They all stared--Stumpy the hardest of all. Then he joined in the laugh. “Sure there do be aces to burn in thot pack,” he said. “I have two of thim me own silf, wid three kings.” And he showed them down. “Sure I have you bate, anyhow,” said Gallagher, who was as surprised as any one else, but who seemed to cherish the idea of winning something, somehow. “I have four jacks,” and he showed them, but they were all red. “Let’s have a look at the deck,” said the one-eyed man, and he spread the cards out, face up. A most surprising number of face cards remained, despite the eleven that had been distributed in the deal, and there was a conspicuous absence of small cards. “Wat sort of a divil’s game is this, I don’t know?” asked Stumpy. The one-eyed man picked up the case that had held the deck, from the corner where it had been thrown, and read the word “Pinochle” on it. “It’s a game the Dutchmen play in the East,” he said. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it played. But it does give a man good poker hands, doesn’t it?” There was nothing to do but divide the pot, and by the time each man had drawn down his money the _Rosa Lee_ was screeching a continuous toot for rousters to catch her lines, and the barroom was quickly emptied. II THREE KINGS After the river was frozen up and the boats could no longer ply the upper Mississippi, the only approach to Brownsville from the other river towns was by the stage-sleigh that came from La Crosse. This crossed three times a week each way, and occasionally brought some stranger to the town, though why a stranger should come, unless he arrived on a boat that would presently carry him farther along on his way, was a thing Brownsville could not readily understand. It was therefore with mild surprise that the citizens of the place saw one Jack Britton jump out of the low box sleigh one evening in the middle of winter. Nothing was said to him when he alighted. It was not Brownsville’s way to greet newcomers with enthusiasm. But such of the citizens as happened to be near lined up expectantly in front of Sam’s bar, when Mr. Britton, after stamping his feet a few times, and thrashing his arms across his chest to get his blood in circulation, entered the barroom and walked over to the stove to warm his fingers. After he had stood there for a few minutes, and had, presumably, recovered from the chill of the long ride, he stepped up to the bar and called for some whiskey. His manner was that of a man who is immersed in thought, and for the moment he seemed not to observe that there were others present. Sam produced a bottle and a glass and set them on the bar, and Mr. Britton poured out a drink for a grown man. He did not know it, or it seemed as if he did not, but the eyes of the community were fixed upon him.