"Talk fast then," he retorted. "The game's waiting."
"In private, if you don't mind," urged Kendric.
Now Barlow looked at him sullenly.
"After what happened last night, Kendric," he said heavily, "you and me
have got no private business together. Am I the man to take a bullet
from another and then go chin with him?"
"You blame me for that?" Kendric was incredulous. Barlow snorted.
"Well," continued Kendric stiffly, "at least we've unfinished business
between us. You haven't forgotten what brought us down here, have you?"
"Treasure, you mean?" Barlow spat out the words defiantly. "Put the
name to it, man! Well, what of it?"
"The understanding was that we stand together. That we split what we
find fifty-fifty. Does that still go?"
Barlow pulled nervously at his forelock, his eyes wandering. For an
instant they were fixed on the smiling face of Zoraida. Then grown
dogged they came back to Kendric.
"Hell take the understanding!" he blurted out savagely. "We stand even
tonight, one as close to the loot as the other. It's every man for
himself, whole hog or none, and the devil take the hindmost. That's
what it is!"
"Good," snapped Kendric. "That suits me." He slammed his little pad
of bank notes down on the table and took his chair. "What's the game,
gentlemen?"
They named it poker and played hard. Reckless men with money were they
all, men accustomed to big fast games.
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