“It’s worth a hundred,” and Pistols appeared confident, then.
“No more?”
“Well, what is your hand worth?”
“Just five hundred dollars, no more no less.”
The miner started. Could it be possible that the scout held a better hand than he did this time? No, it could not be. The lightning would not strike twice in the same spot.
“I jist says show up to ther tune of five hundred.”
Buffalo Bill put up the money he had just won, adding more to it, and said:
“There, match that with five hundred.”
The miner drew out a greasy buckskin bag and took out a roll of bills. He counted out very slowly five hundred dollars, and it could be seen that very little remained in the bag.
“Thar she goes, and yer needn’t squint at ther bag, fer thar is more whar thet come from. Now I’m thinkin’ your money is mine, so show yer hand.”