When Holloway holds the cards . . .
THE DEALER ALWAYS WINS
Holloway turned his head to glance back at the girl. He felt a blow to the back of the head that turned his knees to rubber and all but brought him down.
“Eyes front, you dirty-thinkin’ Yankee dude,” a coarse voice penetrated his brain. “Our wimmin ain’t to be ogled by the likes of you.”
Somebody chuckled. He thought it sounded like Carver. The tall doors of the big lodge loomed. They swung wide and a man as big as any Holloway had ever seen came striding out and barked;
“Is this him?”
It finally began to sink into the Dealer’s mind that he just might not get out of this alive.