Suddenly Jimmie got another of his "hunches." He cast a swift, apprising glance at Conniston, and then, tugging Bart's sleeve, drew him to the door. Conniston could hear their voices outside, and, although he could not catch their words, he knew from the tone that Jimmie was urging, while Bart demurred. They came back and had another drink at the bartender's invitation, after which they stepped to the table and watched the play for five minutes. "I'd 'a' won twice runnin'," grunted Jimmie. "We ought to make a try." Bart hesitated, watched another play, and said, shortly: "Go to it. If you can put it across I'm with you." Whereupon Jimmie returned to Conniston and made him a proposition. And ten minutes later, when Conniston went smiling back to the hotel, Jimmie and Bart were playing again, each with a hundred dollars in front of him. CHAPTER III Roger Hapgood lifted his pale, heavy-lidded eyes from the pages of his magazine and regarded Conniston with a look from which not all reproach had yet gone. "I hope you've been enjoying yourself in this Eden of yours," he said, sourly. Conniston sent his hat spinning across the room, to lodge behind the bed, and laughed. "You've called the turn, Sobersides! I've been having the time of my young life. And now all I have to do is sit tight to see--" "See--what?" drawled Roger. "I've laid a bet, and it's wedged so and hedged so that I win both ways!" Greek chuckled gleefully at the memory of it. "What sort of a bet?" "Two hundred dollars!" Hapgood put down his magazine and got to his feet, plainly concerned. "You don't mean that, Greek?" "I mean exactly that." Conniston tossed to the bed a small handful of greenbacks and silver. "This is all that's left to the firm of Conniston and Hapgood." With quick, nervous fingers Hapgood swept up the money and counted it. His eyes showing the uneasiness within him, he turned to the jubilant Conniston. "There are just twenty-seven dollars and sixty cents. Are you drunk?" Conniston giggled, his amusement swelling in pace with Hapgood's dawning discomfiture. "I told you I had made a bet. I have laid a wager with the Fates. And right now, my dear Roger, while we sit comfortably and smoke and wait, the Fates are deciding things for us!" Roger paused, regarding him. "Yes, you're drunk. If you are not, is it asking too much to suggest that you explain?" "No. I'll explain. At the sign of the local Whisky Barrel there is a game of faro now in progress. Two very charming young gentlemen, named Jimmie and Bart, punchers of cattle, whatever that may be, are deciding things for Roger Hapgood and William Conniston, Junior, of New York. Each of the amateur gamblers--and they actually do play very badly, Roger!--has before him a hundred dollars of my money. If they win to-night I get back two hundred dollars plus half their winnings, and you and I take the train for San Francisco!" "If they win. And if they lose?"