Old Rance looked coldly upon his son.
“I thought yuh run a gamblin’-house,” he said. “Yuh can play for a hundred in the bunk-houses.”
“I’ve got sixty dollars in the bank,” said the dealer.
“Take yore money and go home,” said Angel.
“No nerve, eh?”
“I don’t want yore money.”
“You’re a liar—you’re jist scared.”
Angel flushed hotly and shoved the dealer aside, picking up the deck, facing the cards, and began shuffling them. The poker-players halted their game and came over to the layout.
“Two thousand dollars that you get the ace of spades,” said old Rance softly.
Angel did not look up from the cards, as he said: