It's cl'ar, as one looks in his face, that
them trio of kings ain't no sech monstrosities as they was. He ain't
half so shore they wins. After lookin' a while he says, an' his
tones shows he's plumb doobious:
"'That last raise over-sizes me.'
"`That's it!' groans Cherokee, like his contempt for all mankind is
comin' back. 'By the time I gets a decent hand every sport at the
table's broke. What show do I have! However, I pinches down to meet
your poverty. Put up what stuff you has.'
"The avaricious gent slowly gets up his last peso; he's out on a
limb, an' he somehow begins to feel it. When the money's up,
Cherokee throws down three aces an' a pa'r of nines, an' rakes the
dust.
"'Next time,' says Cherokee, 'don't come fomentin' 'round poker
games which is strangers to you complete. Moreover, don't let a gent
talk you into fal'cies touchin' his hand. Which I'm the proud
proprietor of them three aces when I breaks the pot. You-all lose
this time; but if you'll only paste them dogmas I gives you in your
sombrero, an' read 'em over from time to time, you'll notice they
flows a profit. We three, 'concloodes Cherokee, turnin' ag'in to Dan
an' Ellis, 'will now resoome our wrong-doin' at the p'int where this
yere former plootocrat interrupts.
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