Bill watched the men depart.  The stolid Minky, too, followed them with his eyes.  But as they disappeared through the doorway he turned to the gambler, and, in surprise, discovered that he was reclining in a chair, stretched out in an attitude of repose, with his shrewd eyes tightly closed.  He was about to speak when the swing-doors opened, and two strangers strolled in.

Minky greeted them, “Howdy?” and received an amiable response.  The newcomers were ordinary enough to satisfy even the suspicious storekeeper.  In fact, they looked like men from some city, who had possibly come to Suffering Creek with the purpose of ascertaining the possibilities of the camp as a place in which to try their fortunes.  Both were clad in store clothes of fair quality, wearing hats of the black prairie type, and only the extreme tanning of their somewhat genial faces belied the city theory.

Minky noted all these things while he served them the drinks they called for, and, in the most approvedly casual manner, put the usual question to them.

“Wher’ you from?” he inquired, as though the matter were not of the least consequence.

He was told Spawn City without hesitation, and in response to his remark that they had “come quite a piece,” they equally amiably assured him that they had.

Then one of the men addressed his companion.

“Say, Joe,” he said, “mebbe this guy ken put us wise to things.”

And Joe nodded and turned to the storekeeper.

“Say, boss,” he began, “we’ve heerd tell this lay-out is a dead gut bonanza.  There’s folks in Spawn City says ther’s gold enough here to drown the United States Treasury department.  Guess we come along to gather some.”  He grinned in an ingratiating manner.

Minky thought before answering.

“Ther’ sure is a heap o’ gold around.  But it ain’t easy.  I don’t guess you’d gather much in a shovel.  You’ll get pay dirt that aways, but ”

“Ah!  Needs cap’tal,” suggested Joe.

“That’s jest how we figgered,” put in the other quietly.

Minky nodded.  Many things were traveling swiftly through his mind.

“Drove in?” he inquired.

“Sure,” replied Joe.  “Unhooked down the trail a piece.”

Bill’s eyes opened and closed again.  Then he shifted noisily in his chair.  The men turned round and eyed him with interest.  Then the man called Joe called back to the storekeeper.

“My name’s Joe Manton,” he said, by way of introduction.  “An’ my friend’s called Sim Longley.  Say,” he went on, with a backward jerk of the head, “mebbe your friend’ll take something?”

Minky glanced over at Wild Bill.  The gambler drowsily opened his eyes and bestirred himself.

“I sure will,” he said, rearing his great length up, and moving across to the counter.  “I’ll take Rye, mister, an’ thank you.  This is Mr. Minky, gents.  My name’s Bill.”

The introduction acknowledged, talk flowed freely.  Wild Bill, in carefully toned down manner, engaged the strangers in polite talk, answering their questions about the gold prospects of the place, which were often pointed, in the most genial and even loquacious manner.  He told them a great deal of the history of the place, warned them that Suffering Creek was not the sinecure the outside world had been told, endorsed Minky’s story that what Suffering Creek really needed was capital to reach the true wealth of the place.  And, in the course of the talk, drink flowed freely.

Bill was always supplied with his drink from a different bottle to that out of which the strangers were served.  As a matter of fact, he was probably the most temperate man on Suffering Creek, and, by an arrangement with Minky, so as not to spoil trade, drank from a bottle of colored water when the necessity for refreshment arose.  But just now his manner suggested that he had drunk quite as much whisky as the strangers.  His spirits rose with theirs, and his jocularity and levity matched theirs, step by step, as they went on talking.

The man Longley had spoken of the settlement as being “one-horsed,” and Billy promptly agreed.

“It sure is,” he cried.  “We ain’t got nothing but this yer canteen, with ol’ Minky doin’ his best to pizen us.  Still, we get along in a ways.  Mebbe we could do wi’ a dancin’-hall if we had females around.  Then I’d say a bank would be an elegant addition to things.  Y’see, we hev to ship our gold outside.  Leastways, that’s wot we used to do, I’ve heard.  Y’see, I ain’t in the minin’ business,” he added, by way of accounting for his lack of personal knowledge.

“Ah!” said Joe.  “Maybe you’re ’commercial’?”

Bill laughed so genially that the others joined in it.

“In a ways, mebbe I am.  You see, I mostly sit around, an’ when anything promisin’ comes along, why, I ain’t above plankin’ a few dollars by way of speculation.”

