four line camps around the mountain. We've got about six hundred acres of hay at each camp." "But the cattler
"In the summer they range up on the mountain. That's government land. The range we use aside from the line camps is all government land. You get a permit under the Taylor Grazing Act for so many head. In the summer you graze them up in the mountains. In the winter, snow drives them down on the benches and they stay there until the snow gets too heavy. Then we start to feed them at the camps. The weaker she-stock and calves are brought down here to the main ranch and wintered and fed." "Must take a lot of men."
"Not so many. We've got a rider at each line camp. Of course, at haying time we send out a crew." "How many here?"
"Well, Ives keeps four men here year around, and a rider headquarters here and works this side of the moimtain. At haying time we have between fifteen and twenty men."
So Ives was Kern's foreman. Chance hadn't known that. He thought suddenly that perhaps Ives had not been in Las Vegas at the time of his call yesterday, that Kern had sent the man south purposely to fly him up. He wondered again at the motives behind Kern's actions. He did not find out until after supper.
Supper was a casual meal in the big summer dining room. A long table in the center Chance judged was used for the hay hands, and smaller tables at either end would seat a dozen people each.
They ate at one of the smaller tables, Ives and his wife and Mrs. Kern with them. Mrs. Kern was a small, quiet woman with reddish hair gone gray, and pleasant gray eyes. Chance judged her perhaps sixty-five, and there was an air of peace and contentment about her which cast a quieting spell over the whole group.
Finally John Kern glanced at his watch and spoke to Ives. "About time to get over to the airport. The boys will be coming in from Reno."
Ives went out and they heard the car start. Mrs. Kern said
in an indulgent voice, "We'd better clear the dishes before those hoodlums show up."
She and Mrs. Ives rose and began to empty the table. Doc got up gallantly to help them. Chance watched Kern, wondering if there was no cook, if the two women cooked for the haying crew unaided. This was certainly not his idea of how a millionaire lived.
Kern caught his questioning look and misunderstood it. "I suppose you're wondering why I went to all the trouble of bringing you up here, of having the boys fly over when it would have been much simpler for us all to meet in Carson?"
Chance nodded, although the thought had not been in his mind at the moment.
Kern's smile was dry. "The men you're going to meet tonight are pretty well known in the state. If we all got together in Carson, everybody in the place would speculate on what we are up to, and I'd just as soon they didn't."
Chance said flatly, "If it's not too much to ask, exactly what are you up to?"
Kern did not appear to hear him. "I think I'd better brief you a little on the men you'll meet in a few minutes. Charley Laudry is probably the richest. He owns ranches from Montana to the panhandle of Texas, not to mention a couple of meat-packing plants and a few other things. He's nearly seventy but you wouldn't guess it. Last year he learned to fly his own plane, and he's the one who is bringing them over tonight."
Chance whistled softly.
"Bert Parkman is my partner in four banks. Bert's got a better head for figures than the rest of us. He's my age and we've been together a long time. The other two, Austin Forbes and Sam Shay, are lawyers, but neither practices. Sam is in mining and oil and he's made a lot of money. Forbes is retired, which means he spends his time helping run the state. I think youll like them."
Chance did not know what he expected, but he no longer had any preconceived pictures. The women had vanished. Kern got up and brought in ice and half a dozen bottles of
whisky and a box of cigars. The whole air of the porchlike room subtly changed. It had been a quiet home, a small group of people relaxing after a hot day.
Now the pressure of business crept into the place, tightening Chance's muscles, sharpening his senses. There came the sound of a car pulling up, the slam of a door, low voices and the tramp of feet on the steps.
He and Doc were being introduced, and he felt that never afterward would he endure as thorough a scrutiny as he underwent in these few moments.
Laudry was tall, his spare frame angular under an open-necked sport shirt and a pair of washable pants. His eyes at once caught Chance's attention—blue, a pale blue, hard and watchful. It was the eyes, he remembered afterward, that were the one common feature the group shared.
