The Girl of the Golden West Read Online Free PDF

face, which might be interpreted as one
of envy at his friend's exuberant condition; at all events, he
proceeded forthwith to order several drinks, gulping them down in
rapid succession.
    Meanwhile, at the faro table, the luck was going decidedly
against the boys. In fact, so much so, that there was a dangerous
note in Sonora's voice when, presently, he blurted out:
    "See here, gambolier Sid, you're too lucky!"
    "You bet!" approved Trinidad, and then added:
    "More chips, Australier!"
    But Trinidad's comment, as well as his request, only brought
forth the oily smile that The Sidney Duck always smiled when any
reference was made to his game. It was his policy to fawn upon all
and never permit himself to think that an insult was intended. So
he gathered in Trinidad's money and gave him chips in return. For
some seconds the men played on without anything disturbing the game
except the loud voice of the caller of the wheel-of-fortune in the
dance-hall. But the boys were to hear something more from there
besides, "Round goes the wheel!" For, all at once there came to
their ears the sounds of an altercation in which it was not
difficult to recognise the penetrating voice of Happy Halliday.
    "Now, git, you loafer!" he was saying in tones that left no
doubt in the minds of his friends that Happy was hot under the
collar over something.
    A shot followed.
    "Missed, by the Lord Harry!" ejaculated Happy, deeply humiliated
at his failure to increase the mortuary record of the camp.
    The incident, however, passed unnoticed by the faro players; not
a man within sound of the shot, for that matter, inquired what the
trouble was about; and even Nick, picking up his tray filled with
glasses and a bottle, walked straightway into the dance-hall
looking as if the matter were not worth a moment's thought.
    At Nick's going the Indian's face brightened; it gave him the
opportunity for which he had been waiting. Nobly he maintained his
reputation as a thief by quietly going behind the bar and lifting
from a box four cigars which he stowed away in his pockets. But
even that, apparently did not satisfy him, for when he espied the
butt of a cigar, flung into the sawdust on the floor by a man who
had just come in, he picked it up before squatting down again to
resume his card playing.
    The newcomer, a man of, say, forty years, came slowly into the
room without a word of salutation to anyone. In common with his
fellow-miners, he wore a flannel shirt and boots. The latter gave
every evidence of age as did his clothes which, nevertheless, were
neat. His face wore a mild, gentle look and would have said that he
was companionable enough; yet it was impossible not to see that he
was not willingly seeking the cheer of the saloon but came there
solely because he had no other place to go. In a word, he had every
appearance of a man down on his luck.
    Men were continually coming in and going out, but no one paid
the slightest attention to him, even though a succession of audible
sighs escaped his lips. At length he went over to the counter and
took a sheet or two of the paper,—which was kept there for the few
who desired to write home,—a quill-pen and ink; and picking up a
small wooden box he seated himself upon it before a desk—which had
been built from a rude packing-case—and began wearily and
laboriously to write.
    "The lone star now rises!"
    It was the stentorian voice of the caller of the
wheel-of-fortune. One would have thought that the sound would have
had the effect of a thunder-clap upon the figure at the desk; but
he gave no sign whatever of having heard it; nor did he see the
suspicious glance which Nick, entering at that moment, shot at
Billy Jackrabbit who was stealing noiselessly towards the
dance-hall where the whoops were becoming so frequent and evincing
such exuberance of spirits that the ubiquitous, if generally
unconcerned, Nick felt it incumbent to give an explanation of
them.
    "Boys from The Ridge cuttin' up a bit," he