e, and there are only thirty-six numbers."

Rick grinned. "How'd you like to have your life hanging on odds of
thirty-five to one?"

Scotty chuckled. "Anyway, you don't have to play numbers. You can play
black or red, or odd or even. That gives you fifty-fifty odds."

Rick shook his head. "You forgot something. The wheel has zero and
double zero, and they're green, and neither odd nor even. That makes the
odds less than fifty-fifty. You can't win, Scotty."

"Kill-joy. How about the one-arm bandits?" He pointed to several rows of
slot machines.

"No help there, either. It depends on how they're set, but usually out
of every four coins you put in, one drops out of play completely. The
only one who ever sees it again is the man who owns the machine. So, if
you keep feeding money in, eventually the machine will take it all.
Sometimes the machines are set to take one coin out of every three, or
even one out of every two."

"But people do win, gambling," Scotty objected.

"Sure they do. That's why people gamble--and hope. But the great
majority lose." Rick waved at the luxurious casino. "If most people
didn't lose, these casinos couldn't operate."

"Maybe I'd be the lucky one," Scotty said.

A deputy sheriff had been listening to the conversation with amusement.
He tapped Scotty on the shoulder. "I said that once, son. I was going to
be the luckiest ringdangdoo that ever hit Vegas. And what happened? I've
been working in this hotel as a guard for two years, trying to make a
stake big enough to go back home and start where I left off when the bug
bit me."

"Tough," Rick murmured.

"The town is full of people like me. Besides, you lads can't gamble,
anyway. The legal age is twenty-one. Come back in a few years if you
feel rich and foolish, and try bucking the tiger. You'll see what I
mean."

"We'll take your word for it," Scotty assured him. "Come on, Rick. Let's
hit the hay. I can use a nap."

If Las Vegas was spectacular by day, it was a neon nightmare after dark.
The boys dined well, and more than sufficiently, at El Rancho Vegas,
then got in the jeep for a ride around town.

Scotty loosened his belt with a groan. "For once," he admitted, "I
overdid it. Did you ever see so much chow?"

"Not outside of a supermarket," Rick agreed. He let his own belt out a
notch or two.

The boys drove to Fremont Street, past the incredible gambling halls
with their elaborate signs and miles of neon tubing.

Scotty rema