Yeager nodded silently.
"Harrison hadn't a look-in. The old scoundrel had the cards stacked," continued the officer.
"Yep. Chad sat in against a cold deck. He made a big mistake when he let the old man take the play."
"Everything fixed for to-night?"
"Far as it can be. We've just got to take a big chance and trust to luck being with us," answered Steve.
"Guess you'll have to make your own luck. I spoke to Pasquale about a game here to-night. He grabbed at the bait. Said he would bring Culvera and Ochampa. I'll make a long session of it so as to give you all the time you need."
"Better have a boy here to serve the liquor and cigars. If you should hear shooting, and Gabriel gets anxious about it, you can send the boy to find out what it's about. That will give us a few minutes more to get away."
"Sure your dope is strong enough?"
"The man who fixed it ought to know. He's a registered druggist at Phœnix," replied the range-rider.
Yeager had never before sat in the anxious seat as nervously as he did during the next few hours. His nature was not of the kind to borrow trouble. Usually he could accept responsibility without letting it worry him. But to-night he was playing for big stakes—his own life certainly was in the hazard, probably those of Farrar and Threewit, possibly that of the Texan. And what weighed with him more than all these was the fate of the young girl in the back room upstairs waiting with a leaden heart for this dreadful thing that was to befall her. It was in the game that a man must take his fighting chance. But a girl—and above all girls Ruth—the thought of it stabbed his heart like a knife.