"Ten days from home, knowin’ nobody, two measly dollars in my pocket, an’ luck dead agin me," he growled with pugnacious pessimism. "Oh, I ’m a wise old bird, I am! A h—l of a wise bird. Real smart an’ cute an’ shiny, a cache of wisdom, a real, bonyfied Smart Aleck with a head full of spavined brains. I copper th’ deuce an’ th’ deuce wins; I play th’ King to win for ten dollars when I ought to copper it. I lay two-bits and it comes right—ten dollars an’ I see my guess go _loco_. Reckon I better slip these here twin bucks down in my kill-me-soon boots afore some blind papoose takes ’em away from me. Wiser ’n Solomon, I am; I ’ve got old Caesar climbin’ a cactus for pleasure an’ joy. S-u-c-k-e-r is my middle name—an’ I ’m busted." He almost stumbled over a little tray of a three-legged table on the corner of the street and his face went hard as he saw the layout. Three halves of English walnut shells lay on the faded and soiled green cloth and a blackened, shriveled pea was still rolling from the shaking he had given the table. He stopped and regarded it gravely, jingling his two dollars disconsolately. "Don’t this town do nothin’ else besides gamble?" he muttered, looking around. "Howd’y, stranger!" cheerfully cried a man who hastened up. "Want to see me fool you?" The puncher’s anger was aroused to a thin, licking flame; but it passed swiftly and a cold, calculating look came into his eyes. He glanced around swiftly, trying to locate the cappers, but they were not to be seen, which worried him a little. He always liked to have possible danger where he could keep an eye on it. Perhaps they were eating or drinking—the thought stirred him again to anger: two dollars would not feed him very long, nor quench his thirst. "Pick it out, stranger," invited the proprietor, idly shifting the shells. "It’s easy if yo ’re right smart—but lots of folks just can’t do it; they can’t seem to get th’ hang of it, somehow. That’s why it’s a bettin’ proposition. Here it is, right before yore eyes! One little pea, three little shells, right here plumb in front of yore eyes! Th’ little pea hides under one of th’ little shells, right in plain sight: But can you tell which one? That’s th’ whole game, right there. See how it’s done?" and the three little shells moved swiftly but clumsily and the little pea disappeared. "Now, then; where would _you_ say it was?" demanded the hopeful operator, genially. The puncher gripped his two dollars firmly, shifted his weight as much as possible on his sound leg, and scowled: he knew where it was. "Do I look like a kid? Do you reckon you have to coax like a fool to get me all primed up to show how re-markably smart an’ quick I am? You don’t; I know how smart I am. Say, you ain’t, not by any kinda miracle, a blind papoose, are you?" he demanded.