miling Carney; he
loved to get Slum angry. "Say, Shaky," he went on, "how do Slum fix
you in his--hotel? You don't seem bustin' wi' vittals."

"Might do wuss," responded the carpenter, sorrowfully. "But, y' see, I
stan' in wi' Doc. Osler, an' he physics me reg'lar."

Everybody laughed with the butcher this time.

"Say, you gorl-durned 'fun'ral boards,' you're gittin' kind o' fresh,
but I'd bet a greenback to a last year's corn-shuck you don't quit
ther' an' come grazin' around Carney's pastures, long as my missis
does the cookin'."

"I 'lows your missis ken cook," said Shaky, with enthusiasm. "The
feller as sez she can't lies. But wi' her, my respec' fer your hog-pen
ends. I guess this argyment is closed fer va-cation. Who's fer
'draw'?"

Slum turned back to the bar. "Here, Carney," he said, planking out a
ten-dollar bill, "hand over chips to that. We're losin' blessed hours
gassin'. I'm goin' fer a hand at 'draw.' An' say, give us a new deck
o' cards. Guess them o' Shaky's needs curry-combin' some. Mr.
Tresler," he went on, turning to his old boarder, "mebbe I owe you
some. Have you a notion?"

"No thanks, Slum," replied Tresler, decidedly. "I'm getting an old
hand now."

"Ah!"

And the little man moved off with a thoughtful smile on his rutted,
mahogany features.

Tresler watched these men take their seats for the game. Their recent
bickering was wholly forgotten in the ruling passion for "draw." And
what a game it was! Each man, ignorant, uncultured in all else, was a
past master at poker--an artist. The baser instincts of the game
appealed to the uppermost sides of their natures. They were there to
best each other by any manner of trickery. Each man understood that
his neighbor was doing all he knew, nor did he resent it. Only would
he resent it should the delinquent be found out. Then there would be
real trouble. But they were all such old-time sinners. They had been
doing that sort of thing for years, and would continue to do it for
years more. It was the method of their lives, and Tresler had no
opinion on the right or wrong of it. He had no right to judge them,
and, besides, he had every sympathy for them as struggling units in
Life's great battle.

But presently he left the table, for Fyles came in, and he had been
waiting for him. But the sheriff came by himself, and Tresler asked
him the reason.

"Well, you see, Nelson is outside, Tresler," the burly man said, with
something like a smile. "He