"Ten on the ace," droned the anxious dealer, "the jack is coppered. All down?"
He held up his hand and as the betting ceased he slowly pushed out the two cards.
"Tray loses, ace wins!" he announced and Rimrock won again.
Then he straightened up purposefully and looked about as he sorted his winnings into piles.
"The whole works on the queen," he said to the dealer and a hush fell upon the crowd.
"Where's Ike?" shrilled the dealer, but the boss was not to be found and he dealt, unwillingly, for a queen. But the fear was on him and his thin hands trembled; for Ike Bray was not the type of your frozen-faced gambler—he expected his dealers to win. The dealer shoved them out, and an oath slipped past his lips.
"Queen wins," he quavered, "the bank is broke." And he turned the box on its side.
A shout went up—the glad yell of the multitude—and Rimrock rose up grinning.
"Who said to pull out?" he demanded arrogantly, looking about for the glowering L. W. "Huh, huh!" he chuckled, "quit your luck when you're winning? Quit your luck and your luck will quit you—the drinks for the house, barkeep!"
He was standing at the bar, stuffing money into his pockets, when Ike Bray, the proprietor, appeared. Rimrock turned, all smiles, as he heard his voice on the stairs and lolled back against the bar. More than once in the past Bray had taken his roll but now it was his turn to laugh.