Buff stares at me—now he’s trying to read me.I can see it in his eyes: he knows what I’ve got. After playing awhole lot of cards with him, he knows me too well. I hope Long’sstill in the dark.

The bet’s over to Long, who burns a holethrough the two draw cards—the arrow and boulder—with his eyes, asif he hates what he sees. Either he’s an icin’ good actor, or heknows that last card wasn’t good for him. He passes to me.

A tough call. I know I’ve got the betterhand, but if I bet big then Long will suspect it, too, unless hethinks I’m bluffing. He might fold, which of course means I’ll takea pretty nice pot. But on the other hand, if I can get him to keepbetting, I can make it an even bigger take. I toss in a modestthirty sickle bet, beginning to feel like a real high roller, ifonly because I now consider thirty sickles to be modest. As if it’snothing at all, Long slides the required coins across, smiling. Hewon’t be smiling in a minute.

Another card is flipped. Another boulder.Un-freezin’-believable!

Four of anything will win you a hand almostevery time. Four boulders, well, that’s a lock. Long taps thetable, signaling he’s passing to me again. Finally able to show myemotion, I smile, big enough to make him think I’ve got a goodhand, which I do, but small enough to hopefully convince him I’mbluffing. The math’s gotten too convoluted for me to have any clueas to how much is already in the pot, but I know it’s more silverthan I’ve ever had in my life, enough to pay back our advance, fixthe stuff we broke at Yo’s, and buy something nice for Jolie.

I push every last one of my remaining coinsinto the pile in the center.

Long scrunches up his nose and folds, leavinghis cards hidden. I’ll never know what he had, but I don’t give twoshivers about that, because my hands are curled around a mound ofsilver, raking it in front of me, trying not to tremble withexcitement.

There are smiles all around the table, exceptfrom Long. “Nice hand,” Pierced-Ears says.

“Thanks,” I say, standing up and starting toshovel the coins into my pouch, “for the game.” Buff’s already onhis feet.

Pierced’s smile fades quicker than visibilityin a snowstorm. “Whoa there, pretty boy. Didn’t they tell you atthe door? It’s a five hand minimum for a seat at a table. Nowinning and running.”

I feel the color drain from my face. “No onetold us that,” I say.

“Must’ve slipped Ham’s mind. He can be a bitof a snowflake sometimes. All brawn and no brains. You know thetype, right?”

“Well, he didn’t tell us, so…” I push in mychair.

“Sit down, boy!” Pierced screams, his facered and snaked with popping veins. All activity in the Hole ceasesabruptly. Someone drops a coin and we can all hear it rollingacross the floor, not stopping until it runs into the wall.

Silence.

I stare at Pierced, who now looks nothinglike the kind, fun-loving card player from before. Despite the factthat he didn’t lose anything but his five sickle ante in the lasthand, he’s dead set on us playing at least four more hands. Ahostile environment is nothing new to me, except normally I’m theone bringing the hostility. As I look around, I see more than a fewfaces that look like they’ll die before letting us leave.

My eyes meet Buff’s and he shakes his head.The odds are against us—not the right time to pick a fight. I pullmy chair out and sit down, scattering my silver on the table. Buffdoes the same, although his pile is much smaller than mine.

Gone are the smiles around the table,replaced by narrowed eyes and glares. This is not a friendly cardgame anymore, if it ever was to begin with.

“Deal,” Pierced-Ears commands Buff. Buffscoops up the used cards and blends them back into the main deck.Hands them to Twin-Two, who does a bit of blending of his ownbefore passing them back. Buff deals and I take a deep breath.

Four hands. We can just play it easy, foldout each hand, losing only the ante. It’ll take a chunk out of thewinnings, but not so much that we won’t be able to take care ofwhat we owe Yo.

I look at my cards, if only for show. A crownand small stone. Not the worst hand, but not the best either. I’llbe careful with it. Buff doesn’t even look at his, just tosses theminto the center facedown. He’s got the right idea. Twin-Two betstwenny sickles and I add my cards to the center before the bettingeven makes it around. Pierced’s eyes never leave mine as he throwsin the required silver. The betting goes around and around as theyplay out the hand, but still Pierced’s eyes are glued to me. I lookdown, look away, count and recount my coins, but I can feel him onmy face, as if he’s physically touching me.

Pierced wins a sizeable pot and then itstarts over again, with Twin-Two dealing. Three more hands and thenwe’re outta here, no big deal.

I lift just the corner of my cards to have apeek, and then toss them in the center immediately, just a secondbehind Buff’s even speedier fold. I had twin small stones. Aplayable hand, but not worth losing any more silver over.

The hand plays out quickly and one of thetwins goes away with a pretty weak pot. Two to go. Fold and foldand we’re done.

Mimicking Buff’s technique, I fold the nexthand without looking at my cards, but I can’t resist sliding themin face up, where the twin crowns stare back at me, almost gleamingbrighter than the silver ante coins in the middle. A really stronghand. I grit my teeth, trying to bite back the regret that tightensin my throat. Regardless of whether playing the hand was a smartmove, showing my cards is high on the list of stupidest things Icould’ve done. Pierced smiles at me, but not kindly like he didbefore, but with icicle teeth, cold and sharp, knowing full wellthat I’m not playing for real anymore.

“Hmmm,” he muses. “I don’t think it counts ifyou fold all five hands, isn’t that right Mobe?”

Long-Face has a name. Mobe straightens up,drums his fingers on the table. “I’d have to check the rulebook,but I think that’s right.”

“You said five hands,” I say between clenchedteeth. Fighting’s suddenly feeling like something I’d really liketo do.

“Rules are rules,” Pierced says.

“What do we have to do?” Buff says, trying toplacate Pierced. He can probably see the violence all over my face.I got him in hot water with my temper once today—he won’t let me doit again.

Pierced flicks a look at Buff. “Wise choice,kid. If one of you bets in the next hand, then you’ll havefulfilled your obligation to the table.”

I look at Buff—he looks back at me. It’ll bemore winnings lost, but worth it to avoid a fight. “Deal,” Isay.

The hand plays out with us waiting on thesidelines. Long-Face wins a small pot; it’s almost as if no one wasreally trying. Last hand. Ante plus one of us betting and it’sover. My deal. I blend the cards, slide them to Pierced to blendsome more, and then hand them out facedown, two to each player.

When I look at my cards I feel a swirl ofexhilaration in my chest. Impossible. The chances of what’s justhappened have to be close to zero. For the second time in fivehands I’ve come up with twin boulders.

Chapter Five

I stare at my cards,half-expecting them to morph into something more normal, like abear claw and a stick, or a medium stone and a crown. Anything butwhat I’ve got. But the boulders remain, two big old rough eyesstaring right back at me. Maybe my prayer to the Heart of theMountain worked more than I thought.

“Your bet,” Pierced says.

My head snaps up, where everyone’s watchingme. I dealt, so I should be betting last, not first. But then Inotice: there’s a heaping pile of silver already in the center.Everyone’s already bet, and by the looks of it, they’ve bet big.“Sorry, I missed the bets,” I say, feeling stupid andamateurish.