He threw such a sincerity and earnestness into his manner that he made a marked impression. Even Curly Saunders, who, with one or two of the older hands, had some sort of regard for the girl they believed had founded their fortunes, was not quite without doubts. There was no question but mischief did seem to hang about the farm. Ike and Pete had been popular enough. The newer people had no sentiment on the matter, but they listened with interest to the saloon-keeper, feeling that his was the voice of the leading citizen. Besides, the matter of the sheriff's coming was not pleasant. Many had spent a great part of their lives avoiding such contact.
"Seems to me you're forgettin' that gal brought us our luck," the Kid suggested impulsively. "You were ther' when we handed her the----"
"Death's-head," laughed Beasley. Then his face hardened. "Tcha!" he cried with some heat. "You make me sick. I told you then, as I tell you now, it was that storm brought us our luck, an' it brought us our Jonah with it. If you'd got a cent's worth of grit that gal 'ud go. We don't wish her harm. I ain't one to wish a gal harm. But go she must if we want to be quit of trouble. Still, I'm on'y just sayin' what I feel. It don't matter a heap. Ther's the sheriff comin' along to grab some one for murder. Maybe he'll chase up a few other rackets to fill in his time. It's things of that nature do matter. He's got to git some one. Maybe it's some one in the hills. Maybe it ain't. Maybe--wal, I sure do hope it ain't--the Padre."
He laughed as he turned to attend the wants of some fresh customers who entered the bar at that moment. The malice underlying his jest must have been plain to any one observing the man.
With this fresh diversion play at the card tables was resumed while the men at the bar fell back into their original groups. But the general interest was absorbed in Beasley's news, and the channels of talk were diverted. Beasley had sown his seed on fruitful soil. He knew it. The coming of a sheriff, or any form of established law, into a new mining camp was not lightly to be welcomed by the earliest pioneers.
In the midst of this atmosphere a further interest arose. The last person Beasley expected to see in his bar at that hour of the day was Buck. He was not even sure he wanted to see him after what had passed. Yet Buck suddenly pushed his way through the swing-doors.