stand. Oh, the brutal, heartless ruffians! Tell me. Who was it
said these things? I demand to know. I insist on the names. Oh!"

The girl's exasperation was even greater than Beasley had hoped for.
He read, too, the shame and hurt underlying it, and his satisfaction
was intense. He felt that he was paying her off for some of the
obvious dislike she had always shown him, and it pleased him as it
always pleased him when his mischief went home. But now, having
achieved his end, he promptly set about wriggling clear of
consequences, which was ever his method.

"I'd like to give you the names," he said frankly. "But I can't. You
see, when fellers are drunk they say things they don't mean, an' it
wouldn't be fair to give them away. I jest told you so you'd be on
your guard--just to tell you the folks are riled. But it ain't as bad
as it seems. I shut 'em up quick, feeling that no decent citizen could
stand an' hear a pretty gal slandered like that. An' I'll tell you
this, Miss Golden, you owe me something for the way I made 'em quit.
Still," he added, with a leer, "I don't need payment. You see, I was
just playin' the game."

Joan was still furious. And somehow his wriggling did not ring true
even in her simple ears.

"Then you won't tell me who it was?" she cried.

Beasley shook his head.

"Nuthin' doin'," he said facetiously.

"Then you--you are a despicable coward," she cried. "You--oh!" And she
almost fled out of the hated creature's storeroom.

Beasley looked after her. The satisfaction had gone from his eyes,
leaving them wholly vindictive.

"Coward, am I, ma'm!" he muttered. Then he looked at the order for
furniture which was still in his hand.

The sight of it made him laugh.

CHAPTER XXV

BUCK LAUGHS AT FATE

The telling of the Padre's story cost Buck a wakeful night. It was not
that he had any doubts either of the truth of the story, or of his
friend. He needed no evidence to convince him of either. Or rather,
such was his nature that no evidence could have broken his faith and
friendship. Strength and loyalty were the key-note of his whole life.
To him the Padre was little less than a god, in whom nothing could
shake his belief. He honored him above all men in the world, and, such
as it was, his own life, his strength, his every nerve, were at his
service. Moreover, it is probable that his loyalty would have been no
whit the less had the man pleaded guilty to the crime he was accused
of.