“No, this is all I want”; then, fixing his gaze upon Conley, whose face was red and swollen with anger, he seized the “case keeper” used for marking the game, and hurled it violently at his head. Conley dodged, and the only effect of the act was a deep indentation in the adobe wall. Conley sprung from his seat and ran out of the building. Peel drew his revolver with the intention of pursuing, but Robinson, seizing his arm, said,
“Stay your hand, Peel. For God’s sake, don’t make any disturbance.”
Peel sheathed his pistol at the moment, and, taking Robinson by the hand, replied, “No; you must excuse me. I beg a thousand pardons, but I was very angry. You’re the only friend I have in this country. Conley has treated me like a dog. All of ’em have. I have fed them for weeks in my own house, when they had nothing to eat. My wife has cooked, and washed and ironed their clothes for them, and this is the return I get for it.”
He then started to leave, but, as if suddenly reminded that he had neglected to say something, he returned; and while the tears, which he vainly tried to suppress, were streaming down his cheeks, he said,
“I’ll certainly repay this money. I would rather die than wrong you out of it.”
He had been gone about twenty minutes when shots were heard.
“I reckon,” said Robinson, starting for the door, “that Peel has killed Conley.”
All followed, but they found that the exchange of shots was between Peel and Rucker, the latter the proprietor of a faro bank on Commercial Street, where Peel had gone and staked his money on the turn of a card.
Rucker, perceiving it, pushed the money away, remarking, in a contemptuous tone,
“I don’t want your game.”