Sam Shay was dressed in a simimer business suit of silk. His shirt was white and he wore a brightly colored tie. Austin Forbes wore slacks and a hght jacket over a sport shirt.
There was no formality, nothing as solidified as an agenda, but after the greetings they settled at the table, each man mixing his own drink.
Kern didn't stand up. He said with a slight smile toward Chance, "All of us know why we are here, all but Elson. It's a dirty trick, I suppose, to spring this on you, but it seemed the best way."
Chance did not answer. He had poured a drink, although he did not want it, and had a cigar burning between his hps.
"I'm going to give you a little review," Kern said. "When the state of Nevada legalized gambling in thirty-one, a lot of people misunderstood. They stiU do. Gambling wasn't legalized because we like to gamble, or because we were arguing a moral point that gambliag is right. We did it because we had to."
Laudry grunted. "The state was broke, bankrupt." He coughed, a dry hacking sound as if he had long drunk too much alcohol.
Kern nodded and went on. "From yoiu- reading you know that Nevada is unique in many ways. It was first admitted
during the Civil War, not because we had sufficient population, but because Lincoln needed two extra votes in the Senate.
"We're still short on population ninety years later, and although this state produced enough mineral to help build San Francisco, to finance the Central and Southern Pacific railroads and to found many great fortunes, most of those fortunes went east. So when mining played out after the World War and the cattle business died in the early thirties, we had to do something about it or let our population starve. We hberalized our divorce laws, and we legalized gambling.*' "And damn Httle we've gotten out of it so far." Austin Forbes leaned forward to refill his glass.
"I'm telling you this," Kern said to Chance, "to set the groundwork for what I have to propose. None of us in this room hold pohtical office or desire to, but we've been in Nevada a long time. We like Nevada and we want to see the state survive.'*
Kern cleared his throat. "We all know that gambling is a bad thing for a community, and we knew it when the legislature legalized it. There was even discussion that we bar natives from the gambling rooms, the way they are barred at Monte Carlo, but the idea was not practical.
"What we were after, and are still after, are tourists. We had seen Califomians flock to Mexico. We wanted to bring them over here."
Sam Shay grinned faintly. "And it wasn't as simple as we thought."
Kern said, "No, it wasn't simple. We ran into difficulties that had not occurred to us. For one thing, as you know, not everyone is trained to run a gambling house. There are too many ways players can cheat. Some of the first operations went broke and of necessity we had to license men experienced in gambling, and these men had gotten their experience outside the law."
He stopped, studying Chance's face. Chance sensed that they were all assaying him. "We welcomed operators from California. They were independents. They were not tied
up with the Syndicate. You know what I mean by the Syndicate?"
Chance nodded shortly. "I had trouble with one of their men in Cleveland."
"We know that. You've been investigated pretty thoroughly. Want to tell us what happened in Cleveland?"
Chance said, "I was a damn fool. I thought I was big enough to fight the men with the wire service. They landed on me."
"All right. Frankly, we think th
at Reno can be kept fairly clean. We're afraid of Vegas. It's small, but it's close to the big money in Hollywood. We don't want anyone from the Syndicate or the old Capone mob moving in. We're afraid that if they do, if the business gets big enough, they might even try to take over the state. It's as simple as that."
Chance let his eyes range slowly around the table. "Mind if I ask a question?"
"A dozen if it will help.**
"One's enough. The licensing is done by the state. Why not investigate thoroughly every man who applies for one?"
"That we do. But it's not enough. Supposing you own a club. Supposing you are approached by a gangster who wants to buy or muscle in. Supposing you haven't got the nerve to refuse him, but you don't report it to the state. You take him in as a silent partner. Another gangster moves into the club next door. The first thing any of us knows, they have taken over the town."
"I don't know how you can stop that."
