Hankins was shuffling, preparatory to his deal. As he twisted the cards in his fingers, he gave a vivid, if immoral, account of his last trip to Tucson. Loring’s head was swimming, but he caught the words: “She was the stuff all right, all right.” Suddenly Jackson jumped to his feet, and stood as if listening intently. “I guess your _caballo_ must be loose, Mr. Loring; seems to me I hear him sort of stamping round outside. Did you hitch him tight?” Loring staggered to the door and looked out. From the blackness came a gust of wind and rain that cooled his flushed forehead. “I think he’s all right. Can’t see anything at all. Must have been wind you heard. Big, big wind outside.” During his absence from the table, Hankins had dealt. Stephen picked up his cards. At first he could not distinguish them. They seemed to be all a blur of color. Then it slowly dawned upon him that he held four kings and a jack. His head reeled with excitement. “Any objection to raising limit?” he asked eagerly, with an unconcealed look of triumph upon his face. “Wa-al, of course, if you want to, we’ll come along, just to make the game interesting,” drawled Jackson; “I guess you have us stung all right. Only one card for you? Gawd, you must have a fat hand!” Loring kept raising and raising, until he reached the limit of all that he owned in the world. Then, for drunk or sober, he was no man to bet what he did not have, he called. Throwing his cards face upwards upon the table, he reached unsteadily for the huge pile of chips. “F-Four kings!” he shouted exultantly. “I—think—they are good.” [Illustration: “‘It seems like as if you was bitten, Mr. Loring,’ said Hankins.” _Page 125_] Jackson looked at Stephen’s half-shut eyes, at the heavy way his elbow rested on the table, and smiled. Then with a broad wink at Hankins, he exclaimed. “Well, I’ll be damned. Ain’t this the luck! Here’s four aces! By Gawd!” “It seems like as if you was bitten, Mr. Loring,” said Hankins. “Great game that was. Well, gents, have another drink now on the house.” Stephen, in a dazed manner, took his drink, then dimly there came into his mind his orders to work night shift. “What—whatsh the time?” he asked. “It’s close to ten,” answered Jackson. The faint idea kept crawling in Loring’s mind: “Night shift, hoist, must go.” He plunged out into the darkness, and tried to drag himself into the saddle. When he had gone the two other men roared with laughter. “That was easy,” exclaimed Jackson, “but I guess we had better look after him a bit now, or he will be in trouble.” They went out after Stephen, and found him still trying to climb into the saddle. Each time that he tried, he almost succeeded, then he swayed, and fell back onto the muddy ground. The pony, under these unusual proceedings, was growing restive. They lifted Stephen onto the horse. He lurched, and almost fell off on the other side. “Easy now. You’re all right,” said Jackson.