carried it a hundred and fifty yards before he had to engage the clutch. A quarter of a mile below the house, he took the first turn to the right along a narrow track that went up and down rocky hills and brought him to a small park into which he descended. From a cluster of pines a light shone.
It came from an adobe cabin set beside a small stream. Hal got out of the car and knocked on the door. Cash Polk opened. He stood there, his long jaw dropping with surprise. At a round table four other men with cards in their hands had suspended play and turned to look at the newcomer.
'I'll be damned if it isn't the buttinski,' Brick Fenwick said in a low voice.
Frank Lovell called to Hal. 'Come in and take a hand. Maybe you'll change my rotten luck.'
'Don't mind if I do,' Stevens answered cheerfully. 'Haven't been in a game for quite a while.' He nodded to Fenwick. ' 'Lo, Brick. No hard feeling from this morning. Perhaps I was a little brash.'
'Who invited you here?' snarled Frawley.
Hal smiled genially. 'Thought there might be a game and drove over. Afraid my horse owes you an apology, Jim. He's a little nervous when a stranger grabs the bridle rein. Hope he didn't hurt you.'
The Seven Up and Down foreman jumped to his feet. 'You can't come that guff over me, not after riding me down the way you did.'
'Sit down, Jim, and don't be a fool,' Lovell snapped. 'You scared the horse yourself.'
The fifth man, Cad Hanford, cut in gruffly. He was bearing in mind the instructions Tick Black had given them a few hours since. 'If Mr. Stevens wants to play, that's fine with me.'
'Of course.' Cash Polk's voice was smooth as cream. 'Honored to have him with us. Shove in that chair, Frank.'
Hal sat down with Fenwick on his left and Lovell on the other side. To the right of Frank was Hanford. The Seven Up foreman came next. Cash completed the circle.
After the hand that had been dealt was finished, Hal bought a twenty-dollar stack. It was a no limit game and took a dollar to open. The dealer decided whether they would play draw, stud, or Kansas City Liz.
Hal nursed his chips carefully, contrary to his usual custom in a poker game. He had not come here to enjoy himself, but to discover the tie-up between these hill nesters and the two from the Seven Up. Both Frank and the foreman were losing, neither of them cheerfully. Each time he lost a pot, Frawley called attention to the fact sourly.
Soon after Hal drew up a chair, the run of luck shifted. Frank began to win, at the expense of Polk and Hanford. The chips of the Seven Up foreman continued to drift from him.
Young Lovell was jubilant. 'Time I had a change of luck,' he said, drawing in a good pot. 'I've lost nearly two thousand here in three months.'
The furtive eyes of Cash Polk slid toward the boy. 'Sho, Frank, you're exaggerating that a heap, though you have had a spell of bad cards.'
Lovell started to defend the claim he had made. His eyes met those of Frawley. He said sullenly, 'Well, I've lost plenty.'
Hal could have sworn that was not what he had started to say.
'No more than I have,' the foreman growled. 'Haven't won a good pot for weeks. If I have three aces, some guy shows a small full.'
'I reckon the game breaks about even in the long run,' Polk commented. 'We all have those bad spells when we can't win… Open for a buck.'
The game seesawed, but Lovell's stack grew larger. Hal still had more than half of his original investment. Frawley bought again from the banker Hanford, loudly cursing his luck.
Hal observed, made mental notes. Frank was the sucker, and they had him somehow in a cleft stick so that all he could do was wriggle. Frawley protested too much at his losses. Even a poor sport did not howl about each pot he did not win. The change in Lovell's luck was being maneuvered because Hal was present. At least two of the players had refused to call the boy's raises and had flung better hands into the discard, the cattleman would have been willing to bet. His guess was that the size of the pots was being held down far below those usually played.
That he was an unwelcome guest to all of them except Lovell, he knew. More than once Fenwick had been ready to explode and Cash Polk had interfered suavely to divert his anger. This suited Hal. He meant to dynamite this party presently, but he wanted to choose the time and the occasion.
There was a bottle of whiskey at a side table. Frawley and Hanford helped themselves frequently. Lovell and Polk took one or two drinks. Neither Brick Fenwick nor Hal touched the liquor. Each of them was watching the other, Fenwick with open malice and the ranchman more casually.
Young Lovell dealt. Polk opened, Frawley threw in his cards, and Hanford raised.
Frank pinched his cards and looked them over slowly. 'Kick it five,' he said, and pushed in chips. 'To keep the grocery clerks out.'
'That means me,' Hal mentioned, dropping out.
'Here, too,' Fenwick said.
Polk showed his openers, kings and sevens. Hanford took his time. 'I'll see that raise,' he said at last. 'Gimme two cards, both aces.'
Frank dealt him two, laid down the pack, held three of his, and gave himself the same number as his opponent. Hal chanced to be looking at Hanford when the man glanced at his two new cards. The quick flicker of surprise in the fellow's eyes told Hal that he had helped his hand beyond expectation. Hal guessed that he was holding, not a full house, but fours.
Hanford checked the bet.
'I can't insult my hand by not betting,' Frank announced, and he pushed in two yellows.
A ten-dollar raise must mean that he had filled, but Hal would have given odds that Hanford held the better hand. He waited, keenly interested to see what the man from Texas would do.
'I ought to raise you,' Hanford said, and tapped the table with his fingertips while he pretended to weigh the chances. 'I ought to, but I won't. My luck's out tonight.'
Hal was the next dealer, and he was gathering in the discard when Hanford threw down his cards.
Lovell spread his cards, laughed gleefully, and reached for the pot. He had laid down three kings. 'Fooled you that time, Cad,' he exulted. 'Or were you bluffing?'
'Three jacks,' answered the hill nester. 'I didn't help.'
Hal drew Hanford's five cards toward him, as if to put them in the pack. 'I've got twenty says you had Frank beat,' he remarked to Hanford quietly.
The hooded eyes of Hanford fastened on Stevens. They were bleak and cold as a blast from the north in January. 'You'll never know,' he replied, resentment in the grating voice.
What Hal did then was something he had never done before, a clear violation of poker ethics. He flipped the cards over so that they lay face up. Hanford had been holding four aces and a five spot.
Of the six men present only one was ready for this critical moment, the one who had set the scene. The others sat in icy silence, startled at the challenge flung at them. When they recovered, it was too late. Hal had pushed back his chair and risen. The .38 army special was in his hand.
'Take it easy,' he warned. 'Don't make a move. Hands on the table, gentlemen.'
'What the hell is this?' Frawley growled, his face purple with rage. There was a scar on one side of the crooked nose, and it stood out white against the blood-filled cheeks.
'A showdown,' Hal told him, his voice sharp and imperative. 'There won't be any fireworks, unless your fingers get itchy. Frank, collect the hardware and throw it out of the window. I don't want to tempt any of your friends to suicide.'
'Now look here, Hal,' Frank began.
'Don't talk. Get the guns.'
The cool, hard eyes, the day-of-judgment voice, decided Frank. He made a circuit of the table. Polk and Frawley were not carrying weapons. Hanford's revolver went out of the window. Brick Fenwick said, murderous eyes fixed on Stevens, 'Don't touch my gun, Frank.'
The revolver in Hal's hand covered steadily the young ruffian's chest. 'Disarm him, Frank. Check up to see he hasn't two guns.' He added, the words as chill as water from a Newfoundland iceberg, 'I'll blast him off the map if he stirs.'
