room waited, a little tense, with lifted heads. Slim was studying the
last throw that Phil Marvin had made. Terry could not but wonder what
significance that "back way" had. Presently Oregon reappeared.

"Pete's come."

"The hell!"

"Went upstairs."

"Wants to be alone," interrupted the girl. "He'll come down and talk when
he feels like it. That's Pete's way."

"Watching us, maybe," growled Joe Pollard, with a shade of uneasiness
still. "Damned funny gent, Pete is. Watches a man like a cat; watches a
gopher hole all day, maybe. And maybe the gent he watches is a friend
he's known for ten years. Well--let Pete go. They ain't no explaining
him."

Through the last part of his talk, and through the heaviness of his
voice, cut another tone, lighter, sharper, venomous: "Phil, you gummed
them dice that last time!"

Joe Pollard froze in place; the eyes of the girl widened. Terry, looking
across the room, saw Phil Marvin scoop up the dice and start to his feet.

"You lie, Slim!"

Instinctively Terry slipped his hand onto his gun. It was what Phil
Marvin had done, as a matter of fact. He stood swelling and glowering,