The Furnace of Gold | Page 3

Van," was all he said.
The horseman made no reply. He was still engaged in looking at the
girl when Bostwick half rose, with a tool in hand, and scowled at him
silently.
It was only a short exchange of glances that passed between the pair,
nevertheless something akin to a challenge played in the momentary
conflict, as if these men, hurled across the width of a continent to meet,
had been molded by Fate for some antagonistic clash, the essence of
which they felt thus soon with an utter strangeness between them.
Bostwick bent promptly to his labors with the tire. The girl in the
tonneau stepped past her maid and opened the door on the further side

of the car. Bostwick stood up at once.
"I wouldn't get out, Beth--I wouldn't get out," he said, a little
impatiently. "We'll be ready to go in five minutes."
Nevertheless she alighted.
"Don't hurry on my account," she answered. "The day is getting warm."
The eyes of both Bostwick and the horseman followed her graceful
figure as she passed the front of the car and proceeded towards the
orchard. Above the medium height and superbly modeled, she appeared
more beautiful now than before. She had not descended for a change of
position, or even to inspect the place. As a matter of fact she was
hoping to secure a profile view of the bold-looking horseman on the
pony. Her opportunity soon arrived. He spoke to the station proprietor.
"Want to see you for a moment, Dave," and he rode a little off to a tree.
Dave ceased helping on the tire with marked alacrity and went to the
horseman at once. The two engaged in an earnest conversation,
somewhat of which obviously concerned the auto and its passengers,
since the lank little host made several ill-concealed gestures in the car's
direction and once turned to look at the girl.
She had halted by the orchard fence from which, as a post of vantage,
she was apparently looking over all the place. Her brown eyes, however,
swung repeatedly around to the calico pony and its rider.
Yes, she agreed, the horseman was equal to the scene. He fitted it all,
mountains, sky, the sense of wildness and freedom in the air. What was
he, then? Undoubtedly a native--perhaps part Indian--perhaps----
There was something sinister, she was certain, in the glance he cast
towards the car. He was armed. Could it be that he and the station man
were road-agents, plotting some act of violence? They were certainly
talking about the machine, or its owner, with exceptional earnestness of
purpose.

Bostwick had finished with the tire.
"Come along, Beth, come along!" he called abruptly.
No sooner had she turned to walk to the car than the horseman rode up
in her path. Her heart sank suddenly with misgivings. She halted as the
unknown visitor addressed himself to Bostwick.
"May I speak to you a moment privately?"
Bostwick bristled with suspicions at once.
"I have nothing of a private nature to discuss with you," he answered.
"If you have anything to say to me, please say it and be prompt."
The horseman changed color, but lost no whit of the native courtesy
that seemed a part of his being.
"It isn't particularly private," he answered quietly. "I only wished to say
I wouldn't rush off to Goldite this morning. I'd advise you to stay here
and rest."
Bostwick, already irritated by delay, and impervious to any thought of
a possible service in the horseman's attitude, grew more impatient and
far more irritating.
"I haven't desired your advice," he answered sharply. "Be good enough
to keep it to yourself." He advanced to the station owner, held out a bill,
and added: "Here you are, my man, for your trouble."
"Heck!" said the lank little host. "I don't want your money."
Across the horseman's handsome visage passed a look that, to the girl,
boded anything but peace. Bostwick's manner was an almost intolerable
affront, in a land where affronts are resented. However, the stranger
answered quietly, despite the fact that Bostwick nettled him to an
extraordinary degree.
"I agree that the sooner you vamoose, the prompter the improvement in

the landscape. But you're not going off to Goldite with these ladies in
the car."
Matters might still have culminated differently had Bostwick even
asked a civil "Why?" for Van was a generous and easy-going being.
Beth, in the road, felt her heart beat violently, with vague excitement
and alarm. Bostwick glared, in sudden apprehension as to what the
horseman had in mind.
"Is this a hold-up?" he demanded. "What do you mean?"
The rider dismounted, in a quick, active manner, and opened the door
of the tonneau.
"You wouldn't have thanked me for advice," he replied; "you would
hardly