"Here," said the little old man, peevishly, "if you won't let me play, bet my roll with yourn," and he pushed the ten thousand of his own money to his companion, and placed the money, which he had won from the bank, in his pocket. The drover took the money and piled it up on the ace of spades.
The dealer's face grew pensive and sweet; it was all right this time; he was going to round off the night with a golden coup d' état. He opened the safe behind him, counted out twenty thousand in big bills, and piled it up on one side of the bank. Then he opened the box and began. The old man wandered around the room; the big, half-drunken cattle-shipper hung over the table. Snakey, the Parson scarcely saw either; he was intent on manipulating the box, and his hand darted in and out like a white snake. Suddenly the ace of spades flew out, and fell on the side of the house. The quick dealer clapped his left hand over the box and put out his right for the player's money. As he did so, the big drover bent forward and thrust a revolver into his face.
"No, you don't," he growled, "this is my money and I will not leave it, thank you."
Snakey the Parson glanced at the man and knew that he had been fooled, but he was composed and clear-headed. Under the box on the right were weapons and the electric button; he began to take his right hand slowly from the table.
"Stop!" said the drover, sharply, "that game won't work!"
The dealer looked up into the player's face, and dropped his hands; he was a brave man, and desperate, as gamblers go, but he knew death when he saw it; his face turned yellow and became ghastly, but he did not move.
The drover took up his money from the lay-out, and handed it to the old man. He used his left hand only, and did not take his eyes from the gambler's face. The old man thrust the bundle of bills in his pocket, and hurried from the room. The gambler sat rigid as a wax figure. The drover waited until his companion had sufficient time to get thoroughly away from the house; then he began to move slowly backward to the door, keeping the gambler covered with the weapon. The faro dealer watched every move of the drover, like a hawk, but he did not attempt to take his hand from the table; the muzzle of the revolver was too rigid; it was simply moving backward from his face in a dead straight line. At the door the drover stopped, drew himself together, then sprang suddenly through and bounded down the stairs.
Snakey the Parson touched the electric button, and as the drover rushed into the street, two policemen caught him by the shoulder.