cy. This is the man who is the
foster-father of your wonderful Buck, who defies the curse of disaster
which dogs your feet. Child, child, you have proved my words out of
your own lips. The disaster you deny is hard upon your heels, hard
upon the heels of this man you love. Your own hand, the hand even of
your lover, is in it. Was it fate that brought you here? Was it fate
that you should love this man? Was it fate that made my teamster lose
his way and so bring me face to face with this man, almost at the door
of his own home? Was it fate that brought me here? Yes, yes, yes! I
tell you it was fate that did all these things--your fate. The curse
from which you can never escape. Moreton Bucklaw!" She mouthed the
words with insane glee. "It is almost laughable," she cried. "You have
promised to marry the foster-son of the man who is shortly to pay the
penalty for the murder of--your father."

CHAPTER XXVIII

A BLACK NIGHT

The Padre sat staring into space before the stove. Buck was in his
favorite position at the open door, gazing out into the darkness of
the night. As he smoked his evening pipe he was thinking, as usual, of
the woman who was never quite out of his thoughts. He was intensely
happy in the quiet fashion that was so much a part of him. It seemed
to him unbelievable that he could have lived and been content before
he met Joan. Now there could be no life without her, no world even.
She pervaded his every sense, his whole being, with her beautiful
presence.

He breathed deeply. Yes, it was all very, very wonderful. Then, by
degrees, his thoughts ran on to the expected arrival of Joan's
relative--that aunt whom he had heard so much about from the Padre.
And in a moment an uneasy feeling made him shift his position. The
Padre's story was still vivid in his mind; he could never forget it.
Nor could he forget this woman's place in it. These thoughts set him
speculating uneasily as to the possible result of her visit.

He surreptitiously glanced over at the silent figure beside the stove.
The man's pipe was still in his mouth, but it had gone out. Also he
saw, in that quick glance, that the fire in the stove had fallen low.
But he made no move to replenish it. The night was very sultry.

He turned again to his contemplation of the outer world. The night was
black, jet black. There was not a star visible. The mountain air had
lost its cool snap, the accustomed rustle of the woods was gone. There
was a