“He just slipped out through that after door to the deck—­him and Bill Carver.”

“And the stakes?”

Another answered in a thin, piping treble.

“I reckon them two cusses took along the most ov it.  Enyhow ’tain’t yere, ’cept maybe a few coins that rolled tinder the table.  It wasn’t Joe Kirby who picked up the swag, fer I was a watchin’ him, an’ he never onct let go ov his gun.  Thet damn sneak Carver must a did it, an’ then the two ov ’em just sorter nat’rally faded away through that door thar.”

McAfee swore through his black beard, the full truth swiftly dawning upon him.

“Hell!” he exploded.  “So that’s the way of it.  Then them two wus in cahoots frum the beginnin’.  That’s what I told the Jedge last night, but he said he didn’t give a whoop; thet he knew more poker than both ov ’em put tergether.  I tell yer them fellers stole that money, an’ they killed Beaucaire—­”

“Hold on a minute,” I broke in, my mind cleared of its first passion, and realizing the necessity of control.  “Let’s keep cool, and go slow.  While I believe McAfee is right, we are not going to bring the Judge back to life by turning into a mob.  There is no proof of cheating, and Kirby has the law behind him.  Let me talk to the captain about what had best be done.”

“Who, Thockmorton?”

“Yes; he’ll know the better action for us to take.  He’s level-headed, and an old friend of Beaucaire’s.”

“I’m fer swingin’ that damn gambler up, without askin’ nobody,” shouted a fellow fiercely.  “He’s bin raisin’ hell frum one end o’ this river ter the other fer ten years.  A rope is whut he needs.”

“What good would that do in this case?” I questioned before anyone else could chime in, “either to the dead man, or his family?  That’s what I am thinking about, men.  Suppose you strung him up, that money, the plantation, and those slaves would still belong to him, or his heirs.  I’m for getting all these back, if there is any way of accomplishing it.  See here, men,” I pleaded earnestly, “this affair doesn’t necessarily end here on board the Warrior, and if you were to kill Kirby it wouldn’t benefit matters any.”

“It would get rid ov a skunk.”

“Yes, but he is only one of a hundred between here and New Orleans.  Look at the other side a minute.  Beaucaire bet everything he possessed—­everything, land, niggers, and money.  Kirby sneered him on to it, and saw that he had the kind of a hand that would do the business right.  When the Judge died he didn’t own enough to pay his funeral expenses.  Now see here; I happen to know that he left two young daughters.  Just stop, and think of them.  We saw this game played, and there isn’t a man here who believes it was played on the square—­that two such hands were ever dealt, or drawn, in poker.  We can’t prove that Kirby manipulated things to that end; not one of us saw how he worked the trick.  There is no chance to get him that way.  Then what is it we ought to do?  Why I say, make the thief disgorge—­and hanging won’t do the business.”