“Sharks should be harpooned,” said South-paw under his breath.
They arranged it without spoken words to sink the harpoon into old Joe. Under cover Buzzsaw showed Warwhoop three aces in his hand, and Clinker passed him the fourth.
Then old Joe dropped out, although he had already pushed eight dollars into the pot. Gathering up the Indian’s cards, Pope managed to get a look at them and gasped with amazement; for Crowfoot had put down three queens and a pair of ten spots. Thenceforth for a time South-paw felt certain it was sheer blundering luck which prevented the uninvited guest from losing his last dollar.
Once, as Crowfoot seemed dozing, Stover attempted deftly to purloin a stack of coins from the Indian’s pile. Joe lurched forward and put out his hand as if to save himself; his fingers closed on Buzzsaw’s wrist, and he woke up.
“Hello!” he muttered. “What you do? You make-um little mistake. You think mebbe my dough belong to you.”
“I was just pushing it back from the edge of the table, so that you wouldn’t knock it all over the floor,” said Buzzsaw sourly.
“Heap much oblige,” said Crowfoot. “Shangowah do as much for you sometime, mebbe.”
Gradually they began to wonder and suspect. Finally there came a heavy pot, in which, at the start, every one lingered. Gentle Willie and Warwhoop were finally driven out; but, with Crowfoot between them, Buzzsaw and South-paw continued to raise. Again Stover had made up a hand, and this time, having discarded an ace, he felt confident that his four kings must win. At last it seemed that the old redskin had been lured into a trap.
When the show-down came Pope dropped his hand, and Stover triumphantly displayed the four kings.
“Pretty good,” mumbled old Joe. “How you like-um these?”