“This is black-jack; place yore bets.”
“Two thousand,” said old Rance.
Angel dealt snappily, and old Rance’s hand showed a six and a deuce. Quickly he covered the cards, indicating that he would not draw. Angel turned over a king and a five. He studied them thoughtfully. He did not think there was a chance in a thousand that his father would stand pat on less than seventeen. Then he drew his card—a seven-spot—making him twenty-two.
With a flip of his fingers he turned over the old man’s cards—six and a deuce; a total of eight. For several moments he stared at his father. If he had stood on his original fifteen, he would have won the money.
“Mebby I’ll git a natural next deal,” said the old man. “Gimme my two thousand, and deal for the pile.”
“Four thousand?” whispered Angel haltingly.
“Shore. A natural would win me six thousand.”
Angel hesitated. Four thousand dollars was more than the Eagle could afford to lose. Still, he might win. It was against the law of averages for the old man to continue winning. He had won six times straight already.
“Deal ’em,” growled the old man.
Slowly Angel dealt the four cards. Old Rance turned his two cards face-up on the table—a ten and a five.