re, sick gal wi' red
ha'r, all beat to hell an'----"

"Gee, ain't it beautiful!" sneered Curly.

Soapy pretended to weep, and Abe thumped him heavily on the back.

"Cheer up, Kid," he grinned. "'Tain't as bad as it seems. Ike'll feel
better after he's had his vittles."

Pete sniggered.

"Ain't he comic?" he cried. Then, seizing the opportunity, while Ike
turned round to retort he hustled him aside and usurped his place.

"Say, missie, it's jest this, you're the Golden Woman who bro't us our
luck. Some of us ain't got your name right, nor nuthin'. Anyway that
don't figger nuthin'. We ain't had no luck till you come along, so
you're jest our Golden Woman, an' we're goin' to hand you----"

Joan started back as though the man had struck her. Her beautiful
cheeks went a ghastly pallor.

"No--no!" she cried half-wildly.

"And why for not?" demanded Pete.

"But my name is Joan," she cried, a terrible dread almost overpowering
her. "You see 'Golden' isn't my real name," she explained, without
pausing to think. "That's only a nickname my father ga--gave me. I--I
was christened 'Joan.'"

Pete slapped his thigh heavily, and a great grin spread over his face.

"Say, don't it beat the band?" he cried in wild delight. "Don't it?"
he repeated, appealing to the world at large. "'Golden.' That's her
name, an' we only hit on it cos she's got gold ha'r, an' bro't us
gold. An' all the time her pa used to call her 'Golden.' Can you beat
it?" Then he looked into Joan's face with admiring eyes. "Say, missie,
that's your name for jest as long as you stop around this layout.
That's her name, ain't it, boys?" He appealed to the crowd. "Here,
give it her good an' plenty, boys. Hooray for the 'Golden Woman'!"

Instantly the air was filled with a harsh cheering that left the girl
almost weeping in her terror and misery. But the men saw nothing of
the effect of their good-will. They were only too glad to be able to
find such an outlet to their feelings. When the cheering ceased Pete
thrust out an arm toward her. His palm was stretched open, and lying
on it was the great yellow nugget that the Padre had found--the first
find of the "strike."

"That's it, missie," he cried, his wild eyes rolling delightedly.
"Look right ther'. That's fer you. The Padre found it, an' it's his
to give, an' he sent it to you. That's the sort o' luck you bro't us."

The crowd closed in with necks craning to observe the wonderful nugget
of gold; to the f