



Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
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 The Golden Woman


 A Story of the Montana Hills


 By RIDGWELL CULLUM

 AUTHOR OF
 "The Way of the Strong," "The Law Breakers,"
 "The Trail of the Axe,"  Etc.

 With Frontispiece in Colors

 A. L. BURT COMPANY

 Publishers        New York

 Published by Arrangement with GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY




 Copyright, 1913, by
 GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
 Published February, 1916

 _All rights reserved_
 Printed in U. S. A.




[Illustration: "It's the same book, dear, only a different chapter."]




Contents


       I. AUNT MERCY                                   9
      II. OVER THE TELEPHONE                          20
     III. THE PARIAH                                  26
      IV. TWO MEN OF THE WILDERNESS                   39
       V. THE STEEPS OF LIFE                          54
      VI. OUT OF THE STORM                            73
     VII. A SIMPLE MANHOOD                            85
    VIII. THE SECRET OF THE HILL                      96
      IX. GATHERING FOR THE FEAST                    106
       X. SOLVING THE RIDDLE                         110
      XI. THE SHADOW OF THE PAST                     121
     XII. THE GOLDEN WOMAN                           133
    XIII. THE CALL OF YOUTH                          149
     XIV. A WHIRLWIND VISIT                          158
      XV. THE CLAIMS OF DUTY                         165
     XVI. GOLD AND ALLOY                             177
    XVII. TWO POINTS OF VIEW                         187
   XVIII. WHEN LIFE HOLDS NO SHADOWS                 204
     XIX. A STUDY IN MISCHIEF                        217
      XX. THE ABILITIES OF MRS. RANSFORD             229
     XXI. THE MEETING ON THE TRAIL                   240
    XXII. A MAN'S SUPPORT                            246
   XXIII. THE BRIDGING OF YEARS                      258
    XXIV. BEASLEY PLAYS THE GAME                     273
     XXV. BUCK LAUGHS AT FATE                        286
    XXVI. IRONY                                      301
   XXVII. THE WEB OF FATE                            313
  XXVIII. A BLACK NIGHT                              325
    XXIX.  BEASLEY IN HIS ELEMENT                    334
     XXX. THE MOVING FINGER                          356
    XXXI. THE JOY OF BEASLEY                         364
   XXXII. STRONGER THAN DEATH                        374
  XXXIII. THE TEMPEST BREAKS                         389
   XXXIV. THE EYES OF THE HILLS                      402
    XXXV. FROM OUT OF THE ABYSS                      407
   XXXVI. THE CATACLYSM                              420
  XXXVII. ALONE--                                    427
 XXXVIII. --IN THE WILDERNESS                        432
   XXXIX. LOVE'S VICTORY                             439




The Golden Woman




CHAPTER I

AUNT MERCY


An elderly woman looked up from the crystal globe before her. The
sound of horse's hoofs, clattering up to the veranda, had caught her
attention. But the hard, gray eyes had not yet recovered their normal
frigidity of expression. There were still traces in them of the
groping mind, searching on, amidst the chaos of a world unseen. Nor
was Mercy Lascelles posing at the trade which yielded her something
more than her daily bread. She had no reason for pose. She was an
ardent and proficient student of that remote science which has for its
field of research the border-land between earthly life and the
ultimate.

For some moments she gazed half-vacantly through the window. Then
alertness and interest came back to her eyes, and her look resumed its
normal hardness. It was an unlovely face, but its unloveliness lay in
its expression. There was something so unyielding in the keen,
aquiline nose and pointed chin. The gray eyes were so cold. The
pronounced brows were almost threatening in their marking and
depression. There was not a feature in her face that was not handsome,
and yet, collectively, they gave her a look at once forbidding, and
even cruel.

There was no softening, there never was any softening in Mercy
Lascelles' attitude toward the world now. Years ago she may have given
signs of the gentler emotions of her woman's heart. It is only
reasonable to suppose that at some time or other she possessed them.
But now no one was ever permitted beyond the harsh exterior. Perhaps
she owed the world a grudge. Perhaps she hoped, by closing the doors
of her soul, her attitude would be accepted as the rebuff she intended
to convey.

"Is that you, Joan?" she demanded in a sharp, masterful tone.

"It certainly is, auntie," came the gentle, girlish response from the
veranda.

The next moment the door of the little morning-room opened, and a tall
girl stood framed in its white setting.

Joan Stanmore possessed nothing whatever in common with her aunt. She
was of that healthy type of American girl that treats athletics as a
large part of her education. She was tall and fair, with a mass of
red-gold hair tucked away under the mannish hat which was part of her
dark green, tightly-fitting riding habit. Her brow was broad, and her
face, a perfect oval, was open and starred with a pair of fearless
blue eyes of so deep a hue as to be almost violet. Her nose and mouth
were delicately moulded, but her greatest beauty lay in the exquisite
peach-bloom of her soft, fair skin.

Joan Stanmore was probably the handsomest girl in St. Ellis City, in a
suburb of which she and her aunt lived. She was certainly one of the
most popular girls, in spite of the overshadowing threat of an aunt
whom everybody disliked and whom most people feared. Her disposition
was one of serene gentleness, yet as fearless and open as her
beautiful eyes suggested. She was of a strongly independent spirit
too, but, even so, the woman in her was never for a moment jeopardized
by it; she was never anything but a delightful femininity, rejoicing
wholesomely in the companionship of the opposite sex.

She and her aunt had lived for five years in this suburb of St. Ellis.
They had left New York for the southwest because the profession of
the elder woman had gained unpleasant notoriety in that city of
contradictions. The calling of the seer had appealed well enough to
the citizens individually, but a wave of moral rectitude, hurling its
municipal government spluttering upon a broken shore of repentance,
had decided it to expurgate such wickedness from its midst, lest the
local canker become a pestilence which might jeopardize the immortal
soul of the citizen, and, incidentally, hand the civic control over to
the opposition party.

So aunt and orphaned niece had moved westward, seeking immunity in a
region where such obscure professions were regarded with a more
lenient eye. Joan had little enough sympathy with her relative's
studies. She neither believed in them, nor did she disbelieve. She was
so young, and so full of that vitality which makes for the wholesome
enjoyment of life, as viewed through eyes as yet undimmed by the
bitterness of experience, that she had neither time, place, nor
serious thought for such matters. Her only interest, if interest it
could be called, was an occasional wonderment at the extent of the
harvest Aunt Mercy reaped out of the credulity of the merchant and
finance-princes of the city. This, and the state of her aunt's health,
as pronounced by Dr. Valmer, were the only things which ever brought
such matters as "crystal gazing" and scientific astrology into her
mind. Otherwise horoscopes, prognostications, warnings, omens, passed
her by as mere words to raise a smile of youthful derision at the
expense of those who heaped money for such readings into the seer's
lap.

Joan was in no way dependent upon her aunt. Living with her was a
matter of personal choice. Mercy Lascelles was her only relative for
one thing, and the elder woman being a lonely spinster, it seemed only
right that Joan should make her home under her scarcely hospitable
roof. Then, too, there was another reason which influenced the girl.
It was a purely sentimental reason, such as at her age might well
appeal to her. A whisper had reached her to the effect that, hard and
unsympathetic as her Aunt Mercy was, romance at one time had place in
her life--a romance which left her the only sufferer, a romance that
had spelt a life's disaster for her. To the adamantine fortune-teller
was attributed a devotion so strong, so passionate in the days of her
youth