lently from
the jewelled fingers of the dealer, whose eye is bent upon the cards, as
if he saw through them--or would, if he could. But whatever his wish,
he has no power to change the chances. If he have any professional
tricks, there is no opportunity for him to practise them. There are too
many eyes looking on; too many pistols and bowie-knives about; too many
men ready to stop any attempt at cheating, and punish it, if attempted.

Again he is compelled to call out:

"_Caballo en la puerta mozo_!"

"Now, sir," says the croupier to Crozier, after settling other scores,
"you want your money, I suppose?"

"Not yet. I'm not pressed, and can afford to wait. I again go double,
and am still contented with my Queen."

The dealing proceeds; with four hundred pounds lying on the _Caballo_ to
Crozier's account--and ten times as much belonging to other bettors.
For now that the luck seems to be running with the Englishman, most lay
their stakes beside his.

Once again: "_Caballo en la puerta mozo_!"

And again Crozier declines to take up his bet.

He has now eight hundred pounds sterling upon the card--sixteen hundred
on the turn of the game--while the others, thoroughly assured that his
luck is on the run, double theirs, till the bets against the bank post
up to as many thousands.

De Lara begins to look anxious, and not a little downhearted. Still
more anxious, and lower in heart, appears him seated on the opposite
side--Calderon; for it is his money that is moving away. He is visibly
excited. On the contrary, Crozier is as cool as ever, his features set
in a rigid determination to do what he promised--break the bank, or lose
all he has got about him. The last, not likely yet, for soon again
comes the cry:

"_The Queen winner_!"

There is a pause longer than usual, for the settling of such a large
score; and after it an interval of inaction. The dealer seems inclined
to discontinue; for still lying upon the Queen is Crozier's stake, once
more doubled, and now counting three thousand two hundred pounds!

Asked if he intends to let it remain, he replies sneeringly:

"Of course I do; I insist upon it. And once more I go for the Queen.
Let those who like the Knave better, back him!"

"Go on! Go on!" is the cry around the table, from many voices speaking
in tone of demand.

De Lara glances at Calderon furtively, but, to those observing it, with
a look of interrogation. Whatever the sign, or answer, i