The Golden Woman Part 50

"They're winter stores," said Buck shortly.

Then, as Beasley laughed right out, and he became aware of a general smile at his expense, he grew hot.

"What's the matter?" he demanded sharply. And his demand was not intended for the saloon-keeper alone.

"Ke'p your s.h.i.+rt on, Buck," exclaimed Beasley, with studied good-nature. "We couldn't jest help but laff." Then his eyes became sentimentally serious. "Y' see, we bin worried some. We wus guessin'

when you came along. Y' see, ther's a sheriff an' a big posse o'

dep'ties comin' right along to this yer camp. Y' see, ther's some guy chasin' around the hills, an' he's wanted fer--murder."

The man was watching for an effect in Buck's face. But he might as well have looked for expression in that of a sphinx.

"Wal?"

It was the only response Buck afforded him.

"Wal," Beasley s.h.i.+fted his gaze. He laughed feebly, and the onlookers transferred their attention to him. "Y' see, it was sort o' laffable you comin' along buyin' winter stores in August, an' us jest guessin'

what guy the sheriff would be chasin'--in the hills. He won't be smellin' around the fort now?" He grinned amiably into the dark face.

But deep in his wicked eyes was an a.s.surance which Buck promptly read.

Nor did it take him a second to come to a decision. He returned the man's look with a coolness that belied his real feelings. He knew beyond question that Mercy Lascelles had already commenced her campaign against the Padre. He had learned of her journey into the camp from Joan. The result of that journey had not reached him yet. At least it was reaching him now.

"You best hand it me straight, Beasley," he said. "Guess nothin'

straight is a heap in your line. But jest for once you've got no corners to crawl around. Hand it out--an' quick."

Buck's manner was dangerously sharp set. There was a smouldering fire growing in his pa.s.sionate eyes. Beasley hesitated. But his hesitation was only for the reason of his own growing heat. He made one last effort to handle the matter in the way he had originally desired, which was with a process of good-humored goading with which he hoped to keep the company present on his side.

"Ther's no offense, Buck," he said. "At least ther' sure needn't to be. You never could play easy. I wus jest handin' you a laff--same as we had."

"I'm waitin'," said Buck with growing intensity, utterly ignoring the explanation.

But Beasley's hatred of the man could not be long denied. Besides, his last attempt had changed the att.i.tude of the onlookers. There was a lurking derision, even contempt in their regard for him. It was the result of what had occurred before Buck's coming. They expected him to talk as plainly as he had done then. So he gave rein to the venom which he could never long restrain.

"Guess I hadn't best ke'p you waitin', sure," he said ironically. Then his eyes suddenly lit. "Winter stores, eh?" he cried derisively.

"Winter stores--an' why'll the Padre need 'em, the good kind Padre, when the sheriff's comin' along to round him up fer--murder?"

There was a moment of tense silence as the man flung his challenge across the bar. Every eye in the room was upon the two men facing each other. In the mind of every one present was only one expectation. The lightning-like play of life and death.

But the game they all understood so well was not forthcoming. For once Buck's heat was controlled by an iron will. To have shot Beasley down where he stood would have been the greatest delight of his life, but he restrained the impulse. There were others to think of. He forced himself to calmness.

Beasley had fired his shot in the firm conviction it would strike home unfailingly. Yet he knew that it was not without a certain random in it. Still, after what had been said, it was imperative to show no weakening. He was certain the quarry was the Padre, and his conviction received further a.s.surance as he watched Buck's face.

For an instant Buck would willingly have hurled the lie in his teeth.

But to do so would have been to lie himself, and, later, for that lie to be proved. There was only one course open to him to counter the mischief of this man. He looked squarely into the saloon-keeper's face.

"The truth don't come easy to you, Beasley," he said calmly, "unless it's got a nasty flavor. Guess that's how it's come your way to tell it now."

"Winter stores," laughed the man behind the bar. And he rubbed his hands gleefully, and winked his delight in his own astuteness at the men looking on.

Then his face sobered, and it seemed as though all his animosity had been absorbed in a profound regret. His whole att.i.tude became the perfection of a righteous indignation and sympathy, which almost deceived Buck himself.

"See here, Buck," he exclaimed, leaning across his bar. "You an' me don't always see things the same way. Guess I don't allus. .h.i.t it with the Padre. No, I guess ther' ain't a heap of good feeling among the three of us. But before you leave here I want to say jest one thing, an' it's this. Sheriff or no sheriff, deputies or no deputies, if they're lookin' fer the Padre for murder I say it's a jumped-up fake.

That man couldn't do a murder, not to save his soul. An' it'll give me a whole heap o' pleasure fixin' up your winter stores. An' good luck to you both--when you hit the long trail."

