Dingwell did not wait for them. He had something he wanted to tell
Sweeney and he passed at once into the saloon.




Chapter III

The Old-Timer Sits into a Big Game

The room into which Dingwell had stepped was as large as a public
dance-hall. Scattered in one part or another of it, singly or in
groups, were fifty or sixty men. In front, to the right, was the bar,
where some cowmen and prospectors were lined up before a counter upon
which were bottles and glasses. A bartender in a white linen jacket
was polishing the walnut top with a cloth.

Dave shook his head in answer to the invitation to drink that came to
him at once. Casually he chatted with acquaintances as he worked his
way toward the rear. This part of the room was a gambling resort.
Among the various methods of separating the prodigal from his money
were roulette, faro, keno, chuckaluck, and poker tables. Around these
a motley assemblage was gathered. Rich cattlemen brushed shoulders
with the outlaws who were rustling their calves. Mexicans without a
nickel stood side by side with Eastern consumptives out for their
health. Chinese laundrymen played the wheel beside miners and
cowpunchers. Stolid, wooden-faced Indians in blankets from the
reservation watched the turbid life of the Southwest as it eddied
around them. The new West was jostling the old West into the
background, but here the vivid life of the frontier was making its last