, you'll sit in to-morrow," said Durade.

"Maybe," replied the other.

"Why not? You're winner," retorted Durade, hot-headed in an instant.

"Winners are choosers," returned Jones, with an enigmatic smile. His
hard, cold eyes shifted to Allie and seemed to pierce her, then went
back to Durade and Mull and Fresno. Plain it was to Allie, with her
woman's intuition, that if Jones returned it would not be because he
trusted that trio. Durade apparently made an effort to swallow his
resentment, but the gambling pallor of his face had never been more
marked. He went out with Jones, and the others slowly followed.

Fresno approached Allie.

"Hullo, gurly! You sure look purtier than in thet buckskin outfit," he
leered.

Allie got up, ready for fight or defense. Durade had forgotten her.

Fresno saw her glance at the door.

"He's goin' to the bad," he went on, with his big hand indicating
the door. "Benton's too hot fer his kind. He'll not git up some fine
mornin'.... An' you'd better cotton to me. You ain't his kin--an' he
hates you an' you hate him. I seen thet. I'm no fool. I'm sorta gone on
you. I wish I hadn't fetched you back to him."

"Fresno, I'll tell Durade," replied Allie, forcing her lips to be firm.
If she expected to intimidate him she was disappointed.

Fresno leered wisely. "You'd better not. Fer I'll kill him, an' then
you'll be a sweet little chunk of meat among a lot of wolves!"

He laughed and his large frame lurched closer. He wore a heavy gun and
a knife in his belt. Also there protruded the butt of a pistol from the
inside of his open vest. Allie felt the heat from his huge body, and she
smelled the whisky upon him, and sensed the base, faithless, malignant
animalism of the desperado. Assuredly, if he had any fear, it was not of
Durade.

"I'm sorta gone on you myself," repeated Fresno. "An' Durade's a
greaser. He's runnin' a crooked game. All these games are crooked. But
Benton won't stand for a polite greaser who talks sweet an' gambles
crooked. Mebbe' no one's told you what this place Benton is."

"I haven't heard. Tell me," replied Allie. She might learn from any one.

Fresno appeared at fault for speech. "Benton's a beehive," he replied,
presently. "An' when the bees come home with their honey, why, the red
ants an' scorpions an' centipedes an' rattlesnakes git busy. I've seen
some places in my time, but--Benton beats 'em all.... Say, I'll sneak
you out at nights to see what's goin' on,