“You have saved yourself annoyance. You’ll do,” she nodded. “Have you played yet? Win, or lose?”
“I did not come to play, madam,” said I. “Not at table, that is.” Whereupon I must have returned her gaze so glowingly as to embarrass her. Yet she was not displeased; and in that costume and with 111 that liquor still coursing through my veins I felt equal to any retort.
“But you should play. You are heeled?”
“The best I could procure.” I let my hand rest casually upon my revolver butt.
She laughed merrily. There were smiles aside.
“Oh, no; I didn’t mean that. You are heeled for all to see. I meant, you have funds? You didn’t come here too light, did you?”
“I am prepared for all emergencies, madam, certainly,” I averred with proper dignity. Not for the world would I have confessed otherwise. Sooth to say, I had the sensation of boundless wealth. The affair at the hotel did not bother me, now. Here in the Big Tent prosperity reigned. Money, money, money was passing back and forth, carelessly shoved out and carelessly pocketed or piled up, while the band played and the people laughed and drank and danced and bragged and staked, and laughed again.
“That is good. Shall we walk a little? And when you play—come here.” We stepped apart from the listeners. “When you play, follow the lead of Jim. He’ll not lose, and I intend that you shan’t, either. But you must play, for the sport of it. Everybody games, in Benton.”
“So I judge, madam,” I assented. “Under your chaperonage I am ready to take any risks, the gaming table being among the least.”
“Prettily said, sir,” she complimented. “And you 112 won’t lose. No,” she repeated suggestively, “you won’t lose, with me looking out for you. Jim bears you no ill will. He recognizes a man when he meets him, even when the proof is uncomfortable.”