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"Hello, Tommie," returned Briscoe, carelessly, and let his glance

pass to the three men seated at the table with cards and poker

chips in front of them, The man facing Briscoe was a big,

heavy-set, unmistakable ruffian with long, drooping, red

mustache, and villainous, fishy eyes. It was observable that the

trigger finger of his right hand was missing. Also, there was a

nasty scar on his right cheek running from the bridge of the nose

halfway to the ear. This gave surplusage to the sinister

appearance he already had. To him Briscoe spoke first, attempting

a geniality he did not feel.

"How're they coming, Texas?"

"You ain't heard me kicking any, have you?" the man made sullen

answer.

"Not out loud," said Briscoe significantly, his eyes narrowing

after a trick they had when he was most on his guard.

"I reckon my remarks will be plumb audible when I've got any kick

to register, seh."