“Here he comes now,” cried a voice, and just then Pistols was seen approaching the table where Buffalo Bill sat, a cigar between his teeth. With a lurch Pistols dropped into his chair and glared at Buffalo Bill. “I has come back!” he said. “So I see.” “There’s ther pack o’ cards,” and he tossed them upon the table. Buffalo Bill picked them up, glanced at them, and said: “Yes, they are all right.” “Did yer think I’d git any as wasn’t?” “Not being acquainted with you I didn’t know.” “Waal, we’ll git better acquainted, I’m thinking.” “Perhaps.” “Come, don’t git skeered, fer I ain’t goin’ ter shoot, only I hed ter kill a feller over that, just now, and I is loadin’ my gun ag’in.” “You are very wise.” “Yer see he insulted me.” “I can hardly believe that possible.” There were a number who heard this reply who appreciated its sarcasm. Pistols felt that there was a meaning in it he could not fathom, so he did not try, and said: “Yes, he put water in my whisky.” “Did he not know you?” “Yaas, only he tried to play a underhand game on me. We has been mighty good friends, Shuffles and me, for he has twice saved my life, and he meant well toward me, I is sart’in, fearin’ I sh’u’d git too much, so he put water in my whisky, and I’d kill my brother fer a insult like that.” “I can believe you; but may he not have been only wounded?” “Yer don’t know me, pard, for I never wastes powder and lead, but shoots to kill. I is sorry my poor pard Shuffles committed suicide, for he should have know’d me well; but he’s out o’ misery now, and I’ll pay all ther expenses of ther funeral and give him a beautiful send-off on ther trail ter glory, an’ put up a stone over him with a inscription as a warnin’ to them who puts water in whisky, which I drinks ter git all o’ ther leetle devil out of it I kin. Does yer tumble?” “Oh, yes; but do you still wish to play with me?” “Does I?” “Yes.” “Why, pard, I is in fer a game o’ anything with you.” “Then let us begin.” The words were so quietly uttered, the look of the scout was so calm, that it checked the devil gaining the ascendency of the man for a minute. “All right, pard, I is ready.” The cards were shuffled, cut for the deal, and Buffalo Bill won. Then the game was begun. All who watched the two men, and they were all who could crowd about them, saw that the scout was as cool as an icicle, showing not the slightest dread of what any one who was near felt sure must end in a deadly encounter between the two players. Buffalo Bill serenely smoked his cigar, his face remaining impassive, and yet those who watched him closely saw that his eyes were rather upon his adversary than his cards. The game was played more carefully by Pistols than those who saw him believed possible, for he was cautious in all he did and leered maliciously at Buffalo Bill when he gained a point. At last he seemed to brighten up and said: “A hundred on my hand, Buffalo Bill.” “Mine is worth twice that sum.”