One glance an' Cherokee is loaded with information. This Silver Phil,
it seems, in a sperit of avarice, equips himse'f with a copper--little
wooden checker, is what this copper is--one he's done filched from
Cherokee the day prior. He's fastened a long black hoss-ha'r to it,
an' he ties the other end of the hoss-ha'r to his belt in front. This
ha'r is long enough as he's planted at the table that a-way, so it
reaches nice to them four nearest kyards,--the king, queen, jack, ten.
An' said ha'r is plumb invisible except to eyes as sharp as Faro
Nell's. The deceitful Silver Phil will have a stack on one of 'em,
coppered with this yere ha'r copper. He watches the box. As the turns
is made, if the kyards come his way, well an' good. Silver Phil does
nothin' but garners in results. When the kyards start to show ag'in
him, however, that's different. In sech events Silver Phil draws in
his breath, sort o' takin' in on the hoss-ha'r, an' the copper comes
off the bet. When the turn is made, thar's Silver Phil's bet--by
virchoo of said fraud--open an' triumphant an' waitin' to be paid.

"Cherokee gets posted quick an with a look. As sharp as winkin'
Cherokee has a nine-inch bowie in his hand an' with one slash cuts the
hoss-ha'r clost up by Silver Phil's belt.

"'That's a yoonique invention!" observes Cherokee, an' he's sarcastic
while he menaces with the knife at Silver Phil; 'that contraption is
shorely plenty sagacious! But it don't go here. Shove in your chips.'
Silver Phil obeys: an' he shows furtive, ugly, an' alarmed, an' all of
'em at once. He don't say a word. 'Now pull your freight,' concloods
Cherokee. 'If you ever drifts within ten foot of a game of mine ag'in
I'll throw this knife plumb through you--through an' through.' An'
Cherokee, by way of lustration lets fly the knife across the bar-room.
It comes like a flash.