"Go you two bits better," said Clayton, shoving out a coin. "Gimme some cards, Towne. It 'll cost you a dollar to see our raises."
Baxter walked over to watch the play. "I 'm comin' in next game. Who 's winnin', now?"
"Reckon I am; but we ain't much more 'n got started," Clayton replied. "Did you call, Towne? Why, I 've got three little tens. You got anythin' better?"
"Never saw such luck!" exclaimed Towne disgustedly. "Dutchy, yo 're a Jonah."
"Damn th' mutton, says I. It was even in that hash!" growled a voice, just outside the door.
A moment later, Youbet Somes entered, swinging his sombrero energetically to shake off the water.
"Damn th' rain, too, an' this wart of a town. A man can't get nothin' fit to eat for love or money, on a sheep range. Gimme a drink, sonny! Mebby it 'll cut th' taste of that rank tallow out 'n my mouth. Th' reason there is sheep on this earth of our'n is that th' devil chased 'em out 'n his place—an' no blame to him."
He drank half his liquor, and, placing the glass on the bar beside him, turned to watch the game. "Ah, strangers—that's th' only game, after all. I 've dabbled in 'em all from faro to roulette, but that's th' boss of 'em all."
"See you an' call," remarked Clayton, ignoring the newcomer. "What you got, you Dutch pagan?"
"Zwei Kaisers und a bair of chackasses, mit a deuce."