emained unwashed, and still bore the accumulations of dusty
sweat from their day's fevered labors. But it was the light in their
eyes, their grinning faces, the buoyancy of their gait that held him.
He heard their voices lifted in such a tone as would have seemed
impossible only a few days ago. The loud, harsh laugh, accompanying
inconsequent jests and jibes, it was good to hear. These men were
tasting the sweets of a moment of perfect happiness. Buck knew well
enough that soon, probably by the morrow, the moment would have
passed, and they would have settled again to the stern calling of
their lives.

All his sympathy was with them, and their joy was reflected in his own
feelings. Their hope was his hope, their buoyancy was his buoyancy.
For his happiness was complete at the moment, and thus he was left
free to feel with those others. Such was his own wonderful exaltation
that the thought of the termination of these people's suffering was
the final note that made his joy complete.

He laid his fork aside and waited till they had passed his retreat.
The object of their journey was obviously the farmhouse, and he felt
that he must learn their further purpose. He remembered Joan's going
from him. He had seen the pain and trouble in her beautiful eyes, and
so he feared that the sudden rush of animal spirits in these people
would drive them to extravagances, well enough meant, but which might
worry and even alarm her.

He moved quickly out of the barn and looked after them. They had
reached the house, and stood like a herd of subdued and silly sheep
waiting for a sign from their leader. It was a quaint sight. The laugh
and jest had died out, and only was the foolish grin left. Yes, they
certainly had a definite purpose in their minds, but they equally
certainly were in doubt as to how it should be carried out.

Buck drew nearer without attracting their attention. The men were so
deeply engaged with the dilemma of the moment that he might almost
have joined the group without observation. But he merely desired to be
on hand to help should the troubled girl need his help. He had no
desire to take active part in the demonstration. As he came near he
heard Beasley's voice, and the very sound of it jarred unpleasantly on
his ears. The man was talking in that half-cynical fashion which was
never without an added venom behind it.

"Well," he heard him exclaim derisively, "wot's doin'? You're all
mighty big talkers back ther'