gold an' lace on his sombrero? Thet's Manuel, a
Mexican bandit. He's a great gambler. Comes here often to drop his coin.
Next to him is Bill Marr--the feller with the bandana round his head.
Bill rode in the other day with some fresh bullet-holes. He's been shot
more'n any feller I ever heard of. He's full of lead. Funny, because
Bill's no troublehunter, an', like me, he'd rather run than shoot. But
he's the best rustler Bland's got--a grand rider, an' a wonder with
cattle. An' see the tow-headed youngster. Thet's Kid Fuller, the kid of
Bland's gang. Fuller has hit the pace hard, an' he won't last the year
out on the border. He killed his sweetheart's father, got run out of
Staceytown, took to stealin' hosses. An' next he's here with Bland.
Another boy gone wrong, an' now shore a hard nut."

Euchre went on calling Duane's attention to other men, just as he
happened to glance over them. Any one of them would have been a marked
man in a respectable crowd. Here each took his place with more or less
distinction, according to the record of his past wild prowess and his
present possibilities. Duane, realizing that he was tolerated there,
received in careless friendly spirit by this terrible class of outcasts,
experienced a feeling of revulsion that amounted almost to horror.
Was his being there not an ugly dream? What had he in common with such
ruffians? Then in a flash of memory came the painful proof--he was a
criminal in sight of Texas law; he, too, was an outcast.

For the moment Duane was wrapped up in painful reflections; but Euchre's
heavy hand, clapping with a warning hold on his arm, brought him back to
outside things.

The hum of voices, the clink of coin, the loud laughter had ceased.
There was a silence that manifestly had followed some unusual word or
action sufficient to still the room. It was broken by a harsh curse and
the scrape of a bench on the floor. Some man had risen.

"You stacked the cards, you--!"

"Say that twice," another voice replied, so different in its cool,
ominous tone from the other.

"I'll say it twice," returned the first gamester, in hot haste. "I'll
say it three times. I'll whistle it. Are you deaf? You light-fingered
gent! You stacked the cards!"

Silence ensued, deeper than before, pregnant with meaning. For all that
Duane saw, not an outlaw moved for a full moment. Then suddenly the room
was full of disorder as men rose and ran and dived everywhere.

"Run or duck!" yelled Euc