“Durade, have you stopped play outside?” queried Hough.

“Supper-time.  Not much going on,” replied Mull.

Hough watched this speaker with keen coolness.

“I did not address you,” he said.

Durade, catching the drift, came out of his absorption of play long enough to say that with a big game at hand he did not want to risk any interruption.  He spoke frankly, but he did not look sincere.

Presently the second gambler announced that he would consider it a favor to be allowed to go out and borrow money.  Then he left hurriedly.  Durade and Hough played alone; and the luck seesawed from one to the other until both the other players returned.  They did not come alone.  Two more black-frocked, black-sombreroed, cold-faced individuals accompanied them.

“May we sit in?” they asked.

“With pleasure,” replied Hough.

Durade frowned and the glow left his face.  Though the luck was still with him, it was evident that he did not favor added numbers.  Yet the man’s sensitiveness to any change immediately manifested itself when he won the first large stake.  His radiance returned and also his vanity.

Hough interrupted the game by striking the table with his hand.  The sound seemed hard, metallic, yet his hand was empty.  Any attentive observer would have become aware that Hough had a gun up his sleeve.  But Durade did not catch the significance.

“I object to that man leaning over the table,” said Hough, and he pointed to the lounging Fresno.

“Thet so?” leered the ugly giant.  He looked bold and vicious.

“Do not address me,” ordered Hough.

Fresno backed away silently from the cold-faced gambler.

“Don’t mind him, Hough,” protested Durade.  “They’re all excited.  Big stakes always work them up.”

“Send them out so we can play without annoyance.”

“No,” replied Durade, sharply.  “They can watch the game.”

“Ancliffe,” called Hough, just as sharply, “fetch some of my friends to watch this game.  Don’t forget Neale and Larry King.”

Allie, who was watching and listening with strained faculties, nearly fainted at the sudden mention of her lover Neale and her friend Larry.  She went blind for a second; the room turned round and round; she thought her heart would burst with joy.

The Englishman hurried out.

Durade looked up with a passionate and wolfish swiftness.

“What do you mean?”

“I want some of my friends to watch the game,” replied Hough.

“But I don’t allow that red-headed cowboy gun-fighter to come into my place.”

“That is regrettable, for you will make an exception this time ...  Durade, you don’t stand well in Benton.  I do.”

The Spaniard’s eyes glittered.  “You insinuate—­senor—­”

“Yes,” interposed Hough, and his cold, deliberate voice dominated the explosive Durade.  “Do you remember a gambler named Jones? ...  He was shot in this room ...  If I should happen to be shot here—­in the same way—­you and your gang would not last long in Benton!”