“You have a great town here,” observed Roderick.
“We have about 1200 to 1500 people and 18 saloons!” laughed the other. “And every saloon has a gambling lay-out—anything from roulette to stud-poker. Over yonder is Brig Young’s place. Here is Southpaw’s Bazaar. The Red Dog is a little farther along; the Golden Eagle is one of the largest gambling houses in the town. We’ll have our supper first, and then I’ll take you over to Brig Young’s and introduce you.”
As they turned across the street they met a man coming toward them. He was straight and tall, rather handsome, but a gray mustache made him seem older than his years.
“Hello, here is Mr. Grady. Mr. Grady, I want to introduce you to a newcomer. This is Mr. Roderick Warfield.”
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Warfield,” said Grady in a smooth voice and with an oleaginous smile. To Roderick the face seemed a sinister one; instinctively he felt a dislike for the man.
“Your town is quite up-to-date, with all its brilliant electric lights,” he observed with a polite effort at conversation.
“Yes,” replied Grady, “but it is the monthly pay roll of my big smelting company that supports the whole place.”
There was a pomposity in the remark and the look that accompanied it which added to Roderick’s feelings of repulsion.
“Oh, I don’t know,” interposed Grant Jones, in a laughing way. “We have about five hundred prospectors up in the hills who may not yet be producers, but their monthly expenditures run up into pretty big figures.”
“Of course, that amounts to something; but think of my pay roll,” replied Grady, boastingly. “Almost a thousand men on my pay roll. We have the biggest copper mine in the Rocky Mountain region, Mr. War-field. Come down some day and see the smelter,” he added as he extended his hand in farewell greeting, with a leer rather than a smile on his face. “I’ll give you a pass.”