Part 8 (1/2)

”You've got the eyes of a lynx,” commented the dealer encouragingly.

”You'll sure make your pile at this rate. Try once more!”

The cards were thrown again, and again the supposed rancher won. He made a clever show of becoming eager, though he knew that he was only being decoyed to a final plunge. When he had won twenty dollars and the watching crowd had drawn closer, he laughed and glanced across at the sharper.

”Say, do you put any limit on this here game?” he asked.

”How far will you go?” questioned the dealer. ”You're twenty dollars to the good already. You're shaping to break me.”

Sergeant Silk hesitated and looked swiftly back over his shoulder. He wanted to delay operations until one or more of his chums of the Mounted Police should come in to his support, as had been planned in case of trouble.

”How much do you bet?” invited the sharper.

Silk leant forward, fumbling at his belt pocket.

”Fifty dollars,” he readily answered.

The man with the diamond ring made a pretence of hesitation. Silk deliberately counted out ten five-dollar bills and held them between his fingers on the table.

”All right,” the gambler a.s.sented, taking up what appeared to be the same three cards. ”I don't mind running the risk, just for once on the off-chance of my luck taking a turn.”

And he began to make pa.s.ses with the three pieces of pasteboard.

”Wait a bit, though,” objected Silk very calmly. ”I don't see your own stake. Here is my money. Where's yours?”

”Oh, that's all serene,” said the other. ”My credit's good for anything in this emporium.”

”May be so,” demurred Silk. ”All the same,” he insisted firmly, ”I expect to see your money alongside of mine.”

There was some quibbling, but after consulting with one of his confederates the gambler yielded and reluctantly counted the money in gold from a bulky canvas bag that he drew from his breast pocket.

Probably Silk was the only stranger present who was aware that the coins were counterfeit.

”That ought to satisfy you,” sneered the trickster, as he dealt out the three cards.

Very coolly and without an instant's hesitation Sergeant Silk bent over and placed his hand upon the card nearest to him, drawing it an inch or two towards him, but not turning it up.

”This is the king,” he declared positively, for the first time looking the gamester straight in the eye.

”Ah, so that's your fancy, is it?” The professional swindler leant back with a satisfied smile. ”Well, suppose you just turn it over and let every one see.”

Silk's steel-blue eyes flashed for an instant. He knew that with his next move there was going to be trouble.

”No,” he cried. ”You will turn over the other two.”

With an oath the swindler refused, betraying by his agitation that for once he had met his match.

”That's not the way this game is played,” he objected in confusion.

”Show us your king.”