on Phil.
“How much d'you win?”
“Nothin'. Just a couple of hundred.”
“Just a couple of hundred! You call that nothing?”
Phil grunted. The other men leaned forward in their interest to watch the progress of the trial, all saving Joe Pollard, who sat with his elbows braced in sprawling fashion on the table, at ease, his eyes twinkling contentedly at the girl. Why she refused to examine the dice at once was plain to Terry. If they proved to have been gummed, it would mean a gun fight with the men at a battling temperature. In the morning when they had cooled down, it might be a different matter. Terry watched her in wonder. His idea of an efficient woman was based on Aunt Elizabeth, cold of eye and brain, practical in methods on the ranch, keen with figures. The efficiency of this slip of a girl was a different matter, a thing of passion, of quick insight, of lightning guesses. He could see the play of eager emotion in her face as she studied Phil Marvin. And how could she do justice? Terry was baffled.
“How long you two been playing?” “About twenty minutes.”
“Not more'n five!” cut in Slim hotly.
“Shut up, Slim!” she commanded. “I'm running this here game; Phil, how many straight passes did you make?”
“Me? Oh, I dunno. Maybe—five.”
“Five straight passes!” said the girl. “Five straight passes!”
“You heard me say it,” growled big Phil Marvin.
All at once she laughed.
“Phil, give that two hundred back to Slim!”
It came like a bolt from the blue, this decision. Marvin hesitated, shook his head.
“Damned if I do. I don't back down. I won it square!”
“Listen to me,” said the girl. Instead of threatening, as Terry expected, she had suddenly become conciliatory. She stepped close to him and dropped a slim hand on his burly shoulder. “Ain't Slim a pal of yours? You and him, ain't you stuck together through thick and thin? He thinks you didn't win that coin square. Is Slim's friendship worth two hundred to you, or ain't it? Besides, you ain't lying down to nobody. Why, you big squarehead, Phil, don't we all know that you'd fight a bull with your bare hands? Who'd call you yaller? We'd simply say you was square, Phil, and you know it.”
There was a pause. Phil was biting his lip, scowling at Slim. Slim was sneering in return. It seemed that she had failed. Even if she forced Phil to return the money, he and Slim would hate each other as long as they lived. And Terry gained a keen impression that if the hatred continued, one of them would die very soon indeed. Her solution of the problem was a strange one. She faced them both.
“You two big sulky babies!” she exclaimed. “Slim, what did Phil do for you down in Tecomo? Phil, did Slim stand by you last April—you know the time? Why, boys, you're just being plain foolish. Get up, both of you, and take a walk outside where you'll get cooled down.”
Slim rose. He and Phil walked slowly toward the door, at a little distance from each other, one eyeing the other shrewdly. At the door they hesitated. Finally, Phil lurched forward and went out first. Slim glided after.
“By heaven!” groaned Pollard as the door closed. “There goes two good men! Kate, what put this last fool idea into your head?”
She did not answer for a moment, but dropped into a chair as though suddenly exhausted.
“It'll work out,” she said at length. “You wait for it!”
“Well,” grumbled her father, “the mischief is working. Run along to bed, will you?”
She rose, wearily, and started across the room. But she turned before she passed out of their sight and leaned against one of the pillars.
“Dad, why you so anxious to get me out of the way?”
“What d'you mean by that? I got no reason. Run along and don't bother me!”
He turned his shoulder on her. As for the girl, she remained a moment, looking thoughtfully at the broad back of Pollard. Then her glance shifted and dwelt a moment on Terry—with pity, he wondered?
“Good night, boys!”
When the door closed on her, Joe Pollard turned his attention more fully on his new employee, and when Terry suggested that it was time for him to turn in, his suggestion was hospitably put to one side. Pollard began talking genially of the mountains, of the “varmints” he expected Terry to clean out, and while he talked, he took out a broad silver dollar and began flicking it in the air and catching it in the calloused palm of his hand.
“Call it,” he interrupted himself to say to Terry.
“Heads,” said Terry carelessly.
The coin spun up, flickered at the height of its rise, and rang loudly on the table.
“You win,” said Pollard. “Well, you're a lucky gent, Terry, but I'll go you ten you can't call it again.”
But again Terry called heads, and again the coin chimed, steadied, and showed the Grecian goddess. The rancher doubled his bet. He lost, doubled, lost again, doubled again, lost. A pile of money had appeared by magic before Terry.
“I came to work for money,” laughed Terry, “not
“I always lose at this game,” sighed Joe Pollard.
