You can do that for me?" he inquired still more coldly.

Beasley shot a swift glance round at the interested faces of the men
standing by.

"Oh, guess I can do it," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Sure I can do
it. Say, you fellers ain't lightin' out?"

He winked again. This time it was deliberately at Buck.

"They're winter stores," said Buck shortly.

Then, as Beasley laughed right out, and he became aware of a general
smile at his expense, he grew hot.

"What's the matter?" he demanded sharply. And his demand was not
intended for the saloon-keeper alone.

"Ke'p your shirt on, Buck," exclaimed Beasley, with studied
good-nature. "We couldn't jest help but laff." Then his eyes became
sentimentally serious. "Y' see, we bin worried some. We wus guessin'
when you came along. Y' see, ther's a sheriff an' a big posse o'
dep'ties comin' right along to this yer camp. Y' see, ther's some guy
chasin' around the hills, an' he's wanted fer--murder."

The man was watching for an effect in Buck's face. But he might as
well have looked for expression in that of a sphinx.

"Wal?"

It was the only response Buck afforded him.

"Wal," Beasley shifted his gaze. He laughed feebly, and the onlookers
transferred their attention to him. "Y' see, it was sort o' laffable
you comin' along buyin' winter stores in August, an' us jest guessin'
what guy the sheriff would be chasin'--in the hills. He won't be
smellin' around the fort now?" He grinned amiably into the dark face.
But deep in his wicked eyes was an assurance which Buck promptly read.

Nor did it take him a second to come to a decision. He returned the
man's look with a coolness that belied his real feelings. He knew
beyond question that Mercy Lascelles had already commenced her
campaign against the Padre. He had learned of her journey into the
camp from Joan. The result of that journey had not reached him yet. At
least it was reaching him now.

"You best hand it me straight, Beasley," he said. "Guess nothin'
straight is a heap in your line. But jest for once you've got no
corners to crawl around. Hand it out--an' quick."

Buck's manner was dangerously sharp set. There was a smouldering fire
growing in his passionate eyes. Beasley hesitated. But his hesitation
was only for the reason of his own growing heat. He made one last
effort to handle the matter in the way he had originally desired,
which was with a process of good-humored goading with which he hoped
to keep the co