m the
drinkers, the loungers. Duane had seen gambling-resorts--some of the
famous ones in San Antonio and El Paso, a few in border towns where
license went unchecked. But this place of Jackrabbit Benson's impressed
him as one where guns and knives were accessories to the game. To his
perhaps rather distinguishing eye the most prominent thing about the
gamesters appeared to be their weapons. On several of the tables were
piles of silver--Mexican pesos--as large and high as the crown of his
hat. There were also piles of gold and silver in United States coin.
Duane needed no experienced eyes to see that betting was heavy and that
heavy sums exchanged hands. The Mexicans showed a sterner obsession, an
intenser passion. Some of the Americans staked freely, nonchalantly,
as befitted men to whom money was nothing. These latter were manifestly
winning, for there were brother outlaws there who wagered coin with
grudging, sullen, greedy eyes. Boisterous talk and laughter among the
drinking men drowned, except at intervals, the low, brief talk of the
gamblers. The clink of coin sounded incessantly; sometimes just low,
steady musical rings; and again, when a pile was tumbled quickly, there
was a silvery crash. Here an outlaw pounded on a table with the butt of
his gun; there another noisily palmed a roll of dollars while he studied
his opponent's face. The noises, however, in Benson's den did not
contribute to any extent to the sinister aspect of the place. That
seemed to come from the grim and reckless faces, from the bent, intent
heads, from the dark lights and shades. There were bright lights,
but these served only to make the shadows. And in the shadows lurked
unrestrained lust of gain, a spirit ruthless and reckless, a something
at once suggesting lawlessness, theft, murder, and hell.

"Bland's not here to-night," Euchre was saying. "He left today on one of
his trips, takin' Alloway an' some others. But his other man, Rugg, he's
here. See him standin' with them three fellers, all close to Benson.
Rugg's the little bow-legged man with the half of his face shot off.
He's one-eyed. But he can shore see out of the one he's got. An', darn
me! there's Hardin. You know him? He's got an outlaw gang as big as
Bland's. Hardin is standin' next to Benson. See how quiet an' unassumin'
he looks. Yes, thet's Hardin. He comes here once in a while to see
Bland. They're friends, which's shore strange. Do you see thet greaser
there--the one with