n could claim to pick him out of a
crowd.

Slavens pulled out his roll and stood against the table, holding it in
his hand with a loutish display of excitement and caution, as if unable
to make up his mind whether to risk it on the game or not. When Shanklin
saw it he began to direct his talk with a view to charming it out of the
supposed sheep-herder's hand.

With nervous fingers Slavens untied the strip of handkerchief, turned
his back, and slipped off a dollar bill. This he put on the table with a
cautious leaning forward and a suspicious hovering over it with the
hand, playing the part so well that Shanklin's sharp old eye was
entirely deceived.

"You win, friend," said Shanklin, pushing five dollars across the table.
"This is like takin' money away from a child."

There was some tolling to be done on both sides in that game. Slavens
turned his back again, with a true pastoral show of secrecy concerning
his money, although he bungled it so that Shanklin could see him pulling
the five-dollar note from the middle of his roll, as if searching for
the next smallest bill. This he put on the table.

There was too much under his eye that throw for old Hun to let it get
away. So the magic twenty-seven came rattling out of the box, and Hun
raked over his winnings with doleful face and solemn shaking of the
head, according to his way. He predicted feelingly that his luck could
not last, and that the next time his number came up there would be only
two dollars on the table.

From the little pile of one-dollar bills under his hand--the five which
he had won and the one that he had first staked--the doctor counted five
slowly, and then counted it over again, to make sure. He won.

The others were watching him as he pushed the twenty-five dollars out in
the middle of the table with a defiant snort. He crouched over his stake
with guarding mien as old Hun took up the box and shook the dice. They
fell near his hand, scattering a little, rolling over to the edge of his
money as they settled down. He had won again.

This extraordinary luck seemed to turn the bettor's head. He spread out
his fingers, leaning lower over his stake, as if to prevent its being
swept away by violence or mistake.

"I won, I tell you! I won!" said he.

"You won, friend," said Hun, counting out the money to him, a look of
triumph in his greedy little eye. For, according to all the signs, the
poison was so deep in the supposed sheep-herder's blood