"I’ve heard that said of better men than him; some of them now dead," said Tex. "Must be a pleasant sort of a chap." He cogitated a bit. "An’ how long has he been playin’ shadow to friend Williams? Since I come to town, or before?" he asked as casually as he could, but tensely awaited the answer. "Couple av years," answered Murphy; "an’ mebby longer." He tried to peer through the darkness. "Was ye thinkin’ ye made th’ job for him?" "Well, hardly," replied Tex. "I’m naturally conceited, suspicious, and allus lookin’ out for myself. Th’ thought just happened to hit me." Their conversation began to ramble to subjects foreign to Windsor and its inhabitants, and after a little while Tex arose to leave. He melted out of sight into the night and half an hour later rode into town from the west, along the railroad, and soon stopped before the hotel. The customary poker game was in full swing and he nodded to the players, received a civil greeting from Gus Williams, and after a short, polite pause at the table, wandered over to the bar, where Blascom leaned in black despondency. "How’d’y," said Tex affably. "Fine night, but hot, an’ close." "Fine, h--l!" growled Blascom, sullenly looking up. "Not meanin’ you no offense, stranger," he hastily added. "I’m grouchy tonight," he explained. "Why, what’s th’ trouble?" asked Tex after swift scrutiny of the other’s countenance. "Barkeep, give us two drinks, over yonder," and he led his companion to the table. "No luck?" Blascom growled an oath. "None at all. My stake’s run out, all but this last bag," and he slammed it viciously onto the table. "Th’ claim’s showin’ nothin’." He scowled at the bag and then, avarice in his eyes and desperation in his voice, he looked up into the face opposite him. "This is next to no good: I’ll double it, or lose it. What you say to a two-hand game?" Tex looked a little suspicious. "I don’t usually play for that much, rightaway, ag’in’ strangers." He looked around the room and flushed slightly at the knowing smiles and sarcastic grins. "Oh, I don’t care," he asserted, swaggering a little. "Come on; I’ll go you. Deck of cards, friend," he called to the dispenser of drinks, and almost at the words they were sailing through the air toward his hands. "You’ve got as much chance as I have; an’ if I don’t win it, somebody else will. Draw, I reckon?" he asked nervously. "All right; low deals," and the game was on. Blascom won the first hand, Tex the second. For the better part of an hour it was an up-and-down affair, the ups for Tex not enough to offset the downs. Finally, with a big pot at stake he pressed the betting on the theory that his opponent was bluffing. Suddenly becoming doubtful, he let a palpable fear master him, refused to see the raise, and slammed his hand down on the table with a curse. Blascom laughed, grandiloquently spread a four-card flush under his adversary’s nose, and raked in his winnings.