The second
floor was a theatre, and the third a dance-hall. Beneath the
building were still viler depths. From this basement the riverman
and the shanty boy generally graduated penniless, and perhaps
unconscious, to the street. Now, your lumber-jack did not
customarily arrive at this stage without more or less lively doings
en route; therefore McNeill's maintained a force of fighters. They
were burly, sodden men, in striking contrast to the clean-cut,
clear-eyed rivermen, but strong in their experience and their
discipline. To be sure, they might not last quite as long as their
antagonists could--a whisky training is not conducive to long wind--
but they always lasted plenty long enough. Sand-bags and brass
knuckles helped some, ruthless singleness of purpose counted, and
team work finished the job. At times the storm rose high, but up to
now McNeill had always ridden it.
Orde and his men entered the lower hall, as though sauntering in
without definite aim. Perhaps a score of men were in the room. Two
tables of cards were under way--with a great deal of noisy card-
slapping that proclaimed the game merely friendly. Eight or ten
other men wandered about idly, chaffing loudly with the girls,
pausing to overlook the card games, glancing with purposeless
curiosity at the professional gamblers sitting quietly behind their
various lay-outs.
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