n darkness and silence.

I turned back along the deserted deck, only pausing a moment to glance
carelessly in through the front windows of the main cabin. The forward
portion was wrapped in darkness, and unoccupied, but beyond, toward the
rear of the long salon, a considerable group of men were gathered
closely about a small table, above which a swinging lamp burned
brightly, the rays of light illuminating the various faces. I
recognized several, and they were apparently a deeply interested group,
for, even at that distance, I could plainly note the excitement stamped
upon their countenances, and the nervousness with which they moved
about seeking clearer view. There were so many closely wedged together
as to obstruct my vision of what was occurring, yet I felt no doubt but
that they watched a game of cards; a desperate struggle of chance,
involving no small sum to account for such intense feeling on the part
of mere onlookers. Gambling was no novelty on the great river in those
days, gambling for high stakes, and surely no ordinary game, involving
a small sum, would ever arouse the depth of interest displayed by these
men. Some instinct told me that the chief players would be Kirby and
Beaucaire, and, with quickening pulse, I opened the cabin door and
entered.

No one noted my approach, or so much as glanced up, the attention of
the crowd riveted upon the players. There were four holding cards--the
Judge, Kirby, Carver, and McAfee; but I judged at a glance that the
latter two were merely in the game as a pretense, the betting having
already gone far beyond the limit of their resources. Without a
thought as to the cards they held, my eyes sought the faces of the two
chief players, and then visioned the stakes displayed on the table
before them. McAfee and Carter were clearly enough out of it, their
cards still gripped in their fingers, as they leaned breathlessly
forward to observe more closely the play. The Judge sat upright, his
attitude strained, staring down at his hand, his face white, and eyes
burning feverishly. That he had been drinking heavily was evident, but
Kirby fronted him in apparent cold indifference, his feelings
completely masked, with the cards he held bunched in his hands, and
entirely concealed from view. No twitch of an eyelash, no quiver of a
muscle revealed his knowledge; his expressionless face might have been
carved out of stone. Between the two rested a stack of gold coin, a
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