He paid no attention to Cherry as he took his seat.  He had eyes for nothing but the “lay-out.”  She clenched her hands and prayed for his ruin.

“What’s your limit, Kid?” he inquired.

“One hundred, and two,” the Kid answered, which in the vernacular means that any sum up to $200 be laid on one card save only on the last turn, when the amount is lessened by half.

Without more ado they commenced.  The Kid handled his cards smoothly, surely, paying and taking bets with machine-like calm.  The on-lookers ceased talking and prepared to watch, for now came the crucial test of the evening.  Faro is to other games as war is to jackstraws.

For a time Glenister won steadily till there came a moment when many stacks of chips lay on the deuce.  Cherry saw the Kid “flash” to the case-keeper, and the next moment he had “pulled two.”  The deuce lost.  It was his first substantial gain, and the players paid no attention.  At the end of half an hour the winnings were slightly in favor of the “house.”  Then Glenister said, “This is too slow.  I want action.”

“All right,” smiled the proprietor.  “We’ll double the limit.”

Thus it became possible to wager $400 on a card, and the Kid began really to play.  Glenister now lost steadily, not in large amounts, but with tantalizing regularity.  Cherry had never seen cards played like this.  The gambler was a revelation to her—­his work was wonderful.  Ill luck seemed to fan the crowd’s eagerness, while, to add to its impatience, the cases came wrong twice in succession, so that those who would have bet heavily upon the last turn had their money given back.  Cherry saw the confusion of the “hearse-driver” even quicker than did Bronco.  Toby was growing rattled.  The dealer’s work was too fast for him, and yet he could offer no signal of distress for fear of annihilation at the hands of those crowded close to his shoulder.  In the same way the owner of the game could make no objection to his helper’s incompetence for fear that some by-stander would volunteer to fill the man’s part—­there were many present capable of the trick.  He could only glare balefully across the table at his unfortunate confederate.

They had not gone far on the next game before Cherry’s quick eye detected a sign which the man misinterpreted.  She addressed him, quietly, “You’d better brush up your plumes.”

In spite of his anger the Bronco Kid smiled.  Humor in him was strangely withered and distorted, yet here was a thrust he would always remember and recount with glee in years to come.  He feared there were other faro-dealers present who might understand the hint, but there was none save Mexico Mullins, whose face was a study—­mirth seemed to be strangling him.  A moment later the girl spoke to the case-keeper again.

“Let me take your place; your reins are unbuckled.”

Toby glanced inquiringly at the Kid, who caught Cherry’s reassuring look and nodded, so he arose and the girl slid into the vacant chair.  This woman would make no errors—­the dealer knew that; her keen wits were sharpened by hate—­it showed in her face.  If Glenister escaped destruction to-night it would be because human means could not accomplish his downfall.