Beyond the bar on the right were the gambling-tables, each with its crowd of players, and at the third Jim saw Louisiana on a high seat watching for Low-Lived Joe, his partner, who dealt the game. Opposite them he found his father, then pushed his way through the crowd to Balshannon's side. The ivory chips were piled breast high in front of him, for play had been high, and the Dook had had a run of luck.
The boy watched his father's face flushed high with excitement, his feverish eyes, his twitching lips, and restless fingers at play with the round ivory counters which stood for five thousand dollars won since supper-time. Opposite he looked up at Louisiana on the high seat, all bald-faced shirt and diamonds, guarding his stacks of gold coin with a revolver. Low-Lived Joe faced up a card on the deck, and passed some chips to Balshannon. The rest of the players had quit to watch the big game through.
"Father, I want you," says he.
"Well, Jim," says Balshannon, "what's the trouble?" He never looked up.
But the boy was shaking all over. "Father, come, I want you."
The Dook staked, then rolled a cigarette. "Don't bother me, Jim," says he, "you'll spoil the run. We can't do anything, boy, for we've lost those cattle."
"Ryan has seized the ranche, the sheriff's there! Come out!"
Balshannon quivered, but Joe shoved him a pile of blue chips.
"So Santa Cruz is gone?" Balshannon drawled, and doubled his stake. "Well, how's your mother?"
"Dead!"