“A man told me,” remarked Flack grimly, “that I’d be serving drinks off a pine table after the opening--if I lived. I don’t like things like that, Malone.” Streak looked around the big room. Everything was of the best. He admired the long ornate back-bar, the mirror gleaming in the lamplight, reflecting back the glitter of expensive glassware. In size, it was smaller than the Silver Dollar, but there was no comparison as to appointments. “You’ve been quite a while in buildin’ this place, Flack,” Streak said. “It took a lot of time and money to get it furnished. Has anybody interfered in any way in the buildin’ or haulin’ in of all the furniture?” “Not a soul,” replied the gambler. “I’ve thought of that. It would have been easy to smash the furniture on those wagons, to tear down what I’ve built. Why did they let me do all this if they objected to me operating here?” “Maybe it’s all talk,” suggested Streak. “I hope it is. I don’t want trouble.” Flack walked over to the group of workmen, paid them off in cash and came back to Streak. They were alone in the Eureka now. Flack said, “I’ve tried, but haven’t been able to find a man to act as watchman. Malone, I believe they are afraid to take the job.” He took Streak to the back of the place and showed him the little office. Off the office was a small room, furnished, with a single-bed, rough table and a chair. Streak said, “Are you goin’ to sleep here?” Flack shook his head. “No,” he said. “I have a room at the hotel. The watchman can use the bed during the day.” “Do yuh mind if I sleep here tonight?” asked Streak. Flack looked curiously at Streak, but nodded. “I’d be mighty glad if yuh would,” he said. “If you want to leave, that front door is on a snap-lock. It will lock behind you.” After a few moments Flack told him good night and went out. Streak kicked off his high-heel boots, and stretched out on the new blankets, smoking a cigarette, trying to figure out just what to do in order to change conditions in Silver Butte. He had finished his cigarette, but not his ideas, when he heard men walking the length of the saloon, their boots sounding hollow in the room. The office door was opened, men came in and closed the door, and he heard them light the lamp. * * * * * The partition between the two rooms was thin, and he could hear everything that was said. There was a small window in the little bedroom, but the only door opened into the office. The men in the office were silent for several moments, then one said: “All right, Flack. You know why we brought yuh here, of course.” “Sorry,” replied Jim Flack coldly, “but I do not. When masked men force me at the point of a gun to open doors and go with them, I believe they should do the explaining.”