“I said you done me,” burst out Budd, insanely. “You're slick with the cards!”
The accusation acted like magic to silence the bandits, to check movement, to clamp the situation. Kells was white and radiant; he seemed careless and nonchalant.
“All right, Budd,” he replied, but his tone did not suit his strange look. “That's three times for you!”
Swift as a flash he shot. Budd fell over Gulden, and the giant with one sweep of his arm threw the stricken bandit off. Budd fell heavily, and neither moved nor spoke.
“Pass me the bottle,” went on Kells, a little hoarse shakiness in his voice. “And go on with the game!”
“Can I set in now?” asked Beady Jones, eagerly.
“You and Jack wait. This's getting to be all between Kells an' me,” said Gulden.
“We've sure got Blicky done!” exclaimed Kells. There was something taunting about the leader's words. He did not care for the gold. It was the fight to win. It was his egotism.
“Make this game faster an' bigger, will you?” retorted Blicky, who seemed inflamed.
“Boss, a little luck makes you lofty,” interposed Jesse Smith in dark disdain. “Pretty soon you'll show yellow clear to your gizzard!”