The engine whistled, the bell rang, and as the train moved on, that slender, almost fragile form and wonderful face disappeared in the darkness.
As the roar and clash of the receding cars began to grow faint in the distance, a gurgling, grunting sound over in the saloon reminded me that the bar-tender might need some attention, so I stepped across the street and went in. He was just taking himself up from the floor, with his nose badly smashed, spurting blood over him pretty freely. He was in an ecstasy of fury and swore fearfully. I rendered him all the aid I could, getting the blood stopped, at length, and a plaster over the wound.
"Who struck you?" I asked.
"Who struck me? Who hit me with that 'ere brick, d'ye say? Who but that little baby-faced, hawk-eyed cuss 'at got off here yesterday! He's a thief and a dog!—he's chowzed me out'n my last cent! Where is he?—I'll kill 'im yet! where is he?"
"Gone off on the train," I replied, "but who is he? what's his name?"
"Blamed if I know. Gone, you say? Got every derned red o' my money! Every derned red!"
"Don't you know anything at all about him?" I asked.
"Yes."
"What?"
"I know 'at he's the derndest, alfiredest, snatchin'est, best poker-player 'at ever dealt a card!"