The card players had been absorbed in their game until now. But as the new deal was begun, the bearded gambler saw the Texan's eyes upon him.
"Are yuh starin' at me?" he rasped. "Walk away, or get in—one o' the two. Yuh'll kill my luck."
"Pahdon me, sah. I don't think I could kill such luck as yo's."
The Kid's voice was full of soothing politeness. The gambler made the mistake of thinking the stranger in awe of him. Many a man before him had taken the Texan's soft, drawling speech the wrong way.
"Well, are yuh gettin' in the game?"
"I'm not a gamblin' man, sah." The Texan smiled.
The bearded man exposed his teeth in a contemptuous leer.
"From yore talk, yo're nothin' but a cheap cotton picker. Guess this game's too stiff fer yuh," he said.
The expression of the Texan's face did not change, but curious little flecks of light appeared in his steellike eyes. He laughed quietly.
"I'd get in," he said, "but I'd hate to take yo' money."