Part 8 (1/2)

The town appeared about a mile long, spread out on two sides of the main street, graduating from the big buildings of stone and wood in the center to flimsy frame structures and tents along the outskirts. Pan estimated that he must have pa.s.sed three thousand people during his stroll, up one side of the street and down the other. Even if these made up the whole population it was enough to insure a good-sized town.

There were no street lamps. And the many yellow lights from open doors and windows fell upon the throngs moving to and fro, in the street as well as on the sidewalks.

Pan's guide eventually led him into the Yellow Mine.

He saw a long wide room full of moving figures, thin wreaths of blue smoke that floated in the glaring yellow lights. A bar ran the whole length of this room, and drinkers were crowded in front of it. The clink of gla.s.s, the clink of gold, the incessant murmur of hoa.r.s.e voices almost drowned faint strains of music from another room that opened from this one.

The thousand and one saloons and gambling dives that Pan had seen could not in any sense compare with this one. This was on a big scale without restraint of law or order. Piles of gold and greenbacks littered the tables where roulette, faro, poker were in progress.

Black garbed, pale hard-faced gamblers sat with long mobile hands on the tables. Bearded men, lean-faced youths bent with intent gaze over their cards. Sloe-eyed Mexicans in their high-peaked sombreros and gaudy trappings lounged here and there, watching, waiting--for what did not seem clear to Pan. Drunken miners in their s.h.i.+rt sleeves stamped through the open door, to or from the bar. An odor of whisky mingled with that of tobacco smoke. Young women with bare arms and necks and painted faces were in evidence, some alone, most of them attended by men.

The gambling games attracted Pan. Like all cowboys he had felt the fascination of games of chance. He watched the roulette wheel, then the faro games. In one corner of the big room, almost an alcove, Pan espied a large round table at which were seated six players engrossed in a game of poker. He saw thousands of dollars in gold and notes on that table. A pretty flashy girl with bold eyes and a lazy sleepy smile hung over the shoulder of one of the gamblers.

Pan's comrade nudged him in the side.

”What? Where?” whispered Pan answering quickly to the suggestion and his glance swept everywhere.

Brown was gazing with gleaming eyes at the young card player over whose shoulder the white-armed girl hung.

Then Pan saw a face that was strangely familiar--a handsome face of a complexion between red and white, with large sensual mouth, bold eyes, and a broad low brow. The young gambler was d.i.c.k Hardman.

Pan knew him. The recognition meant nothing, yet it gave Pan a start, a twinge, and then sent a slow heat along his veins. He laughed to find the boyishness of old still alive in him. After eight years of hard life on the ranges! By that sudden resurging of long forgotten emotion Pan judged the nature of what the years had made him. It would be interesting to see how d.i.c.k Hardman met him.

But it was the girl who first seemed drawn by Pan's piercing gaze. She caught it--then looked a second time. Sliding off the arms of Hardman's chair she moved with undulating motion of her slender form, and with bright eyes, round the table toward Pan. And at that moment d.i.c.k Hardman looked up from his cards and watched her.

CHAPTER SIX

”h.e.l.lo, cowboy. How'd I ever miss you?” she queried roguishly, running her bright eyes from his face down to his spurs and back again.

”Good evening, Lady,” replied Pan, removing his sombrero and bowing, with his genial smile. ”I just come to town.”

She hesitated as if struck by a deference she was not accustomed to.

Then she took his hands in hers and dragged him out a little away from Brown, whom she gave a curt nod. Again she looked Pan up and down.

”Did you take off that big hat because you know you're mighty good to look at?” she asked, archly.

”Well, no, hardly,” answered Pan.

”What for then?”

”It's a habit I have when I meet a pretty girl.”

”Thank you. Does she have to be _pretty_?”

”Reckon not. Any girl, Miss.”

”You are a stranger in Marco. Look out somebody doesn't shoot a hole in that hat when you doff it.”

While she smiled up at him, losing something of the hawklike, possession-taking manner that had at first characterized her, Pan could see d.i.c.k Hardman staring hard across the table. Before Pan could find a reply for the girl one of the gamesters, an unshaven scowling fellow, addressed Hardman.

”Say, air you playin' cairds or watchin' your dame make up to that big hat an' high boots?”