e. It's things of that nature do matter. He's got to git
some one. Maybe it's some one in the hills. Maybe it ain't.
Maybe--wal, I sure do hope it ain't--the Padre."

He laughed as he turned to attend the wants of some fresh customers
who entered the bar at that moment. The malice underlying his jest
must have been plain to any one observing the man.

With this fresh diversion play at the card tables was resumed while
the men at the bar fell back into their original groups. But the
general interest was absorbed in Beasley's news, and the channels of
talk were diverted. Beasley had sown his seed on fruitful soil. He
knew it. The coming of a sheriff, or any form of established law, into
a new mining camp was not lightly to be welcomed by the earliest
pioneers.

In the midst of this atmosphere a further interest arose. The last
person Beasley expected to see in his bar at that hour of the day was
Buck. He was not even sure he wanted to see him after what had passed.
Yet Buck suddenly pushed his way through the swing-doors.

The saloon-keeper was in the act of replacing the whisky bottle under
the counter, having just served his fresh customers, when his foxy
eyes encountered the dark face of the man he most hated on Yellow
Creek.

In a moment he was all smiles.

"Howdy, Buck," he cried, as though the sight of him was the one thing
in the world he desired. Then he covertly winked at those nearest him.

His wink conveyed all he intended, and the men turned and eyed the
newcomer curiously.

Buck responded to the greeting indifferently, and proceeded to
business. He had not come for the pleasure of the visit. He passed a
slip of paper across the counter.

"Can you do them for me?" he inquired. "Just cast an eye over that
list. If you'll get 'em put up I'll ride in in the mornin' an' fetch
'em out. I'll need 'em early."

His manner was short and cold. It was his way with Beasley, but now
there was more in his mind to make for brevity.

Beasley studied the paper closely. And as he read down the list a
smile spread over his mean face. It was a long list of supplies which
included rifle and revolver ammunition. He whistled softly.

"Mackinaw!" Then he looked up into the dark eyes of the waiting man,
and his own expressed an unwonted good-humor. "Say, wot's doin' at the
fort? Gettin' ready for a siege? Or--or are you an' the Padre chasin'
the long trail?"

Buck's thin cheeks flushed as he pointed at the paper.

"