Part 28 (1/2)

”Don't let that worry yuh,” the big-chested gambler snarled. ”Sit in, or shut up and get out!”

If Kid Wolf was angered, he made no sign of it. His lips still smiled, as he drew a chair up to the table.

”Deal me in,” he drawled.

The atmosphere of the game seemed to change. It was as if all the players had united to fleece the newcomer, with the bearded desperado leading the attack.

At first, Kid Wolf lost, and the gambler--called ”Blacksnake” McCoy by the other men--added to his chip stacks. Then the game seesawed, after which the Texan began to win small bets steadily. But the crisis was coming. Sooner or later, Blacksnake would try to run Kid Wolf out, and the Texan knew it.

The size of the bets increased, and a little crowd began to gather about the stud table. In spite of the fact that Blacksnake was a swaggering, abusive-mouthed fellow, the sympathies of the Longhorn loafers seemed to be with him.

He seemed to be a sort of leader among them, and a group of sullen-eyed gunmen were looking on, expecting to see Kid Wolf beaten in short order.

Finally a tenseness in the very air testified to the fact that the time for big action had come. The pot was already large, and all had dropped out except Blacksnake and the drawling stranger.

”I'm raisin' yuh five hundred, 'Cotton-picker,'” sneered the bearded man insolently.

He had a pair of aces in sight--a formidable hand--and if his hole card was also an ace, Kid Wolf had not a chance in the world. The best the Texan could show up was a pair of treys.

”My name, sah,” said Kid Wolf politely, ”is not Cotton-pickah, although that is bettah than 'Bone-pickah'--an appropriate name fo' some people.

I'm Kid Wolf, sah, from Texas. And my enemies usually learn to call me by mah last name. I'm seein' yo' bet and raisin' yo' another five hundred, sah.”

At the name ”Kid Wolf,” a stir was felt in the crowded saloon. It was a name many of them had heard before, and most of the loungers began to look upon the stranger with more respect. Others frowned darkly.

Blacksnake was one of them. Plainly, what he had heard of The Kid did not tend to make the latter popular in his estimation.

”Excuse me,” he spat out. ”I should have called yuh 'Nose-sticker.'

From what I hear of yuh, yuh have a habit of mindin' other folks'

business. Well, that ain't healthy in Skull.”

If the Texan was provoked by these insults, he did not show it. He only smiled gently.

”We're playin' pokah now, I believe,” he reminded. ”Are yuh seein' mah bet?”

”That's right, bet 'em like yuh had 'em. And I hope yore hole card's another three-spot, for that'll make it easy for my buried ace. I'm seein' yuh and boostin' it--for yore pile!”

Quietly The Kid swept all his chips into the center of the table. He had called, and it was a show-down. With an oath, Blacksnake got half to his feet. He turned his hole card over. It was a nine-spot, but he had Kid Wolf beaten unless----

Slowly The Kid revealed his hole card. It was not a trey, but a four.

Just as good, for this made him two small pairs--threes and fours. He had won!

”No,” he drawled, ”I wouldn't reach for my gun, if I were yo'.”

Blacksnake took his hand away from the b.u.t.t of his .45. It came away faster than it had gone for it. Guns had appeared suddenly in the Texan's two hands. His draw had been so swift that n.o.body had caught the elusive movement.

”This game is bein' played with cahds, even if they are crooked cahds, and not guns, sah!”

”Crooked!” breathed Blacksnake. ”Are yuh hintin' that I'm a crook?”

”I'm not hintin',” said The Kid, with a flas.h.i.+ng smile. ”I'm sayin' it right out. The aces in that deck were marked in the cornahs with thumb-nail scratches. It might have gone hahd with me, if I hadn't mahked the othah cahds too--with thumb-nail scratches!”