watched his customers closely. Three tables of poker were
going, and from each he drew a percentage for the "chips" sold at the
bar. Each table was well supplied with drinks. A group of five men
occupied one end of the counter, and two smaller groups were farther
along. They were all drinking with sufficient regularity to suit his
purposes. Amongst the crowd gathered he noticed many of the men of the
original camp. There was Curly Saunders and Slaney at one poker table
with Diamond Jack. Abe Allinson was in close talk with two financial
"sharps" from Leeson, at the bar. The Kid was with a number of new
hands who had only just come in to try their luck. He was endeavoring
to sell a small share of his claim at a large price. Two others were
with the larger group at the bar, discussing "outputs" and new methods
of washing gold. It was a mixed collection of humanity, but there were
sufficient of the original members of the camp to suit him.

In a lull in the talk, when for a moment only the click of poker
"chips" and the shuffle of cards broke the silence, Beasley propped
himself against his counter and, for once, paused from his everlasting
habit of glass wiping.

"Guess none o' you heard the news?" he inquired, with a grin of
anticipation.

His first effort failed to produce the effect he desired, so a
repetition followed quickly. For a moment play was suspended at one of
the tables, and the men looked up.

"Noos?" inquired Diamond Jack.

The Kid and his youthful companions looked round at the foxy face of
their host.

"Oh! I don't guess it's nuthin'," said Beasley. "Only--it's so dogone
queer."

His manner was well calculated. His final remark drew the entire
barroom. All play and all talk was abruptly held up.

"Wot's queer?" demanded Diamond Jack, while all eyes searched the
saloon-keeper's sharp face.

Beasley bit the end off a green cigar.

"That's just it," he said. "Ther's suthin' I can't jest make out.
Say----" he paused while he lit his cigar with a sulphur match. "Any
you fellers heard of a murder around here lately? Can't say I have."

He puffed leisurely at his cigar. The scattered groups at the bar drew
closer. There was no question but he now had the attention he desired.
The blank negative on the faces about him gave him his answer.

"Sure," he observed thoughtfully. "That's wher' I'm beat. But--ther's
sure murder been done, an' ther's goin' to be a big doin' around--in
consequence. Ther's