" replied Jim.

Belllounds evidently forgot, for presently he repeated the query. The
cowboys shook their heads. Wade knew they were lying, for they did have
liquor in the cabin. It occurred to him, then, to offer to go to his own
cabin for some, just to see what this young man would say. But he
refrained.

The luck went against Belllounds and so did the gambling. He was not a
lamb among wolves, by any means, but the fleecing he got suggested that.
According to Wade he was getting what he deserved. No cowboys, even such
good-natured and fine fellows as these, could be expected to be subjects
for Belllounds's cupidity. And they won all he had.

"I'll borrow," he said, with feverish impatience. His face was pale,
clammy, yet heated, especially round the swollen bruises; his eyes stood
out, bold, dark, rolling and glaring, full of sullen fire. But more than
anything else his mouth betrayed the weakling, the born gambler, the
self-centered, spoiled, intolerant youth. It was here his bad
blood showed.

"Wal, I ain't lendin' money," replied Lem, as he assorted his winnings.
"Wade, here's what you staked me, an' much obliged."

"I'm out, an' I can't lend you any," said Jim.

Bludsoe had a good share of the profits of that quick game, but he made
no move to lend any of it. Belllounds glared impatiently at them.

"Hell! you took my money. I'll have satisfaction," he broke out, almost
shouting.

"We won it, didn't we?" rejoined Lem, cool and easy. "An' you can have
all the satisfaction you want, right now or any time."

Wade held out a handful of money to Belllounds.

"Here," he said, with his deep eyes gleaming in the dim room. Wade had
made a gamble with himself, and it was that Belllounds would not even
hesitate to take money.

"Come on, you stingy cowpunchers," he called out, snatching the money
from Wade. His action then, violent and vivid as it was, did not reveal
any more than his face.

But the cowboys showed amaze, and something more. They fell straightway
to gambling, sharper and fiercer than before, actuated now by the
flaming spirit of this son of Belllounds. Luck, misleading and alluring,
favored Jack for a while, transforming him until he was radiant,
boastful, exultant. Then it changed, as did his expression. His face
grew dark.

"I tell you I want drink," he suddenly demanded. "I know damn well you
cowpunchers have some here, for I smelled it when I came in."

"Jack, we drank the last drop," repl