The Golden Woman Part 31

Ike grumbled and protested in the foulest language he was capable of, but he grabbed the dollars when they were handed to him, and stowed them into his hip-pocket with an eagerness which suggested that he feared the other might repent of his bargain. And Beasley quickly swept the precious nuggets away and securely locked them in his safe, with the certain knowledge that his profit on the deal was more than cent for cent.

"You'll take rye," he said as he returned his keys to his pocket. "An'

seein' it's your good day, an' it's on me, we'll have it out o' this thirteen-year-old bottle."

He pushed the bottle across the counter and watched Ike pour himself out a full "four fingers." The sight of his gluttony made Beasley feel glad that the thirteen-year-old bottle had been replenished that morning from the common "rot-gut" cask. After their drink he became expansive.

"That's an elegant claim of yours, Ike," he said, taking up his favorite position on the bar. "It's chock full of alluvial. Don't scarcely need washing. Guess I must ha' paid you two thousand dollars an' more since--since we got busy. Your luck was mighty busy when they cast the lots."

"Luck? Guess I'm the luckiest hoboe in this layout," Ike cried with a confidence that never seemed to require the support of rye whisky.

Beasley's eyes sparkled maliciously.

"How about Pete?" he grinned. He knew that Ike had an utter detestation of Pete, and did not have to guess at the reason. "I paid him more than that by fi' hundred. How's that?"

"Tcha'! Pete ain't no account anyways," Ike retorted angrily. "Say, he pitches his dollars to glory at poker 'most every night. Pete ain't got no sort o' savee. You don't see me bustin' my wad that way."

"How about the gals? Guess you hand 'em a tidy pile."

"Gals!" Ike suddenly became thoughtful. His gaze wandered toward the window. Then he abruptly turned back to the bar and clamored for another drink. "We'll have that thirteen-year-old," he cried. "An'

guess I'll have a double dose. Gals!" he went on, with a sneer, as the other watched him fill a br.i.m.m.i.n.g tumbler.

"Ther's sure on'y one gal around here. That's why I got around now.

Guess I'm payin' her a 'party' call right now, 'fore the folks get around. Say, I'm goin' to marry that gal. She's sure a golden woman.

Golden! Gee, it sounds good!"

Beasley grinned. He was on a hot trail and he warmed to his work.

"Goin' to ask her now?" he inquired amiably, eyeing the spirit the man had poured out.

Ike laughed self-consciously.

"Sure," he said, draining his gla.s.s.

"What about Pete?"

Ike looked sharply into the other's grinning face. Then he banged his gla.s.s angrily on the counter and moved toward the door.

"Pete ken go plumb to h.e.l.l!" he cried furiously over his shoulder as he pa.s.sed out.

Beasley dropped nimbly from his counter and looked after him through the window. He saw him vault into the saddle and race away down the trail in the direction of the farm.

His eyes were smiling wickedly.

"Don't guess Pete's chasin' ther' to suit you, Master Ike," he muttered. "Marry that gal, eh? Not on your life. You pore silly guys!

You're beat before you start--beat a mile. Buck's got you smashed to a pulp. Kind of wish I'd given you less cash and more credit. h.e.l.lo!"

He swung round as the door was again thrust open. This time it was Blue Gra.s.s Pete who strode into the room.

"Wher's Ike?" he demanded without preamble the moment he beheld the grinning face of the saloon-keeper.

"Gee!" Beasley's grin suddenly broke out into a loud laugh. He brought his two hands down on the counter and gave himself up to the joy of the moment.

Pete watched him with growing unfriendliness.

"You're rattled some," he said at last, with elaborate sarcasm. Then, as Beasley stood up choking with laughter and rubbing his eyes, he went on: "Seems to me I asked you a civil question."

Beasley nodded, and guffawed again.

"You sure did," he said at last, stifling his mirth as he beheld the other's threatening frown. "Well, I ain't laffin' at you. It's--it's jest at things."

But Pete had no sense of humor. He disliked Beasley, and simply wanted his information now.

"Ike been along?" he demanded doggedly.

Beasley spluttered. Then he subsided into a malicious grin again.

"Sure," he said. "He's been in with a fat wad. Say, he's a lucky swine. 'Most everything comes his way. Guess he can't never touch bad.

He's ahead on the game, he's a golden-haired pet with the gals, an' he gits gold in--lumps."

But Pete's dark face and hungry eyes showed no appreciation, and Beasley knew that the man's mood was an ugly one.

"Wher's he now?"

"Can't jest say. I didn't ask him wher' he was goin'. Y' see I cashed his gold, and we had a drink. He seemed excited some. Guess he was sort of priming himself. Maybe he's gone along to the gals. Have a drink?"

"No--yes, give us a horn of rye."

The man behind the bar pushed the bottle across.

"What you needin' him for?" he asked with apparent unconcern.

Pete s.n.a.t.c.hed at his drink.

"That ain't your affair," he retorted surlily.

"Sure it ain't. I jest asked--casual."

Pete banged his empty gla.s.s on the counter.

"I'm needin' him bad," he cried, his eyes furiously alight. "I'm needin' him cos I know the racket he's on. See? He quit his claim early cos--cos----"

"Cos he's goin' to pay a 'party' call on that Golden Woman," cried Beasley, appearing to have made a sudden discovery. "I got it, now.

That's why he was in sech a hurry. That's why he needed a good dose o'

rye. Say, that feller means marryin' that gal. I've heard tell he's got it all fixed with her. I've heard tell she's dead sweet on him.

Wal, I ain't sure but wot it's natural. He's a good looker; so is she.

An' he's a bright boy. Guess he's got the grit to look after a gal good. He's a pretty sc.r.a.pper. Another drink?"

Pete refilled his gla.s.s. His fury was at bursting-point, and Beasley reveled in the devil now looking out of his angry eyes.