he importuned incessantly to stay away.

Side bets were made and bills and silver withdrawn or added to the pile
with a rapidity which amazed Bartley. Hitherto craps had meant to him
three or four newsboys in an alley and a little pile of nickels and
pennies. But this game was of robust proportions. It had pep and speed.

Bartley became interested. His fingers itched to grasp the dice and try
his luck. But he realized that his amateurish knowledge of the game
would be an affront to those free-moving sons of the mesa. So he
contented himself with watching the game and the faces of the men as
they won or lost. Bartley felt that some one was close behind him
looking over his shoulder. Cheyenne's eyes were fixed on the player
known as "Panhandle," and on no other person at that table. Bartley
turned back to the game.

Just then some one recognized Cheyenne and spoke his name. The game
stopped and Bartley saw several of the men glance curiously from
Cheyenne to the man known as "Panhandle." Then the game was resumed, but
it was a quieter game. One or two of the players withdrew.

"Play a five for me," said Bartley, turning to Cheyenne.

"I'll do that--fifty-fifty," said Cheyenne as Bartley stepped back and
handed him a bill.

Cheyenne straightway elbowed deeper into the group and finally secured
the dice. Wishful, for some unknown reason, remarked that he would back
Cheyenne to win--"shootin' with either hand," Wishful concluded. Bartley
noticed that again one or two players withdrew and strolled to the bar.