"Gentlemen, I ’m not sayin’ a word against anybody, not one word," and Slick glanced from man to man, shaking his head to emphasize his perfect belief in the high standard of morality prevalent in Twin River. "But I begs leave to remark that _I_ like Cheyenne’s game—which it is th’ first time in my brief but eventful career that I seen five dealt cards turn into six. You all seen it. It sure happened. Mr. Cheyenne, you have my joyous admiration. Let’s celebrate. An’ in th’ meantime, might I inquire, without offence, if Cheyenne has a habit of complainin’ of too many cards?" They had lined up before the bar and all glasses were filled before Buck answered. Slick stood directly before him and every face, showing nothing beyond polite interest, was turned his way. But Buck well knew that on his reply depended his position in the community and the gravity of the occasion was in his voice when he spoke. "Gentlemen, Mr. Slick has called. There’s two ways of playin’. When I plays with any gentleman here, I plays one way. Dave Owens played th’ other way. I played his game." He glanced at the silent figure by the window, set down his glass, and started to cross the room. Chesty Sutton put out his hand and stopped him. "I would n’t worry him none, Cheyenne. Ned Monroe ’s th’ best boss I ever worked for but hard luck has been pilin’ up on him higher ’n th’ Rockies since he lost his ranch. Better let him fight it out alone, friend." Lost his ranch—Ned Monroe—Buck’s intention was doubly strengthened. "Leave it to me," was his confident assurance, and he strode across the room and around the table in front of the window. The sombre eyes of the big man were forced to take notice of him. "Friend, it’s on th’ house. Mr. Slick is a right pleasant man, an’ he ’s waitin’." A rapid glance at the bottle told him that Monroe, in his complete oblivion, had forgotten it. Ned eyed him with a puzzled frown while the words slowly illumined his clouded mind. At length he turned slowly, sensed the situation, and rose heavily to his feet. "Sure," was the simple reply. At the bar significant looks were exchanged. "I ’m beginnin’ to _like_ Cheyenne," declared Slick, thoughtfully, rubbing the palm of his left hand against the bar; "which his persuadin’ language is fascinatin’ to see." "It sure is," Chesty Sutton endorsed promptly, while the others about him nodded their heads in silent assent. "Well, gentlemen," said Slick, "here ’s to th’ continued good health of Mr. Cheyenne." Down the line ran the salutation and Buck laughed as he replaced his empty glass. "I shore hope you-all ain’t tryin’ to scare me none," he insinuated; "because I ’m aimin’ to stop up here an’—who in h—l’s poundin’ that pie-anner?" he broke off, turning to glare in the direction of the melancholy sound.