"Take up a collection to buy all the grub," said the craps-player.
"I'll stand for the grub," Smoke began impatiently.
"Nope," the other interrupted. "This ain't your treat. We're all in. Fetch a wash-basin somebody. It won't take a minute. An' here's a starter."
He pulled a heavy gold-sack from his pocket, untied the mouth, and poured a stream of coarse dust and nuggets into the basin. A man beside him caught his hand up with a jerk and an oath, elevating the mouth of the sack so as to stop the run of the dust. To a casual eye, six or eight ounces had already run into the basin.
"Don't be a hawg," cried the second man. "You ain't the only one with a poke. Gimme a chance at it."
"Huh!" sneered the craps-player. "You'd think it was a stampede, you're so goshdanged eager about it."
Men
