mpany present on his side.

"Ther's no offense, Buck," he said. "At least ther' sure needn't to
be. You never could play easy. I wus jest handin' you a laff--same as
we had."

"I'm waitin'," said Buck with growing intensity, utterly ignoring the
explanation.

But Beasley's hatred of the man could not be long denied. Besides, his
last attempt had changed the attitude of the onlookers. There was a
lurking derision, even contempt in their regard for him. It was the
result of what had occurred before Buck's coming. They expected him to
talk as plainly as he had done then. So he gave rein to the venom
which he could never long restrain.

"Guess I hadn't best ke'p you waitin', sure," he said ironically. Then
his eyes suddenly lit. "Winter stores, eh?" he cried derisively.
"Winter stores--an' why'll the Padre need 'em, the good kind Padre,
when the sheriff's comin' along to round him up fer--murder?"

There was a moment of tense silence as the man flung his challenge
across the bar. Every eye in the room was upon the two men facing each
other. In the mind of every one present was only one expectation. The
lightning-like play of life and death.

But the game they all understood so well was not forthcoming. For once
Buck's heat was controlled by an iron will. To have shot Beasley down
where he stood would have been the greatest delight of his life, but
he restrained the impulse. There were others to think of. He forced
himself to calmness.

Beasley had fired his shot in the firm conviction it would strike home
unfailingly. Yet he knew that it was not without a certain random in
it. Still, after what had been said, it was imperative to show no
weakening. He was certain the quarry was the Padre, and his
conviction received further assurance as he watched Buck's face.

For an instant Buck would willingly have hurled the lie in his teeth.
But to do so would have been to lie himself, and, later, for that lie
to be proved. There was only one course open to him to counter the
mischief of this man. He looked squarely into the saloon-keeper's
face.

"The truth don't come easy to you, Beasley," he said calmly, "unless
it's got a nasty flavor. Guess that's how it's come your way to tell
it now."

"Winter stores," laughed the man behind the bar. And he rubbed his
hands gleefully, and winked his delight in his own astuteness at the
men looking on.

Then his face sobered, and it seemed as though all his animosity had
been abso