“I tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “The stage won’t be no good to me until Powder Keg amounts to somethin’ . . . I’ll bet a coach and team against what’s on the table, draw and show down.”
His offer was a sufficient warning of his strength. However, I still liked my aces. A pair of them pack a lot of power in a two-handed game, and I had the feeling that my luck had not run out . . .
I counted my aces as casually as pounding pulses would permit. “Can you beat ’em?”
His face showed me he could not . . . “How about loanin’ me your pony?”
