“Hit ’em,” he said.
Angel flipped the card to the table. It was a six, making old Rance’s count twenty-one. Angel turned over his cards, disclosing a jack and a seven, making a count of seventeen. If old Rance had not disclosed his hand, Angel would not have drawn. But now he was obliged to draw. His first card was a deuce. Angel swallowed heavily and flipped the next card. It was an ace. His hand counted twenty. Another ace would give him a tie with the old man.
With an exaggerated motion of his two hands holding the deck, he quickly stripped off a card and flipped it over. It was the ace of spades. Not a word was spoken for several moments.
“The house takes half of all ties,” said Angel coldly.
“You’ve got yore half,” said old Rance dully. “You never put up yore two thousand. Deal ’em ag’in.”
Angel shuffled them carefully, taking plenty of time, and when the old man cut the cards, no one seemed to know that Angel slipped the cut, and the cards were back where they were before the cut.
Old Rance drew a queen and a trey, while Angel’s hand showed an ace and a jack—a natural. He swept in the two thousand, a grin of derision on his lips. For a long time the old man looked down at the green top of the table. He heaved a deep sigh and dug down in his pocket, drawing out the money he had received from the bank. It totaled nineteen hundred and eighty dollars—what was left of his twenty-five hundred. He spread the bills out on the table.
“Deal,” he said softly.
“One bet?” asked Angel.
“Jist one.”