We were in the real West now. All along, beside the tracks, were huts built of piled-up abandoned railway ties. Here men had tried to spend the night crawling in over a fire, many having been burned to death this way. It was surely an example of the survival of the fittest. Constantly, from the car window, could be seen the former emigrant wagon trail, and everywhere were the bleached bones of bison and oxen. Every time a hill rose high enough to count, there was a little white cross, marking the graves of a baby or perhaps a wife whose ashes were scattered, like those of the engine, God knows where. No calvary could have shown more evidences of pain and suffering than the trail of these first argonauts across the plains. A fat man on the train took an interest in me, and it flattered me greatly. I have since met his type all over the world: he is what is called in gambling parlance, a “capper.” I was dressed well and he probably thought I was wealthy, for he turned and asked me if I did not want to get off with him in Green River and go to a place where we could get beer and free lunch (then unknown to me) for one “bit.” This idea pleased me, as the meals at the stations, which included bear meat and all sort of luxuries, were one dollar. The town was nothing but sagebrush and hills, with one little straight street down to a dive. While we were eating and drinking, in came a man whose type I had been warned against in Cincinnati, where all the talk was of the West. He was a handsome, sharp, keen, inbred Yankee with a fur coat down to his heels, and kept swinging a bunch of mink skins while simulating drunkenness. I should have known that he was the three-card-monte man, as he fitted perfectly the description that had been given to me; but he was such an artist that, in my youthful ignorance, he convinced me that he was the _real_ drunk that the three-card-monte man imitated. Swaggering around the room, he fished in his pocket for some money and, pulling out a roll of bills, threw it on the floor in disgust. Taking out a lot of gold, he indicated that it was the only money he cared to use. “I’ve been in the land of Mormons,” he cried, producing a pack of cards, “and I learned a new game which I’ll show you. It’s called ‘Find the Mormon.’” All the men, including a crowd of my acquaintances from the train, who had come in, crowded around him, myself in the front row. My friend, the capper, tried his hand and won several times, making a great haul. Then he urged me to bet and, upon my telling him I was broke, thrust a twenty-dollar bill into my hand. I bet it and won, paying back my debt, and then held out the other bill to the bartender to change so I could divide with my “pal.” He reached his head down below the bar and I suddenly felt the atmosphere change....