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And slithering débris. In a turbulent tide,From every stagnant bayou of the earthThey tumbled; outlaws, renegades, and boomers,Rakehells and courtezans and roustabouts—The scum of every region—over the hillsThey streamed, and eddied in the town of Altyn:Alkali Brown, who ran the faro-bankAnd left the miners stripped of every nugget,With pokes as empty as a beggar's cupWould be upon the reeling streets of Altyn;And Kansas Kitty, vast, oleaginous,Who amorously engulfed her maudlin guestsWith ardor more fierce than Arizona noon—The while, subtle of touch, five crooked fingersSlipped through the sliding panel in the wallAnd filched their dangling pockets; Jules Boidreau,The Dude of Kootenai, who conjured gold-dustOut of the money-belts of all the cruisers,With deft white hands and the subtle abracadabraOf walnut shells and temperamental peas.

Oh, never the tremble of a gentle tearIn the world's most wicked city; never a man