“If you’re plum crazy an’ got the immortal cinch, bet ’em the limit,” Shorty said.  “Put down twenty-five next time.”

A quarter of an hour passed, during which Smoke won and lost on small scattering bets.  Then, with the abruptness that characterized his big betting, he placed twenty-five dollars on the “double naught,” and the keeper paid him eight hundred and seventy-five dollars.

“Wake me up, Smoke, I’m dreamin’,” Shorty moaned.

Smoke smiled, consulted his notebook, and became absorbed in calculation.  He continually drew the notebook from his pocket, and from time to time jotted down figures.

A crowd had packed densely around the table, while the players themselves were attempting to cover the same numbers he covered.  It was then that a change came over his play.  Ten times in succession he placed ten dollars on “18” and lost.  At this stage he was deserted by the hardiest.  He changed his number and won another three hundred and fifty dollars.  Immediately the players were back with him, deserting again after a series of losing bets.

“Quit it, Smoke, quit it,” Shorty advised.  “The longest string of hunches is only so long, an’ your string’s finished.  No more bull’s-eyes for you.”

“I’m going to ring her once again before I cash in,” Smoke answered.

For a few minutes, with varying luck, he played scattering chips over the table, and then dropped twenty-five dollars on the “double naught.”

“I’ll take my slip now,” he said to the dealer, as he won.

“Oh, you don’t need to show it to me,” Shorty said, as they walked to the weigher.  “I been keepin’ track.  You’re something like thirty-six hundred to the good.  How near am I?”

“Thirty-six-sixty,” Smoke replied.  “And now you’ve got to pack the dust home.  That was the agreement.”

“Don’t crowd your luck,” Shorty pleaded with Smoke, the next night, in the cabin, as he evidenced preparations to return to the Elkhorn.  “You played a mighty long string of hunches, but you played it out.  If you go back you’ll sure drop all your winnings.”

“But I tell you it isn’t hunches, Shorty.  It’s statistics.  It’s a system.  It can’t lose.”

“System be damned.  They ain’t no such a thing as system.  I made seventeen straight passes at a crap table once.  Was it system?  Nope.  It was fool luck, only I had cold feet an’ didn’t dast let it ride.  If it’d rid, instead of me drawin’ down after the third pass, I’d ‘a’ won over thirty thousan’ on the original two-bit piece.”

“Just the same, Shorty, this is a real system.”

“Huh!  You got to show me.”

“I did show you.  Come on with me now, and I’ll show you again.”

When they entered the Elkhorn, all eyes centered on Smoke, and those about the table made way for him as he took up his old place at the keeper’s end.  His play was quite unlike that of the previous night.  In the course of an hour and a half he made only four bets, but each bet was for twenty-five dollars, and each bet won.  He cashed in thirty-five hundred dollars, and Shorty carried the dust home to the cabin.