CHAPTER V
SPOLIA OPIMA
Dunwody remained seated at the table, carelessly shuffling thecards between his fingers. Once in a while he cast an amusedglance toward Carlisle, and at last remarked, as though continuingan arrested thought:
"Amanuensis, is she?" He chuckled. The other ventured no reply.
"My dear sir, at your age, I congratulate you! The choice of anamanuensis is one very important for a public man, not less so, Iimagine, for a military man. Consider the need--"
"I think that will do, my dear Dunwody," rejoined Carlisle atlength, the hot blood in his face. "Frankly, this conversation isunwelcome to me."
"I'll tell you what I'll do with you," exclaimed the Missouriansuddenly. "I'll bet you every cent in this pile of my winningshere that that young lady isn't your amanuensis, and never hasbeen. I'll bet its like that she is no relative of yours. I'llbet it all over again that she is the most beautiful woman thatever set foot on a boat on this river, or ever set foot on anyland. Moreover, I'll bet again--"
"You might win a certain share of these wagers," smiled the youngofficer, willing to pass by a possible argument. "Moreover, I amquite willing to discuss arrangements for changing the term ofservitude of this young lady. I've been doing a little thinkingabout one or two matters since this morning."
"What!"
"Quite right. I wouldn't care to restrain her in any way, if shecared to travel in other company. Our work is well advanced towardcompletion, as it is."
"Yet you came here with her? Then what--?"
"Never mind what the relation may have been, my dear fellow. Itirks me now. Especially does this sort of conversation irk me,because it is not fair to the young lady herself."
Dunwody drew in his breath with a strong sigh. He sat up straightin his chair, then rested an arm on the table, as he leaned forwardtoward the other. "A young lady has had a poor protector who wouldnot protect her name. Of course!"
"In any case," smiled Carlisle, forcing the frown away from hisface, "my fortunes need mending now. Do you think I could continuea journey down the river in company so strong at cards as yours?At a later time, if you like, I will endeavor to get my revenge."
"Suppose you have it now," said Dunwody calmly. "Haven't you justheard me say I haven't the means?"
"You have as much as I have."
"Tut! tut! I don't borrow to play cards."
"You do not need to borrow. I say, your stake equals mine, and wewill play at evens, too. Come, deal one hand, poker between two,and to the hilt."
The other man looked at him and gazed at the heaped pile of coinsand notes which lay before him. He himself was no pale-bloodedopponent, nor usually disposed to slight the opportunities of thegame. "I don't understand," said he finally. "Certainly I am notwilling to pledge my land and 'niggers,' like our friend fromBelmont here. Perhaps my fall has been hard enough not to tempt meto go on with my sort of luck. Suppose I decline!"
"You don't understand me," said Dunwody, looking him fair in theface. "I said that your stake can easily be equal with this on thetable. I'll play you just two out of three jack-pots between thetwo of us. You see my stake."
"But mine?"
"You can make it even by writing one name--and correctly--here on apiece of paper. Full value--yes, ten times as much as mine! Youare giving odds, man!"
"I don't understand you."
"You don't want to understand me. Come, now. You, as an army man,ought to know something of the history of poker in these UnitedStates. Listen, my friend. Do you recall a certain game played bya man higher in authority--younger than he is to-day--a game playedupon a snowbound train in the North country? Do you remember whatthe stakes were--then? Do you recall that that man later became apresident of the United States? Come. There is fine precedent forour little enterprise."
The swift flush on the face of the other man made his answer.Dunwody went on mercilessly:
"He played then much as you do now. There was against him then, asthere is now against you, a man who admired not so much just onewoman in all the world as, let us say, one particular woman thenand there present. Perhaps you remember his name--Mr. Parish--laterennobled by the German government and long known as a land baron inNew York. Come! Think of it! Picture that snowbound train, thatgreat citizen, and Parish, playing and playing, until at last itcame to the question of a woman--not so beautiful as this one here,but in her own way shrewd, _the same sort of woman_, I mightsay--mysterious, beautiful, and--no, don't protest, and I'll notdescribe. You remember very well her name. It was pleasantproperty not so long ago for everybody. They played for the _love_,not for the hand, of that woman. Parish won her. Do you remembernow?"
