lves were full, even overflowing to a piled-up confusion of goods
which were stacked around on the floor. In the somewhat limited
floor-space there were tables and benches which could be used for the
dual purpose of drink and cards. But wherein Minky's store was
slightly out of the usual was the fact that he was not a Jew, and
adopted no Jewish methods of trading. He was scrupulously honest with
his customers, and fairly moderate in his charges, relying on this
uncommon integrity and temperateness of disposition to make personal
liking the basis of his commercial success.

It was perhaps a much further-sighted policy than one would suppose.
Several men had endeavored to start in the store business in
opposition to him, but in each case their enterprise had proved an
utter failure. Not a man in the place would trade elsewhere. Minky was
just "Minky," whom they liked and trusted. And, what was much more to
the point, who was ever ready to "trust" them.

Wild Bill was at the poker table with Minky, Sandy Joyce and Toby
Jenks when Scipio entered the place. He was a gambler out and out. It
was his profession. He was known as Wild Bill of Abilene, a man whose
past was never inquired into by even the most youthful newcomer,
whose present was a thing that none ever saw sufficient reason to
question, and whose future suggested nothing so much as the general
uncertainty of things human. He was a man of harsh exterior and,
apparently, harsh purpose. His eyes were steely and his tongue
ironical; he possessed muscles of iron and a knowledge of poker and
all its subtleties that had never yet failed him. He was a dead
shot with a pistol, and, in consequence, fear and respect were laid
at his feet by his fellow-townsmen. He was also Minky's most
treasured friend.

Sandy Joyce had to his credit a married past, which somehow gave him a
certain authority in the place. He was expected to possess a fund of
wisdom in matters worldly, and he did his best to live up to this
demand. He was also, by the way, an ex-cowpuncher suffering from gold
fever, and between whiles played poker with Wild Bill until he had
lost the result of his more regular labors. He was a slight, tall,
bright-eyed man of thirty, with an elaborate flow of picturesque
language. He was afraid of no man, but all women.

Toby Jenks was as short and squat as his friends were long and thin.
He was good-tempered, and spent large remittances which reached him at
regular inter