Wolf Breed

by Jackson Gregory

  CHAPTER IV

  THE LUCK OF NO-LUCK DRENNEN

  Drennen's entrance into the game, informal as it had been, elicited nocomment from the other players. He had made his little stack of silverin front of him, coins of the States. There was other American moneystaked, jingling fraternally against pieces struck in the Canadianmint. Even a few _pesos_ had found their way from Garcia's pockets andwere accepted without challenge.

  For fifteen minutes the game was quiet and slow enough. Then at asmiling suggestion from the Mexican the original bet was doubled. Itwas poker dice now, having begun as razzle dazzle. There were nohorses since horses delayed matters. Beside Drennen and Garcia therewere five other men playing. The Mexican when he suggested doubledstakes was losing. Then his fortunes began to mend. The man acrossthe table from him, cleaned out of his few dollars, got up and went towatch the game of solo. Quite steadily for a little Garcia won. Hesang his fragments of love songs and between throws made eyes atErnestine Dumont. Drennen frowned at him, both for his singing and forhis love making. Garcia continued to win and to sing.

  Drennen lost as steadily as Garcia won. "No-luck" his nicknamewas--"No-luck" the goddess at his elbow to-night. Without speaking,when the dice cup came around to him, he doubled the already doubledstakes. One other man, shaking his head, silently drew out of thegame. The others accepted the challenge as it had been given, insilence. Garcia, with every air of confidence, turned out the highthrow and fingered his winnings smilingly. Drennen's hand sought hispocket.

  "Double again?" he asked bluntly, his hard grey eyes upon the Mexican.

  Ramon Garcia laughed.

  "As you will, senor," he said lightly. And under his breath,musically, his eyes going to the nook by the fireplace, "_Dios_! It issweet to be young and to love!"

  Drennen's hand brought from his pocket a canvas bag heavy with gold.There was a goodly pile of money in front of the Mexican. The stakeswere doubling fast, the two evidently meant business, and when the dicerolled again they were playing alone and a little knot of men waswatching.

  "You shall see," chuckled the dried-up little man from Moosejaw.

  Ernestine Dumont was whispering in Kootanie George's ear. From themesh bag at her wrist she took something, offering it to him eagerly.George stared at her and then shook his head.

  "Keep it," he muttered. "I don't need it."

  He didn't look at the hand which was being dealt him but left his tableand went across the room to where Drennen and Ramon Garcia weresitting, carrying with him the money he had had before him. As he wenthe thrust his big hand down into his pocket and as he slumped heavilyinto a chair opposite Drennen he brought out another canvas bag. Ittoo struck heavily against the table top. Drennen did not look at him.Garcia smiled and nodded brightly, and in turn, dropped to the tablehis purse, heavy like the others and giving forth the musical metallicchink.

  "Ah! But this is pretty!" murmured Pere Marquette, glad at once to seepeace and a game which would interest his guests. "Jules, bring morewine, plenty. Make the fires up, big."

  "How big are you bettin' 'em?" Kootanie George demanded as he emptiedhis canvas bag and piled several hundred dollars in neat yellow stacks.

  Garcia lifted his shoulders, showed his fine white teeth pleasantly andlooked to Drennen.

  "As big as you like," retorted Drennen crisply. And then, lifting hisvoice a little, "Marquette!"

  "Oui, m'sieu." Marquette came quickly to the table.

  "I want some money . . . for this."

  Then Drennen spilled the contents of his bag upon the table and for amoment every man who saw sat or stood riveted to his place, absolutelywithout motion. Then a gasp went up, a gasp of wonder, while here andthere a quick spurt of blood in the face or a brilliant gleam of theeye told of quickened heart beats and the grip of that excitement whichman never lived who could fight down altogether. Drennen had turnedout upon the table top a veritable cascade of nuggets.

  "Gold!"

  The word sped about the room, whispered, booming loudly, creating asudden tense eagerness. Men shoved at one another, craning necks, topeer at the thing which Drennen so coolly had disclosed. Gold!Nuggets that were, in the parlance of the camp, "rotten" with gold.Drennen two weeks ago had left the Settlement with his last cent gonein a meagre grub stake; now he was back and he had made a strike. Astrike such as no man here had ever dropped his pick into in all of theragged years of adventuresome search; a strike which could not be aweek's walk from MacLeod's, a strike which might mean millions to thefirst few who would stake out claims.

  Pere Marquette stared and muttered strange, awestruck French oaths andmade no move to unclasp his hands, lifted before him in an attitudeincongruously like that of prayer. Kootanie George, whom men calledrich and who owned a claim for which two companies were contending,stared and a little pallor crept into his cheeks. Ramon Garcia brokeoff in the midst of his little song softly whispering, "_Jesus Maria_."No-luck Drennen had found gold!

  "Well?" demanded Drennen savagely, swinging about upon Marquette, whowas bending tremulously over him. "Didn't you hear me?"

  "_Mais oui, m'sieu_," Marquette said hastily, his tongue running backand forth between his lips. "But, m'sieu, I have not so much money inthe house."

  The men who had surged about the table dropped back silently and beganspeaking in half whispers, each man after a moment seeking for his"pardner." One of them upon such a quest carried the word across thestreet to the warehouse and the dance came to an end in noisyconfusion. . . . To-night the Settlement was filled to overflowing;to-morrow it would be deserted.

