ever. He pushed back his
chair. Fernand, studying his lieutenant in this crisis, approved of him
thoroughly. He himself was in a quandary. Westerners fight, and a fight
would be most embarrassing. "Do you think--" began McKeever.

"I think you'll keep that hand and that same pack of cards on the table
till I've had it looked over," said Ronicky Doone. "I've dropped a cold
thousand to you, and you're winning it with stacked decks, McKeever."

There was a stifled oath from McKeever, as he jerked his hand back.
Frederic Fernand was beginning to draw one breath of joy at the thought
that McKeever would escape without having that pack, of all packs,
examined, when the long dagger flashed in the hand of Ronicky Doone.

He struck as a cat strikes when it hooks the fish out of the stream--he
struck as the snapper on the end of a whiplash doubles back. And well
and truly did that steel uphold its fame.

The dull, chopping sound of the blow stood by itself for an instant.
Then McKeever, looking down in horror at his hand, screamed and fell
back in his chair.

That was the instant when Frederic Fernand judged his lieutenant and
found him wanting. A man who fainted in such a crisis as this was beyond
the pale.

Other people crowded past him. Frightened, desperate, he pushed on. At
length his weight enabled him to squeeze through the rapidly gathering
crowd of gamblers.

The only nonchalant man of the lot was he who had actually used the
weapon. For Ronicky Doone stood with his shoulders propped against the
wall, his hands clasped lightly behind him. For all that, it was plain
that he was not unarmed. A certain calm insolence about his expression
told Frederic Fernand that the teeth of the dragon were not drawn.

"Gents," he was saying, in his mild voice, while his eyes ran restlessly
from face to face, "I sure do hate to bust up a nice little party like
this one has been, but I figure them cards are stacked. I got a pile of
reasons for knowing, and I want somebody to look over them
cards--somebody that knows stacked cards when he sees 'em. Mostly it
ain't hard to get onto the order of them being run up. I'll leave it,
gents, to the man that runs this dump."

And, leaning across the table, he pushed the pack straight to Frederic
Fernand. The latter set his teeth. It was very cunningly done to trap
him. If he said the cards were straight they might be examined
afterward; and, if he were discovered in a lie, it would mean mo