for. There might have been gun-play right then if Steele had not
interfered.

"Hold on!" he yelled, leaping for our table. "Put up your gun!"

"Who are you?" demanded the cattleman, never moving. "Better keep out of
this."

"I'm Steele. Put up your gun."

"You're thet Ranger, hey?" replied the other. "All right! But just a
minute. I want this dealer to sit quiet. I've been robbed. And I want my
money back."

Certainly the dealer and everyone else round the table sat quiet while
the cattleman coolly held his gun leveled.

"Crooked game?" asked Steele, bending over the table. "Show me."

It did not take the aggrieved gambler more than a moment to prove his
assertion. Steele, however, desired corroboration from others beside the
cattleman, and one by one he questioned them.

To my surprise, one of the players admitted his conviction that the game
was not straight.

"What do you say?" demanded Steele of me.

"Worse'n a hold-up, Mr. Ranger," I burst out. "Let me show you."