CHAPTER XXVII
THE LAST GAMBLE
The fifty-acre pasture was situated nearly a quarter of a mile away tothe left of John Allandale's house. Then, too, the whole length of itmust be crossed before the implement shed be reached. This would addanother half a mile to the distance, for the field was long and narrow,skirting as it did the hay slough which provided the ranch with hay. Thepasture was on the sloping side of the slough, and on the top of theridge stretched a natural fence of pines nearly two miles in extent.
The shed was erected for the accommodation of mowers, horse-rakes, andthe necessary appurtenances for haying. At one end, as Lablache hadsaid, was a living-room. It was called so by courtesy. It was littlebetter than the rest of the building, except that there was a crazy doorto it--also a window; a rusty iron stove, small, and--when a fire burnedin it--fierce, was crowded into a corner. Now, however, the stove wasdismantled, and lengths of stove pipe were littered about the flooraround it. A rough bed, supported on trestles, and innocent of bedding,filled one end of this abode; a table made of packing cases, and twochairs of the Windsor type, one fairly sound and the other minus a back,completed the total of rude furniture necessary for a "hired man's"requirements.
A living-room, the money-lender had said, therefore we must accept hisstatement.
A reddish, yellow light from a dingy oil lamp glowed sullenly, and addedto the cheerlessness of the apartment. At intervals black smoke belchedfrom the chimney top of the lamp in response to the draughts which blewthrough the sieve-like boarding of the shed. One must feel sorry forthe hired man whose lot is cast in such cheerless quarters.
It was past eleven. Lablache and John Allandale were seated at thetable. The lurid light did not improve the expression of their faces.
"Poker" John was eager--keenly eager now that Jacky had urged him to thegame. Moreover, he was sober--sober as the proverbial "judge." Also hewas suspicious of his opponent. Jacky had warned him. He looked very oldas he sat at that table. His senility appeared in every line of hisface; in every movement of his shaking hands; in every glance of hisbleared eyes.
Lablache, also, was changed slightly, but it was not in the direction ofage; he showed signs of elation, triumph. He felt that he was about toaccomplish the object which had long been his, and, at the same time,outwit the half-breed who had so lately come into his life, with suchdisastrous results to his, the money-lender's, peaceful enjoyment of hisill-gotten wealth.
Lablache turned his lashless eyes in the direction of the window. It wasa square aperture of about two feet in extent.
"We are not likely to be interrupted," he said wheezily, "but it neverdoes to chance anything. Shall we cover the window? A light in this roomis unusual--"
"Yes, let us cover it." "Poker" John chafed at the delay. "No one islikely 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. Itexactly covered the window. So he secured it. It would serve to darkenthe light to any one who might chance to be within sight of the shed. Hereturned to his seat. He bulged over it as he sat down, and its legscreaked ominously.
"I have brought three packs of cards," he said, laying them upon thetable.
"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 insilence. Lablache cut a "three"; "Poker" John, a "queen."
"We will use your cards, John." The money-lender's face expressed anunctuous benignity.
The rancher was surprised, and his tell-tale cheek twitcheduncomfortably.
"For deal," said Lablache, stripping one of John's packs and passing itto his companion. The rancher shuffled and cut--Lablache cut. The dealwent to the latter.
"We want something to score on," the money-lender said. "My memorandumpad--"
"We'll have nothing on the table, please." John had been warned.
Lablache shrugged and smiled. He seemed to imply that the precaution wasunnecessary. "Poker" John was in desperate earnest.
"A piece of chalk--on the wall." The rancher produced the chalk and setit on the floor close by the wall and returned to his seat.
Lablache shuffled clumsily. His fingers seemed too gross to handlecards. 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 eyesof his opponent could not follow his movements.
Both men picked up their cards. The old instincts of poker were not sopronounced in the rancher as they used to be. Doubtless the game he wasnow playing did not need such mask-like impassivity of expression as anordinary game would. After all, the pot opened, it merely became aquestion of who held the best hand. There would be no betting. John'seyes 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 gravenimage.
"How many?"
"Three."
The money-lender passed three cards across the table. Then he discardedtwo cards from his own hand and drew two more.
"What have you got?" he asked, with a grim pursing of his sagging lips.
"Two pairs. Jacks up."
Lablache laid his own cards on the table, spreading them out faceupwards for the rancher to see. He held three "twos."
"One to you," said John Allandale; and he went and chalked the scoreupon the wall.
There was something very business-like about these two men when theyplayed cards. And possibly it was only natural. The quiet way in whichthey played implied the deadly earnestness of their game. Theirsurroundings, too, were impressive when associated with the secrecy oftheir doings.
Each man meant to win, and in both were all the baser passions fullyaroused. Neither would spare the other, each would do his utmost.Lablache was sure. John was consumed with a deadly nervousness. But JohnAllandale at cards was the soul of honor. Lablache was confident in hissuperior manipulation--not play--of cards. He knew that, bar accidents,he must win. The mystery of being able to deal himself "three of a kind"and even better was no mystery to him. He preferred his usualmethod--the method of "reflection," as he called it; but in the game hewas now playing such a method would be useless for obvious reasons.First of all, knowing his opponent's cards would only be of advantagewhere betting was to ensue. Now he needed the clumsier, if more sure,method of dealing himself a hand. And he did not hesitate to adopt it.
"Poker" John dealt The pot was not opened. Lablache again dealt. Stillthe hand passed without the pot being opened. The next time John dealtLablache opened the pot and was promptly beaten. He drew to two queensand missed. John drew to a pair of sevens and got a third. The game wasone all. After this Lablache won three pots in succession and the gamestood four--one, in favor of the money-lender.
