“The captain seems pleading for you, Dick,” answered Tabor.
“Yas, he’s powerful good; but I guesses the boys will string me.”
“I hopes not, Dick; I fer one decides ter pardon yer,” remarked Seven-foot Harry.
“’Tain’t no use, boys. I is ter be called on fer what chips I has got, an’ ther game’s agin’ me, fer I don’t hold a trump keerd: see, ther boys is comin’.”
Not a quiver of Poker Dick’s face showed any emotion, as the silent, stern-looking men came near and formed in a circle around him. Then Captain Dash said, in a low but distinct tone:
“Dick Martin, I regret, more than I can express, to have to say to you that your act this night, in aiding the escape of Kent King, that accursed gambler guide, has cost you your life.”
“I desarves all yer can say agin’ me, pards, so don’t let up on me,” was the quiet rejoinder.
“No, I throw no abuse or words of unkindness in the teeth of a man who stands on the brink of his grave. I have urged that your comrades overlook your crime this once, and give you another trial; but there are only three of us to beg this favor against twenty-seven who say you must die.”
At a word from their leader the men ranged themselves in line, and passed by the doomed man, grasping his hand in grim, silent farewell, and then continuing on into the darkness beyond the firelight.
“Now, cap’n, here’s my last grip, an’ it’s not with ther hand thet tuk ther slugs an’ dimints. Good-by, for I is goin’ over ther dark river, an’ you’ll follow afore long.”