only other stayer. Bracketts flashed an eye for the lad's
hand and saw the nine, eight, six, and five of hearts. Now, there are
but six hundred and forty-five emotions possible to the human mind, and
Bracketts immediately had them all. Under the impression that he had
finished his cigar, he took it from his mouth and tossed it toward the
grate without turning his eyes to follow its flight.

There happened to be a complete silence around the green-clothed table.
Spuytendyvil was studying his hand with a kind of contemptuous smile,
but in his eyes there perhaps was to be seen a cold, stern light
expressing something sinister and relentless.

Young Bob sat as he had sat. As the pause grew longer, he looked up once
inquiringly at Spuytendyvil.

The old man reached for a white chip. "Well, mine are worth about that
much," said he, tossing it into the pot. Thereupon he leaned back
comfortably in his chair and renewed his stare at the five straight
diamond. Young Bob extended his hand leisurely toward his stack. It
occurred to Bracketts that he was smoking, but he found no cigar in his
mouth.

The lad fingered his chips and looked pensively at his hand. The silence
of those moments oppressed Bracketts like the smoke from a
conflagration.

Bobbie Cinch continued for some moments to coolly observe his cards. At
last he breathed a little sigh and said, "Well, Mr. Spuytendyvil, I
can't play a sure thing against you." He threw in a white chip. "I'll
just call you. I've got a straight flush." He faced down his cards.

Old Spuytendyvil's fear, horror, and rage could only be equalled in
volume to a small explosion of gasolene. He dashed his cards upon the
table. "There!" he shouted, glaring frightfully at Bobbie. "I've got a
straight flush, too! And mine is Jack high!"

Bobbie was at first paralysed with amazement, but in a moment he
recovered, and apparently observing something amusing in the situation
he grinned.

Archie Bracketts, having burst his bond of silence, yelled for joy and
relief. He smote Bobbie on the shoulder. "Bob, my boy," he cried
exuberantly, "you're no gambler, but you're a mighty good fellow, and if
you hadn't been you would be losing a good many dollars this minute."

Old Spuytendyvil glowered at Bracketts. "Stop making such an infernal
din, will you, Archie," he said morosely. His throat seemed filled with
pounded glass. "Pass the whisky."

THE SNAKE.

Where the path wended across the ridg