aney, shaking his serious head.

"The Padre?" cried Abe, with a scornful laugh. "Why, I'd sooner guess
it's me."

Beasley nodded.

"You're dead right ther', boys," he said, with hearty good-will. "It
sure ain't the Padre. He's got religion, an' though I'm 'most allus
curious 'bout folks with religion--it ain't right to say ther's any
queer reason fer 'em gettin' it. Then the Padre's bin here nigh twenty
years. Jest fancy! A feller of his eddication chasin' around these
hills fer twenty years! It's easy fer a feller raised to 'em, like
Buck. But when you've been a feller in a swell position East, to come
an' hunt your hole in these hills fer twenty years, why, it's--it's
astonishin'. Still, that don't make no diff'rence. It can't be the
Padre. He's got his reasons fer stayin' around here. Wal, nigh all of
us has got reasons fer bein' here. An' it ain't fer us to ask why. No,
though I don't usually trust folks who get religion sudden, I ain't
goin' agin the Padre. He's a white man, sure."

"The whitest around here," cried Curly. He eyed Beasley steadily.
"Say, you," he went on suspiciously, "who give you all this?"

It was the question Beasley had been waiting for. But he would rather
have had it from some one else. He twisted his cigar across his lips
and spat a piece of tobacco leaf out of his mouth.

"Wal," he began deliberately, "I don't guess it's good med'cine
talkin' names. But I don't mind sayin' right here this thing's made me
feel mean. The story's come straight from that--that--Jonah gal's
farm. Yep, it makes me feel mean. Ther's nothin' but trouble about
that place now--'bout her. I ain't got over Ike and Pete. Wal, I don't
guess we'll get to the rights of that now. They wer' two bright boys.
Here are us fellers runnin' this camp fer all we know, all good
citizens, mind, an' ther' ain't nothin' amiss. We ke'p the place good
an' clean of rackets. We're goin' to boom into a big concern, an'
we're goin' to make our piles--clean. An' we got to put up with the
wust sort of mischief--from this farm. It ain't right. It ain't a
square shake by a sight. I sez when ther's Jonahs about they need to
be put right out. An' mark you, that gal, an' that farm are Jonahs.
Now we got this sheriff feller comin' around with his dep'ties chasin'
glory after a crook. He'll get his nose into everybody. An' sheriffs'
noses is quick at gettin' a nasty smell. I ain't sayin' a thing about
any citizen in this place--but I don't gue