inducement."

"Well, if yore shore set on it make her a pool," replied Red, "an'
th' winners divide with their outfit. Here's a starter," he added,
tossing a buckskin bag on the table. "Come on, pile `em up."

The crowd divided as the players seated themselves at the table, the
O-Bar-O crowd grouping themselves behind their representatives; the
Bar-20 behind theirs. A deck of cards was brought and the game was on.

Red, true to his nature, leaned back in a corner, where, hands on
hips, he awaited any hostile demonstration on the part of the O-Bar-O;
then, suddenly remembering, he looked half ashamed of his warlike
position and became a peaceful citizen again. Buck leaned with his
broad back against the bar, talking over his shoulder to the
bartender, but watching Tenspot Davis, who was assiduously engaged in
juggling a handful of Mexican dollars.

Up by the door Bigfoot Baker, elated at winning the buck-and-wing
contest, was endeavoring to learn a new step, while his late rival was
drowning his defeat at Buck's elbow. Lefty Allen was softly singing a
Mexican love song, humming when the words would not come.
At the table could be heard low-spoken card terms and good-natured banter,
interspersed with the clink of gold and silver and the soft pat-pat of the
onlookers' feet unconsciously keeping time to Lefty's song. Notwithstanding
the grim assertiveness of belts full of .45's and the peeping handles of long-
barreled Colts, set off with picturesque chaps, sombreros and tinkling
spurs, the scene was one of peaceful content and good-fellowship.

"Ugh!" grunted Johnny, walking over to Red and informing that person