The old rancher's face more than indicated the state of the game. Hisfeatures were gray and drawn. Already he saw his girl married to the manopposite to him. For an instant his weakness led him to think ofrefusing to play further--to defy Lablache and bid him do his worst.Then he remembered that the girl herself had insisted that he must seethe game through--besides, he might yet win. He forced his thoughts tothe coming hand. He was to deal.
The deal, as far as he was concerned, was successful, His spirits rose.
Four--two.
Lablache took up the cards to deal. John was watching as though his lifedepended upon what he saw. Lablache's clumsy shuffle annoyed him. Thelashless eyes of the money-lender were bent upon the cards, but he hadno difficulty in observing the old man's attention. This unusualattention he set down to
a natural excitement. He had not the smallestidea that the old man suspected him. He passed the cards to be cut. Therancher cut them carelessly. He had a natural cut. The pack was nearlyhalved. Lablache had prepared for this.
The hand was dealt, and the money-lender won with three aces, all ofwhich he had drawn in a five-card draw. He had discarded a pair of ninesto make the heavy draw. It was clumsy, but he had been forced to it. Theposition of the aces in the pack he had known, and--well, he meant towin.
Five--two.
The clumsiness of that deal was too palpable. Old John suspected, butheld his tongue. His anger rose, and the drawn face flushed with thesuddenness of lightning. He was in a dangerous mood. Lablache saw theflush, and a sudden fear gripped his heart. He passed the cards to theother, and then, involuntarily, his hand dropped into the right-handpocket of his coat. It came in contact with his revolver--and stayedthere.
The next hand passed without the pot being opened--and the next.Lablache was a little cautious. The next deal resulted in favor of therancher.
Five--three.
Lablache again took the cards. This time he meant to get his hand in thedeal. At that moment the money-lender would have given a cool thousandhad a bottle of whisky been on the table. He had not calculated on Johnbeing sober. He shuffled deliberately and offered the pack to be cut.John cut in the same careless manner, but this time he did it purposely.Lablache picked up the bottom half of the cut. There was a terriblesilence in the room, and a deadly purpose was expressed in "Poker"John's eyes.
The money-lender began to deal. In an instant John was on his feet andlurched across the table. His hand fell upon the first card whichLablache had dealt to himself.
"The ace of clubs," shouted the rancher, his eyes blazing and his bodyfairly shaking with fury. He turned the card over. It was the ace ofclubs.
"Cheat!" he shouted.
He had seen the card at the bottom of the pack as the other had ceasedto shuffle.
There was an instant's thrilling pause. Then Lablache's hand flew tohis pocket. He had heard the click of a cocking revolver.
For the moment the rancher's old spirit rose superior to his seniledebility.
"God in heaven! And this is how you've robbed me, you--you bastard!"
"Poker" John's seared face was at that moment the face of a maniac. Heliterally hurled his fury at the money-lender, who was now standingconfronting him.
"It is the last time, if--if I swing for it. Prairie law you need, and,Hell take you, you shall have it!"
He swung himself half round. Simultaneously two reports rang out. Theyseemed to meet in one deafening peal, which was exaggerated by thesmallness of the room. Then all was silence.
Lablache stood unmoved, his yellow eyeballs gleaming wickedly. For asecond John Allandale swayed while his face assumed a ghastly hue. Thenin deathly silence he slowly crumpled up, as it were. No sound passedhis lips and he sank in a heap upon the floor. His still smoking pistoldropped beside him from his nerveless fingers.
The rancher had intended to kill Lablache, but the subtle money-lenderhad been too quick. The lashless eyes watched the deathly fall of theold man. There was no expression in them but that of vengeful coldness.He was accustomed to the unwritten laws of the prairie. He knew that hehad saved his life by a hair's-breadth. His right hand was still in hiscoat pocket. He had fired through the cloth of the coat.
Some seconds passed. Still Lablache did not move. There was no remorsein his heart--only annoyance. He was thinking with the coolness of acallous nerve. He was swiftly calculating the effect of the catastropheas regarded himself. It was the worst thing that could have happened tohim. Shooting was held lightly on the prairie, he knew, but--Then heslowly drew his pistol from his pocket and looked thoughtfully at it.His caution warned him of something. He withdrew the empty cartridgecase and cleaned out the barrel. Then he put a fresh cartridge in thechamber and returned the pistol to his pocket. He was very deliberate,and displayed no emotion. His asthmatical breathing, perhaps, might havebeen more pronounced than usual. Then he gathered up the cards fromfloor and table, and wiped out the score upon the wall. He put the cardsin his pocket. After that he stirred the body of his old companion withhis foot. There was no sound from the prostrate rancher. Then themoney-lender gently lowered himself to his knees and placed his handover his victim's heart. It was still. John Allandale was dead.
It was now for the first time that Lablache gave any sign of emotion. Itwas not the emotion of sorrow--merely fear--susperstitious fear. As herealized that the other was dead his head suddenly turned. It was aninvoluntary movement. And his fishy eyes gazed fearfully behind him. Itwas his first realization of guilt. The brand of Cain must inevitablycarry with it a sense of horror to him who falls beneath its ban. He wasa murderer--and he knew it.
Now his-movements became less deliberate. He felt that he must get awayfrom that horrid sight. He rose swiftly, with a display of that agilitywhich the unfortunate Horrocks had seen. He glanced about the room andtook his bearings. He strode to the lamp and put it out. Then he gropedhis way to the window and took down his bandanna; stealthily, and with acertain horror, he felt his way in the darkness to the door. He openedit and passed out.