Free The Dawn of Fury by RALPH COMPTON

five-dollar limit, and Nathan lost twenty dollars before he finally won a pot. The thin young man with the spectacles appeared to be the big loser, and soon dropped out.
    â€œHell,” said one of the bearded men, “why don’t we make this interestin’? Let’s raise the limit to twenty dollars.”
    â€œToo rich for my blood, Driggers,” said his companion. “I’m foldin’.”
    â€œWhat about you, stranger?” said Driggers. “I’m Jason Driggers, and I take my poker serious.”
    â€œSo do I,” Nathan said. “I’m Nathan Stone.”
    The pot quickly reached three hundred dollars, neither man willing to fold. Word quickly spread, and men drifted from other tables. The man who claimed this pot would need some hell of a poker hand and the nerve to back it. The showdown came when Nathan raised another twenty dollars, raising the pot to five hundred dollars. He had just been dealt a third king and thought he knew what was coming. Driggers was about to deal the cards when Nathan spoke.
    â€œLay the cards on the table, Driggers. I want somebody else to deal this hand. Somebody with no stake in the game.”
    â€œBy God,” shouted Driggers, kicking back his chair, “are you accusin’ me of cheatin’?”
    â€œI’m accusing you of nothing,” Nathan said. “We’ll let the next draw decide that. You,” he said to the slender young man who dropped out of the game, “come deal this hand. But before he deals the cards, Driggers, you and me are going to have an understanding. I have three kings, and I’m pretty damn sure the next card on the top of that deck is the king of diamonds. I’m equally sure the card on the bottom of the deck is an ace. As you know, I have three kings, and the average gambler, drawing a fourth king, would raise. But I’m not the average gambler, Driggers. I believe you’re holding three aces and that the card on the bottom of the deck is the fourth ace. I’m sure enough that I’ll challenge you, if you have the guts to accept. If the top card isn’t the fourth king and the bottom card isn’t the fourth ace, then you have my apologies, and the pot’s yours.”
    â€œHell no,” bawled Driggers. “I’ll shoot any man layin’ a hand on them cards.”
    But Driggers froze with his hand on the butt of his pistol. Nobody had seen Nathan Stone draw, but suddenly in his right hand there was a Colt, cocked and rock steady.
    â€œMorris,” somebody shouted, “deal that last hand.”
    Morris—the thin young man with the spectacles—slid the card from the top of the deck and turned it face up. It was the fourth, the king of hearts. There was a shout from the onlookers, and Jason Driggers’s face paled. He knew what was coming. Morris again took a card from the deck, this time, from the bottom. It was the ace of diamonds.
    â€œNow,” said Nathan, “show your hand, Driggers.”
    There was no way out. Driggers dropped his cards on the table, and three of them were aces. Desperately he turned to the angry, disgusted faces of the men who surrounded him and tried to bluff his way out.
    â€œYou can’t prove a damn thing,” he shouted. “You can’t accuse me of bottom dealin’.”
    â€œNo,” somebody shouted, “but you sure as hell was plannin’ to. I never seen a sweeter setup. You just played your last card here, you damn cheat. Won’t none of us set in with you again. Now git up and git the hell out of here.”
    Driggers kicked back his chair and got to his feet, his face livid. He glared across the table at Nathan, and in his eyes was all the venom of a rattler about to strike. He spoke almost in a whisper.
    â€œSomeday, somewhere, I’ll kill you.”
    â€œYou can try,” said Nathan, “but I’ll be careful not to turn my back on you.”
    Then came