The younger man sat looking at him silently, his face now grownquite pale. "I am unwilling, sir, to allow any man to mention suchdetails regarding the past life of my commander-in-chief, apresident of the United States. It is not seemly. My professionshould free me, by its very nature, from conversation such as this.My errand should free me. My place as a gentleman should free me,and her, from such discussion. It must, it shall, sir!"
"Forgive me," said Dunwody, coloring. "Your rebuke is just. I askyour pardon freely; but remember, what I say here is between ustwo, and no one else. Why deny yourself the luxury of rememberingsuch a game as that? It was a man's game, and well worth theplaying. Your former head of the army, at least, lost; and hepaid. The other won. All Ogdensburg can tell you about thatto-day. They lived there--together--Parish and the woman, till hewent abroad. Yes, and she was a prisoner there not simply for ashort time; she lived and died there. Whatever Parish did, whoeverhe was, he never loved any other woman as he did that one. And bythe Lord! when it comes to that, no other woman in that town everwas loved more than she by everybody. Odd creatures, women, eh?Who can find them out? Who can weigh them, who can plumb theirsouls? But, my God! who can do without them?"
Carlisle made no answer, and Dunwody went on. "She had politicalintrigues back of her, just as this woman here has, for all I know.But one lost in that game, and the other, won. I've often wonderedabout that particular game of cards, my friend,--whether after allshe loved the man who won her, right or wrong,--what became ofher,--who she was? But now, tell me, was not our drunken friendright? Has human nature changed since Rome? And has not theconqueror always ruled? Have not the _spolia opima_, the rarestprizes, always been his?"
Carlisle only sat silent, looking at him, pale now, and rigid. Hestill made no comment.
"So now I say," went on Dunwody, "here is that same situation,twice in one lifetime! It's ominous, for somebody. There istrouble in the air, for some or all of us. But I say I offer youfair play, even, man to man. I ask no questions. I will not takeany answers, any more than those two would have allowed any, thatday on the train there, when they played, ten years or more ago.That was a foreign woman. So is this, I think. She is the mostbeautiful woman I have ever seen. I have looked her in the face.I shall never see such another face again. Man, I'm mad over her.And you've just said you'd loose your hold on her, whatever itis--for her sake. By God! once my hold was on her, she nevershould get away--again."
"What do you propose?" asked the other hoarsely.
"I propose only to offer you that same game over again!" repliedDunwody. "Man, what an uncanny thing this is! But, remember onething,--no matter what comes, I shall never mention our meetinghere. I am not your keeper."
"Sir," broke out the other, "you embarrass me unspeakably. You donot know the circumstances. I can not tell--"
"Pardon me, I make no taunts, and I have said I tell no tales. Butmy word of honor, man,--I will play you,--two out of three, tosee--who takes her." His voice was low, tense, savage.
The younger man sat back in his chair. One knowing his tempestuousnature might have expected anger, consternation, resentment, toremain on his face. On the contrary, a sudden light seemed to comeinto his countenance. Suddenly he stif
led a smile! He passed ahand across his brow, as though to assure himself. It was not somuch confidence or resolution as half deliberation which shone inhis eye as he cast a glance upon the heap of money on the oppositeside of the table. Yet no sordid thought, no avarice was in hisgaze. It was the look of the fanatic, the knight errant, resolvedupon deed of risk or sacrifice for sake of a woman's wish; but withit was the amusement of a man who foresaw that difficulties layahead of him who essayed the role of jailer to Josephine, CountessSt. Auban. What now passed across his countenance, little bylittle, therefore, was relief, relaxation from a strain, a solutionof some doubtful problem. In brief, there seemed offered to himnow the opportunity to terminate an errand which suddenly had growndistasteful to him and dangerous both to him and to his charge. Atone stroke he might secure for himself riddance of the company ofan embarrassing companion who already had served notice of herintention to desert him; and might also keep silent this man, whomshe had asked for aid. As for him, she would take his measurequickly enough if he presumed in any way. Would not the purpose ofhis journey have been accomplished, might not he himself return tohis work, would not each of these three have been served to his orher own liking, should now the suggestion of this eager man beaccepted? If he won at the cards, why then--if he lost--but thathe resolved not to do! The greatest misfortune possible, to hisperplexed soul, was that the cards should not be against him. Ashe reflected upon these things, he hesitated. It was but to gaintime.
