"A-ha,
_canaille_! Wat you call--son of a dog! T'ief! She say, 'feefty
dollaire'! Dat more as seex hondre dollaire----"
"It's a lie!" cried the croupier fiercely, "the thirteen don't repeat.
The sixteen win--you kin see fer yourself. An' what's more, they can't
no damn Injun come in here an' call me no----"
"Hold on!" The Texan shifted his glance to the croupier without easing
the pressure on the gun. "If the sixteen win, what's the fifty bucks
for? His stake's on the thirteen, ain't it?"
"What business you got, hornin' in on this? It hain't your funeral. You
Texas tin-horns comes over here an' lose----"
"That'll be about all out of you. An' if I was in your boots I wouldn't
go speakin' none frivolous about funerals, neither."
The smile was gone from the steel-grey eyes and the croupier experienced
a sudden chilling in the pit of his stomach.
"Let's get down to cases," the cowpuncher continued. "I kind of got the
Greaser into this here jack-pot an' it's up to me to get him out. He
lays four bits on the thirteen--she pays thirty-five--that's
seventeen-fifty. Eighteen, as she lays. The blame fool leaves it lay
an' she win again--that's thirty-five times eighteen. Good Lord! An'
without no pencil an' paper! We'll cut her up in chunks an' tackle her:
let's see, ten times eighteen is one-eighty, an' three times that
is--three times the hundred is three hundred, and three times the eighty
is two-forty.
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