if sinners entice thee, by william le queux. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ if sinners entice thee, by william le queux. chapter one. zertho. "no, zertho. you forget that liane is my daughter, the daughter of brooker of the guards, once an officer, and still, i hope, a gentleman." "gentleman!" sneered the other with a curl of his lip. erle brooker shrugged his shoulders, but did not reply. "yet many women would be eager enough to become princess d'auzac if they had the chance," observed the tall, dark-bearded, handsome man, speaking english with a slight accent as he leaned easily against the edge of the table, and glanced around the shabby, cheaply-furnished little dining-room. sallow-faced, dark-eyed, broad-shouldered, he was aged about forty--with full lips and long tapering hands, white as a woman's. "both of us know the world, my dear fellow," answered captain erle brooker at last, standing astride before the fireplace in which a gaudy japanese umbrella had been placed to hide its ugliness. "surely the five years we spent together were sufficient to show us that there are women--and women?" "of course, as i expected," the other cried cynically. "now that you're back again in england, buried in this sleepy country village, you are becoming sentimental. i suppose it is respectable to be so; but it's hardly like you." "you've prospered. i've fallen upon evil days." "and you could have had similar luck if only you would have continued to run with me that snug little place in nice, instead of showing the white feather," he said. "it was entirely against my grain to fleece those beardless boys. i'll play fair, or not at all." "sentiment again! it's your curse, brooker." "the speculation no doubt proved a veritable gold mine, as of course it must. but i had a second reason in dissolving our partnership." "liane urged you?" "yes." "and you took her advice, the advice of a mere girl!" he laughed contemptuously. "luck is always with her," the captain answered. "she sat beside me and prompted me on the occasion of my last big coup at roulette." "a sort of sorceress, eh?" brooker smiled coldly, but again made no reply. "well," continued his companion. "do you intend to accept my proposal?" "certainly not," replied the luckless gamester. "i'll never sacrifice my daughter's happiness." "rubbish!" "i have already decided." zertho was silent; his features became fierce and authoritative. his was an arrestive face, indicating rare, possibly prodigious, mental and also bodily activity, an activity that, unless curbed and restrained by carefully cultivated habits, might become distorted, and thus become injurious to himself as well as to others. two rows of strong white teeth redeemed a large mouth from the commonplace, but those teeth were seldom seen--never, indeed, unless their owner laughed, and if smiles were rare, laughter still more rarely disturbed the steady composure of that saturnine countenance. yet there was an individuality about the man which produced interest, though not always an agreeable interest, much less liking. he made an impression; he produced an effect upon the imagination that was not easily forgotten. again, regarding the captain keenly, he asked: "don't you think i'm straight?" "as straight as you ever were, zertho," the other answered ambiguously, with a light laugh. "but if you want a wife, surely you can fancy some other girl besides liane. i'm afraid we know a little too much of each other to trust one another very far." there was another long silence. the golden sunset streamed in at the open window, which revealed an old-fashioned garden filled with fragrant roses, and a tiny lawn bounded by a hedgerow beyond. through the garden ran a paved path to the white dusty road. the afternoon had been hot and drowsy. upon the warm wind was borne in the sound of children at play in the village street of stratfield mortimer, while somewhere in the vicinity the shoe-smith's hammer fell upon his anvil with musical clang. the house stood at the east end of the long straggling village, towards reading, a small, old-fashioned cottage, picturesque in its ivy mantle, with deep mullions, diamond panes, and oaken doors. a year ago an old maiden lady, who had resided there for a quarter of a century, had died, and the village had been thrown into a state of commotion, as villages are wont to be, by the arrival of new comers--captain erle brooker, his daughter liane, and nellie bridson, her companion. the latter was daughter of jack bridson, a brother officer of brooker's. left an orphan at nine years of age she had been brought up by the captain, and throughout her whole life had been liane's inseparable friend. soon, however, the village gossips found food for talk. the furniture they brought with them bore the distinct impress of having been purchased secondhand, the maid-of-all-work was a buxom frenchwoman who bought stuff, for soups and salads, and the two girls habitually spoke french when together, in preference to english. hence they were at once dubbed "fine, finnikin' foreigners," and regarded with suspicion by all the country folk from beech hill away to silchester. the thin-faced vicar made a formal call, as vicars will, but, as might be expected, received but a cold welcome from the ex-cavalry officer, and this fact spreading rapidly throughout the district, no one else ever crossed their threshold. this social ostracism annoyed brooker, not for his own sake, but for that of the girls. the reason he had decided to live in the country in preference to london, was, first because it was cheaper, and secondly, because he had a vague idea that both girls would enter a pleasant and inexpensive circle where the dissipations would be mainly in the form of tea and tennis. in this, however, he and they had been sorely disappointed. zertho had spoken the truth. stratfield mortimer was indeed deadly dull after ostend or the riviera. he was getting already tired of posing as a half-pay officer, and speaking to nobody except the postmistress or the garrulous father of the local inn-keeper. yet the one thing needful was money, and since he had renounced gambling, he had had scarcely sufficient to live from hand to mouth. yet, although he had hardly a sou in his pocket, his imperturbable good humour never deserted him. his career had, indeed, been full of strange vicissitudes; of feast and fast, of long nights and heavy play, of huge stakes won and lost with smile or curse, of fair game and sharping, of fleecing youngsters and bluffing his elders in nearly every health-resort in europe. easy-going to a fault, he bore his fifty years merrily, with scarcely a grey hair in his head, and although his ruddy, well-shaven face bore no sign of anxiety it was a trifle blotchy, caused by high living and long nights of play, while twenty years of an existence on his wits, had so sharpened his intelligence that in his steel-grey eyes was a keen penetrating look that had long become habitual. as careless and indolent now as he had ever been, he nevertheless dressed just as carefully, walked as lightly, and held his head just as high as in the days of his prosperity when a smart cavalry officer, younger son of a well-known peer, he could draw a cheque for thirty thousand. when he reflected upon his present position, hampered by the two girls dependent upon him, he merely laughed a strange cynical laugh, the same that he had laughed across the roulette-table when he had flung down and lost his last louis. "what's your game, burying yourself in this abominable hole?" inquired his whilom partner, presently. "i called at the national sporting club as soon as i got to london, expecting to see something of you, but the hall-porter told me that you lived down in this sleepy-hollow, and never came to town. so i resolved to run down and look you up." "can't afford to live in london," the captain answered, rolling a cigarette carefully between his fingers, before lighting it. "hard up! yet you refuse my offer!" observed zertho, laughing. "you're an enigma, brooker. money would put you on your legs again, my dear fellow." "i don't doubt it," the other replied. "but i have reasons." zertho d'auzac knit his dark brows, glancing at the captain with a look of quick suspicion. "you have expectations for liane--eh?" no reply escaped brooker's lips. he was thinking deeply. "any other man wouldn't make you such an offer," the other continued, in a tone of contempt. instantly there was an angry glint in the captain's eyes. "i tell you, zertho, i'll never let my daughter marry you. you, of all men, shall not have her--no, by heaven! not for a hundred thousand pounds." the other's face darkened in anger. but he turned away, giving vent to a short, harsh laugh, and with feigned good humour advanced towards the window, and whistling softly, took out his cigarette-case, a plain silver one, whereon his coronet and monogram were engraved. at that moment two graceful, bright-faced girls entered the gate from the road, sauntering leisurely up the path towards the house. dressed alike in dark well-made skirts, cool-looking blouses of cream crepon and straw sailor hats with black bands, they walked together, the sound of their laughter ringing through the room. the taller of the pair was liane brooker, slim, with infinite grace, a face undeniably beautiful, a pair of clear grey eyes the depths of which seemed unfathomable, nose and mouth that denoted buoyancy of spirits and sincerity of heart, hair dressed neatly in the latest mode, and that easy swing about her carriage peculiar alone to frenchwomen. her warmth of southern blood and large expressive eyes she inherited from her mother, who came from st tropez in the var, and her strange cosmopolitan education had already made her a thorough woman of the world. her character was altogether a curiously complex one. though fresh, bright and happy, she, the daughter of an adventurer, had seen a good deal of the seamy side of life, where the women were declasse, and the men rogues and outsiders; yet, in fairness to her father, it must be admitted that, even in his most reckless moments, he had always exerted towards both girls keen solicitude. her beauty was peerless. hundreds of men had said so among themselves. such a face as hers would have made a fortune on the stage; therefore it was little wonder that she should be desired as wife by prince zertho d'auzac, the man who under the plain cognomen of zertho d'auzac was once a fellow blackleg with her father, and now a wealthy personage by reason of his inheritance of the great family estates in luxembourg. well he knew what a sensation her beauty would create in berlin or st petersburg, and with the object of obtaining her he had travelled to england. pure and good, full of high thoughts and refined feeling, liane brooker existed amid strangely incongruous surroundings. she had been reared in the worst atmosphere of vice and temptation to be found in the whole of europe, yet had passed through unscathed and uncorrupted. her companion was fair, with bright pink-and-white complexion, rosy, delicate cheeks, and merry blue eyes. nelly was scarcely as handsome perhaps as liane, yet hers was an almost perfect type of english beauty. her hands were not quite so small or refined as her friend's, and in contrast with the latter's carriage hers was not quite so graceful, nor was her figure so supple; yet the mass of fluffy blond curls that peeped beneath her hat, straying across her brow, gave softness to her features, and her delicate pointed chin added a decided piquancy to a face that was uncommonly pretty and winning. both girls, catching sight at the same moment of zertho's heavy watch-chain at the window, muttered together in an undertone. that day the prince had arrived unexpectedly to lunch, sat down to their meagre dish of cold mutton, as he had often done in the old days when funds had been low, and having indicated his desire to talk business alone with the captain, they had gone out together to post a letter at the little grocery store at the opposite end of the village. when they discovered him still there, both pulled wry faces. he had never been a favourite of either. liane had always instinctively disliked this man, who was the scapegrace of a noble family. his cynical look and sly manner had caused her to distrust him, and it had been mainly on this account that her father had dissolved his partnership in the private gaming-house they had carried on during the previous winter in nice, an institution remembered with regret by many a young man who had gone to the riviera for health and pleasure, only to return ruined. zertho was not entirely unconscious of liane's antipathy towards him; he well knew that without her father's aid his cause must be foredoomed to failure. but he never on any single occasion acted in undue haste. it was his proud boast that if ever he set his heart upon doing a thing he could quietly possess his soul in patience, for years if necessary, till the right moment arrived when he could execute his plans with success. judging from the light, pleasant greeting he gave both girls as they entered, it was the tactics of craft and cunning he now intended to follow. he chaffed liane upon becoming a village belle, whereupon she, quick at repartee, tossed her handsome head, her heart beating fast, almost tumultuously, as she answered: "better that than the old life, m'sieur." "oh, so you, too, have settled and become puritanical!" he laughed. "you english, you are always utterly incomprehensible. have you yet joined the anti-gambling league?" "we are very happy here," she replied, heedless of his taunt. "i have no desire to return to the continent, to that old life of feast one day and fast the next." "nor i," chimed in nellie, full of fun and vivacity. "this place is sometimes horribly dull, it's true; but we always get our dinner, which we didn't on many occasions when we were abroad. look at our house! surely this place, with its little english garden, is better than those dingy rooms on the third floor in the rue dalpozzo in nice. besides, the captain never swears now." "very soon he'll become a teacher in the local sunday school, i suppose," sneered zertho. "i cannot understand your reason for coming here to jeer at our poverty," liane exclaimed angrily, drawing herself up quickly. "at least my father lives honestly." "i sincerely beg your pardon, and your father's also, mademoiselle," answered the prince, bowing stiffly in foreign manner. "if my remarks have annoyed you i'm sure i will at once withdraw them with a thousand apologies. i had no intention, i assure you, of causing one instant's pain. i was merely joking. it all seems so droll." "i know you well enough, zertho, not to be annoyed at anything you may say," the captain interrupted, good-humouredly as always. "however, speak what you have to say to me alone, not before the girls." "the ladies will, i know, forgive me if i promise not to again offend," the prince said. his eager eyes scanned liane with such intense anxiety that they seemed to burn in their sockets, yet mingled with this fiery admiration, there was a strange covered menace in their expression. taking out his watch a second later he added, "but i'm late, i see. ten minutes only to catch my train back to london, and i don't know the way. who'll guide me to the station? you, liane?" "no," answered her father. "nelly shall go. i want liane to deliver a message for me." prince d'auzac bit his lip. but next instant he laughed gaily and saying: "then come along nelly," shook hands with liane and her father, bade them "au revoir" with a well-feigned bonhomie, and lounged out of the room. meanwhile, nelly wheeled out her cycle, and announcing her intention of piloting their visitor to the station, and afterwards riding over to burghfield village to make some purchase, mounted her machine and rode slowly on besides the prince, chatting merrily. as soon as they had left, liane inquired of her father what she should do; but he told her briefly that it had been merely an excuse to prevent her going to the station, as he knew she disliked zertho's society. "yes, father," she answered with a slight sigh, "i think him simply hateful. i'm convinced that he's neither your friend, nor mine." then glancing at the clock, she passed out of the house humming to herself as she walked slowly down the garden path, into the white dusty high road. for a long time brooker stood twirling his moustache, gazing aimlessly out into the crimson blaze of the dying day. "i can't think why zertho should have taken this trouble to look me up again," he murmured to himself. "i had hoped that he had cut me entirely, and believed that terrible incident was forgotten. the excuse about liane is all very well. but i know him. he means mischief--he means mischief." and his face grew ashen pale as his eyes were lost in deep and serious contemplation. a sudden thought had flashed across his mind. it held him petrified, for he half-feared that he had guessed the bitter, ghastly truth. chapter two. a beggar on horseback. sir john stratfield, of stratfield court, lay dying on that afternoon. for years he had been a confirmed invalid, and in the morning the two renowned doctors who had been telegraphed for from london had declared his recovery impossible. the court, a fine old pile with grey time-worn walls half-hidden by ivy, stood in its spacious park about a mile from stratfield mortimer, on the hill between that village and burghfield. as the rays of crimson sunset slanted in through the one unshaded window there was a profound stillness in the sick-room. at the bedside stood four solemn-faced men, patiently watching for the end. the spark of life flickered on, and now and then the dying man uttered words low and indistinct. two of the men were doctors, the third richard harrison, of the firm of harrison and james, solicitors, of bedford row, and the fourth george stratfield, the baronet's younger son. the haggard man had spoken once or twice, giving certain instructions to his solicitor, but at last there was a long silence, unbroken save by the rustling of the stiff grey gown of the nurse, who entered for an instant, then left again in silence. the eccentric old man, whose reputation throughout berkshire was that of a tyrannical landlord, a bigoted magistrate and a miserly father, at last opened his dull filmy eyes. the white bony fingers lying on the coverlet twitched uneasily, as, glancing at his son, he beckoned him forward. obediently the young man approached. "promise me one thing, george," the dying man exclaimed with an effort, in a voice so low as to be almost indistinguishable. "promise me that you will never marry that woman." "why, father? why are you so bitterly prejudiced against liane?" "i have my reasons," was the answer. "but i love her," the young man urged. "i can marry no one else." "then go abroad, forget her, and remain a bachelor. erle brooker's daughter shall never become a stratfield," was the harsh reply, uttered with considerable difficulty. george, a tall well-built young fellow, with fair hair, a fair moustache and blue eyes, was a typical specimen of the english gentleman, still in his well-worn riding breeches and tweed coat, for that morning before the arrival of the doctors he had, in order to get a prescription made up, ridden hard into reading. he made no reply to his father's words, he did not wish to offend the baronet, yet he could not give a pledge which he intended to break. "will you not promise?" sir john again demanded, a strange look overspreading his haggard ashen features. again a deep silence fell. "no," answered his son at last. "i cannot promise to give up liane, for i love her." "love! bah. i tell you that woman shall never be your wife. if john were here, instead of with his regiment in india, he would fully endorse every word i say. brooker's girl shall never enter our family." "what do you know against her?" the son asked dismayed. "why, you have never set your eyes upon either father or daughter! some confounded eavesdropper must have been telling you of our clandestine meetings, and this has annoyed you." "i am aware of more than you imagine," the dying man answered. "will you, or will you not, promise to obey my wish?" there was a look of firm determination in the old man's countenance; a look which the son did not fail to notice. "no, father," he answered. "once for all, i decline." "then if such be your decision you must take the consequences. you are an unworthy son." "in the matter of my marriage i shall follow my own inclinations entirely," the young man said calmly. "very well," the baronet answered, and making a sign to his solicitor, harrison, commanded his son to leave the room. at first george demurred; but in accordance with the suggestion of the doctors that the wishes of their patient should be respected at that crisis-time, he went out, and passing downstairs to the library threw himself back in one of the roomy leather chairs. yes, he loved liane. with her vivacious half-english, half-french mannerisms, her sweet musical accent, her dark beauty and grey trusting eyes, she was unlike any other woman he had ever beheld. they had met by chance on mortimer common a few months before. one morning, while riding towards ufton, he had found her at the roadside endeavouring to re-adjust her cycle, which had met with a slight accident. his proffered services were gratefully accepted, and from that moment their friendship had ripened into passionate and devoted love. almost daily they took long walks and rides together, but so secret had been their meetings that until half-an-hour ago he had no idea that his father was aware of the truth. he had purposely kept the matter from sir john because of his severe illness, yet someone, whom he knew not, must have watched him and gone to the baronet with some foul libellous story. as he lay back in the chair, his gaitered legs crossed, his sun-browned hands clasped behind his head, gazing up to the old panelled ceiling, he reflected that in a few hours the court would no longer be his home. his elder brother, major stratfield, who for the past five years had been in india with his regiment, the east surrey, had been telegraphed for, and in a few weeks would arrive and become sir john stratfield, while he, dogged by the misfortune attendant on being a younger son, would go forth from the old place with an income the extent of which he could not know until after the will had been read. george's life had certainly not been a happy one. since his mother's death a few months after his birth, his father had become a hard man, irritable and misanthropic. he kept no company, begrudged every penny his son cost him at college, and appeared to take a delight in obtaining the ill-will of all his neighbours. he knew that scarcely a person in the parish would regret his decease, and used frequently to comment with self-satisfaction upon the unenviable reputation he had gained. this was merely eccentricity, people said; but for george it was decidedly unpleasant, for while he was welcomed in every house, his father was never invited. sometimes this fact impressed itself forcibly on the old man's mind, but on such occasions he would only laugh contemptuously, saying: "ah, the stratfields of stratfield can afford to treat with contempt these mushroom merchants without breeding, and without pedigree." at whatever george had achieved the baronet had never shown the slightest sign of satisfaction. his career at balliol had been brilliant, he had eaten his dinners at lincoln's inn and been duly called to the bar, but all to no purpose, for almost as soon as he had been "called," his father, strangely enough, refused to grant him any further allowance unless he gave up his chambers and returned to live at stratfield. this he had been forced to do, although much against his inclination, for he preferred his friends of the common room to the society of his eccentric parent. however, it had after all turned out for the best, he reflected, because a month after he had come back he had met the grey-eyed girl whose beauty held him entranced, and whom he intended to ask to become his wife. from the very first it had been arranged between them that they should keep their acquaintance secret, only nelly bridson being aware of it, and it was she who met george with notes from liane when, on rare occasions, the latter was unable to keep her appointments. he had found both girls extremely pleasant companions, and through the sunny months the bright, halcyon days had passed happily. in obedience to liane's wish he had refrained from calling upon captain brooker. truth to tell, the refined, ingenuous girl, with her french chic and charming manner, was ashamed of their shabby home, of her father's frayed but well-cut clothes, of the distinct evidences of their poverty, and feared lest her lover should discover the secret of her father's rather ignominious past. she had told him that the captain was a half-pay officer, and that her mother had been french; but she had been careful never to refer to the polyglot society in which they had moved on the continent, nor to the fact that she was daughter of a man well-known in all the gaming establishments in europe. all that was of the past, she had assured herself. if george knew the truth, then certainly he would forsake her. and she loved him no less than he adored her. hence her lover had been puzzled not a little by her steadfast refusal to tell him anything definite regarding her earlier life, and the equal reticence of her foster sister. of course, he could not fail to recognise behind this veil of mystery some family secret, yet in his buoyant frame of mind, happy in his new-found love, it troubled him but little. liane, his enchantress, loved him; that was sufficient. for more than half-an-hour he sat in the old brown library in the same position, plunged deep in gloomy reflection. the sunset streamed in through the big windows of stained glass whereon were the arms of the stratfields with the motto, "non vi, sed voluntate," which his ancestors had borne through six centuries. the ancient room, lined from floor to ceiling with the books of past generations, seemed in that calm silent hour aglow with many colours. the suddenness with which the storm-cloud had broken away, and the sun's last rays again shone forth, aroused him. he glanced at his watch. it was already seven o'clock, and liane was awaiting him beneath the railway bridge in cross lane, fully a mile away. he made a movement to rise, but next moment, reflecting that he could not leave the house while his father lay dying, sank back into his chair again. liane knew of his father's illness, and would undoubtedly wait, as she had often waited before. yet why was he sitting there inactive and patient? the bitter truth recurred to him. he had refused to give his pledge, and had therefore been banished from his father's presence. and this because he loved her! he rose, and gazed out down the long shady avenue of chestnuts, that led across the broad park towards the village. yes, he loved liane, and come what might he would marry her. soon his father would pass away; then he would be free to act as he chose. after all, he was pleased that he had not given a false pledge to a dying man. at least he had been frank. his brother john had never been his friend, therefore he knew that soon he must leave stratfield. one thing he regretted to part from was the library, that fine old room in which he now stood, where he had spent so many long and studious days, and where he had sought refuge almost daily from his father's ill-temper. with hands deep in his pockets, he gazed slowly around the old place with its cosy armchairs and big writing-table, then sighed heavily. he was thinking of his father's angry declaration, "erle brooker's daughter shall never become a stratfield." what did he mean? were those words uttered because of some absurd prejudice, or was he actually aware of something which both liane and nelly had carefully striven to conceal? again he glanced at his watch. the hour was fleeting. soon his well-beloved would weary of waiting and return home. he pressed the electric button, and at once his summons was answered by a neat maid. "tell morton to saddle the bay mare and hold her ready. i may want to ride," he said. "yes, sir," the girl answered, surprised at his unusual brusqueness. the door closed, and again he was alone. "at least i'll try and overtake her," he murmured. "i must see her to-night at all hazards," and as the sunlight faded he paced the room from door to window, his chin resting upon his breast. soon the door again slowly opened, and the old solicitor entering, closed it after him. "it is my painful duty to tell you, mr george, that your father has passed quietly away," he said, with that professionally solemn air that lawyers can assume when occasion demands. the young man standing with his back turned, gazing out upon the park, made no response. "before he drew his last breath i asked him three times whether he would see you again, but he firmly declined. you caused him the most intense displeasure by your refusal to grant his request," the solicitor continued. "am i not my own master, harrison?" the young man snapped, turning to him sharply. "certainly," the other answered, raising his grey eyebrows. "i admit that i have no right whatever to interfere with your private affairs, but i certainly cannot regard your attitude and your father's subsequent action without considerable regret." "what do you mean?" "apart from my professional connection with the stratfield estate i have been, you will remember, a friend of your father's through many years, therefore it pains me to think that in sir john's dying moments you should have done this." george stratfield glanced quickly at the white-haired lawyer. then he said,-- "i suppose my father has treated me badly at his death, as he did throughout his life." "yes." "well, let me know the worst," the young man exclaimed, sighing; "heaven knows, i don't expect very much." "when the will is formally read you will know everything," the other answered drily. "a moment ago you said you were a friend of my father's. surely if you are you will not keep me in suspense regarding my future." "suspense is entirely unnecessary," answered the lawyer, his sphinx-like face relaxing into a cold smile. "why?" "well, unfortunately, you need not expect anything." "not anything?" gasped the young man, blankly. "then am i penniless?" the solicitor nodded, and opening a paper he had held behind him on entering, said,-- "when you had left the room half-an-hour ago sir john expressed a desire to make an addition to his will, and entirely against my inclination made me write what you see here. he signed it while still in his right mind, the two doctors witnessing it. it is scarcely a professional proceeding to show it to you at this early stage, nevertheless, perhaps, as you are the son of my old friend, and it so closely concerns your future welfare, you may as well know the truth at once. read for yourself." george took the paper in his trembling fingers and read the six long lines of writing, the ink of which was scarcely yet dry. three times he read them ere he could understand their exact purport. the cold formal words crushed all joy from his heart, for he knew, alas! that the woman he loved could never be his. it was the death-warrant to all his hopes and aspirations. he could not now ask liane to be his wife. with set teeth he sighed, flung down the will upon the table with an angry gesture, and casting himself again into his armchair, sat staring straight before him without uttering a word. in addition to being cruel and unjust the codicil was certainly of a most extraordinary character. by it there was bequeathed to "my son george basil stratfield" the sum of one hundred thousand pounds on one condition only, namely, that within two years he married mariette, daughter of a certain madame lepage, whose address was given as , rue toullier, paris. if, however, it was discovered that mariette was already married, or if she refused to accept the twenty thousand pounds that were to be offered her on condition that she consented to marry his son, then one-half the amount, namely, , pounds, was to be paid by the executors to george, and the remaining , pounds, together with the , pounds, was to revert to his elder brother. "it certainly is a most extraordinary disposition," old mr harrison reflected aloud, taking up the will again, and re-reading the words he had written at his dead client's dictation. "how does my father think i can marry a woman i've never seen?" cried the son. "why, the thing's absolutely absurd. he must have been insane when he ordered you to write such a preposterous proposal." "no, he was entirely in his right mind," answered the elder man, calmly. "i must confess myself quite as surprised as you are; nevertheless, it is certain that unless you offer marriage to this mysterious young person you will obtain nothing." "it is my father's vengeance," the son cried, in a tone full of bitterness and disappointment. "i desire to marry liane, the woman i adore, and in order to prevent me he seeks to bind me to some unknown frenchwoman." "well, in any case, effort must be made to find her," harrison observed. "you surely will not let fifty thousand pounds slip through your fingers. there is a chance that she is already married, or that she will refuse the twenty thousand pounds which i shall be compelled to offer her." "but i will only marry liane," george cried, impetuously. "my dear young man, yours is a mere foolish fancy. you cannot, nay you must not, render yourself a pauper merely because of this girl, who happens to have attracted you just for the moment. in a year's time you will regard the matter from a common-sense point of view. your proper course is to give up all thought of the young lady, and unite with me in the search for this mysterious mariette lepage." "i decline to abandon liane," george answered with promptness. "if i am a pauper, well, i must bear it. my ruin is, i suppose, the last of my father's eccentricities. i'm the scapegoat of the family." "it is, nevertheless, my duty to advise you," the elder man went on, standing before the empty fireplace with his arms folded. "in any case i shall be compelled to find this woman. have you never heard your late father speak of any family of the name of lepage?" "never. he has not been out of england for twenty years, therefore i suppose it's someone he knew long ago. what could have been his object?" "as far as i could glean it was twofold. first, he believed that the fact of having left this sum just beyond your reach would cause you intense chagrin; and, secondly, that if you did not marry this unknown woman, you will still be unable to marry the girl against whom he held such a strange deep-rooted objection." "why did he object to her, harrison? tell me confidentially what you know," urged the young man earnestly. "i only know what he told me a few days ago," the solicitor replied. "he said he had ascertained that you had taken many clandestine walks and rides with liane brooker, and he declared that such a woman was no fitting wife for you." "did he give any further reason?" the other demanded. "none. he merely said that if you declined to abandon all thought of her you should not have a penny." "and he has kept his word," observed george, gloomily. "unfortunately it appears so." "he was unjust--cruelly unjust!" george protested. "i strove hard at the bar, and had already obtained a few briefs when he recalled me here to be his companion. he would not allow me to follow my profession, yet he has now cast me adrift without resources." "you certainly have my entire sympathy," the old lawyer declared, kindly. "but don't take the matter too much to heart. the woman may be already married. in this case you will receive fifty thousand." george's face relaxed into a faint smile. "i have no desire to hear of or see the woman at all," he answered. "act as you think fit, but remember that i shall never offer her marriage--never." "she may be a pretty girl," suggested the elder man. "and she may be some blear-eyed old hag," snapped the dead man's son. "it is evident from the wording of the clause that my father has heard nothing of either mother or daughter for some years." "that's all the more in your favour; because if she is thirty or so, the chances are that she is married. at all costs we must discover her." "the whole thing is a confounded mystery," george observed. "who these people are is an enigma." "entirely so," the solicitor acquiesced. "there is something exceedingly mysterious about the affair. the combined circumstances are bewildering in the extreme. first, the lady you admire bears a french name, next your father hates her because of some fact of which he is aware regarding her family, and thirdly, in order to prevent you marrying her, he endeavours by an ingenious and apparently carefully-planned device, to induce you to wed a woman whose existence is unknown to us all. he was not a man who acted without strong motives, therefore i cannot help suspecting that behind all this lies some deep mystery." "mystery! of what character?" "i have no idea. we must first find mariette lepage." "my future wife," laughed george bitterly, rising wearily from his chair. "yes, the woman who is to receive twenty thousand pounds for marrying you," repeated the solicitor smiling. "no, harrison," declined the young man as he moved slowly across the room with head slightly bent. "i'll never marry her, however fascinating she may be. liane is pure and good; i shall marry only her." and opening the door impatiently he snatched up his cap, strode along the hall, and out to where his man held the bay mare in readiness. "ah, well!" harrison muttered aloud when he was alone. "we shall see, young man. we shall see. i thought myself as shrewd as most men, but if i'm not mistaken there's a mystery, strange and inexplicable, somewhere; a mystery which seems likely to lead to some amazing developments. it's hard upon poor george, very hard; but if my client was so foolish as to desire the family skeleton to be dragged from its chest his kith and kin must of necessity bear the consequences." with a word to morton, most exemplary of servants, george sprang into the saddle, and a moment later was galloping down the long straight avenue. the brilliant afterglow had now faded, dusk had fallen, and he feared that liane, having kept the appointment, would have left disappointed and returned home. therefore he spurred the mare onward, and was soon riding hard towards the unfrequented by-road known as cross lane. with a heavy heart he told himself that he must say good-bye to love, good-bye to hope, good-bye to ambition, good-bye to all of life except the dull monotonous routine of empty days, and a restless empty heart. "i can't tell her i'm a pauper," he murmured aloud, after galloping a long way in dogged silence. "she'll know, alas! soon enough. then, when the truth is out, she'll perhaps discard me; while i suppose i shall go to the bad as so many fellows have done before me. of what use am i without the means to marry? to love her now is only to befool her. henceforth i'm sailing under false colours. yet i love her better than life; better than anything on earth. i'm indeed a beggar on horseback!" and he laughed a hollow bitter laugh as he rode along beneath the oaks where the leafy unfrequented lane dipped suddenly to pass below the railway, the quiet lonely spot where, unobserved, he so often met his well-beloved. so engrossed had he been in his own sad thoughts that the stumbling of the mare alone brought him back to a consciousness of things around. the light had paled suddenly out of the evening atmosphere; the gloom was complete. eagerly he looked ahead, half expecting to catch a glimpse of her well-known neat figure, but in disappointment he saw her not. it was too late he knew. she had evidently waited in vain, and afterwards returned to the village when the dusk had deepened. still he rode forward, the mare's hoofs sounding loudly as they clattered beneath the archway, until suddenly, as he emerged on the other side, a sight met his gaze which caused him to pull up quickly with a loud cry of dismay. in the centre of the road, hidden from view until that instant, by reason of the sudden bend, a girl was lying flat with arms outstretched, her face in the thick white dust, while beside her was her cycle, left where it had fallen. instantly he swung himself from the saddle, dashed towards her, and lifted her up. her straw hat had fallen off, her fair hair was dishevelled, and her dark skirt covered with dust. but there was yet another thing which held him transfixed with horror. in the dim fast-fading light he noticed that her blouse bore at the neck a small stain of bright crimson. it was nelly bridson. she was rigid in death. the pallor of her refined, delicate face was rendered the more ghastly by the blood that had oozed from the corners of her arched mouth. her small gloved hands were tightly clenched, her features haggard, convulsed and drawn by a last paroxysm of excruciating agony. in her soft white neck was an ugly bullet wound. she had been shot by an unknown hand. chapter three. "we must not marry!" george stratfield stood aghast and horrified. it was nearly dark, but there still remained sufficient light to reveal the terrible truth that nelly bridson, his gay, vivacious friend, had been foully murdered. tenderly he lifted her, and placed his hand upon her heart. but there was no movement. it had ceased its beating. her face, with its hard drawn features so unlike hers, was absolutely hideous in death. her hair was whitened by the dust, while her blue eyes were wide open, staring fixedly into space with a look of inexpressible horror. for some moments, still kneeling beside her inanimate form, george hesitated. suddenly his eager eyes caught sight of some round flat object lying in the dust within his reach. he stretched forth his hand and picked it up, finding to his surprise that it was an exquisitely-painted old miniature of a beautiful woman, set round with fine brilliants. he held it close to his eyes, examining it minutely until convinced of a fact most amazing. this miniature was the very valuable portrait by cosway of lady anne stratfield, a noted beauty of her time, which for many years had been missing from the collection at stratfield court. it corresponded exactly in every particular with the description his father had so often given him of the missing portrait, the disappearance of which had always been a mystery. he remained speechless, dumbfounded at the discovery. at length a thought flashed across his mind, that by prompt action the assassin might perhaps be discovered. he could not bear the appalled agonised gaze of those glazed, stony eyes which seemed fixed despairingly upon him, therefore he closed them and prepared to move the body to the roadside. suddenly he recollected that such action would be unwise. the police should view the victim where she had fallen. therefore in breathless haste he sprang again into the saddle, and tore down into stratfield mortimer, a distance of a mile and a half, as hard as the mare could gallop. quickly he summoned the village constable and the doctor. the former, before leaving for the scene scribbled a telegram to reading requesting the assistance of detectives; then both returned with him to the spot. when they reached it they found the body still undisturbed, and a cursory examination made by the doctor by aid of the constable's lantern quickly corroborated george's belief that the unfortunate girl had been shot through the throat. nearly an hour the three men waited impatiently for the arrival of the detectives, speaking in hushed tones, examining the recovered miniature and discussing the tragedy, until at last the lights of a trap were seen in the distance, and very soon two plain-clothes officers joined them, inspected the body and the tiny portrait, and made a close examination of the road in every direction. in the dust they found the mark of her tyre, and followed it back beneath the railway arch and up upon the road towards burghfield. with the rays of their lanterns upon the dust they all followed the track, winding sometimes but distinct, for about three hundred yards, when suddenly, instead of proceeding along the lane, it turned into a gateway leading into a field. this fact puzzled them; but soon, on examining the rank grass growing between the gate and the road, they found it had been recently trodden down. there were other marks too, in the thick dust close by, but, strangely enough, these were not footprints. it seemed as if some object about a foot wide had been dragged along from the gate into the lane. long and earnestly the detectives searched over the spot while the others stood aside, but they found nothing to serve as a clue. it was, however, evident that the unfortunate girl had approached, on her return from burghfield, and dismounting, had wheeled her cycle up to the gate and placed it there while she rested. here she had undoubtedly been joined by someone--as the grass and weeds bore distinct traces of having been trodden upon by two different persons--and then, having remounted, she rode down beneath the railway bridge, and while ascending towards stratfield mortimer, had been foully shot. the position in which both the body and the cycle were found pointed to the conclusion that she was riding her machine when fired at, but dismounting instantly she had staggered a few uneven steps, and then sank dying. from the gateway the mark of the cycle could be traced with ease away towards burghfield; indeed, a few yards from where the unknown person had apparently met her there were marks of her quick footsteps where she had dismounted. for fully a quarter of an hour the detectives searched both inside and outside the gate trying to distinguish accurately the footprints of the stranger whom she had met, and in this they were actively assisted by the village constable and george, all being careful not to tread upon the weeds and dust themselves. but to distinguish traces of footprints at night is exceedingly difficult; therefore they searched long and earnestly without any success, until at last something half-hidden in some long rank weeds caught george's eye. "why, what's this?" he cried, excitedly, as putting out his hand he drew forth a purely feminine object--an ordinary black hairpin. the detectives, eager for anything which might lead to the discovery of the identity of the assassin, took it, examining it closely beneath the light of one of their bull's-eyes. it was a pin of a common kind, and what at first seemed like a clue was quickly discarded, for on taking it back to where the body was lying and taking one of the pins that held the unfortunate girl's wealth of fair hair, it was at once seen in comparison to be of the same thickness and make, although of a slightly different length. half a dozen pins were taken one by one from her hair and compared, but strangely enough all were about half an inch shorter than the one discovered by george. "anything in this, do you think?" one of the detectives asked the other, evidently his superior. "no," the man answered promptly. "women often use hairpins of different lengths. if you buy a box they are often of assorted sizes. no, that pin evidently fell from her hair when she put up her hands to tidy it, after dismounting." so the vague theory that the person who joined her was a woman was dismissed. george had said nothing of his appointment with liane at that spot, deeming it wiser to keep his secret, yet he was sorely puzzled by the fact that nelly should have been there at the same hour that liane had arranged to meet him. perhaps his well-beloved had sent her with a message, as she had on previous occasions. if not, why had she returned from burghfield by that lonely lane instead of riding direct along the high road, which was in so much better condition for cycling? he had only known her to ride along cross lane once before. indeed, both she and liane had always denounced that road with its flints and ruts as extremely injurious to cycles. the assassin had got clean away without leaving the slightest trace. even his footsteps were indistinguishable where all others were plainly marked, for during the day the dust had been blowing in clouds, carpeting the unfrequented lane to the depth of nearly half an inch, so that every imprint had been faithfully retained. the detectives, after spending nearly two hours in futile search, were compelled at length to acknowledge themselves baffled, and preparations were made to acquaint captain brooker with the sad news, and to remove the body of nelly bridson to his house. at first it was suggested that george should go and break the sad tidings to the captain, but he at once declined. he had never yet met captain brooker, and shrank from the unpleasantness of such a first interview with the man whose daughter he intended marrying. the duty therefore devolved upon the police, and the village constable was despatched with strict injunctions from george not to tell miss liane, but request to see the captain himself alone. he knew what a blow it must prove to his well-beloved to thus lose under such terrible circumstances the fair-faced girl who had been her most intimate companion and confidante through so many years; therefore he endeavoured to spare her any unnecessary pain. her father would, no doubt, break to her the sad truth best of all. george thought it useless to seek her that night, therefore when the constable had left he took a long farewell glance at the white upturned face, and mounting, turned the mare's head towards the court. onward he rode in the darkness across the open country to broomfield hatch, then turning to the right into the grazely road, cantered down the hill towards the lodge gates of stratfield court. "it's a strange affair," he muttered aloud. "strange indeed, that nelly should have ridden along that bad road if not with the intention of meeting someone by appointment. yet she would scarcely make an appointment at that spot, knowing that i had arranged to meet liane there. no, poor girl, i can't help feeling convinced that she was awaiting me to tell me of liane's inability to be there. again, how came she possessed of the missing miniature? what motive could anyone possibly have in murdering her? ah! what motive, i wonder?" deep in thought, he allowed his mare to jog onward beneath the beeches which at that point nearly met overhead, rendering the road almost pitch dark. once he thought he detected a slight movement in the impenetrable gloom, and pulling up, strained his eyes into the high bushes at the roadside. for a few moments he sat perfectly still in the saddle listening intently. then, hearing nothing, he started forth again muttering: "i could have sworn i saw something white fluttering over there; but bah! i'm unnerved, i suppose, to-night, and after all it was mere fancy." once he turned to glance back; then resolutely set his face along the dark avenue of chestnuts, homeward. little sleep came to his eyes that night. he was thinking of his own future, of liane's love, and of her sad bereavement. times without number he tried to formulate some theory to account for the miniature being in nelly's possession, and the foul assassination of the bright, happy girl, whose merry laughter had so often charmed him. yet it was a mystery, absolute and complete. the great house was quiet, for its irascible master was dead, and its son, held in esteem by all the servants from butler to stable lad, was ruined. the very clocks seemed to tick with unaccustomed solemnity, and the bell in the turret over the stables chimed slowly and ominously as each long hour passed towards the dawn. at last, however, still in his clothes, george slept, and it was not until the morning sun was streaming full into his room that he awoke. then, finding that the two doctors had returned to london, he went to the library and wrote a brief note to liane, asking her to meet him at the lodge gates at eleven o'clock. sir john was now no more, therefore in the park they might walk together unobserved. at first he hesitated to invite her there so quickly, but on reflection he saw that he must see her at once and endeavour to console her, and that the leafy glades of his dead father's domain were preferable to the highways, where they would probably be noticed by the village gossips. at nine he sent the note down to the village by one of the stable lads, who brought back two hastily scribbled lines, and at the hour appointed she came slowly along the dusty road, looking cool and fresh beneath her white sunshade. their greeting was formal while within sight of the windows of the lodge, but presently, when they had entered the park by the winding path which led through a thick copse, he halted, took her in his arms and imprinted upon her soft cheek a long passionate kiss. her own full lips met his in a fierce affectionate caress, but their hearts were too full for words. they stood together in silence, locked in each other's arms. then he noticed for the first time that her eyes were swollen, and that she wore a white tulle veil to conceal their redness. she had no doubt spent the night in tears. the tiny gloved hand trembled in his grasp, and her lips quivered. at last he spoke softly, first lifting her hand reverently to his lips. "both of us have experienced bereavement since last we met, two days ago, liane. you have my sincerest sympathy, my darling." "is sir john dead?" she inquired in a low husky voice. he nodded. "then our losses are both hard to bear," she said, sighing. "poor nelly! i--i cannot bear to think of it. i cannot yet realise the terrible truth." "nor i, dearest," he answered, echoing her sigh. "but we must nevertheless face the facts if we desire to discover the assassin." "they told me that it was you who first discovered her," she said falteringly, her eyes overflowing with tears. "tell me how it all happened." "there is very little to tell," he responded. "i found her lying on the road dead, and went at once for the doctor and the police." "but what were you doing in cross lane?" she inquired. "i went out to meet you as we had arranged." "but surely you knew that i could not meet you," she exclaimed, looking at him quickly. "how could i?" "i sent you a letter telling you that my father had an unexpected visitor, and that we must therefore postpone our meeting until this evening." "a letter!" he cried, puzzled. "i have only this moment left the court, and no letter has yet arrived." "but i gave it to nelly to post before half-past twelve yesterday morning, therefore you should have received it at five. she must have forgotten to post it." "evidently," he said. "but have you yet ascertained why she went down cross lane? to the police the fact of her having ridden down there in preference to the high road is an enigma." "no. according to the inquiries already made it has been ascertained that she went to talmey's at burghfield, purchased some silk, and had returned nearly to stratfield mortimer when she suddenly turned, went back about half a mile, and then entered cross lane. she was seen to turn by two labourers coming home from their work on sim's farm." "she was alone, i suppose?" "entirely," liane answered. "like myself, she had no horror of tramps. i've ridden along these roads at all hours of the day and night, and have never been once molested." "the tragedy was no doubt enacted in broad daylight, for the sun had not quite set when, according to the doctor, she must have been shot while riding. have you any idea that she had incurred the animosity of anybody?" "no; as you well know, she was of a most amicable disposition. as far as i am aware, she had not a single enemy in the world." "a secret lover perhaps," george suggested. "no, not that i am aware of. she had no secrets from me. since we came to england she has never spoken of any man with admiration." "then abroad she had an admirer? where?" "in nice. charles holroyde, a rich young englishman, who was staying last winter at the grand hotel, admired her very much." "and you were also living in nice at the time?" "yes." "do you know his address in england?" he inquired. "no. nelly may have done, but i did not. i met him with her on the promenade several times, and he seemed very pleasant and amusing. the diamond brooch she wore he gave her as a present last carnival." "now that i recollect," george exclaimed, "she was not wearing that brooch when i discovered her." "no," answered his well-beloved. "strangely enough, that has been stolen, although no attempt was made to take the watch and bunch of charms she wore in her blouse." "are the police aware of that?" "yes," liane answered. "i told one of the detectives this morning, and gave him a minute description of the brooch. at the back are engraved nelly's initials, together with his, therefore it is likely it may be traced." "if so, it will be easy to find the murderer," george observed, as they strolled slowly along together beneath the welcome shade, for the morning was perfect, with bright warm sun and a cloudless sky into which the larks were everywhere soaring, filling the air with their shrill, joyous songs. "have you any idea whether poor nelly has corresponded with this man holroyde since leaving nice?" he inquired, after a pause. "i think not." "why?" "well, they had a slight quarrel--i have never exactly known the cause-- they parted, and although he wrote several times, she did not answer." george scented suspicion in this circumstance. the fact that this brooch, one of considerable value, should alone have been stolen was, to say the least, curious; but discarded lovers sometimes avenge themselves, and this might perchance be a case of murder through jealousy. as he strolled on beside the handsome girl, with her pale, veiled face, he reflected deeply, trying in vain to form some theory as to the motive of the crime. "did the police tell you that beside her i discovered an old miniature of lady anne which has been missing from the court for twenty years or more?" he asked. "yes, they showed it to my father and myself. we have, however, never seen it before. how it came into her possession we are utterly at a loss to imagine," she answered. "it is a heavy blow to lose her," she continued, in a low, intense voice. "we have always been as sisters, and now the fate that has overtaken her is enshrouded in a mystery which seems inexplicable. father is dreadfully upset. i fear he will never be as happy as before." "but you have me, liane," her lover said, suddenly halting and drawing her towards him. "i love you, my darling. i told you nearly two months ago that i loved you. i don't know that i can add anything to what i said then." she was silent, looking straight before her. his breath came more quickly. the colour rose to his cheeks. at this decisive moment the words died in his throat, as they must for every honest lover who would fain ask the momentous question of her whom he loves. he remembered that he now had no right to ask her to be his wife. "do you know," he said at last, again grasping her hand impetuously, "that i think you the sweetest, most charming woman in the world? i want you to be my wife, and help me to make my life all it should be, only--only i dare not ask you." liane did not withdraw her fingers. she remained perfectly still without meeting his glance. yet, strangely enough, she shuddered. "i have not the power to say all i feel. my words sound so harsh and cold; but, liane, liane, i love you! god made not the heart of man to be silent, but has promised him eternity with the intention that he should not be alone. there is for me but one woman upon earth. it is you." he looked imploringly into her face. "yes, george, i feel that you love me," she said, with a sweet smile behind her veil. "it is very nice to be loved." he covered her hand with eager kisses; but she withdrew it softly, her lips compressed. "my darling!" his arm was about her waist, and he kissed her lips. he spoke in strong suppressed agitation; his voice trembled. he recollected he was penniless. she freed herself from his embrace. "no, no," she murmured. "we may love, but we must not marry. there are so many other girls who would make you far happier than i should." he went on to tell her how much he reverenced her character, how good and pure and lovely she was, and how completely she fulfilled his ideal of what a woman ought to be. slowly she shook her head. "that shows you know so little of me, george." "i know only what you have told me, dearest," he answered. then a moment later he regretted that he had not adhered to his resolve and exercised more self-control. was he not without means? yet he had asked her to marry him! could he tell her in the same breath that he was penniless? no, he dared not, lest she might cast him aside. liane stood like one in a dream, her beautiful face suffused by blushes, her eyes downcast, her breast slowly heaving. he could resist his own passion--he could keep back what he felt--no longer. "i love you!" cried he. she stretched out her hands in a sort of mute appeal, and seemed as if she would fall; but in that instant she was again clasped to his heart, and held there with a tender force that she had neither the power nor the will to withstand. he wished to marry her! was it possible? and she loved him. with that thought her face was hidden on his shoulder, and she yielded herself to those protecting arms. he felt the shy loving movement as she nestled close to him, and her frame was shaken by a sob. "my darling--my darling--my own darling!" he cried, triumph in his voice, and passionate joy in his eyes. "you love me--you love me!" but again she drew herself away from him, then turned aside, held her breath, and shuddered. the lace ruffles on her bosom slowly rose and fell. the movement was as though she were shrinking from him with repulsion. but it was only momentary, and he did not notice it. next instant she again turned, lifting her clear grey eyes to his with their frank innocent gaze. "yes," she said, almost in a whisper, "i love you." chapter four. hairpins. the tragedy caused the greatest excitement in the neighbourhood. journalistic artists, those industrious gentlemen who produce such terribly distorted portraits, came from london and sketched the spot in cross lane and the exterior of captain brooker's house. one had the audacity to call and request him to lend them a photograph of the murdered girl. this he declined, with a few remarks more forcible than polite, for he had been greatly annoyed by the continual stream of interviewers, who continually rang his bell. hundreds of persons walked or drove over from reading to view the spot where nelly had been found, and in addition to the local detectives, inspector swayne, a well-known officer from scotland yard, had been sent down to direct the inquiries. at the inquest, held at the king's head, two days later, it was expected by everybody that some interesting facts would be brought to light. erle brooker had never troubled to earn the good will of his neighbours, therefore they were now spitefully eager for any scandal that might be elicited, and long before the hour for which the jury had been summoned, congregated around the village inn. it was known that on the day following the tragedy the captain had paid a mysterious visit to london, and the object of this trip had been a subject of much discussion everywhere. the murder of his adopted daughter had been a terrible blow to him, and when seen on his way to the station it was noticed that his face, usually smiling and good-humoured, wore a heavy, preoccupied look. as he walked with liane from his cottage to the inn, the crowd, gaping and hushed, opened a way for them to pass in; then, when they had entered, there was an outburst of sympathy and sneers, many of the latter reaching the ears of george stratfield when, a few moments later, he followed them. after a long wait, the coroner at length took his seat, the jury were duly sworn, and the witnesses, ordered out of the crowded room, were ushered into a small ante-room, the table of which had recently been polished with stale beer. here liane introduced her lover to her father, and the men exchanged greetings. george, however, did not fail to notice the rustiness of the captain's shabby frock-coat, nor the fact that his black trousers were shiny at the knees; yet as they grasped hands, the ring of genuine bonhomie about his voice favourably impressed him. by his tone and manner george instinctively knew that erle brooker, the man against whom his dead father entertained such an intense dislike, was a gentleman. "our meeting is in very tragic circumstances, mr stratfield," the captain observed huskily, his grave face unusually pale. "they told me that you had discovered poor nelly, but i had not the pleasure of your acquaintance, although i had, of course, heard of you often from the villagers." liane and george looked at one another significantly. "i must regret your sad bereavement, and both you and liane have my sincerest sympathy," the young man answered. the captain glanced quickly at the baronet's son with a strange, puzzled expression. he had spoken of his daughter familiarly by her christian name, and evidently knew her well. he had not before suspected this. at that moment, however, the door opened, and a constable putting his head inside called his name. in obedience to the policeman's request he rose and followed him into the room wherein the court of inquiry had assembled. having advanced to the table and been sworn, the coroner addressing him, said,-- "your name is captain erle brooker, late of the guards, i believe?" "yes." "and you identify the body of the deceased. who was she?" "helen mary bridson, daughter of a brother officer, captain bridson. she was left an orphan eleven years ago, and i brought her up." "did her father die in london?" "no, on the continent." "had she no relatives on her mother's side?" the captain slowly stroked his moustache, then answered. "i knew of none." "were you acquainted with her mother?" "no, i was not," he replied after a moment's reflection. "and you have no suggestion to make, i suppose, regarding any person who might have entertained ill-will towards the unfortunate girl?" inquired the grey-haired coroner. "none whatever." "when did you last see her alive?" "on monday evening, when she accompanied a visitor to the station to see him off on his return to london. she rode her cycle, and announced her intention of going on to burghfield to make a purchase. she was found later on," he added, hoarsely. "who was this visitor? what was his name?" "he was a friend, but i decline to give his name publicly," the captain replied firmly. "i will, however, write it for your information, if you desire," and taking a pencil from his pocket he wrote the name of prince zertho d'auzac and handed it to the coroner. the eager onlookers were disappointed. they had expected some sensational developments, but it seemed as though the crime was too enshrouded in mystery to prove of any very real interest. they did not, however, fail to notice that when the coroner read what the captain had written, an expression of astonishment crossed his face. "are you certain that the--this gentleman--left by the train he went to catch?" he asked. "quite," answered brooker. "not only have the police made inquiry at my instigation, but i have also accompanied a detective to london, where we found my visitor. inspector swayne, as a result of his investigations, was entirely satisfied." "had the unfortunate young lady any admirer?" "i think not." "then you can tell us absolutely nothing further?" observed the coroner, toying with his quill. "unfortunately i cannot." the captain, after signing his depositions, was directed to one of a row of empty chairs near the coroner's table, and his daughter was called. liane, pale and nervous, neatly dressed in black, entered quietly, removed her right glove, and took the oath. having given her name, the coroner asked,-- "when did you last see the deceased, miss brooker?" "when she set out to go to the railway station," she answered, in a low faltering voice. "have you any idea why she should have gone to cross lane? it was entirely out of her way home from burghfield to stratfield mortimer, was it not?" "i cannot tell," liane replied. "we went along that road on our cycles only on one occasion, and found it so rough that we agreed never to attempt it again." "i presume, miss brooker, that the deceased was your most intimate friend?" observed the coroner. "she would therefore be likely to tell you if she had a lover. were you aware of the existence of any such person?" "no," she replied, flushing slightly and glancing slowly around the hot, crowded room. "you had a visitor whose name your father has just given me upon this paper," observed the coroner. "was that visitor known to the deceased?" the eyes of the father and daughter met for a single instant as she glanced around upon the long lines of expectant countenances. "oh, yes," she replied. "the gentleman who came unexpectedly to see us has been known to us all for fully five or six years." "and has always been very friendly towards the unfortunate girl?" "always." "the only thing taken from the young lady appears to have been a diamond brooch. do you know anything of it?" "of what?" gasped liane nervously, her face paling almost imperceptibly behind her black veil. "of the brooch, of course." "i only know that she prized it very much, as it was a present from a gentleman she had met while on the riviera eighteen months ago." "he was not her lover?" inquired the grave-faced man, without looking up from the sheet of blue foolscap whereon he was writing her statement. "not exactly. i have no knowledge of her possessing any admirer." the coroner at last paused and put down his quill. "and this miniature, which was discovered beside the body, have you ever before seen it in the possession of the deceased?" he asked, holding it up to her gaze. "no," she answered. "never." the jury not desiring to ask any questions, liane was then allowed to retire to a chair next her father, and the doctor was called. "will you kindly tell us the result of the _post mortem_, dr lewis?" the coroner requested, when the medical man had been sworn. at once the doctor explained in technical language the injuries he had discovered, and described the exact position in which he had found the body when he reached the spot. "and what, in your opinion, was the cause of death?" asked the coroner in dry, business-like tones. "she was shot at close quarters while ascending the incline leading from the railway arch towards stratfield mortimer. the weapon used was an army revolver. i produce the bullet i have extracted," he answered, taking it from his vest-pocket and handing it across the table. "the deceased's assailant stood on her left-hand side, and must have shot her as she rode along. she evidently mounted her cycle at the commencement of the incline, and having run down swiftly and passed beneath the arch, was again descending when the shot was fired." "was death instantaneous?" inquired the foreman of the jury. "scarcely," answered the doctor. "such a wound must, however, cause death. immediate attention could not have saved her." a thrill of horror ran through the crowded court. nearly everyone present had seen nelly bridson, with her smiling happy face, riding about the village and roads in the vicinity, and the knowledge that she had met with an end so terrible yet mysterious, appalled them. some further questions were put to the doctor, after which george stratfield entered. as he raised the greasy copy of holy writ to his lips, his eyes fell upon liane. she was sitting, pale and rigid, with a strange haggard expression upon her beautiful countenance such as he had never before beheld. he gazed upon her in alarm and surprise. the coroner's questions, however, compelled him to turn towards the jury, and in reply he explained how, on that fateful evening after his father's death, he was riding along cross lane, and was horrified by discovering the body of nelly bridson. in detail he described every incident, how he had lifted her up, and finding her quite dead, had ridden on into the village to obtain assistance. liane listened to his story open-mouthed. her hands were closed tightly, and once or twice, when questions were put to him by coroner or jury, she held her breath until he had answered. she was as one paralysed by some unknown fear. their gaze met more than once, and on each occasion he fancied he detected, even through her veil, that her eyes were dark and haggard, like one consumed by some terrible dread. "you have, i believe, some knowledge of this miniature," the coroner observed, again taking the small oval bejewelled portrait in his hand. "yes," he answered. "it is undoubtedly the one which has been missing from my late father's collection for more than twenty years. it was supposed to have been stolen, but by whom could never be ascertained. my father had several times offered handsome rewards for its recovery, as it is a family portrait." "you have no idea, i suppose, by what means it could have come into the unfortunate girl's possession?" "none whatever. the unexpected discovery amazed me." "you have not told us what caused you to ride along cross lane on that evening," the foreman of the jury observed presently. again liane held her breath. "i had an appointment," he answered, not without considerable hesitation, "and was proceeding to keep it." "did you know miss bridson?" "we had met on several occasions." the detective from scotland yard bent across the table and uttered some words, after which the coroner, addressing george, said,-- "inspector swayne desires to ascertain whether it was with the deceased you had an appointment?" "no," he replied promptly. again the coroner and the inspector exchanged some hurried words. "who was the person you intended to meet?" the coroner asked, looking inquiringly at the witness. "a lady." "am i right in presuming that it was miss brooker?" george paused for an instant, bit his lip in displeasure at being thus compelled to publicly acknowledge his clandestine meetings with liane, and then nodded in the affirmative. "then you were about to meet miss brooker, but instead, found miss bridson lying in the roadway dead?" the coroner observed. "i did." "are you aware that miss brooker wrote to you expressing her inability to keep the appointment?" the coroner asked. "she has told me so," he answered. "the letter was given, i believe, to the unfortunate young lady to post, but i have not received it." "there appears to be some mystery about that letter," the coroner said, turning to the jury. "i have it here. it was discovered in fragments yesterday by the police, thrown into a ditch at the roadside not far from where the body was found;" and taking from among his papers a sheet of foolscap whereon the pieces of liane's letter had been pasted together, he handed it to the jury for their inspection. at that instant a sudden thought occurred to george. this last fact pointed alone to one conclusion, namely, that nelly being given the letter by liane, and knowing its contents, kept the appointment herself, desiring to speak to him alone upon some subject the nature of which he could not, of course, guess. this would not only account for her presence at the spot where he found her, but also for her dismounting and resting at the gateway where they had discovered the curious marks in the dust, and for the fragments of the letter being recovered near. a similar theory appeared to suggest itself to the minds of the jury, for a moment later the foreman asked-- "would the deceased have any definite object in seeking an interview with you?" "none whatever," he promptly replied, puzzled nevertheless that the remains of liane's note should have been recovered in cross lane. "you assisted the police to search the road for any traces of the assassin, i believe, mr stratfield," continued the coroner. "did you discover anything?" george raised his eyes and met the curious gaze of the woman he loved. at that moment her veil failed to hide the strange look of dread and apprehension in her face, so intense it was. her lips, slightly parted, quivered, the pallor of her cheeks was deathlike, and her whole attitude was that of one who feared the revelation of some terrible truth. "during my search i discovered a lady's hairpin lying in the grass at the roadside," george replied, after a silence, brief but complete. he was not thinking of the question, but was sorely puzzled at the extraordinary change in the woman who had promised to become his wife. the transformation was amazing. "that pin is here," the coroner explained to the jury, passing it across for their inspection. "i will call henry fawcett, hairdresser, of reading, who will give evidence regarding it." the man referred to was called in, and in reply to a formal question, took the hairpin in his hand, saying,-- "i have, at the instigation of the police, minutely compared this pin with those worn by the young lady at the time of her death, and also those found upon her dressing-table. i find that although apparently the same make it is nevertheless entirely different. some of them found upon her dressing-table were of similar length and size, but while the pins she used were of the ordinary kind, such as may be purchased at any draper's, this one is of very superior quality. by the shape of its points, together with its curve, i can distinguish that this is the pin manufactured solely by clark and lister, of birmingham, and sold by first-class hairdressers." "your theory is that this pin was never worn by the deceased?" the coroner said, thoughtfully stroking his grey beard. "i feel confident it never was, for the pin is quite new, and they are sold in large boxes," was the reply. "in that case it seems probable that another woman was with her immediately before her death," observed the foreman to his brother jurors. george looked again at liane. her eyes were still staring into space, her lips were trembling, her face was ashen pale. she started at the ominous words which fell upon her ear, then feigned to busy herself in re-buttoning the black glove she had removed before taking the oath. "it, of course, remains for the police to prosecute further inquiries and to discover the owner of that hairpin," the coroner said. "most of us are aware that ladies frequently use various kinds of pins in dressing their hair, but in this case not a single one of the peculiar sort found on the spot was discovered in the deceased's possession; and this fact in itself certainly lends colour to a suggestion that immediately prior to the tragedy miss bridson was not alone." george having concluded his evidence, had taken a seat beside his well-beloved. only once she glanced at him, then evaded his gaze, for in her grey eyes was an expression as though she were still haunted by some unknown yet terrible dread. his statement regarding the hairpin had unnerved her. did she, he wondered, wear similar pins in her own dark, deftly-coiled tresses? instantly, however, he laughed the wild, absurd idea to scorn. that she feared lest some startling truth should be elucidated was apparent; but the suspicion that a pin from her own hair had fallen unheeded upon the grass he dismissed as utterly preposterous. was she not his enchantress? surely he had no right to suspect her of all women, for he loved her with all his soul. yet neither police, jury, nor he himself had inquired where she had been at the hour the tragedy was enacted. the thought held him appalled. while these and similar reflections passed through his mind some words of the coroner suddenly arrested his attention. the court was at once hushed in expectation, every word being listened to with eager attention. "in the dress-pocket of the deceased has been found this letter, of a somewhat extraordinary character. as it is written in french it may be best if i read an english translation," he said, spreading out the missive before him. "it is on superior note-paper of english make, bears traces of having been written by an educated person, and was sent to the post office, stratfield mortimer, where the police have ascertained that the deceased called for it about ten days ago. no address is given, and the envelope is missing, but the communication is to the following effect:--`dear nelly,--the cord is now drawn so tight that it must snap ere long. england is safer than the south, no doubt, but it will not be so much longer. therefore i remain here, but fortunately not "en convalescence." do not tell liane anything, but remember that the matter must be kept a profound secret, or one or other of us must pay the penalty. that would mean the end. for myself, i do not care, but for you it is, of course, entirely different. we are widely separated, yet our interests are entirely identical. remember me, and be always on your guard against any surprise. au revoir.' it will be noticed, gentlemen, by those of you who know