"Damn th' rain, too, an' this wart of a town. A man can't get nothin' fit to eat for love or money, on a sheep range. Gimme a drink, sonny! Mebby it 'll cut th' taste of that rank tallow out 'n my mouth. Th' reason there is sheep on this earth of our'n is that th' devil chased 'em out 'n his place—an' no blame to him."
He drank half his liquor, and, placing the glass on the bar beside him, turned to watch the game. "Ah, strangers—that's th' only game, after all. I 've dabbled in 'em all from faro to roulette, but that's th' boss of 'em all."
"See you an' call," remarked Clayton, ignoring the newcomer. "What you got, you Dutch pagan?"
"Zwei Kaisers und a bair of chackasses, mit a deuce."
"Kings up!" exclaimed Clayton. "Why, say—you bet th' worst of anybody I ever knew! You 'll balk on bettin' two bits on threes, and plunge on a bluff. I reckoned you did n't have nothin'. Why ain't you more consistent?" he asked, winking at Towne.
