“Yuh can’t tell about looks. I see they’re bringin’ in real furniture for the new saloon. Cost a lot of money. Jim Flack is a top gambler, but he’ll have plenty of action, buckin’ Zero Brant. Brant jist about runs Silver Butte. We wondered why he didn’t try to stop Jim Flack from buildin’ the Eureka, but maybe he figures to break Flack in one swipe.” “What do you mean by that?”asked Streak. “Nothin’, stranger. Mebbe I talk too much--I dunno.” Streak went back to the doorway, watching the activity on the street. A young cowboy was standing just away from the doorway, and a girl came down the street to meet him. She was pretty, but looked tired. There was so much noise on the street that they did not expect to be overheard. “I’ve been watchin’ for yuh, Mazie,” the boy said. “Near the Silver Dollar.” “I couldn’t get away, Joe,” she replied wearily. “They wanted me to learn a new song.” “Let’s pull out,” the boy suggested. “Mazie, I’ve got folks down in St. Louis. We can get married and go there. We don’t have to live in this hell hole.” * * * * * The girl’s smile was as sweet as anything Streak had ever seen, but she shook her head. “Not yet, Joe. We haven’t enough money. Mr. Flack offered me more money to sing in the Eureka, but I don’t know what to do. Zero Brant heard about it, and he told me I’d better stay with him, if I know what’s good for me. What do you think I should do, Joe?” “I don’t know,” he replied. “Brant is a bad man and he might do you dirt. Better wait and see what happens when the Eureka opens.” They drifted away together into the dust cloud which hung like a pall over Silver Butte. Streak Malone drew a deep breath. Love in a place like this! He was curious to see “Zero” Brant, the bad-man. He walked toward the Silver Dollar. Zero Brant was worth more than a passing glance, as he stood at the bar in the Silver Dollar Saloon. There were big men in there, but Zero Brant dwarfed them all. Clad in the raiment of a typical gambler, he looked like the common conception of a cave-man, huge of arm and limb, slightly stooped, a bullet-shaped head on a thick neck, green, predatory eyes, and a face of solid granite. Gripped in one corner of his gash-like mouth was a frayed-out cigar, while in one huge paw he held a glass of liquor. No man had ever whipped Zero Brant. He and his gunmen ruled Silver Butte. It was a small domain for a king like Zero, but he had ideas. It was a starter--and the West was young. The huge room was overflowing with construction workers, cowboys, buffalo hunters and the usual riffraff which followed the construction work. A woman came down through the crowded room, and the men moved aside to let her pass. Swishing silks and glittering jewels marked the passing of Conchita. She was a striking figure in that tawdry place, the offspring of a Spanish father and an Irish mother. Someone had once said, “I didn’t know that the Devil was Irish.”