Steele had asked this woman, whose name was Price, how much her husband had lost, and, being told, he assured her that if he found evidence of cheating, not only would he get back the money, but also he would shut up Martin’s place.

Steele instructed me to go that night to the saloon in question and get in the game.  I complied, and, in order not to be overcarefully sized up by the dealer, I pretended to be well under the influence of liquor.

By nine o’clock, when Steele strolled in, I had the game well studied, and a more flagrantly crooked one I had never sat in.  It was barefaced robbery.

Steele and I had agreed upon a sign from me, because he was not so adept in the intricacies of gambling as I was.  I was not in a hurry, however, for there was a little frecklefaced cattleman in the game, and he had been losing, too.  He had sold a bunch of stock that day and had considerable money, which evidently he was to be deprived of before he got started for Del Rio.

Steele stood at our backs, and I could feel his presence.  He thrilled me.  He had some kind of effect on the others, especially the dealer, who was honest enough while the Ranger looked on.

When, however, Steele shifted his attention to other tables and players our dealer reverted to his crooked work.  I was about to make a disturbance, when the little cattleman, leaning over, fire in his eye and gun in hand, made it for me.

Evidently he was a keener and nervier gambler than he had been taken for.  There might have been gun-play right then if Steele had not interfered.

“Hold on!” he yelled, leaping for our table.  “Put up your gun!”

“Who are you?” demanded the cattleman, never moving.  “Better keep out of this.”

“I’m Steele.  Put up your gun.”

“You’re thet Ranger, hey?” replied the other.  “All right!  But just a minute.  I want this dealer to sit quiet.  I’ve been robbed.  And I want my money back.”

Certainly the dealer and everyone else round the table sat quiet while the cattleman coolly held his gun leveled.

“Crooked game?” asked Steele, bending over the table.  “Show me.”

It did not take the aggrieved gambler more than a moment to prove his assertion.  Steele, however, desired corroboration from others beside the cattleman, and one by one he questioned them.

To my surprise, one of the players admitted his conviction that the game was not straight.

“What do you say?” demanded Steele of me.

“Worse’n a hold-up, Mr. Ranger,” I burst out.  “Let me show you.”

Deftly I made the dealer’s guilt plain to all, and then I seconded the cattleman’s angry claim for lost money.  The players from other tables gathered round, curious, muttering.

And just then Martin strolled in.  His appearance was not prepossessing.

“What’s this holler?” he asked, and halted as he saw the cattleman’s gun still in line with the dealer.