Gradually, as King sat watching the game, he became conscious of a change in the atmosphere of general good nature that had pervaded the bunkhouse. The conversation grew noisy and he thought he heard his own name mentioned once or twice in a hoarse whisper. He did not even turn his head, however, until he felt someone's hand on his shoulder and looked round to see Gabe leaning over him. The old fellow indicated by a shake of his head that he was ready to go, and King got up to follow him.
Immediately there was a disturbance behind him, and he turned to see three of the men struggling with a fourth. When they had succeeded in pushing him back into his bunk one of them turned to King with a laugh.
"Your life ain't worth mor'n a bob-tailed flush round here, Howden," he said, "an' I'm givin' you odds at that."
King looked at the man in the bunk. "What's the matter?" he asked.
"Don't you bother about him, Howden," said another, "he's drunk, an' he don't like you, but——"
"He just got in from the road," interrupted the first speaker, "an' he ain't had much to eat. A couple o' drinks was enough to put him out."
For a moment the hum of conversation ceased and the men looked out from their bunks with expectancy in their faces. And in that moment the door opened and Bill McCartney stepped in.
King looked at him from the other end of the long aisle. For some time McCartney apparently didn't see him. Suddenly their eyes met and King noticed that McCartney swayed unsteadily, and putting out his hand laid it upon the edge of a bunk for support.
Someone standing close to King muttered in a half whisper:
"Look out, Howden, he's drunk, an' he's ugly, an' he's goin' to get you if he can."