the lower end of the room. Danny Randall and his friends
rushed determinedly to the centre of disturbance. Some men were carrying
out Scar-face Charley. Others were talking excitedly. A little clear
space surrounded the roulette table, at which, as may be imagined,
Johnny was now the only player. Quite methodically he laid three more
bets.

"I think that's enough for now," he told the dealer pleasantly, and
turned away.

"Hullo! Randall! hullo! Frank!" he greeted us. "I've just won three bets
straight. Let's have a drink. Bring your friends," he told Randall.

We turned toward the bar and way was instantly made for us. Johnny
poured himself a big drink of whiskey. A number of curious men, mere
boys most of them, had crowded close after us, and were standing staring
at Johnny with a curiosity they made slight attempt to conceal. Johnny
suddenly turned to them, holding high his whiskey in a hand as steady as
a rock.

"Here's to crime, boys!" he said, and drank it down at a gulp. Then he
stood staring them uncomprisingly in the face, until they had slunk
away. He called for and drank another whiskey, then abruptly moved
toward the door.

"I think I'll go turn in," said he.

At the door he stopped.

"Good-night," he said to Randall and his friends, who had followed us.
"No, I am obliged to you," he replied to a suggestion, "but I need no
escort," and he said it so firmly that all but Randall went back.

"I'm going to your camp with you, whether you need an escort or not,"
said the latter.

Without a word Johnny walked away down the street, very straight. We
hurried to catch up with him; and just as we did so he collapsed to the
ground and was suddenly and violently sick. As I helped him to his feet,
I could feel that his arm was trembling violently.

"Lord, fellows! I'm ashamed," he gasped a little hysterically. "I didn't
know I had so little nerve!"

"Nerve!" suddenly roared Danny Randall; "confound your confounded
impudence! If I ever hear you say another word like that, I'll put a
head on you, if it's the last act of my life! You're the gamest little
chicken in this roost, and I'll make you beg like a hound if you say you
aren't!"

Johnny laughed a little uncertainly over this contradiction.

"Did I kill him?" he asked.

"No, worse luck; just bored him through the collarbone. That heavy
little derringer ball knocked him out."

"I'm glad of that," said Johnny.

"Which I am _not_," stated Danny Randa