ight, an' strolls
over to whar Cherokee's dealin' bank.

"'What's the limit?' he asks.

"At this, we-all looks up a whole lot. It's the first time ever Dead
Shot talks of puttin' down a bet.

"Cherokee's face is like a mask, the face of the thorough-paced kyard
sharp. He shows no more astonishment than if Dead Shot's been settin'
in ag'inst his game every evenin' for a month.

"'One hundred an' two hundred,' says Cherokee.

"_'Bueno!'_ an' Dead Shot lays down two one-hundred dollar bills
between the king and queen.

"Thar's two turns. The third the kyards falls 'ten-king,' an' Nell,
from her place on the lookout's stool, shoves over two hundred dollars
in bloo checks. Thar they are, with the two one-hundred dollar bills,
between the king an' queen.

"'Does it go as it lays?' asks Dead Shot, it bein' double the limit.

"'It goes,' says Cherokee, never movin' a muscle.

"One turn, an' the kyards falls 'trey-queen.' Nell shoves four hundred
across to match up with Dead Shot's four hundred.

"'An' now?' Dead Shot asks.

"'I'll turn for it,' Cherokee responds.

"It's yere that Dead Shot's luck goes back on him. The turn comes
'queen-jack,' an' Nell rakes down the eight hundred.

"Dead Shot's hand goes to the butt of his gun.

"'I've been robbed,' he growls; 'thar's fifty-three kyards in that
deck.'

"Cherokee's on his feet, his eyes like two steel p'ints, gun half
drawed. But Nell's as quick. Her hand's on Cherokee's, an' she keeps
his gun whar it belongs.

"'Steady!' she says; 'can't you see he's only coaxin' you to bump him
off?' Then, with her face full on Dead Shot, she continyoos: 'It won't
do, Dead Shot; it won't do none! You-all can't get it handed to you
yere! You're in the wrong shop; you-all ought to try next door!' An'
Nell p'ints with her little thumb through the wall to the post
office.

"Dead Shot stands thar the color of seegyar ashes, while Cherokee
settles ca'mly back in his cha'r. Cherokee's face is as bar' of
expression as a blank piece of paper, as he runs his eye along the
lay-out, makin' ready for the next turn. Thar's mebby a dozen of us
playin', but not a word is spoke. Everyone is onto Dead Shot's little
game, the moment Nell begins to talk.

"Matters seems to hang on centers, ontil Nell stretches across an'
lays her baby hand on Dead Shot's:

"'Thar ain't a soul in sight,' she says, mighty soft an' good, 'but
what's your friend, Dead Shot.'

"Dead Shot, pale as a candle,