"Lemme see," he remarked as he felt Bray's eyes upon him, "I wonder how much I win."
He drew out the bills from his faded overalls and began laboriously to count them out into his hat.
Ike Bray stopped and looked at him, a little, twisted man with his hair still rumpled from the bed.
"Where's that dealer?" he shrilled in his high, complaining voice. "I'll kill the danged piker—that bank ain't broke yet—I got a big roll, right here!"
He waved it in the air and came limping forward until he stood facing Rimrock Jones.
"You think you broke me, do you?" he demanded insolently as Rimrock looked up from his count.
"You can see for yourself," answered Rimrock contentedly, and held out his well-filled hat.
"You're a piker!" yelled Bray. "You don't dare to come back at me. I'll play you one turn win or lose—for your pile!"
A hundred voices rang out at once, giving Rimrock all kinds of advice, but L. W.'s rose above them all.
"Don't you do it!" he roared. "He'll clean you, for a certainty!" But Rimrock's blue eyes were aflame.