But Fingie Whalen thrust out an imperative hand in restraint.
"Nothin' doin'!"
In the same instant, his fingers closed in a viselike grip on Dan's left hand. Dan was the stronger man. But, in the moment of surprise, his muscles yielded. His hand was pulled forward—it lay open on the table.
Within his palm four cards were lying. With his free hand Fingie flipped the four cards upon the table. They were inconsiderable—a deuce, a nine, a pair of sevens.
His trickery thus baldly revealed, Dan would have acted, but he was too late. As he pulled the automatic from his pocket, the man next him thrust an elbow forward and the shot went wild. In the next instant, the pistol had been knocked from his grasp, and four men bore down upon him. Dan was a strong man, and, whatever his faults, absolutely fearless. He struck out vigorously, but the slender, silk-ankled foot of Jess caught him so that he stumbled and missed his blow. The fists of the four beat him to the floor.
It was then that Jim entered the room. He had business in town, and, on learning at the ranch-house that his guest had preceded him, he had felt it incumbent upon him to seek out Dan. He had acted from a rather futile sense of duty toward the man who, as Tom had put it, required the strong hands of a friend to keep him in the straight path.
At the hotel, he made inquiry of the clerk:
"Have you seen anything of Mr. McGrew?"
The clerk permitted himself an indulgent grin at the question. He admired Jim Maxwell, as did all the better element in the community, and he found himself wondering over the disreputable associations of the stranger who was the ranch-owner's guest. His answer was prompt:
"You're pretty sure to find him in the back room over to Murphy's. Usually, when he hits this burg, he sets in a game with the gang over there."