"Senator Dunwody," said he, at length, "you and I are fromdifferent parts of the country--from two different worlds, youmight say. You believe in slavery and the extension of it--Ibelieve in just the reverse. I would sacrifice my professionalfuture, if need were, in that belief." The other nodded, but hiseyes did not waver.
"Very good! Now, I want to say to you this much. The young ladywho has been with me is dangerous. She is an abolitionist of thestrictest sect. She is very likely an European revolutionist,among other things. She is dangerous as such. I think I can saythis much, and break no pledge of confidence."
"That isn't how she is dangerous to me. But is that the crime forwhich you transport her for life?" smiled the other. His shot cameso close that his companion raised a hand.
"I don't deny, don't explain, don't argue," he retorted curtly. "Ionly say that I shall be willing to part with her services and turnher over to your own care, if you _both_ so like. We know she hasappealed to you for aid. My own errand, if you please, is near toits close. It has been--"
"Cut the cards, man!" cried the Missourian. It was lucky that heinterrupted. He was just in time to prevent the other from makingthe mistake of saying what was the truth--that he was in any caseabout to leave the young lady to her own devices, and by her ownrequest. The game which he most valued now was not on the tablebefore him. He was playing it in his own mind. In short, duty orno duty, he was resolved to end the role of jailer and prisoner,for sake of the prisoner herself. Let others attempt theunpleasant task if they liked. Let others condemn if they liked.He, Carlisle, could be jailer no longer. Yet he deliberated wellthe risk he ran.
"It would be ruin to me if this were known, Senator Dunwody, and ofthat you are perfectly aware."'
"I know that as well as you, but there can be honor even inpolitics, war, or--love. I have given you my word. Deal!"
"You are impatient. You rejoice as a strong man to run a race, mydear sir."
"I _do_ run a race. I _am_ strong. Play! It is in the cards thatI must win."
"But if you should lose?"
"I shall not lose!"
His insistence, his confidence, almost caused the older man tolaugh. "No, my friend," said he to himself, "you shall not lose!"But what he said aloud was, "You must not be excited, Dunwody. Youmay need all your nerve. I thought you cooler in times of stress."
"You don't know me. I don't know myself. Perhaps it is ice inyour blood--I don't know,--it's fire in mine."
"Very well,--I hope you like the cards I have given you." Butthere was no ice in the red flush on Carlisle's sanguine face,
"Give me four more," cried the Missourian, flinging down his owncards with hands that trembled.
"Quite right, sir, you shall have them. But how you tremble! Iwouldn't have so poor a nerve as yours for all the money in theworld, my dear Senator. You act as though there were four hundredacres of niggers at stake, as Mr. Jones would say!"
"Go on! You don't know what there is at stake."
"So, now. You have your four cards. For myself--though you are soexcited you wouldn't notice it if I did not call your attention toit--I take but three. You are an infant, man. See that you be notdelivered into the hands of the enemy."
They looked now each into his renewed hand of five cards. Dunwodyswept a stack of money toward the center of the table. "A thousanddollars against one look from her eye!"
"My dear sir," rejoined the other calmly, "you are raised to theextent of two glances--one from each eye."
