Just then some one recognized Cheyenne and spoke his name. The game stopped and Bartley saw several of the men glance curiously from Cheyenne to the man known as "Panhandle." Then the game was resumed, but it was a quieter game. One or two of the players withdrew.
"Play a five for me," said Bartley, turning to Cheyenne.
"I'll do that--fifty-fifty," said Cheyenne as Bartley stepped back and handed him a bill.
Cheyenne straightway elbowed deeper into the group and finally secured the dice. Wishful, for some unknown reason, remarked that he would back Cheyenne to win--"shootin' with either hand," Wishful concluded. Bartley noticed that again one or two players withdrew and strolled to the bar. Meanwhile, Cheyenne threw and sang a little song to himself.
His throws were wild, careless, and lucky. Slowly he accumulated easy wealth. His forehead was beaded with sweat. His eyes glistened. He forgot his song. Bartley stepped over to the bar and chatted for a few minutes with the proprietor, mentioning Senator Steve and his wife.
When Bartley returned to the game the players had dwindled to a small group--'Wishful, the man called "Panhandle," a fat Mexican, a railroad engineer, and Cheyenne.
Bartley turned to a bystander.
"Cheyenne seems to be having all the luck," he said.
"Is he a friend of yours?"
"Never saw him until to-night."