“Smithy, you’re a cyclone!”
A hundred of Smith’s money went for chips.
“Dough is jest like mud to some fellers,” said a voice enviously.
“I likes a game where you make or break on a hand. I’ve lost thousands while you could spit, me—Smith!”
“It’s like a chinook in winter just to see you in town agin, Smithy.”
The “hole” card was not promising—it was only a six-spot; but, backing his luck, Smith bet high on it. Tinhorn came back at him strong. He wanted Smith’s money, and he wanted it quick.
Smith’s next card was a jack, and he bet three times its value. When Tinhorn dealt him another jack he bought more chips and backed his pair, for Tinhorn, as yet, had none in sight. The next turn showed up a queen for Tinhorn and a three-spot for Smith. And they bet and raised, and raised again. On the last turn Smith drew another three and Tinhorn another queen. With two pairs in sight, Smith had him beaten. When Smith bet, Tinhorn raised him. Was Tinhorn bluffing or did he have another queen in the “hole”? Smith believed he was bluffing, but there was an equal chance that he was not. While he hesitated, the other watched him like a hungry mountain lion.
“Are you gettin’ cold feet, Smithy?” There was the suspicion of a sneer in the satellite’s voice. “Did you say you liked to make or break on a hand?”
“I thought you liked a swift game,” gibed Tinhorn.
The taunt settled it.