Perspiration beaded his forehead, and he crunched the cards savagely in his hands. His glance swept past the crowd, as though he saw nothing of their faces.
"Another drink, Sam," he called, the voice trembling. He tossed down the glass of liquor as though it were so much water, but made no other effort to speak. You could hear the strained breathing of the men.
"Well," said Kirby sneeringly, his cold gaze surveying his motionless opponent. "You seem to be taking your time. Do you cover my bet?"
Someone laughed nervously, and a voice sang out over my shoulder, "You might as well go the whole hog, Judge. The niggers won't be no good without the land ter work 'em on. Fling 'em into the pot—-they're as good as money."
Beaucaire looked up, red-eyed, into the impassive countenance opposite. His lips twitched, yet managed to make words issue between them.
"How about that, Kirby?" he asked hoarsely. "Will you accept a bill of sale?"
Kirby grinned, shuffling his hand carelessly.
"Why not? 'twon't be the first time I've played for niggers. They are worth so much gold down the river. What have you got?"
"I can't tell that offhand," sullenly. "About twenty field hands."
"And house servants?"