vehicles at the station to convey passengers up the hill to Denver,
which was some three miles away, and many hundred feet above it. He was
too tired to set about finding the Empire Saloon, but put up at the
hotel at which the omnibus stopped, took a bath and a hearty meal, and
then went straight to bed.

After breakfast the next morning he at once set out. He had no
difficulty in finding the whereabouts of the Empire Saloon, which he
learned from the clerk of the hotel was a small place frequented almost
entirely by miners. Its appearance was not prepossessing. It had been
built in the earliest days of Denver, and was a rough erection. The
saloon was low, its bare rafters were darkly coloured by smoke, a number
of small tables stood on the sanded floor, and across the farther end of
the room ran a bar. On shelves behind this stood a number of black
bottles, and a man in his shirt sleeves was engaged in washing up
glasses. Two or three rough-looking men in coloured flannel shirts, with
the bottoms of their trousers tucked into high boots, were seated at the
tables smoking and drinking.

"I am expecting a letter for me here," Tom said to the man behind the
bar. "My name is Wade."

"The boss is out now," the man said. "He will be here in an hour or so.
If there is anything for you he will know about it."

"Thank you. I will come again in an hour," Tom replied. The man nodded
shortly, and went on with his work. When Tom returned, the bar-tender
said to a man who was sitting at one of the tables talking to the
miners, "This is the chap I told you of as was here about the letter."