A Match at Chickens i§i 



"You're a bit overfond of yourself, my bold 

 Bucko," was my inward comment. 



Somehow, after chatting for an hour or so 

 among pleasant company, the match did not 

 appear hopeless, although the talk proved that 



young M was considered a tearing fine shot. 



Just what he thought about it, of course, was un- 

 fathomable, but his jauntiness did seem to have a 

 certain forced air. In fact, the man did not ring 

 true. 



" Come, time to turn in," at last said the colonel, 

 and we walked away together. Then for half an 

 hour I listened to the counsel of a man who could 

 outgamble and outbluff all his friends ; who was 

 a master at most games of hazard, and who 

 thoroughly understood how to get the last ounce 

 out of any man he stood behind. " Mark my 

 words, suh," he concluded, " I know the man. 

 Well ahead, he's a wondah ; even, he's only ordi- 

 nary; and once behind, he's beat. Give it to 

 him from the start, and keep on giving it to him. 

 No matter if you're behind, keep after him, and 

 remember he's liable to come back to you any 

 minute. We've got him beat as sure as sunrise. 

 Now go get your sleep, and don't you worry. 

 Leave it to me, suh." 



Promptly on time the wagon drove up, the 

 colonel tooling a pair of grand blacks. In the 

 rear seat sat M and his friend, and between 



