Wishful turned away casually. Bartley noticed that he again took up his
position near Panhandle.

This time Panhandle glanced up and asked Wishful if he didn't want to
come into the game.

Wishful shook his head. "No use tryin' to bust his luck," he said,
indicating Cheyenne.

"Oh, I don't know," said Panhandle.

"And he's got good backin'," continued Wishful.

Panhandle slanted a narrow glance toward Bartley, and Bartley felt that
the other had somehow or other managed to convey an insult and a
challenge in that glance, which suggested the contempt of the tough
Westerner for the supposedly tender Easterner.

Bartley did not know just what was on the boards, aside from dice and
money, but he took Wishful's hint and moved around to Panhandle's side
of the table, leaving Cheyenne facing his competitor alone. Bartley
happened to catch Cheyenne's eye. The happy-go-lucky expression was
gone. Cheyenne's face seemed troubled, yet he played with his former
vigor and luck.

Panhandle posed insolently, his thumb in his belt, watching the dice. He
was all but broke. Cheyenne kept rolling the bones, but now he evoked no
aid from the gods of African golf. His lips were set in a thin line.

Suddenly he tossed up the dice, caught them and transferred them to his