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Updated: May 22, 2025
There was still time to leave town, but the fact that White-Eye had recognized him and had not spoken was an insidious challenge, the kind of a challenge which a killer never lets pass.
The rear door of this room opened on an alley, and it was through this door that White-Eye and his companions entered and left the premises, which they had rented at a low rate from the lessee of the place who now ran a grocery on the street level, near the corner.
Pino had no special motive in picking up those torn bits of paper. He simply saw them, picked them up, and rolled them nervously in his fingers. White-Eye, watching Baxter, saw him blink and in turn watch Pino's fingers as he twisted and untwisted the bits of paper. "He can't keep his hands still," said White-Eye, shrugging his shoulder toward Pino. "Ever meet Pino. No?
The room was quiet save for the soft click of the chips, the whirring of the ball, an occasional oath, and the monotonous voice of the faro-dealer. Pino nudged White-Eye and indicated the little pile of gold that was stacked before a player at the faro table. White-Eye shook his head and stepped casually back. Pino sauntered over to him. "Chanct for a clean-up?" whispered Pino. "No show.
The faro-dealer and the lookout jerked round then slowly backed toward the side of the room. The man at the wheel paused with his hand in the air. The players, intent upon the game, glanced up curiously. Pino, who stood near White-Eye and almost in front of him, dropped his cigarette. The room became as still as the noon desert.
Farther down the room, which was spacious and brilliantly lighted, a group were playing the wheel. At the table beyond the usual faro game was in progress. All told there were some fifteen men in the room, not counting the dealers and lookout. One or two men glanced up as White-Eye and his companions entered and sauntered from table to table.
The Spider's hand had crept toward his upper vest-pocket as the other approached. After he passed, The Spider drew out a fresh cigar and lighted it from the one he was smoking. And he tossed the butt away and turned and glanced back. "I wonder what White-Eye is doing in El Paso?" he asked himself. "He knew me all right." The Spider shrugged his shoulders. His hunch had proved itself.
"How's the game to-night?" queried White-Eye. "Quiet," replied Baxter. "Any strangers inside?" "No not the kind of strangers you mean." "Then I reckon we'll take a look in. Don't mind takin' a whirl at the wheel myself." "Come right in," said Baxter, as though relieved, and he opened the door and stood aside to let them pass. A quiet game of poker was running at a table near the door.
It associates in small flocks which never leave the trees. Common about Darjeeling. A reddish brown bird, with a crest. There is a black bar in the wing. Zosterops palpebrosa. The Indian white-eye. Siva cyanuroptera. The blue-winged siva or hill-tit. A pretty little bird, about the size of a sparrow. The head is blue, deeper on the sides than on the crown, streaked with brown.
"And White-Eye, here, seen him first, when he crawled out of that rig. If we'd 'a' gone up, instead of standin' here lettin' our feet git cold " "He must 'a' had his roll with him," said Pino, one of White-Eye's companions and incidentally a member of that inglorious legion, "The Men Who Can't Come Back." "'T ain't his roll I want," said White-Eye. "Too dam' bad about you not wantin' his roll.
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