"Business appears to be picking up," murmured the proprietor of the game. Phillips' neighbor continued to hold the boy's hand in a vicelike grip. Now he leaned forward, saying: "Look here! Are you going to cover our coin or am I going to smoke you up?" "The groans of the gambler is sweet music in their ears!" The dealer shrugged reluctantly and counted out four hundred and thirty-five dollars, which he separated into two piles. A certain shame at his action swept over Phillips when he felt his companion's grasp relax and heard him say, "Turn her over, kid." This was diamond cut diamond, of course; nevertheless, it was a low-down trick and-- Pierce Phillips started, he examined the interior of the walnut-shell in bewilderment, for he had lifted it only to find it quite empty. "Every now and then I win a little one," the dealer intoned, gravely pocketing his winnings. "It only goes to show you that the hand--" "Damnation!" exploded the man at Phillips' side. "Trimmed for three hundred, or I'm a goat!" As Pierce walked away some one fell into step with him; it was the sullen, black-browed individual he had seen at the trading-post. "So they took you for a hundred and thirty-five, eh? You must be rolling in coin," the man observed. Even yet Pierce was more than a little dazed. "Do you know," said he, "I was sure I had the right shell." "Why, of course you had the right one." The stranger laughed shortly. "They laid it up for you on purpose, then Kid Bridges worked a shift when he held your hand. You can't beat 'em." Pierce halted. "Was he--was THAT fellow with the pack a booster?" "Certainly. They're all boosters. The Kid carries enough hay on his back to feed a team. It's his bed. I've been here a week and I know 'em." The speaker stared in surprise at Phillips, who had broken into a hearty laugh. "Look here! A little hundred and thirty-five must be chicken feed to you. If you've got any more to toss away, toss it in my direction." "That's what makes it so funny. You see, I haven't any more. That was my last dollar. Well, it serves me right. Now I can start from scratch and win on my own speed." The dark-browed man studied Phillips curiously. "You're certain'y game," he announced. "I s'pose now you'll be wanting to sell some of your outfit. That's why I've been hanging around that game. I've picked up quite a bit of stuff that way, but I'm still short a few things and I'll buy--" "I haven't a pound of grub. I came up second-class." "Huh! Then you'll go back steerage." "Oh no, I won't! I'm going on to Dawson." There was a momentary silence. "You say you've been here a week? Put me up for the night--until I get a job. Will you?" The black-eyed man hesitated, then he grinned. "You've got your nerve, but--I'm blamed if I don't like it," said he. "My brother Jim is cooking supper now. Suppose we go over to the tent and ask him." CHAPTER II