I’m tired,” she said, and her words were solely addressed to Buck. He nodded, while she closed the door. Then he turned about.