For the first moment Donnegan was not sure; it was not until there was a slight faltering in the deal—­an infinitely small hesitation which only a practiced eye like that of Donnegan’s could have noticed—­that he was sure.  The winner was crooked.  Yet the hand was interesting for all that.  He had done the master trick, not only giving himself the winning hand but also giving each of the others a fine set of cards.

And the betting was wild on that historic pot!  To begin with the smallest hand was three of a kind; and after the draw the weakest was a straight.  And they bet furiously.  The stranger had piqued them with his consistent victories.  Now they were out for blood.  Chips having been exhausted, solid gold was piled up on the table—­a small fortune!

The man in the linen coat, in the middle of the hand, called for drinks.  They drank.  They went on with the betting.  And then at last came the call.

Donnegan could have clapped his hands to applaud the smooth rascal.  It was not an affair of breaking the others who sat in.  They were all prosperous mine owners, and probably they had been carefully selected according to the size of purse, in preparation for the sacrifice.  But the stakes were swept into the arms and then the canvas bag of the winner.  If it was not enough to ruin the miners it was at least enough to clean them out of ready cash and discontinue the game on that basis.  They rose; they went to the bar for a drink; but while the winner led the way, two of the losers dropped back a trifle and fell into earnest conversation, frowning.  Donnegan knew perfectly what the trouble was.  They had noticed that slight faltering in the deal; they were putting their mental notes on the game together.

But the winner, apparently unconscious of suspicion, lined up his victims at the bar.  The first drink went hastily down; the second was on the way—­it was standing on the bar.  And here he excused himself; he broke off in the very middle of a story, and telling them that he would be back any moment, stepped into a crowd of newcomers.

The moment he disappeared, Donnegan saw the other four put their heads close together, and saw a sudden darkening of faces; but as for the genial winner, he had no sooner passed to the other side of the crowd and out of view, than he turned directly toward the door.  His careless saunter was exchanged for a brisk walk; and Donnegan, without making himself conspicuous, was hard pressed to follow that pace.

At the door he found that the gambler, with his canvas sack under his arm, had turned to the right toward the line of saddle horses which stood in the shadow; and no sooner did he reach the gloom at the side of the building than he broke into a soft, swift run.  He darted down the line of horses until he came to one which was already mounted.  This Donnegan saw as he followed somewhat more leisurely and closer to the horses to avoid observance.  He made out that the man already on horseback was a big Negro and that he had turned his own mount and a neighboring horse out from the rest of the horses, so that they were both pointing down the street of The Corner.  Donnegan saw the Negro throw the lines of his lead horse into the air.  In exchange he caught the sack which the runner tossed to him, and then the gambler leaped into his saddle.