"Yes, perfectly good, and cheap at two hundred," was the unhesitating reply. "Do you lack funds, stranger?"
"Oh! no. I am three hundred ahead of this cuss yet, and—"
"You'd better quit where you are!" said the other, decisively. "You'll lose the next round, mark my word."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Redburn, who had begun to show symptoms of recklessness. "I'll take my chances. Here, you gamin, I'll cover the watch with two hundred dollars."
Without more ado the stakes were planked, the cards dealt, and the game began.
The youth, whom we will call Ned Harris, was not idle.
He took the revolvers from the table, changed his position so that his face was just in the opposite direction of what it had been, and commenced to pare his finger nails. The fingers were as white and soft as any girl's. In his hand he also held a strangely-angled little box, the sides of which were mirror-glass. Looking at his finger-nails he also looked into the mirror, which gave a complete view of the card-sharp, as he sat at the table.
Swiftly progressed the game, and no one could fail to see how it was going by watching the cunning light in the gambler's eye. At last the game-card went down, and next instant, after the sharp had raked in his stakes, a cocked revolver in either hand of Ned Harris covered the hearts of the two players.
"Hello!" gasped Redburn, quailing under the gaze of a cold steel tube—"what's the row, now?"
"Draw your revolver!" commanded Harris, sternly, having an eye on the card-sharp at the same time, "Come! don't be all night about it!"