Each player snatched a liquid stimulus when the need arose. And
one whose shaky nerves required many of these spurs was young Benito.
Potts observed the pale face and the hectic, burning eyes with a
frowning disapproval. Presently he drew John Cooper to one side.
"He's no business here, that lad ... you know it, Jack," Potts said,
accusingly. The saloon keeper threw wide his arms in a significant
gesture.
"He won't stay away ... I've told him half a dozen times. No one can
reason with that headstrong fool."
"Who's that he's playing with?" asked Potts. "I mean the dark one with a
scar."
An impressive and outstanding figure was the man Potts designated.
Stocky, sinister of eye and with a mouth whose half-sardonic smile drew
the lips a little out of line, he combed his thick black hair now and
then with delicate, long-fingered hands. They had a deftness and a
lightning energy, those fingers with their perfectly groomed nails,
which boded little good to his opponents. He sat back calmly in strange
contrast to the feverish uncontrol of other players. Now and then he
flashed a swift glance round the circle of his fellow players. Before
him was a heap of gold and silver.
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