word gone in to the sheriff at Leeson, an' the law
fellers o' that city is raisin' a mighty business to get warrants
signed. Say, I heerd they're sendin' a dozen dep'ties to hunt these
hills. Seems to me the guy whoever it is is a pretty hot tough, an'
he's livin' in the hills. I heard more than that. I heard the murder
was a low-down racket that if folks knew about it they'd be right out
fer lynchin' this guy. That's why it's bin kep' quiet. I bin goin'
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 passed 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
passon. 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 Sl