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ring and a new fire were started, and a second circle of players began shooting and betting.

In Abner's circle the men stood or squatted on their haunches and tossed their stakes on the ground in front of them. Those who stood raked the money into little piles with the toes of their shoes.

This ring of money in the firelight fascinated Abner. It appeared to be a kind of ownerless money engaged in some hazardous adventure of its own. A squatting man edged over and let Abner into the circle. The boy hesitated, reached into his pocket, and fingered his money. Presently he drew out his bills with hands that trembled so that he could hardly unroll the quarters they contained. One of these coins fell to the ground. He had a sudden flair that this meant good luck. He squatted and pushed the shining disc into the ring.

The dice were now in the hands of a white villager, one of those dubious small-town Beau Brummels who exist without apparent labour. He was shooting with tremendous esprit. His point was nine.

"Come on! Come on, you ninety days in jail! Git uhway frum here, feevy! What the hell! Goin' up thu Nashville! Ninety days in jail! Huh. . . .

Huh! Stan' up, little ones!"

Abner watched this eloquent shooter and wondered tensely whether or not he would make his point, Ninety Days in Jail. If he could only know in time! Suddenly it appeared to Abner that such a devil-may-care must win. He pushed out his coin and mumbled with a thick tongue, "Quarter says he makes it!"

"Fade you!" said the man who had moved over and tossed a quarter on top of Abner's. No sooner were the stakes laid, than the shooter threw a seven.