Stratton liked poker and played a good game, but he soon discovered that he was up against a pretty stiff proposition. The limit was the sky, and Kreeger and McCabe especially seemed to have a run of phenomenal luck. Buck didn't believe there was anything crooked about their playing; at least he could detect no sign of it, though he kept a sharp lookout as he always did when sitting in with strangers. But he was rather uncomfortably in a hole and was just beginning to realize rather whimsically that for a while at least he had only a cow-man's pay to depend on for spending-money, when the door was suddenly jerked open and a tall, broad-shouldered figure loomed in the opening.
"Well, it's all right, fellows," said the new-comer, blinking a little at the light. "I saw--"
He caught himself up abruptly and glowered at Stratton.
"Who the devil are yuh?" he inquired harshly, stepping into the room.
Buck met his hard glance with smiling amiability.
"Name of Buck Green," he drawled. "Passed you on the trail this afternoon, didn't I? You must be Tex Lynch."
With a scarcely perceptible movement he shifted his cards to his left hand. His right, the palm half open, rested on the edge of the table just above his thigh. He didn't really believe the foreman would start anything, but one never knew, especially with a man of such evidently uncertain temper.
"Huh!" grunted Lynch. "Why didn't yuh stop me then? Yuh might have saved yourself a ride." He continued to stare at Stratton, a veiled speculation in his smoldering eyes. "Well?" he went on impatiently. "What can I do for yuh now I'm here?"
Buck raised his eyebrows. "Do for me? Why, I don't know as there's anything right this minute. I s'pose you'll be wanting to put me to work in the morning."
"You've sure got nerve a-plenty," rasped the foreman. "I ain't hirin' anybody that comes along just because he wears chaps."
"That so?" drawled Buck. "Funny the lady didn't mention that when she signed me up this afternoon."
Lynch's face darkened. "Yuh mean to say--"
He paused abruptly, his angry eyes sweeping past Stratton, to rest for an instant on Flint Kreeger, who sat just beyond McCabe. What he saw there Buck did not know, but it must have been something of warning or information. When his eyes returned to Stratton their expression was veiled under drooping lids; his lithe figure relaxed into an easier position against the door-casing, both hands resting lightly on slim hips.