in the hearts
of all gamblers. From the beginning it was Jim Kendric's game. When a
jack-pot was opened he went into it with an ace high, though it cost
him a hundred dollars to call for cards, which was not playing poker
but defying mathematics and challenging his luck. And the four cards
given him by Bruce, whose blue eyes named him fool, were two more aces
and two queens. And the pot that was close to ten hundred dollars
before the sweetening was done, was his. Barlow, who had lost most,
glared at him and muttered under his breath; young Bruce merely stared
incredulously and looked again at the cards to make sure; Rios, who had
kept clear, smiled and murmured:

"Lucky at cards, unlucky in love, senor."

"I prefer the cards, thanks," said Kendric, stacking his winnings. And
there was enough of the boy left in him for him to look briefly for the
first time at Betty. Zoraida saw and bit her lip.

But though it was borne in upon those who played and those who watched
that it was Jim Kendric's game there were the inevitable tense moments
when each man in turn had his own eager hope. Bruce, no cool hand at
gambling, showed his excitement in his shining blue eyes; Barlow
muttered to himself; Rios sat forward in his chair and left off
pointing the tips of his mustaches. At the end of the first half hour,
though Kendric's heap of winnings was by far the greatest, no man of
them was down to bed rock.

And by now Kendric lost patience.

"Make it a jack pot for table stakes," he invited. "One hand for the
whole thing!"

"What's the hurry?" demanded Bruce. "You're doing well enough as it
is, aren't you?"

"A quick killing is better than slow torture," returned Jim lightly.
"And you'll note that I am offering odds. Better than two to one
against the flushest of you."

"_Bueno, senor_," said Rios. "It suits me."

"It's a fool thing to do," growled Barlow. A fool thing for Kendric,
but not for him, since his were the biggest losses. He had always
loved money, had Twisty Barlow, and could never understand Headlong
Kendric's contempt for it and now looked at him as though at one gone
mad. Then he shrugged. "Suits me," he said.

"Wait!" Zoraida suddenly leaped to her feet, tossed out her arms in a
wide gesture, her eyes unfathomable and shining with the mystery of a
hidden thought. "I am glad to have in my house men like you four! You
are _men_! Were it life or death, love or war or wealth, you would