Rimrock Jones | Page 4

eyes. "You're bad now, ain't you?" he continued tauntingly.
"You're just feeling awful! You're going to jump on Lon Lockhart and
stomp him into the ground! Huh!"
"Aw, shut your mouth!" answered Rimrock defiantly, "I never said a
word about fight."
"Uhhr!" grunted L. W. and put his hand in his pocket at which Rimrock
became suddenly expectant.
"Henry Jones," began the banker, "I knowed your father and he was an
honorable, hardworking man. You're nothing but a bum and you're
getting worse--why don't you go and put up that gun?"
"I don't have to!" retorted Rimrock but he moved up closer and there
was a wheedling turn to his voice. "Just two thousand dollars,
Lon--that's all I ask of you--and I'll give you a share in my mine. Didn't
I come to you first, when I discovered the Gunsight, and give you the
very best claim? And you ditched me, L. W., dad-burn you, you know
it; you sold me out to McBain. But I've got something now that runs up
into millions! All it needs is a little more work!"
"Yes, and forty miles of railroad," put in L. W. intolerantly. "I wouldn't
take the whole works for a gift!"
"No, but Lon, I'm lucky--you know that yourself--I can go East and sell
the old mine."
"Oh, you're lucky, are you?" interrupted L. W. "Well, how come then

that you're standing here, broke? But here, I've got business, I'll give
you ten dollars--and remember, it's the last that you get!"
He drew out a bill, but Rimrock stood looking at him with a slow and
contemptuous smile.
"Yes, you doggoned old screw," he answered ungraciously, "what good
will ten dollars do?"
"You can get just as drunk on that," replied L. W. pointedly, "as you
could on a hundred thousand!"
A change came over Rimrock's face, the swift mirroring of some great
idea, and he reached out and grabbed the money.
"Where you going?" demanded L. W. as he started across the street.
"None of your business," answered Rimrock curtly, but he headed
straight for the Mint.
CHAPTER II
WHEN RICHES FLY
The Mint was Gunsight's only gambling house. It had a bar, of course,
and a Mexican string band that played from eight o'clock on; besides a
roulette wheel, a crap table, two faro layouts, and monte for the
Mexicans. But the afternoon was dull and the faro dealer was idly
shuffling a double stack of chips when Rimrock brushed in through the
door. Half an hour afterwards the place was crowded and all the games
were running big. Such is the force of example--especially when you
win.
Rimrock threw his bill on the table, bought a stack of white chips,
placed it on the queen and told the dealer to turn 'em. The queen won
and Rimrock took his chips and played as the spirit moved. He won
more, for the house was unlucky from the start, and soon others began
to ride his bets. If he bet on the seven, eager hands reached over his

shoulder and placed more chips on the seven. Petty winners drifted off
to try their luck at monte, the sports took a flier at roulette; and as the
gambling spirit, so subtly fed, began to rise to a fever, Rimrock Jones,
the cause of all this heat, bet more and more--and still won.
It was at the height of the excitement when, with half of the checks in
the rack in front of him, Rimrock was losing and winning by turns, that
the bull-like rumble of L. W. Lockhart came drifting in to him above
the clamor of the crowd.
"Why don't you quit, you fool?" the deep voice demanded. "Cash in
and quit--you've got your stake!"
Rimrock made a gesture of absent-minded impatience and watched the
slow turn of the cards. Not even the dealer or the hawk-eyed lookout
was more intently absorbed in the game. He knew every card that had
been played and he bet where the odds were best. Every so often a long,
yellow hand reached past him and laid a bet by his stake. It was the
hand of a Chinaman, those most passionate of faro players, and at such
times, seeing it follow his luck, the face of Rimrock lightened up with
the semblance of a smile. He called the last turn and they paused for the
drinks, while the dealer mopped his brow.
"Where's Ike?" he demanded. "Well, somebody call him--he's hiding
out, asleep, upstairs."
"Yes, wake him up!" shouted Rimrock boastfully. "Tell him Rimrock
Jones is here."
"Aw, pull out, you sucker!" blared L. W. in his ear, but Rimrock only
shoved out his bets.
"Ten on the ace," droned the anxious dealer, "the jack is coppered. All
down?"
He held up his