"Gals," said Buck sternly, "this racket's played out. Ther's been shootin' to-night over the same thing. Wal, ther's going to be more shootin' if it don't quit right here. If you leave this shanty to go across to the farm to molest the folks there, Beasley, here, is a dead man before you get a yard from the door."
Then his glance shifted so that the saloon-keeper came into his focus, while yet he held a perfect survey of the rest of the men.
"Do you get me, Beasley?" he went on coldly. "You're a dead man if those gals go. An' if you send them to the farm after this--ever--I'll shoot you on sight. Wal?"
Beasley knew when he was beaten. He had reckoned only on the Padre. He had forgotten Buck. However, he wouldn't forget him in the future.
"You can put up your gun, Buck," he said, with an assumption of geniality that deceived no one, and Buck least of all. "Quit your racket, gals," he went on. Then he added with the sarcasm he generally fell back on in such emergencies: "Guess this gentleman feels the same as Curly--only he ain't as--hasty."
The girls went slowly back to their seats, and Buck, lowering his guns, quietly restored them both to their holsters.
Beasley watched him, and as he saw them disappear his whole manner changed.
"Now, Mister Buck," he said, with a snarl, "I don't guess I need either your dollars or your company on my premises. You'll oblige me--that door ain't locked." And he pointed at it deliberately for the man to take his departure.
But Buck only laughed.
"Don't worry, Beasley," he said. "I'm here--till you close up for the night."
And the enraged saloon-keeper had a vision of a smile at his expense which promptly lit the faces of the entire company.