"He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did."
He spoke of the dead man.

"Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly.

What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which
Gilmore had in mind.

"He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him,
Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect.

"No, Shrimplin found him."

Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at
their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to
this.

"I guess the job was done with that," he said.

"Possibly," agreed Harbison.

Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly.

"Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who
stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand.

"You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death
with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully,
placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself.