since he had embarked in the sheep business he was not
welcome at this club, that in fact certain members had suggested his name
be dropped from the books. Before he returned to the poker table the drink
he had ordered became three.

The game was over and accounts were being straightened. Cullison was the
heavy loser. All night he had been bucking hard luck. His bluffs had been
called. The others had not come in against his strong hands. On a straight
flush he had drawn down the ante and nothing more. To say the least, it
was exasperating. But his face had showed no anger. He had played poker
too many years, was too much a sport in the thorough-going frontier
fashion, to wince when the luck broke badly for him.

The settlement showed that the owner of the Circle C was twenty-five
hundred dollars behind the game. He owed Mackenzie twelve hundred,
Flandrau four hundred, and three hundred to Yesler.

With Fendrick sitting in an easy chair just across the room, he found it a
little difficult to say what otherwise would have been a matter of
course.

"My bank's busted just now, boys. Have to ask you to let it stand for a
few days. Say, till the end of the week."

Fendrick laughed behind the paper he was pretending to read. He knew quite
well that Luck's word was as good as his bond, but he chose to suggest a
doubt.

"Maybe you'll explain the joke to us, Cass," the owner of the Circle C
said very quietly.

"Oh, I was just laughing at the things I see, Luck," returned the younger
man with airy offense, his eyes on the printed sheet.

"Meaning for instance?"

"Just human nature. Any law against laughing?"

Cullison turned his back on him. "See you on Thursday if that's soon
enough, boys."

"All the time you want, Luck. Let mine go till after the roundup if you'd
rather," Mackenzie suggested.

"Thursday suits me."

Cullison rose and stretched. He had impressed his strong, dominant
personality upon his clothes, from the high-heeled boots to the very
wrinkles in the corduroy coat he was now putting on. He bad enemies, a
good many of them, but his friends were legion.

"Don't hurry yourself."

"Oh, I'll rustle the money, all right. Coming down to the hotel?" Luck was
reaching for his hat, but turned toward his friends as he spoke.

Without looking again at Fendrick, he led the way to the street.

The young man left alone cursed softly to himself, and ordered another
drink. He knew he was overdoing it, but the