Both men had suspected that this kinship
existed, but to-day they had proved it in the way that one had
lost and the other had won the coveted championship. They had
made no vows and no professions. The subject had not even been
touched in words; a meeting of the eyes, followed by the
handshake with which Bannister had congratulated the winner. That
had been all. But it was enough.
With the casual democracy of the frontier they had together
escorted Helen Messiter and Nora Darling through a riotous three
hours of carnival, taking care to get them back to their hotel
before the night really began "to howl."
But after they had left the young women, neither of them cared to
sleep yet. They were still in costume, Mac dressed as a monk, and
his friend as a Stuart cavalier, and the spirit of frolic was yet
strong in them.
"I expaict, mebbe, we better hunt in couples if we're going to
help paint the town," smiled Mac, and his friend had immediately
agreed.
It must have been well after midnight that they found themselves
"bucking the tiger" in a combination saloon and gambling-house,
whose patrons were decidedly cosmopolitan in character. Here
white and red and yellow men played side by side, the Orient and
the Occident and the aboriginal alike intent on the falling cards
and the little rolling ball.
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