The Golden Woman Part 49

over the folks in my mind to locate the--murderer. But it's got me beat."

"Ther' ain't bin no murder since the camp got boomin'," said Abe Allinson thoughtfully, "'cept you reckon that racket of Ike an'

Pete's."

Beasley shook his head.

"'Tain't that. That was jest clear shootin'. Though it's queer you mention that. Say, this racket's got somethin' to do with that farm.

It's mighty queer about that farm. That gal's brought a heap of mischief. She sure is an all-fired Jonah."

"But what's she to do wi' this new racket?" inquired Slaney.

Beasley shook his head.

"You got me beat again. The sheriff's comin' right out to that farm, chasin' some feller for murder. Ther's the fact--plain fact. He's comin' to that farm--which shows that gal is mussed-up with the racket someways. Now I tho't a heap on this thing. An' I'm guessin' this murder must have been done back East. Y' see that gal comes from back East. 'Wal, now,' says I, 'how do we shape then?' Why, that gal--that Jonah gal--comes right here an' locates some feller who's done murder back East. Who is it? I gone over every feller in this yer camp, an'

'most all are pretty clear accounted for. Then from what I hear the sheriff's posse is to work the hills. Who is ther' in the hills?"

Beasley paused for effect. His purpose was rapidly becoming evident.

He glanced over the faces about him, and knew that the same thought was in each mind.

He laughed as though an absurd thought had pa.s.sed through his mind.

"Course," he exclaimed, "it's durned ridic'lous. Ther's two fellers we know livin' in the hills. Jest two. Ther's Buck an'--the Padre. Buck's bin around this creek ever since he was raised. I ain't no use for Buck. He's kind o' white livered, but he's a straight citizen. Then the Padre," he laughed again, "he's too good. Say, he's next best to a pa.s.son. So it can't be him."

He waited for concurrence, and it came at once.

"I'll swar' it ain't the Padre," cried Curly warmly.

"It sure ain't," agreed Slaney, shaking his serious head.

"The Padre?" cried Abe, with a scornful laugh. "Why, I'd sooner guess it's me."

Beasley nodded.

"You're dead right ther', boys," he said, with hearty good-will. "It sure ain't the Padre. He's got religion, an' though I'm 'most allus curious 'bout folks with religion--it ain't right to say ther's any queer reason fer 'em gettin' it. Then the Padre's bin here nigh twenty years. Jest fancy! A feller of his eddication chasin' around these hills fer twenty years! It's easy fer a feller raised to 'em, like Buck. But when you've been a feller in a swell position East, to come an' hunt your hole in these hills fer twenty years, why, it's--it's astonishin'. Still, that don't make no diff'rence. It can't be the Padre. He's got his reasons fer stayin' around here. Wal, nigh all of us has got reasons fer bein' here. An' it ain't fer us to ask why. No, though I don't usually trust folks who get religion sudden, I ain't goin' agin the Padre. He's a white man, sure."

"The whitest around here," cried Curly. He eyed Beasley steadily.

"Say, you," he went on suspiciously, "who give you all this?"

It was the question Beasley had been waiting for. But he would rather have had it from some one else. He twisted his cigar across his lips and spat a piece of tobacco leaf out of his mouth.

"Wal," he began deliberately, "I don't guess it's good med'cine talkin' names. But I don't mind sayin' right here this thing's made me feel mean. The story's come straight from that--that--Jonah gal's farm. Yep, it makes me feel mean. Ther's nothin' but trouble about that place now--'bout her. I ain't got over Ike and Pete. Wal, I don't guess we'll get to the rights of that now. They wer' two bright boys.

Here are us fellers runnin' this camp fer all we know, all good citizens, mind, an' ther' ain't nothin' amiss. We ke'p the place good an' clean of rackets. We're goin' to boom into a big concern, an'

we're goin' to make our piles--clean. An' we got to put up with the wust sort of mischief--from this farm. It ain't right. It ain't a square shake by a sight. I sez when ther's Jonahs about they need to be put right out. An' mark you, that gal, an' that farm are Jonahs.

Now we got this sheriff feller comin' around with his dep'ties chasin'

glory after a crook. He'll get his nose into everybody. An' sheriffs'

noses is quick at gettin' a nasty smell. I ain't sayin' a thing about any citizen in this place--but I don't guess any of us has store halos about us, an' halos is the only things'll keep any feller safe when sheriffs get around."

