It was a spent horse on which he trotted late that night up to the big, yawning door of his barn.
"Where's Nash ?" he asked of the man who took his horse.
"Playing a game with the boys in the bunk-house, sir." So past the bunk-house Drew went on his way to his dwelling, knocked, and threw open the door.

Inside, a dozen men, seated at or standing around a table, looked up.
"Nash!" "Here." "On the jump, Nash.

I'm in a hurry." There rose a man of a build much prized in pugilistic circles.

In those same circles he would have been described as a fellow with a fighting face and a heavy-weight above the hips and a light-weight below--a handsome fellow, except that his eyes were a little too small and his lips a trifle too thin.

He rose now in the midst of a general groan of dismay, and scooped in a considerable stack of gold as well as several bright piles of silver; he was undoubtedly taking the glory of the game with him.
"Is this square ?" growled one of the men clenching his fist on the edge of the table.
The sardonic smile hardened on the lips of Nash as he answered: "Before you've been here much longer, Pete, you'll find out that about everything I do is square.