rigan with close-set
lips and out-thrust chin. The mass moved fast. It passed the _Plaza_, far
up the street, receiving additions each second as men burst out of doors
and dove to the fringe; and grew in front as other men skittered into it,
hanging to its edge and adding to the confusion. But Corrigan noted that
the mass had a point, like a wedge, made by three men who seemed to lead
it. Something familiar in the stature and carriage of one of the men
struck Corrigan, and he strained his eyes into the darkness the better to
see. He could be sure of the identity of the man, presently, and he set
his jaws tighter and continued to watch, with bitter malignance in his
gaze, for the man was Trevison. There was no mistaking the broad
shoulders, the set of the head, the big, bold and confident poise of the
man. At the point of the wedge he looked what he was--the leader; he
dominated the crowd; it became plain to Corrigan as the mass moved closer
that he was intent on something that had aroused the enthusiasm of his
followers, for there were shouts of: "That's the stuff! Give it to them!
Run 'em out!"

For an instant as the crowd passed the _Elk_ saloon, its lights revealing
faces in its glare, Corrigan thought its destination was the private car,
and his hand went to his hip. It was withdrawn an instant later, though,
when the leader swerved and marched toward the train on the main track. In
the light also, Corrigan saw something that gave him a hint of the
significance of it all. His laugh broke the tension of the moment.

"It's Denver Ed and Poker Charley," he said to Benham. "It's likely
they've been caught cheating and have been invited to make themselves
scarce." And he laughed again, with slight contempt, at Benham's sigh of
relief.

The mass surged around the rear coach of the train. There was some
laughter, mingled with jeers, and while this was at its height a man broke
from the mass and walked rapidly toward Corrigan and Benham. It was
Braman. Corrigan questioned him.

"It's two professional gamblers. They've been fleecing Manti's easy marks
with great facility. Tonight they had Clay Levins in the back room of the
_Belmont_. He had about a thousand dollars (the banker looked at Corrigan
and closed an eye), and they took it away from him. It looked square, and
Levins didn't kick. Couldn't anyway--he's lying in the back room of the
_Belmont_ now, paralyzed. I think that somebody told Levins' wife about
him shooti