The men gasped, the Jew snickered, the lookout straightened in his
chair.

"Better not. It's a hard game," said the Kid, but her voice was
imperious as she commanded him:

"Hurry up. Give me your place."

Bronco arose, whereupon she settled in his chair, tucked in her
skirts, removed her gloves, and twisted into place the diamonds on
her hands.

"What the devil's this?" said the lookout, roughly. "Are you
drunk, Bronco? Get out of that chair, miss."

She turned to him slowly. The innocence had fled from her features
and the big eyes flashed warningly. A change had coarsened her
like a puff of air on a still pool. Then, while she stared at him,
her lids drooped dangerously and her lip curled.

"Throw him out, Bronco," she said, and her tones held the hardness
of a mistress to her slave.

"That's all right," the Kid reassured the lookout. "She's a better
dealer than I am. This is Cherry Malotte."

Without noticing the stares this evoked, the girl commenced. Her
hands, beautifully soft and white, flashed over the board. She
dealt rapidly, unfalteringly, with the finish of one bred to the
cards, handling chips and coppers with the peculiar mannerisms