"Lying?" repeated Cochrane, as if he had never heard the word before, and he peered with clearing eyes toward Pierre. "No, I think this boy has never lied." Silence had spread through the place like a vapor. Even the slight sounds in the gaming-room were done now, and one pair after another of eyes swung toward the table of Cochrane and Hurley. The wave of the silence reached to the barroom. No one could have carried the tidings so soon, but the air was surcharged with the consciousness of an impending crisis. Half a dozen men started to make their way on tiptoe toward the back room. One stood with his whisky glass suspended in midair, and tilted back his head to listen. In the gaming-room Hurley pushed back his chair and leaned to the left, giving him a free sweep for his right hand. The Mexican smiled with a slow and deep content. "Thank you," answered Pierre, "but I am waiting still, sir." The left hand of Hurley played impatiently on the table. He said: "Of course, if you have enough--" "I--enough?" flared the old aristocrat. Pierre le Rouge turned fairly upon Hurley. "In the name of God," he said calmly, "make an end of your game. You're playing for money, but I think this man is playing for his eternal soul." The solemn, bookish phraseology came smoothly from his tongue. He knew no other. It drew a murmur of amusement from the room and a snarl from Hurley. "Put on skirts, kid, and join the Salvation Army, but don't get yourself messed all up in here. This is my party, and I'm damned particular who I invite! Now, run along!" The head of Pierre tilted back, and he burst into laughter which troubled even Hurley. The gambler blurted: "What's happening to you, kid?" "I've been making a lot of good resolutions, Mr. Hurley, about keeping out of trouble; but here I am in it up to the neck." "No trouble as long as you keep your hand out of another man's game, kid." "That's it. I can't see you rob Mr. Cochrane like this. You aren't gambling--you're digging gold. The game stops now." It was a moment before the crowd realized what was about to happen; they saw it reflected first in the face of Hurley, which suddenly went taut and pale, and then, even as they looked with a smile of curiosity and derision toward Pierre le Rouge, they saw and understood. For the moment Pierre said, "The game stops now," the calm which had been with him was gone. It was like the scent of blood to the starved wolf. The last word was scarcely off his tongue when he was crouched with a devil of green fury in his eyes--the light struck his hair into a wave of flame--his face altered by a dozen ugly years. "D'you mean?" whispered Hurley, as if he feared to break the silence with his full voice. "Get out of the room."