the Halfbreed, the Professor and the Bank
clerk, and the arrangement was proving a regrettable one for the latter
two. It was all due to Marks. At the best of times, he was a
cross-grained, domineering bully, and on the trail, which would have
worn to a wire edge the temper of an angel, his yellow streak became an
eyesore. He developed a chronic grouch, and it was not long before he
had the two weaker men toeing the mark. He had a way of speaking of
those who had gone up against him in the past and were "running yet," of
shooting scrapes and deadly knife-work in which he had displayed a
spirit of cold-blooded ferocity. Both the Professor and the Bank clerk
were men of peace and very impressionable. Consequently, they conceived
for Marks a shuddering respect, not unmixed with fear, and were ready to
stand on their heads at his bidding.

On the Halfbreed, however, his intimidation did not work. While the
other two trembled at his frown, and waited on him hand and foot, the
man of Indian blood ignored him, and his face was expressionless.
Whereby he incurred the intense dislike of Marks.

Things were going from bad to worse. The man's aggressions were daily
becoming more unbearable. He treated the others like Dagoes and on every
occasion he tried to pick a quarrel with the Halfbreed, but the latter,
entrenching himself behind his Indian phlegm, regarded him stolidly.
Marks mistook this for cowardice and took to calling the Halfbreed nasty
names, particularly reflecting on the good character of his mother.
Still the Halfbreed took no notice, yet there was a contempt in his
manner that stung more than words. This was the state of affairs when
one evening the Prodigal and I paid them a visit.

Marks had been drinking all day, and had made life a little hell for the
others. When we arrived he was rotten-ripe for a quarrel. Then the
Prodigal suggested a game of poker, so four of them, himself, Marks,
Bullhammer and the Halfbreed, sat in.

At first they made a ten-cent limit, which soon they raised to
twenty-five; then, at last, there was no limit but the roof. A bottle
passed from mouth to mouth and several big jack-pots were made.
Bullhammer and the Prodigal were about breaking even, Marks was losing
heavily, while steadily the Halfbreed was adding to his pile of chips.

Through one of those freaks of chance the two men seemed to buck one
another continually. Time after time they would raise and raise each
other, till at