"My name, sah," said Kid Wolf politely, "is not Cotton-pickah, although that is bettah than 'Bone-pickah'—an appropriate name fo' some people. I'm Kid Wolf, sah, from Texas. And my enemies usually learn to call me by mah last name. I'm seein' yo' bet and raisin' yo' another five hundred, sah."
At the name "Kid Wolf," a stir was felt in the crowded saloon. It was a name many of them had heard before, and most of the loungers began to look upon the stranger with more respect. Others frowned darkly. Blacksnake was one of them. Plainly, what he had heard of The Kid did not tend to make the latter popular in his estimation.
"Excuse me," he spat out. "I should have called yuh 'Nose-sticker.' From what I hear of yuh, yuh have a habit of mindin' other folks' business. Well, that ain't healthy in Skull."
If the Texan was provoked by these insults, he did not show it. He only smiled gently.
"We're playin' pokah now, I believe," he reminded. "Are yuh seein' mah bet?"
"That's right, bet 'em like yuh had 'em. And I hope yore hole card's another three-spot, for that'll make it easy for my buried ace. I'm seein' yuh and boostin' it—for yore pile!"
Quietly The Kid swept all his chips into the center of the table. He had called, and it was a show-down. With an oath, Blacksnake got half to his feet. He turned his hole card over. It was a nine-spot, but he had Kid Wolf beaten unless——
Slowly The Kid revealed his hole card. It was not a trey, but a four. Just as good, for this made him two small pairs—threes and fours. He had won!
"No," he drawled, "I wouldn't reach for my gun, if I were yo'."
Blacksnake took his hand away from the butt of his .45. It came away faster than it had gone for it. Guns had appeared suddenly in the Texan's two hands. His draw had been so swift that nobody had caught the elusive movement.