The fat man pocketed the dollar and replaced it with a greasy fifty-cent piece, an operation which the Texan watched with interest as he swallowed his liquor.

“They ain’t nothin’ like eagle-bird wheels an’ snake-liniment at two bits a throw to help a man start at the bottom,” he opined, and reaching for the half-dollar, tossed it to a forlorn-looking individual who lounged near the door.  “Here, Greaser, lend a hand in helpin’ me downward!  Here’s four bits.  Go lay it on the wheel—­an’ say:  I got a hunch!  I played every number on that wheel except the thirteen—­judgin’ it to be onlucky.”  The forlorn one grinned his understanding, and clutching the piece of silver, elbowed into the group that crowded the roulette wheel.  The cowpuncher turned once more to the surly proprietor: 

“So now you see me, broke an’ among evil companions, in this here God-forsaken, lizard-ridden, Greaser-loving sheep-herdin’ land of sorrow.  But, give me another jolt of that there pizen-fermentus an’ I’ll raise to heights unknown.  A few more shots of that an’ they ain’t no tellin’ what form of amusement a man’s soul might incline to.”

“Y’got the price?”

“I ain’t got even the makin’s—­only an ingrowin’ cravin’ fer spiritual licker an’ a hankerin’ to see America first——­”

“That hoss,” the proprietor jerked a thumb toward the open door beyond which the big rangy black pawed fretfully at the street.  “Mebbe we might make a trade.  I got one good as him ’er better.  It’s that sor’l standin’ t’other side of yourn.”

The Texan rested an arm upon the bar and leaned forward confidentially.  “Fatty,” he drawled, “you’re a liar.”  The other noted the hand that rested lightly upon the cowman’s hip near the ivory butt of the six-gun that protruded from its holster, and took no offence.  His customer continued:  “They ain’t no such horse—­an’ if they was, you couldn’t own him.  They ain’t no man ever throw’d a kak on Ace of Spades but me, an’ as fer sellin’ him, or tradin’ him—­I’ll shoot him first!”

A sudden commotion at the back of the room caused both men to turn toward the wheel where a fierce altercation had arisen between the croupier and the vagabond to whom the Texan had tossed his last coin.

“You’ll take that er nothin’!  It’s more money’n y’ever see before an’——­”

“Non! Non!  De treize!  De, w’at you call t’irten—­she repe’t!  A’m git mor’ as seex hondre dollaire—­” The proprietor lumbered heavily from behind the bar and Benton noted that the thick fingers closed tightly about the handle of a bung-starter.  The crowd of Mexicans thinned against the wall as the man with ponderous stealth approached to a point directly behind the excited vagabond who continued his protestations with increasing vigour.  The next instant the Texan’s six-gun flashed from its holster and as he crossed the room his eye caught the swift nod of the croupier.