had occurred to
his devilish mind to bribe them into going across to the farm and
paying what he was pleased to call a "party" call upon its mistress,
and, in their own phraseology, to "raise hell with her."

It was a master stroke. Then had come Curly's interference. The fool
had spoilt it all. Nobody but Curly had attempted to interfere. The
men had all been too drunk to bother, and the women had jumped at the
chance of morally rending a virtuous member of their own sex.

He laughed silently as he thought of it all. But his laugh only
expressed his gratification at the subtlety of his ideas. His failure
still annoyed him. Curly had stood champion for this Golden Woman, as
they called her. Well, it wasn't his, Beasley's, fault if he hadn't
paid for his interference by this time. The men were quite drunk
enough to hang him, or shoot him for "doing up" young Kid, who had
been a mere tool in the matter. He cordially hoped they had. Anyway,
the sport at Joan's expense was too good to miss, and the night was
still young.

The prospect almost entirely restored his good-humor, and he was still
smiling when the door was suddenly pushed open and the Padre's burly
figure appeared on the threshold.

The saloon-keeper's smile died at sight of the familiar white hair. Of
all the people on Yellow Creek this was the man he least wanted to see
at the moment. But he was shrewd enough to avoid any sign of open
antagonism. He knew well enough that Moreton Kenyon was neither a fool
nor a coward. He knew that to openly measure swords with him was to
challenge a man of far superior intellect and strength, and the
issue was pretty sure to go against him. Besides, this man they
affectionately called the Padre had the entire good-will of the place.

But though he always avoided open antagonism the storekeeper never let
go his grip on his dislike. He clung to it hoping to discover some
means of breaking the man's position in the camp and bringing about an
utter revulsion of the public feeling for him. There was much about
the Padre that gave him food for thought. One detail in particular was
always in his mind, a detail such as a mind like his was bound to
question closely. He could never understand the man's object in the
isolation of the life he had lived for so many years here in the back
country of the West.

However, he was only concerned at the moment with the object of this
unusual visit, and his shrewd speculation turned upon th