Snaggle Tooth made a short patriotic speech, the burden of which was that the saloon was full of men of eager habit who had not had a chance to sit into the game, and to ameliorate the condition of these mournful mavericks he would sell pools on the race, for the mere honorarium of five per cent.
Fever was in the men's blood; if he had suggested twenty per cent it would have gone.
Snaggle Tooth took up his position behind a faro table and called out:
"The pool is open, with Clatawa, Horned Toad, and Pat in the box. What am I bid for first choice?"
"Twenty dollars," a voice cried.
"Thirty," another said.
"Forty."
"Fifty."
A dry rasp that suggested an alkaline throat squeaked: "A hundred. Is this a horse race, or are we dribblin' into the plate at the synagogue?"
"Sold!" Snaggle Tooth yapped, knowing well that excitement begat quick action. "Which cayuse do you favor, plunger?"