Fannie had dropped wearily into a chair and taken off her hat. She sat looking up at Texas, who stood before Stott in the dignity of his clean life and clean conscience, a superman compared with the gross, heavy-feeding banker. If there was admiration in her eyes, surely it was justified; and confidence, certainly it was not altogether misplaced.
Stott looked at her, a sneering smile lifting his thick lip.
"Fannie, what're you goin' to tell them?" he asked in a manner of friendly banter.
"I'll tell enough to crack your neck, you swill-guzzler!"
Stott's anger burned up his caution in a flash. He unclasped his thick hands, leveling a finger at her face, a vile name on his tongue.
"You and Mackey went into this to hold me up!" he charged.
Fannie leaned toward him, her face dark with the flush that sprang into it, holding out one hand to stop Texas, who had started at the name which Stott had applied to her as if he would turn it back down the foul lane of his throat.
"I went into it to draw a card to fill the hand I waited a long time to play against you, Henry Stott. It wasn't because Johnnie Mackey—"
"And you threw both of us down for this Texas
