The greatness of the opportunity staggered them.
Then they flung themselves upon it. “It's a go!” “Come on!” “Give us your cards!” Quickly the cards were dealt. One by one the men made up their hands. The crowd about crushed in upon them in breathless excitement. Never had there been seen in that camp so reckless a stake.
“Now, then, show down,” growled “Mexico.”
The doctor laid down his cards face up. One by one they compared their hands. He had won. With an oath “Mexico” made a grab for the pile, reaching for his hip at the same time with the other hand, but the doctor was first, and before anyone could move or speak “Mexico” was lying in the corner, his toes quivering above his upturned chair.
“Look after the brute, someone. He doesn't understand the game,” said the doctor with cool contempt, crumpling up the bills and pushing them down into his pocket. “Where's your sick man?”
“This way, doctor,” said Shorty, hurrying out toward the sleigh. The doctor passed him on a run.
“What does this mean?” he cried. “Why haven't you got him inside somewhere?”
“That's what I say, docthor,” answered Tommy, “but the bloody haythen wudn't let him in.”
“How's this, Swipey?” said the doctor sternly, turning to the saloon-keeper, who still stood in the door.
“He's not comin' in here. How do I know what he's got?”