Cheyenne was in the enemy's country. But he trusted to his ability to
play up to his reputation for an easy-going hobo to get him out again,
without trouble. He appeared unaware of the covert suspicion with which
Sneed watched his every movement.

"Meet the boys," said Sneed as they entered the cabin.

Cheyenne nodded to the four men who sat playing cards at a long table in
the main room. They returned his nod indifferently and went on with
their game. Cheyenne pretended an interest in the game, meanwhile
studying the visible characteristics of the players. One and all they
were hard-boiled, used to the open, rough-spoken, and indifferent to
Cheyenne's presence.

Sneed stepped to the kitchen and pulled the coffee-pot to the front of
the stove. Finally Cheyenne strolled out to the veranda and seated
himself on the long bench near the doorway. He picked up a stick and
began to whittle, and as he whittled his gaze traveled from the log
stable to the corral, and from there to the edge of the clearing. He
heard Sneed speak to one of the men in a low voice. Cheyenne slipped his
knife into his pocket and his fingers touched the pair of dice.

He drew out the dice and rattled them. "Go 'way, you snake eyes!" he
chanted as he threw the dice along the bench. "Little Jo, where you
bushin' out? You sure are bashful!" He threw again. "Roll on, you
box-car! I don't like you, nohow! Nine? Nine? Five and a four! Six and a
three! Just as easy!"

Sneed came to the doorway and glanced at Cheyenne, who continued
shooting craps with himself, oblivious to Sneed's muttered comment.