french," the coroner added, "that the words `en convalescence' occur here in a rather curious sense. it is, in fact, nothing less than thieves' argot, meaning under police surveillance; and it is strange that it should be written by one who otherwise writes well and grammatically. the name of the dead girl's mysterious correspondent is a rather uncommon one-- mariette lepage." "mariette lepage!" george cried aloud in a tone of dismay, causing not a little consternation among those assembled. the strange-sounding foreign name was only too deeply impressed upon his memory. the writer of that curious letter, with its well-guarded expression in the argot of the paris slums, was the unknown woman to whom, under his father's will, he was compelled to offer marriage. chapter five. captain brooker's objection. as everyone expected, the coroner's jury, after hearing zertho's evidence at the adjourned inquest, returned the usual verdict of "wilful murder against some person or persons unknown." it was the only conclusion possible in such a case, the mystery being left for the police to solve. later that afternoon inspector swayne was closeted with george and mr harrison at stratfield court, and after an hour's consultation regarding the curious letter found in nelly's pocket, the detective left for london. while that conversation was taking place liane and her father, having returned from the inquest, were sitting together in the little dining-room. brooker had cast off his shiny frock-coat with a sigh of genuine relief, assumed his old well-cut tweed jacket, easy and reminiscent of the past, while his daughter, having removed her gloves and veil, sat in the armchair by the fireplace still in her large black hat that gave a picturesque setting to her face. the windows were open, the blinds down, and the room, cool in the half-light, was filled with the sweet perfume of the wealth of old-world flowers outside. "our ill-luck seems to follow us, even now, my dear," he observed, thrusting his hands deep into his empty pockets and lazily stretching out his legs. "that inquisitive old chap, the coroner, was within an ace of raking up all the past. i was afraid they intended to adjourn again." "why afraid?" asked liane in surprise. "you surely do not fear anything?" "well, no, not exactly," her father answered, with a quick glance at her. "but some facts might have been then elicited which are best kept secret." liane looked at the captain, long and steadily, with eyes full of sadness, then said, earnestly,-- "what caused you to suspect zertho, father?" "suspect him. i never suspected him!" "do not deny the truth," she answered, in a tone of mild reproach. "i know that before you went to london you sent him a message which, had he been guilty, would have allowed him time to escape." "but he was entirely unaware of the tragedy," her father answered, rolling a cigarette with infinite care. "zertho could have had no object in murdering nelly. besides, it had already been proved by the station-master that he had left by the train he saw him enter." "then why did you take the trouble to go to london?" she inquired. "my motive was a secret one," he replied. "one that even i must not know?" she inquired, in genuine surprise. "yes, even you must not know, liane," he answered. "women are apt to grow confidential towards their lovers, and if the secret were once out, then my plans would be thwarted." "you suspect someone?" she asked, in a low, harsh voice. "well," he answered, regarding his unlit cigarette intently, "i will not say that i actually suspect someone, but i have a theory, strange though it may be, which i believe will turn out to be the correct one." liane started. father and daughter again exchanged quick glances. she fancied she saw suspicion in his eyes. "may i not assist you?" she asked. "you know that in the past i've many times brought you luck at the tables." "no," he said, shaking his head. "in this i must act entirely alone. george stratfield no doubt occupies all your thoughts." she thought she detected a touch of sarcasm in his tone. the girl blushed deeply, but did not answer. her father, inveterate smoker that he was, lit his cigarette and sat silent and self-absorbed for a long time. he was thinking of the bright happy girl who, cold and dead in her tiny room upstairs, was the victim of a foul, terrible, and mysterious crime. "how long have you known this man?" the captain inquired at last. "three months." "and has he proposed to you?" "he has," she faltered, blushing more deeply. he drew a long breath, rose slowly, and pulling aside the white blind, looked out as if in search of something. in truth, he was hesitating whether he should speak to her at once, or wait for some other opportunity. turning to her at last, however, he said briefly, in a low, pained tone,-- "you must break off the engagement, liane. you cannot marry him." "cannot!" she gasped, her face turning pale. "why?" "listen," he continued huskily, coming closer to her, laying his big hand upon her shoulder, and looking down upon her tenderly. "through all these years of prosperity and adversity you alone have been the one bright joy of my life. your existence has kept me from going to the bad altogether; your influence has prevented me from sinking lower in degradation than i have already sunk. for me the facile pleasures of a stray man have ceased, because, for your sake, liane, i gave up the old life and returned here to settle and become respectable. i admit that our life in england is a trifle tame after what we've been used to, but it will not, perhaps, be always so. at present my luck's against me and we must wait in patience; therefore do not accept the first man's offer of marriage. life's merely a game of _rouge-et-noir_. sometimes you may win by waiting. reflect well upon all the chances before you stake the maximum." "but george loves me, dad, and his family are wealthy," she protested, meeting her father's earnest gaze with her large grey eyes, in which stood unshed tears. "i don't doubt it, my girl," he answered huskily. "i was young once. i, too, thought i loved a woman--your mother. i foolishly believed that she loved me better than anyone on earth. ah! you wring from me my confession, because--because it should serve you as a lesson." and he paused with bent head, while liane held his strong but trembling hand. "it is a wretched story," he went on in a low, harsh voice, "yet you should know it, you who would bind yourself to this man irrevocably. at the time this woman came into my life i was on leave down in the south of france, with wealth, happiness and bright prospects. i loved her and made her my wife. then i went with my regiment to india, but already my future was blasted, for within a year of my marriage the glamour fell from my eyes and i knew that i had been duped. a fault committed by her threw such opprobrium upon me that i was compelled to throw up my commission, leave her and go back to england. i could not return to my friends in london, because she would discover and annoy me; therefore i have drifted hither and thither, falling lower and lower in the social scale, until, ruined and without means, i became a common blackleg and swindler. but it belongs to the past. it is dead, gone--gone for ever. those years have gone and my youth has gone. i've lived like other men since then. heaven knows it has not been a life to boast of, liane. there have been days and years in it when i dared not trust myself to remember what had been--days of madness and folly, and months of useless apathy. ah!" he sighed, "i was straight enough before my marriage, but my life was wrecked solely by that woman." his daughter listened intently, and when he had finished she echoed his deep sigh. her father had never before told her the tragic story. she had always believed that her mother died of fever in india a year after marriage. "then my mother is not dead?" she observed reflectively. "i do not know. to me she has been dead these eighteen years," he answered, with a stern look upon his hard-set features. a lump rose in his throat, and in his eye there was a suspicion of a tear. "was she like me?" liane asked softly, still holding her father's hand and looking up at him. "yes, darling," he replied. "sometimes when you look at me i shrink from you because your eyes are so like hers. she was just your age when i married her." there was a long and painful silence. the hearts of father and daughter were too full for words. they were indeed an incongruous pair. he was a reckless gamester, a cunning adventurer, whose career had more than once brought him within an ace of arrest, while she, although prematurely versed in the evil ways of a polyglot world, where the laws of rectitude and morality were lax, was nevertheless pure, honest and good. "but, dear old dad, why may i not marry george?" she asked when, after thinking deeply over the truth regarding her parentage, her mind reverted to thoughts of the man she loved. "i cannot sufficiently explain the reason now," he answered vaguely. "some day, when i am aware of all the facts, you shall know." "but i can love no other man," she exclaimed decisively, with eyes downcast. "you know my wish, liane," her father answered rather coldly. "i feel sure you will endeavour to respect it." "i cannot, father! i really cannot!" she cried starting up. "besides, you give me no reason why i should not marry." "i am unable to explain facts of which i am as yet unaware," he said, withdrawing his hand. "we love each other, therefore i cannot see why you should object." "i do not doubt that there is affection between you, but my objection is well based, i assure you, as some day you will be convinced." "have you any antipathy against george personally?" "none whatever; i rather like him," he said. "i only tell you in plain, straightforward terms that your marriage with him is impossible, therefore the sooner you part the better;" and opening the door, he slowly left the room. deep in thought, liane stood leaning against the table, in the same position as zertho had stood when he had asked the captain for her hand. evidently her father entertained some deep-rooted prejudice against the stratfields; nevertheless, after calm reflection, she felt confident that sooner or later she could over-rule his objection, and persuade him to adopt her view, as she had done on previous occasions without number. on the following afternoon a double funeral attracted hundreds of persons to the churchyard of stratfield mortimer, where nelly bridson was laid to rest in a plain grave, beneath a drooping willow, and the body of sir john stratfield, fourteenth baronet, was placed in the family vault, among his ancestors. when the interments were over, george met liane and managed to whisper a few words to her. it was an appointment, and in accordance with his request, she went at sundown along the chestnut avenue to the court, and was at once shown to the library, where her lover awaited her. her mourning became her well. his quick eyes detected that her black dress, though not new, bore the unmistakable cut of the fashionable dressmaker. her figure, perfect in symmetry, was shown to advantage by her short, french corset, and the narrow band of black satin that begirt her slim waist. "i have to offer my apologies to you, dearest," he said, when the servant had closed the door. "at the inquest i was bound to openly confess that we had met clandestinely." "what apology is needed?" she asked, smiling. "we love each other, and care nothing for what the world may think." "that is true," he answered, deep in thought. "but i--i have an announcement to make to you, which i fear must cause you pain." "an announcement! what?" "i must leave you." she stood before him, looked quickly into his face, and turned pale. "leave me!" she gasped. "yes. i find, alas, i am compelled to go." "and only the day before yesterday you asked me to become your wife!" she cried, reproachfully. "what have i done that you should treat me thus?" "nothing. you have done nothing, liane, only to fascinate me and hold me irrevocably to you," he answered, looking earnestly into her clear, beautiful eyes. he paused. his soul was too full for utterance. then at length he said, "i have asked you here this evening to tell you everything, for when i leave here, i fear it will be never to return." "why?" she asked, looking him full in the face, with a puzzled expression. "because i am not wealthy, as is generally believed," he replied, colouring deeply as he met her searching gaze. "it is useless to deceive you, therefore i must tell you the hideous truth. my father has thought fit to leave his whole fortune to my brother, and allow me to go penniless. i am therefore unable to marry." liane's lips had grown white with fear and astonishment. "and that is the reason you now intend to forsake me!" she gasped. he bowed his head. she passed her hand over her eyes. her soul was in a tumult. she, too, fondly wished to believe that he actually loved her, to trust the evidence of what she saw. his words were a trifle ambiguous, and that was sufficient to fill her with uncertainty. jealous of that delicacy which is the parent of love, and its best preserver, she checked the overflowings of her heart, and while her face streamed with tears, placed her hand protestingly upon his arm. "forgive me!" he cried with increased earnestness. "i know i have wronged you. forgive me, in justice to your own virtues, liane. in what has passed between us i feel i ought to have only expressed thanks for your goodness to me; but if my words or manner have obeyed the more fervid impulse of my soul, and declared aloud what should have been kept secret, blame my nature, not my presumption. i am ruined, and i dare not look steadily on any aim higher than your esteem." "ah! do not speak to me so coldly," the girl burst forth passionately. "i cannot bear it. you said you loved me," and she sobbed bitterly. "i have loved you, dear one, ever since we first met," he answered quickly. "i love you now, even better than my life. but alas! a mysterious fate seems to govern both of us, and we are compelled to part." "to part!" she wailed. "why?" "ere long my brother will come to take possession of this place, for it is no longer my home," he answered, in a low, pained tone. "i shall go away to london and try to eke out a living at the bar. for a young man without means the legal profession is but a poor one at best," he sighed; "therefore marriage being out of the question, i am compelled to tell you the plain honest truth, and release you." "release me!" she echoed wildly. "i do not desire release. i love you, george." "but you do not love me sufficiently to wait through the long, dark days that are at hand?" he cried, surprised at her passionate declaration! "remember, i am penniless, without hope, without prospects, without anything save my great affection for you!" the slanting rays of the sunset streaming through the stained glass fell upon her, gilded her hair, and illumined her anxious face with a halo of light. she looked lovely, with her dark eyelashes trembling, her soft eyes full of love, and the colour of clear sunrise mounting on her cheeks and brow. "wealthy or poor," she answered, in a low, sweet tone, "it matters not, because i love you, george." "and although we must part; although i must go to london and exchange this free, open, happy life with you daily beside me for the dusty dinginess of chambers wherein the sun never penetrates, yet you will still remain mine?" he cried half doubtingly. "do you really mean it, liane?" "i do," she answered, in a voice trembling with emotion, and with a look all tenderness and benignity. "it is no fault of yours that you are poor, therefore be of stout heart, and when you return to london remember that one woman alone thinks ever of you, because--because she loves you." with the large tears in her beautiful eyes--tears which seemed to him to rise partly from her desire to love him with the power of his love--she put her pure, bright lips, half-smiling, half-prone to reply to tears, against his brow, lined with doubt and eager longing. "dearest darling, love of my life," he whispered through her clouds of soft, silky hair. "i know i, an englishman, with my blunt manners, must grate upon you sometimes, with your delicate, high-strung feelings. we are as different as the day is from the night. but, liane, if truth and honesty, and a will so to use my life as to become one of the real workers and helpers in the world--a wish to be manly and upright, strong of heart, and clean of conscience before god and man--if these can atone for lack of culture and refinement, then i hope you will not find me wanting. when i am absent there will be plenty besides me to love you, but i will not believe that any can love you better than i do, or few as truly." she hesitated for a single instant as he spoke. she lifted her face from her hands and looked up at him. he was not much taller than she; it was not far. but as she looked another face came between them--a pale, refined face: a face with more poetry, more romance, more passion. its sight was to her as a spectre of the past. it held her dumb in terror and dismay. george saw her hesitation, and the strange horrified look in her eyes. puzzled, he uttered not a word, but watched her breathlessly. liane opened her pale lips, but they closed and tightened upon each other; from beneath her narrowed brows her eyes sent short flashes out upon his, and her breath came and went long and deep, without sound. "why are you silent?" he whispered at last. her lips relaxed, her form drooped, she lifted her face to reply, but her mouth twitched; she could not speak. "if you truly love me and are prepared to wait, i will do my best," he declared passionately, surprised at her change of manner, but little dreaming of its cause. suddenly, however, as quickly as the heavy, preoccupied expression had settled upon her countenance it was succeeded by a smile. she was a strange, unique, incomparable girl, for the next second she laughed at him in sweetest manner with a come and go of glances, saying in a tone of low, deep tenderness,-- "yes, george, you are the only man i love. if it is necessary that you should go to follow your profession, then go, and take with you the blessing of the woman who has promised to become your wife." an instant later george held her slight graceful form in fond embrace, while she hid her forehead and wet eyelashes on his shoulder, murmuring,-- "i shall be yours always." his burning kisses fell upon her hair, but neither of them spoke for a while. the sunlight faded, and the old brown room with its shelves of dusty tomes became dark and gloomy. each felt the other's heart beat; and the unlucky son of the stratfields drank that ecstasy of silent, delicious bliss which comes to great hearts only once in a life. later that night, after he had walked with her to her father's door, she went to her room and sat alone for a long time in silence. a noise aroused her. it was her father retiring to rest. she listened intently, until, hearing his door closed, she paced her room with fevered steps. her face was ashen pale, and from time to time low, strange words escaped her, as, lifting her hands, she pushed back her hair, which seemed to press too heavily upon her hot brow. "i love him!" she gasped in a low, strained whisper. "yet, if he only knew--if he only knew!" and she shuddered. thrice she moved slowly backwards and forwards across her room. suddenly pulling aside the dimity curtains, she gazed out into the brilliant night. the moon was shining full upon her windows, revealing the trees and stretch of undulating meadows beyond. for an instant she hesitated. her clenched hands trembled; she held her breath, listening. reassured, she crossed noiselessly to her little dressing-table, opened one of the drawers, and took therefrom a small jewel-case. only a few cheap trinkets were revealed when she unlocked it, but from it she drew forth a small oblong box of white cardboard. then cautiously she crept from her room downstairs, and out into the small orchard behind the house. crossing it, still in the deep shadow of the apple trees, she searched for some moments until she found a spade, and making her way to a bed that had been newly dug, she deftly removed several shovelfuls of earth, panting the while. taking the small box hastily from her pocket, she glanced round to assure herself she was unobserved, then bent, and placing it carefully in the hole she had made, an instant later proceeded to fill it in and rearrange the surface, so that no trace should remain of it having been removed. then replacing the spade where she had found it, she crept noiselessly back to her room, locked the door and stood rigid, her hand pressed upon her wildly-beating heart. chapter six. outsiders. many weeks went by. to liane the days were long, weary and monotonous, for george had left, and the court had passed into the possession of major stratfield, a proud, pompous, red-faced man, who often rode through the village, but spoke to nobody. since her lover had gone she had remained dull and apathetic, taking scarcely any interest in anything, and never riding her cycle because of the tragic memories its sight always aroused within her. her life was, indeed, grey and colourless, for she noticed that of late even her father's manner had changed strangely towards her, and instead of being uniformly courteous and solicitous regarding her welfare, he now seemed to treat her with studied indifference, and she even thought she detected within him a kind of repulsion, as if her presence annoyed and distressed him. he had never been the same towards her since that memorable evening when he had forbidden her to accept george's offer. yet her mind was full of thoughts of her absent lover, and she sent him by post boxes of flowers from the garden, that their sweet perfume should remind him of her. another fact also caused her most intense anxiety and apprehension. the secret which she believed locked securely within her own bosom was undoubtedly in possession of some unknown person, for having gone into the garden one morning, a week after that night when she had buried the small box from her jewel-case, she fancied that the ground had been freshly disturbed, and that someone had searched the spot. if so, her actions had been watched. thus she lived from day to day, filled by a constant dread that gripped her heart and paralysed her senses. she knew that the most expert officers from scotland yard were actively endeavouring to discover the identity of nelly's assassin, and was convinced that sooner or later the terrible truth must be elicited. twice each week george wrote to her, and she read and re-read his letters many times, sending him in return all the gossip of the old-world village that he loved so well. thanks to the generosity of the major, who had decided to give him a small property bringing in some two hundred a year, he was not so badly off as he had anticipated; nevertheless, were it not for that he must have been in serious straits, for, according to his letters, work at the bar was absolutely unobtainable, and for a whole month he had been without a single brief. old mr harrison sometimes gave him one, but beyond that he could pick up scarcely anything. one evening in late autumn, when the air was damp and chilly, the orchard covered with leaves and the walnuts were rattling down upon the out-house roof with every gust of wind that blew across the hills, the captain received a telegram, and briefly observed that it was necessary he should go to london on the morrow. he threw the piece of pink paper into the fire without saying who was the sender, and next morning rose an hour earlier and caught the train to paddington, whence he drove in a hansom to an address in cork street, piccadilly. a man-servant admitted him, and he was at once ushered upstairs to a small, well-furnished drawing-room, which, however, still retained the odour of overnight cigars. he had scarcely time to fling himself into a chair when a door on the opposite side of the room opened, and zertho entered, well-dressed, gay and smiling, with a carnation in the lappel of his coat. "well, brooker, old chap," he cried, extending his white hand heartily, "i'm back again, you see." "yes," answered the other, smiling and grasping the proffered hand. "the dignity of prince appears to suit you, judging from your healthful look." "it does, brooker; it does," he answered laughing. "one takes more interest in life when one has a plentiful supply of the needful than when one has to depend upon fortune for a dinner." "i wonder that no one has yet spotted you," brooker observed, leaning back in the silken armchair, stretching out his feet upon the hearthrug, regarding the prince with a critical look from head to toe, and lighting the cigar the other had offered him. "if they did, it might certainly be a bit awkward," zertho acquiesced. "but many people are ready to forgive the little peccadilloes of anybody with a title." "ah! that's so. it's money, money always," the luckless gamester observed with a sigh. "well, hang it, you can't grumble. you've won and lost a bit in your time," his friend said, casting himself upon a couch near, stroking his dark beard, and blowing a cloud of smoke from his full lips. "if you're such an idiot as not to play any more, well you, of course, have to suffer." "play, be hanged!" cried brooker, impetuously. "my luck's gone. the last time i played trente-et-quarante, i lost a couple of ponies." "but the system is--" "oh, the system is all rot. the johnnie who invented it ought to have gone and played it himself. he'd have been a candidate for the nearest workhouse within three days." "well, we brought it off all right more than once," zertho observed, with a slight accent. "mere flukes, all of them." "you won at one coup thirty-six thousand francs, i remember. surely that wasn't bad?" "ah! that was because liane was sitting beside me. it's wonderful what luck that girl has." "then why not take her back again this season?" his companion suggested. "she wouldn't go," he answered, after a slight pause. "wouldn't go!" cried the prince, raising his dark, well-defined brows. "you are her father. surely she obeys you?" "of late she's very wilful; different entirely from the child as you knew her. since poor nelly's death she seems to have been seized with a sudden desire to go to church on sunday, and is getting altogether a bluestocking," the captain said. "poor nelly!" sighed the prince. "i have never ceased to think of that sad evening when she grasped my hand through the carriage-window as the train was moving, and with a merry mischievous laugh waved me farewell. she was bright and happy then, as she always was; yet an hour later she was shot dead by some villainous hand. i wonder whether the mystery will ever be explained," he added, reflectively. the captain made no reply, but smoked on steadily, his head thrown back, gazing fixedly at the opposite wall. "the police have done their best," he answered at length. "at present, however, they have no clue." "and i don't believe they ever will have," answered zertho, slowly. "what makes you think that?" brooker inquired, turning and looking at him. "well, i've read all that the papers say about the affair," he answered, "and to me the mystery seems at present one that may never be solved." "unless the crime is brought home to the assassin by some unexpected means." "of course, of course," he answered. "you're a confounded fool to remain down in that wretched, dismal hole, brooker. how you can stand it after what you've been used to i really can't think." "my dear fellow, i've grown quite bucolic," he assured his companion, laughing a trifle bitterly. "the few pounds i've still got suffice to keep up the half-pay wheeze, and although i'm in a chronic state of hard-up, yet i manage to rub along somehow and just pay the butcher and baker. hang it! why, i'm so infernally respectable that a chap came round last week with a yellow paper on which he wanted me to declare my income. fancy me paying an income-tax!" the prince laughed at his friend's grim humour. in the old days at monte carlo, erle brooker had been full of fun. he was the life and soul of the hotel de paris. no reverse ever struck him seriously, for he would laugh when "broke" just as heartily as when, with pockets bulky with greasy banknotes, he would descend the steps from the casino, and crack a bottle of "fizz" at the cafe opposite. "if i were you i'd declare my income at eight hundred a year, pay up, and look big," zertho laughed. "it would inspire confidence, and you could get a bit of credit here and there. then when that's exhausted, clear out." "the old game, eh? no, i'm straight now," the other answered, his face suddenly growing grave. "honesty is starvation. that used to be our motto, didn't it? yet here you are with only just enough to keep a roof over your head, living in a dreary out-of-the-way hole, and posing as the model father. the thing's too absurd." "i don't see it. surely i can please myself?" "of course. but is it just to liane?" "what do you mean?" "it is essential for a young girl of her temperament to have life and gaiety," he said, exhibiting his palms with a quick, expressive movement. "by vegetating in stratfield mortimer, amid surroundings which must necessarily possess exceedingly painful memories, she will soon become prematurely old. it's nothing short of an infernal shame that she should be allowed to remain there." brooker did not reply. he had on more than one occasion lately reflected that a change of surroundings would do her good, for he had noticed with no little alarm how highly strung had been her nerves of late, and how pale and wan were her cheeks. zertho spoke the truth. "i don't deny that what you say is correct," he replied thoughtfully. "but what's the use of talking of gaiety? how can any one have life without either money or friends?" "easily enough. both you and liane know the riviera well enough to find plenty of amusement there." "no, she wouldn't go. she hates it." "bah!" cried the prince, impatiently. "if, as you say, she's turned a bit religious, she of course regards the old life as altogether dreadful. but you can easily overcome those prejudices--or i will." "how?" "in december i'm going to nice for the season," zertho explained. "we shall have plenty of fun there, so at my expense you'll come." "i think not," was the brief reply. "my dear fellow, why not," he cried. "surely you can have no qualms about accepting my hospitality. you will remember that when i was laid up with typhoid in ostend i lived for months on your generosity. and heaven knows, you had then but little to spare! it is my intention now to recompense you." "and to endeavour to win liane's love," added the captain, curtly. zertho's brows narrowed slightly. he paused, gazing at the fine diamond glittering upon his white finger. "well, yes," he answered at last. "i don't see why there should be anything underhand between us." "i gave you my answer when you came down to stratfield mortimer," the other responded in a harsh, dry tone, rising slowly. "i still adhere to my decision." "why?" protested his whilom partner, looking up at him intently, and sticking his hands into his pockets in lazy, indolent attitude. "because i'm confident she will never marry you." "has she a lover?" his companion gave an affirmative nod. zertho frowned and bit his lip. "who is he?" he asked. "some uncouth countryman or other, i'll be bound." "the son of sir john stratfield." the prince sprang to his feet, and faced his visitor with a look of amazement. "sir john's son! never!" he gasped. "yes. strange how such unexpected events occur, isn't it?" brooker observed, slowly, with emphasis. "but, my dear fellow, you can't allow it. you must not!" he cried wildly. "i've already told her that marriage is entirely out of the question. yet she will not heed me," her father observed, twirling the moustaches which he kept as well trained now as in the days when he rode at the head of his troop on hounslow heath, and was the pet of certain london drawing-rooms. "then take her abroad, so that they cannot meet. come to nice in december." "i am to bring her, so that you may endeavour to take george stratfield's place in her heart--eh?" observed the captain shrewdly. "marriage with george stratfield is agreed between us both to be impossible, whereas marriage with me is not improbable," was the reply. erle brooker shrugged his shoulders as he again puffed vigorously at his cigar. he now saw plainly zertho's object in asking him to call. "well," continued his friend, "even i, with all my faults, am preferable to any stratfield as liane's husband, am i not?" "i don't see why we need discuss it further," said brooker quietly. "liane will never become princess d'auzac." "will you allow me to pay my attentions to her?" "if you are together i cannot prevent it, zertho. but, candidly speaking, you are not the man i would choose as husband for my daughter." "i know i'm not, old fellow," the other said, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "and you're not exactly the man that, in ordinary circumstances, i'd choose as my father-in-law. but i have money, and if the man's a bit decent-looking, and sound of wind and limb, it's about all a woman wants nowadays." "ah! i don't think you yet understand liane. she's not eager for money and position, like most girls." "well, let me have a fair innings, brooker, and she'll consent to become princess d'auzac, i feel convinced. you fancy i only admire her; but i swear it's a bit more than mere admiration. for heaven's sake take her out of that dismal hole where you are living, and make her break it all off with stratfield's son. she must do that at once. take her to the seaside--to paris--anywhere, for a month or two until we can all meet in the south." brooker, leaning against the mantelshelf, slowly flicked the ash from his cigar, meditated deeply for a few moments, then asked-- "why do you wish to take me back to the old spot?" "because only there can you pick up a living. the police have nothing against either of us, so what have we to fear?" "recognition by one or other of our dupes. play wasn't all straight, you'll remember." "bah!" cried zertho with impatience. "what's the use of meeting trouble half-way? you never used to have a thought for the morrow in the old days. but, there, you're respectable now," he added, with a slight sneer. "if i go south i shall not play," brooker said, decisively. "i've given it up." "because you've had a long run of ill-luck--eh?" the other laughed. "surely this is the first time you've adopted such a course. i might have been in the same unenviable plight as yourself by now if my respected parent had not taken it into his head to drop out of this sick hurry of life just at a moment when my funds were exhausted. one day i was an adventurer with a light heart and much lighter pocket, and on the next wealthy beyond my wildest expectations. such is one's fortune. even your bad luck may have changed during these months." "i think not," brooker answered gravely. "well, you shall have a thousand on loan to venture again," his old partner said good-naturedly. "i appreciate your kindness, zertho," he answered, in a low tone, smiling sadly, "but my days are over. i've lost, and gone under." the prince glanced at him for an instant. there was a strange glint in his dark eyes. "as you wish," he answered, then walking to a small rosewood escritoire which stood in the window, he sat down and scribbled a cheque, payable to his friend for five hundred pounds. brooker, still smoking, watched him in silence, unaware of his intention. slowly the prince blotted it, folded it, and placing it in an envelope, returned to where his visitor was standing. "i asked you to take liane from all the painful memories of stratfield mortimer. do so for her sake, and accept this as some slight contribution towards the expense. only don't let her know that it comes from me." brooker took the envelope mechanically, regarding his friend steadily, with fixed gaze. at first there was indecision in his countenance, but next instant his face went white with fierce anger and resentment. his hand closed convulsively upon the envelope, crushing it into a shapeless mass, and with a fierce imprecation he cast it from him upon the floor. "no, i'll never touch your money!" he cried, with a gesture, as if shrinking from its contact. "you fear lest liane should know that you are attempting to buy her just as you would some chattel or other which, for the moment, takes your fancy. but she shall know; and she shall never be your wife." "very well," answered zertho, with a contemptuous smile, facing the captain quickly. "act as you please, but i tell you plainly, once and for all, that liane will many me." "she shall not." "she shall!" declared the other, determinedly, looking into his face intently, his black eyes flashing. "and you will use that cheque for her benefit, and in the manner i direct, without telling her anything. you will also bring her to nice, and stand aside that i may win her, and--" "i'll do nothing of the sort. i'd rather see her dead." zertho's fingers twitched, as was his habit when excited. upon his dark sallow face was an expression of cruel, relentless revenge; an evil look which his companion had only seen once before. "listen, brooker," he exclaimed in a low, harsh tone, as advancing close to him he bent and uttered some rapid words in his ear, so low that none might hear them save himself. "good god! zertho!" cried the unhappy man, turning white to the lips, and glaring at him. "surely you don't intend to give me away?" he gasped, in a hoarse, terrified whisper. "i do," was the firm reply. "my silence is only in exchange for your assistance. now you thoroughly understand." "then you want liane, my child, as the price of my secret! my god!" he groaned, in a husky, broken voice, sinking back into his chair in an attitude of abject dejection, covering his blanched, haggard face with trembling hands. chapter seven. the missing mariette. in london the january afternoon was wet and cheerless. alone in his dingy chambers on the third floor of an ancient smoke-begrimed house in clifford's inn, one of the old bits of new babylon now sadly fallen from its once distinguished estate, george stratfield sat gazing moodily into the fire. in his hand was a letter he had just received from liane; a strange letter which caused him to ponder deeply, and vaguely wonder, whether after all he had not acted unwisely in sacrificing his fortune for her sake. she had been nearly three months abroad, and although she had written weekly there was an increasing coldness about her letters which sorely puzzled him. twice only had they met since he left the court--on the two evenings she and her father had spent in london on their way to the continent. he often looked back upon those hours, remembering every tender word she had uttered, and recalling the unmistakable light of love that lit up her face when he was nigh. yet since she had been _en sejour_ on the riviera her letters were no longer long and gossipy, but brief, hurriedly-written scribbles which bore evidence that she wrote more for the fulfilment of her promise than from a desire to tell of her daily doings, as lovers will. a dozen times he had read and re-read the letter, then lifting his eyes from it his gaze wandered around the shabby room with its ragged leather chairs, its carpet so faded that the original pattern had been lost, its two well-filled bookcases which had stood there and been used by various tenants for close upon a century, its panelled walls painted a dull drab, and its deep-set windows grimy with the soot of london. the two rooms which comprised this bachelor abode were decidedly depressing even on the brightest day, for the view from the windows was upon a small paved court, beyond which stood the small ancient hall, the same in which sir matthew hale and the seventeen judges sat after the great fire in , to adjudicate on the claims of landlords and tenants of burned houses, so as to prevent lawsuits. an ocean of chimneys belched around, while inside the furniture had seen its best days fully twenty years before, and the tablecloth of faded green was full of brown holes burnt by some previous resident who had evidently been a careless cigarette smoker. george drew his hand wearily across his brow, sighed, replaced the letter slowly in its envelope, examined the post-mark, then placed it in his pocket. "no," he said aloud, "i won't believe it. she said she loved me, and she loves me still." and he poked the fire vigorously until it blazed and threw a welcome light over the gloomy, dismal room. suddenly a loud rapping sounded on the outer door, and rising unwillingly, expecting it to be one of his many friends of the "briefless brigade," he went and opened it, confronting to his surprise his father's solicitor, harrison. "well, george," exclaimed his visitor, thrusting his wet umbrella into the stand in the tiny cupboard-like space which served as hall, and walking on uninvited into the apartment which served as office and sitting-room. "alone i see. i'm glad, for i want ten minutes' chat with you." "at your service, harrison," stratfield answered, in expectation of a five-guinea brief. "what is it? something for opinion?" "yes," answered the elder man, taking a chair. "it is for opinion, but it concerns yourself." george flung himself into the armchair from which he had just risen, placed his feet upon the fender and his hands at the back of his head, as was his habit when desiring to listen attentively. "well," he said, sighing, "about that absurd provision of the old man's will, i suppose? i'm comfortable enough, so what's the use of worrying over it?" "but it is necessary. you see, i'm bound to try and find this woman," the other answered, taking from his pocket some blue foolscap whereon were some memoranda. "besides, the first stage of the inquiry is complete." "and what have you discovered?" he asked eagerly. "i placed the matter in the hands of rutter, the private inquiry agent, whose report i have here," answered the solicitor. "it states that no such person as madame lepage is living at rue toullier, paris, but the concierge remembers that an elderly lady, believed to be a widow, once occupied with her daughter a flat on the fourth floor. the man, however forgets their name, as they only resided there a few months. during that time the daughter, whom he describes as young and of prepossessing appearance, mysteriously disappeared, and although a search was instituted, she was never found. there was no suspicion of suicide or foul play, but the police at the time inclined to the belief that, possessing a voice above the average, she had, like so many other girls who tire of the monotony of home life, forsaken it and obtained an engagement at some obscure cafe-concert under an assumed name. rutter, following up this theory, then visited all the impressarios he could find in an endeavour to discover an artist whose real name was lepage. but from the first this search was foredoomed to failure, for girls who desire to exchange home life for the stage seldom give their impressarios their correct names, hence no such person as mariette lepage could be traced." "then, after all, we are as far off discovering who this mysterious woman is as we ever were," george observed, glancing at his visitor with a half-amused smile. "well, not exactly," the solicitor answered. "undoubtedly the girl who disappeared from the house in the rue toullier was the woman for whom we are searching." "the letter found on nelly bridson is sufficient proof that she's still alive," said the younger man. "exactly; and from its tone it would appear that she is in the lower strata of society," harrison remarked. "whoever she is i shall, i suppose, be required to offer her marriage, even if she's a hideous old hag! my father was certainly determined that i should be sufficiently punished for my refusal to comply with his desire," george observed, smiling bitterly. "why regret the past?" harrison asked slowly, referring again to the blue foolscap by the fitful light of the fire. "the inquiry has, up to the present, resulted in the elucidation of only one definite fact; nevertheless, rutter is certainly on the right scent, and as he is now extensively advertising in the principal papers throughout france, i hope to be able ere long to report something more satisfactory." "it will be no satisfaction whatever to me if she is found," observed the young man, grimly. "but it is imperative that the matter should be cleared up," the solicitor protested. "when we have discovered her you will, of course, be at liberty to offer her marriage, or not, just as you please." "it is a most remarkable phase of the affair that the only person acquainted with this mysterious woman was poor nelly," the young barrister exclaimed at last. "you will remember that in the letter, with its slang of the slums, liane's name was mentioned. well, i have written asking her whether she is acquainted with any woman of the same name with which the curious letter is signed, but she has replied saying that neither herself nor her father ever knew any such person, and they had been quite at a loss to know how nelly should have become acquainted with her. here is her reply; read for yourself," and from his pocket he took several letters, and selecting one, handed it to the keen-faced, grey-haired man, at the same time striking a vesta and lighting the lamp standing upon the table. "you don't seem to mind other people reading your love-letters," the old solicitor said, laughing and turning towards the light. "when i was young i kept them tied up with pink tape in a box carefully locked." george smiled. "the pink tape was owing to the legal instinct, i suppose," he said. then he added, with a slight touch of sorrow, "there are not many secrets in liane's letters." the shrewd old man detected disappointment in his voice, and after glancing at the letter, looked up at him again, saying, "the course of true love is not running smooth, eh? this lady is in nice, i see." "yes, harrison," he answered gravely, leaning against the table with head slightly bent. "we are parted, and i fear that, after all, i have acted foolishly." "you will, no doubt, remember my advice on the day of your father's death." "i do," george answered, huskily. "at that time i fondly believed she loved me, and was prepared to sacrifice everything in order that she should be mine. but now--" "well?" "her letters have grown colder, and i have a distinct and painful belief that she loves me no longer, that she has, amid the mad whirl of gaiety on the riviera, met some man who has the means to provide her with the pleasures to which she has been accustomed, and upon whom she looks with favour. her letters now are little more than the formal correspondence of a friend. she has grown tired of waiting." "and are you surprised?" harrison asked. "i ought not to be, i suppose," he said gloomily. "i can never hope to marry her." "why despair?" the old solicitor exclaimed kindly. "you have youth, talent, and many influential friends, therefore there is no reason why your success at the bar should not be as great as other men's." "or as small as most men's," he laughed bitterly. "no, harrison, without good spirits it is impossible for one to do one's best. those i don't possess just now." "well, if, because you are parted a few months, the lady pleases to forsake you, as you suspect, then all i can say is that you are very fortunate in becoming aware of the truth ere it is too late," the elder man argued. "but i love her," he blurted forth. "i can't help it." "then, under the circumstances, i would, if i were you, stick to my profession and try and forget all that's past. bitter memories shorten life and do nobody any good." "ah! i only wish i could get rid of all thought of the past," he sighed, gazing fixedly into the fire. "you are my friend and adviser, harrison, or i should not have spoken thus to you." the old man, with his blue foolscap still in his thin, bony hand, paused, regarded his client's son with a look of sympathy for a few moments, and sighed. "your case," he said at last, "is only one of many thousands. all of us, in whatever station, have our little romances in life. we have at some time or another adored a woman who, after the first few months, has cast us aside for a newer and perhaps richer lover. there are few among us who cannot remember a sweet face of long ago, a voice that thrilled us, a soft, caressing hand that was smooth as satin to our lips. we sigh when we recollect those long-past days, and wonder where she is, who she married, and whether, in her little debauches of melancholy, she ever recollects the man who once vowed he would love her his whole life through. years have gone since then, yet her memory clings to us as vividly as if she were still a reality in our lives. we still love her and revere her, even though she cast us aside, even though we are not certain whether she still exists. the reason of all this is because when we are young we are more impressionable than when we are older, with wider and more mature experience of the world. the woman we at twenty thought adorable we should pass by unnoticed if we were forty. thus it is that almost all men cherish in their hearts a secret affection for some woman who has long ago gone out of their lives, passed on, and forgotten them." george smiled bitterly at the old man's philosophy. "are you, then, one of those with a romance within you?" he asked, his face suddenly becoming grave again. "yes," the old lawyer answered, his features hard and cold. "i, dry-as-dust, matter-of-fact man that i am, i also have my romance. years ago, how many i do not care to count, i loved a woman just as madly as you love liane brooker. she was of good family, wealthy, and so handsome that a well-known artist painted her portrait, which was hung at one of the galleries as one of a collection of types of english beauty. that she loved me i could not doubt, and the first six months of our acquaintance in the quaint old cathedral town where we lived was a dream of sunny, never-ending days. at evening, when the office at which i was articled was closed, she met me, and we walked together in the sunset by the river. i see her now, as if it were but yesterday, in her simple white dress and large hat trimmed with roses. the years that have passed have not dimmed my memory." and the old man, pausing, sat with his steely eyes gazing into the fire, a hardness in the corners of his mouth as if the recollection of the past was painful. "months went by," he continued in a harsh voice, quite unlike the tone habitual to him. "she knew that i was poor, yet against the wishes of her parents, purse-proud county people, she had announced her intention of waiting a year or two, and then marrying me. at length there came a day when i found it necessary to exchange the quiet respectability of durham for the bustle of a london office, and left. ours was a sad farewell, one night beneath the moon. she took my ring from my finger, kissed it and replaced it, while i kissed her hair, and we exchanged vows of undying love. then we parted. well, you may guess the rest. within three months she was a wife, but i was not her husband. from the moment when we said farewell on that memorable night i never saw her nor heard from her again. times without number i wrote, but my letters remained unanswered, until i saw in the papers the announcement of her marriage with some man who i ascertained later had amassed a fortune at the cape and had taken her out there with him. though i have grown old, i have never ceased to remember her, because she was the one woman i adored, the woman who comes once into the life of every man to lighten it, but who, alas! too often forsakes him for reasons incomprehensible and leaves him solitary and forgotten, with only a deep-cherished memory as consolation. so it is with you, george," he added. "it may be, as you fear, that liane brooker has grown weary, yet remember the old adage that a woman's mind and winter wind change oft, and reflect that if after her solemn vow to you she breaks her pledge, she is unworthy." "i know," he answered. "nevertheless she is my well-beloved." "so to me was the woman of whom i have just spoken," he answered. "nevertheless, that did not prevent me marrying ten years later and living in perfect happiness with my wife till her death six years ago. no, the thought of the past is the privilege of all men. i admit that it is doubly hard in your case that, having sacrificed your fortune for sake of her, you should now find yourself being slowly replaced in her heart by some other man. nevertheless, i repeat i am not surprised." "but you sympathise with me, although i speak so foolishly," he said, half apologetically. "it is no foolish talk," harrison replied. "there is surely no foolishness in discussing a matter that so closely concerns a man's future," he said. "of course you have my most sincere sympathy, and if at any time i can offer advice or render assistance, then command me." "you are extremely good," the young man replied. "the mystery surrounding liane, the tragic death of nelly bridson, the discovery of the missing miniature, and the unfortunate girl's acquaintance with this unknown woman whom my father designated as my wife, form an enigma of which, try how i will, i am unable to obtain any elucidation. through all these months not a single important fact has come to light." "true. it's an extraordinary affair altogether," harrison acquiesced, replacing the inquiry agent's report in his breast-pocket. "but i still hope we may discover mariette lepage, and through her we shall certainly be able to learn something. until then, we must remain patient." the pained, thoughtful expression that had rested upon his face, while he had been telling george the romance of his life, had been succeeded by that keen business-like air he always wore. he was again the plain, matter-of-fact lawyer, with his clean-shaven aquiline face, his cold steel-blue eyes and thin lips that gave those who did not know him an impression of almost ascetic austerity. george stratfield made no answer, but when a few minutes later his visitor had gone, after placing his hand sympathetically upon his shoulder and bidding him bear up against misfortune, he cast himself again into his chair and sat immovable, heedless of everything save the one woman who was his idol. chapter eight. the promenade des anglais. nice, the town of violets and mimosa, of confetti, of gay dominoes and pretty women, is at its best in february, white, clean, and ready for the reception of its most welcome guest, king carnival. while england is still gloomy with rain and fogs, and wintry winds still moan through the bare branches, the weather is already summer-like, with bright sunshine, soft warm breezes, and a sea of that intense sapphire blue which only the mediterranean can assume. little wonder it is that the gay world of every european capital should flock to nice, so mild is its climate, and so many and unique are its attractions. superbly situated on the broad beautiful bay of anges, with the promontories of ferrat and antibes jutting out in the far distance on either side, and sheltered by the lower terraces of the maritime alps, it presents a handsome appearance, with the heights of cimiez and other fertile olive-clad hills forming a fitting background. close to the sea, in the centre of the town, is the pretty jardin public, with its cascade and cavern of hanging stalactites, and behind is the fine place massena, wherein stands the handsome white casino municipal, while along the coast to the right stretches the world-famed promenade des anglais, a magnificent esplanade bordered by palatial hotels and villas, all uniformly white, the roadway planted with palms, oranges, cypresses and aloes, and laid out with beds of sweet-smelling flowers. although february, the oranges are ripe, and roses and carnations are already in full blossom; the jardin public is a blaze of brilliant colour, and as one turns from the promenade into the clean white streets the fragrance of violets hawked in huge bunches at four sous by the flower-girls greets the nostrils at every corner. nice is indeed a town of flowers. the garden of each villa is full of them--almost every person in the street wears a buttonhole or carries violets, the florists' shops diffuse the odour of mimosa and roses far and near, and even the confectioners sell dainty little round boxes of violets and roses crystallised in sugar. in those spring days nice is verily in carnival mood. her hotels are full, her shops display the daintiest fabrics possible, and as to hats and sunshades--for both of which the town is famous--it is doubtful whether such daring feats of millinery, as fetching as they are audacious, can be found in any city or any clime the world over. certainly nowhere else is there a brighter or more animated scene than that witnessed on the cemented footway of the promenade des anglais on a february morning. furs have long ago been discarded, and silk blouses and sunshades testify to the warmth of the brilliant sun, while the male portion of the visitors are attired in straw hats and suits of summer tweed. truly cosmopolitan and polyglot is that chattering throng. one rubs shoulders with barons, counts and highnesses of every nationality, and hears every european language uttered by gay laughing lips; the sibilant french of the dainty parisienne, the musical italian, the guttural german, the rapid english and the slow russian, all combine to make a veritable babel of tongues, while by the costumes alone, many of them marvellous creations of the famous men-dressmakers, the race of their wearers may usually be determined. fashionable europe is making happy holiday amid premature summer. amid this chattering crowd of pleasure-seekers liane was strolling beside prince zertho one morning a fortnight after old mr harrison had visited george in his dingy london chambers. gowned in pearl grey, the fitting of which bore the impress of the parisian costumier, and with a large hat to match, she walked on, chatting, laughing, and ever and anon bowing to those she knew; while the prince, in black jacket suit and soft felt hat of silver-grey, lounged leisurely along beside her, smoking a cigarette, and listening amusedly to her light, vivacious gossip. her appearance was entirely different to the trim, neatly-dressed girl who, in cotton blouse and shabby skirt, had cycled over the level berkshire roads. with her pure and perfect french, her slim waist girdled narrow, her _chevelure_ as carefully arranged as if by a maid of the first order, one might have easily mistaken her for a true parisienne. her beautiful face, combined with her delightful _chic_, caused many to turn and glance after her as she passed, a fact not unnoticed by her companion. her cheeks, no longer wan as they had been at stratfield mortimer, were again flushed with health; her eyes sparkled with pleasure as she became conscious of the profound admiration she everywhere evoked, and in her footstep was the lightness of one in whose heart there lurked no shadow. the day was perfect. both sea and sky were of a deep, intense blue, the long line of sun-blanched villas and hotels were gay with visitors, the trees wore their freshest green, and the sweet scent of violets pervaded everything. as they walked, zertho was reflecting how striking was her beauty, even among that crowd of europe's prettiest and wealthiest women. through november and december she and her father had remained in paris, and early in the new year had travelled down to nice, taking up their quarters at a small select "pension" in one of the large white villas which, standing in its own pretty garden planted with oranges, palms and roses, faced the mediterranean at the end of the promenade towards the magnan, while close by them zertho occupied the handsome villa chevrier, a great white house with palms in front, which also faced the sea at the corner of the rue croix de magnan. in nice a wealthy man can, if he desires, easily obtain a large cosmopolitan circle of friends, therefore, the villa of prince zertho d'auzac quickly became a social centre, for his entertainments being upon a scale almost unequalled, he found no lack of acceptances to his invitations. everyone in nice soon knew him by sight; the well-informed _petit nicois_ mentioned him almost daily in its "echoes de partout," the _swiss and nice times_ devoted whole columns to descriptions of his fetes and lists of his guests, among which figured many well-known names, and the _phare du littoral_ was loud in its praises of his dinners, his driving parties, and the dances at his house. well-groomed and usually attired in a dark suit, he walked in the avenue de la gare, drove tandem with liane at his side along the promenade, rode his unmatched bay on the corniche road, or strolled about the casino, and was everywhere recognised, for he was indeed the man of the hour. he smiled, however, when he recollected how, two years before, he had occupied an apartment "au troisieme" in the narrow noisy rue de france, while liane, nellie and the captain had lived equally precariously in the rue dalpozzo, close by. often dependent on his wits for a meal he had more than once, he remembered, strolled out upon that same promenade where he now walked with liane, in search of some inexperienced youth from whom he might obtain a few louis at cards, and thus stave off starvation for the next few days. their run of ill-luck had almost knocked them both under until one night after the captain had won a considerable sum at monte carlo, a sudden suggestion occurred to them, and together they started a private gaming-house in the boulevard gambetta, in nice, a place which, although remaining open only a few months, gained a decidedly unenviable repute. nevertheless, both men found their venture a most profitable one, and it is more than likely that their avarice would have led them into the arms of the police had not brooker, at liane's instigation, suddenly dissolved the partnership, taken his money, and returned to england. liane knew nice well. some of the most weary anxious and monotonous days of her life had been spent in a well-remembered frowsy room high up in that narrow back street which smelt eternally of garlic, where they had lived for nine months almost penniless. in those days when the fates were unkind neither she nor nelly ever ventured upon the promenade in the day-time, because their dresses were too dowdy, and they feared lest they should encounter some of the people with whom they had become acquainted when living at the big hotels at monte carlo, mentone, or cannes, as they did when their father prospered. yet she had now come back to the town she once abhorred. her father had sufficient to keep them both respectably and in comfort, and zertho was almost, if not quite, a millionaire. fortune they had so often courted had smiled at last upon them all. they were almost constantly at the villa chevrier. each morning the prince would call with his tandem and take her for a drive, returning in time for half an hour's walk on the promenade before _dejeuner_, then a lazy afternoon, a dinner with guests, a visit to the opera, to the casino, or perhaps to a ball. so passed the warm, brilliant days delightfully. people soon began to inquire who was the handsome, sweet-faced english girl with whom the prince was seen so often, but liane, entirely ignorant of zertho's mysterious influence over her father, or of his motive, merely regarded him with the cordiality of an old friend. zertho, even in the old days, had always treated her with studied courtesy, had often bought her sweetmeats and flowers, and was fond of teasing her good-humouredly and promising to find her a wealthy husband. it was he who had made both girls unexpected presents of bicycles after their return to england, and never once, even when almost penniless, had he forgotten to send them some trifle on their birthdays. although he had been her friend she nevertheless had regarded him with some slight, ill-defined mistrust. why, she had never been able to determine. though moving in the gay world of fashion and frivolity, of gambling and kindred vices, she was not of it. her knowledge of man's sins and woman's frailty was wider than that of most girls of her age, yet she had remained sweet, simple, and ingenuous. often, when at home in her room overlooking the sea, she would stand out upon the balcony and gaze away at the horizon distant in the broad expanse of blue, thinking deeply of george and wondering how he fared. still she reflected that, after all, life was far more pleasant there than in the lethargic berkshire village. yet amid that constant whirl of gaiety she never forgot those days that were past. even on that bright morning as at zertho's side she passed along, her sweet face fresh beneath her cream sunshade, she remembered the time when neither nelly nor herself dare walk there--those days of dire misfortune when only twenty sous lay between them and starvation. strolling on through the well-dressed throng they presently met the captain, spruce in a suit of dark grey with soft hat and brown boots, walking slowly, in conversation with a portly frenchman who had been the prince's guest on the previous evening. saluting, zertho and his fair companion passed on and continuing their walk strolled leisurely back to the villa chevrier. "why are you so thoughtful?" her companion asked presently in french, having noticed her wonderful grey eyes fixed upon the calm sunlit sea. "it is woman's privilege to think," she replied, laughing as she turned to him with her clear eyes expressive of the soul that lay behind. "i was reflecting upon the difference between our life two years ago and what it is to-day." "yes, slightly better, isn't it? well, it is luck--always luck," he answered. "your father is going over to monte carlo to-morrow, and i hope that fortune may be kind also to him. he has waited long enough for a change of luck." liane regarded him steadily for an instant, then said reproachfully,-- "it is you who have persuaded him. why have you done this, when you know full well that half an hour at roulette will bring back upon him the mania for play, the fatal recklessness that must be his ruin and mine? this is surely not the action of a friend." "ah! forgive me," he exclaimed, quickly. "i had no idea that my suggestion to drive you both over there to-morrow would displease you. "i'll make an excuse to him, and we will not go," he added, deferentially. she was not a little surprised that he should thus alter his plans in conformity to her wish, nevertheless his decision satisfied her. she knew that her father had but little money, and certainly he had none to risk. little did she dream that the cost of her rich, perfectly-fitting dresses, which had been so admired of late upon the promenade and in the casino, had been defrayed by her whilom friend, and that every sou her father was spending came also from his pocket. she was in ignorance of the strange, inviolable secret which existed between the two men; that secret, the price of which was her own self. too much of life had she seen to be dazzled by the gay, brilliant set of which she had found herself a centre, nevertheless, time after time she reflected, when alone, that she was neglecting george sadly; she had an instinctive fear that her letters to him were devoid of any warmth of affection, yet somehow she could not prevent it. being thrown so much into zertho's society he frequently asked her advice, and she thus unconsciously became interested in the success of his fetes. she and her father spent the day at the villa, as usual, and after dinner drove down to the place massena to witness one of the great annual events of nice, the arrival of king carnival long before they drove down, the town was already agog, for carnival is in the blood of the southerners. the illuminations were unanimously voted worthy of nice. from their stands on the balcony of the casino they could see that from end to end the broad avenue de la gare was ablaze with red and white lights, festoons of small lamps being connected at intervals with large red stars of hanging lamps. the place massena was lighted up with gas-jets in white, blue, and green globes, forming arabesques; the casino was encircled with lines of gas-jets, and the facade of the immense tribune opposite a brilliant blaze of colour. liane stood up and surveyed the scene. the immense square was thronged, the crowd being kept back by infantry. after some waiting the sounds of noisy music, the blasts of many horns, and the dancing lights of hundreds of torches at last heralded the approach of the monarch of mirth. mounted gendarmes opened the way; then came the trumpeters of the th chasseurs, followed by the heralds of nice in costumes embroidered with the arms of the town. the colours of the carnival were red and rose, and the shops around were gay with dominoes of those hues. madame carnival was the first gigantic figure to appear amid the glare of the great braziers of crimson fire. seated on what might be termed a gilt throne, and wearing a white frilled cap, a silk shawl, and clean apron, she looked altogether very smart, gracefully wielding a fan, and occasionally winking her enormous eyes. in front of the car was her six-months-old baby, held by two giant hands, while in the rear, in a big basket, was the remainder of her family, a turbulent crowd of youngsters in fancy garb. following another regiment of musicians and torch-bearers came the lord and master, king carnival, represented as a peasant in his best white hat with tricolour rosette, astride a turkey-cock, which ever and anon moved its head and spread its tail. among the other cars which followed was one representing a cafe-concert; a chimpanzee which moved its head and swallowed smaller monkeys; a car of animated fans; and "a charmer and her fools" represented by a beauty who sat upon a throne, and by pulling a string set dancing her crowd of foppish admirers. the _groupes a pied_, too, were amusing and numerous, one entitled "dragging the devil by the tail," representing satan with a tail of enormous length, at which all who were hard up were pulling vigorously. there were polkas of hammers, bakers, felt hats, and walking alarum clocks, as well as a varying and amusing panorama of single maskers. among these latter were represented a wine-dealer, who had closed his shop in order "to baptise his wines;" cupid bandaging a lover's eyes; love stopping a fair cyclist and asking whether he had been forgotten; "hurrah!" who had shouted so much that his mouth had become an enormous size, and a drunkard stopping at a fountain believing the drinking-cup to be a telephone transmitter! fully two hours the procession occupied in passing and re-passing, and of the gay party who had met the prince at his invitation, liane was perhaps the most vivacious. with a sable cape about her shoulders she sat next him, with her father on her left, laughing and criticising the groups, the spirit of carnival having already entered her southern blood, as it had that of the merry, light-hearted nicois themselves. at last she drove home with her father and the prince, while the monarch of cap and bells was placed in the handsome pavilion erected for him, there to preside over the corsos, vegliones, and the battles of flowers and confetti which for twelve days, until his immolation on mardi-gras, would render nice a town gone mad with frolic. the promenade was bright as day beneath the full moon, the feathery palms waved lazily in the breeze, and the dark waves broke with musical monotony upon the pebbly beach. they had alighted at the gate of the pension where the captain had taken up his quarters, when the prince suggested to liane that they should go for a stroll, as it was still early. to this she assented, and the captain went indoors and sat alone, silent and wondering, while they crossed the deserted esplanade together and walked in the moonlight by the shore. "so you have enjoyed yourself to-night, _ma petite_?" zertho said, after they had been chatting some time. "immensely," she answered. "carnival is not fresh to me, but it is always amusing. every nicois enjoys it so thoroughly. i love these gay, happy, contented people who are still italian although french. they are so different from the english." "you hated them once, i remember," he observed, with a smile, pausing to light a cigarette. "ah! that was in the evil days. one's enjoyment is always gauged by one's pocket." "then according to that theory i ought to have a larger measure of this world's pleasures than the majority of people--eh?" "you have." "ah, no, liane," he sighed, becoming suddenly grave. "true, i have wealth, a house in brussels, an estate in luxembourg, a yacht in yonder port, and a villa here upon this promenade, yet there is one thing i lack to render my happiness complete." "what's that?" she asked, rather surprised at the unusual tone of sadness in his voice. her smiling lips suddenly quivered with a momentary dread--a dread of something she could not quite define. he had paused at one of the seats at the end of the plage, and with a alight courteous wave of the hand invited her to sit. slowly she did as she was bid, and awaited his reply. "i have not yet found any woman to sufficiently care for me," he answered at last, in a quiet impressive tone. "you will surely have no difficulty," she said with a strange ring in her voice. she had not suspected that he possessed a grain of sentiment, for long ago she had noticed that he was entirely unimpressionable where the charms of women were concerned. his manner suddenly changed. he sank into the seat beside her, saying,-- "there is something, liane, i want to say to you i've said it so often to myself that i feel as if you must know it." she sat quite still. he had grasped her small hand in his, and she let him keep it, questioning his face with a bewildered gaze. "you must know--you must have guessed--" she turned pale, but outwardly quelled the panic that sent the blood to her heart. "i must tell you the truth now--i love you." with a sudden movement she freed her hand and drew away from him. "me!" she gasped. whatever potential complicity had lurked in her heart, his words brought her only immeasurable dismay. he bent towards her again. "yes, you!" she felt his hot breath upon her cheek, and put up her hand with imploring gesture. he looked at her with almost frenzied admiration, as if it were only with fierce resolve that he restrained himself from seizing her in his arms and closing her mouth with burning kisses. his whole frame quivered in the fury of repressed excitement, insomuch that she shrank from him with involuntary terror. "can't you tell me what it is that makes me repugnant to you?" he asked quickly. "you are not repugnant at all," she faltered hoarsely. "you are not repugnant, only--i am indifferent." "you mean that you don't care about me one way or the other." she shut her lips tight. hers was not a nature so passionate as that of most southerns, but a loving one; feeling with her was not a single simple emotion, but a complicated one of many impulses--of self-diffidences, of deep, strange aspirations that she herself could scarcely understand--a woman's pride, the delight of companionship and sympathy and of the guidance of a stronger will; a longing for better things. all these things were there. but beside them were thoughts of the man she had vowed she loved, the man who was ruined and who could not for years hope to make her his wife. she looked at the glittering moonlit sea, with the light steadily burning in the far distance at antibes, but no answer escaped her lips. the silence of night was complete save for the rhythmic swish of the waves at their feet. at last, after a long pause, her words came again, shudderingly, "oh, what have you done?" "by heaven!" he said, with a vague smile, "i don't know. i hope no harm." "oh, don't laugh!" she cried, laughing hysterically herself. "unless you want me to think you the greatest wretch in the world." "i?" he responded. "what do you mean?" "you know you are fooling me," she answered reproachfully. "you cannot put your hand on your heart and swear that you actually love me." a quick look of displeasure crossed his face, but his back was towards the moon and she did not notice it. "yes--yes, i can--i will," he answered. "you must have known it, liane. i've been abrupt, i know, and i've startled you, but if you love me you must attribute that to my loving you so long before i have spoken." her troubled breast heaved and fell beneath her rich fur. she gazed at him with parted lips. "it is a question from me to you," he went on, "the question of my life." "no, don't think so," she protested, "please, don't ask it." "then don't answer it, liane. wait--let me wait. ask yourself--" "i know my own mind already," she said slowly, with earnestness; then perceiving, as suddenly as she had all the rest, how considered her assertion might appear, she went on, still with the quietness of clear-seeing and truth-telling: "things come clear in an instant. this does, that i could not have thought of. i am already betrothed to another; that is why i cannot accept." "you can't expect me to be satisfied with that," he answered. "i, who know myself, and who see you as you do not see yourself. it is i who ask: who want to take a great gift. i am not offering myself," he went on rapidly. "i am beseeching yourself--of you." "i have not myself to give," she said calmly. "you mean you love someone else," he said, with a hardness about the corners of his mouth. "yes," and the long eyelashes swept downward as she answered. but zertho paid no attention to her reply. "during the years i have known you, liane," he went on, "the thought of you has been as a safeguard against my total disbelief in the possibility of woman's fidelity. i knew then that i revered you with my better self all the while--that, young as you were, i believed in you. i believe in you now. be my wife, and from this instant i will devote all the love in me--and i have more than you think--to you alone." "prince zertho," she said, in honest distress, "i beg you won't go on! i respect your devotion and your kindness, and i don't want to inflict any hurt upon you; but oh! indeed, you must not ask this." "very well," he said sadly, rising to his feet. "let it all be. i will not despair. you know now that i love you, and ere long i shall ask you again as i have asked. defer your answer until then." "let us go back," she urged, shivering as she rose. "the wind has grown cold;" and in silence they together retraced their steps along the deserted promenade. an hour later, when liane had gone to her room, the captain, at zertho's request, walked along to the villa chevrier, and found his friend awaiting him in the handsome salon. when the servant closed the door the prince was the first to speak. "to-night i have asked liane to become my wife," he said harshly, standing with his hands in his pockets. "well?" "she refuses." "as i expected," answered her father coldly. "as you wish, you mean," retorted zertho. "i have already explained my views," the other answered, in a deep strained voice. "from her attitude it is evident that you have not spoken to her, as we arranged," said the other angrily. "i have said nothing." "well, you know me sufficiently well, brooker, to be aware that when i set my heart upon doing a thing i will accomplish it at all cost," the prince, exclaimed. "i'm no longer an outsider, remember, i cannot really understand your disinclination to allow liane to become princess d'auzac. surely you must see that it would be distinctly to your own advantage. she would take care that you'd never be hard up for a few hundreds, you know." "she does not love you, zertho." "love be hanged!" cried the other, fiercely impatient. "in a week i shall repeat my proposal to her: if she does not accept, well--" "well?" echoed brooker, paler than before, the hand holding the cigar trembling, for he was feigning a coolness which he was unable to preserve. for a moment the prince paused then crossing to the escritoire, which stood in the window, took therefrom a folded newspaper, old and tattered, together with several other papers folded together lengthwise. recrossing to where brooker stood, he held them up to his gaze, with a sinister smile upon his lips, and a look full of menace. "no! no!" cried the captain, glaring at the innocent-looking papers, and drawing back with a gesture of repulsion. "very well," zertho answered, with nonchalance. "strange though it may appear, your only chance of safety is in becoming my father-in-law. it will be easy enough for you to persuade liane to become my wife, and i am ready and eager to remain your friend. but if your prejudices are so very intense and indiscreet, well--you know the rest." the two men who had been fellow-adventurers faced each other. in the countenance of one was confidence, in the other