"That's an elegant claim of yours, Ike," he said, taking up his favorite position on the bar. "It's chock full of alluvial. Don't scarcely need washing. Guess I must ha' paid you two thousand dollars an' more since--since we got busy. Your luck was mighty busy when they cast the lots."
"Luck? Guess I'm the luckiest hoboe in this layout," Ike cried with a confidence that never seemed to require the support of rye whisky.
Beasley's eyes sparkled maliciously.
"How about Pete?" he grinned. He knew that Ike had an utter detestation of Pete, and did not have to guess at the reason. "I paid him more than that by fi' hundred. How's that?"
"Tcha'! Pete ain't no account anyways," Ike retorted angrily. "Say, he pitches his dollars to glory at poker 'most every night. Pete ain't got no sort o' savee. You don't see me bustin' my wad that way."
"How about the gals? Guess you hand 'em a tidy pile."
"Gals!" Ike suddenly became thoughtful. His gaze wandered toward the window. Then he abruptly turned back to the bar and clamored for another drink. "We'll have that thirteen-year-old," he cried. "An' guess I'll have a double dose. Gals!" he went on, with a sneer, as the other watched him fill a brimming tumbler.
"Ther's sure on'y one gal around here. That's why I got around now. Guess I'm payin' her a 'party' call right now, 'fore the folks get around. Say, I'm goin' to marry that gal. She's sure a golden woman. Golden! Gee, it sounds good!"
Beasley grinned. He was on a hot trail and he warmed to his work.
"Goin' to ask her now?" he inquired amiably, eyeing the spirit the man had poured out.
Ike laughed self-consciously.
"Sure," he said, draining his glass.
"What about Pete?"
Ike looked sharply into the other's grinning face. Then he banged his glass angrily on the counter and moved toward the door.
"Pete ken go plumb to hell!" he cried furiously over his shoulder as he passed out.
Beasley dropped nimbly from his counter and looked after him through the window. He saw him vault into the saddle and race away down the trail in the direction of the farm.
His eyes were smiling wickedly.
"Don't guess Pete's chasin' ther' to suit you, Master Ike," he muttered. "Marry that gal, eh? Not on your life. You pore silly guys! You're beat before you start--beat a mile. Buck's got you smashed to a pulp. Kind of wish I'd given you less cash and more credit. Hello!"
He swung round as the door was again thrust open. This time it was Blue Grass Pete who strode into the room.