"This time, gentlemen--" he said, with a significant pause and accent--
"just for social recreation. What do you say?"

"I'm your Injun!" acquiesced Sonora, rubbing his hands together
gleefully at the prospect of winning from the Sheriff, whom he liked
none too well.

"That's me, too!" concurred Trinidad.

"Chips, then, Nick!" called out the Sheriff, quietly taking a seat at
the table; while Sonora, bubbling over with spirits, hitched up his
trousers in sailor fashion and executed an impromptu hornpipe, bellowing
in his deep, base voice:


"I shipped aboard of a liner, boys--"


"Renzo, boys, renzo," finished Trinidad, falling in place at the table.

At this point the outside door was unexpectedly pushed open, inward, and
the Deputy-Sheriff came into their midst.

"Ashby just rode in with his posse," he announced huskily to his
superior.

The Sheriff flashed a look of annoyance and inquired of the gaunt,
hollow-cheeked, muscular Deputy whose beaver overcoat was thrown open
so that his gun and powder-flask showed plainly in his belt: