In one of the most popular resorts of Border City, combining hotel, bar, and cardroom, a large crowd of men had assembled, as was their wont every evening, to while away the time. The shuffle of cards, click of faro chips, clink of glasses, and hum of voices, mingled together continually, with now and then a hearty laugh and fearful oath rising above the other sounds. It was a motley gathering, for there were returned miners, gambling away their silver and gold dust; plainsmen, back after a long trip westward; teamsters, bullwhackers, scouts, soldiers, cattlemen, a few Indians, vagabonds, and general dead beats, hanging around to be treated, and to pick up a dishonest penny when possible. At one table were gathered some cattle herders, lately arrived from Texas, and as they were playing for large stakes, those uninterested elsewhere in the room had been drawn to the point of most interest to them. “Pards, hasn’t I seen yer physymyhogamys before?” suddenly asked a queer-looking character, forcing his way through the crowd, and confronting the Texans, one of whom answered pleasantly: “I think you have; you were one of the Hale emigrant train we struck on the trail.” “You hes it right; I were ther boss teamster, but I’ll lay yer a prime pelt agin’ that pile o’ money thet yer can’t call my handle.” A general laugh followed the remark of the borderman, and the Texan who had before spoken answered: “I will bet you wine for all round that I can, for the money is not mine, and I guess you haven’t a pelt along with you.” “Done; wine fer all ’ceptin’ ther dead beats.” “But how are we to pick them out?” “Oh, I knows ’em, Texas; now, come, what’s my appellations?” “Old Negotiate,” answered the Texan, with a laugh. A shout followed his reply, and the borderman said, in a lugubrious tone: “By ther Rockies! Yer hev calt me, pard; I is gettin’ too darned well known in these parts; waal, what do you an’ yer pards drink?” “We are one against many, and I believe in fair play, so you and your friends drink with us,” frankly answered the Texan, and turning to the crowd he continued: “Gentlemen, join us; wine here, barkeeper.” “Hold on, pard; let me sift ther dead beats out, fer----” “No, no, Old Negotiate; I include all in my invitation; fill up all around, barkeeper.” The corks popped, the wine went round, and the health of the handsome Texan was drunk with a cheer, after which Old Negotiate said: “Pard, when last I see yer, thar were in your comp’ny a man by ther name o’ Kent King.” “Yes, the Gambler Guide, whom our captain was taking to Texas.” “Thet were ther man; has he passed in yit?” “No, he escaped from us, when we were near Santa Fe.” “Escaped!” “The Gambler Guide free?” “Kent King not dead?” Such were the expressions that ran round the crowd, after a general exclamation of surprise that followed the Texan’s announcement. “Yer say he escaped, an’ from you?” “He certainly did.” “Didn’t go by the way of a h’ist to a tree?”