Yes, Beasley Melford was flourishing as he intended to flourish, and his satisfaction was enormous. In the mornings he was always busy supervising the work, in the afternoons he gave himself what leisure his restless spirit demanded. But in the evenings he gathered his harvest by rascally methods of flagrant extortion.
It was during the latter part of his afternoon leisure that he was suddenly disturbed by the appearance of Montana Ike in his bar. He was stretched full length upon his counter, comfortably reviewing a perfect maze of mental calculations upon the many schemes which he had in hand, when the youngster pushed the swing door open and blustered in.
Beasley was sitting up in an instant. He hated this sort of sudden disturbance. He hated men who rushed at him. He could never be certain of their intentions. When he saw who his visitor was there was very little friendliness in his greeting.
"Wot in hell you want rushin' that way?" he demanded arrogantly. "Guess your thirst ain't on a time limit."
But the ginger-headed youth ignored his ill-temper. He was too full of his own affairs. He simply grinned.
"Fish out them durned scales o' yours," he cried gleefully. "Fish 'em out, an' set your big weights on 'em. Ther' ain't goin' to be no chat nor drink till you weighed in. Then I guess the drink'll be right up to you."
Beasley's mood changed like lightning. He swung over behind his bar and dropped to the floor on the other side, his eyes alight, and every faculty alert for trade.
"Wot's it?" he demanded. "Struck it big?" he went on as the dingy gold scales were produced from the shelf at the back. Then he laughed amiably. "It needs to be big, wakin' me in my slack time."
"Oh, it's big enuff," cried Ike confidently, his eager, young, animal face alight with pleasure.
He watched the other with impatient eyes as he deliberately picked out the weights. But Beasley was too slow, and, with an impatient exclamation, he snatched up the biggest of them and set it on the somewhat delicate scales with a heavy hand.
"Say, you're rapid as a sick funeral," he cried. "I ain't got no time to waste. What I got here'll need that--an' more. Ther'!"
Beasley's temper was never easy, and his narrow eyes began to sparkle.
"You're mighty fresh," he cried. "Guess I'm----"
But his remark remained unfinished. With a boisterous laugh the boy flung a small canvas bag on the counter and emptied its contents before the other's astonished eyes.
"Ther'," he cried gleefully. "I want dollars an' dollars from you. An' you'll sure see they ain't duds."