“This was a little cadaverous-looking fellow, apparently neither young nor old, who said his name was Bent Wade. He had drifted into Meeker with two poor horses and a pack. “Whar you from?” asked the innkeeper, observing how Wade cared for his horses before he thought of himself. The query had to be repeated. “Cripple Creek. I was cook for some miners an’ I panned gold between times,” was the reply. “Humph! Thet oughter been a better-payin’ job than any to be hed hereabouts.” “Yes, got big pay t...here,” said Wade, with a sigh. “What’d you leave fer?” “We hed a fight over the diggin’s an’ I was the only one left. I’ll tell you.…” Whereupon Wade sat down on a box, removed his old sombrero, and began to talk. An idler sauntered over, attracted by something. Then a miner happened by to halt and join the group. Next, old Kemp, the patriarch of the village, came and listened attentively. Wade seemed to have a strange magnetism, a magic tongue. He was small of stature, but wiry and muscular.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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