Bob Hampton of Placer

And he was steadily winning. Occasionally some other hand drew in the

growing stock of gold and bank notes, but not often enough to offset

those continued gains that began to heap up in such an alluring pile

upon his portion of the table. The watchers began to observe this, and

gathered more closely about his chair, fascinated by the luck with

which the cards came floating into his hands, the cool judgment of his

critical plays, the reckless abandon with which he forced success. The

little room was foul with tobacco smoke and electric with ill-repressed

excitement, yet he played on imperturbably, apparently hearing nothing,

seeing nothing, his entire personality concentrated on his play.

Suddenly he forced the fight to a finish. The opportunity came in a

jack-pot which Hawes had opened. The betting began with a cool

thousand. Then Hampton's turn came. Without drawing, his cards yet

lying face downward before him on the board, his calm features as

immovable as the Sphinx, he quietly pushed his whole accumulated pile

to the centre, named the sum, and leaned back in his chair, his eyes

cold, impassive. Hawes threw down his hand, wiping his streaming face

with his handkerchief; Willis counted his remaining roll, hesitated,

looked again at the faces of his cards, flung aside two, drawing to

fill, and called loudly for a show-down, his eyes protruding. Slavin,

cursing fiercely under his red beard, having drawn one card, his

perplexed face instantly brightening as he glanced at it, went back

into his hip pocket for every cent he had, and added his profane demand

for a chance at the money.

A fortune rested on the table, a fortune the ownership of which was to

be decided in a single moment, and by the movement of a hand. The

crowd swayed eagerly forward, their heads craned over to see more

clearly, their breathing hushed. Willis was gasping, his whole body

quivering; Slavin was watching Hampton's hands as a cat does a mouse,

his thick lips parted, his fingers twitching nervously. The latter

smiled grimly, his motions deliberate, his eyes never wavering.

Slowly, one by one, he turned up his cards, never even deigning to

glance downward, his entire manner that of unstudied indifference.

One--two--three. Willis uttered a snarl like a stricken wild beast,

and sank back in his chair, his eyes closed, his cheeks ghastly. Four.

Slavin brought down his great clenched fist with a crash on the table,

a string of oaths bursting unrestrained from his lips. Five. Hampton,

never stirring a muscle, sat there like a statue, watching. His right

hand kept hidden beneath the table, with his left he quietly drew in

the stack of bills and coin, pushing the stuff heedlessly into the side

pocket of his coat, his gaze never once wandering from those stricken

faces fronting him. Then he softly pushed back his chair and stood

erect. Willis never moved, but Slavin rose unsteadily to his feet,

gripping the table fiercely with both hands.