There was a dense atmosphere of smoke in the vast saloon, in which mingled the clinking of glasses, rattling of dice, shuffling of cards, and hum of conversation, in which there was some sudden burst of profanity now and then. Quietly Bonnie Belle entered the saloon from a side door, and, as soon as she was discovered, a hush like a wave swept over the crowd of three or four hundred men present. No better mark of respect could have been shown her than this, and the man that uttered an oath while she was present would have found himself covered by a score of “guns” instantly, until he made ample apology for his offense. Speaking pleasantly here and there, Bonnie Belle made the tour of the gaming-tables, all of which made a commission upon all money put up, but the dealers were not allowed to bet against the players, and any trickery quickly ended a man’s position of trust in the Devil’s Den, for, as a miner expressed it: “Bonnie Belle are squar’ all round.” Suddenly, as she made the rounds of the tables, she came face to face with a man who had just entered the Devil’s Den. He was dressed in miner’s garb, and was a commanding-looking man, with a handsome, full-bearded face and wearing his hair long. His look was that of a man reared in refinement, and his manners, as he spoke to various of those whom he passed, were courtly and gentle. “Ah, Deadshot Dean, I am glad to see you. Do you play to-night?” and Bonnie Belle held forth her hand, which the man grasped warmly, while he doffed his hat as he replied: “No, Bonnie Belle, I merely looked in for a moment. Is it too late to get some supper at the Frying Pan?” “No, I will go over at once and order it,” and she passed on, leaving the saloon by the rear door by which she had entered, and which led along a stockade lane at the base of the mountain range to her own quarters. The man addressed as Deadshot Dean quietly made the tour of the room, and it was evident from the greetings bestowed upon him and the attention he attracted that he was no ordinary personage. He had come to the mines some years before to work a claim, for which he brought papers giving him all right and title thereto, and he had met with varying success ever since. He was known as the Miner of Hangman’s Gulch, as his cabin was isolated and near a spot where all the hangings in Yellow Dust Valley took place. No other cabin was within a mile and a half of him, for the superstitious miners would not seek claims within a mile-limit of Hangman’s Gulch, which was regarded by many as haunted, and was looked upon by all as a place accursed. His home was situated upon a spur around the base of which wound a trail, and his claim was an eighth of a mile distant from his cabin.