CHAPTER XXXI
THE JOY OF BEASLEY
An unusual number of horses were tethered at the posts outsideBeasley's saloon, and, a still more unusual thing, their owners, forthe most part, were not in their usual places within the building.Most of them were lounging on the veranda in various attitudes bestcalculated to rest them from the effects of the overpowering heat ofthe day. Beasley was lounging with them. For once he seemed to haveweakened in his restless energy, or found something of greaterinterest than that of netting questionable gains.
The latter seemed to be the more likely, for his restless eyesdisplayed no lack of mental activity. At any rate, he displayed anattitude that afternoon which startled even his bartender. Not once,but several times that individual, of pessimistic mood, had beencalled upon to dispense free rations of the worst possible liquor inthe place, until, driven from wonder to protest, he declared, withemphatic conviction and an adequate flow of blasphemy, addressinghimself to the bottles under the counter, the smeary glasses hebreathed upon while wiping with a soiled and odoriferous cloth, thatthe boss was "bug--plumb bug." Nevertheless, his own understanding of"crookedness" warned him that the man had method, and he was anxiousto discover the direction in which it was moving. Therefore hewatched Beasley's doings with appreciative eyes, and his interest grewas the afternoon waned.
"He's on a crook lay," he told himself after a while. And the thoughtbrightened his outlook upon life, and helped to banish some of hispessimism.
The chief feature of interest for him lay in the fact that the menforegathered were a collection of those who belonged to the"something-for-nothing" class, as he graphically described them. Andhe observed, too, that Beasley was carefully shepherding them. Therewere a few of the older hands of the camp, but these seemed to haveless interest for his boss. At least he showed far less considerationfor them. And it quickly became evident that the whole afternoon'sobject was the adequate ingratiation and stimulation of these dregs offrontier life.
This the bartender saw quite clearly. For the rest he was content towait. He had spent most of his life in thus waiting and watching thenefarious schemes of unscrupulous men.
The heat was overpowering. It was almost an effort to breathe, letalone move about. The men lolled, propped against the baulks of timbersupporting the veranda roof, stretched out on benches, or crouching onthe raised edge of the wooden flooring. One and all were in a state ofwiltering in the stewing heat, from which only an intermittent flow offiery spirit could rouse them.
Beasley was the one exception to this general condition of things.Mentally he was particularly alert. And, what is more, his temper,usually so irritable and fiery, was reduced to a perfect level of goodhumor.
For some moments talk had died out. Then in a sudden fit ofirritability Abe Allinson kicked a loose stone in the direction of thetethered horses.
"Say," he observed, "this 'minds one o' the time we struck color atthe hill."
His eyes wandered toward the gathering shadows, slowly obscuring thegrim sides of Devil's Hill. His remark was addressed to no one inparticular.
Beasley took him up. It was his purpose to keep these men stirring.
"How?" he inquired.
"Why, the heat. Say, git a peek at that sky. Look yonder. The sun. Getthem durned banks o' cloud swallerin' it right up atop o' them hills.Makes you think, don't it? That's storm. It's comin' big--an' beforemany hours."
"For which we'll all be a heap thankful." Beasley laughed. "Anotherday of this an' I'll be done that tender a gran'ma could eat me."
His remark drew a flicker of a smile.
"She'd need good ivories," observed the gambler, Diamond Jack, withmild sarcasm.
Beasley took the remark as a compliment to his business capacity, andgrinned amiably.
"Jack's right. You'd sure give her an elegant pain, else," addedCurly, in a tired voice. He was steadily staring down the trail in amanner that suggested indifference to any coming storm. Somebodylaughed half-heartedly. But Curly had no desire to enliven things, andwent on quite seriously.
"Say, when's this bum sheriff gettin' around?" he demanded.
Beasley took him up at once.
"Some time to-night," he said, in a well-calculated tone ofresentment. "That's why I got you boys around now," he addedsignificantly.
"You mean----?" Diamond Jack nodded in the direction of the farm.
Beasley nodded.
