YOU TURN OVER THE OTHER TWO!"

A low oath broke from the gambler, and his face contorted in a spasm.
The barkeepers slid out from behind the bar. For a moment the situation
was tense and threatening. The dealer with a sweeping glance again
searched the faces of those before him. In that moment, probably, he
made up his mind that an open scandal must be avoided. Force and broken
bones, even murder, might be all right enough under colour of right. If
Orde had turned up for a jack the card on which he now held his fist,
and then had attempted to prove cheating, a cry of robbery and a lively
fight would have given opportunity for making way with the stakes.
But McNeill's could not afford to be shown up before thirty interested
rivermen as running an open-and-shut brace-game. However, the gambler
made a desperate try at what he must have known was a very forlorn hope.

"That isn't the way this game is played," said he. "Show up your jack."

"It's the way I play it," replied Orde sternly. "These gentlemen heard
the bet." He reached over and dexterously flipped over the other two
cards. "You see, neither of these is the jack; this must be."

"You win," assented the gambler, after a pause.

Orde, his fist still on the third card, began pocketing the stakes with
the other hand. The gambler reached, palm up, across the table.

"Give me the other card," said he.

Orde picked it up, laughing. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, holding
the bit of pasteboard tantalisingly outstretched, as though he were
going to turn also this one face up. Then, quite deliberately he looked
to right and to left where the fighters awaited their signal, laughed
again, and handed the card to the gambler.

At once pandemonium broke loose. The rivermen of Orde's party fairly
shouted with joy over the unexpected trick; the employees of the resort
whispered apart; the gambler explained, low-voiced and angry, his
reasons for not putting up a fight for so rich a stake.

"All to the bar!" yelled Orde.

They made a rush, and lined up and ordered their drinks. Orde poured his
on the floor and took the glass belonging to the man next him.

"Get them to give you another, Tim," said he. "No knock-out drops, if I
can help it."

The men drank, and some one ordered another round.

"Tim," said Orde, low-voiced, "get the crowd together and we'll pull
out. I've a thousand dollars on me, and they'll sand-bag me sure if I go
alone. And let's get out right of