his chair and, fishing in his jeans, dug up a purse. "Here's my fifty.
As soon as you get through eatin' we'll shoot for the ponies."

Lawson, while finishing his meal, made up his mind that Cheyenne would
not get away with that fifty dollars, game or no game; and, also, that
he would not get the horses. Cheyenne knew this--knew the kind of man he
was dealing with. But he had a reason to keep the men in the cabin.
Little Jim was out there somewhere, and up to something. If any of the
men happened to catch sight of Little Jim, they would suspect Cheyenne
of some trickery. Moreover, if Little Jim were caught--but Cheyenne
refused to let himself think of what might happen in that event.

Cheyenne threw the dice on the table as Lawson got up. "Go ahead and
shoot."

"Show me what I got to beat," said Lawson.

"All right. Watch 'em close."

Cheyenne gathered up the dice and threw. Calling his point, he snapped
his fingers and threw again. The men crowded round, momentarily
interested in Cheyenne's sprightly monologue. Happening to glance
through the doorway as he gathered up the dice for another throw,
Cheyenne noticed that his horse had turned and was standing, with ears
and eyes alert, looking toward the corral.

Cheyenne tossed up the dice, caught them and purposely made a wild
throw. One of the little cubes shot across the table and clattered on
the floor. Cheyenne barely had time to glance through the kitchen
doorway and the window beyond as he recovered the cube. But he had seen