It was a moment worth waiting for. It was a moment of joy he would not lightly forego. Nor did he care what time, patience, or money it cost him. To strike at those whom he hated was as the breath of life to him. And he meant to drink deeply of his cup of joy.
His moment came. It came swiftly, suddenly, like most matters of great import. His opportunity came at the psychological moment, when the last shred of temperance had been torn from wild, lawless hearts, which, in such moments, were little better than those of savage beasts. It came when the poison of complaint and bitterness had at last searched out the inmost recesses of stunted, brutalized minds. And Beasley snatched at it hungrily, like a worm-ridden dog will snatch at the filthiest offal.
The drunken voice of Abe Allinson lifted above the general din. He was lolling against one end of the counter, isolated from his fellows by reason of his utterly stupefied condition. He was in a state when he no longer had interest for his companions. He rolled about blear-eyed and hopelessly mumbling, with a half-emptied glass in his hand, which he waved about uncertainly. Suddenly an impotent spasm of rage seemed to take hold of him. With a hoarse curse he raised his glass and hurled it crashing against the wall. Then, with a wild, prolonged whoop he shouted the result of his drunken cogitations.
"We'll burn 'em! Drown 'em! Shoot 'em! Hang 'em! Come on, fellers, foller me!"
He made a staggering effort to leave his support. He straightened up. For a moment he poised, swaying. Then he pitched forward on his face and lay stretched full length upon the floor.
But all had heard. And Beasley snatched at his opportunity. He sprang upon the counter in the moment of astonished quiet, and, before tongues broke loose again, he had the whole attention of the crowd.
"Here, boys," he cried. "Abe's right. Drunk as he is, he's right. Only he sure wants to do too much--more than his legs'll let him." He grinned. "We're goin' to do this thing right now. But we're goin' to do it like good citizens of a dandy city. We ain't goin' to act like a gang of lynchers. We're dealin' with a gal, with gold ha'r an' blue eyes, an' we're goin' to deal accordin'. We ain't lookin' fer her life. That's too easy, an', wal--she's a woman. No, we're goin' to rid this place of her an' all her tribe. We're goin' to make it so she can't stop to do no more harm, bringin' sheriffs around. We're goin' to burn her home right out, an' we're goin' to set her in her wagon an' team, an' let her drive to hell out of here. We're goin' to do it right now, before the sheriff gets busy along here. After that we'll be too late. Are you game? Who's comin'? We're goin' to burn that Jonah farm till ther' ain't a stick left above ground to say it ever stood there. That's what we're goin' to do, an' I'm the man who'll start the bonfire. Say, we'll make it like a fourth o' July. We'll have one royal time--an' we'll be quit of all Jonahs."