ason of his inquiry, and she smiled
quietly at her horse's ears.

"Why did you want to know if I had--menfolk?" she asked. "I mean the
real reason." She looked up frankly smiling, and compelled his
attention.

Buck was not easy to corner, even though he had no experience of
women. Again Joan heard his strange gurgle, and her smile broadened.

"You could sure learn your lessons easier with your menfolk around to
help you," he said.

For a second the girl's face dropped. Then she laughed good-humoredly.

"You're smart, Buck," she exclaimed. "But--but you're most
exasperating. Still, I'll tell you. The only relative I have in the
world, that I know of, is--Aunt Mercy."

"Ah! she's a woman."

"Yes, a woman."

"It's a pity." Suddenly Buck pointed ahead at a great mass of towering
rock above the trees. "There's Devil's Hill!" he exclaimed.

Joan looked up, all eager delight to behold this wonderful hill Buck
had brought her out to see. She expected something unusual, for
already she had listened to several accounts of this place and the
gold "strike" she was supposed to have brought about. Nor was she
disappointed now, at least at first. She stared with wondering eyes at
the weird, black giant raising its ugly head in a frowning threat
above them, and gave a gasp of surprise.

Then in a moment her surprise died out, and into her eyes crept a
strange look of repulsion and even fear. She had no words to offer.
She made no move. It was almost as if she sat fascinated like some
harmless bird held by the hypnotic stare of a python. So long did she
remain silent that Buck at last turned and looked into her face. And
something like alarm caught and held him when he beheld her gray look
of horror as she faced the gloomy crags mounting up before them.

He too looked out ahead. But his imagination failed him, and his eyes
came back to her. The change in her happy, smiling eyes was
incredible. Her smile had gone utterly--the bright color of her
cheeks. There was no awe in her look, neither curiosity nor
admiration. To him it almost seemed that her whole body was thrilled
with an utter repugnance and loathing at what she beheld.

"It's--ugly," he hazarded at last.

"It's--it's dreadful." The girl's reply came in a tone there was no
mistaking. It was one of concentrated detestation.

"You don't--like it?" Buck felt helpless.

But Joan's next words left him without any doubt.

"I--I think I--hate it," she said harshly.