Early in the evening, the Welshman was sure he had an easy mark. He had, it was clear to see now, underestimated the old trapper. When he had raised the pot for the big strike, the trapper had pulled yet another gold piece from his beaded pouch and called his bluff. Those soft gray eyes peered out from under the aged lids and missed nothing, and that put the pinch on the Welshman’s game. When the cowboys joined the table, he was sure the situation would improve since their reckless play always fattened his pocket. Alas, the trapper seemed to inspire them to play their cards close, and now the Welshman was feeling the pressure. The cowboy called Breaker, a fair card player on most nights was showing some real skill tonight even with the animated Pearl perched on him.
Now, with the biggest pot of the evening at stake, he was holding what should be the winning hand. But then, as he scanned the table and wasn’t sure who could be called the Mark, he smiled to himself and thought, Perhaps it’s me.