wboys the Ramblin' Kid had mentioned, a rancher from the
irrigated section near Eagle Butte and "Jeff" Henderson, one of Sabota's
henchmen, who was playing for the house, were sitting in at the game.

Half-way down the room at one side against the wall a mechanical player
piano was grinding out garish, hurdy-gurdy music.

"Red" Jackson was dispensing soft drinks from behind the bar.

Sabota himself, with one heel caught on the brass foot-rail, was leaning
indolently but with a lordly air against the front of the polished,
imitation mahogany counter.

He had been drinking and was in his shirt-sleeves.

As Skinny and the Ramblin' Kid stepped into the pool-room Sabota glanced
around. For an instant he eyed the Ramblin' Kid keenly while a nasty
sneer curled his lips. As they approached he turned the grin into a
hypocritical smile of welcome. The Ramblin' Kid barely noticed the Greek
and passed on to where the card game was in progress. Skinny paused and
said something in a low tone to Sabota. The two walked to the rear end
of the bar where the proprietor of the place in turn spoke to Red and
the latter furtively handed a pint bottle to the cowboy and which he
dropped into the bosom of his flannel shirt.

The Ramblin' Kid was recognized by the cowboys from the Purgatory.

"Come on and get into the game!" one of them invited, moving over.

"Yes," Henderson added, hitching his own chair to one side to make room
for another, "the cards are running like"--he paused--"like the Gold
Dust maverick for everybody but the house!" There was a laugh at the
subtle reference to the outlaw filly that had cost Sabota so much in
losses on the sweepstakes at the Rodeo.

The Greek scowled.

"In that case," the Ramblin' Kid drawled, "I reckon I'll ride 'em a few
rounds!" dropping into the chair he had dragged forward and which placed
him with his back toward the bar.

"What they costin' a stack?" he questioned, reaching to the left breast
pocket of his shirt for a roll of bills.

In the same pocket was the pink satin garter Carolyn June had lost the
morning of his first meeting with her at the circular corral.

"Five bones!" Jeff answered languidly.

"Well, give me a couple of piles," the Ramblin' Kid replied, glancing
around at the cowboy sitting at his right, who had invited him into the
game. "How's the Purgatory?"

As the bills came from the Ramblin' Kid's pocket the silver butterfly
clasp of the garter caught in the paper