"Eh, Zac! whar's Tom?"
"Gon to hum."
"Wall, you'll du!" exclaimed Butch'. "Jest, shet the doors."
"Hi'll see to hit better than 'e will, by ha blamed sight!" said Brighton Bill.
At the moment he said this, he was striding to the back-door of the saloon, which he very coolly locked and put the huge key in one of his pockets. No sooner was this done, than, returning to the front entrance, he performed the same operation.
Butch' had meanwhile seated himself at a square deal table in one of the corners of the room.
"Whar are the keerds?"
"Here—you bet!"
Ben Painter produced the pack, and was speedily, with myself and Bill, seated at the other three sides of the table. Our gold was produced, and laid beside us. At that time, as now, paper money was an unknown quantity in California. Then we began to play.
During the whole afternoon, we had been drinking. Necessarily, after playing for some fifteen minutes, we felt somewhat dry. Butch' possibly felt drier than any of us. At any rate, he was the one who cried out: