im, then smiled and turned away with a sigh.

CHAPTER X

THE SHORT SPORTS

The booming mining camp of Blackwater stood under the rim of a high
mesa, between it and an alkali flat, and as Wunpost rode in he looked it
over critically, though with none too friendly eyes. Being laid out in a
land of magnificent distances, there was plenty of room between the
houses, and the broad main street seemed more suited for driving cattle
than for accommodating the scant local traffic. There had been a time
when all that space was needed to give swing-room to twenty-mule teams,
but that time was past and the two sparse rows of houses seemed dwarfed
and pitifully few. Yet there were new ones going up, and quite a
sprinkling of tents; and down on the corner Wunpost saw a big building
which he knew must be Judson Eells' bank.

It had sprung up in his absence, a pretentious structure of solid
concrete, and as he jogged along past it Wunpost swung his head and
looked it over scornfully. The walls were thick and strong, but that was
no great credit, for in that desert country any man who would get water
could mix concrete until he was tired. All in the world he had to do was
to scoop up the ground and pour the mud into the molds, and when it was
set he had a natural concrete, composed of lime and coarse gravel and
bone-dry dust. Half the burro-corrals in Blackwater were built out of
concrete, but Eells had put up a big false front. This had run into
money, the ornately stamped tin-work having been shipped all the way
from Los Angeles; and there were two plate-glass windows that framed a
passing view of marble pillars and shining brass grilles. Wunpost took
it all in and then hissed through his teeth--the money that had built it
was his!

"I'll skin him!" he muttered, and pulled up down the street before Old
Whiskers' populous saloon. Several men drifted out to speak to him as he
tied his horse and pack, but he greeted them all with such a venomous
glare that they shied off and went across the street. There there stood
a rival saloon, rushed up in Wunpost's absence; but after looking it
over he went into Whiskers' Place, which immediately began to fill up.
The coming of Wunpost had been noted from afar, and a man who buys his
grub with jewelry gold-specimens is sure to have a following. He
slouched in sulkily and gazed at Old Whiskers, who was chewing on his
tobacco like a ruminative billygoat and pretending to polish the bar.