"That old crow bait got back early this mornin'," he went on. "I waswaitin' on her. She guessed she hadn't a thing to say, an' I surelywas up agin a proposition. So I jest made out I was feelin' goodseein' her git back, an' told her I wa'an't lookin' for informationshe didn't guess she was givin', and ther' wasn't no need fer her tosay a thing. She guessed that was so. After that I passed things by,sayin' how some o' the boys hated sheriffs wuss'n rattlesnakes--an'she laffed. Yes, sir, she laffed, an' it must have hurt her some.Anyways she opened out at that, an' said, if any boys hated the sightof sheriffs they'd better hunt their holes before sun-up. Guess shedidn't just use them words, but she give 'em that time limit. Say, ifI was the Padre I'd sooner have the devil on my trail than thatold--bunch o' marrow bones."
Slaney looked up from the bench on which he was spread out.
"Guess he'll have wuss'n her when Bob Richards gets around," he saidgloomily.
"D'you reckon they'll git him--with Buck around?" inquired Curlyanxiously.
"Buck! Tcha!" Beasley's dislike for the moment got the better of hisdiscretion. But he quickly realized his mistake, and proceeded totwist his meaning. "It makes me mad. It makes me plumb crazed when Ithink o' that bully feller, the Padre, bein' give dead away by thefolks at the farm. Buck? Psha'! Who's Buck agin a feller like BobRichards? Bob's the greatest sheriff ever stepped in Montana. He'lltwist Buck so he won't know rye whisky from sow-belly. Buck's grit,elegant grit, but Bob--wal, I'd say he's the wisest guy west ofChicago, when it comes to stringin' up a crook."
"I'm with you, boss," cried Diamond Jack, in a quick rage. "This farmneeds lookin' to to-night sure. We got to git in 'fore sheriffs gitaround. They're playin' a low-down racket. Jonahs don't cut no icewith me, but they're chasin' up glory agin the camp. That's how I readit. Guess none of us is saints, anyways I don't seem to hear no wingsflappin'; but givin' folks up to the law is--low."
Abe Allinson grunted, and a general atmosphere of silent approvalprevailed. Beasley, whose eyes were watching every expression, pushedthe ball further along.
"Low?" he cried. "You, Jack, don't know the guy we're so dead keen tohelp out. If you did you'd git right up on to your hind legs an' cussterrible--an' you've cussed some in your time. But for him this campwouldn't be the bonanza it is. You wouldn't be nettin' a pile ofdollars every night in my bar. I wouldn't be runnin' a big propositionin dollar makin'. These boys wouldn't be chasin' gold on full bellies.Gee, it makes me mad--an' thirsty. Let's get around inside an' seewhat that glass rustler of mine can do."
The response was immediate and complete. No man had ever been known torefuse Beasley's hospitality. Everybody drank. And they drank again atDiamond Jack's expense. Then later they drank at their own. And allthe while Beasley, with consummate skill, shepherded them to his ownends.
It was truly wonderful to see the manner in which he handled them. Headopted the simplest tactics, once he had set the ball rolling,contenting himself with dropping in a word here and there every timethe subject of the sheriff drifted toward his ears. He knew these men.He possessed that keenness of insight into his customers which nosuccessful saloon-keeper fails to acquire. He understood theirweaknesses in a manner which left it a simple enough task to play uponthem. In this case the basis of his procedure was drink--strong, harshwhisky, of a violent type.
The banking clouds rose ponderously upon the hilltops, blacking outthe twilight with an abruptness which must have held deep significancefor men less occupied. But the dominant overcast of their minds wasthe coming of the sheriff. For many of them it was far more ominousthan any storm of n
ature.
The bar filled to overflowing. No one cared to gamble. There wouldhave been no room for them, anyway. Even Diamond Jack showed noinclination to pursue his trade. Perhaps this was the most significantfeature of all.
His was a weighty word thrown in the balance of public opinion.Perhaps this was the result of his well-understood shrewdness. At anyrate he never failed to find a ready audience for his opinions, andto-night his opinions were strongly and forcefully declared. Beasleylistened to him with interest, and smiled as he observed him movingabout amongst the crowd drinking with one, treating another, histongue never idle in his denunciation of sheriffs, and all those whocalled in their aid. It almost seemed as if the man was acting underorders, orders, perhaps inspired by a subtler mind, to disguise thereal source whence they sprang.
The gambler was truly a firebrand, and so well did he handle hispeople, so well did he stir them by his disgust and righteous horrorat the employment of a sheriff in their midst, that by nine o'clockthe camp was loud in its clamor for retribution to be visited uponthose who had brought such a terror into their midst.
