"
"Talk's cheap, my boy," replied Hoden, making light of my bluster, but
the red was deep in his face.
"Sure, I know that," I said, calming down. "My temper gets up, Jim. Then
it's not well known that Sampson owns the Hope So?"
"Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Sampson's name isn't
connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place."
"That Blandy--I've got no use for him. His faro game's crooked, or I'm
locoed bronc. Not that we don't have lots of crooked faro dealers. A
fellow can stand for them. But Blandy's mean, back handed, never looks
you in the eyes. That Hope So place ought to be run by a good fellow
like you, Hoden."
"Thanks, Russ," replied he, and I imagined his voice a little husky.
"Didn't you ever hear _I_ used to run it?"
"No. Did you?" I said quickly.
"I reckon. I built the place, made additions twice, owned it for eleven
years."
"Well, I'll be doggoned!"
It was indeed my turn to be surprised, and with the surprise came
glimmering.
"I'm sorry you're not there now, Jim. Did you sell out?"
"No. Just lost the place."
Hoden was bursting for relief now--to talk--to tell. Sympathy had made
him soft. I did not need to ask another question.
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