Part 16 (2/2)

At the post where the men received some of the pay for their service, Rodney Allison was to undergo temptations and experiences that were to cause him bitter reflections. The soldiers had endured privations and, as frequently happens, many sought relaxation in debauch at the first opportunity. Liquor was to be had by those with money to pay for it, and many a frontiersman would not leave it until his last penny should be spent and then would resume his life of wandering and peril. With the drinking there was gambling with cards and dice.

The drinking had no attraction for young Allison; on the contrary he looked upon it with deep disgust. Ordinarily the gambling would have had no fascination for him. Indeed, until his captivity, he had not known one card from another. One of the accomplishments Ahneota had learned from his acquaintance with white men was the use of cards, for which he had a great pa.s.sion, and to please him the boy had spent many an hour playing various games.

Rodney's grief over the reported death of his father, his dread of returning home with the sad news to face debt and poverty, coloured his thoughts,--often woke him from sleep, and made him reckless. As he watched the games he heard a familiar voice and, looking, saw Mogridge at a table with large winnings at his hand. Rodney, from the day they first met, had cherished an unreasoning dislike for the young Englishman. He felt, rather than knew, that Mogridge had been instrumental in having his father dismissed by Squire Danesford. The boy was shrewd enough to suspect the fellow had come on with other adventurers to meet the army and fleece the unsuspecting. That money at his hand would clear the little home from debt and a.s.sure protection for the family for the present. How cool and insolent the fellow was!

”Sorry your luck runs so badly. The game's much less interesting, you know,” Mogridge drawled as he swept the poor fellow's money into his own pile. Then, looking up and noticing Rodney, though it did not appear that he recognized him, he said in a bantering tone, ”h.e.l.lo, here's a young warrior who looks as if he'd like to tempt the fair G.o.ddess, Chance, with a sixpence.”

With the hot blood pounding his temples, and scarcely knowing what he did, the boy took the proffered seat.

”I'll take a hand, if there be no objection,” said a bystander with a wink at Mogridge, which Rodney could not see.

While the cards were being shuffled the ”Chevalier” came along and remarked that the game would be worth watching. Neither Mogridge nor his ”pal” seemed pleased, but the ”Chevalier” remained standing where he could observe every movement of Rodney's antagonists. The cards were dealt and played. The luck, which so often leads the amateur on to his downfall, smiled on the boy.

”If the gentleman from London doesn't like the luck that goes with the warrior's sixpence I'll let some worthier foeman have my place,” said Rodney, who, now that his excitement had subsided, desired to leave the game.

Mogridge looked narrowly at the boy, but apparently failed to recognize him, and he replied, ”Gentlemen usually grant their antagonists an opportunity to win back the smiles of the fickle G.o.ddess.”

”Deal,” replied Rodney with an air of importance he was far from feeling.

The ”Chevalier” yet loitered near, and luck continued to run in Rodney's favour. After four hands, and with quite a little pile of winnings before him, he wanted to leave the game, but was ashamed to do so. Then Mogridge said, ”Let's double the stake,” which was done.

The cards were dealt, and the play was begun, when the ”Chevalier”

coolly remarked, ”Card exposed. You'll have to deal over.”

Mogridge's little eyes looked like tiny, glowing coals, and closer to his long nose than ever, but the cards were dealt again, and again the boy won. Then Mogridge and his confederate rose and left the table while Rodney sat gloating over his winnings.

”One who would accustom himself to the whimsies of Fortune must learn to lose as well as to win. In your behalf I will endeavour to instruct you in that part of the game, my boy. Won't you gentlemen remain to see that I pluck the winner fairly?”

”You're welcome to such small game. We didn't know we were poaching on your preserves,” replied Mogridge in a surly tone, walking away.

Rodney was surprised. He had no desire to play with his friend. Yet in a masterful way the ”Chevalier” appeared to take it for granted that they would play, and proceeded to deal the cards. The boy shrank from saying or doing anything which would excite the man's ridicule, for he had come to regard him as a superior sort of a person, and was somewhat in awe of his rather grand manner.

The first game Rodney won. Then the ”Chevalier” remarked, as though he were doing the lad a favour, ”Now we'll not prolong this; I must be going. Here's my wager.”

To meet it required the last s.h.i.+lling of the boy's winnings, but he staked it all, and the ”Chevalier” won, coolly swept the money into his pocket, all but a few s.h.i.+llings which he carelessly shoved toward the boy, saying, ”You'll need those to get home. It's bad practice to wager one's last farthing.”

Friends of Rodney Allison would not have recognized him now as the same fellow he was an hour before. Fury filled him to overflowing.

That coveted money was gone and his own with it, taken by a man whose life he once had saved, his supposed friend, who now had plucked him as one would a pigeon. He seized the money and threw it in the Chevalier's face, then, as he reflected what his act signified, he grasped the handle of his knife in readiness to defend himself.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”HE SEIZED THE MONEY AND THREW IT IN THE CHEVALIER'S FACE.”]

The ”Chevalier” fixed his handsome eyes on the boy. His face was pale but those burning eyes held the lad as under a spell. Then the man spoke, his words as cool as ice, his voice low but painfully distinct: ”One might think, my boy, you had staked your character, your soul, and lost. That's what the gambler does. I did not realize this till I had killed my best friend. You will understand my motives better when you learn more.”

He turned away. The boy looked after him, and shame quenched the fury in his heart.

CHAPTER XVII

SOMEWHAT OF A MYSTERY

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