It was Angel’s turn to be thoughtful. He had a ten-full on queens. Those three aces worried him, but he was too deep in the pot to stop now. Slowly he counted off fifty of the yellow chips, fingering them softly. Then he shoved them into the center of the table.
“Up two hundred,” he said coldly.
Old Rance eyed Angel coldly, as he peeled off the amount of the raise and tossed it to the center. He counted off three hundred more and added it to the huge pile of money and yellow chips.
“Three hundred more?” asked Angel hoarsely.
Old Rance did not reply; he did not need to. Angel’s hand trembled as he counted out the required amount in chips.
“Just callin’ me?” queried Rance.
“Looks like it, don’t it?” growled Angel.
Old Rance turned over his fourth ace. He had won eighteen hundred dollars in one hand. Angel looked dumbly at him, as he returned the money to his roll, and stacked the piles of yellow chips. Old Rance had already won thirty-six hundred dollars from Angel. But the evening was young.
Angel spoke to the dealer, who stood behind him:
“Bring me some yellow chips.”