CHAPTER III
A BIG GAME OF POKER
"What about cards?" said Lablache, as the four men sat down to thetable.
"Doc will oblige, no doubt," Bunning-Ford replied quietly. "He generallycarries the 'pernicious pasteboards' about with him."
"The man who travels in the West without them," said Dr. Abbot,producing a couple of new packs from his pocket, "either does not knowhis country or is a victim of superstition."
No one seemed inclined to refuse the doctor's statement, or enter into adiscussion upon the matter. Instead, each drew out a small memorandumblock and pencil--a sure indication of a "big game."
"Limit?" asked the doctor.
Lablache shrugged his shoulders, affectionately shuffling the cards thewhile. He kept his eyes averted.
"What do the others say?"
There was a challenge in Lablache's tone. Bunning-Ford flushed slightlyat the cheek-bones. That peculiar pursing was at his lips.
"Anything goes with me. The higher the game the greater the excitement,"he said, shooting a keen glance at the pasty face of the money-lender.
Old John was irritated. His ruddy face gleamed in the light of the lamp.The nervous twitching of the cheek indicated his frame of mind. Lablachesmiled to himself behind the wood expression of his face.
"Twenty dollars call for fifty. Limit the bet to three thousanddollars. Is that big enough for you, Lablache? Let us have a regulation'ante.' No 'straddling.'"
There was a moment's silence. "Poker" John had proposed the biggest gamethey had yet played. He would have suggested no limit, but this he knewwould be all in favor of Lablache, whose resources were vast.
John glanced over from the money-lender to the doctor. The doctor andBunning-Ford were the most to be considered. Their resources were verylimited. The old man knew that the doctor was one of those carefulplayers who was not likely to allow himself to suffer by the height ofthe stakes. There was no bluffing the doctor. "Lord" Bill was able totake care of himself.
"That's good enough for me," said Bunning-Ford. "Let it go at that."
Outwardly Lablache was indifferent; inwardly he experienced a sense ofsupreme satisfaction at the height of the stakes.
The four men relapsed into silence as they cut for the deal. It was aneducation in the game to observe each man as he, metaphoricallyspeaking, donned his mask of impassive reserve. As the game progressedany one of those four men might have been a graven image as far as theexpression of countenance went. No word was spoken beyond "Raise you soand so"--"See you that." So keen, so ardent was the game that the stakemight have been one of life and death. No money passed. Just slips ofpaper; and yet any one of those fragments represented a small fortune.
The first few hands resulted in but desultory betting. Sums of moneychanged hands but there was very little in it. Lablache was theprincipal loser. Three "pots" in succession were taken by JohnAllandale, but their aggregate did not amount to half the limit. Alittle luck fell to Bunning-Ford. He once raised Lablache to the limit.The money-lender "saw" him and lost. Bill promptly scooped in threethousand dollars. The doctor was cautious. He had lost and won nothing.Then a change came over the game. To use a card-player's expression, thecards were beginning to "run."
"Lord" Bill dealt. Lablache was upon his right and next to him thedoctor.
The money-lender picked up his cards, and partially opening them glancedkeenly at the index numerals. His stolid face remained unchanged. Thedoctor glanced at his and "came in." "Poker" John "came in." The dealerremained out. The doctor drew two cards; "Poker" John, one; Lablachedrew one. The veteran rancher held four nines. "Lord" Bill gathered upthe "deadwood," and, propping his face upon his hands, watched thebetting.
It was the doctor's bet; he cautiously dropped out. He had an inkling ofthe way things were going. "Poker" John opened the ball with fivehundred dollars. He had a good thing and he did not want to frighten hisopponent by a plunge. He would leave it to Lablache to start raising.The money-lender raised him one thousand. Old John sniffed with theappreciation of an old war-horse at the scent of battle. The nervous,twitching cheek remained unmoved. The old gambler in him rose uppermost.
