The gold lay there on the table. It was only a means to an end. It signified nothing. The evil, the terrible greed, the brutal lust, were in the hearts of the men. And hate, liberated, rampant, stalked out unconcealed, ready for blood.
“Gulden, change the game to suit these gents,” taunted Kells.
“Double stakes. Cut the cards!” boomed the giant, instantly.
Blicky lasted only a few more deals of the cards, then he rose, loser of all his share, a passionate and venomous bandit, ready for murder. But he kept his mouth shut and looked wary.
“Boss, can't we set in now?” demanded Beady Jones.
“Say, Beady, you're in a hurry to lose your gold,” replied Kells. “Wait till I beat Gulden and Smith.”
Luck turned against Jesse Smith. He lost first to Gulden, then to Kells, and presently he rose, a beaten, but game man. He reached for the whisky.
“Fellers, I reckon I can enjoy Kells's yellow streak more when I ain't playin',” he said.
The bandit leader eyed Smith with awakening rancor, as if a persistent hint of inevitable weakness had its effect. He frowned, and the radiance left his face for the forbidding cast.
“Stand around, you men, and see some real gambling,” he said.