You figgers you've downed me.
Mebby so. All the same, I've got my game staked out so that I eats,
drinks, sleeps, an' wears clothes till the comin' of them ponies;
an' you, an' the angels above, an' the demons down onder the sea, is
powerless to put a crimp in them calc'lations. I've got the next six
months pris'ner; I've turned the keys onto 'em same as if they're in
a calaboose. An' no power can rescoo 'em none; an' they can't break
jail."
"'An' jest to show you-all,' continyoos Cherokee, after pausin' to
tip the bottle for a spoonful, as well as let the sityooation sort
o' trickle into us in all its outlines--Cherokee is plenty graphic
that a-way, an' knows how to frame up them recitals so they takes
effect--'an' jest to show you, as I remarks former, that every gent
is bound to take a gambler's chance an' that shore-things don't
exist, let me ask you what happens? Our confident sport ain't hardly
got that bluff humg up before--"Inglegojang! inglegojang!" goes the
church bell in alarm; the tavern's took fire an' burns plumb to the
ground; drinks, chuck, bed, raiment, the whole bunch of tricks; an'
thar's our wise sport out in the snow an' nothin' but a black ruck
of smokin' ruins to remind him of that cinch of his.
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