One wing of the Frying Pan Bonnie Belle had fitted up for her especial use.
It was surrounded by a high stockade wall, taking in an acre of land, where there was a spring, rustic arbor, hammock, and flowers.
There was no way of entering this garden-spot save through her rooms in the hotel, in the wing referred to, and which were five in number—an office, sitting-room, dining-room, and two bedrooms.
There was a piazza running around the wing, and she certainly was most comfortable in her border home.
She had Chinese servants, and kept the place as neat as possible, while she kept hunters out to supply the table with game, had a large chicken-yard and garden, and, having no bar connected with the hotel, managed to keep an orderly home for her boarders, who were numerous.
Bonnie Belle was in the gambling-saloon of Devil’s Den. It was in full blast, for the bar across one end was crowded with drinkers, the faro-bank, roulette-table, rouge-et-noir, and games of dice were going, with plenty of players about them, and a score or more tables had men at them gambling with cards.
There was a dense atmosphere of smoke in the vast saloon, in which mingled the clinking of glasses, rattling of dice, shuffling of cards, and hum of conversation, in which there was some sudden burst of profanity now and then.
Quietly Bonnie Belle entered the saloon from a side door, and, as soon as she was discovered, a hush like a wave swept over the crowd of three or four hundred men present.
No better mark of respect could have been shown her than this, and the man that uttered an oath while she was present would have found himself covered by a score of “guns” instantly, until he made ample apology for his offense.
Speaking pleasantly here and there, Bonnie Belle made the tour of the gaming-tables, all of which made a commission upon all money put up, but the dealers were not allowed to bet against the players, and any trickery quickly ended a man’s position of trust in the Devil’s Den, for, as a miner expressed it: