k could not help the ejaculation. Beasley Melford was an unfrocked
Churchman. Nor was it known the reason of his dismissal from his
calling. All Buck knew was that Beasley was a man of particularly low
morals and detestable nature. The thought that he was to administer
the last rites of the Church over the dead body of a pure and innocent
infant set his every feeling in active protest. He turned to Slaney.

"The Padre buried the others?" he said questioningly.

It was Dick's partner, Abe Allinson, who took it upon himself to
answer.

"Y' see the Padre's done a heap. Slaney's missis didn't guess we'd
orter worrit him. That's how she said."

Buck suddenly swung round on Beasley.

"Fix it for to-morrow, an' the Padre'll be right along."

He looked the ex-Churchman squarely in the eye. He was not making a
request. His words were an emphatic refusal to allow the other the
office. It was Slaney who answered him.

"I'm glad," he said. Then, as an afterthought, "an' the missis'll be
glad, too."

After that nobody seemed inclined to break the silence. Nor was it
until somebody hawked and spat that the spell was broken.

"We bin holdin' a meetin'," said Curly Saunders heavily. "Y' see, it
ain't no good."

Buck nodded at the doorway.

"You mean----?"

"The prospect," Beasley broke in and laughed. "Say, we sure been
suckers stayin' around so long. Ther' ain't no gold within a hundred
miles of us. We're just lyin' rottin' around like--stinkin' sheep."

Curly nodded.

"Sure. That's why we held a meeting. We're goin' to up stakes an'
git."

"Where to?"

Buck's quick inquiry met with a significant silence, which Montana Ike
finally broke.

"See here," he cried, with sudden force. "What's the use in astin'
fool questions? Ther' ain't no gold, ther' ain't nuthin'. We got color
fer scratchin' when we first gathered around like skippin' lambs, but
ther's nuthin' under the surface, an' the surface is played right
out. I tell you it's a cursed hole. Jest look around. Look at yonder
Devil's Hill. Wher'd you ever see the like? That's it. Devil's Hill.
Say, it's a devil's region, an' everything to it belongs to the devil.
Ther' ain't nuthin' fer us--nuthin', but to die of starvin'. Ah,
psha'! It's a lousy world. Gawd, when I think o' the wimminfolk it
makes my liver heave. Say, some of them pore kiddies ain't had milk
fer weeks, an' we only ke'p 'em alive thro' youse two fellers. Say,"
he went on, in a sudden burst of pa