“Gimme a stack o’ chips!” he cried noisily.
“One stack?” queried Godard, startled by the prospect of so big a game.
“One stack—sartin!” cried Nick. “Fifty dollars a chip, that’s good enough fur me. Same as plug ante, what we used to play in ’49 under the wagon-trains. What’s the limit, by the way?”
Godard began to tremble under this show of utter recklessness.
“You may stack them up until I call you down,” said he, speaking calmly with an effort.
Yet he did not feel easy. It is no small undertaking to deal brace faro, even under ordinary conditions; and to Godard these appeared without precedent.
His evil heart was beating like a trip-hammer. His blood was rushing like fire through his veins. Yet the sight of the pretended cattle-dealer’s money served to nerve him for a time, and with jaws fixed he began to shuffle the deck of strippers.
“Till you call me down, eh?” roared Nick, as if in great enjoyment. “That ought to be good enough, and it’s what I like to hear. No piking around fur me, a chip a rip. They say it’s good luck to stake a cuss afore beginning, so take that, my bucko, and put it in your kit.”
“Thankee, sir!” cried the humpback, as Nick tossed him a chip valued at fifty dollars.
Nick nodded and laughed.