Valois' eye catches, the flash of a
silver-mounted derringer. Its barking report rings out as "French
Charlie's" right arm drops to his side. His bowie-knife falls
ringing on the floor. A despairing curse is heard. The Creole
gambler snatches, with the other hand, a pistol. He springs like
a lion on Philip Hardin. One step back Hardin retreats. No word
comes from his closed lips. The mate of the derringer rings out
loudly Charlie's death warrant. The gambler crashes to the floor.
His heart's blood floods the scattered gold. The pistol is yet
clenched in his stiffened left hand. Valois rushes to Hardin. He
brushes him aside, and springs to the side of the "Queen of the
El Dorado." She falls senseless in his arms. In a few moments the
motley crowd has been hurried from the doors. The great entrances
are barred. The frightened women dealers seek their dressing-rooms.
All fear the results of this brawl. Their cheeks are ashy pale under
paint and powder. The treasures are swiftly swept from the gaming
tables by the nimble-witted croupiers. Hardin and Valois are left
with the unconscious fallen beauty. A couple of the lately organized
city police enter and take charge. Even the blood stained gold is
gathered from the floor.
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