CHAPTER XII
THE BRINGER OF NEWS
HE had never studied any men as he had watched these men at cards. Andrew Lanning had spent most of his life quite indifferent to the people around him, but now it was necessary to make quick judgments and sure. He had to read unreadable faces. He had to guess motives. He had to sense the coming of danger before it showed its face. And, watching them with close intentness, he understood that at least three of them were cheating at every opportunity. Henry, alone, was playing a square game; as for the heavy winner, Larry, Andrew had reason to believe that he was adroitly palming an ace now and again luck ran too consistently his way. For his own part, he was no card expert, and he smiled as Henry made his offer.
"I've got eleven dollars and fifty cents in my pocket," he said frankly. "I won't sit in at that game."
"Then the game is three-handed," said Henry as he got up from his chair. "I've fed you boys enough," he continued in his soft voice. "I know a three-handed game is no good, but I'm through. Unless you'll try a round or two with 'em, stranger? They've made enough money. Maybe they'll play for silver for the fun of it, eh, boys?"
There was no enthusiastic assent. The three looked gravely at a victim with eleven dollars and fifty cents, the chair of big Jeff creaking noisily as he turned. "Sit
