resumed their duties, however, the curtains of composure had
closed upon the Kid, masking his emotion again; but from her brief
glimpse Cherry Malotte knew that this man was not of ice, as some
supposed. He turned to her and said, "Do you mean what you said
up-stairs?"

"I don't understand."

"You said you could kill Glenister."

"I could."

"Don't you love--"

"I HATE him," she interrupted, hoarsely. He gave her a mirthless
smile, and spying the crap-dealer leaving his bankrupt table,
called him over and said:

"Toby, I want you to 'drive the hearse' when Glenister begins to
play faro. I'll deal. Understand?"

"Sure! Going to give him a little 'work,' eh?"

"I never dealt a crooked card in this camp," exclaimed the Kid,
"but I'll 'lay' that man to-night or I'll kill him! I'll use a
'sand-tell,' see! And I want to explain my signals to you. If you
miss the signs you'll queer us both and put the house on the
blink."

He rapidly rehearsed his signals in a jargon which to a layman