  "Give me what you've got," Drennen commanded, his hand lying very stillby the heap of dull-gleaming rock. "Bring the scales here."

  The scales were brought, and after a mixture of guessing and weighing,Drennen pushed two of the nuggets across the table to Marquette andaccepted minted gold amounting to six hundred dollars.

  "The rest, m'sieu?" offered Marquette. "Shall I put it in the safe foryou?"

  "No, thanks," said Drennen drily, as he put the remainder into hispocket. "I prefer to bank for myself." The brief words, the insult ofthe glance which went with them, whipped a flush into the old man'scheeks. He offered no remark, however, and went back with his scalesto the counter where he was surrounded by men who wanted the "feel" ofthe nuggets in their palms.

  No longer was Ernestine the only woman in the rooms. Flush-cheeked andsparkling eyed, old women and young, alike impressed with the storywhich in its many forms was already going its rounds, came troopingback from the dance. Many hands at once reached out for the twonuggets, tongues clacked incessantly, while old prospectors and younggirls alike ventured their surmises concerning the location of thestrike. It was to be noted that no one had asked the only man who knew.

  No-luck Drennen's luck had come to him. That was the word which againran through the babel of conjectures. And when a man has had the luckwhich had been Drennen's for the years which the North had known him,and that luck changed, the change would be sweeping. Men might followin his wake to a path of gold.

  Meanwhile Dave Drennen played his game of dice in sombre silence. Overand over, losing almost steadily, he named a larger wager and Garciaand Kootanie George met his offer. He bet fifty dollars and lost, ahundred and lost, two hundred on a single cast and lost. In threethrows over half of his money was gone. Three hundred and fiftydollars; he had two hundred and fifty left to him. Twice had theMexican won; once George, taking in the two-hundred dollar bet.George's face was flushed; he had won four hundred dollars at one throwsince the Mexican's two hundred had come to him with Drennen's. Georgehad never played dice like this and the madness of it got into his slowblood and stood glaring out of his eyes.

  "Two hundred fifty," offered Drennen briefly. He shoved the last ofhis pile out on the table. George covered it quickly, his big, squarefingers shaking.

  Garcia smiled at them both, then transferred his smile to his ownmoney. I
n two throws he had won three hundred dollars, in one he hadlost two hundred. He seemed to hesitate a moment; then he sawErnestine Dumont standing upon a deserted card table, her cheeks rosywith excitement, and the sight of her decided him. He sighed, rakedhis money from the table to his pocket and got to his feet, movinggracefully through the crowd with many, "_Dispensame, senor_," and wentto Ernestine's side. Kootanie George did not mark his going. For itwas Kootanie George's throw and two hundred and fifty dollars were tobe won . . . or lost.

  George turned out the cubes and a ripping oath followed them. He hadthrown a pair of deuces. His big fist came down upon the table with acrash. Drennen stared at him a brief moment while the cup was raisedin his hand, contempt unveiled in his eyes. Then he rolled out thedice. Something akin to a sob burst from Kootanie George's lips.Drennen had turned out a "stiff," no pair at all.

  "It's mine!" cried George, his great body half thrown across the tableas he tossed out both arms to sweep in his winnings. "Mine, by God!"

  Ernestine was clapping her hands, her eyes dancing with joy even whilethey were shot through with malice. Drennen's glance went to her, cameback to Kootanie George to rest upon him sneeringly. Then he laughed,that ugly laugh which few men had heard and those few had remembered.

  "Gold!" jeered Drennen. "It's a little pinch of gold, and you go crazyover it! You are a fool."

  "It's mine!" cried George again. He had won only a little over sixhundred dollars and he could have afforded to have lost as much. Buthe was in the grip of the passion of the game.

  "You've got about a thousand dollars there," said Drennen eyeing thejumble of coins in front of the big Canadian. He jerked the old canvasbag out of his pocket and let it fall heavily to the table. "One throwfor the whole thing, mine against yours."

  Kootanie George knew gold when he saw it and now he knew that there wasnearer two thousand than one in that bag. He gripped the dice box,glared at Drennen angrily, hesitated, then with a sudden gesture turnedout the dice.

  He had cursed before when he had made his throw; now he just slumpedforward a little in his chair, his jaw dropping, the color dribblingout of his cheeks, finding all words inadequate. He had thrown twodeuces again. Again Drennen looked at him contemptuously. AgainGeorge heard his ugly laugh. Drennen threw his dice carelessly. Andupon the table, between the canvas bag and the glitter of minted gold,there stared up into George's face five fives.

  "Damn you," cried the Canadian hoarsely, his fingers hooked andstanding apart like claws as he half rose from his chair. "Damn you!"

  His nerves were strung high and tense and the words came from himinvoluntarily. They were the clean words of rage at which no man inthe world could take offence unless he sought a quarrel. And yetDrennen, as he moved forward a little to draw his winnings toward him,thrust his face close up to Kootanie George's and said crisply:

  "Say that again and I'll slap your face!"

  "Damn you!" shouted George.

  And with the words came the blow, Drennen's open palm hard againstGeorge's cheek.

  "And now George will kill him!" cried Ernestine through her set teeth.