Buck suddenly swung round on Beasley.
“Fix it for to-morrow, an’ the Padre’ll be right along.”
He looked the ex-Churchman squarely in the eye. He was not making a request. His words were an emphatic refusal to allow the other the office. It was Slaney who answered him.
“I’m glad,” he said. Then, as an afterthought, “an’ the missis’ll be glad, too.”
After that nobody seemed inclined to break the silence. Nor was it until somebody hawked and spat that the spell was broken.
“We bin holdin’ a meetin’,” said Curly Saunders heavily. “Y’ see, it ain’t no good.”
Buck nodded at the doorway.
“You mean——?”
“The prospect,” Beasley broke in and laughed. “Say, we sure been suckers stayin’ around so long. Ther’ ain’t no gold within a hundred miles of us. We’re just lyin’ rottin’ around like—stinkin’ sheep.”
Curly nodded.