"One thousand dollars, pardner," he offered casually. "On number five to repeat!"
Now Embry came a step forward and allowed his placid brows to be drawn into rough furrows; now men struggled on the outer fringe to crowd closer; now Rice's fingers shook a little as he made his companion bet of one hundred dollars, losing in the excitement his former judgment of "pro ratty." And men breathed softly or breathed not at all while the ivory ball circled and slowed and hesitated and seemed to stop and rolled on and on, filled with indecision until the last, and came to a dead stop on … number five!
A shout went up to go far out into the woods to vie with the rumble and roar and boom of Thunder River; in the uproar the dealer's open palm falling upon his table seemed to strike soundlessly; the dealer's lips, forming the words "Broke the bank, by God!" shaped sounds that died in the din; Joe Embry's face went white, dead white, while his eyes stared incredulously. For on that last play alone Bill Steele had won thirty-five times the amount he had played, and that meant thirty-five thousand dollars; Bill Rice had won thirty-five hundred … and in the bank there was no longer the money to pay out "a man's sized bet"!
Unruffled, the dealer was stacking out upon the table the forty-six thousand dollars which were Steele's when he "cashed," when Embry's voice broke in stridently:
"Hold on there, Pete! Don't pay that bet! The wheel has gone bad. …"
"So?" Steele wheeled upon him, his hand inside