abject fear. "i never expected this of you, zertho," the captain said reproachfully, regarding him with eyes in which flashed the fire of anger. "you apparently heed nothing of my feelings as her father. you know my past; you know that liane brings into my life its only ray of brightness." "we are no longer partners," the other answered harshly, with a strangely determined expression upon his dark countenance. "you are playing against me now, therefore i am your opponent. you've thought fit to deal the cards, it's true," he added, with a short derisive laugh; "but i think you'll have to admit that i hold all the trumps." chapter nine. the way of transgressors. one thought alone possessed liane. zertho loved her. next morning when the maid brought her coffee, she rose, and opening the sun-shutters, stood at the window gazing upon the broad expanse of bright blue sea. the words the prince had uttered all came back to her. she recollected how he had pressed her hand, and declared that she was his ideal of what a woman should be; how, not satisfied with her refusal, he had promised to repeat his question. should she accept? no, she distrusted him as much as she had ever done. while thus plunged in deep reflection, her clear eyes fixed upon the distant horizon where ships were passing, endeavouring to convince herself that marriage with zertho was impossible because she could never love him, a light tap was heard upon the door, and the girl re-entered, bearing a letter. by its blue english stamp, she knew instinctively it was from george. slowly she tore open the envelope and read its contents. then, with a sudden movement, she cast herself upon her bed, burying her face in the lace-edged pillow, and bursting into a torrent of passionate tears. she hated zertho, and still loved george. meanwhile, her father had risen, and gone out for an early turn along the promenade. he let himself out at the rear into the rue de france, in order not to pass the villa chevrier, and after strolling for some time about the town, he reached the sea again walking alone, his face set towards the high castle hill, which he presently ascended by the winding flight of stone steps, and standing at last on the summit, in the beautiful garden laid out on the side of the long-ruined chateau, paused to rest. the sun was strong, the sky cloudless, and in every direction the view was superb. as he stood leaning over the stone parapet, the cape of antibes, the iles de lerins, the mouth of the broad stony var, and the town of nice were at his feet, while behind stretched the green valley of the paillon, with the white monasteries of cimiez and st pons, the distant chateau of st andre, the peaks of mont chauve, and the aspremont, with the blue distant alps forming a picturesque background. he removed his hat, and allowed the fresh breeze that came up from the sea to fan his heated temples. he was alone, save for a solitary sentinel standing with fixed bayonet some distance away, at the entrance to a large platform, where several guns were mounted behind baskets filled with stones, and as he leaned, his eyes fixed blankly upon the sea, some low words escaped him. "yes," he murmured in desperation, "this is indeed the last drop that has filled my cup of affliction. poor liane! how can i tell her? how can i go to her and confess the ghastly truth? if i do; if i tell her of the terrible secret which i had believed was mine alone, she--the child whom i have loved and cherished all these years, will turn from me with loathing." his hands were clenched, his brow furrowed, and upon his usually merry countenance was a settled look of unutterable despair. "no, it is impossible--absolutely impossible," he went on, sighing deeply, after a few moments. "to tell her the truth would only be to increase her unhappiness and cause her to hate me, therefore i cannot--i dare not! no; zertho is inexorable. i must sacrifice liane in order to save myself." again he was silent, pondering deeply, and striving to form some plan by which to save his daughter from being forced into this undesirable union. but he could conceive none. even if he defied this man who was endeavouring to secure liane, and boldly met the terrible consequences of the exposure of his secret, he saw that such a course must reflect upon her, for she would then be alone in the world--friendless, forsaken and penniless; while if he fled, he must be found sooner or later, for within twenty-four hours the police of europe would be actively searching for him. then, calmly and without fear, he thought of suicide, his one desire being to save liane from disgrace. leaning over the parapet, he gazed far down upon the brown, rocky crags, beaten time after time by the great rolling waves as they broke and threw up columns of white spray. he was contemplating how best to end his life. he could leave her a letter confessing all the truth, and thus save her from becoming the wife of this titled adventurer. yet again a difficulty presented itself. to act thus would be cowardly; besides which liane would also be left without money, and without a protector. for a long time he carefully reviewed all the facts, at length arriving at the same conclusion as before, that his suicide would only bring increased disaster upon the child he idolised. "no," he exclaimed aloud, between his set teeth. "there is but one way--one way alone. she must become princess. i must obey zertho, and compel her to marry him. all these long weeks have i striven against it, knowing that once united to such an unprincipled brute, her days must be full of wretchedness and despair. nay, i am prepared to sacrifice everything for her sake; nevertheless, if i boldly face my enemies, or take my life to escape them, the result would be the same. liane would be left friendless. to me through all these dark days she has been the one joy of my aimless, weary life; hers has been the one bright face that has cheered me times without number when i should have otherwise knocked under. i have striven my best to keep her uncontaminated by the reckless world in which i've been compelled to move, and none can ever charge me with neglect of her. yet this is the end. she must be torn from me, and be given to this unscrupulous blackmailer whom the possession of wealth has converted from my friend into my enemy." erle brooker, by profession an adventurer, but at heart generous and tender as a woman, had come to nice solely on liane's account, because he had been convinced by zertho's argument that she was moping sadly at stratfield mortimer. although he had accepted the invitation he had never for one moment intended that liane should become princess d'auzac until his whilom partner had pronounced it imperative. then, hour by hour, day by day, he had sought means whereby zertho might be dissuaded from pressing his claim, until now he was compelled to acknowledge his hope an utterly forlorn one. "alas!" he sighed, leaning his fevered weary head on both his hands. "all happiness and gaiety must be crushed from her heart; her young life must be wrecked because of my sin. i, her father, must persuade, nay insist upon her taking a step that she must regret her whole life through, and use towards that end arguments which i would rather my tongue were torn out than i should utter. ah, liane," he cried, brokenly, in a voice of despair, "if you could but realise all that i have suffered these past weeks. but you must not; you, at least, shall never know the cause of this deadly fear which holds me paralysed beneath the relentless thrall of the one man who knows the truth. no, you must marry him, and thereby secure his silence. your consent to become princess d'auzac can alone save me." again he was silent, deep in contemplation of the terrible truth, when suddenly behind him sounded a peal of merry laughter, and turning quickly, he saw he had been joined upon the platform by liane and two bright english girls who were living at the same pension with them. they had ascended the long flights of steps, and were entirely out of breath. "why, dear old dad!" cried liane, in surprise, "whoever would have thought of finding you up here at this hour?" the captain laughed uneasily, and made some evasive reply regarding the clearness of the morning and the extent of the view. "oh, isn't it magnificent!" cried the other girls in chorus, as they gazed around. liane, who had been there on many previous occasions, had brought them up, promising them a fine panorama, and they certainly were not disappointed. together they wandered about the pretty gardens, watched the artillery at drill working the guns, peered down the old castle well and clambered about the ancient walls which had been torn down nearly two hundred years ago by the duke of brunswick; then, after one of the girls had narrowly escaped losing her hat in the high wind, they descended again to the rue des ponchettes, where the captain, excusing himself that he wanted to make a purchase in the town, left them. the three girls, chatting and laughing, walked round the base of the hill, by the road called the rauba capeu, to the port, where the prince d'auzac's trim steam yacht was lying, afterwards retracing their steps along the boulevard du midi. they had passed the jardin public, where the band was playing strauss's _fesche geister_, and had just entered the promenade des anglais, when zertho on his fine bay rode past them raising his hat. the trio smiled and bowed, and while he galloped along, his smart groom at some little distance behind, one of liane's companions remarked-- "isn't the prince a handsome fellow? i wonder he does not marry." liane felt her cheeks colouring. "oh! i suppose he will very soon," observed her sister. they were both tall, dark, good-looking girls, daughters of a wealthy widow from london. this was their first season on the riviera, and all was fresh to them. "you know the prince well, don't you?" inquired the first girl who had spoken, turning to liane. "yes," she answered. "we knew him long before he became rich." "and his wealth has spoilt him, i expect? it does most men." "no, i can scarcely say that," answered liane. "at heart he is so thoroughly cosmopolitan and so merry that i don't think he will ever become purse-proud." "i've heard he's a millionaire," observed the other girl. "is that true?" "i believe so. his father was the wealthiest man in luxembourg; richer even than the reigning grand duke adolphe." "and whoever marries him will be princess d'auzac," the girl remarked, contemplatively. "rather jolly, i should imagine, to be a princess with an ancient title like that one could then cut a decent figure in society, i envy the fortunate girl who takes his fancy." liane winced. she feared that her cheeks told their own tale, and was thankful when a moment later the girls met their mother amid the crowd of promenaders, and all four commenced to chat upon a different subject. that evening they did not dine as usual at the villa chevrier, but took their meal at the pension, and afterwards, when liane was reclining lazily on the couch in their private salon, her handsome head thrown back upon a great cushion of yellow silk, and the captain was seated in a capacious easy chair, with a cigarette and an english paper, he at last braced himself up for an effort that was to him exceedingly repugnant. he feared that his words must choke him, and for half-an-hour glanced surreptitiously at her, hesitating to approach the subject. the recollection of all that he had to stake, however, goaded him on, and presently, slowly putting down his paper, and striving to remain firm, he uttered her name. she looked up from her french novel in surprise. the tone in which he spoke was entirely unusual. it was harsh and strained. "liane," he said, bending and looking straight into her large, clear eyes, "i have wanted to speak seriously to you during these past few weeks, but have always hesitated." "why, father?" "because--well, i knew you were happy, and did not wish to cause you pain," he answered. "pain? what do you mean?" she inquired quickly. "you have been very happy here in nice, haven't you? i mean that zertho has made life very pleasant for us both," he stammered. "certainly. thanks to him, we've been extremely gay the whole time. so different to our last experience of the riviera," and she laughed lightly at the recollection of those well-remembered evil days. "you appear to find zertho a very congenial companion," he observed. she started. surely her father could not know what had taken place between them during that walk by the moonlit sea on the previous night? "of course," she answered hesitatingly. "he was always a good friend to poor nelly and myself, and he is very amusing." "but i have noticed of late that your face betrays your happiness when you walk with him. a woman always shows in her cheeks a distinct consciousness of her success." her face flushed slightly as she answered,-- "i was not aware that i appeared any happier when in his society than on any other occasion." "it is upon that very point that i desire to speak to you," he went on in a low serious tone. "you will remember that before we left stratfield mortimer, i gave you a few words of kindly advice regarding an impossible lover with whom you had foolishly become infatuated." "yes," she said, "i well remember." "then it is upon the subject of your marriage that i want again to say a few words to you." "marriage!" she laughed. "why, i shall not marry for years yet, dear old dad. besides, if i left you, whatever would you do?" "ah, yes, my girl," he answered hoarsely, as a shadow of pain flitted for an instant across his darkened brow. "you must not lose the chance of youth." she closed her book, placed it aside slowly, and regarded him with surprise. "haven't you always urged me to wait?" she asked half-reproachfully, toying with the two little gipsy rings upon her slim finger. "i understood that you were entirely against my marriage." "so i was when you did not possess the chance of making a wealthy and satisfactory alliance," he replied. his daughter looked at him inquiringly, but hazarded no remark. she saw by the expression of his face how terribly in earnest he was. "you, of course, know to whom i refer," he added, speaking in a low, intense tone, as he bent towards her, gazing still seriously into the sweet, open countenance. "to zertho," she observed mechanically. "yes. if you reflect, as i have already reflected times without number during these past few weeks, liane, you must recognise that your position as the daughter of an almost penniless adventurer, is by no means an enviable one. if anything happened to me you would be left without a friend, and without a penny. such thoughts are, i admit, not exactly pleasant ones, nevertheless the truth must be faced, at this, the most important crisis of your life. again, i have nothing to give you, and can hope for nothing. in the days bygone i managed to pick up sufficient to provide us with the comforts and luxuries of life, but now, alas! luck and friends have alike deserted me, and i am left ruined. i--" "but you are not friendless, dear old dad," liane cried suddenly, the light of affection glowing in her beautiful eyes as, with a sudden movement, she sprang across to him, and kneeling beside his chair as she often did, put both her soft, clinging arms about his neck. "i am your friend, as i have always been. i do not want to marry and leave you," and she burst into tears. his voice became choked by a sob he vainly strove to keep back. he felt his resolution giving way, and bit his lip. "if--if you would remain my friend, liane, you will marry," he managed to ejaculate at last, although the words seemed to stifle him, and he hated himself for having uttered them. "no, dad--i will never allow you to live alone." "but you must, dearest," he answered with emphasis, fondly pushing back her dark hair from her brow. "think what a chance you now have of securing position, wealth and everything which contributes to life's happiness. zertho loves you." "i know," she answered, with a touch of ineffable sadness in her voice and raising her tear-stained face to his. "but i am happy as i am, with you." "true. yet in a few months the money we have will become exhausted, and whence we shall obtain more i know not," he said with a look of despair. "you have a chance to become a princess--the wife of a man even wealthier than his sovereign--therefore you should seriously reflect, liane, ere you refuse." "how did you know that zertho loves me?" she suddenly inquired, turning her frank face upward to his. "because he has told me," he answered, in a voice low almost as a whisper. "he asked my permission to speak to you and offer you marriage." as he looked at her the thought flashed across his mind that he, her father, who loved her so dearly, was deceiving her. what would she say if she knew the truth? "yes," she exclaimed with a sigh, "he says that he loves me, and has asked me to become his wife. but i have refused." "why?" "because i do not, i cannot love him, dad. surely you would never wish me to marry a man for whom i have no affection, and in whom i have no trust." her father held his breath and evaded her gaze. her argument was unassailable. the words stabbed his tortured conscience. "but would not the fact of your becoming princess d'auzac place you in a position of independence such as thousands of women would envy?" he hazarded, again stroking her silky hair with tenderness. "you know zertho well. he's a good fellow and would make you an excellent husband, no doubt." "i can never marry him," she answered, decisively. "you will refuse his offer?" he observed, hoarsely. her firmness was causing him some anxiety. "i have already refused," she replied. slowly he grasped her hand, and after a brief pause looked her steadily in the face, saying-- "liane, you must become his wife." "i love but one man, dad, and cannot love another," she sobbed passionately, her arms still about his neck. "forget him." she remained silent a few moments; then, at last looking up with calm, inquiring gaze, asked-- "why are you so earnestly persuading me to marry this man who is neither your true friend nor mine, dad? what object can you have in urging me to do what can only bring me grief and dire unhappiness?" he made no reply. his face, she noticed, had grown hard and cold; he was entirely unlike himself. "i love george," she went on. "i will only marry him." "surely you will not ruin all your future, and mine, for his sake," he blurted forth at last. "your future!" she gasped, drawing away from him and regarding him with sudden surprise as the truth dawned upon her. "i see it all now! with me as princess d'auzac, the wife of a wealthy man, you would never want." his teeth were set. he held her small, soft hand so tightly that it hurt her. he tried to speak, but his lips refused to utter sound. he was persuading his daughter to wreck her young life in order to secure his own safety. the thought was revolting, yet he was forced to act thus: to stand calmly by and witness her self-sacrifice, or bear the consequences of exposure. he bowed his head in agony of mind. a lump rose in his throat, so that his words were again stifled. "my marriage would, i know, relieve you of a serious responsibility," she went on, calmly, without any trace of reproach. "i am not unmindful of the fact that if i married zertho i should gain wealth and position; yet i do not love him. i--i hate him." "he has been kind to us, and i believe he is extremely fond of you," he said, wincing beneath the lie that fear alone forced to his lips. "is it not but natural that i should seek for you an improved social position and such wealth as will place you beyond all anxiety in future? heaven knows that the past has been full enough of care and poverty." "ah! i know that, poor dad," liane answered caressingly, in a tone of sympathy, her arms again about his neck. "in the days gone by, because you played fairly, and was never an unscrupulous sharper like zertho, luck forsook you. they laughed at you because you cared so much for me: because you held nelly and i aloof from the dregs of society into which you had fallen. you were courageous always, and never when the days were darkest did you relinquish hope, or did your love for me wane. yet," and she paused, "yet if you still cared for me as once you did, i cannot but feel that you would hesitate ere you urged me to a hateful alliance with a man i can never love." "i am but endeavouring to secure your future happiness, liane," he answered, his voice sounding deep and hollow. a silence fell, deep and impressive, broken only by the low, monotonous roar of the waves beating upon the shore outside, and the musical jingle of the bells on a pair of carriage-horses that were passing. liane started as she recognised the sound. they were zertho's. erle brooker would have rather died by his own hand ere he had persuaded her to marry this man; yet for the hundredth time he proved to himself that by suicide he would merely leave her unprotected, while she would most probably afterwards learn from zertho the terrible secret which he was determined should, at all hazards, remain locked within his own troubled heart. "to persuade me to marry the prince is but to urge me to a doom worse than death," she exclaimed passionately at last. "no, dad, i am sure you would never wish me to do this when i am so contented to live as i am with you. if we are penniless--well, i shall never complain. it will not be the first time that i have wanted a meal, and gone early to bed because i've been hungry. i promise i'll not complain, only do not endeavour to force me to marry zertho. let me remain with you." "alas! you cannot, my child!" he answered in a hard, dry, agonised tone, his hand trembling nervously. "why?" "you must forget young stratfield, and become princess d'auzac," he said firmly, intense anxiety betrayed upon his haggard countenance. "never!" "but you must," he cried brokenly, with emphasis. "it is imperative-- for my sake, liane--you must marry him, for my sake." chapter ten. mask and domino. the world-famous battle of flowers had been fought in brilliant, cloudless weather along the promenade des anglais, and liane riding alone in a victoria covered with violets and stocks set off with rose bows and ribbons, had been awarded a prize-banner, while zertho, his coach adorned by marechal niel roses and white lilac, entertained a party, and was a conspicuous figure in the picturesque procession. the crowd was enormous, the number of decorated carriages greater than ever before known, and as the contending parties, made up of people in carriages decorated with flowers and coloured ribbons, passed slowly along on either side of the broad drive, they kept up a brisk fire of small bouquets. as they went by, the occupants of the tribunes poured broadsides into the carriages, and the battle raged everywhere hot and furious. liane, sitting alone embowered in violets, flushed with the excitement of throwing handfuls of flowers at all and sundry, found herself more than once in the very thick of the fray and was pelted until her hair escaped from its pins and she felt herself horribly untidy. brooker had excused himself from forming one of zertho's party and had gone for a long walk into the country; but that night he reluctantly accompanied them to the great veglione at the opera, where all were in grotesque costume, both zertho and himself wearing hideous masks with enormous red noses, while liane was attired in the beautiful costume of an odalisque, which, at zertho's desire, had been specially made for her in paris. folly reigned supreme in that whirlwind of light and colour, and although dancing was almost impossible in consequence of the crowded state of the beautifully decorated theatre, yet the fun was always fast and furious, and the first saffron streak had already showed over the grey misty sea before they entered their carriage to drive homeward. variety had now become liane's very life, excitement the source and sustenance of her existence. within the few days which had elapsed since the evening when her father had urged her to marry zertho a complete change had come upon her. no longer was she dull, dreamy, and apathetic, but eager to embrace any opportunity whereby her thoughts might be turned from the one subject which preyed upon her mind. she entered thoroughly into the carnival fun and frolic, and zertho, believing that her gaiety arose from contentment, felt flattered, congratulating himself that after all she was not so averse to his companionship as he had once believed. knowing nothing of love or sentiment he had no suspicion that her bright amused smile masked a weary bitterness, or that, after dancing half the night radiant and happy, and charming the hearts of men with her light coquetry, she would return to the silence of her own room before the wave-beaten shore, and there lie weeping for hours, murmuring the name of the man she loved. so skilfully did she conceal the poignant sorrow wearing out her heart that none but her father detected it, and he, sighing within himself, made no remark. through the warm sunny reign of king carnival zertho and his handsome companion were prominent figures everywhere, although the captain, who had grown as dull and dispirited as his daughter had become gay and reckless, seldom accompanied them. since that night when beside the sea zertho had told her of his love, he had not again mentioned the subject, although they were often alone together. sometimes he would accuse her of furious flirtation, but always with a good-humoured amused air, without any sign of jealousy in his manner. truth to tell, he felt satisfaction that she should be the most universally admired girl in nice. he remembered that her success was due to him, for had he not paid for the costly costumes and milliner's marvels which suited her beauty so well? the bright cloudless days passed, full of frivolity. the king of folly's reign was short, therefore the excitement while it lasted was kept up at fever-heat, the grand climax of the many festivities being reached by the corso carnavalesque and battle of confetti which took place on sunday, ten days after the gigantic effigy of the monarch of mirth had been enthroned on the place massena in his moorish pavilion of rose and gold. all the paper confetti conflicts, pretty and vigorous as they had been, were but preliminary scrimmages to the genuine battle fought with pellets of grey chalk, veritable bullets. so hard are these that it is unsafe to venture out without a wire mask, therefore zertho and liane, in assuming their costumes that afternoon, did not neglect the precaution. zertho wore the white dress of a pierrot; with large velvet buttons of pale rose; while liane, in a domino of pale rose satin trimmed with red--the colours of that season--wore a clown's hat of rose. both carried, strapped across their shoulders, capacious bags containing confetti, and a small tin scoop with which to throw their missiles. the mask of fine wire, like those used in fencing schools, having been assumed, they both entered the victoria and were driven down to the jardin public through which the carnival procession, headed by the king himself, pipe in mouth, astride the turkey-cock, was at that moment wending its way. the gun from the old chateau had a few minutes before boomed forth the signal for the opening of hostilities, and the thousands of revellers on foot and in carriages, all wearing masks and dominoes, were carrying on a fierce and relentless combat. alighting, liane and her companion plunged into the rollicking riot, pelting the onlookers who were unmasked or who wore no dominoes, covering dark coats and dresses with great white dust-spots, and compelling the unfortunate ones to cry for quarter. on this, the maddest day of folly's reign, nice, from two o'clock until five, presented the appearance of a town run mad with fun. every balcony, decorated with red and rose, was filled with spectators laughing at the antics of the armoured, quaintly-dressed throng; the timorous, taking refuge behind closed windows, peered curiously out upon the wild conflict, while some, more brave than others, ventured out into the thick of the fray with no further protection than the black velvet half-mask. woe betide these, however, when detected. wire masks were the only safeguard from the showers of bullets which everywhere were projected from the small tin scoops. joining in the corso were many carriages decked out to correspond with their occupants' costumes, many in the carnival colours, one in pure white, another in a mauve, and a third, belonging presumably to a political enthusiast, in the russian colours, orange and black. everywhere were scenes of wild and reckless gaiety. in the side streets, in the open squares, in the cafes, on every side confetti was thrown. the garcons de cafe, compelled to stand amid the continuous cross-fire that swept across the streets, had all assumed masks, and the roads and pavements soon became an inch deep in confetti trodden to dust. all along the line of the procession and in the thick of the fight bags of ammunition were offered by men, women or boys, who stood beside stalls or, mingling with the crowd, cried "_bonbon; bonbon_!" as zertho and liane walked together, pelting vigorously at a carriage containing three of their friends, an urchin came up to them crying, "_bonbon_!" whereupon liane, with a mischievous laugh, threw a handful of confetti straight at the crier, much to the urchin's discouragement. "come, let us follow the procession," zertho suggested, and across the place massena they accompanied the corso, and down the gay streets until they entered the place de la prefecture, where the fun was at its height. the scene here presented was exceedingly picturesque. the band, which was really a band, and not merely a medley of ear-splitting, discordant noise which too frequently mars the carnival, was the centre of attraction around which the maskers danced with wild abandon, joining hands and screaming with laughter. liane, infected by the mad gaiety and as reckless as the rest, her domino whitened by the showers of confetti rained every moment upon it, plunged into the crowd of dancers and, hand-in-hand with zertho, whirled round, laughing gleefully. the dancers made a human kaleidoscope of colour, framed by the amphitheatre-like tribunes, which were likewise filled with maskers, and made a setting as bright, and but one degree less animated, than the rollicking, ever-moving foreground. from minute to minute the animation increased. every street was aglow with colour, and the melee was general. those seated in the tribunes made furious attacks upon those on foot, the latter retaliating with shower upon shower of pellets, until the battle became fierce in every quarter. four occupants of a victoria, attired alike in pale blue dominoes, opened a vigorous fire upon liane and zertho as they passed, and received in return many scoopfuls of well-aimed confetti. but the pair were decidedly getting the worst of it, when suddenly a lithe little man in clown's dress of cheap lustrine joined liane in the defence, and next instant received a handful of confetti full in his face. for an instant he felt in his pouch, but found his ammunition had given out. then espying a stall a few yards away he rushed across with sudden impulse, flung down a couple of francs, caught up four large paper bags each containing several pounds of confetti, and flung them one after another at liane's assailants. they were aimed with a sure hand, and as each struck the head or shoulders of one or other of the unfortunate occupants, the thin paper broke, completely smothering them with its contents. yells of uproarious laughter arose at their discomfiture, and the coachman hastened his horses' speed. then turning to liane, the man, evidently an honest, happy-hearted nicois from his italian accent, bowed gracefully, and with a smile said,--"mademoiselle, i believe we have taught them a lesson." before she could thank him he was lost in the turbulent, laughing crowd. and as zertho passed gaily along at liane's side, he sang softly to himself the refrain of "l'amoureuse,"--the slightly risky parody, popular at that moment,-- "voila l'amoureuse, a la demarch' voluptueuse, qui se pavan' soir et matin, avec des airs de p'tit trottin; voila l'amoureuse, a la demarch' voluptueuse, elle est joli' sacre matin! joli' comme un petit trottin!" gradually they fought their way back to the place massena, and found it a scene of brilliant colour, but the fight had now become so general that the very heavens seemed obscured by the confetti, which, on striking, crumbled into dense clouds of fine, white dust. the fanfares of the chasseurs alpins were sounding, the great effigy of the king was slowly moving across towards the leafy public garden, and the colossal figure of an ingenue was sailing along with the crowd with folded arms, perfectly pleased with herself and the carnival world in general. everyone here wore the wire mask and domino, even the vendors of confetti being compelled to assume grilles to protect their sun-tanned faces from their own wares. the carnival contagion had now spread to even the puppets and musicians themselves; for these left their lofty perches on the cars where they had been observed by all during the processions, and descending to earth, whirled among that motley crowd of dancers and of forms gigantic, gay and grotesque. although conflict and retaliation were the order of the day, and disorder the spirit supreme, to the credit of nice and her crowds be it said that on such a day, when so many liberties were possible, were so few taken. the mayor had caused a precautionary notice to be posted up, prohibiting any confetti being thrown at the police, gendarmes, or musicians, but even the gendarmes, usually an awe-inspiring, spick and span body, when threatened in fun, would reply, "fire away, your bullets don't hurt," and laughing defiance, would receive volley upon volley of the dusty pellets upon their dark uniforms without flinching, and laugh back defiantly. clowns, punchinelli, pierrots, furies, devils and ladies in dominoes fought with one another till every street in the neighbourhood of the avenue de la gare was swept from end to end by a hail of confetti, and zertho and liane trudged on through the thick dust into which it was every moment being trodden. long "serpentines" of coloured paper, flung now and then, wrapped themselves about the lamp-posts and hung from windows and from the tall eucalypti, while from some of the houses the more enterprising showered upon the crowd thousands of small, advertising hand-bills. those who, growing weary of the fight as the sun declined, sought shelter in the cafes, were quickly disillusioned, for from time to time disconcerting showers of pellets would sweep in at the open door, often falling into the bocks, mazagrans, and sirops, so that those who had had previous experience of carnival ways sat with their wire vizors still down and their hands carefully covering their glasses. on confetti day carnival penetrates everywhere. in the streets, in the shops, in the churches, in the houses, the small pellets seem to enter by unknown means. they find their way down one's neck into one's boots, while ladies get their hats and hair filled with them and drop them wherever they tread. confetti day, apart from its interest and amusement as a brilliant spectacle, is the more remarkable because so many hundreds of human beings, prone to "envy, hatred, malice and all uncharitableness," begin, continue and end the fun, in such glorious good humour. everywhere the battle raged fiercely, yet it was all in boisterous mirth, and laughter loud and sincere rang out alike from victor and from vanquished. mirth ran riot, and disorder was everywhere, but spite was never shown. time after time, a storm of confetti swept about liane and her escort, as together they passed along the colonnade, pelting and being pelted by every masker they met, until the dust came into her face through the grille, and the hood and trimming of her domino was full of grey pellets. "you are tired and hot," zertho exclaimed at last. "this dust makes one thirsty. let us try and get to the cafe de la victoire." to accomplish this, they were compelled to cross the broad place through the very thickest of the fray. nevertheless, undaunted, with scoops ever in the sacks slung at their sides, they pressed forward, half-choked by the cross-fire of confetti through which they were passing. liane's conical felt hat was dinted and almost white, and her domino sadly soiled and tumbled, still with cheeks aglow by the exciting conflict, she went on, taking her own part valiantly. the wire masks did not completely disguise their wearers. numbers of men and women she met she recognised, and where the recognition was mutual, the battle raged long and furiously, accompanied by screams of uproarious laughter. at last they managed to reach the opposite side of the place. the tables in the colonnade before the popular cafe were crowded with maskers who were endeavouring to get rid of the dust from their throats, notwithstanding the showers of pellets which continually swept upon them. the sun was sinking in a blaze of gold behind antibes, the clock over the casino marked a quarter to five; in fifteen minutes the cannon of the chateau would boom forth the signal for hostilities to cease, the musicians and puppets would mount upon the cars and move away, the maskers would remove their wire protectors, and order would reign once more. zertho and liane had secured a table upon the pavement near the door, the interior of the cafe being suffocatingly crowded, and sipping their wine, were laughing over the desperate tussle of the afternoon, now and then retaliating when any passer-by directly assailed them. suddenly a woman, looking tall in a domino of dark rose and wearing a half-mask of black velvet which completely disguised her features, flung, in passing, a large handful of confetti which struck liane full upon the mask. in an instant she raised her scoop, and with a gleeful laugh, sent a heavy shower into her unknown opponent's face. like many other women, her assailant had apparently become separated from her escort in the fierce fighting, and the fact that she preferred a velvet mask to one of wire showed her to be not a little courageous. but liane's well-directed confetti must have struck her sharply upon the chin, which remained uncovered, for it caused her to wince. she halted, and standing in full view of the pair as if surveying them deliberately, next second directed another scoopful at them. both zertho and liane, divining her intention, raised their hands to cover their masks, and as they did so the hail of pellets descended, many of them falling into their glasses. "there," cried liane, laughing gaily. "it's really too bad, she's spoilt our wine." in a moment, however, zertho, who had been preparing for this second onslaught, flung scoopful after scoopful at the intrepid woman, and several of those sitting at the tables around at once joined in repelling the fair masker's attack. yet, nothing daunted, although smothered in confetti from a dozen different hands, she continued the conflict with the pair she had at first attacked, until liane, in her eagerness to annihilate this woman who had so suddenly opened such a persistent and vigorous fire upon them, turned suddenly with her tin scoop filled to overflowing. with a loud laugh she flung it, but by accident the scoop itself slipped from her fingers, and struck the masker sharply upon the shoulder. in an instant liane, with a cry of regret, rose from her seat and rushed out into the roadway to apologise, but the unknown woman with a stiff bow, her dark eyes flashing angrily through the holes in her mask, turned away and walked quickly along the rue massena. liane stooped, snatched up her scoop, and returned to where zertho sat heartily laughing, those sitting around joining in a chorus of hilarity at the incident. "she got a bigger dose than she bargained for," he exclaimed. "i am sorry," she said. "it was quite an accident. but did you see her eyes? she glared as if she could kill me." "yes," he replied. "she looked half mad. however, she'll never be able to recognise you again." liane was silent. the light of joy and happiness had suddenly died out of her fair countenance. she seemed to possess some vague recollection of a similar pair of dark, flashing eyes. a face--a strange ghost of the past--came for an instant before her eyes; a thought flashed through her mind and held her appalled. she shuddered, pale as death behind her mask of gauze. next instant, however, she laughed aloud at her fear. no, she assured herself, it could not be. it was only some faint resemblance, rendered the more vivid because it had come before her amid that reckless gaiety. then she smiled at zertho again happily as before, and they ordered fresh wine, and waited until the cannon thundered from the heights above and the streets grew orderly, ere they started to walk home along the promenade. they had, however, been too far off the woman to overhear the strange ominous words she uttered when, with an evil glint in her eyes, she turned from them abruptly with a fierce imprecation upon her lips, her cheeks beneath the velvet mask blanched with suppressed anger. "no, i am not mistaken," she had muttered in french, with a dry laugh between her set teeth. "when i met you dancing in the place de la prefecture i thought i recognised you, liane brooker. i followed, and threw at you in order to obtain a good view of your pretty face in which innocence is so well portrayed. strange that we should meet again purely by accident; strange, too, that you should cover me with dust and fling your scoop into my face as though in defiance. little do you dream how near i am to you, or of the ghastly nature of the revelation which i shall ere long disclose. then the smiles which enchant your admirers will turn to tears, your merry laughter to blank despair, and your well-feigned innocence and purity to ignominy and shame." chapter eleven. monte carlo. carnival's reign was ended. pierrot, clown and columbine, hand in hand, had watched the flames consume him, and had danced around the dying embers. his palace had been torn down, the decorations in his honour had disappeared, the colours red and rose were no longer exhibited in the shop windows, for nice had assumed her normal aspect of aristocratic dignity. one afternoon a week afterwards, liane reluctantly accompanied her father and zertho to monte carlo. when at luncheon the visit had been suggested by the prince, she at once announced her intention of staying at home. truth to tell, those great gaming-rooms with their wildly excited throngs possessed for her too many painful memories. at length, however, after much persuasion, she was induced to dress and accompany them. she chose a white costume, with a large white hat relieved by violets, and a narrow belt of violet satin to match--a plain, fresh-looking gown which suited her beauty admirably, and within an hour they had ascended the steps of the great white casino with its handsome facade, and entered the long bureau to exchange their visiting-cards for one of the pink cards of admission. the clerk at the counter, whose duty it is to examine the dress of the visitors and their cards, at once recognising the party, shook hands heartily with brooker and the prince, expressing pleasure at seeing them again. "yes, we've returned, you see," the captain answered jocularly. "always back to monte carlo, you know." "well, i wish messieurs all good fortune," laughed the stout, round-faced man, "and also mademoiselle, of course," he added, bowing, his face beaming with good humour, as instead of writing out formal admission cards he handed them three of the special white tickets issued by the administration of the cercle to its well-known habitues. a gay cosmopolitan crowd in paris-made gowns and well-cut suits, with bulky purses in their hands, struggled behind, eager to obtain tickets, therefore they at once deposited their sticks and sunshade, and passing across the great atrium, thronged with well-dressed people, approached the long polished doors guarded by attendants in bright livery of blue and gold. here again one of the men wished the captain "good day," the door opened, and they found themselves once more, after many months, inside the lofty well-remembered rooms where so many fortunes had been lost and won. down the vista from the entrance could be seen room after room, resplendent in gilt decorations, polished floors, ceiling of ornamental glass, and many beautiful paintings by feyen, perrin, and jundt; each room filled with eager, anxious gamblers crowding around the oblong roulette-tables. the continual hum of voices, the jingle of coin, the rustle of notes, the click of the roulette-ball, and the monotonous cries of the croupiers combined to produce a veritable babel of noise, while the heat on that bright sunny march afternoon seemed overpowering. but those sitting around the tables, or standing behind, cared nothing for the world outside, too absorbed were they in the chance of the red or the black. the sun was excluded by blinds closely drawn, and the long windows were all curtained in black or blue muslin, with handsome patterns worked thereon, so that those walking upon the terrace by the blue sunlit sea could obtain no glimpse of what was going on within. the place was close, and there was about it that faint odour which it ever retains, the combined smell of perspiration and perfume. from the moment liane placed foot upon the polished floor she regretted that she had come. with that well-remembered scene before her a thousand bitter memories instantly surged through her brain. she hated herself. around her as they approached the first table in the moorish room were the same types of people that she knew, alas! too well; the flora of the riviera, the world in which she had for years been compelled to live. among those sitting around were men, weary and haggard-eyed, with those three deep lines across the brow which habitual gamblers so quickly develop, and heavy-eyed women who had concealed their paleness beneath their rouge. of this class of frenzied humanity, she reflected, she herself was. there had been a time not long ago when she, too, had sat at the table prompting her father, sometimes flinging on coin or notes for him, dragging in his winnings with the little ebony rake, or keeping an account in her tiny memorandum book of the various numbers as they turned up, so as to assist him in his speculations. unlike these _declasse_ women, she hated play. the life was to her detestable. she had, it was true, moved in their world, but, thanks to her father's care, she had retained her goodness and purity, and had never been of it. well she knew the terrible tension each spin of that little ivory roulette-ball caused among that eager crowd, an anxiety which furrowed the brows, which caused the hands to tremble, and sapped all youth and gaiety and life. she, although young and fair, had witnessed life there in its every aspect. she had herself experienced the terrible frenzy of excitement; she had felt the desperation of abject despair. she had seen dozens, nay hundreds, come there rich and respected, to depart broken and ruined; she had witnessed more than one woman grow so desperate over her losses that she had fainted at the table, and once beside her at that very table there had sat a man, young, good-looking, and well-dressed, who lost and lost, and continued to lose throughout the long, hot day, until with a low imprecation he at length threw down his last hundred-franc note on the "impair." he lost, then rose unsteadily from the table, while half-a-dozen others struggled to obtain his place. an hour later she had risen and gone into the garden to obtain air, but scarcely had she walked a dozen yards when two attendants passed her by, carrying her fellow-gambler's lifeless form. he had shot himself. this tragic incident, by no means uncommon, though so frequently hushed up, had so unnerved her that for many weeks her father could not induce her to enter the casino, but gradually, because with a gambler's belief in talismans, he declared that when she accompanied him fortune was always on his side, she again went with him, to spend long, anxious, breathless hours in the crowded place, where bright, happy girls staked their five-franc pieces, just for the purpose of saying they had done so, and rubbed shoulders with the most notorious of the _demi-monde_; and where honest men, professional gamesters, blackmailers and souteneurs all placed themselves on equal footing before the green-covered shrine of their fickle goddess. monte carlo resembles nothing. it is at the same time a paradise and a hell, of hope and despair, of golden dreams and of hideous nightmares; a place without laws, either physical or moral. its surroundings are delightful, nestling below the high bare tete de chien and the mont de la justice, with the picturesque little town of monaco perched upon its bold prominent rock to the right, the green slopes of cap martin jutting out into the sea on the left, and away far in the distance, yet clearly defined, the purple alps of italy, while beyond the white-balustraded terrace is a broad open expanse of clear blue sea. the centre of elegance and corruption, of beauty and deformity, of wealth and vice, of refinement and sin, it is in itself unique. on every hand, within and without the little place, the view is superb. in the fine square before the casino the gardens are brilliant with flowers and shady with palms; the cafes overflow with visitors, waltz music sounds by night and day, and from noon till the early hours there is life and movement everywhere. the game fascinates, and the climate acts upon the organism of all who go there. the exquisitely beautiful surroundings of the casino exert a deleterious influence. they are alluringly pleasant. life seems so gay, happy and free amid that whirl of voluptuousness, where vice is disguised in a form _tout a fait charmante_, its banal influence so imperceptible, that the man who ventures into the principality determined not to risk a single louis upon the _tapis-vert_ in almost every case finds himself overwhelmed by that involuntary indolence which creeps upon all like an infernal intoxication, drawn irresistibly to the tables, and too often to his ruin. the daily life in monaco presents a surprising picture of morals; a truly extraordinary paradise of the marvellous and the diabolical, of the sublime and the terrible, of fair dreams and of hideous realities. _et le fruit defendu dont se nourrit la masse a d'autant plus de saveur que le joli petit serpent auquel on doit sa decouverte a toutes les allures mignonnes d'un demon tentateur extremement seduisant_. to erle brooker, whose sole vice was that of gambling, the monotonous invitation of the croupiers, and the jingle of louis as they were tossed carelessly over to the winners, were as the sound of the hounds to the old hunter, or the bugle to the retired soldier. all the old longing for excitement and the hope for a run of luck came again upon him, and although he had vowed he would never again play he soon felt his pulse quicken and his good resolutions fading away. as, accompanied by zertho and liane, he moved on from table to table, watching the play and criticising it with the air of one with wide experience, the desire for risking a few louis came irresistibly upon him. he remembered that before leaving nice he had placed ten one-hundred-franc notes in his pocket. it was a sum small enough, in all conscience, to risk. he recollected the time when, with zertho standing behind him taking charge of his winnings, he had won a hundred times that amount between mid-day and midnight. of all that gay crowd liane looked the prettiest and smartest. as she cast a rapid glance around the various tables, many of the men and women she recognised as professional fellow-gamblers, each with their little piles of silver, gold and notes. one or two, well-dressed and more prosperous, had, she knew, at one time been down to their very last franc. the two men also singled out old acquaintances, men who passed their days in these crowded rooms, nodded to them and remarked upon the sudden prosperity of some and the unusual seediness of others. they were standing together closely watching the roulette at one of the centre tables. people were crowding four deep around it, but mostly the stakes were five-franc pieces, the minimum allowed. "by jove!" zertho exclaimed at last, turning to the captain. "see what a run the red is having!" "fourteen times in succession, m'sieur," observed a man at their elbow, consulting his card. "it won't again. watch," brooker answered briefly, closely interested in the game. next moment the ball was sent spinning around outside the revolving disc of black and red; the croupier with sphinx-like countenance uttered his monotonous cry, "_rien ne va plus_!" and after breathless silence the rattle told that the ivory had fallen. brooker's prophecy proved correct. the black had gained. "going to risk anything?" inquired zertho, with a smile. "no," interrupted liane earnestly. "dad will not. he has already promised me." the captain, his hand trembling in his pocket, turned to his daughter with a smile. "surely you won't deprive him of winning a few louis?" zertho exclaimed. "be generous, just this once, dearest." smiling, she turned to her father with a glance of inquiry. "i have promised," he observed quietly. "i do not break my pledge to you, unless with your permission." already the people, eager to tempt fortune, were placing their money on the yellow lines upon the table, and while they spoke zertho tossed a couple of louis upon the simple chance of the black. the game was made, black won, and he received back his stake with two louis in addition. the sight of zertho winning stirred erle brooker's blood. he had watched the run of the table sufficiently to know from experience that the chances were again in favour of the red, and with quick resolve he threw upon the scarlet diamond two notes for one hundred francs apiece. liane made a sudden movement to stay his hand, but too late. then, with lips compressed she looked at him with bitter reproach, but uttered no word. the little ivory ball had already been launched on it way. "_rien ne va plus_!" cried the croupier an instant later, and the ball next second clicked into its socket. red won. the croupier tossed over to him two notes of the same value as those he had staked, and he took them up with an amused smile at his companions. "really, dad," cried liane, pouting prettily, "it is too bad of you to break your promise. i only came with you on one condition, namely, that you wouldn't play." "well, i've won ten louis, so no great harm has been done," he answered. "but there is harm," she protested firmly. "when once you come to the tables you cannot, you know, leave until you've won, or lost everything. i thought you had, for my sake, given it up." they had drawn aside from the table, and were standing in the middle of the handsome room. "this is only in fun, liane," zertho assured her. "we are neither of us any longer professionals. our day is over." "it is certainly not kind of you to invite my father to play like this," she exclaimed, turning upon him resentfully. "i have already told you that i do not wish him to play." "i have not invited him," zertho declared with a laugh. "if he chooses to follow the run i cannot well prevent it." at that moment brooker, who still kept his keen eyes riveted upon the table, heard the croupier's voice, hesitated a moment, and taking two rapid steps forward tossed upon the red diamond the four notes he had just picked up. whirr-r! click! went the ball again, and the croupier's announcement a few seconds later told him that he had won four hundred francs. liane, annoyed, flushed slightly, compressed her lips and turning from them with a gesture of anger walked straight out from the great gilded salons so hateful to her. as she passed, many turned and remarked how beautiful she was. she knew that the mania which had caused her father's downfall had returned, that this double success would cause him to plunge still more deeply. zertho smiled contemptuously at her fears, and neither men went after her to induce her to return. the prince, on the contrary, shrugged his shoulders, and laughing said,-- "she's annoyed. she'll return in a minute or two, when she knows you've won. now that she's gone i'm going to risk a little myself." at that moment two players rose from their chairs, and the pair so well-known to the croupiers and attendants "marked" their places. the man sitting before the red and black disc which slowly revolved while the players laid down their coin, gave both men a little nod of recognition. "_messieurs, faites vos jeux_," cried the croupier. "what's your fancy? the impair?" zertho inquired of his companion in the same tone as was his wont long ago. "of course," the other replied, selecting at the same moment three notes from those in his hand, and tossing them over upon the marked square indicated. once more sounded the monotonous cry, "_rien ne va plus_!" the croupier sat immovable as one joyless, hopeless, and impassionate, a veritable machine raking in and paying out gold and silver and notes without caring one jot whether the bank gained or lost. the ball was an instant later sent on its way, and brooker watching, saw it suddenly spring about and fall. again he won. with one elbow resting upon the table he gathered up his winnings with that impassive manner which marks the professional gamester as one apart. whether he gained or lost erle brooker never made sign, except sometimes when he lost more heavily than usual he would perhaps smile a trifle bitterly. already the furrows were showing in his brow, and his deep-set eyes watched keenly the run of the game as time after time he would hesitate, apparently reflecting, until the ball was already in motion, and then toss his notes into the "manque" or "passe," the first being the numbers to , and the latter to , or place them upon the lines of the various numbered squares, whichever he deemed wisest for the composite chances of a "sixain," a "carre," a "douzaine," or a "colonne." heedless of all around him, heedless of his old partner at his side, the man who had once shared his losses and his winnings, heedless of the pale delicate girl who was wandering about alone somewhere outside, fearing lest he should lose the whole of the little money they now had, he won and won, and still won. sometimes he lost. twice in succession the bank gained six hundred francs of his winnings; still nothing daunted, he continued, and found that the knowledge he had gained of the game proved true, for he won again and again, although sometimes doubling and even trebling his stake. the crowd of eager ones around the table now began to wait until he selected the place whereon he should put down his stake, and commenced to follow his play narrowly, playing when he played, and refraining when he held back. zertho noticed this and whispered: "your luck's changed, old chap. why not try bigger stakes?" "i know what i'm about," the other snapped viciously, pulling towards him a dozen notes from the "passe" opposite. "if you won't play yourself keep count for me, and see that i get fully paid." zertho well knew that his old partner had now become oblivious to everything. his mouth was hard-set, his eyes gleamed with a fierce excitement he strove to suppress, and great beads of perspiration stood upon his heavily-lined brow. a lady standing behind him, a tourist evidently, reached over his head to stake her modest five-franc piece on the red, whereupon he turned, and muttering something uncomplimentary regarding "those women who ought to play for sous," withered her with a look. somebody had handed zertho one of the cards printed with parallel columns under the letters "n" and "r," with a pencil wherewith to keep count. he glanced up, and noticing all eyes directed upon them, suddenly reflected that if any person came up who knew him as prince zertho d'auzac it would scarcely be dignified to be discovered counting the gains and acting as clerk to a professional gamester. but brooker wanted money badly, and was winning; therefore he could not disturb him. both men were gamblers at heart, and the one feared to move just as much as the other, lest the spell should be broken and the luck change. the good fortune attending the captain's play seemed to the onlookers little short of marvellous. with apparent unconcern he flung down his notes, sometimes six or ten twisted carelessly together, and each time there came back towards him upon the point of the croupier's rake his own notes with a similar number of others. suddenly, having thrown four notes upon the "manque," he rested his hot whirling brow upon his hand. the ball clicked into its little numbered partition, the croupier announced that the number had gained, and he knew he had lost. the excited crowd sitting and standing around the table exchanged smiles and glances, and at that moment the croupiers changed. again the game was made, and the man upon whom everyone's eyes were turned threw five hundred francs upon the simple chance of the red. black again won. once more he threw a similar sum upon the red. a third time black won. he had lost fourteen hundred francs in three spins of the wheel! it seemed that his luck had suddenly departed. it is often remarked by professional gamesters that luck departs from the fortunate when the croupiers are changed. but the passion was now full upon him. his face was rigid; his mouth tightly closed. he had spoken no word to zertho, and had seemed hardly to notice how much his companion had been gathering into his hands, or to take the trouble to glance at the revolving roulette. the croupier's voice was, for him, sufficient. now, each time that the tiny ball dropped into its socket he knew that its click cost him four hundred francs. time after time he lost, and those who, half-an-hour before, had been carefully following his play and winning heavily thereby, began to forsake him and trust in their own discretion. in eighteen games only twice the red turned up, still with the dogged pertinacity of the gamester he pinned his faith to the colour upon which he had had his run of luck, and continued to stake his notes in the expectation that the black must lose. "you're getting reckless," zertho whispered. "this isn't like you, old fellow." but his companion turned from him with angry gesture, and flung on his money as before. at that moment red won. the colour had changed. from zertho's hand he took the bundle of notes, still formidable, although his losses had been so heavy, and counted them as quickly and accurately as a bank-teller. there were eighty-three, each for one hundred francs. for an instant he paused. already the ball was on its way. his keen eyes, gleaming with an unnatural fire, took in the table at a glance; then withdrawing twenty-three of the notes, he screwed up the remainder into a bundle and tossed it upon the scarlet diamond. "good heavens!" zertho gasped. "are you mad, brooker?" but the captain paid no heed. his blotchy countenance, a trifle paler, was as impassive as before, although he had staked six thousand francs, the maximum allowed upon the simple chance. "_rien ne va plus_!" cried the croupier once more, and those crowding around the table, witnessing the heavy stake, glanced quickly at the reckless gamester, then craned their necks to watch the tiny ball. slowly, very slowly, it lost its impetus. the breathless seconds seemed hours. all were on tiptoe of expectation, the least moved being the man sitting with his chin resting upon his hand, his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the table before him; the man who had spent whole years of his life amid that terrible whirl of frenzied greed and forlorn hope. even the croupiers, whose dark, impassive faces and white shirt-fronts had haunted so many of the ruined ones, bent to watch the progress of the ball. zertho, in his eagerness, rose from his chair to obtain a better view. whirr-r. click! it fell at last, and scarcely had it touched the number when the croupier's voice clearly and distinctly announced that the red had gained. then the crowd breathed once more. brooker raised his head in the direction of the croupier, and a slight smile played about the corners of his hard-set mouth. a moment later six notes for a thousand francs each were handed to him at the end of the rake, while zertho drew in the big bundle of small notes his companion had staked. brooker had re-won all the winnings he had lost. he toyed with the bundle of sixty notes which zertho handed to him until the ball was again set spinning, when, as if with sudden resolution, he tossed them once more upon the same spot. a silent breathlessness followed, while he remained still motionless, his chin sunk upon his breast. it was a reckless game he was playing, and none knew it better than himself. yet somehow that afternoon a desperate frenzy had seized him, and having won, he played boldly, with the certain knowledge that the bad luck which had hitherto followed him had at last changed. again the disc, revolving in the opposite direction, sent the ball hopping about as it struck it. once more it fell. the red again won, and he added six additional notes to the six already in his hand. "_messieurs, faites vos jeux_!" a third time was the game made, a third time he held in his hand in indecision that bundle of notes, and a third time he tossed them upon the scarlet diamond. in an instant gold and notes were showered upon them from every hand until they formed a formidable pile. the other players crowding around, seeing his returning run of luck, once more followed his game. a third time was the ball projected around the edge of the disc, followed eagerly in its course by two hundred eyes; a third time the croupier's voice was raised in warning that no more money was to be placed upon the table, and a third time the ivory dropped with a sudden click upon the red. a third time came the six thousand francs handed upon the end of the croupier's rake. brooker, taking the bundle of small notes and thrusting them all together in his pocket, rose at once from the table with a smile at those opposite him, the richer by a thousand pounds. "marvellous!" cried zertho, as they moved away together across the polished floor. "what a run you've had! surely liane can't be angry now. let's go into the gardens; she's certain to be awaiting us there." and together they went to the cloakroom for their hats; then passed out down the broad carpeted steps into the pretty place, where the shadows were lengthening. the monegasques and visitors were promenading in the gardens; the orchestra before the crowded cafe de paris, with its striped sun-blinds, was playing an overture of mascagni's; and the cool, bright, flower-scented air was refreshing after the heat and excitement of the crowded rooms. "at last!" brooker exclaimed, as they descended the steps to seek liane. "at last my luck has changed!" chapter twelve. liane's secret. when liane had left the two men she first obtained her sunshade, then, descending the steps, walked slowly beneath the shadows round to the front of the casino and out upon the beautiful broad terrace, flanked by palms, aloes and flowers, which faced the sea. there were but few promenaders, for the sun was still warm, and most of the people were inside tempting fortune. with her white sunshade above her head she leaned upon the stone balustrade, her clear eyes fixed in deep thought upon the wide expanse of blue sky and bluer sea. on the terrace below, where a pigeon-shooting match was in progress, the crack of a gun was heard at intervals, while pacing the gravelled walk near her was one of the casino attendants with the curious closely-fitting coat and conspicuous broad striped belt of red and blue. the duty of these men is somewhat unique. they watch the loungers narrowly, and if they appear plunged in despair they eject them from the gardens lest they should commit suicide. the soft breeze from the sea fanned her face refreshingly after the closeness of those crowded rooms, where the sun's brightness was excluded, and the light of the glorious day subdued. she was annoyed at zertho's action in inciting her father by winning the paltry couple of louis, more than at the captain for his want of self-control. she stood there thinking, a tall lithe figure in white girdled with violet, refined, exquisite, dainty from the gilt ferrule of her sunshade to the tip of her tiny white kid shoe. she reflected what terrible fascination the tables possessed for her father, and was half inclined to forgive him, knowing how irresistible was the temptation to play amid that accumulation of all the caprices, of all the fantasies, of all the eccentricities, of all the idleness, of all the ambitious and all the indiscretions. but zertho's contemptuous smile had added to her vexation and displeasure. her father had commenced playing, and she dreaded the consequences, knowing with what dogged persistency he would stake his last louis on the chance of regaining his losses, heedless of the fact that for each coin lost they would be deprived of the comforts of life to that amount. she reproached herself for consenting to accompany them, but as she pondered her anger soon turned to poignant sorrow. she had believed that her father, hard hit as he had been, had relinquished all thought of play. time after time he had assured her that he had renounced roulette for ever, yet now on the first occasion he had revisited the scene of his old triumphs and defeats, all his good resolutions had crumbled away, and he had tossed his money into the insatiable maw of the bank as recklessly as he had ever done. she sighed as she thought of it, and bitter tears dimmed her vision. by her own influence she could have taken him away; it was, she knew, the fear of zertho's derision that caused him to fling those notes so defiantly upon the table. with that picturesque, well-remembered landscape of rugged mountain heights, olive-clad slopes, and calm sea, memories sad and bitter continued to crowd upon her. this place, among the fairest on earth, was to her the most hateful and loathsome. with it were associated all the evil days which had passed so drearily; all the poverty which had kept her and her dead companion shabby and heavy-hearted; all the months of anxiety and weariness in days when their rooms were poorly furnished and the next meal had been an event of uncertainty. a few months of life at a good hotel, amid congenial society, would always be followed by many months of residence high up in some back street, where the noise was eternal, where the screaming of loud-voiced frenchwomen sounded above and below, where clothes were hung upon the drab jalousies to air in the sun, and where the smell of garlic came in at the windows. in such a life the quiet english homeliness of stratfield mortimer had come as a welcome rest. she had loved their quaint old ivied cottage, and had fondly believed they would remain there always, happy and contented. but, alas! nelly's tragic end had changed it all. zertho, her reckless but animated companion of the old days, was back again with them, and once more they were upon the very spot that she had vowed so often she would never again revisit. these reflections brought with them thoughts of nelly. she recollected how, often and often, they would stroll together along that terrace while zertho and her father sat hour after hour at the tables, regardless of meal-times, and how sometimes, hungry and having no money, they would go in and obtain from one or other of the men a ten-franc piece with which to get their dinner at the cheap little restaurant they knew of down in la condamine. it was upon that very gravelled walk, with its inviting seats, high palms, and banks of flowers, that they had one afternoon passed a tall, good-looking young englishman not much older than themselves. he had smiled at them, and they, always delighted at the chance of an innocent flirtation, had laughed in return. he had then raised his hat, spoken to them, and strolled along at nellie's side. his name was charles holroyde, and it was he who, a few weeks later, had given nelly the costly brooch which had been stolen from her throat by her assassin. she glanced at the seat beside which she was standing. it was the one on which they had sat that sunny afternoon when they chatted merrily, and he had first given the two girls his card. she sighed. those days were passed, and even nelly, her companion and confidante, was no more. she was, she reflected gloomily, without a single real friend. at that moment, however, she felt a light hand upon her shoulder behind her, and a voice exclaimed,-- "liane! at last!" she turned quickly with a start, and next instant found herself face to face with george stratfield. "you, george!" she gasped, her face blanching. "yes, darling," he answered. "i called at your address at nice, but they told me you had come over here, so i followed. but what's the matter?" he asked, in consternation. "you are not well. how white you look! tell me what is worrying you?" "nothing," she answered, with a forced laugh. "nothing whatever, i assure you. i--i wasn't aware that i looked at all pale. your sudden appearance startled me." but george regarded her with suspicion. he knew from the look of intense anxiety upon her fair countenance that she was concealing the truth. "is the captain with you?" he inquired after an awkward pause. "yes, he is inside," she answered. "but why have you come here?" "to see you, liane," he said, earnestly. "i could no longer bear to be parted from you, so one night i resolved to run out and spend a week or so in nice, and here i am." her face had assumed a strange, perplexed look. he knew nothing of zertho's existence, for loving him so well she had hesitated day by day to write and tell him the hideous truth. she saw that he must now know all. she raised her clear, wonderful eyes to his as she stammered a question, asking if that was his first visit to the riviera. "yes," he answered, gazing around at the casino, the mountains, and the sea. "how charming it is here. i don't wonder that you are so fond of it." "i'm not fond of it?" she protested, with a sigh. "i would rather be in england--much rather." "yet you are half-french yourself! surely this is gayer and much more pleasant than stratfield mortimer," he exclaimed, leaning with his back to the balustrade, glancing at her elegant dress, and noticing how well it suited her. "the surroundings are perhaps more picturesque," she replied, turning her gaze sea-ward. "but i was far happier there than here," she sighed and the little gloved hand holding her sunshade trembled. "why?" he inquired surprised. for an instant she raised her eyes to his, then lowering her gaze, answered,-- "why do you ask? did i not then have you?" "but i am here now," he said quickly. "i must, however, admit that your welcome was scarcely as cordial as i expected." her lips tightened, and she swallowed the lump rising in her throat. "i--i cannot kiss you here, in a public place," she said, with a little gesture of regret. the strange coldness about her voice caused him dismay. it proved that the apparent apathy of her letters actually arose from indifference. his suspicions were correct. her love had grown cold. a heavy look of disappointment crossed his face, as pausing a moment, he glanced at her, and saw that she shivered. "come," he exclaimed. "you have, i believe, stood here too long. the breeze is perhaps chilly. let us walk." "i'm not cold at all," she assured him, without moving. "except towards me," he observed, gloomily. "i wasn't aware that my attitude was one of indifference," she said, endeavouring to smile. "there is a change in you, liane," the young man declared, gazing seriously into her eyes. "tell me, darling, what has occurred." she held her breath for a moment. she loved him dearer than life, yet she feared to speak the truth lest he should turn from her and renounce her as an enchantress false and unworthy. her countenance was almost pale as the dress she wore, and her breast rose and fell convulsively. "nothing," she answered at last. "nothing has occurred." "but you are not bright and happy as you used to be," he declared sympathetically. "something troubles you. confide in me, darling." she turned her face from him and tears slowly coursed down her cheeks. but she made no response. together they walked several times the whole length of the terrace, and their conversation drifted to other topics. he told her of his bachelor life in london, his lonely, dreary chambers, of his desperate struggle to secure a foothold in his already overcrowded profession, and of his good fortune in obtaining a little book-reviewing for a weekly paper. "now, what distresses you, liane?" he asked at last, when again they were standing against the parapet gazing over the sea. "surely i may know?" "no," she murmured. "no, george, you cannot." "do you fear to trust me--the man who loves you?" he asked in a reproachful tone, grasping her hand. "ah!" she cried with sudden emotion, "do not make my burden heavier to bear, george. why have you come here to me--now?" "why now? are you not pleased that i should be beside you when you are unhappy?" "yes--i mean no," she sobbed. "your presence here only adds to my torture." "torture?" he echoed. "what do you mean, liane?" "i must tell you now," she gasped, clutching his arm convulsively, and raising her tearful face to his with an imploring look. "you will not think me false, cruel and heartless--will you? but i cannot marry you." "what!" he ejaculated, starting and regarding her in abject dismay. "why, what is there to prevent it? surely you cannot say that you no longer love me?" "ah! no," she answered, panting, her gloved hand still clutching his arm. "i do love you, george. i swear i love you at this moment as no other woman ever can." "yet you cannot marry me?" "it is impossible." "ah! don't say that, darling," he protested. "we love each other too well ever to be parted." "but we must part," she answered, in a blank, despairing voice. "you must no longer think of me, except as one who has loved you, as one who will still think often, very often, of you." "impossible!" he cried quickly. "you told me once that you loved me, that you would wait a year or so if necessary, and that you would marry me." "i know! i know!" she wailed, covering her face with her hands. "and i told you the truth." "then you have met someone else whom you love better," he observed, in a tone of poignant sorrow. she did not reply. her heart was too full for words. her breath came in short, quick gasps, and she laid one hand upon the stone balustrade to steady herself. "ah, george," she murmured brokenly, "you do not know the fatality that of late has encompassed me, or you would not reproach me. you would pity me." he saw she was trembling. her eyes were downcast, her chin had fallen upon her breast. "i cannot sympathise with you, or advise you, if you will not tell me the cause of your distress," he said in a kindly tone, grasping her hand. they were in the eastern end of the garden, at a spot but little frequented. "i know you must hate me for having deceived you like this, but truly i could not avoid it. many, many times have i striven to write to you and tell you the truth, but my words looked so cold, formal and cruel on paper that i always tore up the letter. while you were in ignorance i knew that you still loved me, but now--" "well, i am still in ignorance," he interrupted. "and i have lost you!" she cried despairingly. "why? i still love you." "but i must not--i dare not think of love again!" she whispered hoarsely. "from to-day we must part. you must go away and let us both try and forget all that has passed between us. if i have acted cruelly, forgive me. it was because i have been so weak--because i loved you so well." "no," he answered firmly, "i shall not leave you, dearest. i love you still as fondly as in the old days when we strolled together around stratfield; therefore you shall not send me away like this." "but you must go," she cried. "you must go; i am betrothed." "betrothed?" the colour died from his face. she hung her head, and her breast rose and fell quickly. "ah!" she cried, "do not hate me, george. do not think that i have been false to you. it is not my fault; i swear it is not. a fate, cruel and terrible has overwhelmed me." for a moment he stood rigid as one transfixed. "what is the man's name?" he inquired at last, in a hard, strained tone. she stood silent for several moments, then slowly, without raising her head, answered,-- "zertho." "his surname, i mean," he demanded. "prince zertho d'auzac," she replied, in a low, faltering voice. he knit his brows. the title was to him sufficient proof that the woman he loved so dearly had forsaken him in order to obtain wealth and position. she would be princess d'auzac. it