Benito sat quite still. The
victorious light had gone out of his eyes, but not a muscle moved. One
might have thought him paralyzed or turned to stone by his misfortune.
McTurpin's hand closed almost stealthily upon the paper. There was a
smile of cool and calculating satisfaction on his thin lips as he drew
the stake toward him.
Then with an electrifying suddenness, Benito sprang upon him. "Cheat!"
he screamed. "You fleeced me like a robber. I knew. I understood it when
you looked at me like that."
Quick as McTurpin was in parrying attack--for he had frequent need of
such defense--the onslaught of Benito found him unprepared. He went over
backward, the young man's fingers on his throat. From the overturned
table money rattled to the floor and rolled into distant corners.
Hastily the non-combatants sought a refuge from expected bullets. But
no pistol barked. McTurpin's strength far overmatched that of the other.
Instantly he was on his feet. Benito's second rush was countered by a
blow upon the jaw. The boy fell heavily.
McTurpin smoothed his ruffled plumage and picked up the scattered coins.
"Take the young idiot home," he said across his shoulder, as he strode
out.
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