The great gambling house of Morehead, Opstein, & Company was beginning to be deserted by the crowd that had tempted the fickle goddess all night long to their great hurt. It was now four o'clock in the morning, and only one or two of the more desperate losers hung on to play. Snakey the Parson, a thin delicate knave, with a long innocent, melancholy face, was dealing faro for the house. "Snakey" was a "special" in the parlance of the guild; his luck was known to come in "blizzards"; if he won, to use the manager's language, he won out through the ceiling, and if he lost, he lost down to his health. For this reason Snakey the Parson was not a safe man as a "regular," but he was a golden bonanza when the cards went his way, and to-night they were going his way. The stragglers drifted out one by one and the dealer was preparing to quit the table when the door opened and two men entered: one was a little old man with a white beard and a lean, hungry face; the other was a big, half-drunken cattle drover. The two came up to the table and stood for a moment looking at the lay-out. A faint smile passed over the face of Snakey the Parson, he knew the types well, they were western cattle-shippers with money. "How high do ye go, mister?" said the little man. "Against the sky," answered the dealer, sadly. "Then I'll jist double me pile," said the little old man, reaching down into his pocket and fishing up a roll of bills wrapped in a dirty old newspaper. He counted the money and placed it upon the table. The dealer looked up in astonishment. "Ten thousand!" he said. "Yep," answered the old man, "an I want ter bet hit on the jack er spades." The dealer pushed a stack of yellow chips across the table. "No, siree," said the player, "you don't give me no buttons. I' ll put my pile on this side and you put your pile on t'other side, and the winner takes 'em." Snakey the Parson wavered a moment. It was against the rules, but here was too good a thing to lose. He turned, counted out the money, and placed it on his right, and began to deal from the box. The cards fell rapidly. For a time the blacks ran on the side of the house. Suddenly they changed and the queen and the ten of spades fell on the left. The dealer saw the card under his thumb and paused. The keen eyes of the old man were fixed on him. He determined to take the long chance, knowing that the loss was only temporary; and the jack of spades came up and fell on the side of the stranger. With a whoop of joy the old man clutched the money. "I am going to try her agin!" he cried. "Hold on," said the big cattle-drover, pushing up to the table; "my wad is as good as you; it is my turn now." The dealer grinned. "You can both play, gentlemen," he said, speaking with a low, sweet accent. "No, we can't," muttered the drover, with the childish obstinacy of a half-drunken man. "I want the whole shooting match to myself; he can have the next whirl at her."