Buck drew nearer without attracting their attention. The men were so deeply engaged with the dilemma of the moment that he might almost have joined the group without observation. But he merely desired to be on hand to help should the troubled girl need his help. He had no desire to take active part in the demonstration. As he came near he heard Beasley's voice, and the very sound of it jarred unpleasantly on his ears. The man was talking in that half-cynical fashion which was never without an added venom behind it.
"Well," he heard him exclaim derisively, "wot's doin'? You're all mighty big talkers back ther' in camp, but I don't seem to hear any bright suggestions goin' around now. You start this gorl-durned racket like a pack o' weak-headed fools, yearnin' to pitch away what's been chucked right into your fool laps jest fer one o' Blue Grass Pete's fat-head notions. Well, wot's doin'? I ask."
"You ke'p that ugly map o' yours closed," cried Pete hotly. "You ain't bein' robbed any."
"Guess I'll see to that," retorted Beasley, with a grin. "The feller that robs me'll need to chew razors fer a pastime. If it comes to that you're yearnin' fer glory at the Padre's expense--as usual."
Buck's ears tingled, and he drew closer. Beasley always had a knack of so blending truth with his personal venom that it stung far more than downright insult. He wondered what the Padre's generosity had been, and wherein lay its connection with their present purpose. The explanation was not long in coming, for Montana Ike took up the challenge amidst a storm of ominous murmurs from the gathered men.
"Don't take nuthin' from him," cried the youngster scornfully. Then he turned on Beasley fiercely. "You need Buck around to set you right, Mister Lousy Beasley," he cried. "We ain't robbin' anybody, an' sure not the Padre. He found that nugget, an' it's his to give or do wot he likes with. The gal brought us the luck, an' the Padre guessed it was only right she should have the first find. That nugget was the first find, an' the Padre found it. Wal!" But as no reply was forthcoming he hurried on, turning his tongue loose in the best abuse he could command at the moment. "You're a rotten sort o' skunk anyway, an' you ain't got a decent thought in your diseased head. I'd like to say right here that you hate seein' a sixty-ounce lump o' gold in any other hands than your own dirty paws. That's your trouble, so jest shut right up while better folks handles a matter wot's a sight too delicate fer a rotten mind like yours."