"Stand back from the table!" warned Hurley.
"By the Lord, have they been missing me?" queried old Cochrane.
"You are waited for," answered Pierre le Rouge, "and I've been sent to take you home."
"If that's the case—"
"It ain't the case. The kid's lying."
"Lying?" repeated Cochrane, as if he had never heard the word before, and he peered with clearing eyes toward Pierre. "No, I think this boy has never lied."
Silence had spread through the place like a vapor. Even the slight sounds in the gaming-room were done now, and one pair after another of eyes swung toward the table of Cochrane and Hurley. The wave of the silence reached to the barroom. No one could have carried the tidings so soon, but the air was surcharged with the consciousness of an impending crisis.
Half a dozen men started to make their way on tiptoe toward the back room. One stood with his whisky glass suspended in mid air, and tilted back his head to listen. In the gaming-room Hurley pushed back his chair and leaned to the left, giving him a free sweep for his right hand. The Mexican smiled with a slow and deep content.
"Thank you," answered Pierre, "but I am waiting still, sir."
The left hand of Hurley played impatiently on the table.