"We can't. That's the point. Only the men who own the gambling clubs can stop it. The first one who takes a gangster partner is digging not only his grave, but the grave of every other gambler in the state."
"How would you stop it?" It was Laudry, asking.
Chance considered. He remembered Cellini, and judged the other gangsters by him. "It can't be stopped unless you can hand-pick your club-owners so that you're certain every one of them has the guts to stand up against the racket boys."
"And you think we can do that?"
"No. The only real way to keep the Syndicate out would
be to outlaw gambling and make certain your laws were enforced."
"What about forming the club-owners into an association, so that none of them would have to stand alone?'*
"It wouldn't work."
Sam Shay stirred at the far side of the table. "Why not?**
"First, an association is only as strong as the man who runs it, and he'd have to have some power to punish members who broke the rules. Second, the gamblers I've known are individualists. They like to mind their own business. They're suspicious of trouble, and they are so conditioned to having to pay off crooked police departments that it seems easier to pay off, even with part of their spot, than to look for trouble by fighting."
Bert Parkman said, "You don't make the picture very hopeful."
"I don't think it is."
"Could you organize the club-owners to fight for themselves and at the same time fight for the state?"
Chance laughed suddenly. "Look," he said, "you've had me investigated, and Mr. Kern already knows that I'm broke. I lost everything I had in that Cleveland club. I've been laid up for months. The only reason I'm here is because Hombone suggested that I talk to Mr. Kern. The club-owners in Vegas never heard of me. Why should they listen if I started to talk organization?"
Kern's glance poUed the table. "What do you think?" The question was not addressed to anyone in particular.
"I'll go along," Laudry said.
Parkman nodded, so did Shay. Kern looked at Chance. "I had a wild idea when I first talked to you. You'd been reading up on Nevada and you showed a genuine liking for the state."
Chance could not guess what was coming.
"Our first idea was to get some old-timer we could trust, like Hornbone, to try and unify Vegas. But the newcomers are suspicious of people like Hombone. If we stand any chance of building an organization in Vegas, it has to be someone new, someone with modem ideas and a modem
club, someone the others can respect. I think you're our man, but I wanted my associates to meet you before we decided."
Chance looked at Laudry, at the others. These men had been tough enough to bring law and order to the mining camps, tough enough to make money in an era of bankrupt mining and falling cattle prices, tough enough to run the state for fifty years. But they reahzed that they were bucking something now that they did not know how to fight.
"Suppose," said Kern, "we arranged for you to lease Hombone's club with an option to buy. How much would it take to fix it up so you could run in competition with the Nugget, the Pioneer and the rest?"
Chance felt his heart leap. This was more than he had hoped for. He watched Kern, his mind busy. "Maybe fifty thousand dollars."
He heard Laudry grunt. Sam Shay looked a little startled, but Kern merely nodded as if the figiire was of no importance.
"And do you think that with a going club behind you, you could start an owners' association? Do you think you could build an organization that would stand together if the gangsters tried to walk in?"
Chance's impulse was to say yes. He wanted a new start so badly. He wanted to get his hands on Hombone's club. He glanced at Doc. Doc was staring at the table before him.
Chance looked at Kern, shaking his head. "I doubt it."
The rancher said slowly, "You are honest. That's a lot. I think it's worth a try. I think you're a good risk whether it works or not. At least we'll have a listening post in Vegas. At least we'll have one man we can trust. What about it, boys?"
They nodded, slowly, one after another. Kern stood up. Kern extended his hand. "I'll have Ives fly you south in the morning. Go to my bank down there and the loan will be made on your personal note. I'll arrange the lease with Horn-bone."
Chance said reluctantly, "I feel like I'm taking money under false pretenses. I can't deliver Vegas."
"Maybe you can," said Kern. "How do you know unless you try?"
^A<^fitex 6
Ralph Cellini had to get out of Cleveland. Sullivan at the sheriff's office made it very plain to him. Sullivan was still smarting under the lacing the papers had given the office after Chance's beating.