"Another thousand for the touch of her glove."
"I come back. You shall have a pair."
"A thousand more to hear the sound of her step--another thousandfor one smile!"
Carlisle's voice trembled, but he forced himself under control."My dear sir, you shall have all you wish! I am sure if she couldsee you now she herself would be disposed to smile. You do not yetunderstand that woman. But now, suppose that the betting has gonefar enough? What cards have you? For myself, I discover that Ihave drawn four kings. I trust that you have four aces of yourown."
There was sincerity in this wish, but Dunwody answered gloomily:"You gave me three tens and a pair of fives, with what I held. Youhave won the first round."
He dashed a hand, and cleared the square of matted hair from hisforehead, which now was beaded. Red, florid, full-blooded, balkedin his eagerness, he looked as savage as some denizen of theancient forest, in pursuit as reckless, as ill-suited withill-fortune.
"My deal," said he, at length, in a voice half a growl. And later,"How many?"
"I shall, if you please, require but one card," was the quietanswer. Dunwody himself required two. They sat narrowly eyingeach other, although there was in this close duel small advantagefor either except in the run of the cards themselves.
"It is perhaps needless for us to waste time, since I can notdivide my stakes," smiled the younger gentleman.
Again with a half growl, Dunwody threw down his cards, face upward.His teeth were clenched, all his muscles set, all his attitudestrained, tense.
"You have won, my dear Senator! I failed to improve my four cards,which, it is true, were of one color, but which I regret to saystill remain of the one color and of no better company!"
"It is even!" exclaimed Dunwody. "Come!"
The cards went around once more, and once more the officer askedfor a single card. Once again he lost.
Dunwody drew back with a deep sigh. "Look!" he said, "of my threecards, two were what I wanted--aces, aces, man!--four of them! Byevery token, I have won. It's fate!"
The face of his opponent was a study. His eyebrows went up inpleasant expostulation at the other's eagerness. "So, then," saidhe, "I suppose I must pay my stake, much to my regret. Ah! howfortune has run against me to-day. And so, here it is,--I writeher name for you once more--this time her real name, so far as anyin America know it--thus,--Josephine, Countess St. Auban, ofFrance, of Hungary, of America, abolitionist, visionary, firebrand.There, then,--though I think you will find the matter of takingpossession somewhat difficult to compass--so far as I am concerned,she is, with all my heart, yours to have and to hold, _if you can_!My duty to her is over. Yours begins, I hope!"
Dunwody found no speech. He was pale, and breathing fast.
Gravity increased in the other's demeanor. His face now lookeddrawn, weary. "I beg, my dear sir," he said, "nay, I entreat andcommand you, to make all gentle and kind use of this which the godshave given you. I confess nothing whatever, exce
pt that I amhungry and tired to extinction. I congratulate the winner, andconsider myself fortunate to be allowed to go in peace to my ownplace--penniless, it is true, but at least with a conscience quiteclear." The frown on his face, the troubled gaze of his eyes,belied his last words. "It's no part of my conscience to coerce awoman," he added defiantly. "I can't do it--not any longer."
"It is well to be a cheerful loser," returned Dunwody, at last. "Icouldn't blame any man for being coerced by--her! I admit that Iam. But after this, what will be your plans?"
"I purpose leaving the boat at the first suitable stop, not fartherdown than Louisville, at least. Perhaps Cincinnati would be yetbetter. By the fortunes of war you will, therefore, stand in mystead. I've changed my mind, suddenly. I told the young lady thatwe would continue on together, even beyond Cairo. But now--well,to the victor, as Mr. Marcy has said, belong the spoils. Only,there are some titles which may not be negotiated. A quitclaim isby no means a warranty. You'll discover that." He smiled grimly.
The other made no answer. He only stood to his full height andstretched out his great arms. He seemed a figure come downunchanged from some savage day.
The Purchase Price; Or, The Cause of Compromise Page 5
