“Do you play?” Reynolds asked, thinking that the old man might be fond of cards.

“No,” was the brief and absent-minded reply.

Reynolds said no more, but watched the four men.  His attention was chiefly centered upon one who was facing him, and who was doing most of the talking.  He was a young man, with a dark moustache and black curly hair.  He played with keen interest and in a lofty dominating manner.  Reynolds did not like his appearance, and the more he studied him the stronger became his repugnance.  It was not only the low brutal face that compelled this feeling, but the coarse language that reeked from his lips.  This so disgusted Reynolds that he was about to leave the room, when in an instant a commotion took place among the players.  They sprang to their feet, and a miniature babel ensued.

“You’re cheating.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re a liar.”

These were some of the terms hurled forth in sharp rasping sentences, and it seemed as if blood must surely be shed ere the confusion ended.  As the word “liar” rang out, a sudden silence followed, and at once hands rested upon butts of revolvers concealed in four hip-pockets.  But before they were drawn a peculiar noise broke the stillness, which caused Reynolds to start, for the sound came from the old prospector’s lips.

“Me-o-o-o-ow.  Me-o-o-o-ow.  Bow-wow-wow.  Bow-wow-wow.”

So unexpected was this interruption that all in the room stared in amazement, and even the four angry men turned to see whence the sound came.  So perfect was the imitation, and so humorous the expression upon the face of the old man, that the onlookers burst into a hearty laugh, which caused the four inflamed players to shuffle uneasily, and to look sheepishly at one another.  Then their mouths expanded into a grin, and the storm was over.

The curly-haired man at once left his place and strode over to where the prospector was sitting.

“Frontier Samson!” he exclaimed, gripping him firmly by the hand.  “Is it really you?”

“Sure, it’s me, all right, Curly.  Who else did ye think it was; me ghost?”

“Not when I heard that cat-call, an’ the bow-wow.”

“Heard ’em before, eh?  Guess this isn’t the first scrape I’ve got ye out of, is it?”

“Should say not.  But where in h——­ did ye drop from, Sam?  I didn’t know ye were on board.”

“Oh, I’m jist on a visit from the outside.  An’ it’s mighty lucky that I’m here, or else I don’t know what ’ud have happened.  Better leave cards alone, Curly, if ye can’t play without fightin’.  They make people act like a bunch of kids.”

“It was those d——­ fools’ fault, though, Sam.”

“Thar, now, don’t make excuses an’ blame others, Curly.  That’s jist what kids allus do.  An’ cut out them unholy words.  There might be a parson around.”

Curly flung himself down upon a seat, and lighted a cigarette.  He cast a furtive glance at Reynolds, thinking that perhaps he might be the “parson.”