Part 18 (1/2)

”Now comes the last stage of the affair,” she went on, with a sage little shake of the head. ”How long ago is it since Lablache proposed to you? But there, you need not tell me. It was a little less than a year ago--wasn't it?”

Her companion nodded her head. She wondered how ”Aunt” Margaret had guessed it. She had never told a soul herself. The shrewd little old lady was filling her with wonder. The careful manner in which she had pieced facts together and argued them out with herself revealed to her a cleverness and observation she would never, in spite of the kindly soul's counsels, have given her credit for.

”Yes, I knew I was right,” said Mrs. Abbot, complacently. ”Just about the time when Lablache began seriously to play poker--about the time when his phenomenal luck set in, to the detriment of your uncle. Yes, I am well posted,” as the girl raised her eyebrows in surprise. ”The doctor tells me a great deal--especially about your uncle, dear. I always like to know what is going on. And now to bring my long explanation to an end. Don't you see how Lablache intends to marry you?

Your uncle's losses this winter have been so terribly heavy--and all to Lablache. Lablache holds the whip hand of him. A request from Lablache becomes a command--or the crash.”

”But how about the Doc,” asked Jacky, quickly. ”He plays with them--mostly?”

Mrs. Abbot shrugged her shoulders.

”The doctor can take care of himself. He's cautious, and besides--Lablache has no wish to win his money.”

”But surely he must lose? Say, auntie, dear, it's not possible to play against Lablache's luck without losing--some.”

”Well, dear, I can't say I know much of the game,” with some perplexity, ”but the doctor a.s.sures me that Lablache never hits him hard. Often and often when the 'pot' rests between them Lablache will throw down his hand--which goes to show that he does not want to take his money.”

”An' I reckon goes to show that he's bucking dead against Uncle John, only. Yes, I see.”

The little gray head again bent over the darning, which had lain almost untouched in her lap during her long recital. Now she resolutely drew the darning yarn through the soft wool of the sock and re-inserted the needle. The girl beside her bent an eager face before her, and, resting her chin upon her hands, propped her elbows on her knees.

”Yes, auntie, I know,” Jacky went on thoughtfully. ”Lablache means to put this marriage with me right through. I see it all. But say,”

bringing one of her brown hands down forcibly upon that of her companion, which was concealed in the foot of the woolen sock, and gripping it with nervous strength, ”I guess he's reckoned without his bride. I'm not going to marry Lablache, auntie, dear, and you can bet your bottom dollar I'm not going to let him ruin uncle. All I want to do is to stop uncle drinking. That is what scares me most.”

”My child, Lablache is the cause of that. The same as he is the cause of all troubles in Foss River. Your uncle realizes the consequences of the terrible losses he has incurred. He knows, only too well, that he is utterly in the money-lender's power. He knows he must go on playing, vainly endeavoring to recover himself, and with each fresh loss he drinks deeper to smother his fears and conscience. It is the result of the weakness of his nature--a weakness which I have always known would sooner or later lead to his undoing. Jacky, girl, I fear you will one day have to marry Lablache or your uncle's ruin will be certainly accomplished.”

Mrs. Abbot's face was very serious now. She pitied from the bottom of her heart this motherless girl who had come to her, in spite of her courage and almost mannish independence, for that sympathy and advice which, at certain moments, the strongest woman cannot do without. She knew that all she had said was right, and even if her story could do no material good it would at least have the effect of putting the girl on her guard. In spite of her shrewdness Mrs. Abbot could never quite fathom her _protegee_. And even now, as she gazed into the girl's face, she was wondering how--in what manner--the narration of her own observations would influence the other's future actions. The thick blood of the half-breed slowly rose into Jacky's face, until the dark skin was suffused with a heavy, pa.s.sionate flush. Slowly, too, the somber eyes lit--glowed--until the dazzling fire of anger shone in their depths.

Then she spoke; not pa.s.sionately, but with a hard, cruel delivery which sent a s.h.i.+ver thrilling through her companion's body and left her shuddering.

”'Aunt' Margaret, I swear by all that's holy that I'll never marry that sc.u.m. Say, I'd rather follow a round-up camp and share a greaser's blankets than wear all the diamonds Lablache could buy. An' as for uncle; say, the day that sees him ruined'll see Lablache's filthy brains spoiling G.o.d's pure air.”

”Child, child,” replied the old lady, in alarm, ”don't take oaths, the rashness--the folly of which you cannot comprehend. For goodness' sake don't entertain such wicked thoughts. Lablache is a villain, but--”

She broke off and turned towards the door, which, at that moment, opened to admit the genial doctor.

”Ah,” she went on, with a sudden change of manner back to that of her usual cheerful self, ”I thought you men were going to make a night of it. Jacky came to share my solitude.”

”Good evening, Jacky,” said the doctor. ”Yes, we were going to make a night of it, Margaret. Your summons broke up the party, and for John's sake--” He checked himself, and glanced curiously at the recurrent form of the girl, who was now lounging back in her chair gazing into the stove. ”What did you want me for?”

Jacky rose abruptly from her seat and picked up her hat.

”'Aunt' Margaret didn't really want you, Doc. It was I who asked her to send for you. I want to see uncle.”

”Ah!”

The doctor permitted himself the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

”Good-night, you two dear people,” the girl went on, with a forced attempt at cheerfulness. ”I guess uncle'll be home by now, so I'll be off.”

”Yes, he left the saloon with me,” said Doctor Abbot, shaking hands and walking towards the door. ”You'll just about catch him.”