lifted heads. Slim was studying the last throw that Phil Marvin had made. Terry could not but wonder what significance that “back way” had. Presently Oregon reappeared.
“Pete's come.”
“The hell!”
“Went upstairs.”
“Wants to be alone,” interrupted the girl. “He'll come down and talk when he feels like it. That's Pete's way.”
“Watching us, maybe,” growled Joe Pollard, with a shade of uneasiness still. “Damned funny gent, Pete is. Watches a man like a cat; watches a gopher hole all day, maybe. And maybe the gent he watches is a friend he's known for ten years. Well—let Pete go. They ain't no explaining him.”
Through the last part of his talk, and through the heaviness of his voice, cut another tone, lighter, sharper, venomous: “Phil, you gummed them dice that last time!”
Joe Pollard froze in place; the eyes of the girl widened. Terry, looking across the room, saw Phil Marvin scoop up the dice and start to his feet.
“You lie, Slim!”
Instinctively Terry slipped his hand onto his gun. It was what Phil Marvin had done, as a matter of fact. He stood swelling and glowering, staring down at Slim Dugan. Slim had not risen. His thin, lithe body was coiled, and he reminded Terry in ugly fashion of a snake ready to strike. His hand was not near his gun. It was the calm courage and self- confidence of a man who is sure of himself and of his enemy. Terry had heard of it before, but never seen it. As for Phil, it was plain that he was ill at ease in spite of his bulk and the advantage of his position. He was ready to fight. But he was not at all pleased with the prospect.
Terry again glanced at the witnesses. Every one of them was alert, but there was none of that fear which comes in the faces of ordinary men when strife between men is at hand. And suddenly Terry knew that every one of the five men in the room was an old familiar of danger, every one of them a past master of gun fighting!
CHAPTER 24
The uneasy wait continued for a moment or more. The whisper of Joe Pollard to his daughter barely reached the ear of Terry.
“Cut in between 'em, girl. You can handle 'em. I can't!”
She responded instantly, before Terry recovered from his shock of surprise.
“Slim, keep away from your gun!”
She spoke as she whirled from her chair to her feet. It was strange to see her direct all her attention to Slim, when Phil Marvin seemed the one about to draw.
“I ain't even nearin' my gun,” asserted Slim truthfully. “It's Phil that's got a strangle hold on his.”
“You're waiting for him to draw,” said the girl calmly enough. “I know you, Slim. Phil, don't be a fool. Drop your hand away from that gat!”
He hesitated; she stepped directly between him and his enemy of the moment and jerked the gun from its holster. Then she faced Slim. Obviously Phil was not displeased to have the matter taken out of his hands; obviously Slim was not so pleased. He looked coldly up to the girl.
“This is between him and me,” he protested. “I don't need none of your help, Kate.”
“Don't you? You're going to get it, though. Gimme that gun, Slim Dugan!”
“I want a square deal,” he complained. “I figure Phil has been crooking the dice on me.”
“Bah! Besides, I'll give you a square deal.”
She held out her hand for the weapon.
“Got any doubts about me being square, Slim?”
“Kate, leave this to me!”
“Why, Slim, I wouldn't let you run loose now for a million. You got that ugly look in your eyes. I know you, partner!”
And to the unutterable astonishment of Terry, the man pulled his gun from its holster and passed it up to her, his eyes fighting hers, his hand moving slowly. She stepped back, weighing the heavy weapons in her hands. Then she faced Phil Marvin with glittering eyes.
“It ain't the first time you been accused of queer stunts with the dice. What's the straight of it, Phil? Been doing anything to these dice?”
“Me? Sure I ain't!”
Her glance lingered on him the least part of a second.
“H'm!” said the girl. “Maybe not.”
Slim was on his feet, eager. “Take a look at 'em, Kate. Take a look at them dice!”
She held them up to the light—then dropped them into a pocket of her skirt. “I'll look at 'em in the morning, Slim.”
“The stuff'll be dry by that time!”
“Dry or not, that's what I'm going to do. I won't trust lamplight.”
Slim turned on his heel and flung himself sulkily down on the blanket, fighting her with sullen eyes. She turned