was the way of the world. "and why have you kept the truth from me?" he demanded, in a harsh tone full of reproach. "because i feared you--because--because i loved you, george," she sobbed. "love!" he echoed. "surely you cannot love me if you can prefer another?" "ah! no," she cried in protestation. "i knew you would misjudge me; you whom i loved so dearly and still love." "then why marry this man, whoever he is?" he interrupted fiercely. he saw her words were uttered with an intense earnestness. there still burned in her eyes the unmistakable light of fond passion. "because i must." "you must? i don't understand." her cold lips moved, but no sound came from them. in vain she tried to suppress the fierce tumult of feelings that raged within her breast. he was endeavouring to wring her secret from her! the secret of zertho's influence. no, he should never know. it was terrible, horrible; its very thought appalled her. to save her father from exposure, disgrace, and something worse she was compelled to renounce her love, sacrifice herself, and marry the man she despised and hated. "i have promised to marry the prince d'auzac because i am compelled," she said briefly, in a low, firm voice. "what renders it imperative?" he demanded, his face dark and serious. "my own decision," she answered, struggling to remain calm. "you have decided, then, to discard my love," he said fiercely. "you prefer being the wife of a prince rather than of a struggling barrister. well, perhaps, after all your choice is but natural." "i do not prefer," she declared, passionately. "cannot you see, george, that there are circumstances which compel me to act as i am acting? heaven knows, i have suffered enough, because you are the only man i can love." "then why not remain mine, darling?" he said, more tenderly, with a slight pressure of her hand as he gazed with intense earnestness into her tear-dimmed eyes. "we love one another, therefore why should both our lives be wrecked?" "because it is imperative," she answered, gloomily. "but what motive can you have in thus ruining your future, and casting aside all chance of happiness?" he inquired, puzzled. "it is to secure my future, not to ruin it, that i have promised to marry the prince," she answered. "and for no ulterior motive?" "yes," she faltered. "there is still another reason." "what is it? tell me." "no, george," she answered in a low, hoarse voice. "do not ask me, for i can never tell you--never." "you have a hidden motive which you refuse to explain," he observed resentfully. "i have placed faith in you; surely you can trust me, liane!" "with everything, save that." "why?" "it is a secret which i cannot disclose." "not even to me?" "no, not even to you," she answered, pale to the lips. "i dare not!" he remained silent in perplexity. a bevy of bright-faced, laughing girls passed them in high spirits, counting as they went by the coin they had won at the tables. liane turned her face from them to hide her emotion, and stood motionless, leaning still upon the balustrade. the sun was sinking behind the great dark rock whereon was perched monaco, and the mountains were already purple in the mystic light of evening. "why are you so determined that we should separate, darling?" he asked, in a low, pained voice, bending down towards her averted face. "surely your prince can never love you as devotedly as i have done!" "ah! george," she cried, with a tender passion in her glance as she again turned to him, "do not tempt me. it is my duty, and i have given a pledge. i have never loved prince zertho, and i never shall. mine will be a marriage of compulsion. in a few short weeks i shall bid farewell to hope and happiness, to life and love, for i shall become princess d'auzac and lose you for ever." "as princess you may obtain many of the pleasures of life. far more than if you were my wife," he observed, in a hollow tone, as if speaking to himself. "no, no," she protested. "the very name is to me synonymous of all that is hateful. ah! you do not know, george, the terrible thoughts that seem to goad me to madness. often i find myself reflecting whether death would not be preferable to the life to which i am now condemned. yet i am held to it immutably, forced against my will to become this man's wife, in order that the terrible secret, which must never be disclosed, may still remain where it is, locked in the breast of the one man who, by its knowledge, holds me irrevocably in his power." "then you fear this prince zertho?" he said slowly, with deep emphasis. she seemed quite unlike the laughing, happy girl he had known at home in their quiet rural village. her strange attitude of abject dejection and despair held him stupefied. "yes," she answered hoarsely, after a long pause, "i dare not disobey him." "from your words it would seem that your crime is of such a terrible nature that you dare not risk exposure. is that so?" he hazarded in a hard voice, scarcely raised above a whisper. "my crime!" she cried, all colour instantly dying out of her handsome face, while in her clear, grey eyes was a strange expression as if she were haunted by some fearsome spectre of the past. her white lips quivered, her hands trembled, "what do you mean?" she gasped. "what do you know of my crime?" next instant she started, her lips held tight together as she drew herself up unsteadily with a sudden movement. she knew that she had involuntarily betrayed herself to the man she loved. chapter thirteen. lip-salve. in a room on the second floor of an old, high, dingy-looking house in one of the dingiest back streets near the flower-market in nice sat a man and a woman. the room was lofty, with a ceiling which had once been painted but had now faded and fallen away in great flakes, while the furniture was frayed and shabby. the shutters of the two long windows were closed, and the place was lit by a cheap shaded lamp suspended in the centre, its light being too dim to sufficiently illuminate the whole apartment. beneath the circle of light stood a table marked in squares, and in its centre a roulette-wheel. the man, lying lazily back in an armchair, smoking a long cigar, was about thirty-five, dark, with well-cut aquiline features, in which craft and intelligence were combined, a small pointed moustache, and a pair of keen black eyes full of suspicion and cunning. his companion was old, perhaps sixty, lean, ill-attired and wizened, her face being almost brown as a toad's back, her body bent, and her voice weak and croaking. they sat opposite to one another, talking. around the walls there were tacked copies of a leaflet headed, in huge black capitals, "the agony of monte carlo," which declared that the advertiser, an englishman who offered his services to the public, had vanquished the hazard, and was the only person who could gain indefinitely at either roulette or trente-et-quarante. he had solved the puzzling problem of "how to win." the french in which the circular was printed was not remarkable for its grammar or diction, but it was certainly a brilliant specimen of advertisement, and well calculated to entrap the unwary. copies of it had for several weeks been widely distributed in the streets of nice, flung into passing cabs, or handed to those who took their daily airing on the promenade, and it had given rise to a good deal of comment. among many other remarkable statements, it was alleged that the discoverer of this infallible method had gained five hundred francs an hour upon an ordinary capital of five francs, and so successful had been his play that the administration of the casino, in order to avert their own ruin, had denied him any further card of admission. the remarkable person declared further that so certain was he of success that he was prepared to place any stake against that of any person who doubted, and to allow the player to turn the roulette himself. to those who arranged to play under his direction the circular promised the modest gain of one million two hundred thousand francs a month! truly the remarkable circular was aptly headed "the agony of monte carlo." the inventor was the dark-eyed man with the cigar, and it was upon the table before him that he gave illustrations of his marvellous discovery to his clients. all the systems of jacquard, yaucanson, fulton, descartes and copernic were declared to be mere jumbles of false principles, and held up to derision. this was actually infallible. nice had heard of a good many methods of winning before, but never one put forward by an inventor sufficiently confident to offer to bear the losses; hence, from the hours of ten to twelve, and two to six, the foppishly-attired man who declared in his circular, "_je mis la force, parceque je suis la verite_," was kept busy instructing amateur gamesters how to act when at monte carlo, and receiving substantial fees for so doing. the clocks had chimed ten, and the street was quiet. the old woman, who with difficulty had been reading the feuilleton in the _petit nicois_ yawned, flung down her paper, and glanced over at the cosmopolitan adventurer who, with his head thrown back, was staring at the ceiling, humming in a not unmusical voice the catchy refrain of varney's popular "serenade du pave--" "sois bonne, o ma chere inconnue, pour qui j'ai si souvent chante! ton offrande est la bienvenue, fais-moi la charite! sois bonne, o ma chere inconnue, pour qui j'ai souvent chante! devant moi, devant moi sois la bienvenue?" so light-hearted he seemed that possibly he had succeeded in inventing some other system whereby the pockets of the long-suffering public might be touched. suddenly a footstep on the landing outside caused them both to start and exchange quick glances. then the bell rang, and the conqueror of the hazard rose and opened the door. their visitor was zertho. he was in evening clothes, having left the theatre early to stroll round there. "well, mother valentin," he exclaimed in french, tossing his hat carelessly upon the table, and sinking into a chair. "rheumatism still bad--eh?" "ah, yes, m'sieur," croaked the old woman in the provencal patois, "still very bad," and grunting, she rose, and hobbled out of the room. "and how's business?" zertho inquired of the other. "pretty fair. lots of mugs in the town just now," he smiled, speaking in cockney english. "that handbill of yours is about the cheekiest bit of literature i've ever come across," he said, nodding towards one of the remarkable documents tacked upon the wall. "it has drawn 'em like honey draws flies," said the other, smiling and regarding it with pride. "the offer to pay the losses does it. you can always make a lie truth by lying large enough." he had resumed his seat, and was puffing contentedly at his cigar. "it's a really marvellous specimen of bluff," zertho observed, in a tone of admiration. "when i first saw it i feared that you had been a bit too extravagant in your promises." "the bigger your promise the greater your success. i've always found it the same with all the wheezes i've worked," he replied. "i saw you driving with brooker's daughter a few days ago. you seem to be having an uncommonly good time of it," he added. "can't complain," zertho said, leaning back with a self-complacent air. "patrician life suits me after being so many years an outsider." "no doubt it is pleasant," his companion answered with a meaning look, "if one can completely bury the past." "i have buried it," zertho answered quickly. max richards, the inventor of "the agony of monte carlo," regarded the man before him with a supercilious smile. "and you pay me to prevent its exhumation--eh?" "i thought we had agreed not to mention the matter again," zertho exclaimed, darting at his crafty-looking fellow-adventurer a look of annoyance and suspicion. "my dear fellow," answered the other quite calmly, "i have no desire to refer to it. if you are completely without regret, and your mind is perfectly at ease, well, i'm only too happy to hear it. i have sincere admiration, i assure you, for a man who can forget at will. i wish i could." "i do not forget," zertho snapped. "your confounded demands will never allow me to forget." the thin-faced man smiled, lazily watching the smoke ascend from an unusually good weed. "it is merely payment for services rendered," he observed. "i'm not the lucky heir to an estate, therefore i can't afford to give people assistance gratis." "no," cried zertho in a tumult of anger at the remembrance of recent occurrences. "no, you're an infernal blackmailer!" richards smiled, quite undisturbed by his visitor's sudden ebullition of wrath, and, turning to him said,-- "my dear fellow, whatever can you gain by blackguarding me? why, every word you utter is in self-condemnation." zertho was silent. yes, it was the truth what this man said. he was a fool to allow his anger to get the better of him. was it not napoleon who boasted that the success of all his great schemes was due to the fact that he never permitted his anger to rise above his throat? his face relaxed into a sickly smile. "i'm weary of your constant begging and threatening," he said at last. "i was a fool in the first instance. if i had allowed you to speak no one would have believed you. instead of that, i generously gave you the money you wanted." "i'm glad you say `generously'," his companion observed, smiling. "generosity isn't one of your most engaging characteristics." "well, i've been generous to you--too generous, for you have now increased your demands exorbitantly." "i'm poor--while you can afford to pay." "i can't--i won't afford," retorted zertho, determinedly. "when men grow wealthy they are always imposed upon by men such as you," he added. "i admit that the service you rendered deserved payment. well, i liquidated the debt honourably. then you immediately levied blackmail, and have ever since continued to send me constant applications for money." "a man who can afford to forget his past can afford to be reminded of the debt he owes," answered the man, still smoking with imperturbable coolness. "but i tell you i won't stand it any longer. you've strained the cord until it must now snap." "very well, my dear fellow," answered the other, with an air of impudent nonchalance. "you know your own business best. act as you think fit." "i shall. this is my last visit here." "no doubt. my present wheeze is getting about played out. a good thing like this can't run for any length of time. in a week, for obvious reasons, i shall lock up the doors and depart with mother valentin, leaving the landlord looking for his rent and my clients thirsting for my vitals. yes, you are right, my dear zertho, when you say this will be your last visit here. but if the mountain will not come to mahomet, the latter must go to the mountain. i may, perhaps, call upon you, my dear zertho." "no, you sha'n't. i shall give orders that you are not to be admitted." "you will scarcely do that, i think," he answered, still smiling. the whole bearing of the man betrayed confidence in his position. "but i tell you i will. i have come here to-night in fulfilment of your demand. it is, however, the last time that we shall meet." "i hope so." "why?" "i hope that you'll pay me a sum sufficient to obviate the necessity of us meeting again. i assure you that the pleasure of your company is not unmixed with dislike." "it is mutual," zertho snapped, annoyed at the man's unmitigated insolence. "i'll pay you nothing more than what you demanded in your letter yesterday," and taking from his pocket a wallet of dark-green leather with silver mountings, he counted out four five-hundred-franc notes, and tossed them angrily upon the table, saying, "make the best of them, for you won't get another sou from me." the man addressed stretched out his hand, took the notes, smoothed them out carefully, and slowly placed them in his pocket. "then we are enemies?" he observed at last, after a long pause. he looked straight into zertho's face. "enemies or friends, it makes no difference to me. it does not alter my decision." his companion slowly knocked the ash from his cigar, then continued smoking in silence. "well, you don't speak," exclaimed zertho, impatiently, at last, twirling his dark moustache. "what is your intention?" "i never show my hand to my opponent, my dear fellow," was the quick retort. "and i know you are never unwise enough to do so." zertho had his match in this _chevalier d'industrie_, and was aware of it. "you think i'm still in fear?" he said. "i don't know; neither do i care," the other answered. "if you don't pay me there are others who no doubt will." zertho sprang quickly from his chair with a look of murderous hatred in his dark face and flashing eyes. "you would still threaten me!" he said between his teeth. "you taunt me because you believe i am entirely in your hands." "i do not believe," the other replied with cool indifference. "i know." "you are an infernal scoundrel!" "i might pass a similar compliment," he said. "but i see no reason why the pot should comment unfavourably upon the blackness of the kettle. i'm merely assisting you to obtain a pretty wife--a wife, by heaven, too pure and good and beautiful for any such as you, and--" "what do you mean?" zertho interrupted with a start. this man evidently knew more than he had suspected. "you are not assisting me in the least." but richards laughed aloud, and with a deprecatory wave of the hand, replied,-- "it's no good to bluff me. i know it is your intention to marry liane brooker, whose beauty is so admired everywhere, and who is as good as she's pretty. i happen to know something of her--more, perhaps, than you think. well, only by my assistance can you obtain her. therefore, you won't be such an idiot as to quarrel with me." "i do not quarrel," zertho answered in a much more conciliatory tone. "i only protest against your infernal taunts and insolence." "then the matter resolves itself into a simple one--a mere question of price." "i refuse to treat with you." "then you will not marry liane. she will be spared the misery of becoming princess d'auzac." "misery!" he echoed. "i can give her wealth, position--everything which makes a woman happy." "i doubt whether any woman can be happy with a man whose conscience is overshadowed, like yours," his companion observed. "why, her face would remind you hourly of that which you must be ever striving to forget." "what does it matter to you?" he snarled. "i shall marry her." "then before doing so you will pay me for my services. your stroke is a bold one, zertho, but remember that you can marry her only through me. it is worth a good sum to obtain such a beautiful wife." "whatever it may be worth, you'll never get it," d'auzac declared determinedly. the two men faced each other. "in which case she will be enabled to release herself," observed the inventor of the infallible system. "who will suffer, then? why you, yourself." zertho stood leaning upon the back of the armchair in which he had been sitting. he well knew by this man's attitude that he meant to "squeeze" him. nevertheless, he treated his remarks with derision, laughing disdainfully. "you appear to fancy that because you are now wealthy no words of mine can injure you," the thin-faced man said. "well, you are welcome to that opinion. the ostrich buries its head in the sand when pursued. you bury yours in the millions which have unexpectedly come to you." "it is sufficient for you to know that i'll never part with another sou," zertho answered with impatience. "very well, my dear friend, we shall see. of all men you in the past have been among the most discreet, and none have ever accused you of the folly of impatience; but i tell you plainly that you shall never marry liane brooker," he said distinctly, without the slightest undue warmth. "i intend to marry her," zertho answered. "in a month she will be my wife." "you dare not act like that." "but i shall." "then you defy me? very good. we now understand one another." "no, i do not defy you," zertho exclaimed quickly. "but in this matter i shall follow my own inclination entirely. i intend to marry brooker's daughter." "without my sanction?" "don't you intend to give it? it surely is no affair of yours?" "no, i shall not give it," he answered carelessly tossing his dead cigar-end into the ash-tray. "liane shall never become your wife." "what! you would tell her?" zertho gasped, his face suddenly pale and anxious. "i have already told you that i'm not in the habit of showing my opponent my hand." "i love liane. i must marry her," he blurted forth. "love! fancy you, zertho d'auzac, declaring that you love a woman!" the man exclaimed, laughing heartily in derision. "the thing's too absurd. i know you too well." zertho bit his lip. if any other man had spoken thus he would have knocked him down; but, truth to tell, he was afraid of this dark-faced, crafty-eyed englishman. since first he had known him, in the days when he was down on his luck, he had always felt an antipathy towards him, because he treated everything and everybody with such amazingly cool indifference. he saw that money only would appease him. he calculated roughly how much he had already paid him, and the reflection caused him to knit his brows. "a few minutes ago you said it was a question of price," he said at length. "well, what are your views?" "since then they have changed." "changed! how?" "you say that i have received from you all that you intend i shall receive. well, let it remain so. you will not marry her." zertho regarded him with a puzzled expression. "i asked you to name your price," he said. "what is it?" max richards, lying back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head, turned towards his visitor and answered,-- "i have offered to treat with you, but you refused. my offer is therefore withdrawn. i have enough money at present. when i want more i shall come to you." "but, my dear fellow," exclaimed zertho, dismayed, "you cannot mean that you refuse to accept anything further for the slight service you have, up to the present, rendered me?" "our compact is at an end," the man answered coldly. "no word will pass my lips on one condition, namely, that you release liane, and--" "i will never do that!" he cried in fierce determination. "she shall be my wife. come, name your own terms." "ah! i thought you would not be so unwise as to utterly defy me!" exclaimed the man, smiling in triumph. "the prize is too great to relinquish, eh?" zertho nodded. "come, don't name a figure too exorbitant. let it be within reason," he said. "it will be entirely within reason," the other answered, fixing his dark eyes intently upon zertho's. "well?" "nothing!" he laughed. "nothing? i don't understand." "i want nothing," he repeated, rousing himself, and bending forward in the lamplight, his eyes still fixed upon the man he was addressing. "you refuse?" "yes, i refuse," he said in a deep intense voice. "i have, it is true, bought and sold many things in my brief and not unblameworthy career, but i have never yet sold a pure woman's life, and by heaven! i never will!" zertho stood in abject dismay. he had been utterly unprepared for this. anger consumed him when he recognised how completely he had been misled, and how suddenly all his plans were checkmated by this man's unexpected caprice. "you've suddenly withdrawn into the paths of rectitude," he observed with a sickly smile when at last he found voice. "it will be a new and interesting experience, no doubt." "possibly." "come, richards," zertho exclaimed, after a brief pause, "it's useless to prevaricate any longer. let us settle the business. i intend marrying liane, but i am ready to admit that this is possible only with your assistance. for the latter i am prepared to continue to pay as i have already done. name the amount, and the thing can be settled at once." "i will name no amount. i decline to barter away liane's happiness." "you wish me to name a sum--eh? well, what do you say to five hundred pounds down? recollect how much you've already had off me." the other's lip curled contemptuously, as he shook his head. "well, i'll double it. a thousand." their gaze met. max richards again shook his head. zertho, with a sudden movement, pulled his wallet from his pocket, withdrew his cheque-book, and taking up a pen from the table, scribbled out a draft upon the credit lyonnais, and filled it in for fifty thousand francs. tearing it out roughly he tossed it across to his companion, exclaiming with a bitter smile,-- "there you are. i've doubled it a third time. surely that's sufficient as lip-salve?" the other stretched forth his hand unsteadily, hesitated for a single instant, then slowly his thin eager fingers closed upon it. chapter fourteen. a woman's story. when george stratfield's coffee was brought to his room at the grand hotel on the following morning there lay upon the tray a note which had been brought by hand. the superscription was in educated unfamiliar writing, evidently a woman's. filled with natural curiosity he tore open the envelope and read the following in french:-- "the writer would esteem it a personal favour if monsieur stratfield would accord her an interview this evening at any time or place he may appoint. as the matter is urgent she will be obliged if monsieur would have the goodness to telegraph a reply addressed to marie blanc, poste restante, nice, before noon." this mysterious communication he re-read several times. who, he wondered, was marie blanc, and what on earth did she want with him? how, indeed, did she know his name? there was a distinct air of suspicion about it. he tossed the strange letter aside, and thoughtfully drank his coffee and ate his roll. then, dressing, he went out, and strolling along the promenade past the house where liane lived, he thought it over. his first inclination was not to heed it. he was sufficiently worried by his own affairs, and had no desire to be bothered about other people's. marie blanc was no doubt some woman who had seen his name in the visitor's list and wanted the loan of a pound or two. he had heard of such things happening at continental resorts. no, he would take no notice of it; so he tore the note into fragments and cast them to the wind. he had not called upon liane, or seen her, since their meeting at monte carlo. she had forbidden him; and although he had lounged about up and down the broad walk nearly the whole of the previous day, he had seen no sign of her. evidently she had not been out, and was purposely avoiding him. her attitude towards him had filled him with grief and dismay. from her involuntary utterances it was plain that she still loved him, yet her strange declaration that it was imperative she should marry prince d'auzac perplexed him to the verge of madness. he had made inquiry about this man, and on every hand heard with chagrin reports of his vast wealth, of the brilliance of his fetes, and the charm of his personality. he was, without doubt, a prominent figure in nice society. to one cause alone was george able to attribute this change in the manner of his well-beloved, the fascination wealth exercises over women. when he compared his own lowly position with that of the man who had taken his place in liane's heart, he sighed, and was plunged into deep despair. indeed, that very morning as he lay awake prior to his coffee being brought, he reflected whether it would not be wiser to return at once to london. but he loved liane. he would not yet leave her side. she loved him, too, and although this marriage might be forced upon her, yet she was nevertheless his own well-beloved. throughout that morning, in the hope of catching sight of liane, he sauntered about the promenade, sat for half-an-hour in the posada-sur-mer drinking vermouth, where from the open window he could watch each person who passed. but his vigilance remained unrewarded. time after time he recollected the mysterious request of his unknown correspondent, and found himself half inclined to send a telegram and meet her. it would be an amusing adventure, if nothing else, he thought; and at length, while strolling back to the town, he resolved to do so, and, entering the nearest telegraph office, sent her a reply, asking her to call at his hotel at nine o'clock. the afternoon he spent lonely and dull. there was, it was true, plenty of amusement going on, but in his frame of mind he was in no mood for concerts, or the mild form of gambling offered by the casino municipal. he sat in the public garden listening to the band until sundown, then went for a stroll through the town, dined leisurely, and went to one of the small salons in the hotel there to await his visitor. a few minutes after nine the door was thrown open by one of the servants, behind whom stood a tall, well-dressed lady. "m'sieur stra-atfeeld?" she exclaimed interrogatively, with a very pronounced french accent. "that is my name," he answered, bowing and inviting her into the room. the spring nights are chilly in nice, and she was warmly clad in furs, and wore a neat toque with black veil, but even the spotted net was insufficient to conceal that an eminently handsome face was beneath. "your room is warm and cosy," she exclaimed, when he had placed an armchair for her. "it is quite cold outside. may i be permitted to remove my cape?" "certainly, madame," he answered, still standing near her, a puzzled expression upon his countenance as she unloosened her sealskin and allowed it to fall over the back of her chair, revealing a trim figure with narrow waist, neatly attired in black silk, the bodice trimmed with cream. "you were smoking," she said, with a smile. "pray do not desist on my account. i love tobacco. indeed, if you offered i would take one of your cigarettes--or would you think me very, very shocking?" "by all means," he laughed. "i shall be delighted if you'll join me," and he offered her his cigarette-case, and took one himself. then he struck a vesta while she raised her veil, disclosing a pretty face and an adorable mouth, and lit up with the air of an inveterate smoker. her fair hair was, he noticed, well-dressed, and her eyes were dark, but there was just the faintest suspicion of artificial colouring in the former, and her cheeks betrayed the use of the hare's foot and carmine. he reflected however, that in a frenchwoman these little aids to beauty might be forgiven. her handsome head was well poised, her throat soft and well-rounded, her white gloves new, and her dress a model of combined neatness and elegance. her exact age was difficult to determine, nevertheless she was still young-looking, and possessed the _chic_ of the true parisienne, which to englishmen seldom fails to prove attractive. he made a movement to close the window, but with a pretty pout she detained him, declaring that the room was a little warm, and at least for the present she felt no draught. he sank back into his chair, and regarded her with an expression half of curiosity, half of surprise. their eyes met. the silence was awkward, and he broke it by apologising for receiving her somewhat abruptly. "ah, you bachelors are generally abrupt to unwelcome visitors?" she answered in her pleasant broken english, with a low rippling laugh. "it is only my much abused sex who prevent you from reverting to utter barbarity. you are not married. ah, you should have a wife to look after you." "perhaps i may have one--some day," he answered, smiling at her frankness. slowly she removed the cigarette from her lips, and her gaze wandered round the brightly-furnished room. "but you declare yourself to be an unwelcome visitor," he continued. "why?" for a moment she regarded the end of her cigarette contemplatively, then turning her dark eyes upon his, answered in a half-apologetic tone-- "well, you must think my visit here curious, m'sieur. it is. nevertheless, i trust i may be forgiven for encroaching upon your time, and coming here without introduction. the object of my call is of some concern to you, inasmuch as it is in the interests of one who loves you." "one who loves me!" he echoed in surprise. "who?" "liane brooker," answered his fair visitor. "in her interests, and in yours." "are you, then, a friend of liane's?" he inquired, suddenly interested. "well, not exactly," she replied, a little evasively he thought. then she replaced her cigarette daintily between her lips, and continued smoking with that ease and grace acquired by ladies who are in the habit of soothing their nerves with tobacco. "are you acquainted with captain brooker?" he asked. "yes, we have met," she answered. "you know him, of course? he is such a kind-hearted man, such a thorough bohemian, yet such a perfect gentleman." "unfortunately, i have only met him on one or two occasions," george said. in an instant it had occurred to him that from his mysterious visitor he might learn what liane and poor nelly had always refused to tell him. "he has lived here, in france, for some years. what has been his profession?" "profession!" she exclaimed, raising her dark well shaped eyebrows. "what! are you unaware?" "i am entirely ignorant." "well, although a military officer, of late years his chief field of operations has been the trente-et-quarante table at monte carlo, where he is as well-known as--well, as the fat old gentleman who sits in the bureau to examine one's visiting card." "a gambler!" he cried, in a tone of disbelief. "yes, a gambler," she went on. "few men of late years have lost such large sums so recklessly as he has. once everybody followed his play, believing him to be a sort of wizard who could divine the cards undealt; but at last his ill-luck became proverbial, and after ruining himself he left with liane and nelly bridson and went to england." "and liane? what of her?" he inquired, dismayed that the man he had held in high esteem as a good-hearted, easy-going fellow should actually turn out to be an adventurer. "ah! she has led a strange life," sighed the handsome frenchwoman. "i have seen her many times, but have seldom spoken much with her. i often met her father in the days of his success, but he for some reason avoided introducing me. although the circle in which erle brooker moved was usually composed of thieves, adventuresses, and the scum of the gambling-hells, he held his daughter aloof from it all. he would never permit her to mix with any of his companions, appearing to entertain a curious suspicion towards even respectable folk, fearing lest she should become contaminated by the world's wickedness. thus," she added, "liane and her companion nelly grew to be sweet and altogether ingenuous girls, who were everywhere respected and admired." there was a short pause, during which he pondered deeply over the facts his strange visitor had explained. the truth was out at last. liane was the daughter of an adventurer. he recollected how well she had been dressed when he had met her on the terrace at monte carlo, and reflected that her father must be again winning. the reason why she had compelled him to leave her that afternoon, why she had always preserved such a reticence regarding her past life, was now entirely plain. she did not wish that he should know the truth. "you said that you called in liane's interests," he observed, presently, glancing at her with earnestness. "how?" "what are her interests are yours; are they not?" she asked. "certainly." "you love her?" he smiled at the abruptness of her question. she was leaning back, regarding him with her keen, dark eyes, and holding her cigarette daintily between her bejewelled fingers. "she has promised to become my wife," he answered. a strange look crossed her features. there was something of surprise mingled with anger; but in an instant she hid it beneath a calm, sphinx-like expression. "i fear she will never marry you," she said, with a sigh. "why?" "because of her engagement to the prince d'auzac." "i care nothing for that," he cried, in anger at mention of his rival's name. "we love each other, and will marry." "such a course is impossible," she answered, in a deep impressive voice. "it would be far better if you returned to london--better for you both--for she cannot marry you." "why?" he demanded. he suddenly recollected that from this mysterious woman who knew so much of their personal affairs he might obtain knowledge of the secret his well-beloved had refused to disclose. "why cannot she abandon him, and marry the man she loves?" "there is a secret reason," his visitor replied. "she dare not." "are you aware of the reason?" he demanded, quickly. "i can guess. if it is as i suspect, then marriage with you is entirely out of the question. she must marry zertho." "because she is in fear of him?" he hazarded. she shrugged her shoulders with that vivacity which only frenchwomen possess, but no reply left her lips. "from what does her strange fear arise?" he asked, bending towards her in his eagerness to learn the truth. "an overwhelming terror holds her to zertho. it is a bond which, although he may be hateful to her, as undoubtedly he is, she cannot break. she must become princess d'auzac." "she fears lest he should expose some hidden secret of her past?" he suggested. "i don't say that," she answered. "remember i have only suspicions. nevertheless, from whatever cause arises her terrible dread its result is the same--it prevents her from becoming your wife." "yes," he admitted, plunged in gloomy reflections. "it does. i have come out here from london to see her, but she will tell me nothing beyond the fact that she is betrothed to this man, zertho d'auzac. at first i believed that the attractions of wealth had proved too strong for her to resist; but your words, in combination with hers, are proof positive that there is some strange, dark secret underlying her engagement to him." "he has forced her to it," his fair visitor said in a harsh voice. "he's absolutely unscrupulous." "you know him?" "yes," she answered, with a slight hesitancy. "his career has been a curious one. not long ago he was a fellow-adventurer with captain brooker, and well-known in all the gaming-houses in europe--at monte carlo, spa, ostend, namur, and dinant--as one who lived by exercising his superior intelligence over his fellow-men. he was an `escroc'--one who lived by his wits, won money at the tables, and when luck was against him did not hesitate to descend to card-sharping in order to secure funds. he was the black sheep of a noble family, an outcast, a cheat and a swindler," she went on with a volubility that surprised him. "he possessed all erle brooker's shrewdness without any of his good qualities; for, although the captain may be an adventurer he has never stooped to meanness. he has always lost and won honourably, regarding his luck, good or ill, with the same imperturbable grim humour and reckless indifference. in the days of his prosperity his hand was ever in his pocket to assist his fellow-gamesters upon whom misfortune had laid a heavy hand, and more than one young man, drawn to the tables by the hope of winning, has been held back from ruin by his kindly and timely advice. the one was, and is still, a dishonest, despicable knave; while the other was a man of honour, truth and singleness of heart. suddenly, not long ago, the fortunes of zertho d'auzac changed, for his father died and he found himself possessor of a truly princely income and estates. he left the gaming-tables, burned the packs of cards with which he had fleeced so many unsuspecting ones, and returned to luxembourg to claim his possessions. since then he has led a life of ease and idleness; yet he is still now, as he ever was, vicious, recreant, and utterly unprincipled." "and to this man liane is bound?" "yes," she sighed. "irrevocably, i fear; unless she can discover some means whereby to hold him at defiance." "but she must. i would rather see her dead than the wife of such a man," he cried. she remained silent for some minutes. her cigarette had gone out and she tossed it away. at last she turned to him, exclaiming,-- "towards her release i am striving. i want your assistance." "i will render you every help in my power," he answered eagerly. "what can i do?" "first," she said, glancing at him curiously through her half-raised veil, "first describe to me in detail the whole of the circumstances in which poor nelly bridson was killed." "what!" he exclaimed quickly. "has her fear any connection with that tragic incident?" in an instant he remembered the finding of a hairpin near the spot, a pin which had been proved conclusively not to belong to the murdered girl. "i know it was you who discovered the body," she went on, disregarding his inquiry. "tell me the whole of the sad affair as far as your knowledge extends. i have, of course, read the accounts of the inquest which appeared in the papers at the time, but i am anxious to ascertain some further details." "of what nature?" "i want you to tell me, if you will," she replied with an interested look, "the exact position of the body when you discovered it." her question brought to his memory his ghastly discovery in all its hideousness. there arose before his vision the blanched upturned face of the girl prostrate in the dust, the fallen cycle, and the white, deserted english lane, silent and gloomy in the evening mist. "why do you desire me to recall an event so painful?" he asked in a calm tone. "because it is necessary that you should tell me exactly how you discovered her," she replied. "you had an appointment with liane at that very spot on that same evening, had you not?" "yes," he answered. "i was, unfortunately, late in keeping it, and rode to the railway bridge at full gallop, expecting to find her still waiting, but instead, found nelly dead." "she was lying in the centre of the road?" "almost. but a little to the right," he answered. "the road passing beneath the railway takes an abrupt but short incline just where i found her. she was evidently mounting the hill on her cycle when she was shot down." "tell me exactly how you discovered her, and how you acted immediately afterwards," she urged. "begin at the beginning, and tell me all. it may be that you can assist me in releasing liane from her bondage." her words puzzled him, nevertheless, in obedience to her wish, he related in their proper sequence each of the events of that memorable evening; how he had made the appalling discovery, how he had found the long-lost miniature of lady anne, had ridden with all speed down to the village for assistance, and how he had subsequently discovered the mysterious hairpin among the long grass by the gateway. "have you been able to determine how the missing miniature came into nelly's possession?" she asked. "no," he said. "it is entirely a mystery. it almost seems as if she had carried it in her hand, and it fell from her fingers when she was struck." "the papers also mentioned a brooch which was missing from nelly's dress," she observed. "yes," he replied. "it was no doubt stolen by the murderer." "why are you so certain the assassin was also the thief?" she inquired. "well, everything points to such being the case," he said. "when you first discovered the crime are you certain that the brooch was not still at her throat?" his mysterious visitor asked, eyeing him seriously. he paused, reflecting deeply for a moment. "i took no notice," he answered. "i was too much upset by the startling discovery to take heed what jewellery the victim wore." "cannot you sufficiently recall the appearance of the unfortunate girl when first you saw her to say positively whether or not she was still wearing the ornament? try; it is most important that this fact should be cleared up," she urged. her gay carelessness had left her, and she was full of serious earnestness. again he reflected. once more before his vision rose the tragic scene just as he had witnessed it, and somehow, he felt a growing consciousness that this woman's suggestion was correct. yes, he felt certain that nelly, although her eyes were sightless and her heart had ceased to beat, still wore the brooch which her admirer had given her. again and again he strove to decide, and each time he found himself convinced of the one fact alone--that at that moment the brooch was still there. "well," she exclaimed at last, after intently watching every expression of his face, "what is your reply?" "now that i come to reflect, i am almost positive that the brooch had not been stolen," he answered, slowly. "you are quite confident of that?" she cried, quickly. "i will not swear," he answered, "but if my memory does not deceive me it was still at her throat. i recollect noticing a strange mark beneath her chin, and wondering how it had been caused. without doubt when her head sunk heavily upon her breast in death her chin had pressed upon the brooch." "in that case you certainly have sufficient justification to take an oath if the question were put to you in a court of justice," she observed, her brows knit reflectively. george was puzzled how this fact could affect liane's future welfare, or rescue her from marriage with the prince. this woman, too, was a mystery, and he found himself wondering who and what she was. "you are already aware of my name," he observed, after a brief pause. "now that we have exchanged confidences in this manner, may i not know yours?" "it is no secret, m'sieur," she replied, looking into his face and smiling. "my name is mariette lepage." "mariette lepage!" he gasped, starting from his chair, and glaring at her in bewilderment. "that, m'sieur, is my name," she answered, opening her dark eyes widely in surprise at his strange and sudden attitude. "surely it is not so very extraordinary that, in giving you, a stranger, an address at the post restante i should have used a name that was not my own?" chapter fifteen. held in bondage. george stratfield walked out of his hotel next morning his mind full of mariette lepage's strange statements. long and deeply he pondered over the curious situation, but could discern no solution of the intricate problem. that there was some deep mystery underlying the actions of this woman he could not fail to recognise, yet, try how he would, he nevertheless found himself regarding her with misgiving. her coquettishness caused him grave suspicion. although she had endeavoured to convince him of her friendliness towards liane it was apparent from certain of her remarks that she had some ulterior motive in endeavouring to obtain from him the exact details of the tragedy. he felt confident that she was liane's enemy. was it not a cruel vagary of fate that he should discover this unknown woman whom his father had designated as his wife, only to find her the bitterest foe of the woman he loved? this was the woman who, under his father's eccentric will, was to be offered twenty thousand pounds to accept him as husband! he had said nothing of the offer which sooner or later must be formally made to her, but before they had parted she had given him as her address the villa fortunee, at monaco. he remembered the strange fact of one of her letters being found in nelly bridson's pocket, but when he mentioned it she had merely remarked that she had been acquainted with the unfortunate girl. nevertheless, he also recollected that the letter had contained an expression never used in polite society, and that it had been considered by the police as an altogether extraordinary and rather incriminating document. confused and bewildered, he was walking beneath the awnings on the shops of the quai massena on his way to the promenade, when suddenly he heard his name uttered, and on looking up found liane standing before him smiling. in her tailor-made gown of pale fawn with a neat toque, she presented an extremely smart and fresh-looking appearance. "you were so engrossed, george," she said half-reproachfully, with a pretty pout, "that you were actually passing me unnoticed. what's the matter? something on your mind?" "yes," he answered, endeavouring to laugh, so pleased was he that they had met. "i have something always on my mind--you." "then i regret if thoughts of me induce such sadness," she answered, as turning in the direction she was walking he strolled by her side. the march sun was so warm that its fiery rays burnt his face. "don't speak like that, liane," he protested. "you surely must know how heavily those cruel words you spoke at monte carlo have fallen upon me. how can i have happiness when i know that ere long we must part?" they had crossed the road, and were entering the public garden in order that passers-by should not overhear their conversation, for in nice half the people in the streets speak or understand english. "yes," she sighed gloomily. "i know i ought not to have spoken like that, george. forgive me, i know that happiness is not for me, yet i am trying not to wear my heart upon my sleeve." "but what compels you to marry this man, who was once an adventurer and swindler, and is still unscrupulous? surely such a man is no fitting husband for you?" liane glanced at him quickly in surprise. if her lover knew of zertho's past he would no doubt have learnt that her father had also earned a precarious livelihood by his wits. "already i have told you that a secret tie binds me irrevocably to him," she answered huskily, as slowly, side by side, they strolled beneath the trees. "it must be broken, whatever its nature," he said quickly. "ah! i only wish it could be," she answered wistfully, again sighing. "i am compelled to wear a smiling face, but, alas! it only hides a heart worn out with weariness. i'm the most wretched girl in all the world. you think me cruel and heartless--you believe i no longer love you as i did--you must think so. yet i assure you that day by day i am remembering with, regret those happy sunny days in berkshire, those warm brilliant evenings when, wandering through the quiet leafy lanes, we made for ourselves a paradise which we foolishly believed would last always. and yet it is all past--all past, never to return." he saw that she was affected, and that tears stood in her eyes. "life with me has not the charm it used then to possess, dearest," he said, in a low, intense tone, as together they sat upon one of the seats. "true, those days at stratfield were the happiest of all i have ever known. i remember well how, each time we parted, i counted the long hours of sunshine until we met again; how, when i was away from your side, each road, house and tree reminded me of your own dear self; how in my day-dreams i imagined myself living with you always beside me. the blow came--my father died. you were my idol. i cared for nothing else in the world, and before he died i refused to obey his command to part from you." "why," she asked quickly, "did your father object to me?" "yes, darling, he did," he answered. this was the first time he had told her the truth, and it had come out almost involuntarily. "then that is why he acted so unjustly towards you?" she observed, thoughtfully. "you displeased him because you loved me." he nodded in the affirmative. "but i do not regret it," he exclaimed hastily. "i do not regret, because i still love you as fervently as i did on that memorable evening when my father called me to his bedside and urged me to give up all thought of you. it is because--because of your decision to marry this man, zertho, that i grieve." "it is not my decision," she protested. "i am forced to act as i am acting." "but you shall never marry him!" "unfortunately it is beyond your power to assist me, george," she answered, in a tone of despair. "we love each other, it is true, but we must end it all. we must not meet again," she added, in a voice broken by emotion. "i--i cannot bear it. indeed, i can't." "why should you say this?" he asked, reproachfully. "loving each other as fondly as we do, we must meet. no power on earth can prevent it." they looked fondly into each other's eyes. liane saw in his intense passion and earnestness, and knew how well he loved her. plunged in thought, she traced a semicircle in the dust with the ferrule of her sunshade. "no," she said at length, quite calmly. "you must forget, george. i shall leave here to marry and live away in the old chateau in luxembourg as one buried. when i am wedded, my only prayer will be that we may never again meet." "why?" he cried, dismayed. "because when i see you i always live the past over again. all those bright, happy, joyous days come back to me, together with the tragic circumstances of poor nelly's death--the dark shadow which fell between us, the shadow which has lengthened and deepened until it has now formed a barrier insurmountable." "what does nelly's death concern us?" he asked. "it was tragic and mysterious, certainly; nevertheless, it surely does not prevent our marriage." for an instant she glanced sharply at him, then lowering her gaze, answered drily,-- "of course not." "then why refer to it?" "because the mystery has never been solved," she said, in a tone which surprised him. "where the police have failed we can scarcely hope to be successful," he observed. yet the harsh, strained voice in which she had spoken puzzled him. more than once it had occurred to him that liane had never satisfactorily explained where she had been on that well-remembered evening, yet, loving her so well, he had always dismissed any suspicion as wild and utterly unfounded. nevertheless, her statements to several persons regarding her actions on that evening had varied considerably, and he could not conceal the truth from himself that for a reason unaccountable she had successfully hidden some matter which might be of greatest importance. "do you think the truth will ever come out?" she inquired, her eyes still downcast. "it may," he answered, watching her narrowly. "the unexpected often happens." "of course," she agreed, with a faint smile. "but the police have obtained no further clue, have they?" she asked in eagerness. "not that i'm aware of," he answered briefly, and a silence fell between them. "liane," he said at last, turning towards her with a calm, serious look, "i somehow cannot help doubting that you are acting altogether straightforward towards me." "straightforward?" she echoed, glancing at him with a look half of suspicion, half of surprise. "i don't understand you." "i mean that you refuse to tell me the reason you are bound to marry this man you hate," he blurted forth. "you are concealing the truth." "only because i am forced to do so," she answered mechanically. "ah, you do not know all, george, or you would not upbraid me," she added brokenly. "why not tell me? then i might assist you." "no, alas! you cannot assist me," she answered, in a forlorn, hopeless voice, with head bent and her gaze fixed blankly upon the ground. "if you wish to be merciful towards me, leave here. return to london and forget everything. while you remain, my terrible secret oppresses me with greater weight, because i know that i have lost for ever all love and hope--that the judgment of heaven has fallen upon me." "why, dearest?" he cried. "how is it you speak so strangely?" then in an instant remembering her curious words when they had met at monte carlo, he added, "anyone would believe that you had committed some fearful crime." she started, staring at him with lips compressed, but uttering no response. her face was that of one upon whose conscience was some guilty secret. "come," he said presently, in a kind, persuasive tone. "tell me why poor nelly's death is a barrier to our happiness." "no," she answered, "i cannot. have i not already told you that my secret is inviolable?" "you refuse?" she nodded, her breast heaving and falling. "every detail of that terrible affair is still as vivid in my recollection as if it occurred but yesterday," he said. "until quite recently i have always believed that the assassin stole the brooch she was wearing; but i am now confident that it was stolen between the time i discovered the body and returned with assistance from the village." she held her breath, but only for a single instant. "what causes you to think this?" she inquired. "because i distinctly remember that the brooch was still at her throat when i found her lying in the road. yet when i returned it was missing. the assassin was not the thief." "that has been my theory all along," she said. he noticed the effect his words produced upon her, and was puzzled. "you have never explained to me, liane, the reason you did not keep your appointment with me on that evening," he said gravely. "if you had been at the spot we had arranged, nelly's life would most probably have been saved." "i was prevented from meeting you," she answered vaguely, after a second's hesitation. "you have already told me that. what prevented you?" "a curious combination of circumstances." "what were they?" "i started out to meet you, but was prevented from so doing." "by whom?" "by a friend." "or was it an enemy?" he suggested. her statement did not coincide with the fact that she had written to him postponing their meeting. "i do not know," she replied. "when we parted it was long past the hour we had arranged, so i returned home." "nelly must at that moment have been lying dead," he observed. "have you any idea what took her to that spot of all others?" "none whatever," liane replied. "except that, unaware of our appointment, she met someone there." "you think she met there the person who afterwards shot her?" "that is my belief." "then if you know nothing further regarding the mysterious affair why should it prevent our marriage?" he asked, regarding her intently. "it is not only that," she replied quickly, "but there is a further reason." "what is it? surely i may know," he urged. "you will not send me away in doubt and ignorance, when you know i love you so well." "i cannot tell you," she answered, panting. "then i shall not leave you, and allow you to become this man's wife-- nay, his victim," he exclaimed passionately. "you do not love him, liane. you can never love him. although once a cheat and adventurer he may now have wealth and position, nevertheless he is no fitting husband for you, even though he may give you a fine chateau, a town house in brussels, and a villa here, on the riviera. wealth will never bring you happiness." "why do you not leave me, george?" she cried, with a sudden movement as if to rise. "why do you taunt me like this? it is cruel of you." "i do not taunt you, dearest," he protested in a tone of sympathy. "i merely point out the bitter truth. you are betrothed to a man who is in every respect unworthy of you." "ah, no!" she exclaimed hysterically. "it is myself who is unworthy. i--i cannot break the bond between us because--because i fear him." "if he holds you secretly in his power why not confide in me?" her lover suggested earnestly. "i may devise some means by which you may escape." "if i did you would only hate me," she answered, her lips trembling in blank despair. "no, do not persuade me. there is but one course i can pursue." "you intend marrying him?" he observed huskily. "unfortunately it is imperative." "have you ever reflected how utterly wretched your life must necessarily be under such circumstances?" he asked, gazing seriously into her eyes. "yes," she answered, endeavouring vainly to restrain the sob which escaped her. "i know full well the life which must now be mine. without you i shall not care to live." "then why not allow me to assist you?" he urged. "whatever may be the nature of your secret, tell me, and let me advise you. together we will frustrate zertho's plans, whatever they may be." "any such attempt would only place me in greater peril," she pointed out. "but surely you can rely on my secrecy?" he said. "do i not love you?" "yes, but you would hate me if you knew the truth," she whispered hoarsely. "therefore i cannot tell you." "your secret cannot be of such a nature as to cause that, liane," he said quietly. "it is. even if i told you everything your help would not avail me. indeed, it would only bring to me greater pain and unhappiness," she answered quickly. "our days of bliss have passed and gone, and with them all hope has vanished. they were full of a perfect, peaceful happiness, because you loved me with the whole strength of your soul, and i idolised you in return. hour by hour the remembrance of those never-to-be-forgotten hours spent by your side comes back to me. i remember how quiet and peaceful the english village seemed after the noise, rattle and incessant chatter of a gay continental town, how from the first moment we met, i, already world-weary, commenced a new life. but it is all past--all gone, and i have now only before me a world of bitterness and despair." and she turned her pale face from his to hide the tears which welled in her eyes. "you say you were world-weary," he observed in a low tone. "i do not wonder at it now that i know of your past." "my past!" she gasped quickly. "what do you know of my past?" "i know that your father was a gambler," he answered. "ah! what a life of worry and privation yours must have been, dearest. yet you told me nothing of it!" she looked at him, but her gaze wavered beneath his. "i told you nothing because i feared that you would not choose the daughter of an adventurer for a wife," she faltered. "it would have made no difference," he assured her. "i loved you." "yes," she sighed; "but there is a natural prejudice against women who have lived in the undesirable set that i have." "quite so," he admitted. "nevertheless, knowing how pure and noble you are, dearest, this fact does not trouble me in the least. i am still ready, nay, anxious, to make you my wife." she shook her head gravely. her hand holding her sunshade trembled as she retraced the semicircle in the dust. "no," she exclaimed at last. "if you would be generous, george, leave me and return to london. in future i must bear my burden myself; therefore, it is best that i should begin now. to remain here is useless, for each time i see you only increases my sadness; each time we meet brings back to me all the memories i am striving so hard to forget." "but i cannot leave you, liane," he declared decisively. "you shall not throw yourself helplessly into the hands of this unscrupulous man without my making some effort to save you." "it is beyond your power--entirely beyond your power," she cried, dejectedly. "i would rather kill myself than marry him; yet i am compelled to obey his will, for if i took my life in order to escape, others must bear the penalty which i feared to face. no, if you love me you will depart, and leave me to bear my sorrow alone." "i refuse to obey you," he answered, firmly. "already you know that because i loved you so well i have borne without regret my father's action in leaving me almost penniless. since that day i have worked and striven with you always as my pole-star because you had promised to be mine. your photograph looked down at me always from the mantelshelf of my dull, smoke-begrimed room. it smiled when i smiled, and was melancholy when i was sad. and the roses and violets you have sent from here made my room look so gay, and their perfume was so fresh that they seemed to breathe the same sweet odour that your chiffons always exhale. your letters were a little cold, it is true; but i attributed that to the fact that in nice the distractions are so many that correspondence is always sadly neglected. picture to yourself what a blow it was to me when, on the terrace at monte carlo, you told me that you had another lover, and that you intended to marry him. i felt--" "ah!" she cried, putting up her little hand to arrest the flow of his words, "i know, i know. but i cannot help it. i love you still--i shall love you always. but our marriage is not to be." he paused in deep reflection. there was one matter upon which he had never spoken to her, and he was wondering whether he should mention it, or let it remain a secret within him. in a few moments, however, he decided. "i have already told you the cause which led my father to treat me so unjustly, liane," he said, looking at her seriously, "but there is one other fact of which i have never spoken. my father left me a considerable sum of money on condition that i married a woman whom i had never seen." "a woman you had never seen!" she exclaimed, at first surprised, then laughing at the absurdity of such an idea. "yes. it was his revenge. i would not promise to renounce all thought of you, therefore, in addition to leaving me practically a pauper, he made a tantalising provision that if i chose to marry this mysterious woman, of whom none of my family knew anything, i was to receive a certain sum. this woman must, according to the will, be offered a large sum as bribe to accept me as husband, therefore ever since my father's death his solicitors have been endeavouring to discover her." "how extraordinary!" she said, deeply interested in his statement. "has the woman been found?" "yes. i discovered her yesterday," he replied. "you discovered her! then she is here, in nice?" "yes, strangely enough, she is here." "what's her name?" "mariette lepage." instantly her face went pale as death. "mariette lepage!" she gasped hoarsely. "yes. the woman whose strange letter was found upon nelly after her death," he answered. "what my father could have known of her i am utterly at a loss to imagine." "and she is actually here, in nice," she whispered in a strange, terrified voice, for in an instant there had arisen before her vision the dark angry eyes of the woman in mask and domino who had pelted her so unmercifully on that sunday afternoon during carnival. "yes, she is here," he said, glancing at her sharply. "she was evidently well acquainted with poor nelly. what do you know of her?" "i--i know nothing," she answered in an intense, anxious tone, as one consumed by some terrible dread. "mariette lepage is not my friend." and she sat panting, her chin sunk upon her breast as if she had been dealt a blow. chapter sixteen. the golden hand. when a few minutes later they rose liane declared that she must return to lunch; therefore they walked together in the sun-glare along the promenade, at that hour all but deserted, for the cosmopolitan crowd of persons who basked in the brilliant sunshine during the morning had now sought their hotels for dejeuner. few words they uttered, so full of gloom and sadness were both their hearts. liane had insisted that this must be their last meeting, but time after time he had declared that he would never allow her to marry zertho, although he could make no suggestion whereby she could escape the cruel fate which sooner or later must overwhelm her. they had strolled about half-way towards the villa in which she and the captain were staying, when suddenly he halted opposite a short narrow lane, which opened from the promenade into the thoroughfare running parallel--the old and narrow rue de france. on either side were high garden walls, and half-way along, these walls, taking a sudden turn at right angles, opened wider; therefore the way was much narrower towards where they stood than at the opposite end. "let us go down here," george suggested. "there is more shade in the street, and you can then reach your villa by the back entrance." "no," she answered, glancing with repugnance at the narrow lane, and turning away quickly. he fancied she shuddered; but, on glancing at the clean little thoroughfare only about a hundred paces in length, he could detect nothing which could cause her repulsion, and at once reassured himself that he had been mistaken. "but it is so terribly hot and dazzling along here," he urged. "you should carry a sun-umbrella," she smiled. "but there, i suppose men don't care to be seen with green ginghams." "but surely this glare upon the footway hurts your eyes," he continued. "it is so much cooler in the rue de france." "no," she replied. and again he thought he detected a gesture of uneasiness as, turning from him, she walked on, her sunshade lowered to hide her face. puzzled, he stepped forward and quickly caught her up. there was, he felt certain, some hidden reason why she declined to pass along that small unnamed lane. but he did not refer to the subject again, although after he had left her he pondered long and deeply upon her curious attitude, and in walking back to the town he turned into the narrow passage and passed through it to the rue de france, whence he took the tram down to the place massena. a dozen times had she urged him to leave her and return to london, but so full of mystery seemed all her actions that he was more than ever determined to remain and strive to elucidate the reason of her dogged silence, and solve the curious problem of her strange inexplicable terror. it was plain that she feared mariette lepage, and equally certain also that this mysterious woman who feigned to be her friend was nevertheless her bitterest foe. the reason of her visit to him was not at all plain. her inquiries regarding the tragic circumstances of nelly bridson's death were, he felt confident, mere excuses. as he sat in the tram-car while it jogged slowly along the narrow noisy street, it suddenly occurred to him that from her he might possibly obtain some information which would lead him to an explanation of liane's secret. he thought out the matter calmly over a pipe at his hotel, and at last decided upon a bold course. she had given him her address, he would, therefore, seek her that afternoon. in pursuance of his plan he alighted about four o'clock from the train at monaco station and inquired his way to the villa fortunee. following the directions of a waiter at the hotel des negociants, he walked down the wide read to the foot of the great rock whereon the town is situated, then ascended by the broad footway, so steep that no vehicles can get up, and passing through the narrow arches of the fort, found himself at last upon the ramparts, in front of the square moorish-looking palace of the prince. around the small square were mounted several antiquated cannon, while near them were formidable-looking piles of heavy shot which are carefully dusted each day, and about the tiny review ground there lounged several gaudily-attired soldiers in light blue uniforms, lolling upon the walls smoking cigarettes. the principality is a small one, but it makes a brave show, even though its defences remind one of comic opera, and its valiant soldiers have never smelt any other powder save that of the noon-day gun. the silence of the siesta was still upon the little place, for the afternoon was blazing hot. on one side of the square the sentry at the palace-gate leaned upon his rifle half-asleep, while on the other the fireman sat upon the form outside the engine-house, and with his hands thrust deep in his trousers-pockets moodily watched the slowly-moving hands of the clock in its square, white castellated tower. george stood for a few moments in the centre of the clean, carefully-swept square, the centre of one of the tiniest governments in the world, then making further inquiry of the sleepy fireman, was directed along the ramparts until he found himself before a fine, square, flat-roofed house, with handsome dead white front, which, facing due south and situated high up on the summit of that bold rock, commanded a magnificent view of cap martin, the italian coast beyond, and the open mediterranean. shut off from the ramparts by a handsome iron railing, the garden in front was filled with high palms, fruitful oranges, variegated aloes and a wealth of beautiful flowers, while upon a marble plate the words "villa fortunee" were inscribed in gilt letters. the closed sun-shutters were painted white, like the house, and about the exterior of the place was an air of prosperity which the young englishman did not fail to notice. its situation was certainly unique. deep below, on the great brown rocks descending sheer into the sea, the long waves lashed themselves into white foam, while away sea-ward the water was a brilliant blue which, however, was losing its colour each moment as the shadows lengthened. within sight of gay, dazzling monte carlo, with all her pleasures and flaunting vices, all her fascinating beauty and hideous tragedy, the house was nevertheless quiet and eminently respectable. for an instant he paused to glance at the beautiful view of sea-coast and mountain, then entering the gate, rang the bell. an italian man-servant opened the door and took his card, and a few moments later he was ushered into the handsome salon, resplendent with gilt and statuary, where mariette lepage had evidently been dozing. the jalousies of the three long windows were closed; the room, perfumed by great bowls of violets, was delightfully cool; and the softly-tempered light pleasant and restful after the white glare outside. "this is an unexpected pleasure," mariette exclaimed in english, rising to allow her hand to linger for an instant in his, then sinking back with a slight yawn upon her silken couch. in the half-light, as she reclined in graceful abandon upon the divan, her head thrown back upon a great cushion of rose silk, she looked much younger than she really was. george had guessed her age at thirty-five when she had called at his hotel, but in that dimly-lit room, with her veil removed and attired in a thin light-coloured gown she looked quite ten years younger, and certainly her face was eminently handsome. she stretched out her tiny foot, neat in its silk stocking and patent leather shoe, with an air of coquetry, and in doing so displayed either by accident or design that _soupcon_ of _lingerie_ which is no indiscretion in a frenchwoman. he had taken a seat near her, and was apologising for calling during her siesta. "no, no," she exclaimed, with a light laugh. "i am extremely glad you've come. i retire so late at night that i generally find an afternoon doze beneficial. we women suffer from nerves and other such things of which you men know nothing." "fortunately for us," he observed. "but then we are liable to a malady of the heart of far greater severity than that to which your sex is subject. women's hearts are seldom broken; men's often are. a woman can forget as easily as a child forgets; but the remembrance of a face, of a voice, of a pair of eyes, to him brighter and clearer than all others, is impressed indelibly upon a man's memory. every woman from the moment she enters her teens is, i regret to say, a coquette at heart. in the game of love the chances are all against the man." "why are you so pessimistic?" she asked, raising herself upon her elbow and looking at him amused. "all women are not heartless. some there are who remember, and although evil and vicious themselves, are self-denying towards others." "yes," he answered. "a few--a very few." "of course you must be forgiven for speaking thus," she said, in a soft, pleasant tone. "your choice of a woman has been an exceedingly unhappy one." "why?" he exclaimed, with quick suspicion. "what allegation do you make against liane?" "i make no allegation, whatever, m'sieur," she answered, with a smile. "it was not in that sense my words were intended. i meant to convey that your love has only brought unhappiness to you both." "unfortunately it has," he sighed. "in vain have i striven to seek some means in which to assist liane to break asunder the tie which binds her to prince zertho, but she will not explain its nature, because she says she fears to do so." "i am scarcely surprised," she answered. "her terror lest the true facts should be disclosed is but natural." "why?" he inquired, hastily. but she shook her head, saying: "am i not striving my utmost to assist her? is it therefore to be supposed that i shall explain facts which she desires should remain secret? the object of your present visit is surely not to endeavour to entrap me into telling you facts which, for the present, will not bear the light? rather let us come to some understanding whereby our interests may be mutual." "it was for that reason i have called," he said, in a dry, serious tone. her gaze met his, and he thought in that half-light he detected in her dark, brilliant eyes a keen look of suspicion. "i am all attention," she answered, pleasantly, moving slightly, so that she faced him. "well, mine is a curious errand," he began, earnestly, bending towards her, his elbows on his knees. "there is no reason, as far as i'm aware, why, if you are really liane's friend, we should not be perfectly frank with one another. first, i must ask you one question--a strange one you will no doubt regard it. but it is necessary that i should receive an answer before i proceed. did you ever live in paris--and where?" she knit her brows for an instant, as if questions regarding her past were entirely distasteful. "well, yes," she answered, after some hesitation. "i once lived in paris with my mother. we had rooms in the rue toullier." "then there can be no mistake," he exclaimed, quickly. "you are mariette lepage." "of course i am," she said, puzzled at the strangeness of his manner. "why?" "because there is a curious circumstance which causes our interests to be mutual," he answered, watching the flush of excitement upon her face as he spoke. "briefly, my father, sir john stratfield, was somewhat eccentric, and because he knew i loved liane, he left me penniless. he, however, added an extraordinary clause to his will, in which you are mentioned." then drawing from his breast-pocket a copy of the document, he glanced at it. "i am mentioned?" she echoed, raising herself and regarding him open-mouthed. "yes," he said. "by this will he has left me one hundred thousand pounds on condition that i become your husband within two years of his death." "you--my husband?" she cried. "are you mad?" "not so mad as my father when he made this absurd will," he answered, calmly. "you are, under its provisions, to be offered twenty thousand pounds in cash if you will consent to become my wife. this offer will be made to you formally by his solicitors in london as soon as i inform them that you are at last found. read for yourself," and he passed to her the copy of the will. she took it mechanically, but for several moments sat agape and motionless. the extraordinary announcement held her bewildered. quickly she glanced through the long lines of formal words, reassuring herself that he had spoken the truth. she was to receive twenty thousand pounds if she would marry the man before her, while he, on his part, would become possessed of a substantial sum sufficient to keep them comfortably for the remainder of their lives. at first she was inclined to doubt the genuineness of the document; but it bore the signature of the firm of solicitors, and was attested by them to be a true copy of the original will. it held her dumb in astonishment. "then we are to marry?" she observed amazedly, when at last she again found voice. "the offer is to be made to you," he answered, evasively. "as you have seen, if you refuse, or if you are already married, i am to receive half the amount." "i am not married," she answered with a slightly coquettish smile, her chin resting upon her palm in a reflective attitude as she gazed at him. "marriage with you will mean that we have together the substantial sum of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds." "that is so," he said gravely. "if we married we certainly should have money." "but you love liane," she answered in a low tone. "you can never love me," and she sighed. he did not answer. the look upon his face told her the truth. he feared lest she should accept this curious offer, knowing that he would then be drawn into a marriage with her. she regarded him critically, and saw that he was tall, good-looking, muscular, and in every way a thorough type of the good-natured englishman. twenty thousand pounds was, she reflected, a sum that would prove very acceptable, for she lived extravagantly, and the villa fortunee itself was an expensive luxury. "it is very dull living alone," she exclaimed, with a little touch of melancholy in her voice. then, with a laugh, she added, "to be perfectly frank, i should not object to you as my husband." "but is there not a barrier between us?" he exclaimed, quickly. "only liane. and she can never marry you." "i love her. i cannot love you," he answered. her effort at coquetry sickened him. "it is not a question of love," she answered, coldly, toying with the fine marquise ring upon her white finger. "it is a question of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds." "would either of us be one whit the better for it, even if we married?" he queried. "i think not. at present we are friends. if we married i should hate you." "nevertheless i should obtain twenty thousand pounds," she argued. "is it worth while to risk one's future happiness for that?" he said. "i have not yet sufficiently considered the matter," she replied, with her eyes still fixed on him. "at present i'm inclined to think that it is. but i must have time to reflect. one cannot refuse such an offer without due consideration." "then you are inclined to accept," he observed, blankly. she hesitated. slowly she rose from the settee, crossed to the window and pushed open the sun-shutters, allowing the golden sunset to stream into the room from over the clear blue-green sea. "yes," she answered, standing gazing out upon the far-off horizon where the white-sailed racing yachts, ailsa and britannia, were passing, "i am inclined to accept." "very well," he stammered, sitting rigid and immovable. "my future is entirely in your hands." she passed her hand wearily across her brow. with the sunset falling