Bob Hampton of Placer

The gambler passed on, pushing rather unceremoniously through the

throng of perspiring humanity. He appeared out of place amid the rough

element jostling him, and more than one glanced at him curiously, a few

swearing as he elbowed them aside. Scarcely noticing this, he drew a

cigar from his pocket, and stuck it unlighted between his teeth. The

large front room upstairs was ablaze with lights, every game in full

operation and surrounded by crowds of devotees. Tobacco smoke in

clouds circled to the low ceiling, and many of the players were noisy

and profane, while the various calls of faro, roulette, keno, and

high-ball added to the confusion and to the din of shuffling feet and

excited exclamations. Hampton glanced about superciliously, shrugging

his shoulders in open contempt--all this was far too coarse, too small,

to awaken his interest. He observed the various faces at the tables--a

habit one naturally forms who has desperate enemies in plenty--and then

walked directly toward the rear of the room. A thick, dingy red

curtain hung there; he held back its heavy folds and stepped within the

smaller apartment beyond.

Three men sat at the single table, cards in hand, and Hampton

involuntarily whistled softly behind his teeth at the first glimpse of

the money openly displayed before them. This was apparently not so bad

for a starter, and his waning interest revived. A red-bearded giant,

sitting so as to face the doorway, glanced up quickly at his entrance,

his coarse mouth instantly taking on the semblance of a smile.

"Ah, Bob," he exclaimed, with an evident effort at cordiality; "been

wondering if you wouldn't show up before the night was over. You're

the very fellow to make this a four-handed affair, provided you carry

sufficient stuff."

Hampton came easily forward into the full glow of the swinging oil

lamp, his manner coolly deliberate, his face expressionless. "I feel

no desire to intrude," he explained, quietly, watching the uplifted

faces. "I believe I have never before met these gentlemen."

Slavin laughed, his great white fingers drumming the table.

"It is an acquaintance easily made," he said, "provided one can afford

to trot in their class, for it is money that talks at this table

to-night. Mr. Hampton, permit me to present Judge Hawes, of Denver,

and Mr. Edgar Willis, president of the T. P. & R. I have no idea what

they are doing in this hell-hole of a town, but they are dead-game

sports, and I have been trying my best to amuse them while they're

here."

Hampton bowed, instantly recognizing the names.