He leisurely saw the thousand, and raised another five hundred. Lablacheallowed his fishy eyes to flash in the direction of his opponent. Amoment after he raised another thousand. The gamble was becominginteresting. The two onlookers were consumed with the lust of play. Theyforgot that in the result they would not be participants. Old John'sface lost something of its impassivity as he in turn raised to thelimit. Lablache eased his great body in his chair. His little mouth wasvery tightly clenched. His breathing, at times stertorous, was like thebreathing of an asthmatical pig. He saw, and again raised to the limit.There was now over twelve thousand dollars in the pool.
It was old John's turn. The doctor and "Lord" Bill waited anxiously. Theold rancher was reputed very wealthy. They felt assured that he wouldnot back down after having gone so far. In their hearts they both wishedto see him relieve Lablache of a lot of money.
They need have had no fears. Whatever his faults "Poker" John was a"dead game sport." He dashed a slip of paper into the pool. The keeneyes watching read "four thousand dollars" scrawled upon it. He hadagain raised to the limit. It was now Lablache's turn to accept orrefuse the challenge. The onlookers were not so sure of themoney-lender. Would he accept or not?
A curious thought was in the mind of that monument of flesh. He knew forcertain that he held the winning cards. How he knew it would beimpossible to say. And yet he hesitated. Perhaps he knew the limits ofJohn Allandale's resources, perhaps he felt, for the present, there wassufficient in the pool; perhaps, even, he had ulterior motives. Whateverthe cause, as he passed a slip of paper into the pool merely seeing hisopponent, his face gave no outward sign of what was passing in the brainbehind it.
Old John laid down his hand.
"Four nines," he said quietly.
"Not good enough," retorted Lablache; "four kings." And he spread hiscards out upon the table before him and swept up the pile of paperswhich represented his win.
A sigh, as of relief to pent-up feelings, escaped the two men who hadwatched the gamble. Old John said not a word and his face betrayed nothought or regret that might have been in his mind at the loss of such alarge amount of money. He merely glanced over at the money-lender.
"Your deal, Lablache," he said quietly.
Lablache took the cards and a fresh deal went round. Now the game becameone-sided. With that one large pull the money-lender's luck seemed tohave set in. Seemingly he could do no wrong. If he drew to "three of akind," he invariably filled; if to a "pair," he generally secured athird; once, indeed, he drew to jack, queen, king of a suit andcompleted a "royal flush." His luck was phenomenal. The other men'sluck seemed "dead out." Bunning-Ford and the doctor could get no handsat all, and thus they were saved heavy losses. Occasionally, even, thedoctor raked in a few "antes." But John Allandale could do nothingright. He was always drawing tolerable cards--just good enough to losewith. Until, by the time daylight came, he had lost so heavily that histwo friends were eagerly seeking an excuse to break up the game.
At last "Lord" Bill effected this purpose, but at considerable loss tohimself. He had a fairly good hand, but not, as he knew, sufficientlygood to win with. Lablache and he were left in. The money-lender had inone plunge raised the bet to the "limit." Bill knew that he ought todrop out, but, instead of so doing, he saw his opponent. He lost the"pot."
"Thank you, gentlemen," he said, quietly rising from the table, "mylosses are sufficient for one night. I have finished. It is daylight andthe storm is 'letting up' somewhat."
He turned as he spoke, and, glancing at the staircase, saw Jackystanding at the top of it. How long she had been standing there he didnot know. He felt certain, although she gave no sign, that she had heardwhat he had just said.
"Poker" John saw her too.
"Why, Jacky, what means this early rising?" said the old man kindly."Too tired l
ast night to sleep?"
"No, uncle. Guess I slept all right. The wind's dropping fast. I take itit'll be blowing great guns again before long. This is our chance tomake the ranch." She had been an observer of the finish of the game. Shehad heard Bill's remarks on his loss, and yet not by a single word didshe betray her knowledge. Inwardly she railed at herself for having goneto bed. She wondered how it had fared with her uncle.
