"What you mean?" asked the other, smiling as he waited for the joke. It did not come, so he continued. "Don’t take no harm in my fool wind-jammin’, stranger. It’s in th’ game. It’s a habit; I ’ve said it so much I just can’t help it no more—I up an’ says it at a funeral once; that is, part of it—th’ first part. That’s dead right! But I reckon I ’m wastin’ my time—unless you happen to feel coltish an’ hain’t got nothin’ to do for an age. I ’ve been playin’ in hard luck th’ last week or so—you see, I ain’t as good as I uster be. I ain’t quite so quick, an’ a little bit off my quickness is a whole lot off my chances. But th’ game’s square—an’ that’s a good deal more’n you can say about most of ’em." The puncher hesitated, a grin flickering about his thin lips and a calm joy warming him comfortably. He knew the operator. He knew that face, the peculiar, crescent-shaped scar over one brow, and the big, blue eyes that years of life had not entirely robbed of their baby-like innocence. The past, sorted thoroughly and quickly by his memory, shoved out that face before a crowd of others. Five years is not a long time to remember something unpleasant; he had reasons to remember that countenance. Knowing the face he also knew that the man had been, at one time, far from "square." The associations and means of livelihood during the past five years, judging from the man’s present occupation, had not been the kind to correct any evil tendency. He laid a forefinger on the edge of the tray. "Start th’ machinery—I ’ll risk a couple of dollars, anyhow. That ain’t much to lose. I bet two dollars I can call it right," he said, watching closely. He won, as he knew he would; and the result told him that the gambler had not reformed. The dexterous fingers shifting the shells were slower than others he had seen operate and when he had won again he stopped, as if to leave. "When I hit town a short time ago I didn’t know I ’d be so lucky. I went an’ drawed two months’ pay when I left th’ ranch: I shore don’t need it. Shuffle ’em again—it’s yore money, anyhow," he laughed. "You should ’a’ quit th’ game before you got so slow." "Goin’ back to work purty soon?" queried the shell-man, wondering how much this "sucker" had left unspent. "Not me! I ’ve only just had a couple of drinks since I hit town—an’ _I_ ’m due to celebrate." The other’s face gave no hint of his thoughts, which were that the fool before him had about a hundred dollars on his person. "Well, luck’s with you today—you ’ve called it right twice. I ’ll bet you a cool hundred that you can’t call it th’ third time. It’s th’ quickness of my hands agin yore eyes—an’ you can’t beat me three straight. Make it a hundred? I hate to play all day." "I ’ll lay you my winnings an’ have some more of yore money," replied the puncher, feverishly. "Ain’t scared, are you?"