ght me. I met him. We
played cards and--"

"No. I mean what brought you to Benton?"

"I just drifted here.... I'm looking for a--a lost friend," said Neale.

"No work? But you're no spiker or capper or boss. I know that sort. And
I can spot a gambler a mile. The whole world meets out here in Benton.
But not many young men like you wander into my place."

"Like me? How so?"

"The men here are wolves on the scent for flesh; like bandits on the
trail of gold.... But you--you're like my friend Ancliffe."

"Who is he?" asked Neale, politely.

"WHO is he? God only knows. But he's an Englishman and a gentleman. It's
a pity men like Ancliffe and you drift out here."

She spoke seriously. She had the accent and manner of breeding.

"Why, Miss Stanton?" inquired Neale. He was finding another woman here
and it was interesting to him.

"Because it means wasted life. You don't work. You're not crooked. You
can't do any good. And only a knife in the back or a bullet from some
drunken bully's gun awaits you."

"That isn't a very hopeful outlook, I'll admit," replied Neale,
thoughtfully.

At this point Hough returned with a pale, slender man whose clothes
and gait were not American. He introduced him as Ancliffe. Neale felt
another accession of interest. Benton might be hell, but he was meeting
new types of men and women. Ancliffe was fair; he had a handsome face
that held a story, and tired blue eyes that looked out upon the world
wearily and mildly, without curiosity and without hope. An Englishman of
broken fortunes.

"Just arrived, eh?" he said to Neale. "Rather jolly here, don't you
think?"

"A fellow's not going to stagnate in Benton," replied Neale.

"Not while he's alive," interposed Stanton.

"Miss Stanton, that idea seems to persist with you--the brevity of
life," said Neale, smiling. "What are the average days for a mortal in
this bloody Benton?"

"Days! You mean hours. I call the night blessed that some one is
not dragged out of my place. And I don't sell drinks.... I've saved
Ancliffe's life nine times I know of. Either he hasn't any sense or he
wants to get killed."

"I assure you it's the former," said the Englishman.

"But, my friends, I'm serious," she returned, earnestly. "This awful
place is getting on my nerves.... Mr. Neale here, he would have had to
face a gun already but for me."

"Miss Stanton, I appreciate your kindness," replied Neale. "But it
doesn't follow that if I had to face a g