In a lull in the talk, when for a moment only the click of poker "chips" and the shuffle of cards broke the silence, Beasley propped himself against his counter and, for once, paused from his everlasting habit of glass wiping.
"Guess none o' you heard the news?" he inquired, with a grin of anticipation.
His first effort failed to produce the effect he desired, so a repetition followed quickly. For a moment play was suspended at one of the tables, and the men looked up.
"Noos?" inquired Diamond Jack.
The Kid and his youthful companions looked round at the foxy face of their host.
"Oh! I don't guess it's nuthin'," said Beasley. "Only--it's so dogone queer."
His manner was well calculated. His final remark drew the entire barroom. All play and all talk was abruptly held up.
"Wot's queer?" demanded Diamond Jack, while all eyes searched the saloon-keeper's sharp face.
Beasley bit the end off a green cigar.
"That's just it," he said. "Ther's suthin' I can't jest make out. Say----" he paused while he lit his cigar with a sulphur match. "Any you fellers heard of a murder around here lately? Can't say I have."
He puffed leisurely at his cigar. The scattered groups at the bar drew closer. There was no question but he now had the attention he desired. The blank negative on the faces about him gave him his answer.
"Sure," he observed thoughtfully. "That's wher' I'm beat. But--ther's sure murder been done, an' ther's goin' to be a big doin' around--in consequence. Ther's word gone in to the sheriff at Leeson, an' the law fellers o' that city is raisin' a mighty business to get warrants signed. Say, I heerd they're sendin' a dozen dep'ties to hunt these hills. Seems to me the guy whoever it is is a pretty hot tough, an' he's livin' in the hills. I heard more than that. I heard the murder was a low-down racket that if folks knew about it they'd be right out fer lynchin' this guy. That's why it's bin kep' quiet. I bin goin' over the folks in my mind to locate the--murderer. But it's got me beat."
"Ther' ain't bin no murder since the camp got boomin'," said Abe Allinson thoughtfully, "'cept you reckon that racket of Ike an' Pete's."
Beasley shook his head.
"'Tain't that. That was jest clear shootin'. Though it's queer you mention that. Say, this racket's got somethin' to do with that farm. It's mighty queer about that farm. That gal's brought a heap of mischief. She sure is an all-fired Jonah."
"But what's she to do wi' this new racket?" inquired Slaney.