The long figure stiffened, the face went pale.

"You--mean--you--" the tongue was very thick. "You cut me out?"

For a moment there was silence; then once more the beard pointed to the
player next beyond.

"Cards?" for the third time.

Five chips ranged in a row beside their predecessors.

"Three."

A hand, almost the hand of a gentleman, went instinctively to the gaunt
throat of the ignored gambler and jerked at the close flannel shirt;
then without a word the owner got unsteadily to his feet and followed
an irregular trail toward the interested spectator at the bar.

"Have a drink with me, pard," said the gambler, as he regarded the
immovable Mick. "Two whiskeys, there!"

Kennedy did not stir, and for five seconds Blair blinked his dulled eyes
in wordless surprise; then his fist came down upon the cottonwood board
with a mighty crash.

"Wake up there, Mick!" he roared. "I'm speaking to you! A couple of
'ryes' for the gentleman here and myself."

Another pause, momentary but effective.