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Updated: May 22, 2025
A girl not much bigger than Inez, nor dressed much better, came out of the basement door of Mother Beasley's, wiping her lips on the back of her hand. "Hullo, Ine!" she said to the flower-seller. "Who you got in tow? Some more greenies." "Never you mind, Polly," returned Inez. "They're just friends of mine on their way to Washington Park." "Yes they be!" drawled the girl called Polly.
Helen gathered from their visits a conviction that the wives of the men dominated by Beasley believed no good could come of this high-handed taking over of the ranch. Indeed, Helen found at the end of the day that a strength had been borne of her misfortune. The next day Roy informed her that his brother John had come down the preceding night with the news of Beasley's descent upon the ranch.
But Beasley's satisfaction was depressing, and, as a protest, he neglected to overcharge the more drunken of their customers. Beasley must not have all the satisfaction. But, as far as Beasley was concerned, the bartender was little better than a piece of furniture that night. His employer had almost forgotten his existence. Truth to tell, Beasley had lost his head in his disease of venom.
"Mebbe you won't find you're busy when you heard what I got to say." He laughed immoderately. Beasley's whisky was at work, and he had no fear for the purpose in hand. Suddenly he dived a hand into his hip-pocket and drew out the bills the saloon-keeper had paid him. "Look at them," he cried in a voice that was high-pitched with elation.
Buck had had no intention of making this visit to the farm when he left Beasley's saloon. He had not had the remotest intention of carrying out the man's broadly-given hint. A hint from Beasley was always unwelcome to him, and generally roused an obstinate desire to take an opposite course.
The burden of his speech was to the effect that somebody referred to as "he" was to blame. Aye, trust a rat of that caliber to set up that wail. For some time that was all I got from the words that came through the wall. I wasn't trying to listen; I was drowsing, and paying very little attention. But gradually Beasley's whine grew louder and more distinct.
Can't do US no harm, and might be an eye-opener fer YOU. Grist and Gus Schulmeyer and Hank Cullop's waitin' out yonder at the gate. We be'n havin' kind of a consultation at my house over somep'n' Grist seen at Beasley's a little earlier in the evening." "What did Grist see?" "HACKS! Hacks drivin' up to Beasley's house a whole lot of 'em.
"But where are the hacks?" asked Dowden, gravely. "Folks all come," answered Mr. Peck, with complete assurance. "Won't be no more hacks till they begin to go home." We plunged ahead as far as the corner of Beasley's fence, where Peck stopped us again, and we drew together, slapping our hands and stamping our feet.
An' Beasley knowed as well as I thet my old man's not only the oldest inhabitant hereabouts, but he's the wisest, too. An' he wouldn't tell a lie. Wal, I used all his sayin's in my argument to show Beasley thet if he didn't haul up short he'd end almost as short. Beasley's thick-headed, an' powerful conceited. Vain as a peacock! He couldn't see, an' he got mad.
Still, there remained ample evidence that the Devil was rioting in the camp and would continue to do so just as long as the lure of gold could tempt his victims. Then came the inevitable. In a few days it became apparent that the news of the "strike" had percolated abroad. Beasley's attempt at secrecy had lasted him just sufficiently long to establish himself as the chief trader.
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