Instantly, as was their wont whenever the Sheriff spoke, all eyes fixed themselves upon him. Indeed, it needed but a second glance at this cool, deliberate individual to see how great was his influence upon them. He was tall,--fully six feet one,--thin, and angular; his hair and moustache were black enough to bring out strongly the unhealthy pallor of his face; his eyes were steel grey and were heavily fringed and arched; his nose straight and his mouth hard, determined, but just, the lips of which were thin and drawn tightly over brilliantly-white teeth; and his soft, pale hands were almost feminine looking except for the unusual length of his fingers. On his head was a black beaver hat with a straight brim; a black broadcloth suit--cut after the “’Frisco” fashion of the day--gave every evidence that its owner paid not a little attention to it. From the bosom of his white, puffed shirt an enormous diamond, held in place by side gold chains, flashed forth; while glittering on his fingers was another stone almost as large. Below his trousers could plainly be seen the highly-polished boots; the heels and instep being higher than those generally in use. In a word, it was impossible not to get the impression that he was scrupulously immaculate and careful about his attire. And his voice--the voice that tells character as nothing else does--was smooth and drawling, though fearlessness and sincerity could easily be detected in it. Such was Mr. Jack Rance, Gambler and Sheriff of Manzaneta County. “This is a case for you, Jack Rance,” suddenly spoke up Sonora. “Yes,” chimed in Trinidad; and then as he gave the Australian a rough shake, he added: “Here’s the Sheriff to take charge of you.” But Mr. Jack Rance, the Sheriff of Manzaneta County, was never known to move otherwise than slowly, deliberately. Taking from his pocket a smoothly-creased handkerchief he proceeded to dust languidly first one and then the other of his boots; and not until he had succeeded in flicking the last grain of dust from them did he take up the business in hand. “Gentlemen, what’s wrong with the cyards?” he now began in his peculiar drawling voice. Sonora pointed to the faro table. “The Sidney Duck’s cheated!” he said--an accusation which was responsible for a renewal of outcries and caused a number of men to pounce upon the faro dealer. [Illustration: “This is our verdict and we are prepared to stand by it”] Trinidad ran a significant hand around his collar. “String ’im! Come on, you--!” once more he cried. But on seeing the Sheriff raise a restraining hand he desisted from pulling the Australian along. “Wait a minute!” commanded the Sheriff.