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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Bob Hampton of Placer"

He pushed his way through the noisy throng with
eyes ever watchful for the faces. His every motion was that of a man
who had fully decided upon his course. Through the widely opened doors
of the Occidental streams of blue and red shirted men were constantly
flowing in and out; a band played strenuously on the wide balcony
overhead, while beside the entrance a loud-voiced "barker" proclaimed
the many attractions within. Hampton swung up the broad wooden steps
and entered the bar-room, which was crowded by jostling figures, the
ever-moving mass as yet good-natured, for the night was young. At the
lower end of the long, sloppy bar he stopped for a moment to nod to the
fellow behind.
"Anything going on to-night worth while, Jim?" he questioned, quietly.
"Rather stiff game, they tell me, just started in the back room," was
the genial reply. "Two Eastern suckers, with Red Slavin sitting in."
The gambler passed on, pushing rather unceremoniously through the
throng of perspiring humanity. He appeared out of place amid the rough
element jostling him, and more than one glanced at him curiously, a few
swearing as he elbowed them aside.


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