yes fixed intently
upon Curly's face, not realising that he was staring so hard. But
Curly did, and glancing up several times from his cards, he met those
steady, inscrutable eyes. At first it annoyed him, making him nervous
and impatient. He wondered what the quiet, reserved fellow meant by
looking at him in such a manner. At length he became angry, and
noticing that the eyes never left his face, he leaped to his feet with
a savage oath, and moving over to where Reynolds was standing, demanded
of him an explanation.

Brought suddenly to earth, Reynolds started, and asked what was the
trouble.

"Trouble!" Curly roared. "You'll d---- soon find out if you don't mind
your own business."

"Why, I have been doing nothing," and Reynolds looked his surprise. "I
was merely watching the game."

"No, you weren't. You were watching me like a cat watches a mouse, and
I want to know what you mean."

Reynolds laughed.

"I didn't realise I was watching you," he explained. "My mind was
elsewhere. I was thinking of more important things. You seem to be
looking for trouble."

"I am, and you're the trouble, d---- you. You've made me lose my game."

"H'm, you needn't accuse me. It must be your own conscience. I am not
looking for a quarrel, even if you are. I shall leave at once if my
presence is so objectionable to you. I'm rather fond of my own
company."

"Coward!"

Reynolds had partly turned as this word smote him like a knife. He
wheeled in an instant and faced Curly.

"Did you refer to me?" he asked. His eyes spoke danger, and the
muscles of his body were tense. But Curly did not heed the signs; he
had thrown caution to the winds.

"I did," he replied. "And I repeat it, 'Coward!' for that is what----"

Curly never finished the sentence, for a rigid fist caught him suddenly
under the right jaw, and sent him reeling backward upon a small table.
Recovering himself as speedily as possible, and wild with pain and
rage, he ripped forth a revolver from a hip-pocket. A dead silence
pervaded the room, like a calm before a storm. And during that silence
something unexpected happened. It was not the report of the revolver,
but the angry growl of a dog, the spitting of a cat, the bleat of a
sheep, and the crow of a cock.

"Gr-r-r-r, ps-s-s-s, ba-a-a-a, cock-a-doodle-do-o-o."

So incongruous did the peculiar sounds appear, that all stared in
amazement. Then when they beheld Frontier Samson standing near