It's Dewing's hide I'm after." Dewing looked at his cards and stayed.

Pete saw the raise and re-raised.
The lumberman sized up to Pete's raise tentatively, but kept his hand on his stack of chips; he questioned Pete with his eyes, muttered, hesitated, and finally withdrew the stack of chips in his hands and threw up his cards with a curse, exposing a jack-high spade flush.
Dewing's eyes were cold and hard.

He saw Pete's raise and raised again, pushing in two stacks of reds.
"That's more than I've got, but I'll see you as far as my chips hold out.
Wish to Heaven I had a bushel!" Pete sized up his few chips beside Dewing's tall red stacks.

"It's a shame to show this hand for such a pitiful little bit of money," he said in an aggrieved voice.

"What you got ?" Dewing made no move to turn over his cards.
"If you feel that way about it, old-timer," he said as he raked back his remainder of unimperiled chips, "you can go down in your pocket." "Table stakes!" objected Scotty.
"That's all right," said Dewing.