d among
other faces, he marked the twinkling lights of covetousness in Fat
Ortega's rat eyes and he knew that, long ago, Ortega himself had played
for any stake. Beside Ortega there was another man present who might
be inclined to accept a hazard, Tony Munoz, who conducted the rival
gambling house across the street and who was Ortega's much despised
son-in-law. Long ago Ortega and Tony had quarreled and when Tony had
run away with Eloisa, Ortega's pretty daughter, men said it was as much
to spite the old man as for love of the girl's snapping eyes. Tony
might play, if Ortega refused.

"One throw for the whole thing, Ortega?" challenged Kendric. "You and
me."

"Have I twenty thousand _pesos_ in my pocket?" jeered Ortega. "You
make me the big gringo bluff."

"Bluff? Call it then, man. That's what a bluff is for. And you don't
need the money in the pocket. This house is yours; your cellars are
always full of expensive liquors; there is money in your till and
something in your safe yet, I'll bet my hat. Put up the whole thing
against my wad and I'll shake you for it."

Plainly Ortega was tempted. And why not? There lay on the green
table, winking up alluringly at him, twenty thousand dollars. His, if
simply a little cube with numbers on it turned in proper fashion.
Twenty thousand dollars! He licked his fat pendulous lips. And, to
further tempt him, he estimated that his entire holding here, bar
fixtures, tables, wines and cash, were worth not above fifteen
thousand. But then, this was all that he had in the world and though
he craved further gains until the craving was acute like a pain, still
he clung avidly to the power and the prestige and the luxury that were
his as owner of la Casa Grande. In brief, he was too much the moral
coward to be such a gambler as Kendric called for.

"No," he snapped angrily.

"Look," said Kendric, smiling. He shook the die and threw it,
inverting the cup over it so that it was hidden. "I do not know what I
have thrown, Ortega, and you do not know. I will bet you five thousand
dollars even money that it is a six or better."

Here were odds and Ortega jerked up his head. Five thousand to bet----

"No," he said again. "No. I don't play. You have devil's luck."

With a flourish Jim lifted the cup to see what he had thrown. Again
his utterly mirthful laughter boomed out. It was the deuce, the low
throw. Ortega strained forward, saw and flushed. Had he but be