“I saw a few in the dance-hall,” replied Neale.

“Then you haven’t looked in at Stanton’s?”

“Who’s he?”

“Stanton is not a man,” replied Hough.

Neale glanced inquiringly over his glass.

“Beauty Stanton, they call her,” went on Hough.  “I saw her in New
Orleans years ago when she was a very young woman—­notorious then. 
She had the beauty and she led the life... did Beauty Stanton.”

Neale made no comment, and Hough, turning to pay for the drinks, was accosted by several men.  They wanted to play poker.

“Gentlemen, I hate to take your money,” he said.  “But I never refuse to sit in a game.  Neale, will you join us?”

They found a table just vacated.  Neale took two of the three strangers to be prosperous merchants or ranchers from the Missouri country.  The third was a gambler by profession.  Neale found himself in unusually sharp company.  He did not have a great deal of money.  So in order to keep clear-headed he did not drink.  And he began to win, not by reason of excellent judgment, but because he was lucky.  He had good cards all the time, and part of the time very strong ones.  It struck him presently that these remarkable hands came during Hough’s deal, and he wondered if the gambler was deliberately manipulating the cards to his advantage.  At any rate, he won hundreds of dollars.

“Mr. Neale, do you always hold such cards?” asked one of the men.

“Why, sure,” replied Neale.  He could not help being excited and elated.

“Well, he can’t be beat,” said the other.

“Lucky at cards, unlucky in love,” remarked the third of the trio.  “I pass.”

Hough was looking straight at Neale when this last remark was made.  And Neale suddenly lost his smile, his flush.  The gambler dropped his glance.

“Play the game and don’t get personal in your remarks,” he said.  “This is poker.”

Neale continued to win, but his excitement did not return, nor his elation.  A random word from a strange man had power to sting him.  Unlucky in love!  Alas!  What was luck, gold—­anything to him any more!

By the time the game was ended Neale felt a friendly interest in Hough that was difficult to define or explain; and the conviction gained upon him that the gambler had deliberately dealt him those remarkable cards.

“Let’s see,” said Hough, consulting his watch.  “Twelve o’clock!  Stanton’s will be humming.  We’ll go in.”

Neale did not want to show his reluctance, yet he did hot know just what to say.  After all, he was drifting.  So he went.

It seemed that all the visitors who had been in the gambling-hall had gravitated to this other dance-hall.  The entrance appeared to be through a hotel.  At least Neale saw the hotel sign.  The building was not made of canvas, but painted wood in sections, like the scenes of a stage.  Men were coming and going; the hum of music and gaiety came from the rear; there were rugs, pictures, chairs; this place, whatever its nature, made pretensions.  Neale did not see any bar.