"Looks like I was settin' back with an ace in the hole, so far,"
muttered Tex, audibly.
Purdy scowled: "Ace in the hole's all right _sometimes_. But it's the
lad that trails along with a pair of deuces back to back that comes up
with the chips, cashin' in time."
Slim Maloney announced a quarter-mile dash and when Purdy lined up with
the starters, Tex quietly eased his horse between two wagons, and,
slipping around behind the lumber-piles, rode back to the Headquarters
Saloon. The place was deserted and in a chair beside a card table,
with his head buried in his arms, sat Cinnabar Joe, asleep. The
cowpuncher crossed the room and shook him roughly by the shoulder:
"Hey, Joe--wake up!"
The man rolled uneasily and his eyelids drew heavily apart. He mumbled
incoherently.
"Wake up, Joe!" The Texan redoubled his efforts but the other relapsed
into a stupor from which it was impossible to rouse him.
A man hurrying past in the direction of the flats paused for a moment
to peer into the open door. Tex glanced up as he hurried on.
"Doc!" There was no response and the cowpuncher crossed to the door at
a bound. The street was deserted, and without an instant's hesitation
he dashed into the livery and feed barn next door whose wide aperture
yawned deserted save for the switching of tails and the stamping of
horses' feet in the stalls.
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