"Mebby I am," admitted Williams. "I didn’t know you was acquainted with anybody around here, ’specially th’ C Bar outfit." "I wasn’t," replied Tex. "It ain’t my nature to be distant an’ disdainful, however." He grinned. "I get acquainted fast." "You acted prompt in helpin’ that Watkins," accused Williams. "I shore had to, or he’d ’a’ quit bein’ Watkins," retorted Tex. "You look here: We’ll be savin’ a lot of time if we come right down to cases. I saw a big man tryin’ to kick th’ head off another man, a smaller one, that was down. I stopped him from doin’ it without hurtin’ him serious. If it’d been th’ other way ’round I’d done th’ same thing. As it stands, it’s between Jake an’ me. We’ll let it stay that way until th’ lynchin’ party starts out. Then anybody will be plumb welcome to cut in an’ stop it. Excuse me for interferin’ with yore game--but th’ fault ain’t mine. Talkin’ is dry work--bartender, set ’em up for all hands. Who’s winnin’?" Williams picked up his cards again, looked at them, puckered his lips and glanced around at his companions. He cleared his throat and looked back at Tex. "I reckon I was, a little. Want to sit in? After all, Jake’s troubles are his own: we got enough without ’em." Tex looked at the table and the players, shrugged his shoulders and answered carelessly. "Don’t feel like playin’ very much--ate too much supper, I reckon. Later on, when I ain’t so heavy with grub, mebby I’ll take cards. I’d rather play ag’in’ fewer hands, tonight, anyhow." Williams looked up and sneered. "Think you got a better chance, that way?" "I get sort of confused when there’s so many playin’," confessed Tex; "but I shore can beat th’ man that invented th’ game, playin’ it two-handed. I used to play for hosses, two-hand. Allus had luck, somehow, playin’ for them. Why, once I owned six cayuses at one time, that I’d won." "That so? You like that gray: how much will you put up ag’in’ him?" "I wouldn’t play for no gray hoss--they’re plumb unlucky with me. I ain’t superstitious, but I shore don’t like gray hosses." "Got anythin’ ag’in’ sorrels?" Williams asked with deep sarcasm. "Nothin’ much; but I’m shore stuck on blacks an roans. I call them hosses!" Tex grinned at the crowd and looked back at Williams. "Yes, sir; I shore do." "How much will you put up ag’in’ a good roan, then?" "Ain’t got much money," evaded Tex, backing away. "Got two hundred dollars?" "Not for no cayuse. Besides, I don’t know th’ hoss yo’re meanin’." "That roan you saw today," replied Williams. "John said you liked him a lot. I’ll play you one hand, th’ roan, ag’in’ two hundred." Tex glanced furtively at the front door and then at the stairway. "Let it go till tomorrow night," he mumbled. "Yo’re a great talker, ain’t you?" sneered Williams. "I’ll put up th’ roan ag’in’ a hundred an’ fifty. One hand, just me an’ you."