Luck nodded slowly. “A long time—yes. Nothing but heat in the day and this—” She gave a weary gesture toward the street—“at night. I have lived in the North, where the mountains are big and cool; where there are big trees and rivers. It is never cool here. At times it is a dreary cold—then the heat.”
Duke nodded and looked up at the moon, hanging like a great ball only a short distance above the hill. Suddenly an altercation started across the street beyond the crowd around the Saint. A babble of voices, a curse, shrilled in a woman’s voice—a shot.
Duke turned quickly to Luck, but she had disappeared in the crowd. A man elbowed his way across the street, laughing as he reached the door, and spoke to Loper.
“Woman fer a change, Loper. ‘Tejon Mary’ tried to knife a feller, but he was lookin’ fer it and shot her.”
“’S time somebody stopped her,” grunted Loper. “She was loco. Sleed was goin’ t’ ship her out, anyway.”
The crowd around the shell game began to scatter and look for another diversion. Duke went out to the Saint, whose pockets were bulging with money.
“Game is closed,” said the Saint, putting the shells in his pocket and picking up the table, “and again we have a stake.”
He placed the table in the alleyway between the Silver Bar and the adjoining building.
“I was surprised not to have Silver Sleed try to stop my game,” said the Saint, as he joined Duke.
“He’s in Cactus City tonight, Saint. I had a talk with his daughter.”