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Updated: May 6, 2025
As for the pale young man across the table, his demeanor was that of a perfect poker-player. The only thing that could be noticed was a slight contraction of his pupils, as if he were concentrating his eyes on the things immediately around him and trying to leave his face quite inscrutable.
It came to him like a discovery; he had never realized it before, he concluded, and also, he had forgotten much. One could not sit in at high finance and keep track of such things. As he drank in the air, the scene, and the distant song of larks, he felt like a poker-player rising from a night-long table and coming forth from the pent atmosphere to taste the freshness of the morn.
He had lost an arm in the Confederate service, and was recognized by the gambling fraternity as the gamest man among all the trail drovers, while every cowman from the Rio Grande to the Yellowstone knew him as a poker-player.
Every poker-player knows that, so far from being considered dishonourable, it is a chief sign of skill in the game, where each man plays for his own hand, for one to deceive the rest as to the value of the cards he holds. The name of "bluff," which has been given to this game, is itself sufficient to show that everyone has to try his best to puzzle his adversaries.
Any poker-player can make his face a mask. Watch his hands. Ten to one, if he is lying, he'll clench them." Brice noted the tightening of the heavy fists. And he was convinced. Yet, he told himself, in disgust, that even a child of six would scarce have needed such confirmation that the clumsily blurted tale was a lie. He nodded again, as Milo looked at him with a shade of anxiety.
"The old tub didn't get in until a quarter to nine," the taller of the two new-comers replied. "When did you arrive?" "This afternoon," said Hayle, and for a moment volunteered no further information. A good poker-player is always careful not to show his hand. "I suppose this place is not full?" inquired the man who had last spoken. "Full?" asked Hayle scornfully.
Motionless, scowling, with head down, and shrewd, proud eyes smoldering, the lion stood there like an apparition of doom. He was, I fully suspect, letting the effect sink in deliberately. He knew his game. Also, he had a reason. Surely a great poker-player was lost in the lion. But the little ratel met that regal stare squarely and unmoved.
The fifth player sat next to the wall. He was a large, broad-shouldered man close to fifty. His face had the weather-beaten look of confidence that comes to an outdoor Westerner used to leading others. While Dave was moving past this table, he noticed that Chet Fox was whispering in the ear of the man next the wall. The poker-player nodded, and at the same moment his glance met that of Dingwell.
"Hardly strong enough to hang him on though." And I realised that she was King Alcinoüs's daughter. We crouched lower for a moment or two, but the seven-year apple tree didn't move again, and we agreed that there was no use in waiting for Tobias to show his hand. "He is too good a poker-player," I said. "Like his skeletons, eh?" she said. "But what made you think it was Tobias?"
It may be that Jerry's heartbeats were not quite normal just then, but no one would ever know. They rode slowly to a point near the corner of the table, and there Bud halted the two with his lifted hand. Bud was trembling a little but he was smiling, too. Eddie was frankly grinning, Jerry's face was the face of a good poker-player it told nothing.
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