The gleam died from his eye; the snarl left his lips.

Without further delay he arose to his feet.
"Get up and give it here!" he demanded.
The Mexican was only too glad to get off so easy.

I don't know whether he'd really won the coat at monte or not.

In any case, he flew poco pronto, leaving me and my friend together.
The man with the hook felt the left shoulder of the coat again, looked up, met my eye, muttered something intended to be pleasant, and walked away.
This was in December.
During the next two months he was a good deal about town, mostly doing odd jobs.

I saw him off and on.