except a grisly, purple scar that twisted down beneath
the right eye of the man. It drew down the lower
lid of that eye, and it pulled the mouth of the man
a bit awry, so that he seemed to be smiling in a smug,
half-apologetic manner. In spite of his youth
he was unquestionably the dominant spirit here.
Once or twice the others lifted their voices in argument,
and a single word from him cut them short. And
when he raised his head, now and again, to look at
Andy, it gave the latter a feeling that his secret
was read and all his past known.
These strange fellows had not asked his name, and
neither had they introduced themselves, but from their
table talk he gathered that the redhead was named
Jeff, the funereal man with the bony face was Larry,
the brown-haired one was Joe, and he of the scar and
the smile was Henry. It occurred to Andy as odd
that such rough boon companions had not shortened
that name for convenience.
They played with the most intense concentration.
As the night deepened and the windows became black
slabs Joe brought another candle and reenforced this
light by hanging a lantern from a nail on the wall.
This illuminated the entire room, but in a partial
and dismal manner. The game went on. They
were playing for high stakes; Andrew Lanning had never
seen so much cash assembled at one time. They
had stacks of unmistakable yellow gold before them—actually
stacks. The winner was Larry. That skull-faced
gentleman was fairly barricaded behind heaps of money.
Andy estimated swiftly that there must be well over
two thousand dollars in those stacks.
He finished his supper, and, having taken the tin
cup and plate out into the next room and cleaned them,
he had no sooner come back to the door, on the verge
of bidding them good night, then Henry invited him
to sit down and take a hand.
CHAPTER 12
He had never studied any men as he was watching these
men at cards. Andrew Lanning had spent most of
his life quite indifferent to the people around him,
but now it was necessary to make quick and sure judgments.
He had to read unreadable faces. He had to guess
motives. He had to sense the coming of danger
before it showed its face. And, watching them
with close intentness, he understood that at least
three of them were cheating at every opportunity.
Henry, alone, was playing a square game; as for the
heavy winner, Larry, Andrew had reason to believe
that he was adroitly palming an ace now and then—luck
ran too consistently his way. For his own part,
he was no card expert, and he smiled as Henry made
his offer.
“I’ve got eleven dollars and fifty cents
in my pocket,” Andrew said frankly. “I
won’t sit in at that game.”
“Then the game is three-handed,” said
Henry as he got up from his chair. “I’ve
fed you boys enough,” he continued in his soft
voice. “I know a three-handed game is no
good, but I’m through. Unless you’ll
try a round or two with ’em, stranger?
They’ve made enough money. Maybe they’ll
play for silver for the fun of it, eh, boys?”
