"You can't bluff me on the hand I've got.

Give me a sheet of paper, somebody--yes, that will do." He scrawled a half-dozen lines, fairly digging the pen into the sheet in his fierce eagerness, and then signed the document, flinging the paper across toward Kirby.
"There, you blood-sucker," he cried insolently.

"Is that all right?
Will that do ?" The imperturbable gambler read it over slowly, carefully deciphering each word, his thin lips tightly compressed.
"You might add the words, 'This includes every chattel slave legally belonging to me,'" he said grimly.
"That is practically what I did say." "Then you can certainly have no objection to putting it in the exact words I choose," calmly.

"I intend to have what is coming to me if I win, and I know the law." Beaucaire angrily wrote in the required extra line.
"Now what ?" he asked.
"Let McAfee there sign it as a witness, and then toss it over into the pile." He smiled, showing a line of white teeth beneath his moustache.
"Nice little pot, gentlemen--the Judge must hold some cards to take a chance like that," the words uttered with a sneer.

"Fours, at least, or maybe he has had the luck to pick a straight flush." Beaucaire's face reddened, and his eyes grew hard.
"That's my business," he said tersely.