Adventure, July 1, 1928 — page 26: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

20 THOMSON BURTIS against us. It looks like never quitting on good hands for us, always providing Ivers was right.” Tex nodded. Both had their eyes on Derringer, who was walking toward them. He was taller even than Mac- Dowell, who was six feet two, and his lank body was slim and bony looking. His face was long and thin,’the brow high and craglike over deep set, fierce looking eyes. His bold nose curved over a thin, almost lipless mouth, and his cheeks were so hollow that his face was merely leathery skin stretched tightly over the protruding bones. His iron gray hair grew to a point over his forehead, and it stood straight up in a high pompadour, like a topknot. His piercing blue eyes darted quick glances at the two flyers, and he shook hands with crisp strength. “Glad to know you,” he said tersely, his voice deep and harsh. “I may not be able to play long, but others will happen in. I hate to break up a game.” “Dave'll be right up,” Donnelly in- formed them, and led the way up narrow stairs. HE SECOND floor room was de- voted exclusively to card games, all played with silent intentness. These, evidently, were big players. They were of various types, but leaned mostly to older men whose clothing subtly indi- cated their higher positions in the Ver- ona scheme of things. Daly thought that most of them were owners, or technical men. He did not see one man who looked like a roughneck or small salaried tool pusher or driller. The room which they were to use was not a room, really—it was rather one of a series of alcoves, separated from each other by rude partitions. The side toward the main room was wide open. Harris arrived as they were sitting down. He was a small, consumptive looking Jew, with oily black hair and a tremendous hooked nose. He was dressed in blue serge, and his eyes were almost always on the ground. He was self- possessed, and his movements were quick as a cat. ““He’s got every mark there is of an ex- perienced croupier,” Daly thought. On a sidetable Donnelly set a rack of chips. ““What’s you gentlemen’s idea of the original take-out?” he inquired. His fleshy face became more round as he grinned. “Let’s make it a real game, eh? Two thousand stacks?” “O.K.,” Daly found himself saying. “And I should say a two thousand dollar limit, at the outside—or table stakes.” “Table stakes,” rasped Derringer. The chips were counted out as they sat down. Tex and Daly took chairs in the positions they had arranged between themselves. Donnelly was on Daly’s right, and Harris on his left. To Harris’s left was Derringer, and Tex was between the oil man and Donnelly. “One thing we might settle,” Daly said quietly. “Ivers guarantees our payment, of course. What I mean is, do we get paid off in cash?” “Absolutely, you fellow!” Donnelly assured him with that pretended blithe- ness. Derringer permitted himself a wintry grin. Harris was expressionless, his hands playing with his chips, stacking them and restacking them with lightning like speed. “What do you think we have those guards for? There’s more than a hundred thousand dollars cash in this house tonight, and it'll be a lot more be- fore long.” As the first deal started five men took seats at a table in front of the alcove, a house man with them who dealt nothing but stud. Daly settled down to the ferocious con- centration which was one of the reasons why he was a poker player who seldom, if ever, lost against the average compe- tition. The others were silent, too. He watched every hand like a hawk. He wondered how much to lose, if the game was crooked, before finally deciding that it was. It so happened that he broke even in the first seven hands—and that they told the tale. comicloooks.com