Eugene had been fussin’ over his entry too, an’ we used to sneak up behind his shop at nights to listen to him. We could hear him snippin’ with scissors and pullin’ stoppers out o’ bottles and when he was through he’d say: “Stand up there, Columbus”—which was the name of his champion, an’ then he would seem to pass in a bunch o’ feed, an’ say—“Good boy, Columbus! that dwarf red squirrel can turn a double handspring in your shadder.” This used to hearten us up again, and we’d lay a little more money on Eugene’s squirrel. Ike, an’ Bill, an’ Dan—the judges—said that they didn’t claim to know anything about the breeds o’ squirrels, an’ all they was to judge on was the size, which would be settled by weight if the’ was any dispute. They got kind o’ nervous toward the end, ’cause the fellers were all on edge, an’ a rank decision meant trouble in bunches. When the final day o’ settlement arrived, Boggs was seven deep with fellers on edge to see the outcome. Most of us had all we could spare hung up in bets; but the’ was still a lot o’ coin in the crowd, and a crew came over from Cheyenne to take charge of it. They had a game which certainly was attractive, I’ll say that much for it. It was a round board full o’ numbers, and up the middle was a tower with slopin’ sides covered with nails. A marble was dropped into a hole at the top and bobbled on the nails until it went into a row of holes at the bottom, and came out in a groove leadin’ to one o’ the numbers. Some o’ these numbers doubled the player’s money, some of ’em paid it over to the table; but most of ’em was neutral, and a feller had to double what he already had up, in order to stand a show. It was an innocent-appearin’ game, but deceptive. When a feller had up all he could raise, some stranger would offer him two bits for his chance, put up the doublin’ money—and win. This was a capper o’ course; but crowds don’t have any sense when they start gamblin’, and this crew was cleanin’ us out until, all of a sudden, I heard a clear, low-toned voice say: “If one o’ you boys would upset that table, you’d see the lever which controls the marble.” I glanced up, and there was the Singin’ Parson, as cool as a frozen fish. Ol’ Tom Williams, commonly known as “Tank,” had just lost six dollars, and he upset the table and saw just how tight braced the blame game was. Then he unlimbered his gun, and suggested that he would feel calmer if he had the six dollars back, and the Cheyenne gambler looked into Tank’s free eye, which was pointin’ at the ceilin’, and he seconded Tank’s motion. After this the rest o’ the boys collected what they felt was due ’em, and the Cheyenne crowd had to fall back on charity for their noon lunch.