"I ought to lift this again; but I won't," announced the lumberman. "I want to get Scotty's money in this pot, and I might scare him out." Scotty, the second lumberman, hesitated for a moment, and then laid down his hand, using language. Dewing saw the raise. "Here's where I get a cheap draw for the Dead Man's Hand--aces and eights." He discarded two and laid before him, face up on the table, a pair of eights and an ace of hearts. "I'm going to trim you fellows this time. Aces and eights have never been beaten yet." "Damn you! Here's one eight you won't get," said Scotty; he turned over his hand, exposing the eight of clubs. "Mustn't expose your cards unnecessarily," said Dewing reprovingly. "It spoils the game." He picked up the deck. "Cards?" Pete pinched his cards to the smallest compass and cautiously discarded two of them, holding their faces close to the table. "Give me two right off the top." Dewing complied. "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.