“Cards to you?” he said.  “Next gentleman?”

The next gentleman scowled.  “I orter have raised,” he said.  “Only I wanted Scotty’s money.  Now, like as not, somebody’ll draw out on me.  I’ll play these.”

Dewing dealt himself two.  Reversing his exposed cards, he shoved between them the two cards he had drawn and laid these five before him, backs up, without looking at them.

“It’s your stab, Mr. Johnson,” said Dewing sweetly.

Johnson skinned his hand slowly and cautiously, covering his cards with his hands, clipping one edge lightly so that the opposite edges were slightly separated, and peering between them.  He had drawn the joker and the ace of diamonds.  He closed the hand tightly and shoved in a stack.

“Here’s where you see aces and eights beaten,” he said, addressing Dewing.  “You can’t have four eights, ’cause Mr. Scotty done showed one.”

The lumberman raised.

“What are you horning in for?” demanded Pete.  “I’ve got you beat.  It’s Dewing’s hide I’m after.”

Dewing looked at his cards and stayed.  Pete saw the raise and re-raised.

The lumberman sized up to Pete’s raise tentatively, but kept his hand on his stack of chips; he questioned Pete with his eyes, muttered, hesitated, and finally withdrew the stack of chips in his hands and threw up his cards with a curse, exposing a jack-high spade flush.

Dewing’s eyes were cold and hard.  He saw Pete’s raise and raised again, pushing in two stacks of reds.

“That’s more than I’ve got, but I’ll see you as far as my chips hold out.  Wish to Heaven I had a bushel!” Pete sized up his few chips beside Dewing’s tall red stacks.  “It’s a shame to show this hand for such a pitiful little bit of money,” he said in an aggrieved voice.  “What you got?”

Dewing made no move to turn over his cards.

“If you feel that way about it, old-timer,” he said as he raked back his remainder of unimperiled chips, “you can go down in your pocket.”

“Table stakes!” objected Scotty.

“That’s all right,” said Dewing.  “We’ll suspend the rules, seeing there’s no one in the pot but Johnson and me.  This game, I take it, is going to break up right now and leave somebody feeling mighty sore.  If you’re so sure you’ve got me beat—­dig up!”

“Cash my chips,” said Scotty.  “I sat down here to play table stakes, and I didn’t come to hear you fellows jaw, either.”

“You shut up!” said Dewing.  “I’ll cash your chips when I play out this hand—­not before.  You’re not in this.”

“Hell; you’re both of you scared stiff!” scoffed Scotty.  “Neither of you dast put up a cent.”

“Well, Johnson, how about it?” jeered Dewing.  “What are you going to do or take water?”

“Won’t there ever be any more hands of poker dealt?” asked Pete.  “If I thought this was to be the last hand ever played, I’d sure plunge right smart on this bunch of mine.”