om, in sober moments, they all disliked. It was an extraordinary
exhibition of the old savage which ever lies so near the surface in
men upon the fringe of civilization.

Nor did Beasley give them time to think. His orders came rapidly. The
bartender, for once his eyes sparkling at the thought of trouble about
to visit an unsuspecting fellow-creature, hurled himself to the task
of dealing out one large final drink to everybody. Then when a
sufficient supply of materials of an inflammatory nature had been
gathered together, the saloon-keeper placed himself at the head of his
men, supported by the only too willing Diamond Jack, and the
procession started out.

CHAPTER XXXII

STRONGER THAN DEATH

From the time of her aunt's going to Leeson Butte to the morning of
her return to the farm Joan passed through a nightmare of uncertainty
and hopelessness. Every moment of her time seemed unreal. Her very
life seemed unreal. It was as though her mind were detached from her
body, and she was gazing upon the scenes of a drama in which she had
no part, while yet she was weighted down with an oppressive fear of
the tragedy which she knew was yet to come.

Every moment she felt that the threat of disaster was growing. That it
was coming nearer and nearer, and that now no power on earth could
avert it.

Twice only during that dreary interval of waiting she saw Buck. But
even his presence did little more than ease her dread and despair,
leaving it crushing her down the more terribly with the moment of his
going. He came to her with his usual confidence, but it was only with
information of his own preparations for his defense of his friend. She
could listen to them, told in his strong, reliant manner, with hope
stirring her heart and a great, deep love for the man thrilling her
every nerve. But with his going came the full realization of the
significance of the necessity of such preparations. The very
recklessness of them warned her beyond doubt how small was the chance
of the Padre's escape. Buck had declared his certainty of outwitting
the law, even if it necessitated using force against the man whom he
intended to save.

Left to her own resources Joan found them weak enough. So weak indeed
that at last she admitted to herself that the evidences of the curse
that had dogged her through life were no matters of distorted
imagination. They were real enough. Terribly real. And the admission
found her dreading and helpless.