in little old
Epitaph," answered the public quencher of thirsts, polishing the glass
top of the bar with a cloth.

"Playing with the lid off back there, ain't they?" The sheriff's nod
indicated the distant faro-table.

"That's right, I guess. Only blue chips go."

"It's Wolf Leroy--that Mexican-looking fellow there," Hawkes explained
in a whisper. "A bad man with the gun, they say, too. Well, him and
York Neil and Scott Dailey blew in last night from their mine, up at
Saguache. Gave it out he was going to break the bank, Leroy did. Backing
that opinion usually comes high, but Leroy is about two thousand to the
good, they say."

"Scott Dailey? Don't think I know him."

"That shorthorn in chaps and a yellow bandanna is the gentleman; him
that's playing the wheel so constant. You don't miss no world-beater
when you don't know Scott. He's Leroy's Man Friday. Understand they've
struck it rich. Anyway, they're hitting high places while the mazuma
lasts."

"I can't seem to locate their mine. What's its brand?"

"The Dalriada. Some other guy is in with them; fellow by the name of
Hardman, if I recollect; just bought out a livery barn in town here."

"Queer thing, luck; strikes about as unexpected as lightning. Have
another, Del?"

"Don't care if I do, Val. It always makes me thirsty to see people I
like. Anything new up Tucson way?"

The band had fallen on "Manzanilla," and was rending it with variations
when Collins circled round to the wheel and began playing the red. He
took a place beside the bow-legged vaquero with the yellow bandanna
knotted loosely round his throat. For five minutes the cow-puncher
attended strictly to his bets. Then he cursed softly, and asked Collins
to exchange places with him.

"This place is my hoodoo. I can't win--" The sentence died in the man's
throat, became an inarticulate gurgle of dismay.

He had looked up and met the steady eyes of the sheriff, and the
surprise of it had driven the blood from his heart. A revolver thrust
into his face could not have shaken him more than that serene smile.

Collins took him by the arm with a jovial laugh meant to cover their
retreat, and led him into one of the curtained alcove rooms. As they
entered he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Leroy and Neil
were still intent on their game. Not for a moment, not even while the
barkeeper was answering their call for liquor, did the sheriff release
Scott from the rigor of his eyes, and when th