heights unknown. A few more shots of that an' they ain't no tellin' what
form of amusement a man's soul might incline to."

"Y'got the price?"

"I ain't got even the makin's--only an ingrowin' cravin' fer spiritual
licker an' a hankerin' to see America first----"

"That hoss," the proprietor jerked a thumb toward the open door beyond
which the big rangy black pawed fretfully at the street. "Mebbe we might
make a trade. I got one good as him 'er better. It's that sor'l
standin' t'other side of yourn."

The Texan rested an arm upon the bar and leaned forward confidentially.
"Fatty," he drawled, "you're a liar." The other noted the hand that
rested lightly upon the cowman's hip near the ivory butt of the six-gun
that protruded from its holster, and took no offence. His customer
continued: "They ain't no such horse--an' if they was, _you_ couldn't own
him. They ain't no man ever throw'd a kak on Ace of Spades but me, an'
as fer sellin' him, or tradin' him--I'll shoot him first!"

A sudden commotion at the back of the room caused both men to turn toward
the wheel where a fierce altercation had arisen between the croupier and
the vagabond to whom the Texan had tossed his last coin.

"You'll take that er nothin'! It's more money'n y'ever see before
an'----"

"_Non_! _Non_! De _treize_! De, w'at you call t'irten--she repe't!
A'm git mor' as seex hondre dollaire--" The proprietor lumbered heavily
from behind the bar and Benton noted that the thick fingers closed
tightly about the handle of a bung-starter. The crowd of Mexicans
thinned against the wall as the man with ponderous stealth approached to
a point directly behind the excited vagabond who continued his
protestations with increasing vigour. The next instant the Texan's
six-gun flashed from its holster and as he crossed the room his eye
caught the swift nod of the croupier.

When the proprietor drew back his arm to strike, the thick wrist was
seized from behind and he was spun violently about to glare into the
smiling eyes of the cowpuncher--eyes in which a steely glint flickered
behind the smile, a glint more ominous even than the feel of the muzzle
of the blue-black six-gun that pressed deeply into his flabby paunch just
above the waistband of his trousers.

"Drop that mallet!" The words came softly, but with an ungentle softness
that was accompanied by a boring, twisting motion of the gun muzzle as it
pressed deeper into his midriff. The bung