The spectators of the drama almost held their breaths.
Wall's deliberate query ended Stud's vacillation. His body shrank ever so slightly. His lean, dark, little hands lifted quiveringly from the table.
"DON'T DRAW!" yelled Wall. "The man doesn't live who can sit at a table and beat me to a gun."
"Hell--you say!" panted Stud. But that ringing taunt had cut the force of his purpose. There were beads of sweat on his face.
"You've got a gun in each inside vest pocket," said Wall, contemptuously. "Men of your stripe don't live long in my country."
The gambler let his nervous, clawlike hands relax and slide off the table. Then the tension of all broke.
"Come on, Stud," spoke up Morley. "Let's get out of here."
Stud shuffled to his feet, malignant, and beaten for the moment.
"Hays, you an' me are even," he said, gruffly. "But I'll meet your new pard some other time."
"Shore, Stud. No hard feelin's on my side," drawled Hays.
The little gambler stalked to the bar, followed by Morley and the russet-bearded giant. "Buy me a drink," said Stud, hoarsely. "I'm cleaned out." They drank and left the saloon.
Not until then did Hank Hays turn round, and when he did it was distinctly noticeable that he was pale.
"Jim, thet ---- did have two guns inside his vest. I never saw them till you gave it away. The ---- ---- ---- ---- would have killed me."
"I think he would, Hays," returned Wall, seriously. "You were sitting bad for action. You ought to have got to your feet before starting that argument."
"Ahuh!" ejaculated Hays, huskily. He wiped his face, then regarded Wall with new eyes. Happy Jack and Brad Lincoln rejoined Hays at the table. Lincoln's gaze was more expressive than any words could have been.
"Brad, where was you when it come off?" queried Hays.
"I was lookin' out fer myself."
"I seen thet, all right. . . . Jim, I'm much obliged to you. I'd have hated shufflin' off at this particular time. You can gamble I won't forget it. . . . I'd like to know somethin'."
"What's that?"
"Did you bluff him?"
"Hardly.
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