full upon her, he saw how heavy-eyed she was, and how artificial was the complexion that had looked so well in the dreamy half-light when the jalousies had been closed. yes. she no doubt bore traces of a faded beauty, but she was old; there were lines in her brow, and crows' feet showed at the corners of her eyes. she was _passee_, and all the vivacity and coquettishness she had shown had been carefully feigned to assume an appearance of youth. the thought of it nauseated him. again she turned towards him. her momentary gravity had vanished, and she commenced a commonplace conversation. at last, however, he rose to go, but she would not hear of it. "no; remain here and dine," she said, in a low, persuasive tone. "afterwards we can go over to monte carlo for an hour or so, and you can catch the yellow _rapide_ back to nice at eleven." "but you must really excuse me. i--" "i will take no excuse," she said, laughing. "you must remain," and she rang for the servant and told him that m'sieur would dine. together they stood at the open window watching the succession of lights and shadows upon the purple mountains, how the rose of the afterglow grew deeper over the sea until it faded, and the streak of gold and orange died out behind the distant rocks of cap d'aggio. then the mists rose, creeping slowly up the mountain sides, the dusk deepened, a chill wind blew in from the sea, and just as they closed the windows the door opened and the man announced dinner. the table, set for two in a cosy little salle-a-manger, glittered with its cut-glass and shining plate, and was rendered bright by its shaded candles and small silver repousse stands filled with choice flowers. throughout the meal she was gay and vivacious, speaking but little of herself and carefully avoiding all references to liane. he found her a pleasant hostess, unusually well-informed for a woman. they discussed art and literature, and in all her criticisms she exhibited a wide and intimate knowledge of men and things. then, when they rose, she opened a door at the further end of the room and he found himself in a spacious conservatory, where she invited him to smoke while she dressed to go to the casino. half an hour later she reappeared in a handsome gown of pale blue silk, the corsage trimmed with narrow braiding of silver; a costume which suited her admirably, yet so daring was it that he could not disguise from himself the suggestion that it was the dress of a demi-mondaine. her hair had been redressed by her maid, and as he placed about her shoulders her small black cape of lace and feathers, he mumbled an apology that he was not able to dress. "what does it matter? i invited you," she said, with a gay laugh. "come." together they entered the open carriage awaiting them, and descending the long winding road to the shore, drove rapidly through la condamine, and ascended the steep incline which brought them round to the main entrance to the casino. the night was brilliant, and the broad place, with its palms and flowers, its gay, laughing crowd of promenaders, and its showy cafe de paris, where the band was playing mattei's "non e ver," lay bright as day beneath the moonbeams and electric rays. as they entered, mariette handed him her cape, which he deposited for her in the cloakroom, then both passed through a crowd of habitues of the rooms. several men around bowed to her, and she greeted them with a smile. "you appear to be well-known here," he laughed, as the well-guarded doors opened to them. "i suppose i am," she answered vaguely. "when i am lonely i come here and play. it is the only recreation i have." the rooms were hot and crowded. the monotonous cry of the croupiers, the incessant clicking of the roulette-ball, the jingle of coin, and the faint odour of perfume were in striking contrast to the quiet of the road along which they had just driven, but walking side by side they passed through one room after another until they reached that fine square salon, with its huge canvas representing a peaceful pastoral scene occupying the whole of the opposite wall, the "trente-et-quarante" room. there was not quite so large a crowd here, but the stakes were higher, a louis being the minimum. mariette saw a player rise from his chair at the end of the table and instantly secured the vacant seat, then turning to her companion with a gay laugh, said,-- "i am going to tempt fortune for half an hour." she took from the large purse she carried a card on which to record the game, impaled it to the green cloth with a pin, in the manner of the professional gambler, and drew forth a small roll of notes. the first time she played the "tailleur" dealt the cards quickly, one by one, then cried, "_six, quatre, rouge gagne et couleur perd_." she had lost. but next time she tossed two notes upon the scarlet diamond before her and won. she doubled her stake, won again, and then allowed the cards to be dealt several times without risking anything. presently, she hesitated, but suddenly counted out five one hundred-franc notes, folded them in half and carelessly tossed them upon the red. again the cards were dealt one by one upon the leather-covered square; again the monotonous voice sounded, and again came her winnings towards her, five notes folded together on the end of the croupier's rake. so engrossed had george become in the game, that he noticed nothing of what was transpiring around him. had he not been so deeply interested in the play of this woman whom his father had designated as his wife, his attention would probably have been attracted by a curious incident. at the moment when the cards had been dealt, a man seated at the end of the opposite table, who, with his companion had won a considerable sum, raised his head, and, for the first time, noticed amid the excited expectant crowd, that it was a woman who had been successful at the other table. the man was zertho. next instant, however, his face went white. in his eyes there was a look of abject terror when he identified the lucky player. with a sudden movement he put his hand to his head to avoid recognition, and bending quickly to his companion, gasped,-- "look, brooker! can't you see who's in front? good god! why there's `the golden hand.' quick! we must fly!" chapter seventeen. the house of the wicked. next afternoon liane and zertho strolled up to cimiez together to pay a call upon a parisian family named bertholet, who lived in one of those fine white houses high up on the boulevard de cimiez, and who had recently accepted the prince's hospitality. as they turned from the dusty boulevard carabacel, and commenced the long ascent where the tree-lined road runs straight up to the glaring white facade of the excelsior regina hotel, zertho expressed a fear that she would be fatigued ere they reached their destination, and urged her to take a cab. "i'm not at all tired," she assured him, nevertheless halting a second, flushed and warm, to regain breath. "the day is so beautiful that a walk will do me no end of good." "it's a dreadful bore to have to toil up and call on these people, but i suppose i must be polite to them. they are worth knowing. bertholet is, i hear, a well-known banker in paris." liane smiled. the patronising air with which her companion spoke of his newly-found friends always amused her. "besides," he added, "we must now make the best of the time we have in nice. we leave to-morrow, or the day after." "so sudden!" she exclaimed, surprised. "i thought we should remain for another fortnight or three weeks. the weather is so delightful." "i have arranged it with the captain," he said briefly. "do you regret leaving?" "how can i regret?" she asked, glancing at him and raising her brows slightly. "how can i regret when the place, so fair in itself, is to me so hateful? no, i'm glad for several reasons that we are leaving." she recollected at that moment what george had told her. mariette lepage was near them. she remembered, too, the fierce expression of hatred in that pair of angry eyes shining through the mask. "yes," he said at length, "one can have too much of a good thing, and sometimes it is even possible to have too much of the riviera. i have the satisfaction at least of having succeeded in obtaining a footing in society." and he laughed as he added, "a year ago i was a down-at-heel adventurer, almost too shabby to obtain admittance at monte carlo, while to-day i'm welcomed everywhere, even among the most exclusive set. and why? merely because i have money and impudence." "yes," liane admitted, with a touch of sorrow. "this is indeed a curious world. there is a good deal of truth in the saying that a man is too often judged by his coat." "and a woman by her dress," he added quickly. "when you are princess d'auzac, you will find that other women will crowd around you and pet you, and declare you are the most beautiful girl of the year--as, of course, you are--all because you have wealth and a title. they like to speak to their friends of `my friend the princess so-and-so.'" "you are very complimentary," she answered, coldly. "i have no desire to excite either the admiration or envy of other women." "because you have never yet fully realised how beautiful you are," he answered. "oh yes, i have. every woman knows the exact worth of her good looks." "some over-estimate them, no doubt," he said, with a laugh. "but you have always under-estimated yours. if the captain had chosen he could have already married you to a dozen different men, all wealthy and distinguished." "dear old dad loved me too well to sacrifice my happiness for money," she said, climbing slowly the steep hill. "yet you declare that you are doing so by marrying me," he observed, his eyes fixed upon the ground. "i am only marrying you because you compel me," she answered, huskily. "you know that." "why do you hate me?" he cried, dismayed. "i have surely done my best to render your life here happy? in the past i admired your grace and your beauty, but because of my poverty i dared not ask the captain for you. now that i have the means to give you the luxury which a woman like yourself must need, you spurn my love, and--" "your love!" she cried, with a gesture of disgust, her eyes flashing angrily. "do not speak to me of love. you may tell other women that you love them, but do not lie to me!" "it is no lie," he answered. she had never spoken so frankly before, and her manner showed a fierce determination which surprised him. "you have a manner so plausible that you can utter falsehoods so that they appear as gospel truth," she said. "remember, however, that you and my father were once fellow-adventurers, and that years ago i thoroughly gauged your character and found it exactly as superficial and unprincipled as it is now." "the past is forgotten," he snapped. "it is useless to throw into my face facts and prejudices which i am striving to live down." "no," she cried. "the past is not forgotten, otherwise you would not compel me to become your wife. how can you say that the past is buried, when at this moment you hold me beneath your hateful thrall, merely because my face and my figure please you, merely because you desire that i should become your wife?" "with you at my side i shall, i trust, lead a better life," he said, calmed by her rebuff. "it is useless to cant in that manner," she exclaimed, turning upon him fiercely. "in you, the man i have always mistrusted as knavish and unscrupulous, i can never place confidence. the mean, shabby, tricks you have served men who have been your friends are in themselves sufficient proof of your utter lack of good-will, and show me that you are dead to all honour. without confidence there can be no love." "i have promised before heaven to make you happy," he answered. "ah, no," she said, in a choking voice of bitter reproach. "speak not of holy things, you, whose heart is so black. if you would make your peace with god give me back my liberty, my life, before it is too late." her face was pale, her lips were dry, and she panted as she spoke. but they had gained the gate of the villa where they were to call, and pushing it open he held it back with a low bow for her to pass. her grey eyes, so full of grief and despair, met his for an instant, and she saw he was inexorable. then she passed in up to the door, and a few minutes later found herself in the salon chatting with her voluble hostess, while zertho sat with madame's two smart daughters, both true parisiennes in manner, dress, and speech. "we only heard to-day of your engagement to the prince," madame bertholet was saying in french. "we must congratulate you. i'm sure i wish you every happiness." "thank you," she said, with a forced smile. "it is extremely good of you." "and when and where do you marry?" "in brussels, in about three weeks," liane answered, striving to preserve an outward appearance of happiness. it was, however, but a sorry attempt. from the windows of their salon madame bertholet and her daughters had noticed the strange imploring look upon liane's face as they had approached the gate, and had wondered. yet when she had entered she had sparkled with fun and vivacity, and it was only the mention of marriage which had disarmed her. "after brussels you will, of course, go to your new home in luxembourg," said madame. "have you seen it?" liane replied in the negative. "i happen to know luxembourg very well. my brother, strangely enough, is one of the prince's tenants." "oh, then, you of course know my future home," exclaimed liane, suddenly interested. "yes, very well. the chateau is a fine old place perched high up, overlooking a beautiful fertile valley," her hostess replied. "i once went there a few years ago, when the old prince was alive, and i well remember being charmed by the romantic quaintness of its interior. inside, one is back three centuries; with oak panelling, old oak furniture, great old-fashioned fireplaces with cosy corners, and narrow windows, through which long ago archers shed their flights of arrows. there is a dungeon, too; and a dark gloomy prison-chamber in one of the round turrets. it is altogether a most delightful old place." "gloomy, i suppose?" observed liane thoughtfully. "well, life amid such old-world surroundings as those could scarcely be quite as bright or enjoyable as nice or paris, but it is nevertheless a magnificent and well-preserved relic of a bygone age. without doubt it is one of the finest of feudal chateaux in europe." "are any of the rooms modern?" "none," madame replied. "it seems to have been the hobby of the princes d'auzac to preserve intact its ancient character. you will be envied as the possessor of such a fine old place. i shall be delighted to come and see you when you are settled--if i may." "certainly. i, too, shall be delighted," liane answered mechanically. "in a place like that one will require a constant supply of visitors to make life at all endurable. it is, i fear, one of those grey, forbidding-looking old places as full of rats as it is of traditions." "i don't know about the rats," her hostess answered, laughing heartily. "but there are, i know, many quaint and curious legends connected with the place. my brother told me some." "what were they about?" "oh, about the tyranny of the d'auzacs who, in the middle ages, ravaged the eiffel and the moselle valley, and more than once attacked the town of treves itself. in those days the name of d'auzac was synonymous of all that was cruel and brutal; but the family have become civilised since then, and," she added, looking towards zertho, who was laughing with her two daughters, "the prince scarcely looks a person to be feared." "no," observed liane, with a forced smile. to her also the name of d'auzac was synonymous of cunning, brutality, and unscrupulousness. she pictured to herself the great mountain stronghold, a grim, grey relic of an age of barbarism, the lonely dreary place peopled by ghosts of an historic past, that was to be her home, in which she was to live with this man who held her enthralled. then she shuddered. her hostess noticed it, wondered, but attributed it to the draught from the open window. to her it was inconceivable that any girl could refuse prince zertho's offer of marriage. he was one of the most eligible of men, his polished manner had made him a favourite everywhere, and one heard his wealth discussed wherever one visited. either of her own daughters would, she knew, be only too pleased to become princess. liane, although nothing of a coquette, was nevertheless well enough versed in the ways of the world to be tactful when occasion required, and at this moment strenuously strove not to betray her world-weariness. although consumed by grief and despair she nevertheless smiled with feigned contentment, and a moment later with an air so gay and flippant that none would guess the terrible dread which was wearing out her young life, joined in the light amusing chatter with madame's daughters. "we saw you at monte carlo last night," one of the girls exclaimed, suddenly, addressing zertho. "did you?" he answered, with a start. "i really saw nothing of you." "we were quite close to you," observed her sister, "you were sitting with captain brooker, and were having quite a run of good fortune when, suddenly, you both jumped up and disappeared like magic. we tried to attract your attention, but you would not glance in our direction. before we could get round to you you had gone. why did you leave so quickly?" "we wanted to catch our train," zertho answered, a lie ever ready upon his lips. "we had only three minutes, and just managed to scramble in." "did you notice a fine, handsome-looking woman at the table, a woman in blue dress trimmed with silver?" asked madame bertholet. zertho again started. in a second, however, he recovered his self-possession. "i am afraid i did not," he replied with a smile. "i was too intent upon the game. besides," and he paused, glancing at liane, "female beauty ought not to attract me now." they all laughed in chorus. "of course not," madame agreed. "but the woman wore such a gay costume, and was altogether so reckless that i thought you might have noticed her. everybody was looking at her. i was told that she is a well-known gambler who has won huge sums at various times, and is invariably so lucky that she is known to habitues of the table as `the golden hand.'" "everything her hand touches turns to gold--eh?" zertho hazarded. "i only wish my fingers possessed the same potency. it must be delightful." "but she's not at all a desirable acquaintance, if all i hear is true," madame observed. "do you know nothing of her by repute?" "i fancy i've heard the sobriquet before," he replied. "i'm sorry i didn't notice her. did she win?" liane and the prince exchanged significant glances. "yes, while we watched she won, at a rough estimate, nearly twenty thousand francs," one of the girls said. "a friend who accompanied us told us all about her," madame observed. "hers has been a most remarkable career. it appears that at one time she was well-known in paris as a singer at la scala, and the music halls in the champs elysees, but some mysterious circumstance caused her to leave paris hurriedly. she was next heard of in new york, where she was singing at the music halls, and it was said that she returned to france at the country's expense, but that, on being brought before the tribunal, the charge against her could not be substantiated, and she was therefore released. subsequently, after a strange and chequered life, she turned up about four years ago at monte carlo, and became so successful that very soon she had amassed a considerable sum of money. to the attendants and those who frequent the casino she is a mystery. for sheer recklessness no woman who comes to the tables has her equal; yet she is invariably alone, plays at her own discretion without consulting anyone, and with a thoroughly business-like air, speaks to scarcely anybody, and always rises from the table at eleven, whether winning or losing. indeed, `the golden hand' is altogether a most remarkable person." "curious," observed zertho, reflectively. "i wish i had noticed her. you say she was sitting at our table?" "yes," answered one of the girls. "she sat straight before you, and because you were winning she watched you closely several times." "watched me!" he exclaimed, dismayed. "yes," answered the girl, with a laugh. "why, you speak as if she possessed the evil eye, or something! she's smart and good-looking certainly, but i don't think liane need fear in her a rival." "scarcely," he answered, with a forced smile. but the alarming truth possessed him that mariette had surreptitiously watched brooker and himself before they had discovered her presence. he reproached himself bitterly for having gone to monte carlo that night, yet gambler that he was he had been unable to resist the temptation of the tables once again ere they left the riviera. but the woman known as "the golden hand" had watched them both, and by this time most probably knew where they were living. neither he nor the captain had any idea that mariette lepage still hovered about the tables, or they would certainly never have set foot inside the principality. liane in her cool summer-like gown sat in a low wicker lounge-chair and listened to this description of the notorious woman without uttering a word. she dared not trust herself to speak lest she should divulge the secret within her breast. she had grown uncomfortable, and only breathed more freely when, ten minutes later, they made their adieux and began to descend the boulevard back to nice. "so your old friend mariette has seen you!" she exclaimed, as soon as they had walked twenty paces from the house. "yes," he snapped. "another illustration of my accursed luck. the sooner we leave nice the better." "very well," she answered, with a weary sigh. she did not tell him that she had already ascertained from george stratfield that "the golden hand" had been to nice. "we must leave for paris," he said briefly. "it will not be wise to run too great a risk. if she chooses she can make things extremely unpleasant." "for you?" "no," he answered, turning quickly towards her. "for you." she held her breath; the colour fled from her cheeks. he lost no opportunity of reminding her of the terrible past, and as he glanced at her and watched the effect of his words he saw with satisfaction that he still held her in a thraldom of fear. "i thought she had left france," he continued, as if to himself. "i had no idea that she was still here. fortune must have been kind to her of late." liane said nothing. she had not failed to notice his anxiety when mademoiselle bertholet had explained how mariette had watched him, and she wondered whether, after all, he feared this remarkable woman who had played such a prominent part in their past lives; this notorious gambler who was her bitterest foe. she was already tired of nice, and recognised that to remain longer was only to endanger herself. the nemesis she had so long dreaded seemed to be closing upon her. in the boulevard carabacel they took an open cab to drive home, but while crossing the place opposite the post office they encountered george stratfield walking. as he passed he raised his hat to liane, and she greeted him with a smile of sadness. zertho noticed the young englishman, and his bearded face grew dark. "what! so your lover is also here!" he exclaimed in surprise, turning to catch another glance of the well set-up figure in light grey tweed. she had carefully concealed from him and from her father the fact that george had come to nice. "yes," she answered simply, looking straight before her. "why did you hide the truth from me?" he demanded angrily. "because the knowledge that he was here could not have benefited you," she answered. "you have met him, of course, clandestinely," he said, regarding her with knit brows. "i do not deny it." "and you have told him, i hope, that you are to be my wife?" "i have," she sighed. "then you must not meet again. you understand," he exclaimed fiercely. "send the fellow back to london." she bit her lip, but made no answer. her eyes were filled with tears. without any further words they drove rapidly along the promenade, at that hour chill after the fading of the sun, until the cab with its jingling bells pulled up before the pension, and liane alighted. for an instant she turned to him, bowing, then entered the villa. her father was out, and on going into her own room she locked the door, cast down her sunshade, tossed her hat carelessly aside, and pushing her hair from her fevered brow with both hands, stood at the open window gazing aimlessly out upon the sea. a sense of utter loneliness crept over her forlorn heart. she was, she told herself, entirely friendless, now that her father desired her to marry zertho. hers had been at best a cheerless, melancholy life, yet it was now without either hope, happiness, or love. the sea stretching before her was like her own future, impenetrable, a great grey expanse, dismal and limitless, without a single gleam of brightness, growing every instant darker, more obscure, more mysterious. thoughts of the man she loved so fondly surged through her troubled mind. she remembered how sad and melancholy he had looked when she had passed him by; how bitterly he had smiled when she bowed to him. the memory of his dear face brought back to her all the terrible past, all the hopelessness of the future, all the hideousness of the truth. she sank beside her bed, and burying her face in the white coverlet gave way to her emotion, shedding a torrent of tears. the dusk deepened, the twilight faded and darkness fell, still she sobbed on, murmuring constantly the name of the one man on earth she loved. a low tapping at the door aroused her, and thinking it was her father she hastily dried her eyes and stumbled blindly across the dark room to admit him. it was, however, the provencal _femme de chambre_, who handed her a note, saying in her quaint patois-- "a letter for mademoiselle. it was brought a minute or two ago by a man who gave it to me, with strict injunctions to give it only into mademoiselle's own hands." "thank you, justine," she answered, in a low hoarse voice, then, closing the door again, she lit a candle, and mechanically tearing open the note found that it was dated from the villa fortunee, monaco, and signed by mariette. in it the woman who was her enemy made a strange request. she first asked that she should say no word to her father or to zertho regarding the receipt of the note or inform them of her address, and then, continuing, she wrote: "to-morrow, at two o'clock, call upon george stratfield, who is, as you know, staying at the grand hotel, and he will bring you over here to my house. it is imperative that i should see you. fear nothing, but come. george is my friend, and he will be awaiting you." chapter eighteen. sinned against. liane's first inclination was not to comply with the request, for knowing the crafty nature of this woman, she feared that the words had been written merely to place her off her guard. yet immediately after luncheon at the villa chevrier on the following day she declared her intention of going down to the english library to get some books, and leaving her father and the prince smoking over their liqueurs, went out upon the promenade. as soon, however, as she was out of sight of the windows of the villa, she hailed a passing cab and drove to the grand hotel, where she found george sitting in a wicker-chair in the doorway, consoling himself by smoking a cigarette and awaiting her. "you have come at last," he cried, approaching the carriage. "don't get out. we will drive straight to the station," and stepping in, he gave the man directions. "what does this mean?" inquired liane, eagerly. "i cannot tell its meaning, dearest," he answered. "i merely received a note, saying that you would call for me on your way to monaco." "have you no idea why she desires to see both of us?" "none whatever," he replied. "you have found her," she observed in a deep, earnest tone. "in my letter she says that you are her friend. you don't know her true character, i suppose," his well-beloved added, looking earnestly into his eyes. "if you did you would not visit her." "she lives in an air of the most severe respectability," he said. "i dined at the villa fortunee the night before last, and found her an extremely pleasant hostess." she smiled. then, while driving along the avenue de la gare to the station she told him of mariette's past in similar words to those used by madame bertholet. he sat listening eagerly, but a dark shadow crossed his features when, in conclusion, she added, "such, unfortunately, is the woman who is to be bribed to marry you." they alighted, obtained their tickets, crossed the platform, and entered the _rapide_. it was crowded with people going to monte carlo, and the tunnels rendered the journey hot, dusty and unpleasant. nevertheless the distance was not far, and when half-an-hour later they were ascending the steep winding way which led up to the rock of monaco, liane's heart sank within her, for she feared that she was acting unwisely. "it is very remarkable that mariette should have written to us both in this manner," george was saying as he strolled on beside the pale-faced graceful girl. "evidently she desires to consult us upon some matter of urgency. perhaps it concerns us both. who knows?" "it may," she answered mechanically. "she is not, however, a person to trust. women of her character have, alas! neither feeling nor honour." "is she, then, so notoriously bad?" he asked in surprise. "you know who and what i am," she answered, turning to him, her grave grey eyes fixed upon his. "i have been forced against my inclination to frequent the gambling-rooms through months, nay years, and i knew mariette lepage long ago as the most vicious of all the women who hovered about the tables in search of dupes." by her manner he saw that she was annoyed, and jealous that he should have visited and dined with this woman so strangely referred to in his father's will, and he hastened to re-assure her that there was but one woman in the world for him. "then you will not marry her?" she cried eagerly. "do not, for my sake. if you knew all you would rather cast the money into yonder sea than become her husband." "well," he said, "it is imperative that she should be offered the bribe to become my wife. if she refuses i shall gain fifty thousand pounds. i have thought of buying her refusal by offering to divide equally with her the sum i shall obtain." "excellent!" she cried, enthusiastically. "i never thought of that. if she will do so the cruel punishment your father intended will be turned to pleasure, and you will be twenty-five thousand pounds the richer." "i will approach her," he said, after brief hesitation. "you know, darling, that i love you far too well to contemplate marriage with any other woman." "but remember, i can never become your wife," she observed huskily, her eyes behind her veil filled to overflowing with tears. "i am debarred from that." "ah! no," he cried, "don't say that. let us hope on." "all hope within me is dead," she answered gloomily. "i care nothing now for the future. in a few brief days we are leaving here, and i shall say farewell, george, never again to meet you." "you always speak so strangely and so dismally," he said. "you will never tell me anything of the reason you are so irrevocably bound to zertho. in the old days at stratfield you always took me into your confidence." "yes, yes," she answered, quickly. "i would tell you everything if i could--but i dare not. you would hate me." "hate you. why?" "you could no longer grasp my hand or kiss my lips," she faltered. "no, you must not, you shall not know, for i could not bear that you of all men should spurn me, leave me, and remember me only with loathing. i could not bear it. i would rather kill myself." she was trembling, her breast rose and fell with the exertion of the steep ascent, and her face was blanched and haggard. her attitude, whenever he referred to zertho, always mystified and puzzled him. had she not spoken vaguely of some strange crime? yet he loved her with all the strength of his being, and the sight of her terrible anxiety and dread pained him beyond measure. he was ready and willing to do anything to assist and liberate her from the mysterious thraldom, nevertheless she preserved a silence dogged and complete. he strove to discern a way out of the complicated situation, but could discover none. "have you ever been to the villa fortunee before?" he asked presently, after a long and painful silence, when they had crossed the sunny square before the prince's palace, and were strolling along the road which skirted the rock with the small blue bay to their left and the white houses of monte carlo gleaming beyond. "no," she answered. "i had no idea mariette, `the golden hand,' lived here. she used always to live at the little bijou villa in the rue cotta at nice." "the golden hand!" he exclaimed, laughing. "why do you call her that?" "it is the name she has earned at the tables because of her extraordinary good fortune," liane answered. "her winnings at trente-et-quarante are said to have been greater perhaps than any other player during the past few years." at that moment the road turned sharply, almost at right angles, and liane found herself before the great white house where lived the notorious gambler, the woman whose powdered, painted face every habitue of monte carlo knew so well, and whose luck was the envy of them all. she read the name of the villa upon the marble tablet, and for a moment hesitated and held back, fearing to meet face to face the woman she held in fear. but george had already entered the gateway and ascended the steps, and she felt impelled to follow, a few moments later taking a seat in the cool handsome salon where the flowers diffused a sweet subtle perfume, and the light was softly tempered by the closed sun-shutters. liane and her lover sat facing each other, the silence being complete save for the swish of the sea as it broke ever and anon upon the brown rocks deep below. a moment later, however, there was a sound of the opening and shutting of doors, and with a frou-frou of silk there entered "the golden hand." she wore an elegant dress of pale mauve trimmed with velvet, and as she came forward into the room a smile of welcome played upon her lips, but george thought she looked older and more haggard than when he had visited her only two days before. closing the door quietly behind her, she crossed almost noiselessly to where they were seated, and sinking upon a settee expressed pleasure at receiving their visit. "i was not exactly certain whether you would come, you know," she exclaimed, with a coquettish laugh. "i was afraid liane would refuse." "you told me that you were her friend," he said. "and that was the entire truth," she answered. liane faced her, her countenance pale, her lips parted. she had held back in fear when this woman had entered, but the calm expression and pleasant smile had now entirely disarmed her suspicions. yet she feared lest this woman whom she had known in the old days, should divulge the secret she had kept from her lover. george, the man she adored, was, she knew, fast slipping away from her. on the one hand she was forced to marry zertho, while on the other this very woman, whom she feared, was to be bribed to accept her lover as husband. liane looked into her face and tried to read her thoughts. but her countenance had grown cold and mysterious. "you were not always my friend," she said at last, in a low, strained tone. "no, not always," the woman admitted, in english. "i have seldom been generous towards my own sex. i was, it is true, liane, until recently, your enemy," she added, in a sympathetic tone. "i should be now if it were not for recent events." "you intend, then, to prove my friend," liane gasped excitedly, half-rising from her chair. "you--you will say nothing." "on the contrary, i shall speak the truth." "ah, no," she wailed. "no, spare me that. think! think! surely my lot is hard enough to bear! already i have lost george, the man i love." "your loss is my gain," mariette lepage said slowly. "you have lost a lover, while i have found a husband." "and you will marry him--you?" she cried, dismayed. "i know what are your thoughts," the other said. "my reputation is unenviable--eh?" liane did not answer; her lover sat rigid and silent. "well," went on the woman known at the tables as "the golden hand," "i cannot deny it. all that you see here, my house, my furniture, my pictures, the very clothes i wear, i have won fairly at the tables, because--well, because i am, i suppose, one of the fortunate ones. others sit and ruin themselves by unwise play, while i sit beside them and prosper. because of that, i am pointed out by men and women as a kind of extraordinary species, and shunned by all save the professional players to whom you and i belong. but," she added, gazing meaningly at liane, "you know my past as well as i know yours." the words caused her to turn pale as death, while her breath came and went quickly. she was in momentary dread lest a single word of the terrible truth she was striving to hide should involuntarily escape her. "yes," liane said, "i knew you well when i went daily to the casino, and have often envied you, for while my father lost and lost you invariably won and crammed handsful of notes into your capacious purse. at first i envied you, but soon i grew to hate you." "you hated me, because even into my hardened heart love had found its way," she said reproachfully. "i hated you because i knew that you loved only gold. i had seen sufficient of you to know that you had no higher thought than of the chances of the red or the black. you had been aptly nicknamed `the golden hand.'" "and i, too, envied you," the other said. "i envied you your grace and your beauty; yet often i felt sorry for you. you seemed so jaded and world-weary, although so young, that it was a matter of surprise that they gave you your carte at the bureau." "now, strangely enough, we are rivals," liane observed. "only because you are beneath the thrall of one who holds you in his power," mariette answered. "you love each other so fervently that i could never be your rival, even if you were free." "but, alas! i am not free," she said, in deep despondency, her eyes downcast, her head resting upon her hand. "true," said the other, shrugging her shoulders. "circumstances have combined to weave about you a web in which you have become enmeshed. you are held by bonds which, alone and unassisted, you cannot break asunder." liane, overcome with emotion she could no longer restrain, covered her face with her hands and burst into a torrent of tears. in an instant her lover was beside her, stroking her hair fondly, uttering words of sympathy and tenderness, and endeavouring to console her. mariette lepage sat erect, motionless, silent, watching them. "ah!" she said slowly at length, "i know how fondly you love each other. i have myself experienced the same grief, the same bitterness as that which is rending your hearts at this moment, even though i am believed to be devoid of every passion, of every sentiment, and of every womanly feeling." "let me go!" liane exclaimed, in a voice broken by sobs, rising unsteadily from her chair. "i--i cannot bear it." "no, remain," the woman said in a firm tone, a trifle harsher than before. "i asked you here to-day because i wished to speak to you. i invited the man you love, because it is but just that he should hear what i have to say." "ah!" she sobbed bitterly. "you will expose me--you who have only just declared that you are my friend!" "be patient," the other answered. "i know your fear. you dread that i shall tell a truth which you dare not face." she hung her head, sinking back rigidly into her chair with lips compressed. george stood watching her, like a man in a dream. he saw her crushed and hopeless beneath the terrible load upon her conscience, held speechless by some all-consuming terror, trembling like an aspen because she knew this woman intended to divulge her secret. with all his soul he loved her, yet in those painful moments the gulf seemed to widen between them. her white haggard face told him of the torture that racked her mind. "speak, liane," he cried in a low intense tone. "what is it you fear? surely the truth may be uttered?" "no, no!" she cried wildly, struggling to her feet. "no, let me leave before she tells you. i knew instinctively that, after all, she was not my friend." "hear me before you judge," mariette exclaimed firmly. "cannot you place faith in one who declares herself ready to assist you?" he added. she shook her head, holding her breath the while, and glaring at him with eyes full of abject fear. "why?" "ah! don't ask me, george," she murmured, with her chin sunk upon the lace on her breast. "i am the most wretched woman on earth, because i have wilfully deceived you. i had no right to love you; no right to let you believe that i was pure and good; no right to allow you to place faith in me. you will hate me when you know all." "for what reason?" he cried, dismayed. "my life is overshadowed by evil," she answered vaguely, in a despairing voice. "i have sinned before god, and must bear the punishment." "there is forgiveness for those who repent," the woman observed slowly, a hard, cold expression upon her face, as she watched the desperate girl trembling before her. "there is none for me," she cried in utter despondency, haunted by fear, and bursting again into tears. "none! i can hope for no forgiveness." at that instant the door of the room was opened, and two persons entered unannounced. george and liane were standing together in the centre of the saloon, while mariette was still seated with her back to the door, so that the new comers did not at first notice her presence. the men were brooker and zertho. "we have followed you here with your lover," exclaimed the prince angrily, addressing liane. "we saw you driving to the station together, and watched you. we--" "the golden hand" hearing the voice, turned, and springing to her feet faced them. "mariette!" zertho gasped, blanched and aghast, the words dying from his pale lips. in their eagerness to follow liane and george they had entered the villa, not knowing that therein dwelt the woman from whom they intended on the morrow to fly. chapter nineteen. the miniature. zertho gave her a single glance full of hatred, then, with a gesture of impatience after a few quick words, turned to make his exit. as he did so, however, he found himself face to face with a man who, standing in the doorway, resolutely barred his passage. he stood glaring at him as one stupefied. the man was max richards. "no," the latter said. "now that you have chosen to call here uninvited it is at least polite to remain at the invitation of your hostess." "let me pass!" he cried threateningly. "i shall not!" richards answered with firmness, his back to the half-closed door, while brooker stood watching the scene, himself full of fear and dismay. "this is a conspiracy!" zertho exclaimed, his trembling hands clenched, his face livid. "listen!" mariette cried, her cheeks flushed with excitement as she stepped boldly forward and faced him. "this is a counterplot only to combat your dastardly intrigue. the innocent shall no longer suffer for the sins of the guilty." "the guilty!" he echoed, with an insolent laugh. "you mean yourself!" "i am not without blame, i admit," she answered quickly, her flashing eyes darting him an angry look. "nevertheless, i have to-day determined to make atonement; to end for ever this conspiracy of silence." then, turning to liane, who was standing whitefaced and aghast, she said, "first, before i speak, it will be necessary for you to make confession. explain to george of what nature is this bond which holds you to yonder man." "no, i--i cannot," she protested, covering her face with her hands. "but it is necessary," she urged. "speak! fear nothing. then the truth shall be made known." the slim, fair-faced girl stood with bent head, panting and irresolute, while all waited for the words to fall from her dry, white lips. at last, with eyes downcast, she summoned courage, and in a low, hoarse voice said,-- "zertho compelled me to accept him because--because he can prove that my father murdered charles holroyde." "your father a murderer!" her lover echoed. "impossible." "let me speak," mariette interrupted, hastily. "two winters ago i met in nice a wealthy young englishman named holroyde. we saw one another often at monte carlo, and our acquaintance ripened into love. he offered me marriage, and i accepted; but one night, after winning a considerable sum, he returned to nice about eleven o'clock, was waylaid in a narrow lane running from the promenade des anglais into the rue de france, robbed and murdered. thus was the man i loved cruelly snatched from me just at the moment when happiness was in my reach; just within a few weeks of making me his wife. this villa, which i have since bought, he designated as our home, and this ring upon my finger is the one he gave me. the crime, enshrouded in mystery, has not yet been forgotten either by the police or the people of nice. it seemed amazing that such a dastardly assassination could take place so swiftly without a single person hearing any cry, yet the police had no clue. the murderer, who had no doubt accompanied or followed his victim from monte carlo, must have struck him down with unerring blow and escaped, leaving no trace behind. yet there was nevertheless a witness of the deed--a witness who is present." "a witness!" gasped liane. "yes," mariette said. "max richards will tell you what he saw." the man indicated, still standing with his back to the door, smiled triumphantly at zertho, then said,-- "yes, it is true. i witnessed the murder of charles holroyde. on that night i had left the cafe de la regence, and crossing the road overtook, in the avenue de la gare, nelly bridson, captain brooker's adopted daughter. we had met before on several occasions, and after she had told me that she had been to a chemist's to obtain something for liane, who was not well, i offered, as it was late, to accompany her as far as her house in the rue dalpozzo. to this she made no objection, and we walked together along the rue de france as far as the corner of the street wherein she lived. the moon, however, was bright upon the sea, and at my suggestion she consented to accompany me for a stroll along the promenade. to reach the latter we had to pass through a narrow lane, which we had just entered, when we saw straight before us figures of men struggling together. instantly i dragged nelly back into the deep shadow where we could see without being observed. suddenly i heard one of the men cry in english `my god! i'm stabbed!' and he staggered back and fell. then, discerning for the first time that the man had been attacked by two assailants, i rushed forward, but already they had bent and secured the contents of their victim's pocket, and as i approached one of them threw the knife away. that man i recognised in the moonlight as captain brooker!" a low groan escaped the lips of the pale-faced, agitated man who had been thus denounced, and he stood paralysed by fear, clutching the back of a chair for support. "the man, however, who threw away the knife he had snatched up, was not the murderer," richards continued, in a clear, calm voice. "both nelly and myself were afterwards in complete accord that it was his companion who had, in the melee, struck the fatal blow. the murderer was the man there--zertho d'auzac." "it's a lie!" cried the man indicated, "a foul, abominable falsehood! brooker crept up behind him and tried to gag him with a scarf, when, finding that he was too powerful for him, he struck him full in the breast. in an instant he was dead." "your story is an entire fabrication," richards answered, in a deprecatory tone. "we were both quite close to you, and saw your murderous face in the moonlight at the moment when you killed your victim. to us it seemed as though you alone had acted with premeditation, and that instead of assisting you, brooker was endeavouring to release holroyde, for i heard him cry in dismay, `good god! zertho, what are you doing?' it was you who bent and secured the notes, while brooker snatched up the knife, held it for an instant in hesitation, then seeing me approach in the darkness, flung it away and fled after you. i sped along the promenade for some distance, leaving nellie beside the prostrate man, but you both escaped, and when i returned she had gone. she had, i suppose, rushed home, fearing to be discovered there. but the young englishman was already lifeless, therefore i left the spot hurriedly. next morning, when the town was in a state of great excitement over the murdered englishman, nelly called at my rooms and begged me to say nothing to the police, because she felt certain the captain would be arrested and convicted as an accessory. therefore, in obedience to her wish, i have kept my knowledge secret until such time as i should choose to make the truth known." "is that the actual truth?" brooker asked, agape in wonderment. "it is the entire truth of what i saw with my own eyes--of what i am prepared to swear in any court of justice." "so confused were the memories of that terrible incident that i have all along believed that i myself was the actual murderer," said the captain. "that night i had drunk more wine than usual, and remember very little of the occurrence save that i held the knife in my hand, and that on the following morning when i awoke i found my hands stained with blood, while in my pocket were some of the stolen notes. zertho told me, when we met next day, that, in a frenzy of madness at having lost almost every sou i possessed, i had attacked holroyde suddenly, murdered him, and filched his winnings from his pocket. he said, however, he would preserve my secret, and did so until a few weeks ago, when liane refused to become his wife. then he declared that if i did not compel her to marry him he would denounce me. i begged him to at least spare liane, but he was inexorable. therefore i was compelled to make confession to her, and she, rather than i should pay the terrible penalty, sacrificed all her love and happiness for my sake." his voice was broken with emotion, and although his lips moved, he could utter no further words. george, standing beside his well-beloved, grasped her tiny hand and pressed it tenderly. at last he knew the secret of her acceptance of zertho's offer, and recognised all the tortures she must have suffered in order to save her father from degradation and shame. "he lies!" zertho cried, his sallow face bloodless. he saw how ingeniously he had been entrapped. "it was he himself who killed holroyde." "if so," exclaimed max richards, "why have you paid me so well for my silence?" he did not reply. "you are silent," he went on. "then i will tell you. you were shrewd enough to see that while i held my tongue you would still hold captain brooker in your power, and through the pressure you could place upon him, secure liane as your wife. i knew this all along, although you believed me to be entirely ignorant of it. still i allowed you to pay me, and i can assure you that the money you gave me with such bad grace often came in very useful," he laughed. "i am not a prince, and although i may be an adventurer, i thank heaven i'm not an assassin." "i paid you all you demanded, every penny, yet now you turn upon me. it is the way of all blackmailers," zertho cried, still livid with anger. "i speak the truth in order to save from your merciless clutches one woman whose fair name has never been besmirched. i speak for liane's sake." zertho turned from him with a fierce imprecation on his lips, declaring that the whole story was a tissue of falsehoods, and denouncing his companion brooker as the actual assassin. "you forget," said richards, "that in addition to myself there was a second witness, nelly bridson, the girl with whom your victim had carried on a mild and harmless flirtation prior to meeting mariette. you forget that she was with me, and actually saw you commit the deed." this truth rendered him voiceless. "may i, in future, enjoy an absolutely clear conscience that i had no hand in the actual crime?" the captain asked earnestly, turning to richards. "certainly," he answered, quickly. "both nelly and myself saw every movement clearly, for the moon was shining bright as day. we heard you shout in horror and dismay to the assassin; we saw the blow struck; we saw the theft committed, and watched you pick up the knife, which you threw down again instantly at the moment when i rushed forward." "i was, alas, only half-conscious of my actions," he answered. "but the enormity of the crime must have sobered me instantly, for i remember a man approaching--who it was i was not aware until this moment--and knowing that we had been discovered and were in peril, flew for my life back to the promenade, reaching home by a circuitous route about midnight." "you need have no further fear of this man," richards assured him. "his plan was ingenious, to shift the crime from his own shoulders to yours, and at the same time to marry liane, but fortunately his own actions convict him. liane has shown bravery and self-denial, which should further endear her to the heart of the man who loves her, and if the truth i have told brings back her happiness and peace of mind i shall not have spoken in vain." "i have much to thank you for," liane faltered, her face bright with a new-born happiness. "you have indeed revived within me hope, life and love. i knew this man was crafty and cruel, but i never dreamed that he himself had committed the crime with which he charged my father. i saw that he was inexorable and relentless, and was compelled to wrench myself from george, whom i loved, and promise to become the wife of--of this assassin." "assassin!" cried zertho. "no, the prospect of becoming princess d'auzac proved too attractive for you! it was because both you and your father wanted money and position, that you were ready to become my wife." "we desired nothing from you," she answered proudly. "both of us detested you when you found us in england, and thrust yourself upon us. upon the gold of the guilty there always lies a curse." but shrugging his shoulders contemptuously, he said nothing. he fidgetted, anxious to escape, for although he preserved a calm, insolent, almost indifferent manner, he nevertheless knew that concealment of the truth was now no longer possible. at the very instant when he had felt his position the most secure, his perfidy, his cunning, and his crime had been laid bare before them all. he clenched his hands, muttering an oath behind his set teeth, while his dark eyes, with a glance of hatred in them, flashed with an unnatural brilliance. for a few moments no one spoke. the silence was complete save for the roar of the waves on the rocks outside and the sobs that now and then escaped liane. she clung to george, burying her beautiful head upon his shoulder. at last mariette spoke, saying,-- "there is yet another fact which is, in itself, sufficient proof of this man's unscrupulousness. one witness of his crime still lives; the other, nelly bridson, is dead. nelly was once my friend. unknown to captain brooker i knew her intimately as a bright girl months before charles holroyde met and admired her. indeed, it was by her that i was introduced to the man who afterwards loved me, and was so brutally done to death. when at last she became aware that her lover had forsaken her some ill-feeling arose between us. i knew that she must hate me, but i treated her jealousy with unconcern, and remained towards her the same as before. in my heart, however, i envied her her youth and good looks, and feared that charles holroyde might return to his first love. but, alas! he was murdered mysteriously--by whom i knew not, until three days ago, when max richards divulged to me the truth. then i resolved that punishment should fall upon the guilty. well, i hated nelly because i knew that holroyde had admired her, and i likewise hated liane, entertaining a suspicion that because she always avoided me she had spoken of me detrimentally to the man whom i loved. after holroyde's death i left the riviera and went to paris, to wiesbaden, to vienna, caring little whither i went, until at last, about a year afterwards, i returned to monte carlo, and heard from one of captain brooker's friends that he and the girls had left long ago for england, where they had resolved to live in the future. immediately after my lover's death luck had forsaken me entirely, and i passed a spurious bank-note for a large amount at marseilles. the police were endeavouring to find me, and it was to avoid arrest that i was travelling. i wrote several times to nelly and received replies, stating how happy they were in their country home in england, and how much more peaceful and enjoyable it was than at nice. still there was one matter upon which i desired to see her, a matter connected with the family of the man who was dead. he had, i believed, told her of his relations in england, but he had spoken no word of them to me. i had in my possession a cosway miniature he had one day left at my house, an antique portrait of an elderly lady, beautifully painted on ivory and set round with brilliants. he had mentioned to me that it was an heirloom, and i desired to return it to the family if i could find them. with that object i went to england, and one summer's evening met nelly by appointment in a country lane a short distance from stratfield mortimer." "you met her?" captain brooker exclaimed. "she never told me so." "she had, alas, no opportunity," mariette answered. "for it was on that evening she met with her death. she had ridden her cycle, and i found her resting in the gateway she had indicated in her letter. she seemed unusually nervous, i noticed, nevertheless i attributed it to the fact that she regarded me as her rival, even though the man we both loved was dead. for nearly an hour we remained together chatting, until the sunset faded and dusk crept on. i asked her what the man had told her regarding his family, and showed her the antique miniature. then she told me a fact which held me speechless in amazement. charles holroyde was no other than the son of a man living close by that spot, sir john stratfield." "my brother!" cried george. "impossible!" "it was the truth. he had told her everything. the father of charles holroyde was actually living within a mile of that spot, and the portrait was one of lady anne stratfield, a noted beauty, which was painted by the fashionable miniaturist, cosway, shortly before his death. at first i could not credit that he was actually sir john's son, but she brought proof positive to show that what she said was correct, and at her request i gave her the miniature to return to sir john. she promised to call next day and give it into his hands, saying that it came from a person who desired to remain anonymous." "why did you not come to the court yourself?" george asked quickly. "i had no desire to meet the father of my dead lover," she replied. "but he must have been acquainted with you, because he mentioned you in his will." "yes," she answered reflectively, "he must, i suppose, have known of me." "then what occurred afterwards?" brooker eagerly inquired. "tell us the events of that night in their proper sequence." "after we had talked for some time, she telling me how happy both she and liane were, and how the latter had become engaged clandestinely to the baronet's son, george, she rode beside me as far as the lodge gates of the court, where we parted. then she remounted and rode back in the direction of the spot where she was afterwards discovered, while i strolled slowly on to the station, whence i returned to london. it was dusk before i left stratfield mortimer, but as i changed at reading to enter the train for paddington, i caught a glimpse of a face i thought i knew. it was only for a single instant, but the face was one that once seen is never forgotten. it was the face of zertho." "you saw me!" he gasped. "yes. you were in a crowd on reading platform, and were about to enter the same train as myself, but changing your mind, suddenly left the station hurriedly," she said. "at that time, remember, i had no idea that you were in england, for nelly had not mentioned your visit. two days later, however, i was appalled by reading in the papers that poor nelly had been murdered almost immediately after i had left her, and quite close to the spot where we had at first stood. afterwards in the report of the inquest, i saw that you were present and had given evidence. then there was silence. the affair was an enigma, and the police possessed no clue. the papers mentioned a broad mark a foot wide upon the dust, which they regarded as mysterious. it was made by my skirt which swept the road. i alone held the key to the enigma. in order to assure myself that my suspicions were not unfounded, i returned to reading, made careful inquiries there, and when i had satisfied myself, left england with the knowledge i had obtained still in my possession." "what did you discover?" inquired george, quickly, while liane still clung to him tremblingly. "i discovered absolute proof of the identity of nolly's assassin. it was zertho d'auzac!" chapter twenty. at cross lane. "you lie!" the prince cried indignantly. "there is no proof." "listen!" mariette retorted in a firm, harsh tone, gazing at him steadily. "listen while i recall to your memory the events of that fateful night. in my inquiries i traced your progress step by step, and every movement is entirely plain to me. you went to england with solely one object in view, namely, to get rid of nelly bridson, the woman who could convict you of murder." "i deny that i had any hand whatever in the affair," he protested. "why, she went with me to the station and saw me off to reading! it was given in evidence that the police inquired of the station officials at stratfield mortimer, and also at reading, and were entirely satisfied that there was no suspicion upon me. therefore, whatever you say is utterly worthless," he added, turning from her contemptuously. "we shall see," she replied. "if you have so conveniently forgotten what your movements were, i will describe them. it is quite true that nelly saw you off to reading. but prior to this, while alone in the dining-room of captain brooker's cottage, you found lying about the letter i had written her making the appointment. curiosity prompted you to read its contents, and you therefore knew that at seven o'clock she would be in cross lane. you bade her farewell at eight minutes past six, and your train arrived at reading at twenty minutes past. you immediately took a fly back towards stratfield, but dismissed the man at threemile cross, and after watching the conveyance out of sight, took a cut across the fields for about a mile and a half to cross lane, thus completely doubling. it was growing dark when you reached the railway bridge, but you saw your victim coming from the opposite direction, and drew back half-way up the steep ascent, where you knew she must pass slowly. suspecting no danger, the light-hearted girl allowed her machine to run swiftly down the incline, then pedalled hard for the ascent, when suddenly you raised your weapon, took deliberate aim and fired. with a cry she dropped sideways on her feet, the machine falling with her. then she blindly staggered forward two or three paces, and sank to earth, dying. for an instant you waited, but even while you looked the poor girl sighed heavily and passed away. then, fearing detection, you turned and fled back across the fields to reading station, where i saw you an hour later." "it's an absolute falsehood!" he cried. "i went direct to london after leaving the girl." "you did not, for i found the man who drove you to threemile cross, and who will give evidence against you on your trial." "you have!" he gasped. "you will hand me over to the police?" he added hoarsely. "certainly," she answered, firmly. "the police of reading and the police of nice will alike be anxious to give you free lodgings in a chamber scarcely as comfortable as any in the villa chevrier. for a good many months the mystery of charles holroyde's death has puzzled them, but it will remain an enigma no longer." "then brooker will suffer also," he cried. "no, he will not," replied the inventor of "the agony of monte carlo," quickly. "my evidence will prevent that. i saw you commit the murder, and likewise witnessed how brooker endeavoured to prevent you." "again," cried mariette, "there is yet another fact. from inquiries i have made it is plain that some months prior to nelly's death she, by word or action, had betrayed her knowledge of your crime committed in nice." "i recollect now," cried liane, suddenly. "she always loathed zertho, a fact which often caused me some surprise, he having made her several handsome presents after his sudden change of fortune. once, too, i chanced to remark in jest that i might possibly become princess d'auzac, whereupon she answered, `no, never. i could prevent that.'" "this exactly proves my contention," exclaimed mariette, excitedly turning to the others. "nelly had betrayed her knowledge of his secret, and he was in deadly fear of her. he committed the second crime so that the first should remain concealed. it was not until months afterwards, when richards disclosed his identity, and, having had a run of ill-luck at the tables, offered to preserve silence for a momentary consideration, that he knew there was a second witness. nelly had never told him that she had a companion on that fateful night, and he felt assured that the man who had so suddenly sprung upon them could not again identify him. only when richards came forward did he realise the truth that in taking nelly bridson's life he had failed to efface his first crime, and had placed himself in deadlier peril." a deep silence fell. the man accused stood motionless, his dark, sallow face livid, his eyes, with a haunting look of abject terror in them, fixed upon the carpet. his hands were clenched, his head bent, his body rigid. this sudden and unexpected exposure held him dumb. at last liane spoke in a low musical voice, a little strained perhaps, but her tone showed that at last the crushing weight of zertho's accusation of her father had been lifted from her mind, and she already felt her freedom to love george stratfield. "there is yet one thing unexplained," she said. "i have a confession to make." "a confession!" gasped her lover. "what?" "on that fatal evening when poor nelly was so brutally killed i had an appointment to meet you at the spot," she answered. "and i kept it." "you did? why, i thought you were prevented." "i was, but i arrived there late. unconscious of the fearful tragedy, i walked there, and in the twilight waited in the gateway leading to the meadow, the very spot where mariette and nelly had been standing an hour before. while there the high wind blew my hair about and several of the pins fell out. i picked them up, all save one--the one you discovered." "it was yours!" he cried dismayed. "yes, mine," she replied. "i waited there alone about ten minutes, then passed beneath the railway bridge and there saw straight before me, a little way beyond, nelly lying beside her machine. we had quarrelled earlier in the day over a trifling matter and she had uttered some rather insulting words: therefore, believing that she had merely had a fall and would recover in a few minutes, i left her lying where she was. i saw no blood, and never dreamt that she was dead. at her throat was the brooch charles holroyde had given her, an ornament upon which she set great store. suddenly the temptation to annoy her came over me, and i bent and snatched it off. at that moment you had already discovered the crime, and gone for assistance. it was my intention to keep the brooch, so that she might believe it had been stolen. judge my horror when a few hours later i knew the ghastly truth, while in my possession there remained the missing brooch about which the papers afterwards made so many comments. again, the hairpin you discovered being one of mine was still another fact which caused me the greatest terror, lest the police should ascertain from whose hair the pin had fallen. in order to make it appear that i had not been to cross lane i that night wrote a letter to you regretting that i was prevented from meeting you, and early next morning tore it into fragments and cast it at the roadside, where it was subsequently discovered by the detectives. yet the fear that the brooch might be discovered in my possession was ever upon me, so one night i took all my remaining pins, together with the brooch, and buried them in the garden, where, i suppose, they still remain. ever since that day until now i have feared lest my theft should be discovered and my presence at the scene of the tragedy proved, for i saw how suspicious were the circumstances, especially as we had had a slight difference earlier that day and someone might have overheard our high words. for months my life has been overshadowed by a terrible dread, but now that i know the truth i hesitate no longer to speak." "and the miniature we discovered by nelly's side was the one you gave her to return to my family?" george exclaimed, turning quickly to mariette, astounded at the remarkable explanation. "yes. she said she knew you, and that you loved liane. therefore she would return it to your father without stating whence it had come." "but you say that charles holroyde was my brother," he exclaimed, puzzled. "i do not understand." "think for a moment, and you will see that all i have spoken is the truth," she answered. "before his death he told me the whole of the circumstances; how your mother, lady stratfield, died a few months after your birth, and how your father, a year afterwards, married another lady, whom he subsequently divorced. the latter, a lady of means, came and lived in france, where charles was educated, but when he knew how unjustly your father had treated his mother he declined to take the name of stratfield, and preferred his mother's maiden name. he--" "ah, yes, i remember?" cried george, amazed. "it was my father's unhappy second marriage that had caused him to become gloomy, misanthropic, and a hater of womankind. the subject was scarcely ever mentioned between us, but now i distinctly remember that the lady's name was holroyde. i knew that she had a son, but have always been led to suppose that he died when only a few months old." "no," mariette replied. "he was foully murdered for the money he had won at roulette by that man standing there," and she pointed towards zertho, who stood trembling, crushed by her terrible denunciation. "fancy poor charlie holroyde actually being your brother!" liane exclaimed, looking up tenderly into the face of the man she so fondly loved. "yet it is not surprising, for, strangely enough, i have many times thought that your face strongly resembled his. but my father is cleared of the terrible stigma, and no suspicion can now be cast upon me, therefore we have nothing to fear." "true, darling," he answered. "we have nothing to fear, save one thing." "what is that?" she inquired eagerly. he hesitated. his words were overheard by all in the room, and every eye was upon him. the man accused moved across to the table and stood leaning against it, swaying unsteadily. his passage was still barred resolutely. "you forget the offer of marriage which, under my father's will, i am compelled to make to mariette, if i am not to remain a pauper all my days." as he spoke there was a quick movement behind him, a flood of golden sunlight suddenly lit up the room as the jalousies of one of the windows were dashed open, and as he turned he saw the figure of zertho disappearing through the window. with a cry, the fugitive leaped down upon the flower-bed outside, hat in hand, and an instant later had gained the road and was flying down through the fortifications towards la condamine. for scarcely a second max richards hesitated, then rushed after him to give him into the hands of the police. zertho had long been watching his opportunity, and, being strong and athletic, had reached the window at a single bound, and had escaped almost before they could realise what had occurred. for a few moments all were dismayed, but were quickly reassured by mariette, who declared that the police must sooner or later arrest him. then, turning to george, she added,-- "you have spoken of your father's will. well, your solicitors may make the offer, but i shall refuse." "you will refuse!" cried liane, joyously. "yes," she answered, smiling in contentment. "i shall refuse because i am already engaged to marry max, the man whose words have cleared your father, and whose evidence will convict the man who has held you so long beneath the thrall of terror." "you are to marry max!" liane exclaimed, surprised. "yes. we have known each other some years now, and as i have recently won sufficient money which, invested, will bring us in a modest income, we have agreed to marry and relinquish gambling. one of our promises to each other is that after marriage neither of us shall enter the casino on any pretext whatsoever. i shall certainly keep it, and i feel assured that max will." "i'm sure you have our heartiest congratulations," captain brooker said, smiling. "i've known max a long time, and although once he has been one of us and an outsider, he is, nevertheless, at heart a gentleman." mariette, known as "the golden hand," and believed by _habitues_ of monte carlo to be thoroughly unscrupulous, and an adventuress of the very worst type, was now an entirely different person to the woman who flung down her gold so recklessly upon the tables. her life had not been altogether blameless, nevertheless there was still sufficient generosity, tenderness, and love within her heart to render her a devoted wife with a man who would love and cherish her. "make your offer to marry me as soon as you wish," she laughed. "you know what my reply will be." "a reply," he said, "that will bring me fifty thousand pounds." "you are indeed my friend, mariette," liane said, stretching forth her hand. "forgive me for believing that you were my enemy." the other grasped it warmly, answering,-- "i have forgiven all--everything save the terrible offences of the man who has fled, offences before god and man that are beyond atonement." chapter twenty one. red and black. the fugitive was already out of sight when his pursuer gained the road. in the crooked streets of monaco, with their dark arches, narrow passages and steep inclines, it is easy to evade pursuit, and zertho, to whom the place was well-known, was fully aware that if he could gain the foot of the rock he could get clean away. he crushed his hat on his head and ran swiftly as a deer. max knew the road the accused man must take, and dashed after him, hatless, as fast as his legs would carry him. suddenly, however, he entered a crooked lane, only to find himself in a _cul-de-sac_. he quickly retraced his steps and gained the square in front of the palace, but by this time the man he was pursuing was already at the foot of the rock. rushing up to the wall of the fortifications he peered over, and saw far below the fugitive spring into a open cab and drive rapidly towards la condamine. to overtake him now was impossible. the police must take up the chase. he ran back to the villa fortunee to tell mariette and the others of his failure and obtain her sanction to invoke the aid of police, while the other sat bolt upright in the cab, staring straight before him, not daring to glance behind. yet all seemed peaceful in that calm sunset hour. along the boulevard around the bay he drove at a spanking pace, but in front the road to monte carlo rose steeply, and soon they were only travelling at walking pace. "quicker!" he cried, impatiently to the driver; and with an oath added: "whip your horses! quicker!" "impossible, m'sieur," the man answered without turning towards him. the moments that went by during that slow ascent seemed hours. each instant he expected to hear loud cries and demands as the police bore down upon him. he knew that his face must betray the deadly terror that held him paralysed. like a fox going to cover he had headed instinctively for monte carlo, but knew not how he was about to act, or whither he was going. he knew that he must fly to save his liberty and life, and had a vague idea that if he crossed into italy the pursuit would thereby be delayed. "where to, m'sieur?" inquired the driver, when at last they gained the brow of the hill. "the casino! quick!" he answered, after an instant's reflection. then to himself, he muttered behind his set teeth: "one throw. my last chance. life or death!" he sprang from the cab, tossed the man a ten-franc piece, and ran up the red-carpeted steps to the atrium, showed his white ticket to the two doorkeepers, and entered the hot, garish gaming-rooms. the atmosphere was troubled, faint with the thousand perfumes exhaled from the tightly-laced corsets of the women. charming and pretty as many of the latter are, they are, nevertheless, designedly or unconsciously, the most active and dangerous companions at the tables. their influence upon their fellow-players is always on the side of the bank. queen roulette is the most absorbing and most imperious of all mistresses. the most determined, young or old, audacious or timid, find themselves powerless to resist her, for when the fatal fascination creeps upon them she engages their brain, saps their spirit, holds captive their senses, breaks asunder their resolutions, and lures them to their ruin. she is indeed an enchantress infernal. the jingle and chatter jarred upon his unstrung nerves. for a moment he stood nauseated, half-dazed by the thousand memories, hideous spectres of a guilty past, that crowded upon him. but again he walked forward blindly, on past several of the tables encircled by their hot, eager crowds, until he came to the moorish room. as he was passing a man rose wearily from the roulette-table with a roll of notes in his hand, and instantly he took his chair. he cast a furtive glance around the circle of faces, pale beneath the green-shaded oil lamps suspended from the long brass chains. the emotions of hope, disgust, anxiety, or greed were displayed on each of the perspiring countenances ranged around that table. next him was a beautiful woman well-known in riviera society, winning, and therefore a little excited, her cheeks burning with two bright spots, her eyes shining like lamps; and she looked like a girl as she now and then heaved a deep sigh. next her a blotchy-faced man, smelling strongly of rank cigars, was playing and losing heavily, his countenance betraying nothing more than a half-hearted smile, while opposite a staid matron made room for her daughter, and handed her money to put on, believing, as so many believe, that innocence is a kind of "mascot." he lowered his gaze. the deathly pallor of his own cheeks had attracted notice. it seemed as though these people, many of them personally known to him, held him in suspicion. he paused in hesitation, holding his breath the while, trying to calm the wild tumultuous throbbing of his heart. "_messieurs, faites vos jeux_!" the red and black disc in the centre of the table was revolving, the money was already placed within the squares, and the little ivory ball had already been launched when, with sudden resolve, he drew from his pocket a louis and tossed it carelessly upon the scarlet diamond. "gain, i fly!" he murmured to himself. "lose, i remain." in flinging the coin his hand had lost its deftness, for instead of falling flat, it fell upon its edge and rolled from the "red" over the line into the "impair." at that instant sounded the monotonous wearying cry,-- "_rien ne va plus_!" then there was a moment's hush, the ball fell with a click into its socket, and the croupier's rake came swiftly before his fevered eyes and swept away the coin he had staked. he had lost, and would remain. glancing round, his lips curled in a bitter smile; at the same moment, however, he placed his trembling hand to his mouth, as if to stifle an imprecation. glaring, rigid and desperate he sat, his dark eyes, the eyes that had been so admired by the women, fixed upon the ever-revolving disc of black and red now holding him in fascination. suddenly, as another game was being played, a spasm of excruciating pain caused him to clap both hands to his brow and utter a low groan. it was the gasp of a dying man, but amid the terrible excitement of play it passed unnoticed, and none dreamed the truth until a moment or two later when, with a wild, despairing shriek which rang through the hot gilded rooms and caused an instant's hush, he half-rose from his chair and fell forward upon the table lifeless, scattering the gold, silver and notes staked by the players, and causing a terrible scene of alarm and confusion. his heart had always been weak, and the sudden excitement of play had caused a rupture which had proved fatal. such was the official account of the affair given in the papers, for