Doone
was a very great sinner. Yet it should be remarked that he lacked the
fine art of taking the money of other less clever fellows when they
were intoxicated, and he also lacked the fine hardness of mind which
enables many gamblers to enjoy taking the last cent from an opponent.
Also, though he knew the entire list of tricks in the repertoire of
a crooked gambler, he had never been known to employ tricking.
He trusted in a calm head, a quick judgment, an ability to read
character. And, though he occasionally met with crooked professionals
who were wolves in the guise of sheep, no one had ever been known to
play more than one crooked trick at cards when playing against Ronicky
Doone. So, on the whole, he made a very good living.

What he had he gave or threw away in wild spending or loaned to
friends, of whom he had a vast number. All of which goes to explain
the soft hands of Ronicky Doone and his nervous, swift-moving fingers,
as he stood at the door of the hotel. For he who plays long with cards
or dice begins to have a special sense developed in the tips of his
fingers, so that they seem to be independent intelligences.

He crossed his feet. His boots were the finest leather, bench-made by
the best of bootmakers, and they fitted the high-arched instep with
the elastic smoothness of gloves. The man of the mountain desert
dresses the extremities and cares not at all for the mid sections.
The moment Doone was off his horse those boots had to be dressed and
rubbed and polished to softness and brightness before this luxurious
gambler would walk about town. From the heels of the boots extended a
long pair of spurs--surely a very great vanity, for never in her life
had his beautiful mare, Lou, needed even the touch of a spur.

But Ronicky Doone could not give up this touch of luxury. The spurs
were plated heavily with gold, and they swept up and out in a long,
exquisite curve, the hub of the rowel set with diamonds.

In a word Ronicky Doone was a dandy, but he had this peculiarity,
that he seemed to dress to please himself rather than the rest of the
world. His glances never roved about taking account of the admiration
of others. As he leaned there in the door of the hotel he was the type
of the young, happy, genuine and carefree fellow, whose mind is no
heavier with a thousand dollars or a thousand cents in his pocket.

Suddenly he started from his lounging place, caught his hat more
firmly over his eyes, threw awa