se seemed to have
less interest for his boss. At least he showed far less consideration
for them. And it quickly became evident that the whole afternoon's
object was the adequate ingratiation and stimulation of these dregs of
frontier life.

This the bartender saw quite clearly. For the rest he was content to
wait. He had spent most of his life in thus waiting and watching the
nefarious schemes of unscrupulous men.

The heat was overpowering. It was almost an effort to breathe, let
alone move about. The men lolled, propped against the baulks of timber
supporting the veranda roof, stretched out on benches, or crouching on
the raised edge of the wooden flooring. One and all were in a state of
wiltering in the stewing heat, from which only an intermittent flow of
fiery spirit could rouse them.

Beasley was the one exception to this general condition of things.
Mentally he was particularly alert. And, what is more, his temper,
usually so irritable and fiery, was reduced to a perfect level of good
humor.

For some moments talk had died out. Then in a sudden fit of
irritability Abe Allinson kicked a loose stone in the direction of the
tethered horses.

"Say," he observed, "this 'minds one o' the time we struck color at
the hill."

His eyes wandered toward the gathering shadows, slowly obscuring the
grim sides of Devil's Hill. His remark was addressed to no one in
particular.

Beasley took him up. It was his purpose to keep these men stirring.

"How?" he inquired.

"Why, the heat. Say, git a peek at that sky. Look yonder. The sun. Get
them durned banks o' cloud swallerin' it right up atop o' them hills.
Makes you think, don't it? That's storm. It's comin' big--an' before
many hours."

"For which we'll all be a heap thankful." Beasley laughed. "Another
day of this an' I'll be done that tender a gran'ma could eat me."

His remark drew a flicker of a smile.

"She'd need good ivories," observed the gambler, Diamond Jack, with
mild sarcasm.

Beasley took the remark as a compliment to his business capacity, and
grinned amiably.

"Jack's right. You'd sure give her an elegant pain, else," added
Curly, in a tired voice. He was steadily staring down the trail in a
manner that suggested indifference to any coming storm. Somebody
laughed half-heartedly. But Curly had no desire to enliven things, and
went on quite seriously.

"Say, when's this bum sheriff gettin' around?" he demanded.

Beasley took him up at once.