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Updated: June 2, 2025
At that moment, in spite of all that had gone before, the place was very, very beautiful to him, life was wonderful, his very existence was a joy. For was not Jessie waiting for him beyond, in that ranch-house? Was not she waiting for his coming, that she might return with him to their home? Was she not presently to be seated beside him upon the rickety old seat of Minky's buckboard?
"Why," he cried, with a shout of delight, "Bill's put his gold into a mudbank, an' Minky's jest yearnin' to set his gold into any old bank," and fell back laughing furiously. But he had his merriment to himself. Van, feeling he had the company with him, sneered. "Gee! that's the worst ever," he cried witheringly. White spat out a chew of tobacco.
Sunny Oak, lounging on a rough bench in the shadiest part of the veranda facing Minky's store, raised a pair of heavy eyelids, to behold a dejected figure emerge from amidst the "dumps." The figure was bearing towards the store in a dusty cloud which his trailing feet raised at every step. His eyes opened wider, and interested thought stirred in his somnolent brain.
I see him in Spawn City in a bum gamblin' dive." Sandy suddenly roused to a keen interest. "Them strangers," he said "that 'minds me I was talkin' to one last night. He was askin' me when a stage was running from here." "What d'you tell him?" demanded Bill quickly, and Minky's eyes asked the question too. Sandy laughed conceitedly.
"On'y Jamie has bread an' milk, pop-pa. Y'see his new teeth ain't through. Mine is. You best cut his up into wee bits." "Sure, of course," agreed Scipio in relief. "I'll get along down to Minky's for milk after," he added, while he obediently proceeded to cut up the boy's meat. It was a strange meal. There was something even tragic in it.
To-morrow the whole camp would be ringing with laughter at the news, but but the laughter was not likely to reach the gambler's ears. In the meantime it was quite a different man who was lounging over Minky's counter talking to Sandy and the storekeeper. Bill had relieved the pressure of his mood for the moment, and now, like a momentarily exhausted volcano, he was enjoying the calm of reaction.
Outside, in the smoke-laden atmosphere of the store, amidst the busy click of poker chips and clink of glasses, Wild Bill was talking earnestly to Minky, who was standing behind the counter. They had been talking for some time. Minky's eyes frequently wandered in the direction of a table where four strangers were playing.
His eyes were steely and his tongue ironical; he possessed muscles of iron and a knowledge of poker and all its subtleties that had never yet failed him. He was a dead shot with a pistol, and, in consequence, fear and respect were laid at his feet by his fellow-townsmen. He was also Minky's most treasured friend.
Thrusting his hand into a side pocket of his jacket he produced a paper parcel. "Say, Zip, I come nigh forgettin'," he cried cheerfully. "The hash-slinger down at Minky's ast me to hand you this. It's for the kiddies. It's candy. I'd say she's sweet on your kiddies. She said I wasn't to let you know she'd sent 'em. So you ken jest kep your face closed. So long."
Still he felt he had done the best thing. Bill passed straight through the store and set out across the town dumps. And it would have been impossible to guess how far he was affected by Minky's plaint. His face might have been a stone wall for all expression it had of what was passing behind it. His cold eyes were fixed upon the hut ahead of him without apparent interest or meaning.
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