"I'm stayin'," said the gambler crisply. He pushed in a small pile of gold. "How many cards?"
"Two," murmured The Kid.
The gambler took one. The chances were, then, that he had two pairs, or was drawing to make a flush or a straight.
Carefully the two men looked at their cards. Not a muscle of their faces twitched. The gambler's face was frozen—as expressionless as an Indian's. Kid Wolf was his easy self. His usual smile was very much in evidence, unchanged. He made a bet—a large one, and the gambler called and raised heavily. The Kid boosted it again. Then there was a silence, broken only by the tense breathing of the onlookers, who had pushed even closer about the table.
"Five hundred more," said the gambler after a nerve-racking pause.
"And five," The Kid drawled softly, pushing most of his gold into the center of the table.
The gambler's hand shook the merest trifle. Again he looked at the pasteboards in his pale hands. Then he quickly pushed every cent he had into the pot.
"I'm seeing it, and I'm elevatin' it every coin on me. It'll cost yuh—let's see—eight hundred and sixty more!"
It was more than the Texan had—by four hundred dollars. He could, however, stay for his stack. The man in the green eye shade could take out four hundred to even the bet. The Kid, though, did not do this.
"I'll just write an I O U fo' the balance," he drawled.