"_Luck!_" laughed the other, coolly: "well, no. I do not call it luck,
for I never have luck. We'll call it chance!"

"Just as you say," growled the gambler, bringing forth a new pack.
"Chance and luck are then twin companions. Will you continue longer,
Mr.----"

"Redburn," finished the pilgrim.

"Ah! yes--Mr. Redburn, will you continue?"

"I will play as long as there is anything to play for," again finished
Mr. R., twisting the waxed ends of his mustache calmly. "Maybe you
have got your fill, eh?"

"No; I'll play all night to win back what I have lost."

A youth, attired in buck-skin, and apparently a couple of years
younger than Redburn, came sauntering along at this juncture, and
seeing an unoccupied chair at one end of the table (for Redburn and
the gambler sat at the sides, facing each other), he took possession
of it forthwith.

"Hello!" and the sharp swore roundly. "Who told _you_ to mix in your
lip, pilgrim?"

"Nobody, as I know of. Thought I'd squat right here, and watch your
_sleeves_!" was the significant retort, and the youth laid a cocked
six-shooter on the table in front of him.