A murmur of approval went round the room amongst those of the company who remembered the days before the gold strike. And Beasley, in his long career of mischief, almost achieved popularity.

Buck could scarcely believe his ears. And his incredulity was not lessened as he looked into the furtive eyes of the man who had expressed himself so cordially.

But he had been given the opportunity he knew he would need sooner or later. He knew that there were men in the camp who would stand by the Padre in emergency, and they must know the truth. Since Aunt Mercy's campaign had opened, and the news of it was spread abroad, these men must be told the facts, and know his own att.i.tude. He might well need their a.s.sistance in the future, as they, in the past, had needed the Padre's.

"I take it you mean that, Beasley," he said without warmth. Then, ignoring the man, he turned to those gathered about him. "I don't know how Beasley's got this thing, fellers," he said, in his simple fas.h.i.+on. "It don't matter, anyway. I hadn't a notion the sheriff was comin' along yet, either. That don't matter. Anyways I guessed he would be comin' sooner or later, an' that's the reason I'm layin' in stores of gun stuff an' things. Yes, he's comin' for the Padre on a charge of murder, a low-down charge of murder that he never committed.

You know the ways of the law, an' how things sure go in such rackets.

The charge is nigh twenty years old. Wal, maybe it'll be nigh impossible for him to prove he didn't do it. It looks that way.

Anyways, I tell you right here, ther' ain't no sheriff in this country goin' to git him while I'm alive. He's raised me from a starvin' kid, an' he's bin the biggest thing on earth to me, an' I'm goin' to see him through. You fellers, some o' you, know the Padre. You know what he's done right here to help folks when they were starvin'. He even sold his farm to help. Sold it right out, an' give up twenty years'

work to hand grub to empty bellies. Wal, they want him fer murder.

Him, the best and straightest man I ever knew. I ain't got nothin'

more to say 'cept Beasley's right--the sheriff's comin'. An' when he comes he'll find the hills hotter than h.e.l.l fer him, an' I'll have a hand in makin' 'em that way." He turned abruptly to Beasley, and pointed at the paper lying on the counter. "You'll do them things for me, an' I'll get 'em to-morrow."

He turned away, flinging his farewell back over his shoulder as he reached the door.

"So long, fellers," he cried, and pushed his way out.

The moment he had gone every tongue was let loose. The gamblers cashed their "chips" at the bar. There was no more play that afternoon.

Excitement ran high, and discussion was at fever heat. To a man those who knew the Padre, and those who didn't, commended Buck's att.i.tude.

And amongst the older hands of the camp was an ardent desire to take a hand in resisting the law. Beasley was in agreement with nearly everybody. He expressed a wonderful fury at the absurdity and injustice, as he described it, of the charge. And, finally, he possessed himself of the floor again for the purposes of his own subtle scheming.

"What did I tell you, fellers?" he cried, when he had obtained a general hearing. "What did I tell you?" he reiterated in a fine fury.

"I don't like him, but Buck's a man. A straight, bully feller. He's goin' to do the right thing. He'll stand by that Padre feller while he's got a breath in his body, an' he'll shoot the sheriff up as sure as sure. An' why? Because that feller, the Padre, sold his farm to help us old hands. Because he sold his farm to that 'Jonah' gal, who's brought all this trouble about. If she hadn't come around Pete an' Ike would have bin living now. If she hadn't come around the Padre wouldn't be wanted for a murder he never committed. If she hadn't come around Buck wouldn't have set himself up agin the law, an' found himself chasin' the country over--an outlaw. D'yer see it? You're blind if you don't." He brought his clenched fist down on the counter in a whirlwind of indignation. "She's got to go," he cried. "I tell you, she's got to go. Chase her out. Burn her out. Get rid of her from here. An' I got five hundred dollars says--do it."

Beasley knew his men. And in every eye he saw that they were with him now. Nor could anything have pleased him more than when Curly shouted his sudden sympathy.

"Beasley's right, boys," he cried. "She's brought the rotten luck. She must go. Who's to say whose turn it'll be next?"

"Bully for you," cried Beasley. "Curly's. .h.i.t it. Who's the next victim of the rotten luck of this Golden Woman?"

His final appeal carried the day. The men shouted a general approval, and Beasley reveled inwardly in his triumph. He had played his hand with all the skill at his command--and won. And now he was satisfied.

He knew he had started the ball rolling. It would grow. In a few hours the majority of the camp would be with him. Then, when the time came, he would play them for his own ends, and so pay off all his old scores.

The Padre would be taken. He would see to that. The sheriff should know every detail of Buck's intentions. Buck would ultimately be taken--after being outlawed. And Joan--the proud beauty whom Buck was in love with--well, if she got out with her life it would be about all she would escape with.

Beasley felt very happy.

CHAPTER x.x.x

THE MOVING FINGER