r of the room were the faro layouts, the roulette wheels, and
the poker players. Around each of these the shifting crowd surged.
Mexicans, Chinese, and even Indians brushed shoulders with white men of
many sorts and conditions. The white-faced professional gambler was in
evidence, winning the money of big brown men in miner's boots and
corduroys. The betting was wild and extravagant, for the spirit of the
speculator had carried away the cool judgment of most of these men. They
had seen a barber become a millionaire in a day because the company in
which he had plunged had struck a gusher. They had seen the same man
borrow five dollars three months later to carry him over until he got a
job. Riches were pouring out of the ground for the gambler who would take
a chance. Thrift was a much-discredited virtue in Malapi. The one
unforgivable vice was to be "a piker."

Bob found his man at a faro table. While the cards were being shuffled,
he engaged him to come out next evening to the Jackpot properties. As
soon as the dealer began to slide the cards out of the case the attention
of the engineer went back to his bets.

While Dave was standing close to the wall, ready to leave as soon as Bob
returned to him, he caught sight of an old acquaintance. Steve Russell
was playing stud poker at a table a few feet from him. The cowpuncher
looked up and waved his hand.

"See you in a minute, Dave," he called, and as soon as the pot had been
won he said to the man shuffling the cards, "Deal me out this hand."

He rose, stepped across to Sanders, and shook hands with a strong grip.
"You darned old son-of-a-gun! I'm sure glad to see you. Heard you was
back. Say, you've ce'tainly been goin' some. Suits me. I never did like
either Dug or Miller a whole lot. Dug's one sure-enough bad man and
Miller's a tinhorn would-be. What you did to both of 'em was a-plenty.
But keep yore eye peeled, old-timer. Miller's where he belongs again,
but Dug's still on the range, and you can bet he's seein' red these
days. He'll gun you if he gets half a chance."

"Yes," said Dave evenly.

"You don't figure to let yoreself get caught again without a
six-shooter." Steve put the statement with the rising inflection.

"No."

"Tha's right. Don't let him get the drop on you. He's sudden death with
a gun."

Bob joined them. After a moment's conversation Russell drew them to a
corner of the room that for the moment was almost deserted.

"Say, you heard the ne