Deacon Higginbotham rose to expound his theory of risk. Every man who took a risk of profit or loss was gambling; and everybody did it, so all were gambling, every one. "Now, see, we have a fire insurance risk on the this church, which means the church is gambling against Providence. So, clearly, the gambling itself is not a sin, it is the accessories of gambling that make for evil. For example, if we gamble with cards, sitting up all night in a stuffy room, drinking bad drinks, smoking bad smokes, speaking bad words, neglecting our business, neglecting our morals, hurting our health--then these things are bad. But, if we gamble out in the sunlight, on a beautiful prairie, on beautiful horses--now please don't mistake me; I'm not betting on the race----" Here Hannah pulled his coat tail and he sat down. The fact of the matter was, he had issued a number of insurance policies on the race, and was quite ready to issue any number more. It was well known that Dr. Jebb had invested his little savings in Deadwood town plots; and when Dr. Carson rose and asked if any one present had ever risked money on a probable rise in town plots--gambled, in fact, on the chances of a boom--Dr. Jebb turned scarlet and Dr. Carson laughed outright. Whereupon the Rev. James Hartigan whispered to the Rev. Dr. Jebb, who nodded; and the Reverend James, standing up, said: "Let us close the meeting with prayer." If the Church--with all its immunities, safeguards, antitoxins, influences, warnings, prophylactics, creeds, vows, exposures, denunciations, traditions, and holy leaders--should become infected with aggressive interest in the speed contest to the extent of outward and visible material risk, what was likely to be the condition of the ungodly? It is said that the real estate boom of Minneapolis and the gold craze of Deadwood were psychological trivialities compared with the sudden great boom in betting that set in during the last week of June at the Black Hills; and the only reason why the wagering cataclysm was less disastrous than it threatened to be was because it ended quickly. Fifty thousand dollars of treaty money was in the hands of Red Cloud and his people; fifty thousand more went to the Cheyennes under Howling Bull. The ranchmen were ready with an equal sum, and Fort Ryan was not far behind. By noon the fifty thousand dollars had been distributed to the Indians; by one o'clock every cent of it was put up on the race in equal bets. Who was to be stake holder? How much was each stake to be held or awarded? These were problems of some intricacy in view of the fact that the Indians could not read a word or trust any white man except the Indian Agent and Father Cyprian, the Jesuit missionary, both of whom declined to have any hand or part in the matter.