The dice rattled out. He won. Again, and still he won. The gambler wiped his forehead and looked up anxiously. For these were wagers in gold, and the doubling stakes were running high. About Pierre a crowd had grown--a dozen cattlemen who watched the growing heap of gold with silent fascination. Then they began to make wagers of their own, and there were faint whispers of wrath and astonishment as the dice clicked out and each time the winnings of Pierre doubled. Suddenly the dealer stopped and held up his left hand as a warning. With his right, very slowly, inch by inch lest anyone should suspect him of a gunplay, he drew out a heavy forty-five and laid it on the table with the belt of cartridges. "Three years she's been on my hip through thick and thin, stranger. Three years she's shot close an' true. There ain't a butt in the world that hugs your hand tighter. There ain't a cylinder that spins easier. Shoot? Lad, even a kid like you could be a killer with that six-gun. What will you lay ag'in' it?" And his red-stained eyes glanced covetously at the yellow heap of Pierre's money. "How much?" said Pierre eagerly. "Is there enough on the table to buy the gun?" "Buy?" said the other fiercely. "There ain't enough coin west of the Rockies to buy that gun. D'you think I'm yaller enough to sell my six? No, but I'll risk it in a fair bet. There ain't no disgrace in that; eh, pals?" There was a chorus of low grunts of assent. "All right," said Pierre. "That pile against the gun." "All of it?" "All." "Look here, kid, if you're tryin' to play a charity game with me--" "Charity?" The frank surprise of that look disarmed the other. He swept up the dice-box, and shook it furiously, while his lips stirred. It was as if he murmured an incantation for success. The dice rolled out, winking in the light, spun over, and the owner of the gun stood with both hands braced against the edge of the table, and stared hopelessly down. A moment before his pockets had sagged with a precious weight, and there had been a significant drag of the belt over his right hip. Now both burdens were gone. He looked up with a short laugh. "I'm dry. Who'll stake me to a drink?" Pierre scooped up a dozen pieces of the gold. "Here." The other drew back. "You're very welcome to it. Here's more, if you'll have it." "The coin I've lost to you? Take back a gamblin' debt?" "Easy there," said one of the men. "Don't you see the kid's green? Here's a five-spot." The loser accepted the coin as carelessly as if he were conferring a favor by taking it, cast another scowl in the direction of Pierre, and went out toward the bar. Pierre, very hot in the face, pocketed his winnings and belted on the gun. It hung low on his thigh, just in easy gripping distance of his hand, and he fingered the butt with a smile. "The kid's feelin' most a man," remarked a sarcastic voice. "Say, kid, why don't you try your luck with Mac Hurley? He's almost through with poor old Cochrane."