earances, more hopelessly irresponsible with every fresh stumble.
This was his condition when he tripped over the doorstep into the
"Arcade," and fell full length on the floor of the bar-room. Grimsby,
the barkeeper, picked him up and tried to send him home, but with
good-natured and maudlin pertinacity he insisted on going on to the
gambling-room in the rear.

The room was darkened, as befitted its use, and a lighted lamp hung over
the centre of the oval faro table as if the time were midnight instead
of midday. Eight men, five of them miners from the Brewster copper mine,
and three of them discharged employees of the Red Butte Western, were
the bettors; Red-Light himself, in sombrero and shirt-sleeves, was
dealing, and Rufford, sitting on a stool at the table's end, was the
"lookout."

When Judson reeled in there was a pause, and a movement to put him out.
One of the miners covered his table stakes and rose to obey Rufford's
nod. But at this conjuncture the railroad men interfered. Judson was a
fellow craftsman, and everybody knew that he was harmless in his cups.
Let him stay--and play, if he wanted to.

So Judson stayed, and stumbled round the table, losing his money and
dribbling foolishness. Now faro is a silent game, and more than once an
angry voice commanded the foolish one to choose his place and to shut
his mouth. But the ex-engineer seemed quite incapable of doing either.
Twice he made the wavering circuit of the oval table, and when he
finally gripped an empty chair it was the one nearest to Rufford on the
right, and diagonally opposite to the dealer.

What followed seemed to have no connecting sequence for the other
players. Too restless to lose more than one bet in the place he had
chosen, Judson tried to rise, tangled his feet in the chair, and fell
down, laughing uproariously. When he struggled to the perpendicular
again, after two or three ineffectual attempts, he was fairly behind
Rufford's stool.

One man, who chanced to be looking, saw the "lookout" start and stiffen
rigidly in his place, staring straight ahead into vacancy. A moment
later the entire circle of witnesses saw him take a revolver from the
holster on his hip and lay it upon the table, with another from the
breast pocket of his coat to keep it company. Then his hands went
quickly behind him, and they all heard the click of the handcuffs.

The man in the sombrero and shirt-sleeves was first to come alive.

"Duck, Bart!" he shouted