The seedling had grown. Its rank tendrils were everywhere reaching out and choking all the better life about it. Its seeds were scattered broadcast and had germinated as only such seeds can. It only remained for the husbandman to gaze regretful and impotent upon his handiwork. His hand had planted the seedling, and now--already the wilderness was beyond all control.
Something of this was in the Padre's mind as he sat in his doorway awaiting Buck's return for the night. The dusk was growing, and already the shadows within the ancient stockade were black with approaching night. The waiting man had forgotten his pipe, so deeply was he engrossed with his thoughts, and it rested cold in his powerful hand.
He sat on oblivious of everything but that chain of calm reasoning with which he tried to tell himself that the things happening down there on the banks of the Yellow Creek must be. He told himself that he had always known it; that the very fact of this lawlessness pointed the camp's prosperity, and showed how certainly the luck had come to stay. Later, order would be established out of the chaos, but for the moment there was nothing to be done but--wait. All this he told himself, but it left him dissatisfied, and his thoughts concentrated upon the one person he blamed for all the mischief. Beasley was the man--and he felt that wherever Beasley might be, trouble would never be far----What was that?
An unusual sound had caught and held his attention. He rose quickly from his seat and stood peering out into the darkness which he had failed to notice creeping on him. There was no mistaking it. The sound of running feet was quite plain. Why running?
He turned about and moved over to the arm rack. The next moment he was in the doorway again with his Winchester at his side.
A few moments later a short, stocky man leapt out of the darkness and halted before him. As the Padre recognized him his finger left the trigger of his gun.
"For Gawd's sake don't shoot, Padre!"
It was Curly Saunders' voice, and the other laid his gun aside.
"What's amiss?" demanded the Padre, noting the man's painful gasping for breath.
For a moment Curly hesitated. Then, finally, between heavy breaths he answered the challenge.
"I got mad with the Kid--Soapy," he said. "Guess I shot him up. He ain't dead an' ain't goin' to die, but Beasley, curse him, set 'em on to lynch me. They're all mad drunk--guess I was, too, 'fore I started to run--an' they come hot foot after me. I jest got legs of 'em an' come along here. It's--it's a mighty long ways."