“Do you think he does mean to start a faro bank, Bill?”
“Aw, come off!” returned Bill, scornfully. “Can’t you take a hint? I don’t know the gent’s business, and, if I did, I shouldn’t shoot off my mouth about it.”
Next day, Snell took several walks, but they were short ones. He always returned quickly to Bill’s, and once Patsy heard him ask the landlord if anybody had inquired for him.
Nobody had, but it was clear that Snell’s business, whatever it was, was coming to a head.
In the evening quite a number of men galloped through the streets on horseback.
They shouted and sang songs and made a good deal of a racket at every place they visited.
By the time they arrived at Bronco Bill’s they were well loaded and noisier than ever.
“Paint the place red,” yelled half a dozen of them, as they came stamping in.
Patsy was standing at the farther end of the bar talking with Bill, with whom he had picked up acquaintance.
Snell was seated at a table in the corner nearest the door.