A secret committee had determined to rid the town of all improper persons. It was experiencing a spasm of virtuous reaction, quite as lawless and ungovernable as any of the acts that had provoked it. In point of fact, Poker Flat was "after somebody." It had lately suffered the loss of several thousand dollars, two valuable horses, and a prominent citizen. "I reckon they're after somebody," he reflected "likely it's me." He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture. Whether he was conscious of any predisposing cause was another question. Oakhurst's calm, handsome face betrayed small concern in these indications. There was a Sabbath lull in the air, which, in a settlement unused to Sabbath influences, looked ominous. Two or three men, conversing earnestly together, ceased as he approached, and exchanged significant glances. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night.
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