A dozen men were present, some clean-cut and honest-looking and the others of all degrees of roughness. Sag Ruff was a burly fellow of forty, with a shock of red hair and a red beard. He had a harsh voice, and when he spoke it was frequently with biting sarcasm.
"Now, if you have nerve, step up, but if you are afraid, go home," he said to the crowd. "The game is an honest one, gents, but it takes nerve to play it."
"I'm in with you," said Maybe Dixon. "Told you I'd come, last night."
"So you did," answered Sag Ruff. His full first name was Sagamore, but all called him Sag for short.
The game was soon on. Mark could not follow very well, as he took no interest in cards. But he saw that Maybe Dixon was losing after the first game had been played.
"Once more," said Sag Ruff, after Dixon had lost several times.
The money went up on the table—the last fifty dollars which Maybe Dixon possessed—and the game proceeded. In the midst of the game Mark, shifting his position unknown to Sag Ruff, saw the gambler stick one card up his coat sleeve and produce another from his inner pocket.
"Sag wins!" shouted several, a minute later.
"And that busts me!" groaned Maybe Dixon. "Hang the luck, anyhow!" And he arose to go away.
"Wait a minute," said Mark, in a clear voice. "I want something explained."