. And with that they went forth to the hall.

They found the place crowded far beyond its capacity, for through Tommy
Tate it had been noised abroad that Dr. Bailey was to preach. There were
wild rumors, too, that the doctor had "got religion," although "Mexico"
and his friends scouted the idea as utterly impossible.

"He ain't the kind. He's got too much nerve," was "Mexico's" verdict,
given with a full accompaniment of finished profanity.

Tommy's evidence, however, was strong enough to create a profound
impression and to awaken an expectation that rose to fever pitch when
Barney and Margaret made their way through the crowds and took their
places, Margaret at the organ, which Dick usually played himself, and
Barney at the table upon which were the Bible and the Hymn-book. His
face wore the impenetrable, death-like mark which had so often baffled
"Mexico" and his gang over the poker table. It fascinated "Mexico" now.
All the years of his wicked manhood "Mexico" had, on principle, avoided
anything in the shape of a religious meeting, but to-day the attraction
of a poker player preaching proved irresistible. It was with no small
surprise that the crowd saw "Mexico," with two or three of his gang,
make their way toward the front to the only seats left vacant.

When it became evident beyond dispute that his old-time enemy was to
take the preacher's place, "Mexico" leaned over to his pal, "Peachy"
Bud, who sat between him and Tommy Tate, and muttered in an undertone
audible to those in his immediate neighbourhood, "It's his old game.
He's runnin' a blank bluff. He ain't got the cards."

But painful experience shook "Peachy's" confidence in his friend's
judgment on this particular point, and he only ventured to reply, "He's
got the lead." "Peachy" preferred to await developments.

The opening hymn was sung with the hearty fervour that marks the musical
part of any religious service in the West. But there was in the voices
that curious thrill that is at once the indication and the quickening of
intense excitement.

"This here'll show what's in his hand," said "Peachy," when the moment
for prayer arrived. "Peachy" was not unfamiliar with religious services,
and had, with unusual keenness of observation, noted that when a man
undertook to pray he must, if he be true, reveal the soul within him.

"Mexico" grunted a dubious affirmative. But "Peachy" was disappointed,
for in a voice reverent, but unimpassioned, the preache