Slowly, as they watched, the eyelids closed.
"And now," said Adrian when he had assured himself that Benito slept,
"I'm going for McTurpin."
"Don't be a confounded fool," Dr. Jones said quickly.
But Stanley paid no heed. He went directly into the saloon and looked
about him. At a table, back toward him, sat a stocky figure, playing
cards and reaching for the rum container at his side. Adrian stood a
moment, musing; then his right hand slid down to his hip; a forward
stride and the left hand fell on the player's shoulder.
"We meet once more, McTurpin."
The gambler rose so suddenly that the stool on which he sat rolled over.
His face was red with wine and rage. His fingers moved toward an
inner pocket.
"Don't," said Adrian meaningly. The hand fell back.
"What do you want?" the gambler growled.
"A quiet talk, my friend. Come with me."
"And, suppose I refuse?" the other sneered.
"Oh, if you're afraid--" began Adrian.
McTurpin threw his cards upon the table. Between him and a man across
the board flashed a swift, unspoken message. "I'm at your service,
Mr.--ah--Stanley."
He led the way out, and Adrian following, gave a quick glance backward,
noting that the man across the table had arisen.
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