“Would you mind if I left you for a little while?” Cromwell asked courteously. “I’d like to go upstairs and play a few hands of faro.”

Marion was vastly relieved. She was on the verge of exhaustion, and her new shoes were causing discomfort to her feet. “Yes, please do, Mr. Cromwell. I could stand a breather.”

Cromwell climbed the wooden stairway and walked slowly through the bustling gambling section until he came to a table where there were no players except the dealer. Two burly men stood behind the dealer and discouraged any customer from sitting at the table.

The dealer looked like he was born from a bull. His head sat like a chiseled rock on top of a neck that was as thick as a tree stump. His black hair was dyed, plastered down with pomade, and parted in the middle. His nose was flattened across his cheeks from being broken numerous times. His limpid eyes looked oddly out of place on a face that had seen more than its share of fists. He had the torso of a beer keg, round and abundant, but hard, without fat. Spider Red Kelly had been a fighter and had once fought James J. Corbett, knocking down the former heavyweight champion twice but getting knocked out himself in the twenty-first round. He looked up at Cromwell’s approach.

“Good evening, Mr. Cromwell, I’ve been expecting you.”

Cromwell opened the cover to his watch and glimpsed the hands on the dial.

“Forgive me for being eight minutes late, Mr. Kelly. I was unavoidably detained.”

Red Kelly smiled, showing a mouth full of gold teeth. “Yes, I would have also been detained if I was in the company of such a lovely lady.” He nodded at the table.

“Would you care to try your luck?”

Cromwell took out his wallet and counted out ten fifty-dollar National Bank notes printed by his bank under contract with the federal government. Kelly casually placed the bills in a small stack on the side of the table and pushed a stack of copper tokens advertising the saloon across the table. A typical faro layout of a suit of thirteen cards was painted on the table’s green felt cover. The suit was in spades from ace to king, with the ace on the dealer’s left.

Cromwell placed a token on the jack and one between the five and six in a bet called splitting. Kelly discarded the top card from the dealer box, displaying the next card, called the losing card. It was a ten. If Cromwell had bet on it, he would have lost, since the house wins any wagers placed on the displayed card. Then Kelly pulled the losing card out of the box, revealing the winning card. It was a five.

Cromwell won the full bet, not half.

“Beginner’s luck,” he said as Kelly pushed the winning tokens across the table.

“What is your pleasure, Mr. Cromwell?”

“Nothing, thank you.”