Into the ramshackle office of Banker George S. Nixon in tiny Winnemucca, Nev. around the turn of the century stalked a 6-ft. cowboy named George Wingfield. Not yet 21, Buckaroo Wingfield had just arrived from Arkansas via Oregon, had not a penny. He tossed a diamond ring on the desk, asked for a loan. "I'm not running a hock-shop!" snapped
Mr. Nixon. Then he relented, came through with a sum variously estimated at between $75 and $300.
George Wingfield bought a faro outfit, set himself up in the roaring mining town of Tonopah and began...
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