There were grizzled outlaws in that group, some of whom had many notches on their gun-handles, and they, with their comrades, accorded Duane silence that carried conviction of the regard in which he was held. Duane could not recall any other instance where he had let fall a familiar speech to these men, and certainly he had never before hinted of his possibilities. He saw instantly that he could not have done better. “Orful hot, ain't it?” remarked Bill Black, presently. Bill could not keep quiet for long. He was a typical Texas desperado, had never been anything else. He was stoop-shouldered and bow-legged from much riding; a wiry little man, all muscle, with a square head, a hard face partly black from scrubby beard and red from sun, and a bright, roving, cruel eye. His shirt was open at the neck, showing a grizzled breast. “Is there any guy in this heah outfit sport enough to go swimmin'?” he asked. “My Gawd, Bill, you ain't agoin' to wash!” exclaimed a comrade. This raised a laugh in which Black joined. But no one seemed eager to join him in a bath. “Laziest outfit I ever rustled with,” went on Bill, discontentedly. “Nuthin' to do! Say, if nobody wants to swim maybe some of you'll gamble?” He produced a dirty pack of cards and waved them at the motionless crowd. “Bill, you're too good at cards,” replied a lanky outlaw. “Now, Jasper, you say thet powerful sweet, an' you look sweet, er I might take it to heart,” replied Black, with a sudden change of tone. Here it was again--that upflashing passion. What Jasper saw fit to reply would mollify the outlaw or it would not. There was an even balance. “No offense, Bill,” said Jasper, placidly, without moving. Bill grunted and forgot Jasper. But he seemed restless and dissatisfied. Duane knew him to be an inveterate gambler. And as Benson's place was out of running-order, Black was like a fish on dry land. “Wal, if you-all are afraid of the cairds, what will you bet on?” he asked, in disgust. “Bill, I'll play you a game of mumbly peg fer two bits.” replied one. Black eagerly accepted. Betting to him was a serious matter. The game obsessed him, not the stakes. He entered into the mumbly peg contest with a thoughtful mien and a corded brow. He won. Other comrades tried their luck with him and lost. Finally, when Bill had exhausted their supply of two-bit pieces or their desire for that particular game, he offered to bet on anything. “See thet turtle-dove there?” he said, pointing. “I'll bet he'll scare at one stone or he won't. Five pesos he'll fly or he won't fly when some one chucks a stone. Who'll take me up?” That appeared to be more than the gambling spirit of several outlaws could withstand. “Take thet. Easy money,” said one. “Who's goin' to chuck the stone?” asked another. “Anybody,” replied Bill. “Wal, I'll bet you I can scare him with one stone,” said the first outlaw. “We're in on thet, Jim to fire the darnick,” chimed in the others.