“Yes––but?”
“Wal,” drawled Bill thoughtfully, “y’see, we ain’t shipped dust out for some time on account of a gang that’s settin’ around waitin’. You comin’ from Spawn City’ll likely have heard of this feller James an’ his gang. A most ter’ble tough is James. I’ll allow he’s got us mighty nigh wher’ he wants us––scairt to death. No, we ain’t sent out no gold stage lately, but we’re goin’ to right soon. We’ll hev to. We’ve ast for an escort o’ Gover’ment troops, but I guess Sufferin’ Creek ain’t on the map. The Gover’ment don’t guess they’ve any call to worry.”
“Then what you goin’ to do?” inquired Longley, profoundly interested.
“Can’t say. The stage’ll hev to take its chances.”
“An’ when––” began Longley. But his comrade cut him short.
“Say, I’ll allow the gold racket’s mighty int’restin’, but it makes me tired this weather. You was speakin’ ‘draw’––”
“Sure,” responded Bill amiably. “We’re four here, if you fancy a hand. Minky?”
The storekeeper nodded, and promptly produced cards and ‘chips.’ And in five minutes the game was in progress. Used as he was to the vagaries of his gambling friend, Minky was puzzled at the way he was discussing Suffering Creek with these strangers. His talk about James and the gold-stage was too rankly absurd for anything, and yet he knew that some subtle purpose must be underlying his talk. However, it was no time to question or contradict now, so he accepted the situation and his share in the game.
And here again astonishment awaited him. Bill lost steadily, if not heavily. He watched the men closely, but could discover none of the known tricks common to the game when sharps are at work. They not only seemed to be playing straight, but badly. They were not good poker players. Yet they got the hands and won. For himself, he kept fairly level. It was only Bill who lost.
And all through the game the gambler allowed himself to be drawn into talking of Suffering Creek by the interested Longley, until it would have been obvious to the veriest greenhorn that the stranger was pumping him.