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Updated: July 2, 2025
"Do you know what dat man has been?" he demanded, shaking a trembling finger towards Bunker's house, "he has been everything but an honest man a faro-dealer, a crook, a gambler! He vas nothing a bum when his vife heard about him and come here from Boston to marry him! Dey vas boy-und-girl sveetheart, you know.
"I want you, of course, and I've got you." "Hold up! I am unarmed. This is your third try, and I want to know what's back of it." "DAMN the talk!" cried the faro-dealer, moving closer till the light shone on his features, which commenced to twitch. He raised the revolver he had half lowered. "There's reason enough, and you know it."
So he remained on exhibition until spring, when one Tim Keenan, a faro-dealer, arrived in the land. With him came the first bull-dog that had ever entered the Klondike. That this dog and White Fang should come together was inevitable, and for a week the anticipated fight was the mainspring of conversation in certain quarters of the town.
Here then they come through the curtain of time's mists, Indian fighter, town marshal, faro-dealer, and cow-boy.
Thus, throughout the Old West: bad man and frontier officer, Indian fighter, cow-boy, stage-driver, trooper, and faro-dealer, they lived their lives in accordance with bold customs which bridged the gap between savagery and modern civilization. In a strange land they did the best they could; and, bad or good, they came to their ends with a fine unflinching disregard for the supreme adventure.
He laid all he had at that girl's feet, and I'll do the same for you." The man growled savagely. "He got his reward. He took all she had- " "Don't be a fool. I guess I know. You're a faro-dealer, but you haven't any right to talk like that about a good woman, even to a bad one like me." Into his dark eyes slowly crept a hungry look, and she felt him begin to tremble the least bit.
This gal can size up a stack with her eyes shut!" Nothing could have more deeply intrigued the attention of these men than the sight of a modest, quiet, well-behaved young woman exhibiting all the technic of a finished faro-dealer. It was contrary to their experience, to their ideas of fitness.
Joe Phy died hard on the saloon floor. Those in the room gathered about him, and Johnny Murphy strove to lift his head that they might give him a sip of water. A year before he and two others had slain Joe Levy, a faro-dealer in Tucson, and they had done it foully from behind.
Scott never desisted from his efforts, though he looked up coolly and asked: "Your dog?" The faro-dealer grunted. "Then get in here and break this grip." "Well, stranger," the other drawled irritatingly, "I don't mind telling you that's something I ain't worked out for myself. I don't know how to turn the trick." "Then get out of the way," was the reply, "and don't bother me. I'm busy."
Among frontiersmen it has always been a test of endurance for one man to whirl another down; and when Ben Davis, the faro-dealer, a gaudy bandanna on his arm, got Daylight in a Virginia reel, the fun began. The reel broke up and all fell back to watch. Around and around the two men whirled, always in the one direction.
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