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Updated: June 4, 2025
Mackenzie would accept no more than the two hundred dollars which he had lost on Shanklin's game, together with the five hundred and ten advanced in the hope of regaining it. It was near midnight when they parted, Mackenzie to seek his lodging-place, Dr. Slavens to make the rounds of the stores in the hope of finding one open in which he could buy a new outfit of clothing.
Then he went on duty in Hun Shanklin's tent, where he usually remained the rest of the day, his chair tilted back against the pole at the front end. It was generally understood that he had a large interest in the game, which was the same old one of twenty-seven.
"And you carried the story of Shanklin's deception and fraud to my son," nodded the Governor, fixing a severe eye on Ten-Gallon, "and he sought the gambler for an explanation?" "Well, he was goin' to haul the old crook over the fire," admitted Ten-Gallon, somewhat uneasy under the old man's eye.
The sentiment of the people who believed him guilty had been that two years was adequate punishment for the youth, but the county attorney, paid according to the convictions he secured, had made seven charges against him and earned seven fees. Which goes to show that the county attorney valued twelve years of Ross Shanklin's life at less than a few dollars.
The sentiment of the people who believed him guilty had been that two years was adequate punishment for the youth, but the county attorney, paid according to the convictions he secured, had made seven charges against him and earned seven fees. Which goes to show that the county attorney valued twelve years of Ross Shanklin's life at less than a few dollars.
"Send him over here," Governor Boyle directed. Ten-Gallon departed on his mission, and the Governor took one of the trodden blankets from in front of the tent and spread it over Shanklin's body, shrouding it completely. Dr. Slavens had lowered the flap of the tent to keep the sun from the wounded man's face. When he came out, Agnes met him with an inquiring look.
"Well, there's a little more of the story, it seems, after all. There was a plot between Shanklin and another to file Peterson on a certain tract and then buy him out, I suppose." He told her of the telegram signed "Jerry," and of Shanklin's reply. "So I concluded," he said, "that if the land described by their numbers was valuable to them it would be valuable to me.
"And did you have an interesting time, too?" she smiled. "Yes, ma'am. I sure did. I was just telling your little girl about hosses." "He was a cowboy, once, mamma," she cried. The mother smiled her acknowledgment to him, and looked fondly down at the little girl. The thought that came into Ross Shanklin's mind was the awfulness of the crime if any one should harm either of the wonderful pair.
"Talk is his trick," Slavens enlightened him. "That was old Hun Shanklin, the flat-game man. I've looked him up since I got here. He plays suckers, and nothing but suckers. No gambler ever bets on Hun Shanklin's game. He talks to keep their eyes on his face while he switches the dice."
As he did so the little man thrust a comfortable wad of bills into his hand, and Slavens faced the table, counting down five one-hundred-dollar bills. Hun Shanklin's eye was burning the backs of those aristocrats of the currency as he lifted his box. "That's more like it," he commended. "I can play with a gentleman that carries them things around with him all night, even if I lose at every throw."
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