set, with
something of the slow ungainliness of a toad. His head was set low between
stooped shoulders, and his crafty eyes had in them a look of scheming,
scheming always for his own interests. Smith knew his record as well as he
knew his own: a dance-hall hanger-on in his youth, despised of men; a
blackmailer; the keeper of a notorious road-house; a petty grafter in a
small political office in the little cow-town. Smith understood perfectly
the source of his present interest, yet it flattered him almost as much as
if it had been sincere, it pleased him as if he had been the object of a
gentleman's attentions. When he had money, Smith demanded satellites,
sycophants who would laugh boisterously at his jokes, praise him in broad
compliments, and follow him like a paid retinue from saloon to saloon.
This was enjoying life! And upon this weakness, the least clever, the
most insignificant and unimportant person could play if he understood
Smith.

The word had gone down the line that Smith was in town with money. They
rallied around him with loud protestations of joy at the sight of him.
Smith held the centre of the stage, he was the conspicuous figure, the
magnet which drew them all. He gloried in it, revelled in his popularity;
and the "special brand" was beginning to sizzle in his veins.

"I'm feelin' lucky to-day, me--Smith!" he cried exultantly. "I has a
notorious idea that I can buck the wheel and win!"

He had not meant to gamble--he had told himself that he would not; but his
admiring friends urged him on, his blood was running fast and hot, his
heart beat high with confidence and hope. Big prospects loomed ahead of
him; success looked easy. He flung his money recklessly upon the red and
black, and with throbbing pulses watched the wheel go round.

Again and again he won. It seemed as if he could not lose.

"I told you!" he cried. "I'm feelin' lucky!"

When he finally stopped, his winnings were the envy of many eyes.

"Set 'em up, Tinhorn! Everybody drink! Bring in the horses!"

Bedlam reigned. It was "Smithy this" and "Smithy that," and it was all as
the breath of life to Smith.

"Tinhorn"--he leaned heavily on the bar--"when I feels lucky like this, I
makes it a rule to crowd my luck. Are you game for stud?"

The film which the lounger had mentioned seemed to cover Tinhorn's eyes.

"I'm locoed to set agin such luck as yours, but I like to be sociable, and
you don't come often."

"I likes a swift game,