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 brimming 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 glass.

"What about Pete?"

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

"Pete ken go plumb to hell!" he cried furiously over his shoulder as
he passed 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. Hello!"

He swung round as the door was again thrust open. This time it was
Blue Grass 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