"That's enough, Pete," said Boland, very much vexed. "We're playing table stakes. This is no way to do. Show what you've got and let's get out of this."
"You let me be!" snapped Pete. "No, Dewing; I'm not weakening. About how much cash have you got in your roll?"
"About fourteen hundred in the house. More in the bank if you're really on the peck. And I paid three thousand cash for this place."
"And I've got maybe fifty or sixty dollars with me. You see how it is," said Pete. "But I've got a good ranch and a bunch of cattle, if you happen to know anything about them."
"Pete! Pete! That's enough," urged Boland.
Pete shook him off.
"Mind your own business, will you?" he snapped. "I'm going to show Mr.
Something Dewing how it feels."
The gambler smiled coldly. "Johnson, you're an old blowhard! If you really want to make a man-size bet on that hand of yours, I'll make you a proposition."
"Bet on it? Bet on this hand?" snarled Pete, clutching his cards tightly.
"I'd bet everything I've got on this hand."
"We'll see about that. I may be wrong, but I seem to have heard that you and young Mitchell have found a copper claim that's pretty fair, and a little over. I believe it, anyhow. And I'm willing to take the risk that you'll keep your word. I'll shoot the works on this hand—cash, bank roll, and the joint, against a quarter interest in your mine."