e passed between Bill and the
storekeeper. And Bill's answer came at once.

"Wal, as I sed, we used to pass it out by stage. But--"

Longley caught him up just a shade too quickly.

"Yes--but?"

"Wal," drawled Bill thoughtfully, "y'see, we ain't shipped dust out
for some time on account of a gang that's settin' around waitin'. You
comin' from Spawn City'll likely have heard of this feller James an'
his gang. A most ter'ble tough is James. I'll allow he's got us mighty
nigh wher' he wants us--scairt to death. No, we ain't sent out no gold
stage lately, but we're goin' to right soon. We'll hev to. We've ast
for an escort o' Gover'ment troops, but I guess Sufferin' Creek ain't
on the map. The Gover'ment don't guess they've any call to worry."

"Then what you goin' to do?" inquired Longley, profoundly interested.

"Can't say. The stage'll hev to take its chances."

"An' when--" began Longley. But his comrade cut him short.

"Say, I'll allow the gold racket's mighty int'restin', but it makes me
tired this weather. You was speakin' 'draw'--"

"Sure," responded Bill amiably. "We're four here, if you fancy a hand.
Minky?"

The storekeeper nodded, and promptly produced cards and 'chips.' And
in five minutes the game was in progress. Used as he was to the
vagaries of his gambling friend, Minky was puzzled at the way he was
discussing Suffering Creek with these strangers. His talk about James
and the gold-stage was too rankly absurd for anything, and yet he knew
that some subtle purpose must be underlying his talk. However, it was
no time to question or contradict now, so he accepted the situation
and his share in the game.

And here again astonishment awaited him. Bill lost steadily, if not
heavily. He watched the men closely, but could discover none of the
known tricks common to the game when sharps are at work. They not only
seemed to be playing straight, but badly. They were not good poker
players. Yet they got the hands and won. For himself, he kept fairly
level. It was only Bill who lost.

And all through the game the gambler allowed himself to be drawn into
talking of Suffering Creek by the interested Longley, until it would
have been obvious to the veriest greenhorn that the stranger was
pumping him.

The newcomers seemed to be enjoying themselves enormously, and the
greatest good-will prevailed. Nor was it until nearly supper-time that
Bill suddenly stood up and declared he had had enough. He was a loser