"'It goes,' says Cherokee, never movin' a muscle.
"One turn, an' the kyards falls 'trey-queen.' Nell shoves four hundred across to match up with Dead Shot's four hundred.
"'An' now?' Dead Shot asks.
"'I'll turn for it,' Cherokee responds.
"It's yere that Dead Shot's luck goes back on him. The turn comes 'queen-jack,' an' Nell rakes down the eight hundred.
"Dead Shot's hand goes to the butt of his gun.
"'I've been robbed,' he growls; 'thar's fifty-three kyards in that deck.'
"Cherokee's on his feet, his eyes like two steel p'ints, gun half drawed. But Nell's as quick. Her hand's on Cherokee's, an' she keeps his gun whar it belongs.
"'Steady!' she says; 'can't you see he's only coaxin' you to bump him off?' Then, with her face full on Dead Shot, she continyoos: 'It won't do, Dead Shot; it won't do none! You-all can't get it handed to you yere! You're in the wrong shop; you-all ought to try next door!' An' Nell p'ints with her little thumb through the wall to the post office.