"Come on, Dave!" cried Dailey, cheerful in view of his ownership of the last pot. "What you so slow about?"
"If he'd quit pickin' on Two-Spot," said Thompson, "an' tend to business, folks would like it better."
"Anybody that don't like it can get out!" retorted Dave. "He's never around when there's work to be did!"
The evening passed swiftly and midnight was not far off when Dave found it necessary to draw on the contents of the new keg, and he disappeared below the bar for a few minutes. Hardly had his head passed from sight when Two-Spot, closely watching the bar, slipped quietly through the rear door and went silently to Johnny, where he poked his face close to the puncher's ear and muttered for a moment. Johnny nodded and looked over his hand again, while Two-Spot scurried for the door and safety, being silently threatened by Fanning, who thoroughly enjoyed the situation. Two-Spot looked fearfully around and closed the door behind him. He barely had time to get under the saloon when Wolf Forbes, returning from his short tour around the buildings, turned the corner of the kitchen and peered in at the window.
Johnny folded his hand, pushed out the required number of chips and grunted. "I'm trailin'—but I shore wish that man would stop. He must have about thirteen aces."
"I'm limpin', but I'm there," remarked Thompson. "Th' dust back here is awful."
"There ain't no call for you to put on airs," growled Slim, pushing in what he was shy. "I got four kings, but you don't see me quittin', do you?"
"You must a' picked up what I throwed away," said Dailey. "Havin' felt yore pulses I'm buildin' a house right out there in th' middle, where you all can see it, an' get covetous."
"Th' coyote that wins this pot," said Slim, "will shore have to get Ol' Buffalo an' his freight waggin' to haul——"