Presently the fat Mexican quit playing and left. Cheyenne threw and won.
He played as though the dice were his and he was giving an exhibition
for the benefit of the other players. Finally the engineer quit, and
counted his winnings. Cheyenne and the man, Panhandle, faced each other,
with Bartley standing close to Cheyenne and Wishful, who had moved
around the table, standing close to Panhandle.

Panhandle took up the dice. There was no joy in his play. He shot the
dice across the table viciously. Every throw was a, sort of insidious
insult to his competitor, Cheyenne. Bartley was more interested in the
performance than the actual winning or losing, although he realized that
Cheyenne was still a heavy winner.

Presently Wishful stepped over to Bartley and touched his arm. Panhandle
and Cheyenne were intent upon their game.

"You kin see better from that side of the table," said Wishful mildly,
yet with a peculiar significance.

Bartley glanced up, his face expressing bewilderment.

"I seen you slip Cheyenne a bill," murmured Wishful. "Accordin' to that,
you're backin' him. Thought I'd just mention it."

"I don't understand what you're driving at," said Bartley.

"That's just why I spoke to you." And Wishful's face expressed a sort of
sad wonder. But then, the Easterner had not been in town long and he did
not know Panhandle.