he other. "All right! But just a
minute. I want this dealer to sit quiet. I've been robbed. And I want my
money back."

Certainly the dealer and everyone else round the table sat quiet while
the cattleman coolly held his gun leveled.

"Crooked game?" asked Steele, bending over the table. "Show me."

It did not take the aggrieved gambler more than a moment to prove his
assertion. Steele, however, desired corroboration from others beside the
cattleman, and one by one he questioned them.

To my surprise, one of the players admitted his conviction that the game
was not straight.

"What do you say?" demanded Steele of me.

"Worse'n a hold-up, Mr. Ranger," I burst out. "Let me show you."

Deftly I made the dealer's guilt plain to all, and then I seconded the
cattleman's angry claim for lost money. The players from other tables
gathered round, curious, muttering.

And just then Martin strolled in. His appearance was not prepossessing.

"What's this holler?" he asked, and halted as he saw the cattleman's gun
still in line with the dealer.

"Martin, you know what it's for," replied Steele. "Take your dealer and
dig--unless you want to see me clean out your place."

Sullen and fierce, Martin stood looking from Steele to the cattleman
and then the dealer. Some men in the crowd muttered, and that was a
signal for Steele to shove the circle apart and get out, back to the
wall.

The cattleman rose slowly in the center, pulling another gun, and he
certainly looked business to me.

"Wal, Ranger, I reckon I'll hang round an' see you ain't bothered none,"
he said. "Friend," he went on, indicating me with a slight wave of one
extended gun, "jest rustle the money in sight. We'll square up after the
show."

I reached out and swept the considerable sum toward me, and, pocketing
it, I too rose, ready for what might come.

"You-all give me elbow room!" yelled Steele at Martin and his cowed
contingent.

Steele looked around, evidently for some kind of implement, and, espying
a heavy ax in a corner, he grasped it, and, sweeping it to and fro as if
it had been a buggy-whip, he advanced on the faro layout. The crowd fell
back, edging toward the door.

One crashing blow wrecked the dealer's box and table, sending them
splintering among the tumbled chairs. Then the giant Ranger began to
spread further ruin about him.

Martin's place was rough and bare, of the most primitive order, and like
a thousand other dens of its kind, c