say it was this mornin'. You cough up th' hundred an' ten I lost then, an' another hundred an' ten that I 'd won if it was n't crooked. An' don't forget that two-seventy I just pulled down, neither. Make it in double eagles an' don't be slow 'bout it. Money or lead—with you callin' th' turn." It was not a very large amount and it took only a moment to count it out. The eleven double eagles representing the mornin's play seemed to slide from the dealer's hand with reluctance—but a man lives only once, and they slid without stopping.
The winner, taking the money, picked up the last money he had bet and, distributing it over his person to equalize the weight, gathered up the guns from the floor. Backing toward the door he noticed that the bartender moved and a keen glance at that unfortunate assured him that he would live.
When he reached the door he stopped a moment to ask a question, the tenseness of his expression relaxing into a broad, apologetic grin. "Would you mind tellin' me where I can find
