"

"What th' hell!" rumbled Mull, grabbing up his cards.

Fresno leered.

The gambler leaned back and his swift white hands flashed. Neale
believed he had a derringer up each sleeve. A wrong word now would
precipitate a fight.

"Excuse me," said Neale, hastily. "I don't want to make trouble. I just
said I never saw this gentleman before."

"Nor I him," returned the gambler, courteously. "My name is Place Hough
and my word is not doubted."

Neale had heard of this famous Mississippi River gambler. So, evidently,
had the other three players. The game proceeded, and when it came to
Hough's deal Mull bet hard and lost all. His big, hairy hands shook. He
looked at Fresno and the other fellow, but not at Hough.

"I'm broke," he said, gruffly, and got up from the bench.

He strode past Hough, and behind him; then as if suddenly,
instinctively, answering to fury, he whipped out a gun.

Neale, just as instinctively, grasped the rising hand.

"Hold on, there!" he called. "Would you shoot a man in the back?"

And Neale, whose grip was powerful, caused the other to drop the gun.
Neale kicked it aside. Fresno got up.

"Whar's your head, Mull?" he growled. "Git out of this!"

Attention had been attracted to Mull. Some one picked up the gun. The
sallow-faced man rose, holding out his hand for it. Hough did not even
turn around.

"I was goin' to hold him up," said Mull. He glared fiercely at Neale,
wrenched his hand free, and with his comrades disappeared in the crowd.

The gambler rose and shook down his sleeves. The action convinced Neale
that he had held a little gun in each hand. "I saw him draw," he said.
"You saved his life!... Nevertheless, I appreciate your action. My name
is Place Hough. Will you drink with me?"

"Sure.... My name is Neale."

They approached the bar and drank together.

"A railroad man, I take it?" asked Hough.

"I was. I'm foot-loose now."

A fleeting smile crossed the gambler's face. "Benton is bad enough,
without you being foot-loose."

"All these camps are tough," replied Neale.

"I was in North Platte, Kearney, Cheyenne, and Medicine Bow during their
rise," said Hough. "They were tough. But they were not Benton. And the
next camp west, which will be the last--it will be Roaring Hell. What
will be its name?"

"Why is Benton worse?" inquired Neale.

"The big work is well under way now, with a tremendous push from behind.
There are three men for every man's work. That lays off