Part 45 (1/2)
”We are not likely to be interrupted,” he said wheezily, ”but it never does to chance anything. Shall we cover the window? A light in this room is unusual--”
”Yes, let us cover it.” ”Poker” John chafed at the delay. ”No one is likely to come this way, though.”
Lablache looked about for something which would answer his purpose.
There was nothing handy. He drew out his great bandanna and tried it. It exactly covered the window. So he secured it. It would serve to darken the light to any one who might chance to be within sight of the shed. He returned to his seat. He bulged over it as he sat down, and its legs creaked ominously.
”I have brought three packs of cards,” he said, laying them upon the table.
”So have I.”
”Poker” John looked directly into the other's bilious eyes.
”Ah--then we have six packs.”
”Yes--six.”
”Whose shall we--” Lablache began.
”We'll cut for it. Ace low. Low wins.”
The money-lender smiled at the rancher's eagerness. The two men cut in silence. Lablache cut a ”three”; ”Poker” John, a ”queen.”
”We will use your cards, John.” The money-lender's face expressed an unctuous benignity.
The rancher was surprised, and his tell-tale cheek twitched uncomfortably.
”For deal,” said Lablache, stripping one of John's packs and pa.s.sing it to his companion. The rancher shuffled and cut--Lablache cut. The deal went to the latter.
”We want something to score on,” the money-lender said. ”My memorandum pad--”
”We'll have nothing on the table, please.” John had been warned.
Lablache shrugged and smiled. He seemed to imply that the precaution was unnecessary. ”Poker” John was in desperate earnest.
”A piece of chalk--on the wall.” The rancher produced the chalk and set it on the floor close by the wall and returned to his seat.
Lablache shuffled clumsily. His fingers seemed too gross to handle cards. And yet he could shuffle well, and his fingers were, in reality, most sensitive. John Allandale looked on eagerly. The money-lender, contrary to his custom, dealt swiftly--so swiftly that the bleared eyes of his opponent could not follow his movements.
Both men picked up their cards. The old instincts of poker were not so p.r.o.nounced in the rancher as they used to be. Doubtless the game he was now playing did not need such mask-like impa.s.sivity of expression as an ordinary game would. After all, the pot opened, it merely became a question of who held the best hand. There would be no betting. John's eyes lighted up as he glanced at the index numerals. He held two ”Jacks.”
”Can you?” Lablache's husky voice rasped in the stillness.
”Yes.”
The dealer eyed his opponent for a second. His face was that of a graven image.
”How many?”
”Three.”
The money-lender pa.s.sed three cards across the table. Then he discarded two cards from his own hand and drew two more.
”What have you got?” he asked, with a grim pursing of his sagging lips.