“Look here, Shorty,” he said, “I’m not going.  That trip will take ten days, and before that time I hope to have my system in proper working order.  I could almost win with it now.  What are you dragging me around the country this way for, anyway?”

“Smoke, I got to take care of you,” was Shorty’s reply.  “You’re gettin’ nutty.  I’d drag you stampedin’ to Jericho or the North Pole if I could keep you away from that table.”

“It’s all right, Shorty.  But just remember I’ve reached full man-grown, meat-eating size.  The only dragging you’ll do, will be dragging home the dust I’m going to win with that system of mine, and you’ll most likely have to do it with a dog-team.”

Shorty’s response was a groan.

“And I don’t want you to be bucking any games on your own,” Smoke went on.  “We’re going to divide the winnings, and I’ll need all our money to get started.  That system’s young yet, and it’s liable to trip me for a few falls before I get it lined up.”

At last, after long hours and days spent at watching the table, the night came when Smoke proclaimed he was ready, and Shorty, glum and pessimistic, with all the seeming of one attending a funeral, accompanied his partner to the Elkhorn.  Smoke bought a stack of chips and stationed himself at the game-keeper’s end of the table.  Again and again the ball was whirled, and the other players won or lost, but Smoke did not venture a chip.  Shorty waxed impatient.

“Buck in, buck in,” he urged.  “Let’s get this funeral over.  What’s the matter?  Got cold feet?”

Smoke shook his head and waited.  A dozen plays went by, and then, suddenly, he placed ten one-dollar chips on “26.”  The number won, and the keeper paid Smoke three hundred and fifty dollars.  A dozen plays went by, twenty plays, and thirty, when Smoke placed ten dollars on “32.”  Again he received three hundred and fifty dollars.

“It’s a hunch!” Shorty whispered vociferously in his ear.  “Ride it!  Ride it!”

Half an hour went by, during which Smoke was inactive, then he placed ten dollars on “34” and won.

“A hunch!” Shorty whispered.

“Nothing of the sort,” Smoke whispered back.  “It’s the system.  Isn’t she a dandy?”

“You can’t tell me,” Shorty contended.  “Hunches comes in mighty funny ways.  You might think it’s a system, but it ain’t.  Systems is impossible.  They can’t happen.  It’s a sure hunch you’re playin’.”

Smoke now altered his play.  He bet more frequently, with single chips, scattered here and there, and he lost more often than he won.

“Quit it,” Shorty advised.  “Cash in.  You’ve rung the bull’s-eye three times, an’ you’re ahead a thousand.  You can’t keep it up.”

At this moment the ball started whirling, and Smoke dropped ten chips on “26.”  The ball fell into the slot of “26,” and the keeper again paid him three hundred and fifty dollars.