Tex ambled over to the Why-Not where his entry was greeted with boisterous invitations to a game. Four bright boys had come over from the Fort and were cleaning up the crowd. Tex was ashamed of them, and said so, refusing to go to the assistance of such helpless tenderfeet. He borrowed paper and pencil of Dutch Fred and rapidly composed a note to Buck. Much adroit manoeuvring secured the services of Cheyenne Charley, not yet too drunk to understand the repeated instructions of Tex. Thus it came about that Buck, without knowing how it got there, found on his table a communication of absorbing interest, signed: "A Friend." It read:
Buck Peters: Don't play cards with strangers, especially stud poker. Dave Owens aims to have Rose rope you into a frame-up. John is in it, too. Mighty easy to plug you in a row.
"A Friend," mused Buck. "An' Rose is to rope me into a crooked game. I 'm d—d if I believe it." He made as if to tear the paper but changed his mind. "No, I 'll just keep this. Mebby there 'll be more of 'em. Jake!" he roared.
"—lo!" came the answering roar.
"Who's been here this mornin'?"
"Where?"
"At th' ranch."
A huge, slouching figure with a remarkable growth of hair appeared in the doorway. Jake was a cook because he was too big to ride and too lazy to dig. He ran his fingers through his hair, considering. "At th' ranch?" he repeated. "There was Pickles an' Ned, o' course; and Cock Murray come over to ask—"
"I don't mean them, I mean some stranger."
"Stranger? Where?"