the administration of the casino were careful not to let the public know that in the dead man's pocket was found a tiny bottle labelled "quinine," containing several white tabloids which, on analysis, were found to be of strychnine. nevertheless, it is not surprising that the public remained in ignorance of this last-mentioned fact, when it is remembered that the administration of the cercle des etrangers spends some hundreds of thousands of francs annually among the journals and journalists in order to conceal the many suicides which take place in their world-famous combination of paradise and hell. chapter twenty two. conclusion. george and liane, fervent in their newly-found happiness, were married shortly afterwards in the village church of stratfield mortimer, the old time-worn place where for generations his family had been christened, married, and placed to rest, each latter event being recorded upon the tarnished monumental brasses. by mariette's refusal he received the sum stipulated by his father's will, and for a year they lived high up on sydenham hill, in a house which set its face towards the deep valley wherein murky london lies ever beneath its smoke-pall, george journeying each day to his gloomy chambers into which no ray of sunlight had ever been known to penetrate. by the death of his elder brother, the result of an accident while hunting last winter, he, however, suddenly found himself the possessor of stratfield with its handsome income, and to-day both he and liane live at the court, and are prominent figures in the county. liane's sweet, beautiful face, graceful bearing and vivacious _chic_, cause her to be admired everywhere, and among the many charming young hostesses of berkshire no one is so popular. mariette, no longer known as "the golden hand," has married max richards, and still lives in her pretty villa where the salon windows open upon the blue mediterranean. each spring liane and george spend a few weeks with them, while they, in return, come to england in summer, and are welcome guests at stratfield. through many months it was a profound mystery how old sir john became aware of mariette's existence, but this was cleared up quite unexpectedly one day by george, who, in turning over some of his father's papers, discovered a letter written by his unknown brother charles, who informed the old baronet that he had lost a considerable sum at cards to a certain captain brooker, and also stated that he was about to marry, and gave mariette's name and some facts concerning her. from this letter the old gentleman would no doubt suspect her to be an adventuress, and therefore, in his paroxysm of anger at george's refusal to renounce liane, he made a provision in his will that this unknown woman should marry him, instead of the son he had discarded, and of whose death he was unaware. in the great oak-panelled drawing-room at stratfield, with its quaint diamond panes, deep-set mullioned windows and polished floor, there now hangs cosway's beautiful miniature of lady anne, and each time husband and wife glance at it they remember how very near they once were to eternal separation and blank despair. but devoted to one another, their life is now one of unalloyed happiness. the clouds have lifted, and their days are as bright and joyous as they once long ago imagined in their day-dreams. the captain is back in his old-fashioned ivied cottage in the village, but dines each evening at the court, where the cigars are choice and the wines well-matured. only once have george and liane walked together to that fateful spot beyond the railway bridge in cross lane. but for both of them its sight brought back memories so bitter that by mutual agreement they now always avoid passing that unfrequented way. to that estimable body of men, the berkshire constabulary, the motive of the assassination of nelly bridson and the identity of her assassin remain still a mystery, as they will for ever. the end. distributed proofreaders max brand ronicky doone chapter one _a horse in need_ he came into the town as a solid, swiftly moving dust cloud. the wind from behind had kept the dust moving forward at a pace just equal to the gallop of his horse. not until he had brought his mount to a halt in front of the hotel and swung down to the ground did either he or his horse become distinctly visible. then it was seen that the animal was in the last stages of exhaustion, with dull eyes and hanging head and forelegs braced widely apart, while the sweat dripped steadily from his flanks into the white dust on the street. plainly he had been pushed to the last limit of his strength. the rider was almost as far spent as his mount, for he went up the steps of the hotel with his shoulders sagging with weariness, a wide-shouldered, gaunt-ribbed man. thick layers of dust had turned his red kerchief and his blue shirt to a common gray. dust, too, made a mask of his face, and through that mask the eyes peered out, surrounded by pink skin. even at its best the long, solemn face could never have been called handsome. but, on this particular day, he seemed a haunted man, or one fleeing from an inescapable danger. the two loungers at the door of the hotel instinctively stepped aside and made room for him to pass, but apparently he had no desire to enter the building. suddenly he became doubly imposing, as he stood on the veranda and stared up and down at the idlers. certainly his throat must be thick and hot with dust, but an overmastering purpose made him oblivious of thirst. "gents," he said huskily, while a gust of wind fanned a cloud of dust from his clothes, "is there anybody in this town can gimme a hoss to get to stillwater, inside three hours' riding?" he waited a moment, his hungry eyes traveling eagerly from face to face. naturally the oldest man spoke first, since this was a matter of life and death. "any hoss in town can get you there in that time, if you know the short way across the mountain." "how do you take it? that's the way for me." but the old fellow shook his head and smiled in pity. "not if you ain't rode it before. i used to go that way when i was a kid, but nowadays nobody rides that way except doone. that trail is as tricky as the ways of a coyote; you'd sure get lost without a guide." the stranger turned and followed the gesture of the speaker. the mountain rose from the very verge of the town, a ragged mass of sand and rock, with miserable sagebrush clinging here and there, as dull and uninteresting as the dust itself. then he lowered the hand from beneath which he had peered and faced about with a sigh. "i guess it ain't much good trying that way. but i got to get to stillwater inside of three hours." "they's one hoss in town can get you there," said the old man. "but you can't get that hoss today." the stranger groaned. "then i'll make another hoss stretch out and do." "can't be done. doone's hoss is a marvel. nothing else about here can touch him, and he's the only one that can make the trip around the mountain, inside of three hours. you'd kill another hoss trying to do it, what with your weight." the stranger groaned again and struck his knuckles against his forehead. "but why can't i get the hoss? is doone out of town with it?" "the hoss ain't out of town, but doone is." the traveler clenched his fists. this delay and waste of priceless time was maddening him. "gents," he called desperately, "i got to get to martindale today. it's more than life or death to me. where's doone's hoss?" "right across the road," said the old man who had spoken first. "over yonder in the corral--the bay." the traveler turned and saw, beyond the road, a beautiful mare, not very tall, but a mare whose every inch of her fifteen three proclaimed strength and speed. at that moment she raised her head and looked across to him, and the heart of the rider jumped into his throat. the very sight of her was an omen of victory, and he made a long stride in her direction, but two men came before him. the old fellow jumped from the chair and tapped his arm. "you ain't going to take the bay without getting leave from doone?" "gents, i got to," said the stranger. "listen! my name's gregg, bill gregg. up in my country they know i'm straight; down here you ain't heard of me. i ain't going to keep that hoss, and i'll pay a hundred dollars for the use of her for one day. i'll bring or send her back safe and sound, tomorrow. here's the money. one of you gents, that's a friend of doone, take it for him." not a hand was stretched out; every head shook in negation. "i'm too fond of the little life that's left to me," said the old fellow. "i won't rent out that hoss for him. why, he loves that mare like she was his sister. he'd fight like a flash rather than see another man ride her." but bill gregg had his eyes on the bay, and the sight of her was stealing his reason. he knew, as well as he knew that he was a man, that, once in the saddle on her, he would be sure to win. nothing could stop him. and straight through the restraining circle he broke with a groan of anxiety. only the old man who had been the spokesman called after him: "gregg, don't be a fool. maybe you don't recognize the name of doone, but the whole name is ronicky doone. does that mean anything to you?" into the back of gregg's mind came several faint memories, but they were obscure and uncertain. "blast your ronicky doone!" he replied. "i got to have that hoss, and, if none of you'll take money for her rent, i'll take her free and pay her rent when i come through this way tomorrow, maybe. s'long!" while he spoke he had been undoing the cinches of his own horse. now he whipped the saddle and bridle off, shouted to the hotel keeper brief instructions for the care of the weary animal and ran across the road with the saddle on his arm. in the corral he had no difficulty with the mare. she came straight to him in spite of all the flopping trappings. with prickly ears and eyes lighted with kindly curiosity she looked the dusty fellow over. he slipped the bridle over her head. when he swung the saddle over her back she merely turned her head and carelessly watched it fall. and when he drew up the cinches hard, she only stamped in mock anger. the moment he was in the saddle she tossed her head eagerly, ready to be off. he looked across the street to the veranda of the hotel, as he passed through the gate of the corral. the men were standing in a long and awe-stricken line, their eyes wide, their mouths agape. whoever ronicky doone might be, he was certainly a man who had won the respect of this town. the men on the veranda looked at bill gregg as though he were already a ghost. he waved his hand defiantly at them and the mare, at a word from him, sprang into a long-striding gallop that whirled them rapidly down the street and out of the village. the bay mare carried him with amazing speed over the ground. they rounded the base of the big mountain, and, glancing up at the ragged canyons which chopped the face of the peak, he was glad that he had not attempted that short cut. if ronicky doone could make that trail he was a skillful horseman. bill gregg swung up over the left shoulder of the mountain and found himself looking down on the wide plain which held stillwater. the air was crystal-clear and dry; the shoulder of the mountain was high above it; gregg saw a breathless stretch of the cattle country at one sweep of his eyes. stillwater was still a long way off, and far away across the plain he saw a tiny moving dot that grew slowly. it was the train heading for stillwater, and that train he must beat to the station. for a moment his heart stood still; then he saw that the train was distant indeed, and, by the slightest use of the mare's speed, he would be able to reach the town, two or three minutes ahead of it. but, just as he was beginning to exult in the victory, after all the hard riding of the past three days, the mare tossed up her head and shortened her stride. the heart of gregg stopped, and he went cold. it was not only the fear that his journey might be ruined, but the fear that something had happened to this magnificent creature beneath him. he swung to the side in the saddle and watched her gallop. certain she went laboring, very much as though she were trying to run against a mighty pull on the reins. he looked at her head. it was thrown high, with pricking ears. perhaps she was frightened by some foolish thing near the road. he touched her with the spurs, and she increased her pace to the old length and ease of stride; but, just as he had begun to be reassured, her step shortened and fell to laboring again, and this time she threw her head higher than before. it was amazing to bill gregg; and then it seemed to him that he heard a faint, far whistling, floating down from high above his head. again that thin, long-drawn sound, and this time, glancing over his right shoulder, he saw a horseman plunging down the slope of the mountain. he knew instantly that it was ronicky doone. the man had come to recapture his horse and had taken the short cut across the mountain to come up with her. just by a fraction of a minute doone would be too late, for, by the time he came down onto the trail, the bay would be well ahead, and certainly no horse lived in those mountains capable of overtaking her when she felt like running. gregg touched her again with the spurs, but this time she reared straight up and, whirling to the side, faced steadily toward her onrushing master. chapter two _friendly enemies_ again and again gregg spurred the bay cruelly. she winced from the pain and snorted, but, apparently having not the slightest knowledge of bucking, she could only shake her head and send a ringing whinny of appeal up the slope of the mountain, toward the approaching rider. in spite of the approaching danger, in spite of this delay which was ruining his chances of getting to stillwater before the train, bill gregg watched in marvel and delight the horsemanship of the stranger. ronicky doone, if this were he, was certainly the prince of all wild riders. even as the mare stopped in answer to the signal of her owner, ronicky doone sent his mount over the edge of a veritable cliff, flung him back on his haunches and slid down the gravelly slope, careening from side to side. with a rush of pebbles about him and a dust cloud whirling after, ronicky doone broke out into the road ahead of the mare, and she whinnied softly again to greet him. bill gregg found himself looking not into the savage face of such a gunfighter as he had been led to expect, but a handsome fellow, several years younger than he, a high-headed, straight-eyed, buoyant type. in his seat in the saddle, in the poise of his head and the play of his hand on the reins bill gregg recognized a boundless nervous force. there was nothing ponderous about ronicky doone. indeed he was not more than middle size, but, as he reined his horse in the middle of the road and looked with flashing eyes at bill gregg, he appeared very large indeed. gregg was used to fighting or paying his way, or doing both at the same time, as occasion offered. he decided that this was certainly an occasion for much money and few words. "you're doone, i guess," he said, "and you know that i've played a pretty bad trick on you, taking your hoss this way. but i wanted to pay for it, doone, and i'll pay now. i've got to get to stillwater before that train. look at her! i haven't hurt her any. her wind isn't touched. she's pretty wet, but sweat never hurt nothing on four feet, eh?" "i dunno," returned ronicky doone. "i'd as soon run off with a man's wife as his hoss." "partner," said bill gregg desperately, "i have to get there!" "then get there on your own feet, not the feet of another gent's hoss." gregg controlled his rising anger. beyond him the train was looming larger and larger in the plain, and stillwater seemed more and more distant. he writhed in the saddle. "i tell you i'll pay--i'll pay the whole value of the hoss, if you want." he was about to say more when he saw the eyes of ronicky doone widen and fix. "look," said the other suddenly, "you've been cutting her up with the spurs!" gregg glanced down to the flank of the bay to discover that he had used the spurs more recklessly than he thought. a sharp rowel had picked through the skin, and, though it was probably only a slight wound indeed, it had brought a smear of red to the surface. ronicky doone trembled with anger. "confound you!" he said furiously. "any fool would have known that you didn't need a spur on that hoss! what part d'you come from where they teach you to kill a hoss when you ride it? can you tell me that?" "i'll tell you after i get to stillwater." "i'll see you hung before i see you in stillwater." "you've talked too much, doone," gregg said huskily. "i've just begun," said doone. "then take this and shut up," exclaimed bill gregg. ordinarily he was the straightest and the squarest man in the world in a fight. but a sudden anger had flared up in him. he had an impulse to kill; to get rid of this obstacle between him and everything he wanted most in life. without more warning than that he snatched out his revolver and fired point blank at ronicky doone. certainly all the approaches to a fight had been made, and doone might have been expecting the attack. at any rate, as the gun shot out of gregg's holster, the other swung himself sidewise in his own saddle and, snapping out his revolver, fired from the hip. that swerve to the side saved him, doubtless, from the shot of gregg; his own bullet plowed cleanly through the thigh of the other rider. the whole leg of gregg went numb, and he found himself slumping helplessly to one side. he dropped his gun, and he had to cling with both hands to lower himself out of the saddle. now he sat in the dust of the trail and stared stupidly, not at his conqueror, but at the train that was flashing into the little town of stillwater, just below them. he hardly heeded ronicky doone, as the latter started forward with an oath, knelt beside him and examined the wound. "it's clean," doone said, as he started ripping up his undershirt to make bandages. "i'll have you fixed so you can be gotten into stillwater." he began to work rapidly, twisting the clothes around gregg's thigh, which he had first laid bare by some dexterous use of a hunting knife. then gregg turned his eyes to those of doone. the train had pulled out of stillwater. the sound of the coughing of the engine, as it started up, came faintly to them after a moment. "of all the darned fools!" said the two men in one voice. and then they grinned at each other. certainly it was not the first fight or the first wound for either of them. "i'm sorry," they began again, speaking together in chorus. "matter of fact," said ronicky doone, "that bay means a pile to me. when i seen the red on her side--" "can't be more than a chance prick." "i know," said ronicky, "but i didn't stop to think." "and i should of give you fair warning before i went for the gat." "look here," said ronicky, "you talk like a straight sort of a gent to me." "and you thought i was a cross between a hoss thief and a gunfighter?" "i dunno what i thought, except that i wanted the mare back. stranger, i'm no end sorry this has happened. maybe you'd lemme know why you was in such a hurry to get to stillwater. if they's any trouble coming down the road behind you, maybe i can help take care of it for you." and he smiled coldly and significantly at bill gregg. the latter eyed with some wonder the man who had just shot him down and was now offering to fight for his safety. "nothing like that," said bill. "i was going to stillwater to meet a girl." "as much of a rush as all that to see a girl?" "on that train." ronicky doone whistled softly. "and i messed it up! but why didn't you tell me what you wanted?" "i didn't have a chance. besides i could not waste time in talking and explaining to everybody along the road." "sure you couldn't, but the girl'll forgive you when she finds out what happened." "no, she won't, because she'll never find out." "eh?" "i don't know where she is." "riding all that way just to see a girl--" "it's a long story, partner, and this leg is beginning to act up. tell you the best thing would be for you to jump on your mare and jog into stillwater for a buckboard and then come back and get me. what d'you say?" twenty minutes after ronicky doone had swung into the saddle and raced down the road, the buckboard arrived and the wounded man was helped on to a pile of blankets in the body of the wagon. the shooting, of course, was explained by the inevitable gun accident. ronicky doone happened to be passing along that way and saw bill gregg looking over his revolver as he rode along. at that moment the gun exploded and-- the two men who had come out in the buckboard listened to the tale with expressionless faces. as a matter of fact they had already heard in stillwater that no less a person than ronicky doone was on his way toward that village in pursuit of a man who had ridden off on the famous bay mare, lou. but they accepted ronicky's bland version of the accident with perfect calm and with many expressions of sympathy. they would have other things to say after they had deposited the wounded man in stillwater. the trip in was a painful one for bill gregg. for one thing the exhaustion of the long three days' trip was now causing a wave of weariness to sweep over him. the numbness, which had come through the leg immediately after the shooting, was now replaced by a steady and continued aching. and more than all he was unnerved by the sense of utter failure, utter loss. never in his life had he fought so bitterly and steadily for a thing, and yet he had lost at the very verge of success. chapter three _at stillwater_ the true story was, of course, known almost at once, but, since ronicky doone swore that he would tackle the first man who accused him of having shot down bill gregg, the talk was confined to whispers. in the meantime stillwater rejoiced in its possession of ronicky doone. beyond one limited section of the mountain desert he was not as yet known, but he had one of those personalities which are called electric. whatever he did seemed greater because he, ronicky doone, had done it. not that he had done a great many things as yet. but there was a peculiar feeling in the air that ronicky doone was capable of great and strange performances. men older than he were willing to accept him as their leader; men younger than he idolized him. ronicky doone, then, the admired of all beholders, is leaning in the doorway of stillwater's second and best hotel. his bandanna today is a terrific yellow, set off with crimson half-moon and stars strewn liberally on it. his shirt is merely white, but it is given some significance by having nearly half of a red silk handkerchief falling out of the breast pocket. his sombrero is one of those works of art which mexican families pass from father to son, only his was new and had not yet received that limp effect of age. and, like the gaudiest mexican head piece, the band of this sombrero was of purest gold, beaten into the forms of various saints. ronicky doone knew nothing at all about saints, but he approved very much of the animation of the martyrdom scenes and felt reasonably sure that his hatband could not be improved upon in the entire length and breadth of stillwater, and the young men of the town agreed with him, to say nothing of the girls. they also admired his riding gloves which, a strange affectation in a country of buckskin, were always the softest and the smoothest and the most comfortable kid that could be obtained. truth to tell, he did not handle a rope. he could not tell the noose end of a lariat from the straight end, hardly. neither did ronicky doone know the slightest thing about barbed wire, except how to cut it when he wished to ride through. let us look closely at the hands themselves, as ronicky stands in the door of the hotel and stares at the people walking by. for he has taken off his gloves and he now rolls a cigarette. they are very long hands. the fingers are extremely slender and tapering. the wrists are round and almost as innocent of sinews as the wrists of a woman, save when he grips something, and then how they stand out. but, most remarkable of all, the skin of the palms of those hands is amazingly soft. it is truly as soft as the skin of the hand of a girl. there were some who shook their heads when they saw those hands. there were some who inferred that ronicky doone was little better than a scapegrace, and that, in reality, he had never done a better or more useful thing than handle cards and swing a revolver. in both of which arts it was admitted that he was incredibly dexterous. as a matter of fact, since there was no estate from which he drew an income, and since he had never been known in the entire history of his young life to do a single stroke of productive work of any kind, the bitter truth was that ronicky doone was no better and no worse than a common gambler. indeed, if to play a game of chance is to commit a sin, ronicky doone was a very great sinner. yet it should be remarked that he lacked the fine art of taking the money of other less clever fellows when they were intoxicated, and he also lacked the fine hardness of mind which enables many gamblers to enjoy taking the last cent from an opponent. also, though he knew the entire list of tricks in the repertoire of a crooked gambler, he had never been known to employ tricking. he trusted in a calm head, a quick judgment, an ability to read character. and, though he occasionally met with crooked professionals who were wolves in the guise of sheep, no one had ever been known to play more than one crooked trick at cards when playing against ronicky doone. so, on the whole, he made a very good living. what he had he gave or threw away in wild spending or loaned to friends, of whom he had a vast number. all of which goes to explain the soft hands of ronicky doone and his nervous, swift-moving fingers, as he stood at the door of the hotel. for he who plays long with cards or dice begins to have a special sense developed in the tips of his fingers, so that they seem to be independent intelligences. he crossed his feet. his boots were the finest leather, bench-made by the best of bootmakers, and they fitted the high-arched instep with the elastic smoothness of gloves. the man of the mountain desert dresses the extremities and cares not at all for the mid sections. the moment doone was off his horse those boots had to be dressed and rubbed and polished to softness and brightness before this luxurious gambler would walk about town. from the heels of the boots extended a long pair of spurs--surely a very great vanity, for never in her life had his beautiful mare, lou, needed even the touch of a spur. but ronicky doone could not give up this touch of luxury. the spurs were plated heavily with gold, and they swept up and out in a long, exquisite curve, the hub of the rowel set with diamonds. in a word ronicky doone was a dandy, but he had this peculiarity, that he seemed to dress to please himself rather than the rest of the world. his glances never roved about taking account of the admiration of others. as he leaned there in the door of the hotel he was the type of the young, happy, genuine and carefree fellow, whose mind is no heavier with a thousand dollars or a thousand cents in his pocket. suddenly he started from his lounging place, caught his hat more firmly over his eyes, threw away his unlighted cigarette and hurried across the veranda of the hotel. had he seen an enemy to chastise, or an old friend to greet, or a pretty girl? no, it was only old jud harding, the blacksmith, whose hand had lost its strength, but who still worked iron as others mold putty, simply because he had the genius for his craft. he was staggering now under a load of boards which he had shouldered to carry to his shop. in a moment that load was shifted to the shoulder of ronicky doone, and they went on down the street, laughing and talking together until the load was dropped on the floor of harding's shop. "and how's the sick feller coming?" asked harding. "coming fine," answered ronicky. "couple of days and i'll have him out for a little exercise. lucky thing it was a clean wound and didn't nick the bone. soon as it's healed over he'll never know he was plugged." harding considered his young friend with twinkling eyes. "queer thing to me," he said, "is how you and this gent gregg have hit it off so well together. might almost say it was like you'd shot gregg and now was trying to make up for it. but, of course, that ain't the truth." "of course not," said ronicky gravely and met the eye of harding without faltering. "another queer thing," went on the cunning old smith. "he was fooling with that gun while he was in the saddle, which just means that the muzzle must of been pretty close to his skin. but there wasn't any sign of a powder burn, the doc says." "but his trousers was pretty bad burned, i guess," said ronicky. "h-m," said the blacksmith, "that's the first time i've heard about it." he went on more seriously: "i got something to tell you, ronicky. ever hear the story about the gent that took pity on the snake that was stiff with cold and brought the snake in to warm him up beside the fire? the minute the snake come to life he sunk his fangs in the gent that had saved him." "meaning," said ronicky, "that, because i've done a good turn for gregg, i'd better look out for him?" "meaning nothing," said harding, "except that the reason the snake bit the gent was because he'd had a stone heaved at him by the same man one day and hadn't forgot it." but ronicky doone merely laughed and turned back toward the hotel. chapter four _his victim's trouble_ yet he could not help pondering on the words of old harding. bill gregg had been a strange patient. he had never repeated his first offer to tell his story. he remained sullen and silent, with his brooding eyes fixed on the blank wall before him, and nothing could permanently cheer him. some inward gloom seemed to possess the man. the first day after the shooting he had insisted on scrawling a painfully written letter, while ronicky propped a writing board in front of him, as he lay flat on his back in the bed, but that was his only act. thereafter he remained silent and brooding. perhaps it was hatred for ronicky that was growing in him, as the sense of disappointment increased, for ronicky, after all, had kept him from reaching that girl when the train passed through stillwater. perhaps, for all ronicky knew, his bullet had ruined the happiness of two lives. he shrugged that disagreeable thought away, and, reaching the hotel, he went straight up to the room of the sick man. "bill," he said gently, "have you been spending all your time hating me? is that what keeps you thin and glum? is it because you sit here all day blaming me for all the things that have happened to you?" the dark flush and the uneasy flicker of gregg's glance gave a sufficient answer. ronicky doone sighed and shook his head, but not in anger. "you don't have to talk," he said. "i see that i'm right. and i don't blame you, bill, because, maybe, i've spoiled things pretty generally for you." at first the silence of bill gregg admitted that he felt the same way about the matter, yet he finally said aloud: "i don't blame you. maybe you thought i was a hoss thief. but the thing is done, ronicky, and it won't never be undone!" "gregg," said ronicky, "d'you know what you're going to do now?" "i dunno." "you're going to sit there and roll a cigarette and tell me the whole yarn. you ain't through with this little chase. not if i have to drag you along with me. but first just figure that i'm your older brother or something like that and get rid of the whole yarn. got to have the ore specimens before you can assay 'em. besides, it'll help you a pile to get the poison out of your system. if you feel like cussing me hearty when the time comes go ahead and cuss, but i got to hear that story." "maybe it would help," said gregg, "but it's a fool story to tell." "leave that to me to say whether it's a fool story or not. you start the talking." gregg shifted himself to a more comfortable position, as is the immemorial custom of story tellers, and his glance misted a little with the flood of recollections. "started along back about a year ago," he said. "i was up to the sullivan mountains working a claim. there wasn't much to it, just enough to keep me going sort of comfortable. i pegged away at it pretty steady, leading a lonely life and hoping every day that i'd cut my way down to a good lead. well, the fine ore never showed up. "meantime i got pretty weary of them same mountains, staring me in the face all the time. i didn't have even a dog with me for conversation, so i got to thinking. thinking is a bad thing, mostly, don't you agree, ronicky?" "it sure is," replied ronicky doone instantly. "not a bit of a doubt about it." "it starts you doubting things," went on gregg bitterly, "and pretty soon you're even doubting yourself." here he cast an envious glance at the smooth brow of his companion. "but i guess that never happened to you, ronicky?" "you'd be surprised if i told you," said ronicky. "well," went on bill gregg, "i got so darned tired of my own thoughts and of myself that i decided something had ought to be done; something to give me new things to think about. so i sat down and went over the whole deal. "i had to get new ideas. then i thought of what a gent had told me once. he'd got pretty interested in mining and figured he wanted to know all about how the fancy things was done. so he sent off to some correspondence schools. well, they're a great bunch. they say: 'write us a lot of letters and ask us your questions. before you're through you'll know something you want to know.' see?" "i see." "i didn't have anything special i wanted to learn except how to use myself for company when i got tired of solitaire. so i sat down and wrote to this here correspondence school and says: 'i want to do something interesting. how d'you figure that i had better begin?' and what d'you think they answered back?" "i dunno," said ronicky, his interest steadily increasing. "well, sir, the first thing they wrote back was: 'we have your letter and think that in the first place you had better learn how to write.' that was a queer answer, wasn't it?" "it sure was." ronicky swallowed a smile. "every time i looked at that letter it sure made me plumb mad. and i looked at it a hundred times a day and come near tearing it up every time. but i didn't," continued bill. "why not?" "because it was a woman that wrote it. i told by the hand, after a while!" "a woman? go on, bill. this story sure sounds different from most." "it ain't even started to get different yet," said bill gloomily. "well, that letter made me so plumb mad that i sat down and wrote everything i could think of that a gent would say to a girl to let her know what i thought about her. and what d'you think happened?" "she wrote you back the prettiest letter you ever seen," suggested ronicky, "saying as how she'd never meant to make you mad and that if you--" "say," broke in bill gregg, "did i show that letter to you?" "nope; i just was guessing at what a lot of women would do. you see?" "no, i don't. i could never figure them as close as that. anyway that's the thing she done, right enough. she writes me a letter that was smooth as oil and suggests that i go on with a composition course to learn how to write." "going to have you do books, bill?" "i ain't a plumb fool, ronicky. but i thought it wouldn't do me no harm to unlimber my pen and fire out a few words a day. so i done it. i started writing what they told me to write about, the things that was around me, with a lot of lessons about how you can't use the same word twice on one page, and how terrible bad it is to use too many passive verbs." "what's a passive verb, bill?" "i didn't never figure it out, exactly. however, it seems like they're something that slows you up the way a muddy road slows up a hoss. and then she begun talking about the mountains, and then she begun asking-- "about you!" suggested ronicky with a grin. "confound you," said bill gregg. "how come you guessed that?" "i dunno. i just sort of scented what was coming." "well, anyways, that's what she done. and pretty soon she sent me a snapshot of herself. well--" "lemme see it," said ronicky doone calmly. "i dunno just where it is, maybe," replied bill gregg. "ill tell you. it's right around your neck, in that nugget locket you wear there." for a moment bill gregg hated the other with his eyes, and then he submitted with a sheepish grin, took off the locket, which was made of one big nugget rudely beaten into shape, and opened it for the benefit of ronicky doone. it showed the latter not a beautiful face, but a pretty one with a touch of honesty and pride that made her charming. "well, as soon as i got that picture," said bill gregg, as he took back the locket, "i sure got excited. looked to me like that girl was made for me. a lot finer than i could ever be, you see, but simple; no fancy frills, no raving beauty, maybe, but darned easy to look at. "first thing i done i went in and got a copy of my face made and rushed it right back at her and then--" he stopped dolefully. "what d'you think, ronicky?" "i dunno," said ronicky; "what happened then?" "nothing, not a thing. not a word came back from her to answer that letter i'd sent along." "maybe you didn't look rich enough to suit her, bill." "i thought that, and i thought it was my ugly face that might of made her change her mind. i thought of pretty near everything else that was bad about me and that she might of read in my face. sure made me sick for a long time. somebody else was correcting my lessons, and that made me sicker than ever. "so i sat down and wrote a letter to the head of the school and told him i'd like to get the address of that first girl. you see, i didn't even know her name. but i didn't get no answer." ronicky groaned. "it don't look like the best detective in the world could help you to find a girl when you don't know her name." he added gently: "but maybe she don't want you to find her?" "i thought that for a long time. then, a while back, i got a letter from san francisco, saying that she was coming on a train through these parts and could i be in stillwater because the train stopped there a couple of minutes. most like she thought stillwater was just sort of across the street from me. matter of fact, i jumped on a hoss, and it took me three days of breaking my neck to get near stillwater and then--" he stopped and cast a gloomy look on his companion. "i know," said ronicky. "then i come and spoiled the whole party. sure makes me sick to think about it." "and now she's plumb gone," muttered bill gregg. "i thought maybe the reason i didn't have her correcting my lessons any more was because she'd had to leave the schools and go west. so, right after i got this drilling through the leg, you remember, i wrote a letter?" "sure." "it was to her at the schools, but i didn't get no answer. i guess she didn't go back there after all. she's plumb gone, ronicky." the other was silent for a moment. "how much would you give to find her?" he asked suddenly. "half my life," said bill gregg solemnly. "then," said ronicky, "we'll make a try at it. i got an idea how we can start on the trail. i'm going to go with you, partner. i've messed up considerable, this little game of yours; now i'm going to do what i can to straighten it out. sometimes two are better than one. anyway i'm going to stick with you till you've found her or lost her for good. you see?" bill gregg sighed. "you're pretty straight, ronicky," he said, "but what good does it do for two gents to look for a needle in a haystack? how could we start to hit the trail?" "this way. we know the train that she took. maybe we could find the pullman conductor that was on it, and he might remember her. they got good memories, some of those gents. we'll start to find him, which had ought to be pretty easy." "ronicky, i'd never of thought of that in a million years!" "it ain't thinking that we want now, it's acting. when can you start with me?" "i'll be fit tomorrow." "then tomorrow we start." chapter five _macklin's library_ robert macklin, pullman conductor, had risen to that eminent position so early in life that the glamour of it had not yet passed away. he was large enough to have passed for a champion wrestler or a burly pugilist, and he was small enough to glory in the smallest details of his work. having at the age of thirty, through a great deal of luck and a touch of accident, secured his place, he possessed, at least, sufficient dignity to fill it. he was one of those rare men who carry their dignity with them past the doors of their homes. robert macklin's home, during the short intervals when he was off the trains, was in a tiny apartment. it was really one not overly large room, with a little alcove adjoining; but robert macklin had seized the opportunity to hang a curtain across the alcove, and, since it was large enough to contain a chair and a bookshelf, he referred to it always as his "library." he was this morning seated in his library, with his feet protruding through the curtains and resting on the foot of his bed, when the doorbell rang. he surveyed himself in his mirror before he answered it. having decided that, in his long dressing gown, he was imposing enough, he advanced to the door and slowly opened it. he saw before him two sun-darkened men whose soft gray hats proclaimed that they were newly come out of the west. the one was a fellow whose face had been made stern by hard work and few pleasures in life. the other was one who, apparently, had never worked at all. there was something about him that impressed robert macklin. he might be a young western millionaire, for instance. aside from his hat he was dressed with elaborate care. he wore gray spats, and his clothes were obviously well tailored, and his necktie was done in a bow. on the whole he was a very cool, comfortable looking chap. the handkerchief, which protruded from his breast pocket and showed an edging of red, was a trifle noisy; and the soft gray hat was hardly in keeping, but, on the whole, he was a dashing-looking chap. the bagging trousers and the blunt-toed shoes of his companion were to robert macklin a distinct shock. he centered all of his attention instantly on the younger of his two visitors. "you're mr. macklin, i guess," said the handsome man. "i am," said macklin, and, stepping back from his door, he invited them in with a sweeping gesture. there were only two chairs, but the younger of the strangers immediately made himself comfortable on the bed. "my name's doone," he said, "and this is mr. william gregg. we think that you have some information which we can use. mind if we fire a few questions?" "certainly not," said robert macklin. at the same time he began to arm himself with caution. one could never tell. "matter of fact," went on ronicky smoothly, lighting a tailor-made cigarette, while his companion rolled one of his own making, "we are looking for a lady who was on one of your trains. we think you may possibly remember her. here's the picture." and, as he passed the snapshot to the pullman conductor, he went on with the details of the date and the number of the train. robert macklin in the meantime studied the picture carefully. he had a keen eye for faces, but when it came to pretty faces his memory was a veritable lion. he had talked a few moments with this very girl, and she had smiled at him. the memory made robert macklin's lips twitch just a trifle, and ronicky doone saw it. presently the dignitary returned the picture and raised his head from thought. "it is vaguely behind my mind, something about this lady," he said. "but i'm sorry to say, gentlemen, i really don't know you and--" "why, don't you know us!" broke in bill gregg. "ain't my partner here just introduced us?" "exactly," said robert macklin. and his opinion of the two sank a full hundred points. such grammar proclaimed a ruffian. "you don't get his drift," ronicky was explaining to his companion. "i introduced us, but he doesn't know who i am. we should have brought along a letter of introduction." he turned to macklin. "i am mighty sorry i didn't get one," he said. it came to macklin for the fraction of a second that he was being mocked, but he instantly dismissed the foolish thought. even the rough fellows must be able to recognize a man when they saw one. "the point is," went on ronicky gently, "that my friend is very eager for important reasons to see this lady, to find her. and he doesn't even know her name." here his careful grammar gave out with a crash. "you can't beat a deal like that, eh, macklin? if you can remember anything about her, her name first, then, where she was bound, who was with her, how tall she is, the color of her eyes, we'd be glad to know anything you know. what can you do for us?" macklin cleared his throat thoughtfully. "gentlemen," he said gravely, "if i knew the purpose for which you are seeking the lady i--" "the purpose ain't to kidnap her, if that's your drift," said ronicky. "we ain't going to treat her wrong, partner. out in our part of the land they don't do it. just shake up your thoughts and see if something about that girl doesn't pop right into your head." robert macklin smiled and carefully shook his head. "it seems to be impossible for me to remember a thing," he asserted. "not even the color of her eyes?" asked ronicky, as he grinned. he went on more gravely: "i'm pretty dead sure that you do remember something about her." there was just the shade of a threat in the voice of this slender youngster, and robert macklin had been an amateur pugilist of much brawn and a good deal of boxing skill. he cast a wary eye on ronicky; one punch would settle that fellow. the man gregg might be a harder nut to crack, but it would not take long to finish them both. robert macklin thrust his shoulders forward. "friends," he said gruffly, "i don't have much time off. this is my day for rest. i have to say good-by." ronicky doone stood up with a yawn. "i thought so," he said to his companion. "mind the door, gregg, and see that nobody steps in and busts up my little party." "what are you going to do?" "going to argue with this gent in a way he'll understand a pile better than the chatter we've been making so far." he stepped a long light pace forward. "macklin, you know what we want to find out. will you talk?" a cloud of red gathered before the eyes of macklin. it was impossible that he must believe his ears, and yet the words still rang there. "why, curse your little rat-face!" burst out robert macklin, and, stepping in, he leaned forward with a perfect straight left. certainly his long vacation from boxing had not ruined his eye or stiffened his muscles. with delight he felt all the big sinews about his shoulders come into play. straight and true the big fist drove into the face of the smaller man, but robert macklin found that he had punched a hole in thin air. it was as if the very wind of the blow had brushed the head of ronicky doone to one side, and at the same time he seemed to sway and stagger forward. a hard lean fist struck robert macklin's body. as he gasped and doubled up, clubbing his right fist to land the blow behind the ear of ronicky doone, the latter bent back, stepped in and, rising on the toes of both feet, whipped a perfect uppercut that, in ring parlance, rang the bell. the result was that robert macklin, his mouth agape and his eyes dull, stood wobbling slowly from side to side. "here!" called ronicky to his companion at the door. "grab him on one side, and i'll take the other. he's out on his feet. get him to that chair." with gregg's assistance he dragged the bulk of the man there. macklin was still stunned. presently the dull eyes cleared and filled immediately with horror. big robert macklin sank limply back in the chair. "i've no money," he said. "i swear i haven't a cent in the place. it's in the bank, but if a check will--" "we don't want your money this trip," said ronicky. "we want talk, macklin. a lot of talk and a lot of true talk. understand? it's about that girl. i saw you grin when you saw the picture; you remember her well enough. now start talking, and remember this, if you lie, i'll come back here and find out and use this on you." the eyes of robert macklin started from his head, as his gaze concentrated on the black muzzle of the gun. he moistened his white lips and managed to gasp: "everything i know, of course. ill tell you everything, word for word. she--she--her name i mean--" "you're doing fine," said ronicky. "keep it up, and you keep away, bill. when you come at him with that hungry look he thinks you're going to eat him up. fire away, macklin." "what first?" "what's she look like?" "soft brown hair, blue eyes, her mouth--" "is a little big. that's all right. you don't have to be polite and lie. we want the truth. how big is she?" "about five feet and five inches, must weigh around a hundred and thirty pounds." "you sure are an expert on the ladies, macklin, and i'll bet you didn't miss her name?" "her name?" "don't tell me you missed out on that!" "no. it was--just a minute!" "take your time." "caroline." "take your time now, macklin, you're doing fine. don't get confused. get the last name right. it's the most important to us." "i have it, i'm sure. the whole name is caroline smith." there was a groan from ronicky doone and another from bill gregg. "that's a fine name to use for trailing a person. did she say anything more, anything about where she expected to be living in new york?" "i don't remember any more," said macklin sullenly, for the spot where ronicky's fist landed on his jaw was beginning to ache. "i didn't sit down and have any chats with her. she just spoke to me once in a while when i did something for her. i suppose you fellows have some crooked work on hand for her?" "we're bringing her good news," said ronicky calmly. "now see if you can't remember where she said she lived in new york." and he gave added point to his question by pressing the muzzle of the revolver a little closer to the throat of the pullman conductor. the latter blinked and swallowed hard. "the only thing i remember her saying was that she could see the east river from her window, i think." "and that's all you know?" "yes, not a thing more about her to save my life." "maybe what you know has saved it," said ronicky darkly. his victim eyed him with sullen malevolence. "maybe there'll be a new trick or two in this game before it's finished. i'll never forget you, doone, and you, gregg." "you haven't a thing in the world on us," replied ronicky. "i have the fact that you carry concealed weapons." "only this time." "always! fellows like you are as lonesome without a gun as they are without a skin." ronicky turned at the door and laughed back at the gloomy face, and then they were gone down the steps and into the street. chapter six _the new york trail_ on the train to new york that night they carefully summed up their prospects and what they had gained. "we started at pretty near nothing," said ronicky. he was a professional optimist. "we had a picture of a girl, and we knew she was on a certain train bound east, three or four weeks ago. that's all we knew. now we know her name is caroline smith, and that she lives where she can see the east river out of her back window. i guess that narrows it down pretty close, doesn't it, bill?" "close?" asked bill. "close, did you say?" "well, we know the trail," said ronicky cheerily. "all we've got to do is to locate the shack that stands beside that trail. for old mountain men like us that ought to be nothing. what sort of a stream is this east river, though?" bill gregg looked at his companion in disgust. he had become so used to regarding doone as entirely infallible that it amazed and disheartened him to find that there was one topic so large about which ronicky knew nothing. perhaps the whole base for the good cheer of ronicky was his ignorance of everything except the mountain desert. "a river's a river," went on ronicky blandly. "and it's got a town beside it, and in the town there's a house that looks over the water. why, bill, she's as good as found!" "new york runs about a dozen miles along the shore of that river," groaned bill gregg. "a dozen miles!" gasped ronicky. he turned in his seat and stared at his companion. "bill, you sure are making a man-sized joke. there ain't that much city in the world. a dozen miles of houses, one right next to the other?" "yep, and one on top of the other. and that ain't all. start about the center of that town and swing a twenty-mile line around it, and the end of the line will be passing through houses most of the way." ronicky doone glared at him in positive alarm. "well," he said, "that's different." "it sure is. i guess we've come on a wild-goose chase, ronicky, hunting for a girl named smith that lives on the bank of the east river!" he laughed bitterly. "how come you know so much about new york?" asked ronicky, eager to turn the subject of conversation until he could think of something to cheer his friend. "books," said bill gregg. after that there was a long lull in the conversation. that night neither of them slept long, for every rattle and sway of the train was telling them that they were rocking along toward an impossible task. even the cheer of ronicky had broken down the next morning, and, though breakfast in the diner restored some of his confidence, he was not the man of the day before. "bill," he confided, on the way back to their seats from the diner, "there must be something wrong with me. what is it?" "i dunno," said bill. "why?" "people been looking at me." "ain't they got a right to do that?" "sure they have, in a way. but, when they don't seem to see you when you see them, and when they begin looking at you out of the corner of their eyes the minute you turn away, why then it seems to me that they're laughing at you, bill." "what they got to laugh about? i'd punch a gent in the face that laughed at me!" but ronicky fell into a philosophical brooding. "it can't be done, bill. you can punch a gent for cussing you, or stepping on your foot, or crowding you, or sneering at you, or talking behind your back, or for a thousand things. but back here in a crowd you can't fight a gent for laughing at you. laughing is outside the law most anywheres, bill. it's the one thing you can't answer back except with more laughing. even a dog gets sort of sick inside when you laugh at him, and a man is a pile worse. he wants to kill the gent that's laughing, and he wants to kill himself for being laughed at. well, bill, that's a good deal stronger than the way they been laughing at me, but they done enough to make me think a bit. they been looking at three things--these here spats, the red rim of my handkerchief sticking out of my pocket, and that soft gray hat, when i got it on." "derned if i see anything wrong with your outfit. didn't they tell you that that was the style back east, to have spats like that on?" "sure," said ronicky, "but maybe they didn't know, or maybe they go with some, but not with me. maybe i'm kind of too brown and outdoors looking to fit with spats and handkerchiefs like this." "ronicky," said bill gregg in admiration, "maybe you ain't read a pile, but you figure things out just like a book." their conversation was cut short by the appearance of a drift of houses, and then more and more. from the elevated line on which they ran presently they could look down on block after block of roofs packed close together, or big business structures, as they reached the uptown business sections, and finally ronicky gasped, as they plunged into utter darkness that roared past the window. "we go underground to the station," bill gregg explained. he was a little startled himself, but his reading had fortified him to a certain extent. "but is there still some more of new york?" asked ronicky humbly. "more? we ain't seen a corner of it!" bill's superior information made him swell like a frog in the sun. "this is kinder near one hundredth street where we dived down. new york keeps right on to first street, and then it has a lot more streets below that. but that's just the island of manhattan. all around there's a lot more. manhattan is mostly where they work. they live other places." it was not very long before the train slowed down to make grand central station. on the long platform ronicky surrendered his suit case to the first porter. bill gregg was much alarmed. "what'd you do that for?" he asked, securing a stronger hold on his own valise and brushing aside two or three red caps. "he asked me for it," explained ronicky. "i wasn't none too set on giving it to him to carry, but i hated to hurt his feelings. besides, they're all done up in uniforms. maybe this is their job." "but suppose that feller got away out of sight, what would you do? your brand-new pair of colts is lying away in it!" "he won't get out of sight none," ronicky assured his friend grimly. "i got another colt with me, and, no matter how fast he runs, a forty-five slug can run a pile faster. but come on, bill. the word in this town seems to be to keep right on moving." they passed under an immense, brightly lighted vault and then wriggled through the crowds in pursuit of the astonishingly agile porter. so they came out of the big station to forty-second street, where they found themselves confronted by a taxi driver and the question: "where?" "i dunno," said ronicky to bill. "your reading tell you anything about the hotels in this here town?" "not a thing," said bill, "because i never figured that i'd be fool enough to come this far away from my home diggings. but here i am, and we don't know nothing." "listen, partner," said ronicky to the driver. "where's a fair-to-medium place to stop at?" the taxi driver swallowed a smile that left a twinkle about his eyes which nothing could remove. "what kind of a place? anywhere from fifty cents to fifty bucks a night." "fifty dollars!" exclaimed bill gregg. "can you lay over that, ronicky? our wad won't last a week." "say, pal," said the taxi driver, becoming suddenly friendly, "i can fix you up. i know a neat little joint where you'll be as snug as you want. they'll stick you about one-fifty per, but you can't beat that price in this town and keep clean." "take us there," said bill gregg, and they climbed into the machine. the taxi turned around, shot down park avenue, darted aside into the darker streets to the east of the district and came suddenly to a halt. "did you foller that trail?" asked bill gregg in a chuckling whisper. "sure! twice to the left, then to the right, and then to the left again. i know the number of blocks, too. ain't no reason for getting rattled just because a joint is strange to us. new york may be tolerable big, but it's got men in it just like we are, and maybe a lot worse kinds." as they got out of the little car they saw that the taxi driver had preceded them, carrying their suit cases. they followed up a steep pitch of stairs to the first floor of the hotel, where the landing had been widened to form a little office. "hello, bert," said their driver. "i picked up these gentlemen at grand central. they ain't wise to the town, so i put 'em next to you. fix 'em up here?" "sure," said bert, lifting a huge bulk of manhood from behind the desk. he placed his fat hands on the top of it and observed his guests with a smile. "ill make you right to home here, friends. thank you, joe!" joe grinned, nodded and, receiving his money from bill gregg, departed down the stairs, humming. their host, in the meantime, had picked up their suit cases and led the way down a hall dimly lighted by two flickering gas jets. finally he reached a door and led them into a room where the gas had to be lighted. it showed them a cheerless apartment in spite of the red of wall paper and carpet. "only three bucks," said the proprietor with the air of one bestowing charity out of the fullness of his heart. "bathroom only two doors down. i guess you can't beat this layout, gents?" bill gregg glanced once about him and nodded. "you come up from the south, maybe?" asked the proprietor, lingering at the door. "west," said bill gregg curtly. "you don't say! then you boys must be used to your toddy at night, eh?" "it's a tolerable dry country out there," said ronicky without enthusiasm. "all the more reason you need some liquor to moisten it up. wait till i get you a bottle of rye i got handy." and he disappeared in spite of their protests. "i ain't a drinking man," said gregg, "and i know you ain't, but it's sure insulting to turn down a drink in these days!" ronicky nodded, and presently the host returned with two glasses, rattling against a tall bottle on a tray. "say, when," he said, filling the glasses and keeping on, in spite of their protests, until each glass was full. "i guess it looks pretty good to you to see the stuff again," he said, stepping back and rubbing his hands like one warmed by the consciousness of a good deed. "it ain't very plentiful around here." "well," said gregg, swinging up his glass, "here's in your eye, ronicky, and here's to you, sir!" "wait," replied ronicky doone. "hold on a minute, bill. looks to me like you ain't drinking," he said to the proprietor. the fat man waved the suggestion aside. "never touch it," he assured them. "used to indulge a little in light wines and beers when the country was wet, but when it went dry the stuff didn't mean enough to me to make it worth while dodging the law. i just manage to keep a little of it around for old friends and men out of a dry country." "but we got a funny habit out in our country. we can't no ways drink unless the gent that's setting them out takes something himself. it ain't done that way in our part of the land," said ronicky. "it ain't?" "never!" "come, come! that's a good joke. but, even if i can't be with you, boys, drink hearty." ronicky doone shook his head. "no joke at all," he said firmly. "matter of politeness that a lot of gents are terrible hard set on out where we come from." "why, ronicky," protested bill gregg, "ain't you making it a little strong? for my part i've drunk twenty times without having the gent that set 'em up touch a thing. i reckon i can do it again. here's how!" "wait!" declared ronicky doone. and there was a little jarring ring in his voice that arrested the hand of bill gregg in the very act of raising the glass. ronicky crossed the room quickly, took a glass from the washstand and, returning to the center table, poured a liberal drink of the whisky into it. "i dunno about my friend," he went on, almost sternly, to the bewildered hotel keeper. "i dunno about him, but some gents feel so strong about not drinking alone that they'd sooner fight. well, sir, i'm one of that kind. so i say, there's your liquor. get rid of it!" the fat man reached the center table and propped himself against it, gasping. his whole big body seemed to be wilting, as though in a terrific heat. "i dunno!" he murmured. "i dunno what's got into you fellers. i tell you, i never drink." "you lie, you fat fool!" retorted ronicky. "didn't i smell your breath?" bill gregg dropped his own glass on the table and hurriedly came to confront his host by the side of ronicky. "breath?" asked the fat man hurriedly, still gasping more and more heavily for air. "i--i may have taken a small tonic after dinner. in fact, think i did. that's all. nothing more, i assure you. i--i have to be a sober man in my work." "you got to make an exception this evening," said ronicky, more fiercely than ever. "i ought to make you drink all three drinks for being so slow about drinking one!" "three drinks!" exclaimed the fat man, trembling violently. "it--it would kill me!" "i think it would," said ronicky. "i swear i think it would. and maybe even one will be a sort of a shock, eh?" he commanded suddenly: "drink! drink that glass and clean out the last drop of it, or we'll tie you and pry your mouth open and pour the whole bottle down your throat. you understand?" a feeble moan came from the throat of the hotel keeper. he cast one frantic glance toward the door and a still more frantic appeal centered on ronicky doone, but the face of the latter was as cold as stone. "then take your own glasses, boys," he said, striving to smile, as he picked up his own drink. "you drink first, and you drink alone," declared ronicky. "now!" the movement of his hand was as ominous as if he had whipped out a revolver. the fat man tossed off the glass of whisky and then stood with a pudgy hand pressed against his breast and the upward glance of one who awaits a calamity. under the astonished eyes of bill gregg he turned pale, a sickly greenish pallor. his eyes rolled, and his hand on the table shook, and the arm that supported him sagged. "open the window," he said. "the air--there ain't no air. i'm choking--and--" "get him some water," cried bill gregg, "while i open the window." "stay where you are, bill." "but he looks like he's dying!" "then he's killed himself." "gents," began the fat man feebly and made a short step toward them. the step was uncompleted. in the middle of it he wavered, put out his arms and slumped upon his side on the floor. bill gregg cried out softly in astonishment and horror, but ronicky doone knelt calmly beside the fallen bulk and felt the beating of his heart. "he ain't dead," he said quietly, "but he'll be tolerably sick for a while. now come along with me." "but what's all this mean?" asked bill gregg in a whisper, as he picked up his suit case and hurried after ronicky. "doped booze," said ronicky curtly. they hurried down the stairs and came out onto the dark street. there ronicky doone dropped his suit case and dived into a dark nook beside the entrance. there was a brief struggle. he came out again, pushing a skulking figure before him, with the man's arm twisted behind his back. "take off this gent's hat, will you?" asked ronicky. bill gregg obeyed, too dumb with astonishment to think. "it's the taxi driver!" he exclaimed. "i thought so!" muttered ronicky. "the skunk came back here to wait till we were fixed right now. what'll we do with him?" "i begin to see what's come off" said bill gregg, frowning into the white, scowling face of the taxi driver. the man was like a rat, but, in spite of his fear, he did not make a sound. "over there!" said bill gregg, nodding toward a flight of cellar steps. they caught the man between them, rushed him to the steps and flung him headlong down. there was a crashing fall, groans and then silence. "he'll have a broken bone or two, maybe," said ronicky, peering calmly into the darkness, "but he'll live to trap somebody else, curse him!" and, picking up their suit cases again, they started to retrace their steps. chapter seven _the first clue_ they did not refer to the incidents of that odd reception in new york until they had located a small hotel for themselves, not three blocks away. it was no cheaper, but they found a pleasant room, clean and with electric lights. it was not until they had bathed and were propped up in their beds for a good-night smoke, which cow-punchers love, that bill gregg asked: "and what gave you the tip, ronicky?" "i dunno. in my business you got to learn to watch faces, bill. suppose you sit in at a five-handed game of poker. one gent says everything with his face, while he's picking up his cards. another gent don't say a thing, but he shows what he's got by the way he moves in his chair, or the way he opens and shuts his hands. when you said something about our wad i seen the taxi driver blink. right after that he got terrible friendly and said he could steer us to a friend of his that could put us up for the night pretty comfortable. well, it wasn't hard to put two and two together. not that i figured anything out. just was walking on my toes, ready to jump in any direction." as for bill gregg, he brooded for a time on what he had heard, then he shook his head and sighed. "i'd be a mighty helpless kid in this here town if i didn't have you along, ronicky," he said. "nope," insisted ronicky. "long as you use another gent for a sort of guide you feel kind of helpless. but, when you step off for yourself, everything is pretty easy. you just were waiting for me to take the lead, or you'd have done just as much by yourself." again bill gregg sighed, as he shook his head. "if this is what new york is like," he said, "we're in for a pretty bad time. and this is what they call a civilized town? great guns, they need martial law and a thousand policemen to the block to keep a gent's life and pocketbook safe in this town! first gent we meet tries to bump us off or get our wad. don't look like we're going to have much luck, ronicky." "we saved our hides, i guess." "that's about all." "and we learned something." "sure." "then i figure it was a pretty good night. "another thing, bill. i got an idea from that taxi gent. i figure that whole gang of taxi men are pretty sharp in the eye. what i mean is that we can tramp up and down along this here east river, and now and then we'll talk to some taxi men that do most of their work from stands in them parts of the town. maybe we can get on her trail that way. anyways, it's an opening." "maybe," said bill gregg dubiously. he reached under his pillow. "but i'm sure going to sleep with a gun under my head in this town!" with this remark he settled himself for repose and presently was snoring loudly. ronicky presented a brave face to the morning and at once started with bill gregg to tour along the east river. that first day ronicky insisted that they simply walk over the whole ground, so as to become fairly familiar with the scale of their task. they managed to make the trip before night and returned to the hotel, footsore from the hard, hot pavements. there was something unkindly and ungenerous in those pavements, it seemed to ronicky. he was discovering to his great amazement that the loneliness of the mountain desert is nothing at all compared to the loneliness of the manhattan crowd. two very gloomy and silent cow-punchers ate their dinner that night and went to bed early. but in the morning they began the actual work of their campaign. it was an arduous labor. it meant interviewing in every district one or two storekeepers, and asking the mail carriers for "caroline smith," and showing the picture to taxi drivers. these latter were the men, insisted ronicky, who would eventually bring them to caroline smith. "because, if they've ever drove a girl as pretty as that, they'll remember for quite a while." "but half of these gents ain't going to talk to us, even if they know," bill gregg protested, after he had been gruffly refused an answer a dozen times in the first morning. "some of 'em won't talk," admitted ronicky, "but that's probably because they don't know. take 'em by and large, most gents like to tell everything they know, and then some!" as a matter of fact they met with rather more help than they wanted. in spite of all their efforts to appear casual there was something too romantic in this search for a girl to remain entirely unnoticed. people whom they asked became excited and offered them a thousand suggestions. everybody, it seemed, had, somewhere, somehow, heard of a caroline smith living in his own block, and every one remembered dimly having passed a girl on the street who looked exactly like caroline smith. but they went resolutely on, running down a thousand false clues and finding at the end of each something more ludicrous than what had gone before. maiden ladies with many teeth and big glasses they found; and they discovered, at the ends of the trails on which they were advised to go, young women and old, ugly girls and pretty ones, but never any one who in the slightest degree resembled caroline smith. in the meantime they were working back and forth, in their progress along the east river, from the slums to the better residence districts. they bought newspapers at little stationery stores and worked up chance conversations with the clerks, particularly girl clerks, whenever they could find them. "because women have the eye for faces," ronicky would say, "and, if a girl like caroline smith came into the shop, she'd be remembered for a while." but for ten days they labored without a ghost of a success. then they noticed the taxi stands along the east side and worked them as carefully as they could, and it was on the evening of the eleventh day of the search that they reached the first clue. they had found a taxi drawn up before a saloon, converted into an eating place, and when they went inside they found the driver alone in the restaurant. they worked up the conversation, as they had done a hundred times before. gregg produced the picture and began showing it to ronicky. "maybe the lady's around here," said ronicky, "but i'm new in this part of town." he took the picture and turned to the taxi driver. "maybe you've been around this part of town and know the folks here. ever see this girl around?" and he passed the picture to the other. the taxi driver bowed his head over it in a close scrutiny. when he looked up his face was a blank. "i don't know. lemme see. i think i seen a girl like her the other day, waiting for the traffic to pass at seventy-second and broadway. yep, she sure was a ringer for this picture." he passed the picture back, and a moment later he finished his meal, paid his check and went sauntering through the door. "quick!" said ronicky, the moment the chauffeur had disappeared. "pay the check and come along. that fellow knows something." bill gregg, greatly excited, obeyed, and they hurried to the door of the place. they were in time to see the taxicab lurch away from the curb and go humming down the street, while the driver leaned out to the side and looked back. "he didn't see us," said ronicky confidently. "but what did he leave for?" "he's gone to tell somebody, somewhere, that we're looking for caroline smith. come on!" he stepped out to the curb and stopped a passing taxi. "follow that machine and keep a block away from it," he ordered. "bootlegger?" asked the taxi driver cheerily. "i don't know, but just drift along behind him till he stops. can you do that?" "watch me!" and, with ronicky and bill gregg installed in his machine, he started smoothly on the trail. straight down the cross street, under the roaring elevated tracks of second and third avenues, they passed, and on first avenue they turned and darted sharply south for a round dozen blocks, then went due east and came, to a halt after a brief run. "he's stopped in beekman place," said the driver, jerking open the door. "if i run in there he'll see me." ronicky stepped from the machine, paid him and dismissed him with a word of praise for his fine trailing. then he stepped around the corner. what he saw was a little street closed at both ends and only two or three blocks long. it had the serene, detached air of a village a thousand miles from any great city, with its grave rows of homely houses standing solemnly face to face. well to the left, the fifty-ninth street bridge swung its great arch across the river, and it led, ronicky knew, to long island city beyond, but here everything was cupped in the village quiet. the machine which they had been pursuing was drawn up on the right-hand side of the street, looking south, and, even as ronicky glanced around the corner, he saw the driver leave his seat, dart up a flight of steps and ring the bell. ronicky could not see who opened the door, but, after a moment of talk, the chauffeur from the car they had pursued was allowed to enter. and, as he stepped across the threshold, he drew off his cap with a touch of reverence which seemed totally out of keeping with his character as ronicky had seen it. "bill," he said to gregg, "we've got something. you seen him go up those steps to that house?" "sure." bill gregg's eyes were flashing with the excitement. "that house has somebody in it who knows caroline smith, and that somebody is excited because we're hunting for her," said bill. "maybe it holds caroline herself. who can tell that? let's go see." "wait till that taxi driver goes. if he'd wanted us to know about caroline he'd of told us. he doesn't want us to know and he'd maybe take it pretty much to heart if he knew we'd followed him." "what he thinks don't worry me none. i can tend to three like him." "maybe, but you couldn't handle thirty, and coyotes like him hunt in packs, always. the best fighting pair of coyotes that ever stepped wouldn't have no chance against a lofer wolf, but no lofer wolf could stand off a dozen or so of the little devils. so keep clear of these little rat-faced gents, bill. they hunt in crowds." presently they saw the chauffeur coming down the steps. even at that distance it could be seen that he was smiling broadly, and that he was intensely pleased with himself and the rest of the world. starting up his machine, he swung it around dexterously, as only new york taxi drivers can, and sped down the street by the way he had come, passing gregg and ronicky, who had flattened themselves against the fence to keep from being seen. they observed that, while he controlled the car with one hand, with the other he was examining the contents of his wallet. "money for him!" exclaimed ronicky, as soon as the car was out of sight around the corner. "this begins to look pretty thick, bill. because he goes and tells them that he's taken us off the trail they not only thank him, but they pay him for it. and, by the face of him, as he went by, they pay him pretty high. bill, it's easy to figure that they don't want any friend near caroline smith, and most like they don't even want us near that house." "i only want to go near once," said bill gregg. "i just want to find out if the girl is there." "go break in on 'em?" "break in! ronicky, that's burglary!" "sure it is." "ill just ask for caroline smith at the door." "try it." the irony made bill gregg stop in the very act of leaving and glance back. but he went on again resolutely and stamped up the steps to the front door of the house. it was opened to him almost at once by a woman, for bill's hat come off. for a moment he was explaining. then there was a pause in his gestures, as she made the reply. finally he spoke again, but was cut short by the loud banging of the door. bill gregg drew himself up rigidly and slowly replaced the hat on his head. if a man had turned that trick on him, a . -caliber slug would have gone crashing through the door in search of him to teach him a westerner's opinion of such manners. ronicky doone could not help smiling to himself, as he saw bill gregg stump stiffly down the stairs, limping a little on his wounded leg, and come back with a grave dignity to the starting point. he was still crimson to the roots of his hair. "let's start," he said. "if that happens again i'll be doing a couple of murders in this here little town and getting myself hung." "what happened?" "an old hag jerked open the door after i rang the bell. i asked her nice and polite if a lady named caroline smith was in the house? 'no,' says she, 'and if she was, what's that to you?' i told her i'd come a long ways to see caroline. 'then go a long ways back without seeing caroline,' says this withered old witch, and she banged the door right in my face. man, i'm still seeing red. them words of the old woman were whips, and every one of them sure took off the hide. i used to think that old lady moore in martindale was a pretty nasty talker, but this one laid over her a mile. but we're beat, ronicky. you couldn't get by that old woman with a thousand men." "maybe not," said ronicky doone, "but we're going to try. did you look across the street and see a sign a while ago?" "which side?" "side right opposite caroline's house." "sure. 