Frenchy winced and shivered. It seemed to him that a long, thin-bladed knife had reached out of the silent hollow that surrounded him and stabbed him twice in the breast.
“Ho, ho, ho!” went the little devil at the back of his head. “Stay with ’em! Put up the horses—everything on the deuces—ho, ho, ho!”
“But I can lay down now and save the horses,” urged the sick heart of Frenchy.
“You won on the deuces once!” shrieked the little devil; “didn’t you—DIDN’T YOU?”
Frenchy now heard his own voice growing up out of the hollow. “Taken: my five horses and outfit are good for it.”
Then he emerged from the soundless hollow and was aware of the circle of glittering eyes staring down on the field whereon he had just staked five years of his life and his last cherished dream.
“Full house—aces on queens.”
Frenchy heard the words and grinned exultantly. The little spiteful devil was silent.
“Four kings!”
Frenchy dropped his cards face up and reached for the bottle. “Ho, ho, ho!” went the little devil, dancing all over his brain; “everything lost on the deuces—dead horse for the crows to pick!—he, he, he!”