The situation remained the same. My opponent still lay upon the table with the jack-pot in his arms. A perfect pandemonium of argument filled the place; in some cases it had developed a personal note, and hands were stealing to hips. I unobtrusively pushed my chair against the wall. Presently the Chief of Police arrived with four or five gendarmes. He was a large, unshaven man whose mustaches twisted up to his eyes; dressed in a loose, dirty uniform with red plush epaulettes. As he came in everybody began explaining to him at once. The dealer made a megaphone out of his hands and shouted through the din; the man on the table turned up a livid face, insisting shrilly that it was an outrage for Gringo rules to spoil a perfectly good Mexican game like stud poker. The chief listened, curling his mustaches, his chest swelling with the importance of being the deciding factor in an argument involving such large sums of money. He looked at me. I said nothing, but bowed politely. He returned the bow. Then, turning to his policeman he pointed a dramatic finger at the man at the table. "Arrest this goat!" he said. It was a fitting climax. Shrieking and protesting, the unfortunate Mexican was led into a corner, where he stood facing the table. "The money belongs to this gentleman," continued the Chief of Police. "As for you, you evidently do not understand the rudiments of this game. I have a mind...." "Perhaps," said Roberts, politely, nudging me, "the Señor Captain would like to show the gentleman....?" "I should be only too glad to loan him a few chips," I added, raking in the pile. "_Oiga!_" said the Chief. "I will be glad to do so. Superlative thanks, sir!" He drew up a chair, and, out of politeness, the buck was given to him. "_Abierto!_" he said, with the air of an old hand. We played. The Chief of Police won. He rattled his chips like a professional gambler, slapping the buck to his neighbor, and we played again. "You see," said the Chief of Police, "it is easy if you observe the rules." He twisted his mustache, ruffled the cards, and pushed in twenty-five dollars. He won again. After some time one of the policemen approached him respectfully and said: "I beg you pardon, _mi capitan_, but what shall we do with the prisoner?" "Oh!" said the Chief, staring. He waved his hand casually. "Just release him and return to your stations." Long after the last wheel had been spun on the roulette table, the lamps blown out, and the most feverish gambler ejected into the street, we sat playing in the poker room. Roberts and I were down to about three pesos apiece. We yawned and nodded with sleepiness. But the Chief of Police had his coat off and was crouched like a tiger over his cards. Now he was losing steadily.... *CHAPTER II* *HAPPY VALLEY*