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Updated: August 22, 2024
Along the streets booths were lined, selling anything from a ten-cent pocket knife to a blue-barreled Colts revolver. The numerous saloons were going full blast, and were doing a profitable business. Nobody is more of a spendthrift than your true cowboy when he is out on pleasure bent, and the fakirs and saloon-keepers were taking full advantage of that fact.
But the gambler declined the request, and Officer repeated his demand, laying a blue-barreled six-shooter across the bet with the remark, "Well, if you expect to rake in this bet you have my terms." Evidently the demand would not have stood the test, for the dealer bunched the deck among the passed cards, and Officer quietly raked in the money.
Gowan spun about to her with a guilty start, but answered almost glibly: "You said he could ride, Miss Chuckie." "He'll he'll be killed! Daddy!" Knowles stepped out through the doorway, cocking his big blue-barreled Colt's. Gowan hastily pointed towards the runaway. Knowles looked, and dropped the revolver to his side. "What's up?" he growled. "Kid he he put Mr.
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