“Nor I him,” returned the gambler, courteously. “My name is Place Hough and my word is not doubted.”
Neale had heard of this famous Mississippi River gambler. So, evidently, had the other three players. The game proceeded, and when it came to Hough’s deal Mull bet hard and lost all. His big, hairy hands shook. He looked at Fresno and the other fellow, but not at Hough.
“I’m broke,” he said, gruffly, and got up from the bench.
He strode past Hough, and behind him; then as if suddenly, instinctively, answering to fury, he whipped out a gun.
Neale, just as instinctively, grasped the rising hand.
“Hold on, there!” he called. “Would you shoot a man in the back?”
And Neale, whose grip was powerful, caused the other to drop the gun. Neale kicked it aside. Fresno got up.
“Whar’s your head, Mull?” he growled. “Git out of this!”
Attention had been attracted to Mull. Some one picked up the gun. The sallow-faced man rose, holding out his hand for it. Hough did not even turn around.
“I was goin’ to hold him up,” said Mull. He glared fiercely at Neale, wrenched his hand free, and with his comrades disappeared in the crowd.