Ben spent half the night in earnest
prayer for these misguided men, and the remainder of it in trying to
make up his mind to start for home.

But by far the greater number of the boys, on that particular night,
surrounded the table at which sat Redwing and Flip. Both were playing
their best, and as honestly as each was compelled to do by his
adversary's watchfulness.

Each had several times accused the other of cheating; each had his
revolver at his right hand; and the crowd about them had the double
pleasure of betting on the game and on which would shoot first.

Suddenly Redwing arose, as Flipp played an ace on his adversary's last
card, and raked the dust toward himself.

"Yer tuk that ace out of yer sleeve--I seed yer do it. Give me back my
ounces," said Redwing.

"It's a lie!" roared the great Flipp, springing to his feet, and seizing
Redwing's pistol-arm.

The weapon fell, and both men clutched like tigers. Sim Ripson leaped
over the bar and separated them.

"No rasslin' here!" said he. "When gentlemen gits too mad to hold in,
an' shoots at sight, I hev to stan' it, but rasslin's vulgar--you'll hev
to go out o' doors to do it."

"I'll hev it out with him with pistols, then!" cried Redwing, picking up
his weapon.

"'Greed!" roared Flip, whose pistol lay on the table. "We'll do it cross
the crick, at daylight.

"It's daylight now," said Sim Ripson, hurriedly, after looking out of
his window at the end of the bar.

He was a good storekeeper, was Sam Ripson, and he knew how to mix
drinks, but he had an unconquerable aversion to washing blood stains out
of the floor.

The two gamblers rushed out of the door, pistols in hand, and the crowd
followed, each man talking at the top of his voice, and betting on the
chances of the combatants.

Suddenly, above all the noise, they heard a cracked soprano voice
singing with some unauthorized flatting and sharping:

"Another six days' work is done,
Another Sabbath is begun.
Return, my soul, enjoy thy rest,
Improve the day thy God has blessed."

Redwing stopped, and dropped his head to one side, as if expecting
more; Flipp stopped; everybody did. Arkansas Bill, whose good habits had
been laid aside late Saturday afternoon, exclaimed:

"Well, I'll be blowed!"

Bill didn't mean anything of the sort, but the tone in which he said it
expressed precisely the feeling of the crowd. The voice was again heard:

"Oh, that our thoughts and thanks may rise,