gait of a man full of beefsteak, as if not quite decided whether he ought to allow such an unusual-looking chap to roam around unquestioned.
Bill went on about his business, which was the business of seeing all that was to be seen without spending any money, marveling at the number of people, mainly men, abroad on the street. These men had an indoors softness about them, like worms out of nuts. Bill knew them well enough for what they were, having seen many like them along gamblers' row on West Ninth Street, Kansas City, where the gambling houses were palaces, indeed, compared to the open-jointed shacks of Pawnee Bend.
Many range men had come in and hitched their horses along the racks which lined the street, many were arriving momentarily, their increasing numbers promising a lively night. A crowd of these cow hands, heading for the Casino, which Marshal Kellogg had entered for his after-supper nip, encountered Bill Dunham.
These young men had taken a few jiggers of booze and were feeling quick and devilish, as their kind generally felt at the beginning of proceedings in that town. Next day was reserved for gloom, and the evil of each each day was plenty sufficient in itself, according to their philosophy.
One of them pretended to shy at the sight of Bill's gun, dodging behind his comrades in comical simulation of alarm. They all stopped, closing in around Bill with peering curiosity, taking him for something a little bit greener, maybe, than he was.