A murmur of approval greeted his argument. Few of the men in the camp desired the presence of a sheriff in their midst. There were few enough among them who would care to have the ashes of their past disturbed by any law officer. Beasley had struck the right note for his purpose.

"How'd you put this Jonah out, Beasley?" cried Diamond Jack.

Beasley thought for a moment.

"How'd I put her out?" he said at last. "That's askin' some. How'd I put her out? Say," his face flushed, and his eyes sparkled, "ef I had my way I'd burn every stick o' that dogone farm. Then she'd light out.

That's what I'd do. I ain't got no use for Jonahs. An' I say right here I'd give five hundred dollars to see her back turned on this place. I tell you, boys, an' I'm speakin' for your good, an' mine, if she stops around here we're goin' to get it--we'll get it good. The Lord knows how it's goin' to come. But it's comin', I feel it in my bones. It's comin' as sure as my name's Beasley."

He threw such a sincerity and earnestness into his manner that he made a marked impression. Even Curly Saunders, who, with one or two of the older hands, had some sort of regard for the girl they believed had founded their fortunes, was not quite without doubts. There was no question but mischief did seem to hang about the farm. Ike and Pete had been popular enough. The newer people had no sentiment on the matter, but they listened with interest to the saloon-keeper, feeling that his was the voice of the leading citizen. Besides, the matter of the sheriff's coming was not pleasant. Many had spent a great part of their lives avoiding such contact.

"Seems to me you're forgettin' that gal brought us our luck," the Kid suggested impulsively. "You were ther' when we handed her the----"

"Death's-head," laughed Beasley. Then his face hardened. "Tcha!" he cried with some heat. "You make me sick. I told you then, as I tell you now, it was that storm brought us our luck, an' it brought us our Jonah with it. If you'd got a cent's worth of grit that gal 'ud go. We don't wish her harm. I ain't one to wish a gal harm. But go she must if we want to be quit of trouble. Still, I'm on'y just sayin' what I feel. It don't matter a heap. Ther's the sheriff comin' along to grab some one for murder. Maybe he'll chase up a few other rackets to fill in his time. It's things of that nature do matter. He's got to git some one. Maybe it's some one in the hills. Maybe it ain't.

Maybe--wal, I sure do hope it ain't--the Padre."

He laughed as he turned to attend the wants of some fresh customers who entered the bar at that moment. The malice underlying his jest must have been plain to any one observing the man.

With this fresh diversion play at the card tables was resumed while the men at the bar fell back into their original groups. But the general interest was absorbed in Beasley's news, and the channels of talk were diverted. Beasley had sown his seed on fruitful soil. He knew it. The coming of a sheriff, or any form of established law, into a new mining camp was not lightly to be welcomed by the earliest pioneers.

In the midst of this atmosphere a further interest arose. The last person Beasley expected to see in his bar at that hour of the day was Buck. He was not even sure he wanted to see him after what had pa.s.sed.

Yet Buck suddenly pushed his way through the swing-doors.

The saloon-keeper was in the act of replacing the whisky bottle under the counter, having just served his fresh customers, when his foxy eyes encountered the dark face of the man he most hated on Yellow Creek.

In a moment he was all smiles.

"Howdy, Buck," he cried, as though the sight of him was the one thing in the world he desired. Then he covertly winked at those nearest him.

His wink conveyed all he intended, and the men turned and eyed the newcomer curiously.

Buck responded to the greeting indifferently, and proceeded to business. He had not come for the pleasure of the visit. He pa.s.sed a slip of paper across the counter.

"Can you do them for me?" he inquired. "Just cast an eye over that list. If you'll get 'em put up I'll ride in in the mornin' an' fetch 'em out. I'll need 'em early."

His manner was short and cold. It was his way with Beasley, but now there was more in his mind to make for brevity.

Beasley studied the paper closely. And as he read down the list a smile spread over his mean face. It was a long list of supplies which included rifle and revolver ammunition. He whistled softly.

"Mackinaw!" Then he looked up into the dark eyes of the waiting man, and his own expressed an unwonted good-humor. "Say, wot's doin' at the fort? Gettin' ready for a siege? Or--or are you an' the Padre chasin'

the long trail?"

Buck's thin cheeks flushed as he pointed at the paper.

"You can do that for me?" he inquired still more coldly.

Beasley shot a swift glance round at the interested faces of the men standing by.

"Oh, guess I can do it," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Sure I can do it. Say, you fellers ain't lightin' out?"

He winked again. This time it was deliberately at Buck.