"Which?" answered his friend. "There are two Cruickshanks playing—Dan and Bub."
"But is the colonel any relation to the other?"
"I do not know which you call the colonel: never heard him called by that name before; but that's Bub" (pointing to the ringleader of the party), "and that's Dan" (pointing to the colonel). "Some say they are brothers, some say they are cousins. Anyway, I know one is a scoundrel."
"The deuce you do. Which of them?" But his inquiries were cut short and his attention diverted by the action of a new-comer, who just then pushed past him with a curt, "'Scuse me, sir."
"Let him through," whispered Roberts. "I tipped him the wink, and if you let him alone he'll fix them."
Ned was mystified, but did as he was bid. Indeed it was too late to attempt to do otherwise, for the last-joined in that little crowd, a withered gray man, whose features looked as if they had been hardened by a hundred years of rough usage, had quietly forced his way to the front until he had reached a seat at Steve Chance's elbow. It was noticeable that though the crowd was by no means tolerant of others who tried to usurp a front place amongst them, it gave way by common consent to the new-comer, who was moreover specially honoured with a nod and a smile from each of the Cruickshanks.
Steve only seemed inclined to resent the old man's familiarity, and for any effect it had he might as well have hidden his resentment.
"Pretty new to this coast, ain't you, sir?" remarked Mr. Rampike, after he had watched the game in silence for some minutes.
"Yes, I've only been out from the East a year," replied Steve shortly, as he examined his hand.