Still, "black-headed guy" justly fits him and his next
performance. He had made his plan for this like a true and (I
must say) inspired devil. And now the highly appreciative town of
Medicine Bow was to be treated to a manifestation of genius.

He sat playing his stud-poker. After a decent period of losing
and winning, which gave Trampas all proper time for a change of
luck and a repairing of his fortunes, he looked at Steve and said
amiably: "How does bed strike you?"

I was beside their table, learning gradually that stud-poker has
in it more of what I will call red pepper than has our Eastern
game. The Virginian followed his own question: "Bed strikes me,"
he stated.

Steve feigned indifference. He was far more deeply absorbed in
his bet and the American drummer than he was in this game; but he
chose to take out a fat, florid gold watch, consult it
elaborately, and remark, "It's only eleven."

"Yu' forget I'm from the country," said the black-headed guy.
"The chickens have been roostin' a right smart while."

His sunny Southern accent was again strong. In that brief passage
with Trampas it had been almost wholly absent. But different
moods of the spirit bring different qualities of utterance--where
a man comes by these naturally. The Virginian cashed in his
checks.