"You-all are on the grade at last," Harnish remarked, as he saw the fifteen hundred and raised a thousand in turn. "Helen Breakfast's sure on top this divide, and you-all had best look out for bustin' harness." "Me for that same lady," accompanied MacDonald's markers for two thousand and for an additional thousand-dollar raise. It was at this stage that the players sat up and knew beyond peradventure that big hands were out. Though their features showed nothing, each man was beginning unconsciously to tense. Each man strove to appear his natural self, and each natural self was different. Hal Campbell affected his customary cautiousness. French Louis betrayed interest. MacDonald retained his whole-souled benevolence, though it seemed to take on a slightly exaggerated tone. Kearns was coolly dispassionate and noncommittal, while Elam Harnish appeared as quizzical and jocular as ever. Eleven thousand dollars were already in the pot, and the markers were heaped in a confused pile in the centre of the table. "I ain't go no more markers," Kearns remarked plaintively. "We'd best begin I.O.U.'s." "Glad you're going to stay," was MacDonald's cordial response. "I ain't stayed yet. I've got a thousand in already. How's it stand now?" "It'll cost you three thousand for a look in, but nobody will stop you from raising." "Raise--hell. You must think I got a pat like yourself." Kearns looked at his hand. "But I'll tell you what I'll do, Mac. "I've got a hunch, and I'll just see that three thousand." He wrote the sum on a slip of paper, signed his name, and consigned it to the centre of the table. French Louis became the focus of all eyes. He fingered his cards nervously for a space. Then, with a "By Gar! Ah got not one leetle beet hunch," he regretfully tossed his hand into the discards. The next moment the hundred and odd pairs of eyes shifted to Campbell. "I won't hump you, Jack," he said, contenting himself with calling the requisite two thousand. The eyes shifted to Harnish, who scribbled on a piece of paper and shoved it forward. "I'll just let you-all know this ain't no Sunday-school society of philanthropy," he said. "I see you, Jack, and I raise you a thousand. Here's where you-all get action on your pat, Mac." "Action's what I fatten on, and I lift another thousand," was MacDonald's rejoinder. "Still got that hunch, Jack?" "I still got the hunch." Kearns fingered his cards a long time. "And I'll play it, but you've got to know how I stand. There's my steamer, the Bella--worth twenty thousand if she's worth an ounce. There's Sixty Mile with five thousand in stock on the shelves. And you know I got a sawmill coming in. It's at Linderman now, and the scow is building. Am I good?"