Bunning-Ford left the room. Somehow he felt that he must get away fromthe steady gaze of those gray eyes. He knew how Jacky dreaded, for heruncle's sake, the game they had just been playing. He wondered, as hewent to test the weather, what she would have thought had she known thestakes, or the extent of her uncle's losses. He hoped she was not awareof these facts.
"You look tired, Uncle John," said the girl, solicitously, as she camedown the stairs. She purposely ignored Lablache. "Have you had nosleep?"
"Poker" John laughed a little uneasily.
"Sleep, child? We old birds of the prairie can do with very little ofthat. It's only pretty faces that want sleep, and I'm thinking you oughtstill to be in your bed."
"Miss Jacky is ever on the alert to take advantage of the elements," putin Lablache, heavily. "She seems to understand these things better thanany of us."
The girl was forced to notice the money-lender. She did so reluctantly,however.
"So you, too, sought shelter from the storm beneath old man Norton'shospitable roof. You are dead right, Mr. Lablache; we who live on theprairie need to be ever on the alert. One never knows what each hour maybring forth."
The girl was still in her ball-dress. Lablache's fishy eyes noticed hercharming appearance. The strong, beautiful face sent a thrill of delightover him as he watched it--the delicate rounded shoulders made him suckin his heavy breath like one who anticipates a delicate dish. Jackyturned from him in plainly-expressed disgust.
Her uncle was watching her with a gaze half uneasy and wholly tender.She was the delight of his old age, the center of all his affections,this motherless child of his dead brother. His cheek twitched painfullyas he thought of the huge amount of his losings to Lablache. He shiveredperceptibly as he rose from his seat and went over to the cooking stove.
"I believe you people have let the stove out," the girl exclaimed, asshe noted her uncle's movement. She had no intention of mentioning thegame they had been playing. She feared to hear the facts. Instinct toldher that her uncle had lost again. "Yes, I declare you have," as sheknelt before the grate and raked away at the ashes.
Suddenly she turned to the money-lender.
"Here, you, fetch me some wood and coal-oil. Men can never be trusted."
Jacky was no respecter of persons. When she ordered there were few menon the prairie who would refuse to obey. Lablache heaved his great bulkfrom before the table and got on to his feet. His bilious eyes werestruggling to smile. The effect was horrible. Then he moved across theroom to where a stack of kindling stood.
"Hurry up. I guess if we depended much on you we'd freeze."
And Lablache, the hardest, most unscrupulous man for miles around,endeavored to obey with the alacrity of any sheep-dog.
In spite of himself John Allandale could not refrain from smiling at thegrotesque picture the monumental Lablache made as he lumbered towardsthe stack of kindling.
When "Lord" Bill returned Lablache was bending over the stove beside thegirl.
"I've thrown the harness on the horses--watered and fed 'em," he said,taking in the situation at a glance. "Say, Doc," turning to Abbot,"better rouse your good lady."
"She'll be down in a tick," said Jacky, over her shoulder. "Here,doctor, you might get a kettle of water--and Bill, see if you can findsome bacon or stuff. And you, uncle, came and sit by the stove--you'recold."
Strange is the power and fascination of woman. A look--a glance--asimple word and we men hasten to minister to her requirements. Half anhour ago and all these men were playing for fortunes--dealing inthousands of dollars on the turn of a card, the passion for besting hisneighbor uppermost in each man's mind. Now they were humbly doing onegirl's bidding with a zest unsurpassed by the devotion to their recentgamble.
She treated them indiscriminately. Old or young, there was nodifference. Bunning-Ford she liked--Dr. Abbot she liked--Lablache shehated and despised, still she allotted them their tasks with perfectimpartiality. Only her old uncle she treated differently. That dear,degenerate old man she loved with an affection which knew no bounds. Hewas her all in the world. Whatever his sins--whatever his faults, sheloved him.
The Story of the Foss River Ranch: A Tale of the Northwest Page 3
