Part 5 (1/2)

It was black. The dealer paid out a hundred dollars to the new player, who quickly disappeared in the crowd.

Dave had made his decision. It was plain his companion's tip was straight. There was just one way to beat this game, but it was simple enough when you knew how. He sidled close to the table, making great pretense of indifference, but watching the cards closely with his keen black eyes. The dealer showed his hand, made a few quick pa.s.ses, and the black card flew out to the right. This was Dave's chance. He pounced on it with his left hand, while his other plunged into his pocket.

”Sixty dollars on this one,” he cried, and there was the triumphant note in his voice of the man who knows he has beaten the other at his own game.

”You ain't playin',” said the dealer. ”You ain't in on this.”

”That don't go,” said Dave, very quietly. ”You're playin' a public game here, an' I choose to play with you, this once. Sixty dollars on this card.” He was fumbling his money on the table.

”You ain't playin',” repeated the dealer. ”You're a b.u.t.t-in. You ain't in this game at all.”

”Sure he's in,” said the crowd.

”Sure he's in,” repeated the big fellow who had interfered before.

”He's a stranger here, but you play with him or you don't play no more in this joint, see?”

”That's. .h.i.ttin' me twice in the same spot, an' hittin' me hard,” whined the dealer, ”but you got it on me. Turn 'er up.”

The card was red.

Dave looked at it stupidly. It was a moment or two before he realized that his money was gone. Then, regardless of those about, he rushed through the crowd, flinging by-standers right and left, and plunged into the night.

He walked down a street until it lost itself on the prairie; then he followed a prairie trail far into the country. The air was cold and a few drops of rain were flying in it, but he was unconscious of the weather. He was in a rage, through and through. More than once his hand went to his revolver, and he half turned on his heel to retrace his steps, but his better judgment led him on to fight it out with himself. Slop-eye was now a dream, a memory, gone--gone. Everything was gone; only his revolver and a few cents remained. He gripped the revolver again. With that he was supreme. No man in all that town of men, schooled in the ways of the West, was more than his equal while that grip lay in his palm. At the point of that muzzle he could demand his money back--and get it.

Then he laughed. Hollow and empty it sounded in the night air, but it was a laugh, and it saved his spirit. ”Why, you fool,” he chuckled.

”You came to town for to learn somethin', didn't you? Well, you're learnin'. Sixty dollars a throw. Education comes high, don't it? But you shouldn't kick. He didn't coax you in, an' gave you every chance to back away. You b.u.t.ted in and got stung. Perhaps you've learned somethin' worth sixty dollars.”

With these more philosophical thoughts he turned townward again, and as he tramped along his light heartedness re-a.s.serted itself. His sense of fairness made him feel that he had no grievance against the card sharper, and in his innocence of the ways of the game it never occurred to him that the friendly stranger who had showed him how to play it, and the big fellow who insisted on his being ”in”, and the other player who had won a hundred dollars a few minutes before, were all partners with the sharper and probably at this moment were dividing his sixty dollars--the price of old Slop-eye--between them.

Early next morning he was awake and astir. The recollection of his loss sent a sudden pang through his morning spirits, but he tried to close his mind to it. ”No use worryin' over that,” he said, jingling the few coins that now represented his wealth. ”That's over and gone.

I traded sixty dollars for my first lesson. Maybe it was a bad trade, but anyway, I ain't goin' to squeal.” He turned that thought over in his mind. It suddenly occurred to him that it expressed a principle which he might very well weave into his new life. ”If I can jus' get that idea, an' live up to it,” he said, ”never to squeal, no matter what hits me, nor how, I guess it's worth sixty dollars.” He whistled as he finished dressing, ate his breakfast cheerfully, and set out in search of employment.

CHAPTER FIVE

Almost the first person he met was the stranger who had schooled him in the gambling game the night before. He greeted Dave cordially; his voice had a soft, sedulous, almost feminine quality which Dave had not noticed in their whispered conversation in the pool room. There was something attractive about his personality; something which invited friends.h.i.+p and even confidence, and yet beneath these emotions Dave felt a sense of distrust, as though part of his nature rebelled against the acquaintances.h.i.+p.

”That was the rottenest luck you had last night,” the stranger was saying. ”I never saw the beat of it. I knew you were wrong the moment you had your hand down, but I couldn't b.u.t.t in then. I was hoping you'd stay and raise him next time; you might have got your money back that way.”

”Oh, I don't mind the money,” said Dave, cheerfully. ”I don't want it back. In fact, I figure it was pretty well spent.”

”Lots more where it came from, eh?” laughed the other. ”You're from the ranches, I see, and I suppose the price of a steer or two doesn't worry you a hair's worth.”

”_From_ is right,” Dave replied. ”I'm from them, an' I'm not goin'

back. As for money--well, I spent my last nickle for breakfast, so I've got to line up a job before noon.”

The stranger extended his hand. ”Shake,” he said. ”I like you.

You're no squealer, anyway. My name is Conward. Yours?”