Cellini talked to his bosses, and they shipped him to New York. Until that time, Cellini had had only a vague imderstanding of the crime syndicate's functioning. He knew it was nearly nationwide, had its roots in gambling, prostitution and dope, and its branches ran out into such legitimate businesses as breweries, trucking and labor.
But once in New York he began to imderstand with far greater clarity the scope and mechanics of the organization. The Syndicate was a direct result of repeal. The leaders of the various gangs that had fattened on prohibition were older and wiser than in the early days when the way to eliminate a business rival was to hurl a bomb into his establishment.
Capone's arrest had sobered them. Luciano's arrest had shown the vice czars that none of them was safe. But Luciano's departure had paved the way for the latter-day Syndicate. It shoved a labor racketeer named Lepke Buch-alter into the driver's seat, and he showed amazing organizing abihty. In theory, he ruled only the New York and New Jersey crowds, but he enjoyed close connections with the Chicago crowd, the Detroit and Cleveland people.
Between them they cut up the country. New Orleans and Florida went to combinations made up of representatives of the four groups, and Killer Danzig was sent to Los Angeles to sohdify the Coast.
Under its former mayor, a half-dozen local groups had operated in Los Angeles, staying pretty much out of each other's way. But now, the crime bosses in the East decided that the time was ripe for big-business methods.
The Killer owed his appointment to two factors. First, he was feared by his own associates, for he was unpredictable. He had been one of the highly paid enforcers of Murder, Incorporated, and it was rumored that he had personally killed thirteen men. That he was blood-simple was weU known, and a number of his confreres felt safer when he was a good three thousand miles away.
Then, too, he had been hot. He had been called upon in the line of business to remove one of the minor identities, and to set up his ahbi had had himself checked in at a New York hospital with a pretended ailment. Then, after having been tucked in for the night by the nurse, he had slipped from the building, performed his chore and returned. The only trouble was that two witnesses saw him, and the Syndicate had not succeeded in removing them. So, Benji Danzig —he hated to be called the Killer—took ofiF for Los Angeles, and seven months later Ralph Cellini was sent West to join him.
> Celhni had never met Danzig, but he had heard of him, and he did not care for what he heard. Further, gossip said the Los Angeles operation was not well set. In Cellini's book it all added up to grief, but he knew what happened to Syndicate workers who ignored orders, so he went. He was pleasantly surprised.
Benji Danzig turned out to be a quiet, soft-spoken man of thirty-five. There was nothing blatant about him, and until his murderous temper was aroused, nothing vulgar. Also, he seemed to like Cellini on sight.
He said at their first meeting, "I'll give you the dope." They sat in the bedroom of Danzig's Brentwood home. An open wardrobe door showed rows of suits hanging neatly from the rods. Afterward Cellini heard that Benji had over two hundred suits.
"The setup here is different from New York. There's a lot of money in this town, but most that have it ain't had it long. They're like us, just coming up."
"You mean the picture people?"
"I mean the picture people. I got the slobs where I want 104
them. Hell, I'm buddy-buddy with some of the biggest names in lights."
Cellini found that Danzig told the truth. He had been taken up by one of the town's self-appointed social leaders and was welcome everywhere. It was irony that even as he was being entertained by the movie moguls, he was robbing the studios enormously by one of the greatest labor shakedowns in history. He had organized the extras, the actors who furnished mob scenes, and by threatening to pull them out he blackmailed most of the producers into a payoff. "It's like grabbing candy from kids." He was grinniag, very pleased with himself. "I'm telling you, this town is made for us. We can't lose. Now, first you gotta get yourself a front. One of the boys has a clothing store, another a cleaning place, the idea is to be legitimate. Then they can't vag you." Danzig got the front for him. Cellini went into the agency busiaess. In Hollywood there are hundreds of agencies. Big oflBces, some of them so powerful that they can dictate to the studios, and small one-man deals.
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