meanwhile his eyes never left the table and the box.

At the end of the sixth deal he coppered his bet and leaned back to
light a fresh cigar. He stood already a hundred dollars to the good.
One of the cowboys was winning, having taken in something like twenty
or thirty dollars since Conniston came in. The other two were playing
recklessly and with little skill, and were losing steadily. The fifth
man contented himself with small bets.

Presently the younger of the two cowboys, the fellow whom Conniston
had seen at the store in the afternoon, shoved his last two dollars
and a half onto the table, lost, and got to his feet, shrugging his
shoulders.

"Cleaned," he grunted, laconically. "Gimme a drink, Smiley."

He went to the bar with one lingering look behind him. And in another
play or two his companion followed him.

"No kind of luck, Jimmie," he said to the first to be "cleaned."
"Ain't it sure enough hell how steady a man can lose?"

"Bein' as my luck took a day off six months ago an' ain't showed up
yet," retorted Jimmie, "I guess I'd ought to had sense to leave
inves'ments like the bank alone. Only I ain't got the gumption. An'
I'm always figgerin' it's about time for my luck to git over her
vacation an' come back to work. How much did you drop, Bart?"

"Forty bucks," returned Bart, reaching for the whisky-bottle. "Which
same forty was all I had. Here's how."