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He answered the question himself:

“I guess not; ef ther boys did, they’d be fools. I will hev ter pass in my chips.”

He turned to Seven-foot Harry and Ben Tabor.

“They seems ’arnest ’bout suthin’, pards.”

“The captain seems pleading for you, Dick,” answered Tabor.

“Yas, he’s powerful good; but I guesses the boys will string me.”

“I hopes not, Dick; I fer one decides ter pardon yer,” remarked Seven-foot Harry.

“’Tain’t no use, boys. I is ter be called on fer what chips I has got, an’ ther game’s agin’ me, fer I don’t hold a trump keerd: see, ther boys is comin’.”

Not a quiver of Poker Dick’s face showed any emotion, as the silent, stern-looking men came near and formed in a circle around him. Then Captain Dash said, in a low but distinct tone:

“Dick Martin, I regret, more than I can express, to have to say to you that your act this night, in aiding the escape of Kent King, that accursed gambler guide, has cost you your life.”

“I desarves all yer can say agin’ me, pards, so don’t let up on me,” was the quiet rejoinder.