cards from the bottom of a pack, and opposite him a solemn old
rustic piling and changing coins upon the cards which lay already
exposed.

But now I heard a voice that drew my eyes to the far corner of
the room.

"Why didn't you stay in Arizona?"

Harmless looking words as I write them down here. Yet at the
sound of them I noticed the eyes of the others directed to that
corner. What answer was given to them I did not hear, nor did I
see who spoke. Then came another remark.

"Well, Arizona's no place for amatures."

This time the two card dealers that I stood near began to give a
part of their attention to the group that sat in the corner.
There was in me a desire to leave this room. So far my hours at
Medicine Bow had seemed to glide beneath a sunshine of merriment,
of easy-going jocularity. This was suddenly gone, like the wind
changing to north in the middle of a warm day. But I stayed,
being ashamed to go.

Five or six players sat over in the corner at a round table where
counters were piled. Their eyes were close upon their cards, and
one seemed to be dealing a card at a time to each, with pauses
and betting between. Steve was there and the Virginian; the
others were new faces.