John glanced over from the money-lender to the doctor.  The doctor and Bunning-Ford were the most to be considered.  Their resources were very limited.  The old man knew that the doctor was one of those careful players who was not likely to allow himself to suffer by the height of the stakes.  There was no bluffing the doctor.  “Lord” Bill was able to take care of himself.

“That’s good enough for me,” said Bunning-Ford.  “Let it go at that.”

Outwardly Lablache was indifferent; inwardly he experienced a sense of supreme satisfaction at the height of the stakes.

The four men relapsed into silence as they cut for the deal.  It was an education in the game to observe each man as he, metaphorically speaking, donned his mask of impassive reserve.  As the game progressed any one of those four men might have been a graven image as far as the expression of countenance went.  No word was spoken beyond “Raise you so and so”—­“See you that.”  So keen, so ardent was the game that the stake might have been one of life and death.  No money passed.  Just slips of paper; and yet any one of those fragments represented a small fortune.

The first few hands resulted in but desultory betting.  Sums of money changed hands but there was very little in it.  Lablache was the principal loser.  Three “pots” in succession were taken by John Allandale, but their aggregate did not amount to half the limit.  A little luck fell to Bunning-Ford.  He once raised Lablache to the limit.  The money-lender “saw” him and lost.  Bill promptly scooped in three thousand dollars.  The doctor was cautious.  He had lost and won nothing.  Then a change came over the game.  To use a card-player’s expression, the cards were beginning to “run.”

“Lord” Bill dealt.  Lablache was upon his right and next to him the doctor.

The money-lender picked up his cards, and partially opening them glanced keenly at the index numerals.  His stolid face remained unchanged.  The doctor glanced at his and “came in.”  “Poker” John “came in.”  The dealer remained out.  The doctor drew two cards; “Poker” John, one; Lablache drew one.  The veteran rancher held four nines.  “Lord” Bill gathered up the “deadwood,” and, propping his face upon his hands, watched the betting.

It was the doctor’s bet; he cautiously dropped out.  He had an inkling of the way things were going.  “Poker” John opened the ball with five hundred dollars.  He had a good thing and he did not want to frighten his opponent by a plunge.  He would leave it to Lablache to start raising.  The money-lender raised him one thousand.  Old John sniffed with the appreciation of an old war-horse at the scent of battle.  The nervous, twitching cheek remained unmoved.  The old gambler in him rose uppermost.