rd my own
mother sing the praises of Elizabeth Warren a thousand times."

The albino interrupted them.

"Cal--how come?" he greeted. The three men conversed in the most
casual, friendly fashion, as if there had never been a hint of friction
between Harris and Harper in the past.

A great voice rose above the buzz of conversation, filling the big room
to the very rafters.

"Choose your pardners for the dance!" Waddles bellowed from the
makeshift platform at one end of the room. "Go get your ga-a-als!"

Deane moved across to the Three Bar girl. There was a general rush for
the side opposite the bar where the ladies had gathered. Couples
squared off for the Virginia reel, the shortage of ladies rectified by
a handkerchief tied on the arm of many a chap-clad youth to signify
that he was, for the moment, a girl. Waddles picked his guitar; two
fiddles broke into "Turkey in the Straw" and the dance was on with
Waddles calling the turns.

All through the room they shuffled and bowed, whirled partners, locked
elbows and swung, the shriek of fiddles and scrape of feet punctuated
by the caller's boom.

"Grab your gals for the grand right an' left!" the big voice wailed.
"Swing, rattle and roar!" "Clutch all partners for a once and a half!"
"Swing your gals and swing 'em high!" "Prance, scuffle and scrape!"

Slade came in alone as the first dance was ended.

A croupier and lookout, imported from Coldriver for the event, opened
Brill's roulette layout in one corner, a game he usually operated
himself on the occasions when his patrons chose to try their fortune
against the bank. The rattle of chips, the whir of the ivory ball and
the professional chant of lookout and croupier sounded between dances.

"Single ought in the green," the croupier droned.

"Single ought in the green," the lookout echoed. "The pea-green shade
is the bank's per cent. The house wins and the gamblers lose. Place
your bets for another turn."

"She's off," the croupier chanted. "Off again on the giddy whirl. The
little ivory ball--she spins!"

"Ten in the black," the croupier called. "Ten in the black," the
lookout seconded. "The black pays and the red falls off; the even
beats the odd."

The full enjoyment of a novel scene was spoiled for Deane by the
sickening realization that the Three Bar girl was part of it, rubbing
elbows with the nondescript throng. He looked again at Harper, the
rustler chief; at Slade, with his peculiar