one, the three
started for the table which had been indicated.

It was in an alcove, apart from the sweep of big rooms which were given
over to the players. It lay, too, conveniently in range of the beat of
Frederic Fernand, as he moved slowly back and forth, over a limited
territory and stopped, here and there for a word, here and there for a
smile. He was smoothing the way for dollars to slide out of wallets. Now
he deliberately stopped the party in their progress to the alcove.

"I have to meet you," he said to Ronicky. "You remind me of a friend of
my father, a young Westerner, those many years ago. Same brown skin,
same clear eye. He was a card expert, the man I'm thinking about. I hope
you're not in the same class, my friend!"

Then he went on, laughing thunderously at his own poor jest.
Particularly from the back, as he retreated, he seemed a harmless fat
man, very simple, very naive. But Ronicky Doone regarded him with an
interest both cold and keen. And, with much the same regard, after
Fernand had passed out of view, the Westerner regarded the table at
which they were to sit.

In the alcove were three wall lights, giving an ample illumination--too
ample to suit Ronicky Doone. For McKeever had taken the chair with the
back to the light. He made no comment, but, taking the chair which was
facing the lights, the chair which had been pointed out to him by
McKeever, he drew it around on the far side and sat down next to the
professional gambler.

Chapter Nineteen

_Stacked Cards_

The game opened slowly. The first, second, and third hands were won by
Jerry Smith. He tucked away his chips with a smile of satisfaction, as
if the three hands were significant of the whole progress of the game.
But Ronicky Doone pocketed his losses without either smile or sneer. He
had played too often in games in the West which ran to huge prices.
Miners had come in with their belts loaded with dust, eager to bet the
entire sum of their winnings at once. Ranchers, fat with the profits of
a good sale of cattle, had wagered the whole amount of it in a single
evening. As far as large losses and large gains were concerned, Ronicky
Doone was ready to handle the bets of anyone, other than millionaires,
without a smile or a wince.

The trouble with McKeever was that he was playing the game too closely.
Long before, it had been a maxim with the chief that a good gambler
should only lose by a small margin. That maxim McKeever,