Then I became aware that one of a
bunch of four poker-players a few feet distant was regarding me with an
expression that puzzled me. I had turned my head rather quickly and
caught him staring straight at me. It was an odd look, sort of amused,
and speculative; at least, that was the way I read it. Twice in the next
ten minutes I glanced around quickly and caught him sizing me up, as it
were; and then I hitched my chair sidewise, and deliberately began
studying the gentleman to see if I could discover the source of his
interest in me.
I failed in that, but I stopped his confounded quizzical stare. He
wasn't the style of man that I'd care to stir up trouble with, judging
from his size and the shape of his head. He was about my height, but
half as broad again across the shoulders, and his thick, heavy-boned
wrists showed hairy as an ape's when he stretched his arms to deal the
cards. Aside from his physical proportions, there was nothing about the
man to set him apart from his fellows. Half a dozen men in that room had
the same shade of hair and mustache, and the same ordinary blue eyes. I
turned back to the window again, thinking that I was getting nervous as
an old maid, to let a curious look from a stranger stir me like that.
In a few minutes the trooper opposite my friend of the poker-game drew
out, and one of the players called loudly on Goodell to take his place.
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