In the Emporium grave men played poker for nails, Bill Cassidy having corralled all the available cash long before this, and conversed in low tones. The walls, reinforced breast high by boxes, barrels and bags, were divided into regular intervals by the open loopholes, each opening further indicated by a leaning rifle or two and generous piles of cartridges. Two tubs and half a dozen buckets filled with water stood in the center of the room, carefully covered over with boards and wrapping paper. Clouds of tobacco smoke lay in filmy stratums in the heated air and drifted up the resin-streaked sides of the building. The shimmering, gray sand stretched away in a glare of sunlight and seemed to writhe under the heated air, while droning flies flitted lazily through the windows and held caucuses on the sugar barrel. A slight, grating sound overhead caused several of the more irritable or energetic men to glance up lazily, grateful they were not in Hank’s place. It was hot enough under the roof, and they stretched ecstatically as they thought of Hank. Three days’ vigil and anxiety had become trying even to the most stolid. John Carter fretfully damned solitaire and pushed the cards away to pick up pencil and paper and figure thoughtfully. This seemed to furnish him with even less amusement, for he scowled and turned to watch the poker game. "Huh," he sniffed, "playin’ poker for nails! An’ you don’t even own th’ nails," he grinned facetiously, and glanced around to see if his point was taken. He suddenly stiffened when he noticed the man who sat on his counter and labored patiently and zealously with a pocket knife. "Hey, you!" he exclaimed excitedly, his wrath quickly aroused. "Ain’t you never had no bringin’ up? If yo ’re so plumb sot on whittlin’, you tackle that sugar barrel!" Jimmy looked the barrel over critically and then regarded the peeved proprietor, shaking his head sorrowfully. "This here is a better medjum for the ex-position of my art," he replied gravely. "An’ as for bringin’ up, lemme observe to these gents here assembled that you ain’t never had no artistic trainin’. Yore skimpy soul is dwarfed an’ narrowed by false weights and dented measures. You can look a sunset in th’ face an’ not see it for countin’ yore profits." Carter glanced instinctively at the figures as Jimmy continued. "An’ you can’t see no beauty in a daisy’s grace—which last is from a book. I ’m here carvin’ th’ very image of my cayuse an’ givin’ you a work of art, free an’ gratis. I ’m timid an’ sensitive, I am; an’ I ’ll feel hurt if—" "Stop that noise," snorted a man in the corner, turning over to try again. "Sensitive an’ timid? Yes; as a mule! Shut up an’ lemme get a little sleep." "A-men," sighed a poker-player. "An’ let him sleep—he ’s a cussed nuisance when he ’s awake." "Two mules," amended the dealer. "Which is worse than one," he added thoughtfully. "We oughta put four men in that ’dobe—" began Dad persistently.