Here an outlaw pounded on a table with the butt of his gun; there another noisily palmed a roll of dollars while he studied his opponent's face.

The noises, however, in Benson's den did not contribute to any extent to the sinister aspect of the place.

That seemed to come from the grim and reckless faces, from the bent, intent heads, from the dark lights and shades.

There were bright lights, but these served only to make the shadows.

And in the shadows lurked unrestrained lust of gain, a spirit ruthless and reckless, a something at once suggesting lawlessness, theft, murder, and hell.
"Bland's not here to-night," Euchre was saying.