As he neared the saloon he recognized the figures of two men walking in the direction of the saloon. They were the doctor and John Allandale. He rode towards them.
"Hallo, Bill, whither bound?" said the old rancher, as the younger man came up. "Going to join us in the parlor of Smith's fragrant hostelry? The spider is already there weaving the web in which he hopes to ensnare us."
Bunning-Ford shook his head.
"Who's the spider—Lablache?"
"Yes, we're going to play. It's the first time for some days. Guess we've all been too busy with the round-up. Won't you really join us?"
"Can't. I've promised Mancha and 'Pickles' revenge for a game we played the other night, when I happened to relieve them of a few dollars."
"Sensible man—Lablache is too consistent," put in the doctor, quietly.
"Nonsense," said "Poker" John, optimistically. "You're always carping about the man's luck. We must break it soon."
"Yes, we've suggested that before."
Bill spoke with meaning and finished up with a purse of the lips.