'room to rent.'" "i thought so. then that's our room." "eh?" "that's our room, partner, and right at the front window over the street one of us is going to keep watch day and night, till we make sure that caroline smith don't live in that house. is that right?" "that's a great idea!" he started away from the fence. "wait!" ronicky caught him by the shoulder and held him back. "we'll wait till night and then go and get that room. if caroline is in the house yonder, and they know we're looking for her, it's easy that she won't be allowed to come out the front of the house so long as we're perched up at the window, waiting to see her. we'll come back tonight and start waiting." chapter eight _two apparitions_ they found that the room in the house on beekman place, opposite that which they felt covered their quarry, could be secured, and they were shown to it by a quiet old gentlewoman, found a big double room that ran across the whole length of the house. from the back it looked down on the lights glimmering on the black east river and across to the flare of brooklyn; to the left the whole arc of the fifty-ninth street bridge was exposed. in front the windows overlooked beekman place and were directly opposite, the front of the house to which the taxi driver had gone that afternoon. here they took up the vigil. for four hours one of the two sat with eyes never moving from the street and the windows of the house across the street; and then he left the post, and the other took it. it was vastly wearying work. very few vehicles came into the light of the street lamp beneath them, and every person who dismounted from one of them had to be scrutinized with painful diligence. once a girl, young and slender and sprightly, stepped out of a taxi, about ten o'clock at night, and ran lightly up the steps of the house. ronicky caught his friend by the shoulders and dragged him to the window. "there she is now!" he exclaimed. but the eye of the lover, even though the girl was in a dim light, could not he deceived. the moment he caught her profile, as she turned in opening the door, bill gregg shook his head. "that's not the one. she's all different, a pile different, ronicky." ronicky sighed. "i thought we had her," he said. "go on back to sleep. i'll call you again if anything happens." but nothing more happened that night, though even in the dull, ghost hours of the early morning they did not relax their vigil. but all the next day there was still no sign of caroline smith in the house across the street; no face like hers ever appeared at the windows. apparently the place was a harmless rooming house of fairly good quality. not a sign of caroline smith appeared even during the second day. by this time the nerves of the two watchers were shattered by the constant strain, and the monotonous view from the front window was beginning to madden them. "it's proof that she ain't yonder," said bill gregg. "here's two days gone, and not a sign of her yet. it sure means that she ain't in that house, unless she's sick in bed." and he grew pale at the thought. "partner," said ronicky doone, "if they are trying to keep her away from us they sure have the sense to keep her under cover for as long as two days. ain't that right? it looks pretty bad for us, but i'm staying here for one solid week, anyway. it's just about our last chance, bill. we've done our hunting pretty near as well as we could. if we don't land her this trip, i'm about ready to give up." bill gregg sadly agreed that this was their last chance and they must play it to the limit. one week was decided on as a fair test. if, at the end of that time, caroline smith did not come out of the house across the street they could conclude that she did not stay there. and then there would be nothing for it but to take the first train back west. the third day passed and the fourth, dreary, dreary days of unfaltering vigilance on the part of the two watchers. and on the fifth morning even ronicky doone sat with his head in his hands at the window, peering through the slit between the drawn curtains which sheltered him from being observed at his spying. when he called out softly, the sound brought gregg, with one long leap out of the chair where he was sleeping, to the window. there could be no shadow of a doubt about it. there stood caroline smith in the door of the house! she closed the door behind her and, walking to the top of the steps, paused there and looked up and down the street. bill gregg groaned, snatched his hat and plunged through the door, and ronicky heard the brief thunder of his feet down the first flight of stairs, then the heavy thumps, as he raced around the landing. he was able to trace him down all the three flights of steps to the bottom. and so swift was that descent that, when the girl, idling down the steps across the street, came onto the sidewalk, bill gregg rushed out from the other side and ran toward her. they made a strange picture as they came to a halt at the same instant, the girl shrinking back in apparent fear of the man, and bill gregg stopping by that same show of fear, as though by a blow in the face. there was such a contrast between the two figures that ronicky doone might have laughed, had he not been shaking his head with sympathy for bill gregg. for never had the miner seemed so clumsily big and gaunt, never had his clothes seemed so unpressed and shapeless, while his soft gray hat, to which he still clung religiously, appeared hopelessly out of place in contrast with the slim prettiness of the girl. she wore a black straw hat, turned back from her face, with a single big red flower at the side of it; her dress was a tailored gray tweed. the same distinction between their clothes was in their faces, the finely modeled prettiness of her features and the big, careless chiseling of the features of bill gregg. ronicky doone did not wonder that, after her first fear, her gesture was one of disdain and surprise. bill gregg had dragged the hat from his head, and the wind lifted his long black hair and made it wild. he went a long, slow step closer to her, with both his hands outstretched. a strange scene for a street, and ronicky doone saw the girl flash a glance over her shoulder and back to the house from which she had just come. ronicky doone followed that glance, and he saw, all hidden save the profile of the face, a man standing at an opposite window and smiling scornfully down at that picture in the street. what a face it was! never in his life had ronicky doone seen a man who, in one instant, filled him with such fear and hatred, such loathing and such dread, such scorn and such terror. the nose was hooked like the nose of a bird of prey; the eyes were long and slanting like those of an oriental. the face was thin, almost fleshless, so that the bony jaw stood out like the jaw of a death's-head. as for the girl, the sight of that onlooker seemed to fill her with a new terror. she shrank back from bill gregg until her shoulders were almost pressed against the wall of the house. and ronicky saw her head shake, as she denied bill the right of advancing farther. still he pleaded, and still she ordered him away. finally bill gregg drew himself up and bowed to her and turned on his heel. the girl hesitated a moment. it seemed to ronicky, in spite of the fact that she had just driven bill gregg away, as if she were on the verge of following him to bring him back. for she made a slight outward gesture with one hand. if this were in her mind, however, it vanished instantly. she turned with a shudder and hurried away down the street. as for bill gregg he bore himself straight as a soldier and came back across the pavement, but it was the erectness of a soldier who has met with a crushing defeat and only preserves an outward resolution, while all the spirit within is crushed. ronicky doone turned gloomily away from the window and listened to the progress of gregg up the stairs. what a contrast between the ascent and the descent! he had literally flown down. now his heels clumped out a slow and regular death march, as he came back to the room. when gregg opened the door ronicky doone blinked and drew in a deep breath at the sight of the poor fellow's face. gregg had known before that he truly loved this girl whom he had never seen, but he had never dreamed what the strength of that love was. now, in the very moment of seeing his dream of the girl turned into flesh and blood, he had lost her, and there was something like death in the face of the big miner as he dropped his hat on the floor and sank into a chair. after that he did not move so much as a finger from the position into which he had fallen limply. his legs were twisted awkwardly, sprawling across the floor in front of him; one long arm dragged down toward the floor, as if there was no strength in it to support the weight of the labor-hardened hands; his chin was fallen against his breast. when ronicky doone crossed to him and laid a kind hand on his shoulder he did not look up. "it's ended," said bill gregg faintly. "now we hit the back trail and forget all about this." he added with a faint attempt at cynicism: "i've just wasted a pile of good money-making time from the mine, that's all." "h'm!" said ronicky doone. "bill, look me in the eye and tell me, man to man, that you're a liar!" he added: "can you ever be happy without her, man?" the cruelty of that speech made gregg flush and look up sharply. this was exactly what ronicky doone wanted. "i guess they ain't any use talking about that part of it," said gregg huskily. "ain't there? that's where you and me don't agree! why, bill, look at the way things have gone! you start out with a photograph of a girl. now you've followed her, found her name, tracked her clear across the continent and know her street address, and you've given her a chance to see your own face. ain't that something done? after you've done all that are you going to give up now? not you, bill! you're going to buck up and go ahead full steam. eh?" bill gregg smiled sourly. "d'you know what she said when i come rushing up and saying: 'i'm bill gregg!' d'you know what she said?" "well?" "'bill gregg?' she says. 'i don't remember any such name!' "that took the wind out of me. i only had enough left to say: 'the gent that was writing those papers to the correspondence school to you from the west, the one you sent your picture to and--' "'sent my picture to!' she says and looks as if the ground had opened under her feet. 'you're mad!' she says. and then she looks back over her shoulder as much as to wish she was safe back in her house!" "d'you know why she looked back over her shoulder?" "just for the reason i told you." "no, bill. there was a gent standing up there at a window watching her and how she acted. he's the gent that kept her from writing to you and signing her name. he's the one who's kept her in that house. he's the one that knew we were here watching all the time, that sent out the girl with exact orders how she should act if you was to come out and speak to her when you seen her! bill, what that girl told you didn't come out of her own head. it come out of the head of the gent across the way. when you turned your back on her she looked like she'd run after you and try to explain. but the fear of that fellow up in the window was too much for her, and she didn't dare. bill, to get at the girl you got to get that gent i seen grinning from the window." "grinning?" asked bill gregg, grinding his teeth and starting from his chair. "was the skunk laughing at me?" "sure! every minute." bill gregg groaned. "i'll smash every bone in his ugly head." "shake!" said ronicky doone. "that's the sort of talk i wanted to hear, and i'll help, bill. unless i'm away wrong, it'll take the best that you and me can do, working together, to put that gent down!" chapter nine _a bold venture_ but how to reach that man of the smile and the sneer, how, above all, to make sure that he was really the power controlling caroline smith, were problems which could not be solved in a moment. bill gregg contributed one helpful idea. "we've waited a week to see her; now that we've seen her let's keep on waiting," he said, and ronicky agreed. they resumed the vigil, but it had already been prolonged for such a length of time that it was impossible to keep it as strictly as it had been observed before. bill gregg, outworn by the strain of the long watching and the shock of the disappointment of that day, went completely to pieces and in the early evening fell asleep. but ronicky doone went out for a light dinner and came back after dark, refreshed and eager for action, only to find that bill gregg was incapable of being roused. he slept like a dead man. ronicky went to the window and sat alone. few of the roomers were home in the house opposite. they were out for the evening, or for dinner, at least, and the face of the building was dark and cold, the light from the street lamp glinting unevenly on the windowpanes. he had sat there staring at the old house so many hours in the past that it was beginning to be like a face to him, to be studied as one might study a human being. and the people it sheltered, the old hag who kept the door, the sneering man and caroline smith, were to the house like the thoughts behind a man's face, an inscrutable face. but, if one cannot pry behind the mask of the human, at least it is possible to enter a house and find-- at this point in his thoughts ronicky doone rose with a quickening pulse. suppose he, alone, entered that house tonight by stealth, like a burglar, and found what he could find? he brushed the idea away. instantly it returned to him. the danger of the thing, and danger there certainly would be in the vicinity of him of the sardonic profile, appealed to him more and more keenly. moreover, he must go alone. the heavy-footed gregg would be a poor helpmate on such an errand of stealth. ronicky turned away from the window, turned back to it and looked once more at the tall front of the building opposite; then he started to get ready for the expedition. the preparations were simple. he put on a pair of low shoes, very light and with rubber heels. in them he could move with the softness and the speed of a cat. next he dressed in a dark-gray suit, knowing that this is the color hardest to see at night. his old felt hat he had discarded long before in favor of the prevailing style of the average new yorker. for this night expedition he put on a cap which drew easily over his ears and had a long visor, shadowing the upper part of his face. since it might be necessary to remain as invisible as possible, he obscured the last bit of white that showed in his costume, with a black neck scarf. then he looked in the glass. a lean face looked back at him, the eyes obscured under the cap, a stern, resolute face, with a distinct threat about it. he hardly recognized himself in the face in the glass. he went to his suit case and brought out his favorite revolver. it was a long and ponderous weapon to be hidden beneath his clothes, but to ronicky doone that gun was a friend well tried in many an adventure. his fingers went deftly over it. it literally fell to pieces at his touch, and he examined it cautiously and carefully in all its parts, looking to the cartridges before he assembled the weapon again. for, if it became necessary to shoot this evening, it would be necessary to shoot to kill. he then strolled down the street, passing the house opposite, with a close scrutiny. a narrow, paved sidewalk ran between it and the house on its right, and all the windows opening on this small court were dark. moreover, the house which was his quarry was set back several feet from the street, an indentation which would completely hide him from anyone who looked from the street. ronicky made up his mind at once. he went to the end of the block, crossed over and, turning back on the far side of the street, slipped into the opening between the houses. instantly he was in a dense darkness. for five stories above him the two buildings towered, shutting out the starlight. looking straight up he found only a faint reflection of the glow of the city lights in the sky. at last he found a cellar window. he tried it and found it locked, but a little maneuvering with his knife enabled him to turn the catch at the top of the lower sash. then he raised it slowly and leaned into the blackness. something incredibly soft, tenuous, clinging, pressed at once against his face. he started back with a shudder and brushed away the remnants of a big spider web. then he leaned in again. it was an intense blackness. the moment his head was in the opening the sense of listening, which is ever in a house, came to him. there were the strange, musty, underground odors which go with cellars and make men think of death. however, he must not stay here indefinitely. to be seen leaning in at this window was as bad as to be seen in the house itself. he slipped through the opening at once, and beneath his feet there was a soft crunching of coal. he had come directly into the bin. turning, he closed the window, for that would be a definite clue to any one who might pass down the alley. as he stood surrounded by that hostile silence, that evil darkness, he grew somewhat accustomed to the dimness, and he could make out not definite objects, but ghostly outlines. presently he took out the small electric torch which he carried and examined his surroundings. the bin had not yet received the supply of winter coal and was almost empty. he stepped out of it into a part of the basement which had been used apparently for storing articles not worth keeping, but too good to be thrown away--an american habit of thrift. several decrepit chairs and rickety cabinets and old console tables were piled together in a tangled mass. ronicky looked at them with an unaccountable shudder, as if he read in them the history of the ruin and fall and death of many an old inhabitant of this house. it seemed to his excited imagination that the man with the sneer had been the cause of all the destruction and would be the cause of more. he passed back through the basement quickly, eager to be out of the musty odors and his gloomy thoughts. he found the storerooms, reached the kitchen stairs and ascended at once. halfway up the stairs, the door above him suddenly opened and light poured down at him. he saw the flying figure of a cat, a broom behind it, a woman behind the broom. "whisht! out of here, dirty beast!" the cat thudded against ronicky's knee, screeched and disappeared below; the woman of the broom shaded her eyes and peered down the steps. "a queer cat!" she muttered, then slammed the door. it seemed certain to ronicky that she must have seen him, yet he knew that the blackness of the cellar had probably half blinded her. besides, he had drawn as far as possible to one side of the steps, and in this way she might easily have overlooked him. in the meantime it seemed that this way of entering the house was definitely blocked. he paused a moment to consider other plans, but, while he stayed there in thought, he heard the rattle of pans. it decided him to stay a while longer. apparently she was washing the cooking utensils, and that meant that she was near the close of her work for the evening. in fact, the rim of light, which showed between the door frame and the door, suddenly snapped out, and he heard her footsteps retreating. still he delayed a moment or two, for fear she might return to take something which she had forgotten. but the silence deepened above him, and voices were faintly audible toward the front of the house. that decided ronicky. he opened the door, blessing the well-oiled hinges which kept it from making any noise, and let a shaft from his pocket lantern flicker across the kitchen floor. the light glimmered on the newly scrubbed surface and showed him a door to his right, opening into the main part of the house. he passed through it at once and sighed with relief when his foot touched the carpet on the hall beyond. he noted, too, that there was no sign of a creak from the boards beneath his tread. however old that house might be, he was a noble carpenter who laid the flooring, ronicky thought, as he slipped through the semi-gloom. for there was a small hall light toward the front, and it gave him an uncertain illumination, even at the rear of the passage. now that he was definitely committed to the adventure he wondered more and more what he could possibly gain by it. but still he went on, and, in spite of the danger, it is doubtful if ronicky would have willingly changed places with any man in the world at that moment. at least there was not the slightest sense in remaining on the lower floor of the house. he slipped down the shadow of the main stairs, swiftly circled through the danger of the light of the lower hall lamp and started his ascent. still the carpet muffled every sound which he made in climbing, and the solid construction of the house did not betray him with a single creaking noise. he reached the first hall. this, beyond doubt, was where he would find the room of the man who sneered--the archenemy, as ronicky doone was beginning to think of him. a shiver passed through his lithe, muscular body at the thought of that meeting. he opened the first door to his left. it was a small closet for brooms and dust cloths and such things. determining to be methodical he went to the extreme end of the hall and tried that door. it was locked, but, while his hand was still on the knob, turning it in disappointment, a door, higher up in the house, opened and a hum of voices passed out to him. they grew louder, they turned to the staircase from the floor above and commenced to descend at a running pace. three or four men at least, there must be, by the sound, and perhaps more! ronicky started for the head of the stairs to make his retreat, but, just as he reached there, the party turned into the hall and confronted him. chapter ten _mistaken identity_ to flee down the stairs now would be rank folly. if there happened to be among these fellows a man of the type of him who sneered, a bullet would catch the fugitive long before he reached the bottom of the staircase. and, since he could not retreat, ronicky went slowly and steadily ahead, for, certainly, if he stood still, he would be spoken to. he would have to rely now on the very dim light in this hall and the shadow of his cap obscuring his face. if these were roomers, perhaps he would be taken for some newcomer. but he was hailed at once, and a hand was laid on his shoulder. "hello, pete. what's the dope?" ronicky shrugged the hand away and went on. "won't talk, curse him. that's because the plant went fluey." "maybe not; pete don't talk much, except to the old man." "lemme get at him," said a third voice. "beat it down to rooney's. i'm going up with pete and get what he knows." and, as ronicky turned onto the next flight of the stairway, he was overtaken by hurrying feet. the other two had already scurried down toward the front door of the house. "i got some stuff in my room, pete," said the friendly fellow who had overtaken him. "come up and have a jolt, and we can have a talk. 'lefty' and monahan think you went flop on the job, but i know better, eh? the old man always picks you for these singles; he never gives me a shot at 'em." then he added: "here we are!" and, opening a door in the first hall, he stepped to the center of the room and fumbled at a chain that broke loose and tinkled against glass; eventually he snapped on an electric light. ronicky doone saw a powerfully built, bull-necked man, with a soft hat pulled far down on his head. then the man turned. it was much against the grain for ronicky doone to attack a man by surprise, but necessity is a stern ruler. and the necessity which made him strike made him hit with the speed of a snapping whiplash and the weight of a sledge hammer. before the other was fully turned that iron-hard set of knuckles crashed against the base of his jaw. he fell without a murmur, without a struggle, ronicky catching him in his arms to break the weight of the fall. it was a complete knock-out. the dull eyes, which looked up from the floor, saw nothing. the square, rather brutal, face was relaxed as if in sleep, but here was the type of man who would recuperate with great speed. ronicky set about the obvious task which lay before him, as fast as he could. in the man's coat pocket he found a handkerchief which, hard knotted, would serve as a gag. the window curtain was drawn with a stout, thick cord. ronicky slashed off a convenient length of it and secured the hands and feet of his victim, before he turned the fellow on his face. next he went through the pockets of the unconscious man who was only now beginning to stir slightly, as life returned after that stunning blow. it was beginning to come to ronicky that there was a strange relation between the men of this house. here were three who apparently started out to work at night, and yet they were certainly not at all the type of night clerks or night-shift engineers or mechanics. he turned over the hand of the man he had struck down. the palm was as soft as his own. no, certainly not a laborer. but they were all employed by "the old man." who was he? and was there some relation between all of these and the man who sneered? at least ronicky determined to learn all that could be read in the pockets of his victim. there was only one thing. that was a stub-nosed, heavy automatic. it was enough to make ronicky doone sigh with relief. at least he had not struck some peaceful, law-abiding fellow. any man might carry a gun--ronicky himself would have been uncomfortable without some sort of weapon about him but there are guns and guns. this big, ugly automatic seemed specially designed to kill swiftly and surely. he was considering these deductions when a tap came on the door. ronicky groaned. had they come already to find out what kept the senseless victim so long? "morgan, oh, harry morgan!" called a girl's voice. ronicky doone started. perhaps--who could tell--this might be caroline smith herself, come to tap at the door when he was on the very verge of abandoning the adventure. suppose it were someone else? if he ventured out expecting to find gregg's lady and found instead quite another person--well, women screamed at the slightest provocation, and, if a woman screamed in this house, it seemed exceedingly likely that she would rouse a number of men carrying just such short-nosed, ugly automatics as that which he had just taken from the pocket of harry morgan. in the meantime he must answer something. he could not pretend that the room was empty, for the light must be showing around the door. "harry!" called the voice of the girl again. "do you hear me? come out! the chief wants you!" and she rattled the door. fear that she might open it and, stepping in, see the senseless figure on the floor, alarmed ronicky. he came close to the door. "well?" he demanded, keeping his voice deep, like the voice of harry morgan, as well as he could remember it. "hurry! the chief, i tell you!" he snapped out the light and turned resolutely to the door. he felt his faithful colt, and the feel of the butt was like the touch of a friendly hand before he opened the door. she was dressed in white and made a glimmering figure in the darkness of the hall, and her hair glimmered, also, almost as if it possessed a light and a life of its own. ronicky doone saw that she was a very pretty girl, indeed. yes, it must be caroline smith. the very perfume of young girlhood breathed from her, and very sharply and suddenly he wondered why he should be here to fight the battle of bill gregg in this matter--bill gregg who slept peacefully and stupidly in the room across the street! she had turned away, giving him only a side glance, as he came out. "i don't know what's on, something big. the chief's going to give you your big chance--with me." ronicky doone grunted. "don't do that," exclaimed the girl impatiently. "i know you think pete is the top of the world, but that doesn't mean that you can make a good imitation of him. don't do it, harry. you'll pass by yourself. you don't need a make-up, and not pete's on a bet." they reached the head of the stairs, and ronicky doone paused. to go down was to face the mysterious chief whom he had no doubt was the old man to whom harry morgan had already referred. in the meantime the conviction grew that this was indeed caroline smith. her free-and-easy way of talk was exactly that of a girl who might become interested in a man whom she had never seen, merely by letters. "i want to talk to you," said ronicky, muffling his voice. "i want to talk to you alone." "to me?" asked the girl, turning toward him. the light from the hall lamp below gave ronicky the faintest hint of her profile. "yes." "but the chief?" "he can wait." she hesitated, apparently drawn by curiosity in one direction, but stopped by another thought. "i suppose he can wait, but, if he gets stirred up about it--oh, we'll, i'll talk to you--but nothing foolish, harry. promise me that?" "yes." "slip into my room for a minute." she led the way a few steps down the hall, and he followed her through the door, working his mind frantically in an effort to find words with which to open his speech before she should see that he was not harry morgan and cry out to alarm the house. what should he say? something about bill gregg at once, of course. that was the thing. the electric light snapped on at the far side of the room. he saw a dressing table, an empire bed covered with green-figured silk, a pleasant rug on the floor, and, just as he had gathered an impression of delightful femininity from these furnishings, the girl turned from the lamp on the dressing table, and he saw--not caroline smith, but a bronze-haired beauty, as different from bill gregg's lady as day is from night. chapter eleven _a cross-examination_ he was conscious then only of green-blue eyes, very wide, very bright, and lips that parted on a word and froze there in silence. the heart of ronicky doone leaped with joy; he had passed the crisis in safety. she had not cried out. "you're not--" he had said in the first moment. "i am not who?" asked the girl with amazing steadiness. but he saw her hand go back to the dressing table and open, with incredible deftness and speed, the little top drawer behind her. "don't do that!" said ronicky softly, but sharply. "keep your hand off that table, lady, if you don't mind." she hesitated a fraction of a second. in that moment she seemed to see that he was in earnest, and that it would be foolish to tamper with him. "stand away from that table; sit down yonder." again she obeyed without a word. her eyes, to be sure, flickered here and there about the room, as though they sought some means of sending a warning to her friends, or finding some escape for herself. then her glance returned to ronicky doone. "well," she said, as she settled in the chair. "well?" a world of meaning in those two small words--a world of dread controlled. he merely stared at her thoughtfully. "i hit the wrong trail, lady," he said quietly. "i was looking for somebody else." she started. "you were after--" she stopped. "that's right, i guess," he admitted. "how many of you are there?" she asked curiously, so curiously that she seemed to be forgetting the danger. "poor carry smith with a mob--" she stopped suddenly again. "what did you do to harry morgan?" "i left him safe and quiet," said ronicky doone. the girl's face hardened strangely. "what you are, and what your game is i don't know," she said. "but i'll tell you this: i'm letting you play as if you had all the cards in the deck. but you haven't. i've got one ace that'll take all your trumps. suppose i call once what'll happen to you, pal?" "you don't dare call," he said. "don't dare me," said the girl angrily. "i hate a dare worse than anything in the world, almost." for a moment her green-blue eyes were pools of light flashing angrily at him. into the hand of ronicky doone, with that magic speed and grace for which his fame was growing so great in the mountain desert, came the long, glimmering body of the revolver, and, holding it at the hip, he threatened her. she shrank back at that, gasping. for there was an utter surety about this man's handling of the weapon. the heavy gun balanced and steadied in his slim fingers, as if it were no more than a feather's weight. "i'm talking straight, lady," said ronicky doone. "sit down--pronto!" in the very act of obedience she straightened again. "it's bluff," she said. "i'm going through that door!" straight for the door she went, and ronicky doone set his teeth. "go back!" he commanded. he glided to the door and blocked her way, but the gun hung futile in his hand. "it's easy to pull a gun, eh?" said the girl, with something of a sneer. "but it takes nerve to use it. let me through this door!" "not in a thousand years," said ronicky. she laid her hand on the door and drew it back--it struck his shoulder--and ronicky gave way with a groan and stood with his head bowed. inwardly he cursed himself. doubtless she was used to men who bullied her, as if she were another man of an inferior sort. doubtless she despised him for his weakness. but, though he gritted his teeth, he could not make himself firm. those old lessons which sink into a man's soul in the west came back to him and held him. in the helpless rage which possessed him he wanted battle above all things in the world. if half a dozen men had poured through the doorway he would have rejoiced. but this one girl was enough to make him helpless. he looked up in amazement. she had not gone; in fact, she had closed the door slowly and stood with her back against it, staring at him in a speechless bewilderment. "what sort of a man are you?" asked the girl at last. "a fool," said ronicky slowly. "go out and round up your friends; i can't stop you." "no," said the girl thoughtfully, "but that was a poor bluff at stopping me." he nodded. and she hesitated still, watching his face closely. "listen to me," she said suddenly. "i have two minutes to talk to you, and i'll give you those two minutes. you can use them in getting out of the house--i'll show you a way--or you can use them to tell me just why you've come." in spite of himself ronicky smiled. "lady," he said, "if a rat was in a trap d'you think he'd stop very long between a chance of getting clear and a chance to tell how he come to get into the place?" "i have a perfectly good reason for asking," she answered. "even if you now get out of the house safely you'll try to come back later on." "lady," said ronicky, "do i look as plumb foolish as that?" "you're from the west," she said in answer to his slang. "yes." she considered the straight-looking honesty of his eyes. "out west," she said, "i know you men are different. not one of the men i know here would take another chance as risky as this, once they were out of it. but out there in the mountains you follow long trails, trails that haven't anything but a hope to lead you along them? isn't that so?" "maybe," admitted ronicky. "it's the fever out of the gold days, lady. you start out chipping rocks to find the right color; maybe you never find the right color; maybe you never find a streak of pay stuff, but you keep on trying. you're always just sort of around the corner from making a big strike." she nodded, smiling again, and the smiles changed her pleasantly, it seemed to ronicky doone. at first she had impressed him almost as a man, with her cold, steady eyes, but now she was all woman, indeed. "that's why i say that you'll come back. you won't give up with one failure. am i right?" he shrugged his shoulders. "i dunno. if the trail fever hits me again--maybe i would come back." "you started to tell me. it's because of caroline smith?" "yes." "you don't have to talk to me," said the girl. "as a matter of fact i shouldn't be here listening to you. but, i don't know why, i want to help you. you--you are in love with caroline?" "no," said ronicky. her expression grew grave and cold again. "then why are you here hunting for her? what do you want with her?" "lady," said ronicky, "i'm going to show you the whole layout of the cards. maybe you'll take what i say right to headquarters--the man that smiles--and block my game." "you know him?" she asked sharply. apparently that phrase, "the man who smiles," was enough to identify him. "i've seen him. i dunno what he is, i dunno what you are, lady, but i figure that you and caroline smith and everybody else in this house is under the thumb of the gent that smiles." her eyes darkened with a shadow of alarm. "go on," she said curtly. "i'm not going on to guess about what you all are. all i know is what i'm here trying to do. i'm not working for myself. i'm working for a partner." she started. "that's the second man, the one who stopped her on the street today?" "you're pretty well posted," replied ronicky. "yes, that's the one. he started after caroline smith, not even knowing her name--with just a picture of her. we found out that she lived in sight of the east river, and pretty soon we located her here." "and what are you hoping to do?" "to find her and talk to her straight from the shoulder and tell her what a pile bill has done to get to her--and a lot of other things." "can't he find her and tell her those things for himself?" "he can't talk," said ronicky. "not that i'm a pile better, but i could talk better for a friend than he could talk for himself, i figure. if things don't go right then i'll know that the trouble is with the gent with the smile." "and then?" asked the girl, very excited and grave. "i'll find him," said ronicky doone. "and--" "lady," he replied obliquely, "because i couldn't use a gun on a girl ain't no sign that i can't use it on a gent!" "i've one thing to tell you," she said, breaking in swiftly on him. "do what you want--take all the chances you care to--but, if you value your life and the life of your friend, keep away from the man who smiles." "i'll have a fighting chance, i guess," said ronicky quietly." "you'll have no chance at all. the moment he knows your hand is against him, i don't care how brave or how clever you are, you're doomed!" she spoke with such a passion of conviction that she flushed, and a moment later she was shivering. it might have been the draft from the window which made her gather the hazy-green mantle closer about her and glance over her shoulder; but a grim feeling came to ronicky doone that the reason why the girl trembled and her eyes grew wide, was that the mention of "the man who smiles" had brought the thought of him into the room like a breath of cold wind. "don't you see," she went on gently, "that i like you? it's the first and the last time that i'm going to see you, so i can talk. i know you're honest, and i know you're brave. why, i can see your whole character in the way you've stayed by your friend; and, if there's a possible way of helping you, i'll do it. but you must promise me first that you'll never cross the man with the sneer, as you call him." "there's a sort of a fate in it," said ronicky slowly. "i don't think i could promise. there's a chill in my bones that tells me i'm going to meet up with him one of these days." she gasped at that, and, stepping back from him, she appeared to be searching her mind to discover something which would finally and completely convince him. at length she found it. "do i look to you like a coward?" she said. "do i seem to be weak-kneed?" he shook his head. "and what will a woman fight hardest for?" "for the youngsters she's got," said ronicky after a moment's thought. "and, outside of that, i suppose a girl will fight the hardest to marry the gent she loves." "and to keep from marrying a man she doesn't love, as she'd try to keep from death?" "sure," said ronicky. "but these days a girl don't have to marry that way." "i am going to marry the man with the sneer," she said simply enough, and with dull, patient eyes she watched the face of ronicky wrinkle and grow pale, as if a heavy fist had struck him. "you?" he asked. "you marry him?" "yes," she whispered. "and you hate the thought of him!" "i--i don't know. he's kind--" "you hate him," insisted ronicky. "and he's to have you, that cold-eyed snake, that devil of a man?" he moved a little, and she turned toward him, smiling faintly and allowing the light to come more clearly and fully on her face. "you're meant for a king o' men, lady; you got the queen in you--it's in the lift of your head. when you find the gent you can love, why, lady, he'll be pretty near the richest man in the world!" the ghost of a flush bloomed in her cheeks, but her faint smile did not alter, and she seemed to be hearing him from far away. "the man with the sneer," she said at length, "will never talk to me like that, and still--i shall marry him." "tell me your name," said ronicky doone bluntly. "my name is ruth tolliver." "listen to me, ruth tolliver: if you was to live a thousand years, and the gent with the smile was to keep going for two thousand, it'd never come about that he could ever marry you." she shook her head, still watching him as from a distance. "if i've crossed the country and followed a hard trail and come here tonight and stuck my head in a trap, as you might say, for the sake of a gent like bill gregg--fine fellow though he is--what d'you think i would do to keep a girl like you from life-long misery?" and he dwelt on the last word until the girl shivered. "it's what it means," said ronicky doone, "life-long misery for you. and it won't happen--it can't happen." "are you mad--are you quite mad?" asked the girl. "what on earth have i and my affairs got to do with you? who are you?" "i dunno," said ronicky doone. "i suppose you might say i'm a champion of lost causes, lady. why have i got something to do with you? i'll tell you why: because, when a girl gets past being just pretty and starts in being plumb beautiful, she lays off being the business of any one gent--her father or her brother--she starts being the business of the whole world. you see? they come like that about one in ten million, and i figure you're that one, lady." the far away smile went out. she was looking at him now with a sort of sad wonder. "do you know what i am?" she said gravely. "i dunno," said ronicky, "and i don't care. what you do don't count. it's the inside that matters, and the inside of you is all right. lady, so long as i can sling a gun, and so long as my name is ronicky doone, you ain't going to marry the gent with the smile." if he expected an outbreak of protest from her he was mistaken. for what she said was: "ronicky doone! is that the name? ronicky doone!" then she smiled up at him. "i'm within one ace of being foolish and saying--but i won't." she made a gesture of brushing a mist away from her and then stepped back a little. "i'm going down to see the man with the smile, and i'm going to tell him that harry morgan is not in his room, that he didn't answer my knock, and then that i looked around through the house and didn't find him. after that i'm coming back here, ronicky doone, and i'm going to try to get an opportunity for you to talk to caroline smith." "i knew you'd change your mind," said ronicky doone. "i'll even tell you why," she said. "it isn't for your friend who's asleep, but it's to give you a chance to finish this business and come to the end of this trail and go back to your own country. because, if you stay around here long, there'll be trouble, a lot of trouble, ronicky doone. now stay here and wait for me. if anyone taps at the door, you'd better slip into that closet in the corner. will you wait?" "yes." "and you'll trust me?" "to the end of the trail, lady." she smiled at him again and was gone. now the house was perfectly hushed. he went to the window and looked down to the quiet street with all its atmosphere of some old new england village and eternal peace. it seemed impossible that in the house behind him there were-- he caught his breath. somewhere in the house the muffled sound of a struggle rose. he ran to the door, thinking of ruth tolliver at once, and then he shrank back again, for a door was slammed open, and a voice shouted--the voice of a man: "help! harrison! lefty! jerry!" other voices answered far away; footfalls began to sound. ronicky doone knew that harry morgan, his victim, had at last recovered and managed to work the cords off his feet or hands, or both. ronicky stepped back close to the door of the closet and waited. it would mean a search, probably, this discovery that morgan had been struck down in his own room by an unknown intruder. and a search certainly would be started at once. first there was confusion, and then a clear, musical man's voice began to give orders: "harrison, take the cellar. lefty, go up to the roof. the rest of you take the rooms one by one." the search was on. "don't ask questions," was the last instruction. "when you see someone you don't know, shoot on sight, and shoot to kill. i'll do the explaining to the police--you know that. now scatter, and the man who brings him down i'll remember. quick!" there was a new scurry of footfalls. ronicky doone heard them approach the door of the girl's room, and he slipped into the closet. at once a cloud of soft, cool silks brushed about him, and he worked back until his shoulders had touched the wall at the back of the closet. luckily the enclosure was deep, and the clothes were hanging thickly from the racks. it was sufficient to conceal him from any careless searcher, but it would do no good if any one probed; and certainly these men were not the ones to search carelessly. in the meantime it was a position which made ronicky grind his teeth. to be found skulking among woman's clothes in a closet--to be dragged out and stuck in the back, no doubt, like a rat, and thrown into the river, that was an end for ronicky doone indeed! he was on the verge of slipping out and making a mad break for the door of the house and trying to escape by taking the men by surprise, when he heard the door of the girl's room open. "some ex-pugilist," he heard a man's voice saying, and he recognized it at once as belonging to him who had given the orders. he recognized, also, that it must be the man with the sneer. "you think he was an amateur robber and an expert prize fighter?" asked ruth tolliver. it seemed to ronicky doone that her voice was perfectly controlled and calm. perhaps it was her face that betrayed emotion, for after a moment of silence, the man answered. "what's the matter? you're as nervous as a child tonight, ruth?" "isn't there reason enough to make me nervous?" she demanded. "a robber--heaven knows what--running at large in the house?" "h'm!" murmured the man. "devilish queer that you should get so excited all at once. no, it's something else. i've trained you too well for you to go to pieces like this over nothing. what is it, ruth?" there was no answer. then the voice began again, silken-smooth and gentle, so gentle and kindly that ronicky doone started. "in the old days you used to keep nothing from me; we were companions, ruth. that was when you were a child. now that you are a woman, when you feel more, think more, see more, when our companionship should be like a running stream, continually bringing new things into my life, i find barriers between us. why is it, my dear?" still there was no answer. the pulse of ronicky doone began to quicken, as though the question had been asked him, as though he himself were fumbling for the answer. "let us talk more freely," went on the man. "try to open your mind to me. there are things which you dislike in me; i know it. just what those things are i cannot tell, but we must break down these foolish little barriers which are appearing more and more every day. not that i mean to intrude myself on you every moment of your life. you understand that, of course?" "of course," said the girl faintly. "and i understand perfectly that you have passed out of childhood into young womanhood, and that is a dreamy time for a girl. her body is formed at last, but her mind is only half formed. there is a pleasant mist over it. very well, i don't wish to brush the mist away. if i did that i would take half that charm away from you--that elusive incompleteness which fragonard and watteau tried to imitate, heaven knows with how little success. no, i shall always let you live your own life. all that i ask for, my dear, are certain meeting places. let us establish them before it is too late, or you will find one day that you have married an old man, and we shall have silent dinners. there is nothing more wretched than that. if it should come about, then you will begin to look on me as a jailer. and--" "don't!" "ah," said he very tenderly, "i knew that i was feeling toward the truth. you are shrinking from me, ruth, because you feel that i am too old." "no, no!" here a hand pounded heavily on the door. "the idiots have found something," said the man of the sneer. "and now they have come to talk about their cleverness, like a rooster crowing over a grain of corn." he raised his voice. "come in!" and ronicky doone heard a panting voice a moment later exclaim: "we've got him!" chapter twelve _the strange bargain_ ronicky drew his gun and waited. "good," said the man of the sneer. "go ahead." "it was down in the cellar that we found the first tracks. he came in through the side window and closed it after him." "that dropped him into the coal bin. did he get coal dust on his shoes?" "right; and he didn't have sense enough to wipe it off." "an amateur--a rank amateur! i told you!" said the man of the sneer, with satisfaction. "you followed his trail?" "up the stairs to the kitchen and down the hall and up to harry's room." "we already knew he'd gone there." "but he left that room again and came down the hall." "yes. the coal dust was pretty well wiped off by that time, but we held a light close to the carpet and got the signs of it." "and where did it lead?" "right to this room!" ronicky stepped from among the smooth silks and pressed close to the door of the closet, his hand on the knob. the time had almost come for one desperate attempt to escape, and he was ready to shoot to kill. a moment of pause had come, a pause which, in the imagination of ronicky, was filled with the approach of both the men toward the door of the closet. then the man of the sneer said: "that's a likely story!" "i can show you the tracks." "h'm! you fool, they simply grew dim when they got to this door. i've been here for some time. go back and tell them to hunt some more. go up to the attic and search there. that's the place an amateur would most likely hide." the man growled some retort and left, closing the door heavily behind him, while ronicky doone breathed freely again for the first time. "now," said the man of the sneer, "tell me the whole of it, ruth." ronicky set his teeth. had the clever devil guessed at the truth so easily? had he sent his follower away, merely to avoid having it known that a man had taken shelter in the room of the girl he loved? "go on," the leader was repeating. "let me hear the whole truth." "i--i--" stammered the girl, and she could say no more. the man of the sneer laughed unpleasantly. "let me help you. it was somebody you met somewhere--on the train, perhaps, and you couldn't help smiling at him, eh? you smiled so much, in fact, that he followed you and found that you had come here. the only way he could get in was by stealth. is that right? so he came in exactly that way, like a robber, but really only to keep a tryst with his lady love? a pretty story, a true romance! i begin to see why you find me such a dull fellow, my dear girl." "john--" began ruth tolliver, her voice shaking. "tush," he broke in as smoothly as ever. "let me tell the story for you and spare your blushes. when i sent you for harry morgan you found lochinvar in the very act of slugging the poor fellow. you helped him tie morgan; then you took him here to your room; although you were glad to see him, you warned him that it was dangerous to play with fire--fire being me. do i gather the drift of the story fairly well? finally you have him worked up to the right pitch. he is convinced that a retreat would be advantageous, if possible. you show him that it is possible. you point out the ledge under your window and the easy way of working to the ground. eh?" "yes," said the girl unevenly. "that is--" "ah!" murmured the man of the sneer. "you seem rather relieved that i have guessed he left the house. in that case--" ronicky doone had held the latch of the door turned back for some time. now he pushed it open and stepped out. he was only barely in time, for the man of the sneer was turning quickly in his direction, since there was only one hiding place in the room. he was brought up with a shock by the sight of ronicky's big colt, held at the hip and covering him with absolute certainty. ruth tolliver did not cry out, but every muscle in her face and body seemed to contract, as if she were preparing herself for the explosion. "you don't have to put up your hands," said ronicky doone, wondering at the familiarity of the face of the man of the sneer. he had brooded on it so often in the past few days that it was like the face of an old acquaintance. he knew every line in that sharp profile. "thank you," responded the leader, and, turning to the girl, he said coldly: "i congratulate you on your good taste. a regular apollo, my dear ruth." he turned back to ronicky doone. "and i suppose you have overhead our entire conversation?" "the whole lot of it," said ronicky, "though i wasn't playing my hand at eavesdropping. i couldn't help hearing you, partner." the man of the sneer looked him over leisurely. "western," he said at last, "decidedly western. "are you staying long in the east, my friend?" "i dunno," said ronicky doone, smiling faintly at the coolness of the other. "what do you think about it?" "meaning that i'm liable to put an end to your stay?" "maybe!" "tush, tush! i suppose ruth has filled your head with a lot of rot about what a terrible fellow i am. but i don't use poison, and i don't kill with mysterious x-rays. i am, as you see, a very quiet and ordinary sort." ronicky doone smiled again. "you just oblige me, partner," he replied in his own soft voice. "just stay away from the walls of the room--don't even sit down. stand right where you are." "you'd murder me if i took another step?" asked the man of the sneer, and a contemptuous and sardonic expression flitted across his face for the first time. "i'd sure blow you full of lead," said ronicky fervently. "i'd kill you like a snake, stranger, which i mostly think you are. so step light, and step quick when i talk." "certainly," said the other, bowing. "i am entirely at your service." he turned a little to ruth. "i see that you have a most determined cavalier. i suppose he'll instantly abduct you and sweep you away from beneath my eyes?" she made a vague gesture of denial. "go ahead," said the leader. "by the way, my name is john mark." "i'm doone--some call me ronicky doone." "i'm glad to know you, ronicky doone. i imagine that name fits you. now tell me the story of why you came to this house; of course it wasn't to see a girl!" "you're wrong! it was." "ah?" in spite of himself the face of john mark wrinkled with pain and suspicious rage. "i came to see a girl, and her name, i figure, is caroline smith." relief, wonder, and even a gleam of outright happiness shot into the eyes of john mark. "caroline? you came for that?" suddenly he laughed heartily, but there was a tremor of emotion in that laughter. the perfect torture, which had been wringing the soul of the man of the sneer, projected through the laughter. "i ask your pardon, my dear," said john mark to ruth. "i should have guessed. you found him; he confessed why he was here; you took pity on him--and--" he brushed a hand across his forehead and was instantly himself, calm and cool. "very well, then. it seems i've made an ass of myself, but i'll try to make up for it. now what about caroline? there seems to be a whole host of you westerners annoying her." "only one: i'm acting as his agent." "and what do you expect?" "i expect that you will send for her and tell her that she is free to go down with me--leave this house--and take a ride or a walk with me." "as much as that? if you have to talk to her, why not do the talking here?" "i dunno," replied ronicky doone. "i figure she'd think too much about you all the time." "the basilisk, eh?" asked john mark. "well, you are going to persuade her to go to bill gregg?" "you know the name, eh?" "yes, i have a curious stock of useless information." "well, you're right; i'm going to try to get her back for bill." "but you can't expect me to assent to that?" "i sure do." "and why? this caroline smith may be a person of great value to me." "i have no doubt she is, but i got a good argument." "what is it?" "the gun, partner." "and, if you couldn't get the girl--but see how absurd the whole thing is, ronicky doone! i send for the girl; i request her to go down with you to the street and take a walk, because you wish to talk to her. heavens, man, i can't persuade her to go with a stranger at night! surely you see that!" "i'll do that persuading," said ronicky doone calmly. "and, when you're on the streets with the girl, do you suppose i'll rest idle and let you walk away with her?" "once we're outside of the house, mark," said ronicky doone, "i don't ask no favors. let your men come on. all i got to say is that i come from a county where every man wears a gun and has to learn how to use it. i ain't terrible backward with the trigger finger, john mark. not that i figure on bragging, but i want you to pick good men for my trail and tell 'em to step soft. is that square?" "aside from certain idiosyncrasies, such as your manner of paying a call by way of a cellar window, i think you are the soul of honor, ronicky doone. now may i sit down?" "suppose we shake hands to bind the bargain," said ronicky. "you send for caroline smith; i'm to do the persuading to get her out of the house. we're safe to the doors of the house; the minute we step into the street, you're free to do anything you want to get either of us. will you shake on that?" for a moment the leader hesitated, then his fingers closed over the extended hand of ronicky doone and clamped down on them like so many steel wires contracting. at the same time a flush of excitement and fierceness passed over the face of john mark. ronicky doone, taken utterly by surprise, was at a great disadvantage. then he put the whole power of his own hand into the grip, and it was like iron meeting iron. a great rage came in the eyes of john mark; a great wonder came in the eyes of the westerner. where did john mark get his sudden strength? "well," said ronicky, "we've shaken hands, and now you can do what you please! sit down, leave the room--anything." he shoved his gun away in his clothes. that brought a start from john mark and a flash of eagerness, but he repressed the idea, after a single glance at the girl. "we've shaken hands," he admitted slowly, as though just realizing the full extent of the meaning of that act. "very well, ronicky, i'll send for caroline smith, and more power to your tongue, but you'll never get her away from this house without force." chapter thirteen _doone wins_ a servant answered the bell almost at once. "tell miss smith that she's wanted in miss tolliver's room," said mark, and, when the servant disappeared, he began pacing up and down the room. now and then he cast a sharp glance to the side and scrutinized the face of ronicky doone. with ruth's permission, the latter had lighted a cigarette and was smoking it in bland enjoyment. again the leader paused directly before the girl, and, with his feet spread and his head bowed in an absurd napoleonic posture, he considered every feature of her face. the uncertain smile, which came trembling on her face, elicited no response from mark. she dreaded him, ronicky saw, as a slave dreads a cruel master. still she had a certain affection for him, partly as the result of many benefactions, no doubt, and partly from long acquaintance; and, above all, she respected his powers of mind intensely. the play of emotion in her face--fear, anger, suspicion--as john mark paced up and down before her, was a study. with a secret satisfaction ronicky doone saw that her glances continually sought him, timidly, curiously. all vanity aside, he had dropped a bomb under the feet of john mark, and some day the bomb might explode. there was a tap at the door, it opened and caroline smith entered in a dressing gown. she smiled brightly at ruth and wanly at john mark, then started at the sight of the stranger. "this," said john mark, "is ronicky doone." the westerner rose and bowed. "he has come," said john mark, "to try to persuade you to go out for a stroll with him, so that he can talk to you about that curious fellow, bill gregg. he is going to try to soften your heart, i believe, by telling you all the inconveniences which bill gregg has endured to find you here. but he will do his talking for himself. just why he has to take you out of the house, at night, before he can talk to you is, i admit, a mystery to me. but let him do the persuading." ronicky doone turned to his host, a cold gleam in his eyes. his case had been presented in such a way as to make his task of persuasion almost impossible. then he turned back and looked at the girl. her face was a little pale, he thought, but perfectly composed. "i don't know bill gregg," she said simply. "of course, i'm glad to talk to you, mr. doone, but why not here?" john mark covered a smile of satisfaction, and the girl looked at him, apparently to see if she had spoken correctly. it was obvious that the leader was pleased, and she glanced back at ronicky, with a flush of pleasure. "i'll tell you why i can't talk to you in here," said ronicky gently. "because, while you're under the same roof with this gent with the sneer"--he turned and indicated mark, sneering himself as he did so--"you're not yourself. you don't have a halfway chance to think for yourself. you feel him around you and behind you and beside you every minute, and you keep wondering not what you really feel about anything, but what john mark wants you to feel. ain't that the straight of it?" she glanced apprehensively at john mark, and, seeing that he did not move to resent this assertion, she looked again with wide-eyed wonder at ronicky doone. "you see," said the man of the sneer to caroline smith, "that our friend from the west has a child-like faith in my powers of--what shall i say--hypnotism!" a faint smile of agreement flickered on her lips and went out. then she regarded ronicky, with an utter lack of emotion. "if i could talk like him," said ronicky doone gravely, "i sure wouldn't care where i had to do the talking; but i haven't any smooth lingo--i ain't got a lot of words all ready and handy. i'm a pretty simple-minded sort of a gent, miss smith. that's why i want to get you out of this house, where i can talk to you alone." she paused, then shook her head. "as far as going out with me goes," went on ronicky, "well, they's nothing i can say except to ask you to look at me close, lady, and then ask yourself if i'm the sort of a gent a girl has got anything to be afraid about. i won't keep you long; five minutes is all i ask. and we can walk up and down the street, in plain view of the house, if you want. is it a go?" at least he had broken through the surface crust of indifference. she was looking at him now, with a shade of interest and sympathy, but she shook her head. "i'm afraid--" she began. "don't refuse right off, without thinking," said ronicky. "i've worked pretty hard to get a chance to meet you, face to face. i busted into this house tonight like a burglar--" "oh," cried the girl, "you're the man--harry morgan--" she stopped, aghast. "he's the man who nearly killed morgan," said john mark. "is that against me?" asked ronicky eagerly. "is that all against me? i was fighting for the chance to find you and talk to you. give me that chance now." obviously she could not make up her mind. it had been curious that this handsome, boyish fellow should come as an emissary from bill gregg. it was more curious still that he should have had the daring and the strength to beat harry morgan. "what shall i do, ruth?" she asked suddenly. ruth tolliver glanced apprehensively at john mark and then flushed, but she raised her head bravely. "if i were you, caroline," she said steadily, "i'd simply ask myself if i could trust ronicky doone. can you?" the girl faced ronicky again, her hands clasped in indecision and excitement. certainly, if clean honesty was ever written in the face of a man, it stood written in the clear-cut features of ronicky doone. "yes," she said at last, "i'll go. for five minutes--only in the street--in full view of the house." there was a hard, deep-throated exclamation from john mark. he rose and glided across the room, as if to go and vent his anger elsewhere. but he checked and controlled himself at the door, then turned. "you seem to have won, doone. i congratulate you. when he's talking to you, caroline, i want you constantly to remember that--" "wait!" cut in ronicky sharply. "she'll do her own thinking, without your help." john mark bowed with a sardonic smile, but his face was colorless. plainly he had been hard hit. "later on," he continued, "we'll see more of each other, i expect--a great deal more, doone." "it's something i'll sure wait for," said ronicky savagely. "i got more than one little thing to talk over with you, mark. maybe about some of them we'll have to do more than talking. good-by. lady, i'll be waiting for you down by the front door of the house." caroline smith nodded, flung one frightened and appealing glance to ruth tolliver for direction, then hurried out to her room to dress. ronicky doone turned back to ruth. "in my part of the country," he said simply, "they's some gents we know sort of casual, and some gents we have for friends. once in a while you bump into somebody that's so straight and square-shooting that you'd like to have him for a partner. if you were out west, lady, and if you were a man--well, i'd pick you for a partner, because you've sure played straight and square with me tonight." he turned, hesitated, and, facing her again, caught up her hand, touched it to his lips, then hurried past john mark and through the doorway. they could hear his rapid footfalls descending the stairs, and john mark was thoughtful indeed. he was watching ruth tolliver, as she stared down at her hand. when she raised her head and met the glance of the leader she flushed slowly to the roots of her hair. "yes," muttered john mark, still thoughtfully and half to himself, "there's really true steel in him. he's done more against me in one half hour than any other dozen men in ten years." chapter fourteen _her little joke_ a brief ten minutes of waiting beside the front door of the house, and then ronicky doone heard a swift pattering of feet on the stairs. presently the girl was moving very slowly toward him down the hall. plainly she was bitterly afraid when she came beside him, under the dim hall light. she wore that same black hat, turned back from her white face, and the red flower beside it was a dull, uncertain blur. decidedly she was pretty enough to explain bill gregg's sorrow. ronicky gave her no chance to think twice. she was in the very act of murmuring something about a change of mind, when he opened the door and, stepping out into the starlight, invited her with a smile and a gesture to follow. in a moment they were in the freshness of the night air. he took her arm, and they passed slowly down the steps. at the bottom she turned and looked anxiously at the house. "lady," murmured ronicky, "they's nothing to be afraid of. we're going to walk right up and down this street and never get out of sight of the friends you got in this here house." at the word "friends" she shivered slightly, and he added: "unless you want to go farther of your own free will." "no, no!" she exclaimed, as if frightened by the very prospect. "then we won't. it's all up to you. you're the boss, and i'm the cow-puncher, lady." "but tell me quickly," she urged. "i--i have to go back. i mustn't stay out too long." "starting right in at the first," ronicky said, "i got to tell you that bill has told me pretty much everything that ever went on between you two. all about the correspondence-school work and about the letters and about the pictures." "i don't understand," murmured the girl faintly. but ronicky diplomatically raised his voice and went on, as if he had not heard her. "you know what he's done with that picture of yours?" "no," she said faintly. "he got the biggest nugget that he's ever taken out of the dirt. he got it beaten out into the right shape, and then he made a locket out of it and put your picture in it, and now he wears it around his neck, even when he's working at the mine." her breath caught. "that silly, cheap snapshot!" she stopped. she had admitted everything already, and she had intended to be a very sphinx with this strange westerner. "it was only a joke," she said. "i--i didn't really mean to--" "do you know what that joke did?" asked ronicky. "it made two men fight, then cross the continent together and get on the trail of a girl whose name they didn't even know. they found the girl, and then she said she'd forgotten--but no, i don't mean to blame you. there's something queer behind it all. but i want to explain one thing. the reason that bill didn't get to that train wasn't because he didn't try. he did try. he tried so hard that he got into a fight with a gent that tried to hold him up for a few words, and bill got shot off his hoss." "shot?" asked the girl. "shot?" suddenly she was clutching his arm, terrified at the thought. she recovered herself at once and drew away, eluding the hand of ronicky. he made no further attempt to detain her. but he had lifted the mask and seen the real state of her mind; and she, too, knew that the secret was discovered. it angered her and threw her instantly on the aggressive. "i tell you what i guessed from the window," said ronicky. "you went down to the street, all prepared to meet up with poor old bill--" "prepared to meet him?" she started up at ronicky. "how in the world could i ever guess--" she was looking up to him, trying to drag his eyes down to hers, but ronicky diplomatically kept his attention straight ahead. "you couldn't guess," he suggested, "but there was someone who could guess for you. someone who pretty well knew we were in town, who wanted to keep you away from bill because he was afraid--" "of what?" she demanded sharply. "afraid of losing you." this seemed to frighten her. "what do you know?" she asked. "i know this," he answered, "that i think a girl like you, all in all, is too good for any man. but, if any man ought to have her, it's the gent that is fondest of her. and bill is terrible fond of you, lady--he don't think of nothing else. he's grown thin as a ghost, longing for you." "so he sends another man to risk his life to find me and tell me about it?" she demanded, between anger and sadness. "he didn't send me--i just came. but the reason i came was because i knew bill would give up without a fight." "i hate a man who won't fight," said the girl. "it's because he figures he's so much beneath you," said ronicky. "and, besides, he can't talk about himself. he's no good at that at all. but, if it comes to fighting, lady, why, he rode a couple of hosses to death and stole another and had a gunfight, all for the sake of seeing you, when a train passed through a town." she was speechless. "so i thought i'd come," said ronicky doone, "and tell you the insides of things, the way i knew bill wouldn't and couldn't, but i figure it don't mean nothing much to you." she did not answer directly. she only said: "are men like this in the west? do they do so much for their friends?" "for a gent like bill gregg, that's simple and straight from the shoulder, they ain't nothing too good to be done for him. what i'd do for him he'd do mighty pronto for me, and what he'd do for me--well, don't you figure that he'd do ten times as much for the girl he loves? be honest with me," said ronicky doone. "tell me if bill means anymore to you than any stranger?" "no--yes." "which means simply yes. but how much more, lady?" "i hardly know him. how can i say?" "it's sure an easy thing to say. you've wrote to him. you've had letters from him. you've sent him your picture, and he's sent you his, and you've seen him on the street. lady, you sure know bill gregg, and what do you think of him?" "i think--" "is he a square sort of gent?" "y-yes." "the kind you'd trust?" "yes, but--" "is he the kind that would stick to the girl he loved and take care of her, through thick and thin?" "you mustn't talk like this," said caroline smith, but her voice trembled, and her eyes told him to go on. "i'm going back and tell bill gregg that, down in your heart, you love him just about the same as he loves you!" "oh," she asked, "would you say a thing like that? it isn't a bit true." "i'm afraid that's the way i see it. when i tell him that, you can lay to it that old bill will let loose all holds and start for you, and, if they's ten brick walls and twenty gunmen in between, it won't make no difference. he'll find you, or die trying." before he finished she was clinging to his arm. "if you tell him, you'll be doing a murder, ronicky doone. what he'll face will be worse than twenty gunmen." "the gent that smiles, eh?" "yes, john mark. no, no, i didn't mean--" "but you did, and i knew it, too. it's john mark that's between you and bill. i seen you in the street, when you were talking to poor bill, look back over your shoulder at that devil standing in the window of this house." "don't call him that!" "d'you know of one drop of kindness in his nature, lady?" "are we quite alone?" "not a soul around." "then he is a devil, and, being a devil, no ordinary man has a chance against him--not a chance, ronicky doone. i don't know what you did in the house, but i think you must have outfaced him in some way. well, for that you'll pay, be sure! and you'll pay with your life, ronicky. every minute, now, you're in danger of your life. you'll keep on being in danger, until he feels that he has squared his account with you. don't you see that if i let bill gregg come near me--" "then bill will be in danger of this same wolf of a man, eh? and, in spite of the fact that you like bill--" "ah, yes, i do!" "that you love him, in fact." "why shouldn't i tell you?" demanded the girl, breaking down suddenly. "i do love him, and i can never see him to tell him, because i dread john mark." "rest easy," said ronicky, "you'll see bill, or else he'll die trying to get to you." "if you're his friend--" "i'd rather see him dead than living the rest of his life, plumb unhappy." she shook her head, arguing, and so they reached the corner of beekman place again and turned into it and went straight toward the house opposite that of john mark. still the girl argued, but it was in a whisper, as if she feared that terrible john mark might overhear. * * * * * in the home of john mark, that calm leader was still with ruth tolliver. they had gone down to the lower floor of the house, and, at his request, she sat at the piano, while mark sat comfortably beyond the sphere of the piano light and watched her. "you're thinking of something else," he told her, "and playing abominably." "i'm sorry." "you ought to be," he said. "it's bad enough to play poorly for someone who doesn't know, but it's torture to play like that for me." he spoke without violence, as always, but she knew that he was intensely angry, and that familiar chill passed through her body. it never failed to come when she felt that she had aroused his anger. "why doesn't caroline come back?" she asked at length. "she's letting him talk himself out, that's all. caroline's a clever youngster. she knows how to let a man talk till his throat is dry, and then she'll smile and tell him that it's impossible to agree with him. yes, there are many possibilities in caroline." "you think ronicky doone is a gambler?" she asked, harking back to what he had said earlier. "i think so," answered john mark, and again there was that tightening of the muscles around his mouth. "a gambler has a certain way of masking his own face and looking at yours, as if he were dragging your thoughts out through your eyes; also, he's very cool; he belongs at a table with the cards on it and the stakes high." the door opened. "here's young rose. he'll tell us the truth of the matter. has she come back, rose?" the young fellow kept far back in the shadow, and, when he spoke, his voice was uncertain, almost to the point of trembling. "no," he managed to say, "she ain't come back, chief." mark stared at him for a moment and then slowly opened a cigarette case and lighted a smoke. "well," he said, and his words were far more violent than the smooth voice, "well, idiot, what did she do?" "she done a fade-away, chief, in the house across the street. went in with that other gent." "he took her by force?" asked john mark. "nope. she slipped in quick enough and all by herself. he went in last." "damnation!" murmured mark. "that's all, rose." his follower vanished through the doorway and closed the door softly after him. john mark stood up and paced quietly up and down the room. at length he turned abruptly on the girl. "good night. i have business that takes me out." "what is it?" she asked eagerly. he paused, as if in doubt as to how he should answer her, if he answered at all. "in the old days," he said at last, "when a man caught a poacher on his grounds, do you know what he did?" "no." "shot him, my dear, without a thought and threw his body to the wolves!" "john mark! do you mean--" "your friend ronicky, of course." "only because caroline was foolish are you going to--" "caroline? tut, tut! caroline is only a small part of it. he has done more than that--far more, this poacher out of the west!" he turned and went swiftly through the door. the moment it was closed the girl buried her face in her hands. chapter fifteen _the girl thief_ before that death sentence had been passed on him ronicky doone stood before the door of his room, with the trembling girl beside him. "wait here," he whispered to her. "wait here while i go in and wake him up. it's going to be the greatest moment in his life! poor bill gregg is going to turn into the richest man in new york city--all in one moment!" "but i don't dare go in. it will mean--" "it will mean everything, but it's too late to turn back now. besides, in your heart of hearts, you don't want to turn back, you know!" quickly he passed into the room and hurried to the bed of bill gregg. under the biting grip of doone's hand bill gregg writhed to a sitting posture, with a groan. still he was in the throes of his dream and only half awakened. "i've lost her," he whispered. "you're wrong, idiot," said ronicky softly, "you're wrong. you've won her. she's at the door now, waiting to come in." "ronicky," said bill gregg, suddenly awake, "you've been the finest friend a man ever had, but, if you make a joke out of her, i'll wring your neck!" "sure you would. but, before you do that, jump into your clothes and open the door." sleep was still thick enough in the brain of bill gregg to make him obey automatically. he stumbled into his clothes and then shambled dizzily to the door and opened it. as the light from the room struck down the hall ronicky saw his friend stiffen to his full height and strike a hand across his face. "stars and stripes!" exclaimed bill gregg. "the days of the miracles ain't over!" ronicky doone turned his back and went to the window. across the street rose the forbidding face of the house of john mark, and it threatened ronicky doone like a clenched hand, brandished against him. the shadow under the upper gable was like the shadow under a frowning brow. in that house worked the mind of john mark. certainly ronicky doone had won the first stage of the battle between them, but there was more to come--much more of that battle--and who would win in the end was an open question. he made up his mind grimly that, whatever happened, he would first ship bill gregg and the girl out of the city, then act as the rear guard to cover their retreat. when he returned they had closed the door and were standing back from one another, with such shining eyes that the heart of ronicky doone leaped. if, for a moment, doubt of his work came to him, it was banished, as they glanced toward him. "i dunno how he did it," bill gregg was stammering, "but here it is--done! bless you, ronicky." "a minute ago," said ronicky, "it looked to me like the lady didn't know her own mind, but that seems to be over." "i found my own mind the moment i saw him," said the girl. ronicky studied her in wonder. there was no embarrassment, no shame to have confessed herself. she had the clear brow of a child. suddenly, it seemed to ronicky that he had become an old man, and these were two children under his protection. he struck into the heart of the problem at once. "the main point," he said, "is to get you two out of town, as quick as we can. out west in bill's country he can take care of you, but back here this john mark is a devil and has the strength to stop us. how quick can you go, caroline?" "i can never go," she said, "as long as john mark is alive." "then he's as good as dead," said bill gregg. "we both got guns, and, no matter how husky john mark may be, we'll get at him!" the girl shook her head. all the joy had gone out of her face and left her wistful and misty eyed. "you don't understand, and i can't tell you. you can never harm john mark." "why not?" asked bill gregg. "has he got a thousand men around him all the time? even if he has they's ways of getting at him." "not a thousand men," said the girl, "but, you see, he doesn't need help. he's never failed. that's what they say of him: 'john mark, the man who has never lost!'" "listen to me," said ronicky angrily. "seems to me that everybody stands around and gapes at this gent with the sneer a terrible lot, without a pile of good reasons behind 'em. never failed? why, lady, here's one night when he's failed and failed bad. he's lost you!" "no," said caroline. "not lost you?" asked bill gregg. "say, you ain't figuring on going back to him?" "i have to go back." "why?" demanded gregg. "it's because of you," interpreted ronicky doone. "she knows that, if she leaves you, mark will start on your trail. mark is the name of the gent with the sneer, bill." "he's got to die, then, ronicky." "i been figuring on the same thing for a long time, but he'll die hard, bill." "don't you