Joe grinned broadly.

“A few shares in a poker hand, eh?” he suggested shrewdly.

“You’re kind o’ quick, mister,” Bill laughed.  “I’m stuck on ‘draw’ some.”

Then the talk drifted suddenly.  It was Longley who presently harked back to the commercial side of Suffering Creek.

“You was sayin’ ther’ wasn’t no bank on Suffering Creek,” he said interestedly.  “What do folks do with their dust now, then?”

A quick but almost imperceptible glance passed between Bill and the storekeeper.  And Bill’s answer came at once.

“Wal, as I sed, we used to pass it out by stage.  But ”

Longley caught him up just a shade too quickly.

“Yes but?”

“Wal,” drawled Bill thoughtfully, “y’see, we ain’t shipped dust out for some time on account of a gang that’s settin’ around waitin’.  You comin’ from Spawn City’ll likely have heard of this feller James an’ his gang.  A most ter’ble tough is James.  I’ll allow he’s got us mighty nigh wher’ he wants us scairt to death.  No, we ain’t sent out no gold stage lately, but we’re goin’ to right soon.  We’ll hev to.  We’ve ast for an escort o’ Gover’ment troops, but I guess Sufferin’ Creek ain’t on the map.  The Gover’ment don’t guess they’ve any call to worry.”

“Then what you goin’ to do?” inquired Longley, profoundly interested.

“Can’t say.  The stage’ll hev to take its chances.”

“An’ when ” began Longley.  But his comrade cut him short.

“Say, I’ll allow the gold racket’s mighty int’restin’, but it makes me tired this weather.  You was speakin’ ’draw’ ”

“Sure,” responded Bill amiably.  “We’re four here, if you fancy a hand.  Minky?”

The storekeeper nodded, and promptly produced cards and ‘chips.’  And in five minutes the game was in progress.  Used as he was to the vagaries of his gambling friend, Minky was puzzled at the way he was discussing Suffering Creek with these strangers.  His talk about James and the gold-stage was too rankly absurd for anything, and yet he knew that some subtle purpose must be underlying his talk.  However, it was no time to question or contradict now, so he accepted the situation and his share in the game.

And here again astonishment awaited him.  Bill lost steadily, if not heavily.  He watched the men closely, but could discover none of the known tricks common to the game when sharps are at work.  They not only seemed to be playing straight, but badly.  They were not good poker players.  Yet they got the hands and won.  For himself, he kept fairly level.  It was only Bill who lost.

And all through the game the gambler allowed himself to be drawn into talking of Suffering Creek by the interested Longley, until it would have been obvious to the veriest greenhorn that the stranger was pumping him.

The newcomers seemed to be enjoying themselves enormously, and the greatest good-will prevailed.  Nor was it until nearly supper-time that Bill suddenly stood up and declared he had had enough.  He was a loser to the extent of nearly a hundred dollars.

So the party broke up.  And at Minky’s suggestion the men departed to put their horses in the barn, while they partook of supper under his roof.  It was the moment they had gone that the storekeeper turned on his friend.

“Say, I ain’t got you, Bill.  Wot’s your game?” he demanded, with some asperity.

But the gambler was quite undisturbed by his annoyance.  He only chuckled.

“Say,” he countered, “ever heerd tell of Swanny Long, the biggest tough in Idaho?”

“Sure.  But ”

“That’s him that feller Sim Longley.”

The storekeeper stared.

“You sure?”

“Sure?  Gee!  I was after him fer nigh three Say,” he broke off it was not his way to indulge in reminiscence “I guess he’s workin’ with James.”  Then he laughed.  “Gee!  I allow he was rigged elegant most like some Bible-smashin’ sky-pilot.”

Minky was still laboring hard to understand.

“But all that yarn of the gold-stage?” he said sharply.

“That?” Bill at once became serious.  “Wal, that’s pretty near right.  You ain’t yearnin’ fer that gang to come snoopin’ around Suffering Creek.  So I’m guessin’ we’ll hev to pass a gold-stage out o’ her some time.”

“You’re mad,” cried Minky in consternation.

“That’s as may be,” retorted Bill, quite unruffled.  “Anyways, I guess I spent a hundred dollars in a mighty good deal this day if it was rotten bad poker.”

And he turned away to talk to Slade of Kentucky, who entered the store at that moment with his friend O’Brien.