The Slave of the Mine; or, Jack Harkaway in 'Frisco

By BRACEBRIDGE HEMYNG.
THE BULLET STRUCK NAPPA BILL ABOUT THE MIDDLE OF THE WRIST, AND, WITH A FEARFUL OATH, HE ALLOWED HIS KNIFE TO DROP ON THE FLOOR.
THE GAMBLING-HOUSE.
I rather like this game!
Well, I should smile if you didn't. Luck's dead sot in for you now, you can bet.
Perhaps, said the first speaker; but I don't propose to follow it up.
What?
The second speaker sprang from his chair in amazement.
No. I flatter myself I know when to stop. I have played at Baden and Monaco, in the clubs of London and the hells of Paris, as well as the gambling saloons of the West, and I'm not to be picked up for a flat.
That's sure; but look at here; as sure as my name is Dan Markham, and I'm known as a profesh at gambling from here to Cheyenne and Virginia City, and lettin' alone Omaha, you're wrong.
Why?