Beasley's amiability grew. His bartender watched it in amazement. Butit oppressed him. His pessimism resented it. He hated joy, and theevidences of joy in others. There was real pleasure for him in DiamondJack's hectoring denunciations. It was something which appealed tohim. Besides, he could see the gambler was harassed, perhaps afraid ofthe sheriff himself. He even envied him his fear. But Beasley'ssatisfaction was depressing, and, as a protest, he neglected toovercharge the more drunken of their customers. Beasley must not haveall the satisfaction.
But, as far as Beasley was concerned, the bartender was little betterthan a piece of furniture that night. His employer had almostforgotten his existence. Truth to tell, Beasley had lost his head inhis disease of venom. One thought, and one thought only urged him.To-night, before the advent of the sheriff to seize upon the person ofthe hated Padre, he hoped, by one stroke, to crush the heart of Buck,and bow the proud head of the girl who had so plainly showed herdislike and contempt for him, in the dust of shame and despair.
It was a moment worth waiting for. It was a moment of joy he would notlightly forego. Nor did he care what time, patience, or money it costhim. To strike at those whom he hated was as the breath of life tohim. And he meant to drink deeply of his cup of joy.
His moment came. It came swiftly, suddenly, like most matters of greatimport. His opportunity came at the psychological moment, when thelast shred of temperance had been torn from wild, lawless hearts,which, in such moments, were little better than those of savagebeasts. It came when the poison of complaint and bitterness had atlast searched out the inmost recesses of stunted, brutalized minds.And Beasley snatched at it hungrily, like a worm-ridden dog willsnatch at the filthiest offal.
The drunken voice of Abe Allinson lifted above the general din. He waslolling against one end of the counter, isolated from his fellows byreason of his utterly stupefied condition. He was in a state when heno longer had interest for his companions. He rolled about blear-eyedand hopelessly mumbling, with a half-emptied glass in his hand, whichhe waved about uncertainly. Suddenly an impotent spasm of rage seemedto take hold of him. With a hoarse curse he raised his glass andhurled it crashing against the wall. Then, with a wild, prolongedwhoop 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 faceand lay stretched full length upon the floor.
But all had heard. And Beasley snatched at his opportunity. He sprangupon the counter in the moment of astonished quiet, and, beforetongues 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. Onlyhe sure wants to do too much--more than his legs'll let him." Hegrinned. "We're goin' to do this thing right now. But we're goin' todo it like good citizens of a dandy city. We ain't goin' to act like agang of lynchers. We're dealin' with a gal, with gold ha'r an' blueeyes, an' we're goin' to deal accordin'. We ain't lookin' fer herlife. That's too easy, an', wal--she's a woman. No, we're goin' to ridthis place of her an' all her tribe. We're goin' to make it so shecan'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 wagonan' team, an' let her drive to hell out of here. We're goin' to do itright now, before the sheriff gets busy along here. After that we'llbe too late. Are you game? Who's comin'? We're goin' to burn thatJonah farm till ther' ain't a stick left above ground to say it everstood there. That's what we're goin' to do, an' I'm the man who'llstart the bonfire. Say, we'll make it like a fourth o' July. We'llhave one royal time--an' we'll be quit of all Jonahs."
As he finished speaking he leapt to the ground amidst the crowd. Nordid he need to wait to hear the response to his appeal. It came in oneof those unanimous, drunken roars, only to be heard in such a place,at such a time, or on a battle-field, when insensate fury demands araucous outlet. Every man in the place, lost, for the moment, to allthe dictates of honest manhood, was ready to follow the leadership ofone whom, in sober moments, they all disliked. It was an extraordinaryexhibition of the old savage which ever lies so near the surface inmen upon the fringe of civilization.
Nor did Beasley give them time to think. His orders came rapidly. Thebartender, for once his eyes sparkling at the thought of trouble aboutto visit an unsuspecting fellow-creature, hurled himself to the taskof dealing out one large final drink to everybody. Then when asufficient supply of materials of an inflammatory nature had beengathered together, the saloon-keeper placed himself at the head of hismen, supported by the only too willing Diamond Jack, and theprocession started out.
The Golden Woman: A Story of the Montana Hills Page 31
