And not to be outdone--urged, I thought, by a pluck at my sleeve--I boldly followed with my own two dollars, reasoning that I was warranted in partially recouping, for Benton owed me much. The gambler laughed shortly. His gaze, cool and impertinent, enveloped our front. He leaned back, defiant. "Give me a chance, gentlemen. I shall not proceed with the play for that picayune sum before me. This is my last deal and I've been loser. It's make or break. Who else will back that gentleman's luck? I've placed the cards the best I know how. But six or eight dollars is no money to me. It doesn't pay for floor space. Is nobody else in? What? Come, come; let's have some sport. I dare you. This time is my revenge or your good fortune. Play up, gentlemen. Don't be crabbers." He smiled sarcastically; his words stung. "This isn't pussy-in-a-corner. It's a game of wits. You wouldn't bet unless you felt cock-sure of winning. I'll give you one minute, gentlemen, before calling all bets off unless you make the pot worth while." The threat had effect. Nobody wished to let the marked card get away. That was not human nature. Bets rained in upon the table--bank notes, silver half dollars, the rarer dollar coins, and the common greenbacks. He met each wager, while he sat negligent and half smiled and chewed his unlighted cigar. "This is the last round, gentlemen," he reminded. "Are you all in? Don't leave with regrets. You," he said, direct to me. "Are you in such short circumstances that you have no spunk? Why did you come here, sir, if not to win? Why, the stakes you play would not buy refreshment for the lady!" That was too much. I threw scruples aside. He had badgered me--he was there to win if he could; I now was hot with the same design. I extracted my twenty-dollar note, and deaf to a quickly breathed "Wait the turn" from My Lady I planked it down before him. She should know me for a man of decision. "There, sir," said I. "I am betting twenty-two dollars in all, which is my limit to-night, on the same right-end card as I stand." I thought that I had him. Forthwith he straightened alertly, spoke tartly. "The game is closed, gentlemen. Remember, you are wagering on the first turn. There are no splits in monte. Not at this table. Our friend says the right-end card. You, sir," and he addressed Jim. "They are backing you. Which do you say is the queen? Lay your finger on her." Jim so did, with a finger stubby, and dirty under the nail. "That is the card, is it? You are agreed?" he queried us, sweeping his cold gray eyes from face to face. "We'll have no crabbing." We nodded, intently eying the card, fearful yet, some of us, that it might be denied us. "You, sir, then." And he addressed me. "You are the heaviest better. Suppose you turn the card for yourself and those other gentlemen."