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directly behind that of Hurley, and Pierre's new-found
acquaintance explained: "He's the bodyguard for Hurley. Maybe there's
some who could down Hurley in a straight gunfight; maybe there's one
or two like McGurk that could down Diaz—damn his yellow hide—but
there ain't no one can buck the two of 'em. It ain't in reason. So
they play the game together. Hurley works the cards and Diaz covers up
the retreat. Can't beat that, can you?"
    Pierre le Rouge slipped his left hand once more inside his shirt until
the fingers touched the cross.
    "Nevertheless, that game has to stop."
    "Who'll—say, kid, are you stringin' me, or are you drunk? Look me in
the eye!"

Chapter 6
*
    Pierre turned and looked calmly upon the other.
    And the man whispered in a sort of awe: "Well, I'll be damned!"
    "Stand aside!"
    The other fell back a pace, and Pierre went straight to the table and
said to Cochrane: "Sir, I have come to take you home."
    The old man looked up and rubbed his eyes as though waking from a
sleep.
    "Stand back from the table!" warned Hurley.
    "By the Lord, have they been missing me?" queried old Cochrane. "You
are waited for," answered Pierre le Rouge, "and I've been sent to take
you home."
    "If that's the case—"
    "It ain't the case. The kid's lying."
    "Lying?" repeated Cochrane, as if he had never heard the word before,
and he peered with clearing eyes toward Pierre. "No, I think this boy
has never lied."
    Silence had spread through the place like a vapor. Even the slight
sounds in the gaming-room were done now, and one pair after another of
eyes swung toward the table of Cochrane and Hurley. The wave of the
silence reached to the barroom. No one could have carried the tidings
so soon, but the air was surcharged with the consciousness of an
impending crisis.
    Half a dozen men started to make their way on tiptoe toward the back
room. One stood with his whisky glass suspended in midair, and tilted
back his head to listen. In the gaming-room Hurley pushed back his
chair and leaned to the left, giving him a free sweep for his right
hand. The Mexican smiled with a slow and deep content.
    "Thank you," answered Pierre, "but I am waiting still, sir."
    The left hand of Hurley played impatiently on the table.
    He said: "Of course, if you have enough—"
    "I—enough?" flared the old aristocrat.
    Pierre le Rouge turned fairly upon Hurley.
    "In the name of God," he said calmly, "make an end of your game.
You're playing for money, but I think this man is playing for his
eternal soul."
    The solemn, bookish phraseology came smoothly from his tongue. He knew
no other. It drew a murmur of amusement from the room and a snarl
from Hurley.
    "Put on skirts, kid, and join the Salvation Army, but don't get
yourself messed all up in here. This is my party, and I'm damned
particular who I invite! Now, run along!" The head of Pierre tilted
back, and he burst into laughter which troubled even Hurley.
    The gambler blurted: "What's happening to you, kid?"
    "I've been making a lot of good resolutions, Mr. Hurley, about keeping
out of trouble; but here I am in it up to the neck."
    "No trouble as long as you keep your hand out of another man's game,
kid."
    "That's it. I can't see you rob Mr. Cochrane like this. You aren't
gambling—you're digging gold. The game stops now."
    It was a moment before the crowd realized what was about to happen;
they saw it reflected first in the face of Hurley, which suddenly went
taut and pale, and then, even as they looked with a smile of curiosity
and derision toward Pierre le Rouge, they saw and understood.
    For the moment Pierre said, "The game stops now," the calm which had
been with him was gone. It was like the scent of blood to the starved
wolf. The last word was scarcely off his tongue when he was crouched
with a devil of green fury in his eyes—the light struck his hair into
a wave of flame—his face altered by a dozen ugly years.
    "D'you mean?" whispered Hurley, as if he feared to break the silence
with his full