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Updated: May 18, 2025
The arrival of this Blicky appeared to be occasion for excitement and Joan recalled the name as belonging to one of Kells's trusted men. He swung his leg and leaped from his saddle as the horse plunged to a halt. Blicky was a lean, bronzed young man, scarcely out of his teens, but there were years of hard life in his face. He slapped the dust in little puffs from his gloves.
Speechless, with a motion of his hand, he signified his willingness. "Blicky, shuffle the cards," boomed Gulden. Blicky did so and dropped the deck with a slap in the middle of the table. "Cut!" called Gulden. Kells's shaking hand crept toward the deck. Jim Cleve suddenly appeared to regain power of speech and motion. "Don't, Kells, don't!" he cried, piercingly, as he leaped forward.
"Tell me!" whispered Joan, and she leaned against those lips. "It was early to-night at the Nugget. I dropped in as usual. Kells was playing faro again with that gambler they call Flash. He's won a lot of Kells's gold a crooked gambler. I looked on. And some of the gang were there Pearce, Blicky, Handy Oliver, and of course Gulden, but all separated. Kells was losing and sore. But he was game.
It was brute ferocity, dominating by sheer physical force. In any but muscular clash between Kells and Gulden the latter must lose. The men back of Gulden were a bearded, check-shirted, heavily armed group, the worst of that bad lot. All the younger, cleaner-cut men like Red Pearce and Frenchy and Beady Jones and Williams and the scout Blicky, were on the other side.
That broke the waiting, the watchfulness, but not the tense eagerness. The bandits were now like leashed hounds. Blicky leaned before Kells and hit the table with his fist. "Boss, I've a kick comin'," he said. "Come on with it," replied the leader. "Ain't Gulden a-goin' to divide up thet big nugget?" "He is if he's square." A chorus of affirmatives from the bandits strengthened Kells's statement.
Men shouted at him from the cabins and then followed without hats or coats. Bate Wood dropped Joan's saddle and called to Kells. The bandit came hurriedly out. "Blicky!" he exclaimed, and then he swore under his breath in elation. "Shore is Blicky!" said Wood, and his unusually mild eyes snapped with a glint unpleasant for Joan to see.
He appeared kinder than usual, but Joan did not want to talk. She ate her meals, and passed the hours watching from the window and lying on the bed. Dusk brought Kells and Pearce and Smith, but not Jim Cleve. Handy Oliver and Blicky arrived at supper-time. "Reckon Jim's appetite is pore," remarked Bate Wood, reflectively. "He ain't been in to-day."
"I'm a-goin' to set in the game!" yelled Blicky. "We'll all set in," declared Jesse Smith. "Come on!" was Gulden's acquiescence. "But we all can't play at once," protested Kells. "Let's make up two games." "Naw!" "Some of you eat, then, while the others get cleaned out." "Thet's it cleaned out!" ejaculated Budd, meanly. "You seem to be sure, Kells. An' I guess I'll keep shady of thet game."
"None, except to take care of the girl till he came. But he did tell me he'd have more to say." Smith gazed blankly from Cleve to Blicky, and then at Gulden, who came slowly forward, his hair ruffed, his gun held low. Joan followed the glance of his great gray eyes, and she saw the stage-driver hanging dead over his seat, and the guards lying back of him.
"Blicky, get the scales down off of that shelf.... Say, I'll bet anybody I'll have the most dust by sundown." More shouts of derision were flung at him. "Who wants to gamble now?" "Boss, I'll take thet bet." "Haw! Haw! You won't look so bright by sundown." Then followed a moment's silence, presently broken by a clink of metal on the table.
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