No wonder the crowd had two looks for Terry.
His face had lost its color and grown marvellously
expressionless.
“The real gambler’s look,” they
said.
His mouth was pinched at the corners, and otherwise
his expression never varied.
Once he turned. A broad-faced man, laughing and
obviously too self-contented to see what he was doing,
trod heavily on the toes of Terry, stepping past the
latter to get his winnings. He was caught by the
shoulder and whirled around. The crowd saw the
tall man draw his right foot back, balance, lift a
trifle on his toes, and then a balled fist shot up,
caught the broad-faced man under the chin and dumped
him in a crumpled heap half a dozen feet away.
They picked him up and took him away, a stunned wreck.
Terry had turned back to his game, and in ten seconds
had forgotten what he had done.
But the crowd remembered, and particularly he who
had twice laughed at Terry from the veranda of the
hotel.
The heap in the canvas sack diminished, shrank—he
dumped the remainder of the contents into his pocket.
He had been betting in solid lumps of a thousand for
the past twenty minutes, and the crowd watched in amazement.
This was drunken gambling, but the fellow was obviously
sober. Then a hand touched the shoulder of Terry.
“Just a minute, partner.”
He looked into the face of a big man, as tall as he
and far heavier of build: a magnificent big head,
heavily marked features, a short-cropped black beard
that gave him dignity. A middle-aged man, about
forty-five, and still in the prime of life.
“Lemme pass a few words with you.”
Terry drew back to the side.
“My Name’s Pollard,” said the older
man. “Joe Pollard.”
“Glad to know you, sir. My name—is
Terry.” The other admitted this reticence
with a faint smile.
“I got a name around here for keeping my mouth
shut and not butting in on another gent’s game.
But I always noticed that when a gent is in a losing
run, half the time he don’t know it. Maybe
that might be the way with you. I been watching
and seen your winnings shrink considerable lately.”
Terry weighed his money. “Yes, it’s
shrunk a good deal.”
“Stand out of the game till later on. Come
over and have a bite to eat with me.”
He went willingly, suddenly aware of a raging appetite
and a dinner long postponed. The man of the black
beard was extremely friendly.
“One of the prettiest runs I ever see, that
one you made,” he confided when they were at
the table in the hotel. “You got a system,
I figure.”
“A new one,” said Terry. “I’ve
never played before.”
The other blinked.
“Beginner’s luck, I suppose,” said
Terry frankly. “I started with fifty, and
now I suppose I have about eight hundred.”
“Not bad, not bad,” said the other.
“Too bad you didn’t stop half an hour
before. Just passing through these parts?”
