“Get over there on that other table with your solitaire, Campbell!” he ordered. He reached into Campbell’s liquor-cabinet and drew out a fresh pack of cards, which he tossed to Toppy. “You started something, Mr. Humanitarian,” he continued, clearing the table. “Open the deck and cut for deal. Then show me what you’ve got to stack up against this ninety-eight dollars.” And he slapped a wad of crumpled bills on the table.
Toppy nonchalantly reached into his pockets. Then he grinned. The two twenty-dollar bills which he had paid the agent back in Rail Head for the privilege of hiring out to Hell Camp were all the money he had with him. He was broke. He debated with himself a moment, then unhooked his costly watch from the chain and pushed it across to Reivers.
“You can sell that for five hundred—if you win it,” he said. “I’ll play it even against your ninety-eight bucks. Give me forty-nine to start with. If you win them give me forty-nine more, and the watch is yours. Right?”
“Right,” said Reivers, keeping the watch and dividing his roll with Toppy. “Dollar jack-pots, table-stakes. Deal ’em up.”
Toppy lost ten dollars on the first hand almost before he realised that the game had begun. He called Reivers’ bet and had three fours and nothing else in his hand. Reivers had two of the wild deuces and a king. Toppy shook his head, like a pugilist clearing his wits after a knockdown. Why had he called? He knew his three fours weren’t good. His card-sense had told him so. He had called against his judgment. Why?
Suddenly, like something tangible pressing against his brain, he felt Reivers’ will thrusting itself against his. Then he knew. That was why he had called. Reivers had willed that he do so, and, catching him off his guard, had had his way.
“Good work!” said Toppy, passing the cards. He was himself again; his wits had cleared. He allowed Reivers to take the next three pots in succession without a bet. Reivers looked at him puzzled. The fourth pot Toppy opened for five dollars and Reivers promptly raised him ten. After the draw Toppy bet a dollar, and Reivers again raised it to ten more. Toppy called. Reivers, caught bluffing without a single pair, stared as Toppy laid down his hand and revealed nothing but his original openers, a pair of aces. A frown passed over Reivers’ face. He peered sharply at Toppy from beneath his overhanging brows, but Toppy was raking in the pot as casually as if such play with a pair of aces was part of his system.
“Good work!” said Reivers, and gathered the cards to him with a jerk.
Half a dozen hands later, on Reivers’ deal, Toppy picked up his hand and saw four kings.
“I’ll pass,” said he.