Stone put down his cards and reached for the pot. Curly laughed. Blackwell whirled on him. "What's so condemned funny?" "The things I notice." "Meaning?" "That I wouldn't have laid down my hand." "Betcher ten plunks he had me beat." "You're on." Curly turned to Soapy. "Object to us seeing your hand?" Stone was counting his chips. He smiled. "It ain't poker, but go ahead. Satisfy yourselves." "You turn the cards," Flandrau said. A king of diamonds showed first, then a ten-spot and a six-spot of the same suit. "A flush," exulted Blackwell. "I've got just one more ten left, but it says you're wrong." The words were not out of Curly's mouth before the other had taken the bet. Soapy looked at Flandrau with a new interest. Perhaps this boy was not such a youth as he had first seemed. The fourth card turned was a king of hearts, the last a six of spades. Stone had had two pair to go on and had not bettered at the draw. Blackwell tossed down two bills and went away furious. That night was like a good many that followed. Sam was at an impressionable age, inclined to be led by any man whom he admired. Curly knew that he could gain no influence over him by preaching. He had to live the rough-and-tumble life of these men who dwelt beyond the pale of the law, to excel them at the very things of which they boasted. But in one respect he held himself apart. While he was at the horse ranch he did not touch a drop of liquor. Laura London's letter was not delivered until the second day, for, though she had not told her messenger to give it to Sam when he was alone, Curly guessed this would be better. The two young men had ridden down to Big Tree spring to get quail for supper. "Letter for you from a young lady," Flandrau said, and handed it to Cullison. Sam did not read his note at once, but put it in his pocket carelessly, as if it had been an advertisement. They lay down in the bushes about twenty yards apart, close to the hole where the birds flew every evening to water. Hidden by the mesquite, Sam ran over his letter two or three times while he was waiting. It was such a message as any brave-hearted, impulsive girl might send to the man she loved when he seemed to her to walk in danger. Cullison loved her for the interest she took in him, even while he ridiculed her fears. Presently the quails came by hundreds on a bee-line for the water hole. They shot as many as they needed, but no more, for neither of them cared to kill for pleasure. As they rode back to the ranch, Curly mentioned that he had seen Sam's people a day or two before. Cullison asked no questions, but he listened intently while the other told the story of his first rustling and of how Miss Kate and her father had stood by him in his trouble. The dusk was settling over the hills by this time, so that they could not see each other's faces clearly.