“Nobody, as I know of.  Thought I’d squat right here, and watch your sleeves!” was the significant retort, and the youth laid a cocked six-shooter on the table in front of him.

“Go on, gentlemen; don’t let me be the means of spoiling your fun.”

The gambler uttered a curse, and dealt out the pasteboards.

The youth was watching him intently, with his sharp black eyes.

He was of medium hight, straight as an arrow, and clad in a loose-fitting costume.  A broad sombrero was set jauntily upon the left side of his head, the hair of which had been cut close down to the scalp.  His face—­a pleasant, handsome, youthful face—­was devoid of hirsute covering, he having evidently been recently handled by the barber.

The game between Mr. Redburn and the gambler progressed; the eyes of he whom we have just described were on the card sharp constantly.

The cards went down on the table in vigorous slaps, and at last, Mr. Pilgrim Redburn raked in the stakes.

“Thunder ‘n’ Moses!” ejaculated the sharp, pulling out his watch—­an elegant affair, of pure gold, and studded with diamonds—­and laying it forcibly down upon the table.

“There! what will you plank on that!”

Redburn took up the time-piece, turned it over and over in his hands, opened and shut it, gave a glance at the works, and then handed it over to the youth, whom he instinctively felt was his friend.  Redburn had come from the East to dig gold, and therefore was a stranger in Deadwood.

“What is its money value?” he asked, familiarizing his tone.  “Good, I suppose.”

“Yes, perfectly good, and cheap at two hundred,” was the unhesitating reply.  “Do you lack funds, stranger?”

“Oh! no.  I am three hundred ahead of this cuss yet, and—­”

“You’d better quit where you are!” said the other, decisively.  “You’ll lose the next round, mark my word.”

“Ha! ha!” laughed Redburn, who had begun to show symptoms of recklessness.  “I’ll take my chances.  Here, you gamin, I’ll cover the watch with two hundred dollars.”

Without more ado the stakes were planked, the cards dealt, and the game began.

The youth, whom we will call Ned Harris, was not idle.

He took the revolvers from the table, changed his position so that his face was just in the opposite direction of what it had been, and commenced to pare his finger nails.  The fingers were as white and soft as any girl’s.  In his hand he also held a strangely-angled little box, the sides of which were mirror-glass.  Looking at his finger-nails he also looked into the mirror, which gave a complete view of the card-sharp, as he sat at the table.

Swiftly progressed the game, and no one could fail to see how it was going by watching the cunning light in the gambler’s eye.  At last the game-card went down, and next instant, after the sharp had raked in his stakes, a cocked revolver in either hand of Ned Harris covered the hearts of the two players.