Page:Val of Paradise (IA valofparadise00roevrich).pdf/25

HIGH PLAY 13

against his command had roused him to the depths. Like all his race the Mexican was of quick angers and resentments.

And now, as if he lost command of his usually sane judgement, he lost the last of his gold and rose with a bow, his cards thrown on the table.

"Your pleasure, gentlemen," he said. "Drink with me, if Hunnewell will trust me."

Hunnewell behind his worn old bar trusted any one. Moreover he knew that Sanchez was only temporarily broke. So the players left the table with much noise of scraping chairs and jingling spurs and lined up for the fiery refreshment which would have floored a stranger.

And Lolo, swinging down the little street beneath the elms and cottonwoods, her slim brown hands on her narrow hips, her black head high with offended dignity, stopped short to stare with wide eyes to where the open road led in from the sage-brush plain.

A great dust was on the level, for many horses ran there, fleet horses, she knew, for they poked their dark noses ahead of the dust, even though the wind, blowing with a keen freshness, was behind them. The girl lifted her hands instinctively and set the bunch of scarlet flowers more jauntily behind her little ear, smoothed the black hair that lay like shining satin above her beautiful brow. Lolo Sanchez was lovely to look upon and knew it perfectly.

More men were coming into Santa Leandra—more excitement, more play at Hunnewell's, more