Dexter, by accident, thrust out his leg too far and touched the murderer's ankle, and he jerked back his foot with shuddering haste. "I'm five hundred in that note," he said after a chilling silence. "If I win this time, it's the end."
The outlaw's tongue licked across his sagging lips, but he had no voice to reply.
"Any time you're ready, Miss Rayne," said the corporal.
A spot of bright color tinged the girl's cheeks, but otherwise she gave no sign of excitement. She twisted up the sleeve of her frayed white sweater, and then her slim hands manipulated the deck. Carefully and precisely, she slipped off the cards, until five lay on the table before each player. Then, laying the remaining pack beside her, she sat back to watch.
Dexter scooped up his cards with his left hand, thumbed them apart, and dropped one from among its companions. "Open," he said mildly. "I'm filling with the top one."
The outlaw gingerly bent the corners of his cards, and leaned forward with a stealthy movement to peer under his wrist. "Three!" he said at length in a thickly muffled voice.
Alison dealt the cards, one to Dexter, three to Crill, and dropped the deck with a gesture of finality. For a fleeting instant her glance shifted to the corporal's face, and a ghost of a smile hovered about her lips.
Dexter's stern features relaxed slightly in response, and he flopped his cards over on their backs. "I had 'em to start," he drawled—"nothing except treys and deuces."
Without a word Crill peeled up the edges of the three grimy pasteboards before him, and then, in an ungovernable fit of rage, he swept his arm across the table and sent the deck flying. For a moment he sat scowling in silence, and then he dropped his fat hands before him and stumbled drunkenly to his feet.
"I suppose you think you've broken me!" he rasped out, with a horrible effort to control his speech.