the front room. Another man followed him.

Sandy shoved the markers across the board, followed by his chips.
Apparently aimlessly, he hitched at his belt and the two Colts with
their tied-down holsters swung a little to the front, their handles just
touching his hips.

"Deuce--queen--five, I'm bettin'," he said. "_An' deal 'em slow._" His
voice drawled and his eyes lifted to Hahn's and rested there.

Hahn had been mechanically chewing gum most of the evening. Now his
cheek muscles bulged more plainly and the end of his tongue showed for a
second between his lips. His right hand dropped and he drew out a deuce.
Eyes shifted from Sandy to Plimsoll, to Hahn. Little beads of moisture
oozed out on the dealer's forehead. Plimsoll's black brows met. Sandy's
face was placid. Breaths were indrawn as Hahn paid out and raked in on
the card, his left hand covering the top of the case.

The atmosphere was charged with intensity. Plimsoll's dark eyes were
boring through the dealer's lowered lids.

"Move yo' fingehs, dealer, an' reveal royalty," drawled Sandy. "The
queen wins!" His hands were on his hips, fingers touching the butts of
his guns, his eyes burned. For all its drag there was a ring to his
voice.

Hahn shot one swift look at him and removed his hand. The queen showed.
The room gasped. Plimsoll clapped Sandy on the shoulder.

"You did it," he said. "Broke the bank when you called that turn.
Game's closed and the drinks on the house. How'll you have it?"

The crowd made way as Plimsoll walked across to his safe, twirled the
combination, opened the doors and took out a stack of bills.

"Bills from a century up," said Sandy. "The odds and ends in gold--for
the drinks."

The excitement was dying down. The man from the Three Star had won and
had been paid. Plimsoll's game was square. A few, reading the slight
signs of Hahn's nervousness, still held some doubts, but the games were
closing. The drinks were brought. Two men lounged out into the front
room after they had tossed theirs down. Sandy slipped the folded bills
into the breast pocket of his shirt in a compact package.

"See who went out?" asked Sam in his side whisper.

"Yep. Saw it in the glass of that picture. We'll go out the back way.
Not yet." He shouldered his way through the congratulating crowd, Sam
close behind him, into the front room. It was empty. The short end of
Sandy's winnings still provided liquor. For a moment they were alone.
Plimsoll had