Close under the bar, in a dangerous place for his legs and tail, lay a sheep-dog with a chain attached to his collar and wound round his neck.
Presently a thump on the table, and Bill, unlucky gambler, rose with an oath that would have been savage if it hadn’t been drawled.
‘Stumped?’ inquired Jim.
‘Not a blanky, lurid deener!’ drawled Bill.
Jim drew his reluctant hands from the cards, his eyes went slowly and hopelessly round the room and out the door. There was something in the eyes of both, except when on the card-table, of the look of a man waking in a strange place.
‘Got anything?’ asked Jim, fingering the cards again.
Bill sucked in his cheeks, collecting the saliva with difficulty, and spat out on to the verandah floor.
‘That’s all I got,’ he drawled. ‘It’s gone now.’
Jim leaned back in his chair, twisted, yawned, and caught sight of the dog.
‘That there dog yours?’ he asked, brightening.