The Wildcat paid no heed to his companion's words. He was engaged in twisting the dice in the nervous fingers of his right hand. "Dey feels right! Dey sho' feels right! Boy, de thumb twist come to me befo' I was nine yeahs old. When I was fo'teen mah uncle Gabe learnt me neveh to dooce, trey, or twelve. Wid dese bones an' yo' ten-dollah bill, when I gits th'oo wid 'at nigger he won't have no mo' money than a frog has feathers." The pair entered the hotel. The Mud Turtle went directly to his room, wherein he began the difficult business of oozing his number twelve feet into a pair of number ten shoes. The Wildcat sought the Spindlin' Spider in whose web he had sacrificed his thousand dollars earlier in the day. He found his man leaning against a pool table in a room adjoining the lobby of the hotel. "Howdy, boy." The honeyed accents of gentle forgiveness dripped from the Wildcat's quiet salutation. The Spindlin' Spider looked at him. "Howdy. How is you?" "Me? I's noble--an' bustin' wid a cravin' fo' revenge." The Wildcat raised his voice. "Shoots ten dollahs!" Under the flat nose of the Spindlin' Spider he waved the ten-dollar bill which he had borrowed from the Mud Turtle. The Spider produced a roll of bills and peeled a ten spot therefrom. "Roll 'em! You an' me both craves action." The Wildcat had hooked his fish. He twisted the green taper dice in a handful of fingers whose tips bulged with a fine technique that had distilled from years of study and practice. Here on the green cloth of the pool table was his field of battle. Before him lay his entire capital, matched by an equal amount from the Spindlin' Spider's roll. "I's a Wildcat for revenge, an' I's on my prowl! Pay-day dice, speak mah name! Bam! Five and a dooce. I lets it lay. Shower down!" The Spindlin' Spider covered his bet. "Gallopers, stay lame on seven. Train robber babies, fo'ty dollars in de sack. I reads six-five! Rally roun', boys. Shoots fo'ty dollars. Fade me, boy. Bugle dice, blow de cash call. Harvest babies, pick yo' cotton! Bam! An' I reads fo' trey!" The Wildcat stowed away a trio of ten-dollar bills as an insurance policy against accident. "Shoots fifty dollars!" The Spindlin' Spider shaved five ten-dollar bills from his roll, "Roll 'em," he said. The Wildcat lifted his brace of tapered cubes high above his head. "Honey-bee babies, git yo' stinger hot. Shotgun dice, spout yo' lead. Key cubes, unlock de han'cuffs. Bam! Dey reads seven. I lets it lay. Shower down, boy. Fade me. Shoots a hund'ed dollars!" "You're faded." The Spider had his feet wet, and now he waded deeper into the river of revenge. The Wildcat rolled the dice against his legs. "Squirrel dice, ketch de top limb! Ham cubes, drip yo' gravy! Mule bones, resurrection morn. Breakin' on de B. & O.--Bust an' out. Baptisin' babies, hold his head under." The gallopers rattled across the pool table and went to sleep with a six-five staring the Spindlin' Spider in the face.