Bob Hampton of Placer

"Glad to assist," he murmured, sinking into a vacant chair. "What

limit?"

"We have had no occasion to discuss that matter as yet," volunteered

Hawes, sneeringly. "However, if you have scruples we might settle upon

something within reason."

Hampton ran the undealt pack carelessly through his fingers, his lips

smiling pleasantly. "Oh, never mind, if it chances to go above my pile

I 'll drop out. Meanwhile, I hardly believe there is any cause for you

to be modest on my account."

The play opened quietly and with some restraint, the faces of the men

remaining impassive, their watchful glances evidencing nothing either

of success or failure. Hampton played with extreme caution for some

time, his eyes studying keenly the others about the table, seeking some

deeper understanding of the nature of his opponents, their strong and

weak points, and whether or not there existed any prior arrangement

between them. He was there for a purpose, a clearly defined purpose,

and he felt no inclination to accept unnecessary chances with the

fickle Goddess of Fortune. To one trained in the calm observation of

small things, and long accustomed to weigh his adversaries with care,

it was not extremely difficult to class the two strangers, and Hampton

smiled softly on observing the size of the rolls rather ostentatiously

exhibited by them. He felt that his lines had fallen in pleasant

places, and looked forward with serene confidence to the enjoyment of a

royal game, provided only he exercised sufficient patience and the

other gentlemen possessed the requisite nerve. His satisfaction was in

noways lessened by the sound of their voices, when incautiously raised

in anger over some unfortunate play. He immediately recognized them as

the identical individuals who had loudly and vainly protested over his

occupancy of the best rooms at the hotel. He chuckled grimly.

But what bothered him particularly was Slavin. The cool gray eyes,

glancing with such apparent negligence across the cards in his hands,

noted every slight movement of the red-bearded gambler, in expectation

of detecting some sign of trickery, or some evidence that he had been

selected by this precious trio for the purpose of easy plucking.

Knavery was Slavin's style, but apparently he was now playing a

straight game, no doubt realizing clearly, behind his impassive mask of

a face, the utter futility of seeking to outwit one of Hampton's

enviable reputation.

It was, unquestionably, a fairly fought four-handed battle, and at

last, thoroughly convinced of this, Hampton settled quietly down,

prepared to play out his game. The hours rolled on unnoted, the men

tireless, their faces immovable, the cards dealt silently. The stakes

grew steadily larger, and curious visitors, hearing vague rumors

without, ventured in, to stand behind the chairs of the absorbed

players and look on. Now and then a startled exclamation evidenced the

depth of their interest and excitement, but at the table no one spoke

above a strained whisper, and no eye ventured to wander from the board.

Several times drinks were served, but Hampton contented himself with a

gulp of water, always gripping an unlighted cigar between his teeth.

He was playing now with apparent recklessness, never hesitating over a

card, his eye as watchful as that of a hawk, his betting quick,

confident, audacious. The contagion of his spirit seemed to affect the

others, to force them into desperate wagers, and thrill the lookers-on.

The perspiration was beading Slavin's forehead, and now and then an

oath burst unrestrained from his hairy lips. Hawes and Willis sat

white-faced, bent forward anxiously over the table, their fingers

shaking as they handled the fateful cards, but Hampton played without

perceptible tremor, his utterances few and monosyllabic, his calm face

betraying not the faintest emotion.