e pursuit of
Curly.

"Evenin', Padre," he said, with a cordiality the most exacting could
have found no fault with.

"Good-evening," replied the newcomer, smiling pleasantly as he glanced
round the sordid hovel. Then he added: "Times are changed, sure.
But--where are your customers?"

Beasley's quick eyes gazed sharply at the perfect mask of disarming
geniality. He was looking for some sign to give him a lead, but there
was only easy good-nature in the deep gray eyes beneath their shaggy
brows.

"Guess they're out chasin' that fool-head Curly Saunders," he said
unguardedly. However, he saw his mistake in an instant and tried to
rectify it. "Y' see they're always skylarkin' when they git liquor
under their belts."

"Skylarking?" The Padre propped himself against the bar, and his eyes
suddenly rested on an ugly stain on the sand floor.

Beasley followed his glance, and beheld the pool of blood which had
flowed from the Kid's wound. He cursed himself for not having
obliterated it. Then, in a moment, he decided to carry the matter with
a high hand.

"Psha'! What's the use'n beatin' around!" he said half-defiantly.
"They're chasin' Curly to lynch him for shootin' up the Kid."

The Padre gave a well-assumed start and emitted a low whistle. Then he
turned directly toward the counter.

"You best have a drink on me--for the good of the house," he said.
"I'll take rye."

Beasley swung himself across the counter with a laugh.

"Say, that beats the devil!" he cried. "I'll sure drink with you. No
one sooner."

The Padre nodded.

"Splendid," he smiled. Then as the other passed glasses and the
bottle, he went on: "Tell us about it--the racket, I mean."

Beasley helped himself to a drink and laughed harshly.

"Wal, I didn't get it right," he said, raising his glass. "Here's
'how'!" He gulped down his drink and set the empty glass on the
counter. "Y' see, I was handin' out drinks when the racket started.
They were all muckin' around with them four sluts that come in town
the other day. Guess they was all most sloshed to the gills. First
thing I know they were quarreling, then some un got busy with a gun.
Then they started chasin' Curly, an' I see the Kid lying around shot
up. It was jest a flesh wound, an' I had him boosted out to his own
shack. His partner, Pete--they struck a partnership, those two--why, I
guess he's seein' to him. 'Tain't on'y a scratch."

The Padre set his glass down. He had not drunk his liqu