The Girl of the Golden West Read Online Free PDF Page A

side is
unprepared, the desire for gun-play gave way to mirthless laughter,
and, presently, the hilarious crowd from the rival camp, turning
abruptly on their heels, betook themselves en masse into the
dance-hall.
    For the briefest of periods, there was a look of keen
disappointment on the faces of the Cloudy Mountain boys as they
gazed upon the receding figures of their sworn enemies; but almost
in as little time as it takes to tell it there was a tumultuous
lining up at the bar, the flat surface of which soon resounded with
the heavy blows dealt it by the fists of the men desirous of
accentuating the rhythm when roaring out:
"Gwine to run all night,
 Gwine to run all day,
 Bet my money on a bob-tail nag,
 Somebody bet on the bay!"
    Among those standing at the bar, and looking out of bleared eyes
at a flashy lithograph tacked upon the wall which pictured a
Spanish woman in short skirts and advertised "Espaniola Cigaroos,"
were two miners: one with curly hair and a pink-and-white
complexion; the other, tall, loose-limbed and good-natured looking.
They were known respectively as Handsome Charlie and Happy
Halliday, and had been arguing in a maudlin fashion over the
relative merits of Spanish and American beauties. The moment the
song was concluded they banged their glasses significantly on the
bar; but since it was an unbroken rule of the house that at the
close of the musician's performance he should be rewarded by a
drink, which was always passed up to him, they needs must wait. The
little barkeeper paid no attention to their demands until he had
satisfied the thirst of the old concertina player who, presently,
could be seen drawing aside the bear-pelt curtain and passing
through the small, square opening of the partition which separated
the Polka Saloon from its dance-hall.
    "Not goin', old Dooda Day, are you?" The question, almost a
bellow, which, needless to say, was unanswered, came from Sonora
Slim who, with his great pal Trinidad Joe, was playing faro at a
table on one side of the room. Apparently, both were losing
steadily to the dealer whose chair, placed up against the
pine-boarded wall, was slightly raised above the floor. This last
individual was as fat and unctuous looking as his confederate, the
Look-out, was thin and sneaky; moreover, he bore the sobriquet of
The Sidney Duck and, obviously, was from Australia.
    "Say, what did the last eight do?" Sonora now asked, turning to
the case-keeper.
    "Lose."
    "Well, let the tail go with the hide," returned Sonora,
resignedly.
    "And the ace—how many times did it win?" inquired Trinidad.
    "Four times," was the case-keeper's answer.
    All this time a full-blooded Indian with long, blue-black hair,
very thick and oily, had been watching the game with excited eyes.
His dress was part Indian and part American, and he wore all kinds
of imitation jewelry including a huge scarf-pin which flashed from
his vivid red tie. Furthermore, he possessed a watch,—a large,
brassy-looking article,—which he brought out on every possible
occasion. When not engaged in helping himself to the dregs that
remained in the glasses carelessly left about the room, he was
generally to be found squatted down on the floor and playing a
solitaire of his own devising. But now he reached over Sonora's
shoulder and put some coins on the table in front of the
dealer.
    "Give Billy Jackrabbit fer two dolla' Mexican chip," he demanded
in a guttural voice.
    The Sidney Duck did as requested. While he was shuffling the
cards for a new deal, the players beat time with their feet to the
music that floated in from the dance-hall. The tune seemed to have
an unusually exhilarating effect on Happy Halliday, for letting out
a series of whoops he staggered off towards the adjoining room with
the evident intention of getting his fill of the music, not
forgetting to yell back just before he disappeared:
    "Root hog or die, boys!"
    Happy's boisterous exit caused a peculiar expression to appear
immediately on Handsome's