see?" asked the girl. "both of you are strong men and brave, but against john mark i know that you're helpless. it isn't the first time people have hated him. hated? who does anything but hate him? but that doesn't make any difference. he wins, he always wins, and that's why i've come to you." she turned to bill gregg, but such a sad resignation held her eyes that ronicky doone bowed his head. "i've come to tell you that i love you, that i have always loved you, since i first began writing to you. all of yourself showed through your letters, plain and strong and simple and true. i've come tonight to tell you that i love you, but that we can never marry. not that i fear him for myself, but for you." "listen here," said bill gregg, "ain't there police in this town?" "what could they do? in all of the things which he has done no one has been able to accuse him of a single illegal act--at least no one has ever been able to prove a thing. and yet he lives by crime. does that give you an idea of the sort of man he is?" "a low hound," said bill gregg bitterly, "that's what he shows to be." "tell me straight," said ronicky, "what sort of a hold has he got over you? can you tell us?" "i have to tell you," said the girl gravely, "if you insist, but won't you take my word for it and ask no more?" "we have a right to know," said ronicky. "bill has a right, and, me being bill's friend, i have a right, too." she nodded. "first off, what's the way john mark uses you?" she clenched her hands. "if i tell you that, you will both despise me." "try us," said ronicky. "and you can lay to this, lady, that, when a gent out of the west says 'partner' to a girl or a man, he means it. what you do may be bad; what you are is all right. we both know it. the inside of you is right, lady, no matter what john mark makes you do. but tell us straight, what is it?" "he has made me," said the girl, her head falling, "a thief!" ronicky saw bill gregg wince, as if someone had struck him in the face. and he himself waited, curious to see what the big fellow would do. he had not long to wait. gregg went straight to the girl and took her hands. "d'you think that makes any difference?" he asked. "not to me, and not to my friend ronicky. there's something behind it. tell us that!" "there is something behind it," said the girl, "and i can't say how grateful i am to you both for still trusting me. i have a brother. he came to new york to work, found it was easy to spend money--and spent it. finally he began sending home for money. we are not rich, but we gave him what we could. it went on like that for some time. then, one day, a stranger called at our house, and it was john mark. he wanted to see me, and, when we talked together, he told me that my brother had done a terrible thing--what it was i can't tell even you. "i wouldn't believe at first, though he showed me what looked like proofs. at last i believed enough to agree to go to new york and see for myself. i came here, and saw my brother and made him confess. what it was i can't tell you. i can only say that his life is in the hand of john mark. john mark has only to say ten words, and my brother is dead. he told me that. he showed me the hold that mark had over him, and begged me to do what i could for him. i didn't see how i could be of use to him, but john mark showed me. he taught me to steal, and i have stolen. he taught me to lie, and i have lied. and he has me still in the hollow of his hand, do you see? and that's why i say that it's hopeless. even if you could fight against john mark, which no one can, you couldn't help me. the moment you strike him he strikes my brother." "curse him!" exclaimed ronicky. "curse the hound!" then he added: "they's just one thing to do, first of all. you got to go back to john mark. tell him that you came over here. tell him that you seen bill gregg, but you only came to say good-by to him, and to ask him to leave town and go west. then, tomorrow, we'll move out, and he may think that we've gone. meantime the thing you do is to give me the name of your brother and tell me where i can find him. i'll hunt him up. maybe something can be done for him. i dunno, but that's where we've got to try." "but--" she began. "do what he says," whispered bill gregg. "i've doubted ronicky before, but look at all that he's done? do what he says, caroline." "it means putting him in your power," she said at last, "just as he was put in the power of john mark, but i trust you. give me a slip of paper, and i'll write on it what you want." chapter sixteen _disarming suspicion_ from the house across the street caroline smith slipped out upon the pavement and glanced warily about her. the street was empty, quieter and more villagelike than ever, yet she knew perfectly well that john mark had not allowed her to be gone so long without keeping watch over her. somewhere from the blank faces of those houses across the street his spies kept guard over her movements. here she glanced sharply over her shoulder, and it seemed to her that a shadow flitted into the door of a basement, farther up the street. at that she fled and did not stop running until she was at the door of the house of mark. since all was quiet, up and down the street, she paused again, her hand upon the knob. to enter meant to step back into the life which she hated. there had been a time when she had almost loved the life to which john mark introduced her; there had been a time when she had rejoiced in the nimbleness of her fingers which had enabled her to become an adept as a thief. and, by so doing, she had kept the life of her brother from danger, she verily believed. she was still saving him, and, so long as she worked for john mark, she knew that her brother was safe, yet she hesitated long at the door. it would be only the work of a moment to flee back to the man she loved, tell him that she could not and dared not stay longer with the master criminal, and beg him to take her west to a clean life. her hand fell from the knob, but she raised it again immediately. it would not do to flee, so long as john mark had power of life or death over her brother. if ronicky doone, as he promised, was able to inspire her brother with the courage to flee from new york, give up his sporting life and seek refuge in some far-off place, then, indeed, she would go with bill gregg to the ends of the earth and mock the cunning fiend who had controlled her life so long. the important thing now was to disarm him of all suspicion, make him feel that she had only visited bill gregg in order to say farewell to him. with this in her mind she opened the front door and stepped into the hall, always lighted with ominous dimness. that gloom fell about her like the visible presence of john mark. a squat, powerful figure glided out of the doorway to the right. it was harry morgan, and the side of his face was swathed in bandages, so that he had to twist his mouth violently in order to speak. "the chief," he said abruptly. "beat it quick to his room. he wants you." "why?" asked caroline, hoping to extract some grain or two of information from the henchman. "listen, kid," said the sullen criminal. "d'you think i'm a nut to blow what i know? you beat it, and he'll tell you what he wants." the violence of this language, however, had given her clues enough to the workings of the chief's mind. she had always been a favored member of the gang, and the men had whistled attendance on her hardly less than upon ruth tolliver herself. this sudden harshness in the language of harry morgan told her that too much was known, or guessed. a sudden weakness came over her. "i'm going out," she said, turning to harry morgan who had sauntered over to the front door. "are you?" he asked. "i'm going to take one turn more up the block. i'm not sleepy yet," she repeated and put her hand on the knob of the door. "not so you could notice it, you ain't," retorted morgan. "we've taken lip enough from you, kid. your day's over. go up and see what the chief has to say, but you ain't going through this door unless you walk over me." "those are orders?" she asked, stepping back, with her heart turning cold. "think i'm doing this on my own hook?" she turned slowly to the stairs. with her hand on the balustrade she decided to try the effect of one personal appeal. nerving herself she whirled and ran to harry morgan. "harry," she whispered, "let me go out till i've worked up my courage. you know he's terrible to face when he's angry. and i'm afraid, harry--i'm terribly afraid!" "are you?" asked morgan. "well, you ain't the first. go and take your medicine like the rest of us have done, time and time running." there was no help for it. she went wearily up the stairs to the room of the master thief. there she gave the accustomed rap with the proper intervals. instantly the cold, soft voice, which she knew and hated so, called to her to enter. she found him in the act of putting aside his book. he was seated in a deep easy-chair; a dressing gown of silk and a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles gave him a look of owlish wisdom, with a touch of the owl's futility of expression, likewise. he rose, as usual, with all his courtesy. she thought at first, as he showed her to a chair, that he was going to take his usual damnable tack of pretended ignorance in order to see how much she would confess. however, tonight this was not his plan of battle. the moment she was seated, he removed his spectacles, drew a chair close to hers and sat down, leaning far forward. "now, my dear, foolish girl," said the master thief, smiling benevolently upon her, "what have you been doing tonight to make us all miserable?" she knew at once that he was aware of every move she had made, from the first to the last. it gave her firmness to tell the lie with suavity. "it's a queer yarn, john," she said. "i'm used to queer yarns," he answered. "but where have you been all this time? it was only to take five minutes, i thought." she made herself laugh. "that's because you don't know ronicky doone, john." "i'm getting to know him, however," said the master. "and, before i'm done, i hope to know him very well indeed." "well, he has a persuasive tongue." "i think i noticed that for myself." "and, when he told me how poor bill gregg had come clear across the continent--" "no wonder you were touched, my dear. new yorkers won't travel so far, will they? not for a girl, i mean." "hardly! but ronicky doone made it such a sad affair that i promised i'd go across and see bill gregg." "not in his room?" "i knew you wouldn't let him come to see me here." "never presuppose what i'll do. but go on--i'm interested--very. just as much as if ronicky doone himself were telling me." she eyed him shrewdly, but, if there were any deception in him, he hid it well. she could not find the double meaning that must have been behind his words. "i went there, however," she said, "because i was sorry for him, john. if you had seen you'd have been sorry, too, or else you would have laughed; i could hardly keep from it at first." "i suppose he took you in his arms at once?" "i think he wanted to. then, of course, i told him at once why i had come." "which was?" "simply that it was absurd for him to stay about and persecute me; that the letters i wrote him were simply written for fun, when i was doing some of my cousin's work at the correspondence schools; that the best thing he could do would be to take my regrets and go back to the west." "did you tell him all that?" asked john mark in a rather changed voice. "yes; but not quite so bluntly." "naturally not; you're a gentle girl, caroline. i suppose he took it very hard." "very, but in a silly way. he's full of pride, you see. he drew himself up and gave me a lecture about deceiving men." "well, since you have lost interest in him, it makes no difference." "but in a way," she said faintly, rising slowly from her chair, "i can't help feeling some interest." "naturally not. but, you see, i was worried so much about you and this foolish fellow that i gave orders for him to be put out of the way, as soon as you left him." caroline smith stood for a moment stunned and then ran to him. "no, no!" she declared. "in the name of the dear mercy of heaven, john, you haven't done that?" "i'm sorry." "then call him back--the one you sent. call him back, john, and i'll serve you the rest of my life without question. i'll never fail you, john, but for your own sake and mine, for the sake of everything fair in the world, call him back!" he pushed away her hands, but without violence. "i thought it would be this way," he said coldly. "you told a very good lie, caroline. i suppose clever ronicky doone rehearsed you in it, but it needed only the oldest trick in the world to expose you." she recoiled from him. "it was only a joke, then? you didn't mean it, john? thank heaven for that!" a savagery which, though generally concealed, was never far from the surface, now broke out in him, making the muscles of his face tense and his voice metallic. "get to your room," he said fiercely, "get to your room. i've wasted time enough on you and your brat of a brother, and now a western lout is to spoil what i've done? i've a mind to wash my hands of all of you--and sink you. get to your room, and stay there, while i make up my mind which of the two i shall do." she went, cringing like one beaten, to the door, and he followed her, trembling with rage. "or have you a choice?" he asked. "brother or lover, which shall it be?" she turned and stretched out her hands to him, unable to speak; but the man of the sneer struck down her arms and laughed in her face. in mute terror she fled to her room. chapter seventeen _old scars_ in his room bill gregg was striding up and down, throwing his hands toward the ceiling. now and then he paused to slap ronicky doone on the back. "it's fate, ronicky," he said, over and over again. "thinking of waking up and finding the girl that you've loved and lost standing waiting for you! it's the dead come to life. i'm the happiest man in the world. ronicky, old boy, one of these days i'll be able--" he paused, stopped by the solemnity of doone's face. "what's wrong, ronicky?" "i don't know," said the other gloomily. he rubbed his arms slowly, as if to bring back the circulation to numbed limbs. "you act like you're sick, ronicky." "i'm getting bad-luck signs, bill. that's the short of it." "how come?" "the old scars are prickling." "scars? what scars?" "ain't you noticed 'em." it was bedtime, so ronicky doone took off his coat and shirt. the rounded body, alive with playing muscles, was striped, here and there, with white streaks--scars left by healed wounds. "at your age? a kid like you with scars?" bill gregg had been asking, and then he saw the exposed scars and gasped. "how come, ronicky," he asked huskily in his astonishment, "that you got all those and ain't dead yet?" "i dunno," said the other. "i wonder a pile about that, myself. fact is i'm a lucky gent, bill gregg." "they say back yonder in your country that you ain't never been beaten, ronicky." "they sure say a lot of foolish things, just to hear themselves talk, partner. a gent gets pretty good with a gun, then they say he's the best that ever breathed--that he's never been beat. but they forget things that happened just a year back. no, sir; i sure took my lickings when i started." "but, dog-gone it, ronicky, you ain't twenty-four now!" "between sixteen and twenty-two i spent a pile of time in bed, bill, and you can lay to that!" "and you kept practicing?" "sure, when i found out that i had to. i never liked shooting much. hated to think of having a gent's life right inside the crook of my trigger finger. but, when i seen that i had to get good, why i just let go all holds and practiced day and night. and i still got to practice." "i seen that," said bill gregg. "every day, for an hour or two, you work with your guns." "it's like being a musician," said ronicky without enthusiasm. "i heard about it once. suppose a gent works up to be a fine musician, maybe at the piano. you'd think, when he got to the top and knew everything, he could lay off and take things easy the rest of his life. but not him! nope, he's got to work like a slave every day." "but how come you felt them scars pricking as a bad-luck sign, ronicky?" he asked after a time. "is there anything that's gone wrong, far as you see?" "i dunno," said ronicky gravely. "maybe not, and maybe so. i ain't a prophet, but i don't like having everything so smooth--not when they's a gent like the man with the sneer on the other end of the wire. it means he's holding back some cards on us, and i'd sure like to see the color of what he's got. what i'm going to work for is this, bill: to get caroline's brother, jerry smith, and rustle him out of town." "but how can you do that when john mark has a hold on him?" "that's a pile of bunk, bill. i figure mark is just bluffing. he ain't going to turn anybody over to the police. less he has to do with the police the happier he'll be. you can lay to that. matter of fact, he's been loaning money to caroline's brother. you heard her say that. also, he thinks that mark is the finest and most generous gent that ever stepped. probably a selfish skunk of a spoiled kid, this brother of hers. most like he puts mark up as sort of an ideal. well, the thing to do is to get hold of him and wake him up and pay off his debts to mark, which most like run to several thousand." "several thousand, ronicky? but where'll we get the money?" "you forget that i can always get money. it grows on the bushes for me." he grinned at bill gregg. "once we get jerry smith, then the whole gang of us will head straight west, as fast as we can step. now let's hit the hay." never had the mind of ronicky doone worked more quickly and surely to the point. the case of jerry smith was exactly what he had surmised. as for the crime of which john mark knew, and which he held like a club over jerry smith, it had been purely and simply an act of self-defense. but, to caroline and her brother, mark had made it seem clear that the shadow of the electric chair was before the young fellow. mark had worked seriously to win caroline. she was remarkably dexterous; she was the soul of courage; and, if he could once make her love her work, she would make him rich. in the meantime she did very well indeed, and he strengthened his hold on her through her brother. it was not hard to do. if jerry smith was the soul of recklessness, he was the soul of honor, also, in many ways. john mark had only to lead the boy toward a life of heavy expenditures and gaming, lending him, from time to time, the wherewithal to keep it up. in this way he anchored jerry as a safeguard to windward, in case of trouble. but, now that ronicky doone had entered the tangle, everything was changed. that clear-eyed fellow might see through to the very bottom of mark's tidewater plans. he might step in and cut the gordian knot by simply paying off jerry's debts. telling the boy to laugh at the danger of exposure, doone could snatch him away to the west. so mark came to forestall ronicky, by sending jerry out of town and out of reach, for the time being. he would not risk the effect of ronicky's tongue. had not caroline been persuaded under his very eyes by this strange westerner? very early the next morning john mark went straight to the apartment of his protégé. it was his own man, northup, who answered the bell and opened the door to him. he had supplied northup to jerry smith, immediately after caroline accomplished the lifting of the larrigan emeralds. that clever piece of work had proved the worth of the girl and made it necessary to spare no expense on jerry. so he had given him the tried and proven northup. the moment he looked into the grinning face of northup he knew that the master was not at home, and both the chief and the servant relaxed. they were friends of too long a term to stand on ceremony. "there's no one here?" asked mark, as a matter of form. "not a soul--the kid skipped--not a soul in the house." "suppose he were to come up behind the door and hear you talk about him like this, northup? he's trim you down nicely, eh?" "him?" asked northup, with an eloquent jerk of his hand. "he's a husky young brute, but it ain't brute force that i work with." he smiled significantly into the face of the other, and john mark smiled in return. they understood one another perfectly. "when is he coming back?" "didn't leave any word, chief." "isn't this earlier than his usual time for starting the day?" "it is, by five hours. the lazy pup don't usually crack an eye till one in the afternoon." "what happened this morning." "something rare--something it would have done your heart good to see!" "out with it, northup." "i was routed out of bed at eight by a jangling of the telephone. the operator downstairs said a gentleman was calling on mr. smith. i said, of course, that mr. smith couldn't be called on at that hour. then the operator said the gentleman would come up to the door and explain. i told him to come ahead. "at the door of the apartment i met as fine looking a youngster as i ever laid eyes on, brown as a berry, with a quick, straight look about the eyes that would have done you good to see. no booze or dope in that face, chief. he said--" "how tall was he?" asked the chief. "about my height. know him?" "maybe. what name did he give?" "didn't give a name. 'i've come to surprise jerry,' he says to me. "'anybody would surprise jerry at this hour of the morning,'" says i. "'it's too early, i take it?' says he. "'about five hours,' says i. "'then this is going to be one of the exceptions,' says he. "'if you knew jerry better you wouldn't force yourself on him,' says i. "'son,' says this fresh kid--" "is this the way you talk to smith?" broke in mark. "no, i can polish up my lingo with the best of 'em. but this brown-faced youngster was a card. son,' he says to me, 'i'll do my own explaining. just lead me to his dugout.' "i couldn't help laughing. 'you'll get a hot reception,' says i. "'i come from a hot country,' says he, 'and i got no doubt that jerry will try to make me at home,' and he grinned with a devil in each eye. "'come in, then,' says i, and in he steps. 'and mind your fists,' says i, 'if you wake him up sudden. he fights sometimes because he has to, but mostly because it's a pleasure to him.' "'sure,' says he. 'that's the way i like to have 'em come.'" "and he went in?" demanded john mark. "what's wrong with that?" asked northup anxiously. "nothing. go ahead." "well, in he went to jerry's room. i listened at the door. i heard him call jerry, and then jerry groaned like he was half dead. "'i don't know you,' says jerry. "'you will before i'm through with you,' says the other. "'who the devil are you?' asks jerry. "'doone is my name,' says he. "'then go to the devil till one o'clock,' says jerry. 'and come back then if you want to. here's my time for a beauty sleep.' "'if it's that time,' says doone, 'you'll have to go ugly today. i'm here to talk.' "i heard jerry sit up in bed. "'now what the devil's the meaning of this?' he asked. "'are you awake?' says doone. "'yes, but be hung to you!' says jerry. "don't be hanging me,' says doone. 'you just mark this day down in red--it's a lucky one for you, son.' "'an' how d'you mean that?' says jerry, and i could hear by his voice that he was choking, he was that crazy mad. "'because it's the day you met me,' says doone; 'that's why it's a lucky one for you.' "'listen to me,' says jerry, 'of all the nervy, cold-blooded fakers that ever stepped you're the nerviest.' "'thanks,' says doone. 'i think i am doing pretty well.' "'if i wanted to waste the time,' says jerry, 'i'd get up and throw you out.' "'it's a wise man,' says doone, 'that does his talking from the other side of a rock.' "'well,' says jerry, 'd'you think i can't throw you out?' "'anyway,' says doone, 'i'm still here.' "i heard the springs squeal, as jerry went bouncing out of bed. for a minute they wrestled, and i opened the door. what i see was jerry lying flat, and doone sitting on his chest, as calm and smiling as you please. i closed the door quick. jerry's too game a boy to mind being licked fair and square, but, of course, he'd rather fight till he died than have me or anybody else see him give up. "'i dunno how you got there,' says jerry, 'but, if i don't kill you for this later on, i'd like to shake hands with you. it was a good trick.' "'the gent that taught me near busted me in two with the trick of it,' said doone. 's'pose i let you up. is it to be a handshaking or fighting?' "'my wind is gone for half an hour,' says jerry, 'and my head is pretty near jarred loose from my spinal column. i guess it'll have to be hand-shaking today. but i warn you, doone,' he says, 'someday i'll have it all out with you over again.' "'any time you mention,' says doone, 'but, if you'd landed that left when you rushed in, i would have been on the carpet, instead of you.' "and jerry chuckles, feeling a pile better to think how near he'd come to winning the fight. "'wait till i jump under the shower,' says jerry, 'and i'll be with you again. have you had breakfast? and what brought you to me? and who the devil are you, doone? are you out of the west?' "he piles all these questions thick and fast at doone, and then i seen right off that him and doone had made up to be pretty thick with each other. so i went away from the door and didn't listen any more, and in about half an hour out they walk, arm in arm, like old pals." it was perfectly clear to john mark that ronicky had come there purposely to break the link between him and young jerry smith. it was perfectly plain why he wanted to do it. "how much does jerry owe me?" he asked suddenly. the other drew out a pad and calculated for a moment: "seven thousand eight hundred and forty-two," he announced with a grin, as he put back the pad. "that's what he's sold himself for, up to this time." "too much in a way and not enough in another way," replied john mark. "listen, if he comes back, which i doubt, keep him here. get him away from ronicky--dope him--dope them both. in any case, if he comes back here, don't let him get away. you understand?" "nope, but i don't need to understand. i'll do it." john mark nodded and turned toward the door. chapter eighteen _the spider's web_ only the select attended the meetings at fernand's. it was doubly hard to choose them. they had to have enough money to afford high play, and they also had to lose without a murmur. it made it extremely difficult to build up a clientele, but fernand was equal to the task. he seemed to smell out the character of a man or woman, to know at once how much iron was in their souls. and, following the course of an evening's play, fernand knew the exact moment at which a man had had enough. it was never twice the same for the same man. a rich fellow, who lost twenty thousand one day and laughed at it, might groan and curse if he lost twenty hundred a week later. it was fernand's desire to keep those groans and curses from being heard in his gaming house. he extracted wallets painlessly, so to speak. he was never crooked; and yet he would not have a dealer in his employ unless the fellow knew every good trick of running up the deck. the reason was that, while fernand never cheated in order to take money away from his customers, he very, very frequently had his men cheat in order to give money away. this sounds like a mad procedure for the proprietor of a gaming house, but there were profound reasons beneath it. for one of the maxims of fernand--and, like every gambler, he had many of them--was that the best way to make a man lose money is first of all to make him win it. such was monsieur frederic fernand. and, if many compared him to falstaff, and many pitied the merry, fat old man for having fallen into so hard a profession, yet there were a few who called him a bloated spider, holding his victims, with invisible cords, and bleeding them slowly to death. to help him he had selected two men, both young, both shrewd, both iron in will and nerve and courage, both apparently equally expert with the cards, and both just as equally capable of pleasing his clients. one was a scotchman, mckeever; the other was a jew, simonds. but in looks they were as much alike as two peas out of one pod. they hated each other with silent, smiling hatred, because they knew that they were on trial for their fortunes. tonight the jew, simonds, was dealing at one of the tables, and the scotchman, mckeever, stood at the side of the master of the house, ready to execute his commissions. now and again his dark eyes wandered toward the table where the jew sat, with the cards flashing through his fingers. mckeever hungered to be there on the firing line! how he wished he could feel that sifting of the polished cardboard under his finger tips. they were playing black jack. he noted the smooth skill with which simonds buried a card. and yet the trick was not perfectly done. had he, mckeever, been there-- at this point he was interrupted by the easy, oily voice of m. fernand. "this is an infernal nuisance!" mckeever raised his eyebrows and waited for an explanation. two young men, very young, very straight, had just come into the rooms. one he knew to be jerry smith. "another table and dealer wasted," declared m. fernand. "smith--and, by heavens, he's brought some friend of his with him!" "shall i see if i can turn them away without playing?" asked mckeever. "no, not yet. smith is a friend of john mark. don't forget that. never forget, mckeever, that the friends of john mark must be treated with gloves--always!" "very good," replied mckeever, like a pupil memorizing in class. "i'll see how far i can go with them," went on m. fernand. he went straight to the telephone and rang john mark. "how far should i go with them?" he asked, after he had explained that smith had just come in. "is there someone with him?" asked john mark eagerly. "a young chap about the same age--very brown." "that's the man i want!" "the man you want?" "fernand," said mark, without explaining, "those youngsters have gone out there to make some money at your expense." m. fernand growled. "i wish you'd stop using me as a bank, mark," he complained. "besides, it costs a good deal." "i pay you a tolerable interest, i believe," said john mark coldly. "of course, of course! well"--this in a manner of great resignation--"how much shall i let them take away?" "bleed them both to death if you want. let them play on credit. go as far as you like." "very well," said fernand, "but--" "i may be out there later, myself. good-by." the face of frederic fernand was dark when he went back to mckeever. "what do you think of the fellow with jerry smith?" he asked. "of him?" asked mckeever, fencing desperately for another moment, as he stared at ronicky doone. the latter was idling at a table close to the wall, running his hands through a litter of magazines. after a moment he raised his head suddenly and glanced across the room at mckeever. the shock of meeting glances is almost a physical thing. and the bold, calm eyes of ronicky doone lingered on mckeever and seemed to judge him and file that judgment away. mckeever threw himself upon the wings of his imagination. there was something about this fellow, or his opinion would not have been asked. what was it? "well?" asked frederic fernand peevishly. "what do you think of him?" "i think," said the other casually, "that he's probably a western gunman, with a record as long as my arm." "you think that?" asked the fat man. "well, i've an idea that you think right. there's something about him that suggests action. the way he looks about, so slowly--that is the way a fearless man is apt to look, you know. do you think you can sit at the table with ronicky doone, as they call him, and jerry smith and win from them this evening?" "with any sort of luck--" "leave the luck out of it. john mark has made a special request. tonight, mckeever, it's going to be your work to make the luck come to you. do you think you can?" a faint smile began to dawn on the face of mckeever. never in his life had he heard news so sweet to his ear. it meant, in brief, that he was to be trusted for the first time at real manipulation of the cards. his trust in himself was complete. this would be a crushing blow for simonds. "mind you," the master of the house went on, "if you are caught at working--" "nonsense!" said mckeever happily. "they can't follow my hands." "this fellow doone--i don't know." "i'll take the chance." "if you're caught i turn you out. you hear? are you willing to take the risk?" "yes," said mckeever, very pale, but determined. at the right moment mckeever approached jerry and ronicky, dark, handsome, smoothly amiable. he was clever enough to make no indirect effort to introduce his topic. "i see that you gentlemen are looking about," he said. "yonder is a clear table for us. do you agree, mr. smith?" jerry smith nodded, and, having introduced ronicky doone, the three started for the table which had been indicated. it was in an alcove, apart from the sweep of big rooms which were given over to the players. it lay, too, conveniently in range of the beat of frederic fernand, as he moved slowly back and forth, over a limited territory and stopped, here and there for a word, here and there for a smile. he was smoothing the way for dollars to slide out of wallets. now he deliberately stopped the party in their progress to the alcove. "i have to meet you," he said to ronicky. "you remind me of a friend of my father, a young westerner, those many years ago. same brown skin, same clear eye. he was a card expert, the man i'm thinking about. i hope you're not in the same class, my friend!" then he went on, laughing thunderously at his own poor jest. particularly from the back, as he retreated, he seemed a harmless fat man, very simple, very naive. but ronicky doone regarded him with an interest both cold and keen. and, with much the same regard, after fernand had passed out of view, the westerner regarded the table at which they were to sit. in the alcove were three wall lights, giving an ample illumination--too ample to suit ronicky doone. for mckeever had taken the chair with the back to the light. he made no comment, but, taking the chair which was facing the lights, the chair which had been pointed out to him by mckeever, he drew it around on the far side and sat down next to the professional gambler. chapter nineteen _stacked cards_ the game opened slowly. the first, second, and third hands were won by jerry smith. he tucked away his chips with a smile of satisfaction, as if the three hands were significant of the whole progress of the game. but ronicky doone pocketed his losses without either smile or sneer. he had played too often in games in the west which ran to huge prices. miners had come in with their belts loaded with dust, eager to bet the entire sum of their winnings at once. ranchers, fat with the profits of a good sale of cattle, had wagered the whole amount of it in a single evening. as far as large losses and large gains were concerned, ronicky doone was ready to handle the bets of anyone, other than millionaires, without a smile or a wince. the trouble with mckeever was that he was playing the game too closely. long before, it had been a maxim with the chief that a good gambler should only lose by a small margin. that maxim mckeever, playing for the first time for what he felt were important stakes in the eyes of fernand, followed too closely. stacking the cards, with the adeptness which years of practice had given to him, he never raised the amount of his opponent's hand beyond its own order. a pair was beaten by a pair, three of a kind was simply beaten by three of a kind of a higher order; and, when a full house was permitted by his expert dealing to appear to excite the other gamblers, he himself indulged in no more than a superior grade of three of a kind. half a dozen times these coincidences happened without calling for any distrust on the part of ronicky doone, but eventually he began to think. steady training enabled his eyes to do what the eyes of the ordinary man could not achieve, and, while to jerry smith all that happened in the deals of mckeever was the height of correctness, ronicky doone, at the seventh deal, awakened to the fact that something was wrong. he hardly dared to allow himself to think of anything for a time, but waited and watched, hoping against hope that jerry smith himself would discover the fraud which was being perpetrated on them. but jerry smith maintained a bland interest in the game. he had won between two and three hundred, and these winnings had been allowed by mckeever to accumulate in little runs, here and there. for nothing encourages a gambler toward reckless betting so much as a few series of high hands. he then begins to believe that he can tell, by some mysterious feeling inside, that one good hand presages another. jerry smith had not been brought to the point where he was willing to plunge, but he was very close to it. mckeever was gathering the youngster in the hollow of his hand, and ronicky doone, fully awake and aware of all that was happening, felt a gathering rage accumulate in him. there was something doubly horrible in this cheating in this place. ronicky set his teeth and watched. plainly he was the chosen victim. the winnings of jerry smith were carefully balanced against the losses of ronicky doone. hatred for this smooth-faced mckeever was waxing in him, and hatred in ronicky doone meant battle. an interruption came to him from the side. it came in the form of a brief rustling of silk, like the stir of wind, and then ruth tolliver's coppery hair and green-blue eyes were before him--ruth tolliver in an evening gown and wonderful to look at. ronicky doone indulged himself with staring eyes, as he rose to greet her. this, then, was her chosen work under the régime of john mark. it was as a gambler that she was great. the uneasy fire was in her eyes, the same fire that he had seen in western gold camps, in western gaming houses. and the delicate, nervous fingers now took on a new meaning to him. that she had won heavily this evening he saw at once. the dangerous and impalpable flush of the gamester was on her face, and behind it burned a glow and radiance. she looked as if, having defeated men by the coolness of her wits and the favor of luck, she had begun to think that she could now outguess the world. two men trailed behind her, stirring uneasily about when she paused at ronicky's alcove table. "you've found the place so soon?" she asked. "how is your luck?" "not nearly as good tonight as yours." "oh, i can't help winning. every card i touch turns into gold this evening. i think i have the formula for it." "tell me, then," said ronicky quickly enough, for there was just the shadow of a backward nod of her head. "just step aside. i'll spoil mr. mckeever's game for him, i'm afraid." ronicky excused himself with a nod to the other two and followed the girl into the next room. "i have bad news," she whispered instantly, "but keep smiling. laugh if you can. the two men with me i don't know. they may be his spies for all we can tell. ronicky doone, john mark is out for you. why, in heaven's name, are you interfering with caroline smith and her affairs? it will be your death, i promise you. john mark has arrived and has placed men around the house. ronicky doone, he means business. help yourself if you can. i'm unable to lift a hand for you. if i were you i should leave, and i should leave at once. laugh, ronicky doone!" he obeyed, laughing until the tears were glittering in his eyes, until the girl laughed with him. "good!" she whispered. "good-by, ronicky, and good luck." he watched her going, saw the smiles of the two men, as they greeted her again and closed in beside her, and watched the light flash on her shoulders, as she shrugged away some shadow from her mind--perhaps the small care she had given about him. but no matter how cold-hearted she might be, how thoroughly in tune with this hard, bright world of new york, she at least was generous and had courage. who could tell how much she risked by giving him that warning? ronicky went back to his place at the table, still laughing in apparent enjoyment of the jest he had just heard. he saw mckeever's ferretlike glance of interrogation and distrust--a thief's distrust of an honest man--but ronicky's good nature did not falter in outward seeming for an instant. he swept up his hand, bet a hundred, with apparently foolish recklessness, on three sevens, and then had to buy fresh chips from mckeever. the coming of the girl seemed to have completely upset his equilibrium as a gambler--certainly it made him bet with the recklessness of a madman. and frederic fernand, glancing in from time to time, watched the demolition of ronicky's pile of chips, with growing complacence. ronicky doone had allowed himself to take heed of the room about him, and frederic fernand liked him for it. his beautiful rooms were pearls cast before swine, so far as most of his visitors were concerned. a moment later ronicky had risen, went toward the wall and drew a dagger from its sheath. it was a full twelve inches in length, that blade, and it came to a point drawn out thinner than the eye could follow. the end was merely a long glint of light. as for ronicky doone, he cried out in surprise and then sat down, balancing the weapon in his hand and looking down at it, with the silent happiness of a child with a satisfying toy. frederic fernand was observing him. there was something remarkably likable in young doone, he decided. no matter what john mark had said--no matter if john mark was a genius in reading the characters of men--every genius could make mistakes. this, no doubt, was one of john mark's mistakes. there was the free and careless thoughtlessness of a boy about this young fellow. and, though he glanced down the glimmering blade of the weapon, with a sort of sinister joy, frederic fernand did not greatly care. there was more to admire in the workmanship of the hilt than in a thousand such blades, but a westerner would have his eye on the useful part of a thing. "how much d'you think that's worth?" asked mckeever. "dunno," said ronicky. "that's good steel." he tried the point, then he snapped it under his thumb nail and a little shiver of a ringing sound reached as far as frederic fernand. then he saw ronicky doone suddenly lean a little across the table, pointing toward the hand in which mckeever held the pack, ready for the deal. mckeever shook his head and gripped the pack more closely. "do you suspect me of crooked work?" asked mckeever. he pushed back his chair. fernand, studying his lieutenant in this crisis, approved of him thoroughly. he himself was in a quandary. westerners fight, and a fight would be most embarrassing. "do you think--" began mckeever. "i think you'll keep that hand and that same pack of cards on the table till i've had it looked over," said ronicky doone. "i've dropped a cold thousand to you, and you're winning it with stacked decks, mckeever." there was a stifled oath from mckeever, as he jerked his hand back. frederic fernand was beginning to draw one breath of joy at the thought that mckeever would escape without having that pack, of all packs, examined, when the long dagger flashed in the hand of ronicky doone. he struck as a cat strikes when it hooks the fish out of the stream--he struck as the snapper on the end of a whiplash doubles back. and well and truly did that steel uphold its fame. the dull, chopping sound of the blow stood by itself for an instant. then mckeever, looking down in horror at his hand, screamed and fell back in his chair. that was the instant when frederic fernand judged his lieutenant and found him wanting. a man who fainted in such a crisis as this was beyond the pale. other people crowded past him. frightened, desperate, he pushed on. at length his weight enabled him to squeeze through the rapidly gathering crowd of gamblers. the only nonchalant man of the lot was he who had actually used the weapon. for ronicky doone stood with his shoulders propped against the wall, his hands clasped lightly behind him. for all that, it was plain that he was not unarmed. a certain calm insolence about his expression told frederic fernand that the teeth of the dragon were not drawn. "gents," he was saying, in his mild voice, while his eyes ran restlessly from face to face, "i sure do hate to bust up a nice little party like this one has been, but i figure them cards are stacked. i got a pile of reasons for knowing, and i want somebody to look over them cards--somebody that knows stacked cards when he sees 'em. mostly it ain't hard to get onto the order of them being run up. i'll leave it, gents, to the man that runs this dump." and, leaning across the table, he pushed the pack straight to frederic fernand. the latter set his teeth. it was very cunningly done to trap him. if he said the cards were straight they might be examined afterward; and, if he were discovered in a lie, it would mean more than the loss of mckeever--it would mean the ruin of everything. did he dare take the chance? must he give up mckeever? the work of years of careful education had been squandered on mckeever. fernand looked up, and his eyes rested on the calm face of ronicky doone. why had he never met a man like that before? there was an assistant! there was a fellow with steel-cold nerve--worth a thousand trained mckeevers! then he glanced at the wounded man, cowering and bunched in his chair. at that moment the gambler made up his mind to play the game in the big way and pocket his losses. "ladies and gentlemen," he said sadly, placing the cards back on the edge of the table, "i am sorry to say that mr. doone is right. the pack has been run up. there it is for any of you to examine it. i don't pretend to understand. most of you know that mckeever has been with me for years. needless to say, he will be with me no more." and, turning on his heel, the old fellow walked slowly away, his hands clasped behind him, his head bowed. and the crowd poured after him to shake his hand and tell him of their unshakable confidence in his honesty. mckeever was ruined, but the house of frederic fernand was more firmly established than ever, after the trial of the night. chapter twenty _trapped!_ "get the money," said ronicky to jerry smith. "there it is!" he pointed to the drawer, where mckeever, as banker, had kept the money. the wounded man in the meantime had disappeared. "how much is ours?" asked jerry smith. "all you find there," answered ronicky calmly. "but there's a big bunch--large bills, too. mckeever was loaded for bear." "he loses--the house loses it. out in my country, jerry, that wouldn't be half of what the house would lose for a little trick like what's been played on us tonight. not the half of what the house would lose, i tell you! he had us trimmed, jerry, and out west we'd wreck this joint from head to heels." the diffident jerry fingered the money in the drawer of the table uncertainly. ronicky doone swept it up and thrust it into his pocket. "we'll split straws later," said ronicky. "main thing we need right about now is action. this coin will start us." in the hall, as they took their hats, they found big frederic fernand in the act of dissuading several of his clients from leaving. the incident of the evening was regrettable, most regrettable, but such things would happen when wild men appeared. besides, the fault had been that of mckeever. he assured them that mckeever would never again be employed in his house. and fernand meant it. he had discarded all care for the wounded man. ronicky doone stepped to him and drew him aside. "mr. fernand," he said, "i've got to have a couple of words with you." "come into my private room," said fernand, eager to get the fighter out of view of the rest of the little crowd. he drew ronicky and jerry smith into a little apartment which opened off the hall. it was furnished with an almost feminine delicacy of style, with wide-seated, spindle-legged louis xv. chairs and a couch covered with rich brocade. the desk was a work of boulle. a small tapestry of the gobelins made a ragged glow of color on the wall. frederic fernand had recreated an atmosphere two hundred years old. he seated them at once. "and now, sir," he said sternly to ronicky doone, "you are aware that i could have placed you in the hands of the police for what you've done tonight?" ronicky doone made no answer. his only retort was a gradually spreading smile. "partner," he said at length, while fernand was flushing with anger at this nonchalance on the part of the westerner, "they might of grabbed me, but they would have grabbed your house first." "that fact," said fernand hotly, "is the reason you have dared to act like a wild man in my place? mr. doone, this is your last visit." "it sure is," said ronicky heartily. "d'you know what would have happened out in my neck of the woods, if there had been a game like the one tonight? i wouldn't have waited to be polite, but just pulled a gat and started smashing things for luck." "the incident is closed," fernand said with gravity, and he leaned forward, as if to rise. "not by a long sight," said ronicky doone. "i got an idea, partner, that you worked the whole deal. this is a square house, fernand. why was i picked out for the dirty work?" it required all of fernand's long habits of self control to keep him from gasping. he managed to look ronicky doone fairly in the eyes. what did the youngster know? what had he guessed? "suppose i get down to cases and name names? the gent that talked to you about me was john mark. am i right?" asked ronicky. "sir," said fernand, thinking that the world was tumbling about his ears, "what infernal--" "i'm right," said ronicky. "i can tell when i've hurt a gent by the way his face wrinkles up. i sure hurt you that time, fernand. john mark it was, eh?" fernand could merely stare. he began to have vague fears that this young devil might have hypnotic powers, or be in touch with he knew not what unearthly source of information. "out with it," said ronicky, leaving his chair. frederic fernand bit his lip in thought. he was by no means a coward, and two alternatives presented themselves to him. one was to say nothing and pretend absolute ignorance; the other was to drop his hand into his coat pocket and fire the little automatic which nestled there. "listen," said ronicky doone, "suppose i was to go a little farther still in my guesses! suppose i said i figured out that john mark and his men might be scattered around outside this house, waiting for me and smith to come out: what would you say to that?" "nothing," said fernand, but he blinked as he spoke. "for a feat of imagination as great as that i have only a silent admiration. but, if you have some insane idea that john mark, a gentleman i know and respect greatly, is lurking like an assassin outside the doors of my house--" "or maybe inside 'em," said ronicky, unabashed by this gravity. "if you think that," went on the gambler heavily, "i can only keep silence. but, to ease your own mind, i'll show you a simple way out of the house--a perfectly safe way which even you cannot doubt will lead you out unharmed. does that bring you what you want?" "it sure does," said ronicky. "lead the way, captain, and you'll find us right at your heels." he fell in beside jerry smith, while the fat man led on as their guide. "what does he mean by a safe exit?" asked jerry smith. "you'd think we were in a smuggler's cave." "worse," said ronicky, "a pile worse, son. and they'll sure have to have some tunnels or something for get-aways. this ain't a lawful house, jerry." as they talked, they were being led down toward the cellar. they paused at last in a cool, big room, paved with cement, and the unmistakable scent of the underground was in the air. "here we are," said the fat man, and, so saying, he turned a switch which illumined the room completely and then drew aside a curtain which opened into a black cavity. ronicky doone approached and peered into it. "how does it look to you, jerry?" he asked. "dark, but good enough for me, if you're all set on leaving by some funny way." "i don't care how it looks," said ronicky thoughtfully. "by the looks you can't make out nothing most of the time--nothing important. but they's ways of smelling things, and the smell of this here tunnel ain't too good to me. look again and try to pry down that tunnel with your flash light, jerry." accordingly jerry raised his little pocket electric torch and held it above his head. they saw a tunnel opening, with raw dirt walls and floor and a rude framing of heavy timbers to support the roof. but it turned an angle and went out of view in a very few paces. "go down there with your lantern and look for the exit," said ronicky doone. "i'll stay back here and see that we get our farewell all fixed up." the damp cellar air seemed to affect the throat of the fat man. he coughed heavily. "say, ronicky," said jerry smith, "looks to me that you're carrying this pretty far. let's take a chance on what we've got ahead of us?" the fat man was chuckling: "you show a touching trust in me, mr. doone." ronicky turned on him with an ugly sneer. "i don't like you, fernand," he said. "they's nothing about you that looks good to me. if i knew half as much as i guess about you i'd blow your head off, and go on without ever thinking about you again. but i don't know. here you've got me up against it. we're going to go down that tunnel; but, if it's blind, fernand, and you trap us from this end, it will be the worst day of your life." "take this passage, doone, or turn around and come back with me, and i'll show some other ways of getting out--ways that lie under the open sky, doone. would you like that better? do you want starlight and john mark--or a little stretch of darkness, all by yourself?" asked fernand. ronicky doone studied the face of fernand, almost wistfully. the more he knew about the fellow the more thoroughly convinced he was that fernand was bad in all possible ways. he might be telling the truth now, however--again he might be simply tempting him on to a danger. there was only one way to decide. ronicky, a gambler himself, mentally flipped a coin and nodded to jerry. "we'll go in," he said, "but man, man, how my old scars are pricking!" they walked into the moldy, damp air of the tunnel, reached the corner, and there the passage turned and ended in a blank wall of raw dirt, with a little apron of fallen debris at the bottom of it. ronicky doone walked first, and, when he saw the passage obstructed in this manner, he whirled like a flash and fired at the mouth of the tunnel. a snarl and a curse told him that he had at least come close to his target, but he was too late. a great door was sliding rapidly across the width of the tunnel, and, before he could fire a second time, the tunnel was closed. jerry smith went temporarily mad. he ran at the door, which had just closed, and struck the whole weight of his body against it. there was not so much as a quiver. the face of it was smooth steel, and there was probably a dense thickness of stonework on the other side, to match the cellar walls of the house. "it was my fool fault," exclaimed jerry, turning to his friend. "my fault, ronicky! oh, what a fool i am!" "i should have known by the feel of the scars," said ronicky. "put out that flash light, jerry. we may need that after a while, and the batteries won't last forever." he sat down, as he spoke, cross-legged, and the last thing jerry saw, as he snapped out the light, was the lean, intense face and the blazing eyes of ronicky doone. decidedly this was not a fellow to trifle with. if he trembled for himself and ronicky, he could also spare a shudder for what would happen to frederic fernand, if ronicky got away. in the meantime the light was out, and the darkness sat heavily beside and about them, with that faint succession of inaudible breathing sounds which are sensed rather than actually heard. "is there anything that we can do?" asked jerry suddenly. "it's all right to sit down and argue and worry, but isn't it foolish, ronicky?" "how come?" "i mean it in this way. sometimes when you can't solve a problem it's very easy to prove that it can't be solved by anyone. that's what i can prove now, but why waste time?" "have we got anything special to do with our time?" asked ronicky dryly. "well, my proof is easy. here we are in hard-pan dirt, without any sort of a tool for digging. so we sure can't tunnel out from the sides, can we?" "looks most like we can't," said ronicky sadly. "and the only ways that are left are the ends." "that's right." "but one end is the unfinished part of the tunnel; and, if you think we can do anything to the steel door--" "hush up," said ronicky. "besides, there ain't any use in you talking in a whisper, either. no, it sure don't look like we could do much to that door. besides, even if we could, i don't think i'd go. i'd rather take a chance against starvation than another trip to fat fernand's place. if i ever enter it again, son, you lay to it that he'll get me bumped off, mighty pronto." jerry smith, after a groan, returned to his argument. "but that ties us up, ronicky. the door won't work, and it's worse than solid rock. and we can't tunnel out the side, without so much as a pin to help us dig, can we? i think that just about settles things. ronicky, we can't get out." "suppose we had some dynamite," said ronicky cheerily. "sure, but we haven't." "suppose we find some?" jerry smith groaned. "are you trying to make a joke out of this? besides, could we send off a blast of dynamite in a closed tunnel like this?" "we could try," said ronicky. "way i'm figuring is to show you it's bad medicine to sit down and figure out how you're beat. even if you owe a pile of money they's some satisfaction in sitting back and adding up the figures so that you come out about a million dollars on top--in your dreams. before we can get out of here we got to begin to feel powerful sure." "but you take it straight, friend: fernand ain't going to leave us in here. nope, he's going to find a way to get us out. that's easy to figure out. but the way he'll get us out will be as dead ones, and then he can dump us, when he feels like it, in the river. ain't that the simplest way of working it out?" the teeth of jerry smith came together with a snap. "then the thing for us to do is to get set and wait for them to make an attack?" "no use waiting. when they attack it'll be in a way that'll give us no chance." "then you figure the same as me--we're lost?" "unless we can get out before they make the attack. in other words, jerry, there may be something behind the dirt wall at the end of the tunnel." "nonsense, ronicky." "there's got to be," said ronicky very soberly, "because, if there ain't, you and me are dead ones, jerry. come along and help me look, anyway." jerry rose obediently and flashed on his precious pocket torch, and they went down to pass the turn and come again to the ragged wall of earth which terminated the passage. jerry held the torch and passed it close to the dirt. all was solid. there was no sign of anything wrong. the very pick marks were clearly defined. "hold on," whispered ronicky doone. "hold on, jerry. i seen something." he snatched the electric torch, and together they peered at the patch from which the dried earth had fallen. "queer for hardpan to break up like that," muttered ronicky, cutting into the surface beneath the patch, with the point of his hunting knife. instantly there was the sharp gritting of steel against steel. the shout of ronicky was an indrawn breath. the shout of jerry smith was a moan of relief. ronicky continued his observations. the thing was very clear. they had dug the tunnel to this point and excavated a place which they had guarded with a steel door, but, in order to conceal the hiding place, or whatever it might be, they cunningly worked the false wall of dirt against the face of it, using clay and a thin coating of plaster as a base. "it's a place they don't use very often, maybe," said ronicky, "and that's why they can afford to put up this fake wall of plaster and mud after every time they want to come down here. pretty clever to leave that little pile of dirt on the floor, just like it had been worked off by the picks, eh? but we've found 'em, jerry, and now all we got to do is to get to the door and into whatever lies beyond." "we'd better hurry, then," cried jerry. "how come?" "take a breath." ronicky obeyed; the air was beginning to fill with the pungent and unmistakable odor of burning wood! chapter twenty-one _the miracle_ no great intelligence was needed to understand the meaning of it. fernand, having trapped his game, was now about to kill it. he could suffocate the two with smoke, blown into the tunnel, and make them rush blindly out. the moment they appeared, dazed and uncertain, the revolvers of half a dozen gunmen would be emptied into them. "it's like taking a trap full of rats," said ronicky bitterly, "and shaking them into a pail of water. let's go back and see what we can." they had only to turn the corner of the tunnel to be sure. fernand had had the door of the tunnel slid noiselessly open, then, into the tunnel itself, smoking, slowly burning, pungent pieces of pine wood had been thrown, having been first soaked in oil, perhaps. the tunnel was rapidly filling with smoke, and through the white drifts of it they looked into the lighted cellar beyond. they would run out at last, gasping for breath and blinded by the smoke, to be shot down in a perfect light. so much was clear. "now back to the wall and try to find that door," said ronicky. jerry had already turned. in a moment they were back and tearing with their fingers at the sham wall, kicking loose fragments with their feet. all the time, while they cleared a larger and larger space, they searched feverishly with the electric torch for some sign of a knob which would indicate a door, or some button or spring which might be used to open it. but there was nothing, and in the meantime the smoke was drifting back, in more and more unendurable clouds. "i can't stand much more," declared jerry at length. "keep low. the best air is there," answered ronicky. a voice called from the mouth of the tunnel, and they could recognize the smooth tongue of frederic fernand. "doone, i think i have you now. but trust yourselves to me, and all may still be well with you. throw out your weapons, and then walk out yourselves, with your arms above your heads, and you may have a second chance. i don't promise--i simply offer you a hope in the place of no hope at all. is that a good bargain?" "i'll see you hung first," answered ronicky and turned again to his work at the wall. but it seemed a quite hopeless task. the surface of the steel was still covered, after they had cleared it as much as they could, with a thin, clinging coat of plaster which might well conceal the button or device for opening the door. every moment the task became infinitely harder. finally jerry, his lungs nearly empty of oxygen, cast himself down on the floor and gasped. a horrible gagging sound betrayed his efforts for breath. ronicky knelt beside him. his own lungs were burning, and his head was thick and dizzy. "one more try, then we'll turn and rush them and die fighting, jerry." the other nodded and started to his feet. together they made that last effort, fumbling with their hands across the rough surface, and suddenly--had they touched the spring, indeed?--a section of the surface before them swayed slowly in. ronicky caught the half-senseless body of jerry smith and thrust him inside. he himself staggered after, and before him stood ruth tolliver! while he lay panting on the floor, she closed the door through which they had come and then stood and silently watched them. presently smith sat up, and ronicky doone staggered to his feet, his head clearing rapidly. he found himself in a small room, not more than eight feet square, with a ceiling so low that he could barely stand erect. as for the furnishings and the arrangement, it was more like the inside of a safe than anything else. there were, to be sure, three little stools, but nothing else that one would expect to find in an apartment. for the rest there was nothing but a series of steel drawers and strong chests, lining the walls of the room and leaving in the center very little room in which one might move about. he had only a moment to see all of this. ruth tolliver, hooded in an evening cloak, but with the light gleaming in her coppery hair, was shaking him by the arm and leaning a white face close to him. "hurry!" she was saying. "there isn't a minute to lose. you must start now, at once. they will find out--they will guess--and then--" "john mark?" he asked. "yes," she exclaimed, realizing that she had said too much, and she pressed her hand over her mouth, looking at ronicky doone in a sort of horror. jerry smith had come to his feet at last, but he remained in the background, staring with a befuddled mind at the lovely vision of the girl. fear and excitement and pleasure had transformed her face, but she seemed trembling in an agony of desire to be gone. she seemed invincibly drawn to remain there longer still. ronicky doone stared at her, with a strange blending of pity and admiration. he knew that the danger was not over by any means, but he began to forget that. "this way!" called the girl and led toward an opposite door, very low in the wall. "lady," said ronicky gently, "will you hold on one minute? they won't start to go through the smoke for a while. they'll think they've choked us, when we don't come out on the rush, shooting. but they'll wait quite a time to make sure. they don't like my style so well that they'll hurry me." he smiled sourly at the thought. "and we got time to learn a lot of things that we'll never find out, unless we know right now, pronto!" he stepped before the girl, as he spoke. "how come you knew we were in there? how come you to get down here? how come you to risk everything you got to let us out through the treasure room of mark's gang?" he had guessed as shrewdly as he could, and he saw, by her immediate wincing, that the shot had told. "you strange, mad, wild westerner!" she exclaimed. "do you mean to tell me you want to stay here and talk? even if you have a moment to spare you must use it. if you knew the men with whom you are dealing you would never dream of--" in her pause he said, smiling: "lady, it's tolerable clear that you don't know me. but the way i figure it is this: a gent may die any time, but, when he finds a minute for good living, he'd better make the most of it." he knew by her eyes that she half guessed his meaning, but she wished to be certain. "what do you intend by that?" she asked. "it's tolerable simple," said ronicky. "i've seen square things done in my life, but i've never yet seen a girl throw up all she had to do a good turn for a gent she's seen only once. you follow me, lady? i pretty near guess the trouble you're running into." "you guess what?" she asked. "i guess that you're one of john mark's best cards. you're his chief gambler, lady, and he uses you on the big game." she had drawn back, one hand pressed against her breast, her mouth tight with the pain. "you have guessed all that about me?" she asked faintly. "that means you despise me!" "what folks do don't matter so much," said ronicky. "it's the reasons they have for doing a thing that matters, i figure, and the way they do it. i dunno how john mark hypnotized you and made a tool out of you, but i do know that you ain't changed by what you've done." ronicky doone stepped to her quickly and took both her hands. he was not, ordinarily, particularly forward with girls. now he acted as gracefully as if he had been the father of ruth tolliver. "lady," he said, "you've saved two lives tonight. that's a tolerable lot to have piled up to anybody's credit. besides, inside you're snow-white. we've got to go, but i'm coming back. will you let me come back?" "never, never!" declared ruth tolliver. "you must never see me--you must never see caroline smith again. any step you take in that direction is under peril of your life. leave new york, ronicky doone. leave it as quickly as you may, and never come back. only pray that his arm isn't long enough to follow you." "leave caroline?" he asked. "i'll tell you what you're going to do, ruth. when you get back home you're going to tell caroline that jerry, here, has seen the light about mark, and that he has money enough to pay back what he owes." "but i haven't," broke in jerry. "i have it," said ronicky, "and that's the same thing." "i'll take no charity," declared jerry smith. "you'll do what i tell you," said ronicky doone. "you been bothering enough, son. go tell caroline what i've said," he went on to the girl. "let her know that they's no chain on anybody, and, if she wants to find bill gregg, all she's got to do is go across the street. you understand?" "but, even if i were to tell her, how could she go, ronicky doone, when she's watched?" "if she can't make a start and get to a man that loves her and is waiting for her, right across the street, she ain't worth worrying about," said ronicky sternly. "do we go this way?" she hurried before them. "you've waited too long--you've waited too long!" she kept whispering in her terror, as she led them through the door, paused to turn out the light behind her, and then conducted them down a passage like that on the other side of the treasure chamber. it was all deadly black and deadly silent, but the rustling of the girl's dress, as she hurried before them, was their guide. and always her whisper came back: "hurry! hurry! i fear it is too late!" suddenly they were climbing up a narrow flight of steps. they stood under the starlight in a back yard, with houses about them on all sides. "go down that alley, and you will be on the street," said the girl. "down that alley, and then hurry--run--find the first taxi. will you do that?" "we'll sure go, and we'll wait for caroline smith--and you, too!" "don't talk madness! why will you stay? you risk everything for yourselves and for me!" jerry smith was already tugging at ronicky's arm to draw him away, but the westerner was stubbornly pressing back to the girl. he had her hand and would not leave it. "if you don't show up, lady," he said, "i'll come to find you. you hear?" "no, no!" "i swear!" "bless you, but never venture near again. but, oh, ronicky doone, i wish ten other men in the whole world could be half so generous and wild as you!" suddenly her hand was slipped from his, and she was gone into the shadows. down the alley went jerry smith, but he returned in an agony of dread to find that ronicky doone was still running here and there, in a blind confusion, probing the shadowy corners of the yard in search of the girl. "come off, you wild man," said jerry. "they'll be on our heels any minute--they may be waiting for us now, down the alley--come off, idiot, quick!" "if i thought they was a chance of finding her i'd stay," declared ronicky, shaking his head bitterly. "whether you and me live, don't count beside a girl like that. getting soot on one tip of her finger might mean more'n whether you or me die." "maybe, maybe," said the other, "but answer that tomorrow; right now, let's start to make sure of ourselves, and we can come back to find her later." ronicky doone, submitting partly to the force and partly to the persuasion of his friend, turned reluctantly and followed him down the alley. chapter twenty-two _mark makes a move_ passing hurriedly out of the cloakroom, a little later, ruth met simonds, the lieutenant of frederic fernand, in the passage. he was a ratfaced little man, with a furtive smile. not an unpleasant smile, but it was continually coming and going, as if he wished earnestly to win the favor of the men before him, but greatly doubted his ability to do so. ruth tolliver, knowing his genius for the cards, knowing his cold and unscrupulous soul, detested him heartily. when she saw his eyes flicker up and down the hall she hesitated. obviously he wished to speak with her, and obviously he did not wish to be seen in the act. as she paused he stepped to her, his face suddenly set with determination. "watch john mark," he whispered. "don't trust him. he suspects everything!" "what? everything about what?" she asked. simonds gazed at her for a moment with a singular expression. there were conjoined cynicism, admiration, doubt, and fear in his glance. but, instead of speaking again, he bowed and slipped away into the open hall. she heard him call, and she heard fernand's oily voice make answer. and at that she shivered. what had simonds guessed? how, under heaven, did he know where she had gone when she left the gaming house? or did he know? had he not merely guessed? perhaps he had been set on by fernand or mark to entangle and confuse her? there remained, out of all this confusion of guesswork, a grim feeling that simonds did indeed know, and that, for the first time in his life, perhaps, he was doing an unbought, a purely generous thing. she remembered, now, how often simonds had followed her with his eyes, how often his face had lighted when she spoke even casually to him. yes, there might be a reason for simonds' generosity. but that implied that he knew fairly well what john mark himself half guessed. the thought that she was under the suspicion of mark himself was terrible to her. she drew a long breath and advanced courageously into the gaming rooms. the first thing she saw was fernand hurrying a late comer toward the tables, laughing and chatting as he went. she shuddered at the sight of him. it was strange that he, who had, a moment before, in the very cellar of that house, been working to bring about the death of two men, should now be immaculate, self-possessed. a step farther and she saw john mark sitting at a console table, with his back to the room and a cup of tea before him. that was, in fact, his favorite drink at all hours of the day or night. to see fernand was bad enough, but to see the master mind of all the evil that passed around her was too much. the girl inwardly thanked heaven that his back was turned and started to pass him as softly as possible. "just a minute, ruth," he called, as she was almost at the door of the room. for a moment there was a frantic impulse in her to bolt like a foolish child afraid of the dark. in the next apartment were light and warmth and eager faces and smiles and laughter, and here, behind her, was the very spirit of darkness calling her back. after an imperceptible hesitation she turned. mark had not turned in his chair, but it was easy to discover how he had known of her passing. a small oval mirror, fixed against the wall before him, had shown her image. how much had it betrayed, she wondered, of her guiltily stealthy pace? she went to him and found that he was leisurely and openly examining her in the glass, as she approached, his chin resting on one hand, his thin face perfectly calm, his eyes hazy with content. it was a habit of his to regard her like a picture, but she had never become used to it; she was always disconcerted by it, as she was at this moment. he rose, of course, when she was beside him, and asked her to sit down. "but i've hardly touched a card," she said. "this isn't very professional, you know, wasting a whole evening." she was astonished to see him flush to the roots of his hair. his voice shook. "sit down, please." she obeyed, positively inert with surprise. "do you think i keep you at this detestable business because i want the money?" he asked. "dear heaven! ruth, is that what you think of me?" fortunately, before she could answer, he went on: "no, no, no! i have wanted to make you a free and independent being, my dear, and that is why i have put you through the most dangerous and exacting school in the world. you understand?" "i think i do," she replied falteringly. "but not entirely. let me pour you some tea? no?" he sighed, as he blew forth the smoke of a cigarette. "but you don't understand entirely," he continued, "and you must. go back to the old days, when you knew nothing of the world but me. can you remember?" "yes, yes!" "then you certainly recall a time when, if i had simply given directions, you would have been mine, ruth. i could have married you the moment you became a woman. is that true?" "yes," she whispered, "that is perfectly true." the coldness that passed over her taught her for the first time how truly she dreaded that marriage which had been postponed, but which inevitably hung over her head. "but i didn't want such a wife," continued john mark. "you would have been an undeveloped child, really; you would never have grown up. no matter what they say, something about a woman is cut off at the root when she marries. certainly, if she had not been free before, she is a slave if she marries a man with a strong will. and i have a strong will, ruth--very strong!" "very strong, john," she whispered again. he smiled faintly, as if there were less of what he wanted in that second use of the name. he went on: "so you see, i faced a problem. i must and would marry you. there was never any other woman born who was meant for me. so much so good. but, if i married you before you were wise enough to know me, you would have become a slave, shrinking from me, yielding to me, incapable of loving me. no, i wanted a free and independent creature as my wife; i wanted a partnership, you see. put you into the world, then, and let you see men and women? no, i could not do that in the ordinary way. i have had to show you the hard and bad side of life, because i am, in many ways, a hard and bad man myself!" he said it, almost literally, through his teeth. his face was fierce, defying her--his eyes were wistful, entreating her not to agree with him. such a sudden rush of pity for the man swept over her that she put out her hand and pressed his. he looked down at her hand for a moment, and she felt his fingers trembling under that gentle pressure. "i understand more now," she said slowly, "than i have ever understood before. but i'll never understand entirely." "a thing that's understood entirely is despised," he said, with a careless sweep of his hand. "a thing that is understood is not feared. i wish to be feared, not to make people cower, but to make them know when i come, and when i go. even love is nothing without a seasoning of fear. for instance"--he flushed as the torrent of his speech swept him into a committal of himself--"i am afraid of you, dear girl. do you know what i have done with the money you've won?" "tell me," she said curiously, and, at the same time, she glanced in wonder, as a servant passed softly across the little room. was it not stranger than words could tell that such a man as john mark should be sitting in this almost public place and pouring his soul out into the ear of a girl? "i shall tell you," said mark, his voice softening. "i have contributed half of it to charity." her lips, compressed with doubt, parted in wonder. "charity!" she exclaimed. "and the other half," he went on, "i deposited in a bank to the credit of a fictitious personality. that fictitious personality is, in flesh and blood, ruth tolliver with a new name. you understand? i have only to hand you the bank book with the list of deposits, and you can step out of this tolliver personality and appear in a new part of the world as another being. do you see what it means? if, at the last, you find you cannot marry me, my dear, you are provided for. not out of my charity, which would be bitter to you, but out of your own earnings. and, lest you should be horrified at the thought of living on your earnings at the gaming table, i have thrown bread on the waters, dear ruth. for every dollar you have in the bank you have given another to charity, and both, i hope, have borne interest for you!" his smile faded a little, as she murmured, with her glance going past him: "then i am free? free, john?" "whenever you wish!" "not that i ever shall wish, but to know that i am not chained, that is the wonderful thing." she looked directly at him again: "i never dreamed there was so much fineness in you, john mark, i never dreamed it, but i should have!" "now i have been winning caroline to the game," he went on, "and she is beginning to love it. in another year, or six months, trust me to have completely filled her with the fever. but now enters the mischief-maker in the piece, a stranger, an ignorant outsider. this incredible man arrives and, in a few days, having miraculously run caroline to earth, goes on and brings caroline face to face with her lover, teaches jerry smith that i am his worst enemy, gets enough money to pay off his debt to me, and convinces him that i can never use my knowledge of his crime to jail him, because i don't dare bring the police too close to my own rather explosive record." "i saw them both here!" said the girl. she wondered how much he guessed, and she saw his keen eyes probe her with a glance. but her ingenuousness, if it did not disarm him, at least dulled the edge of his suspicions. "he was here, and the trap was laid here, and he slipped through it. got away through a certain room which fernand would give a million to keep secret. at any rate the fellow has shown that he is slippery and has a sting, too. he sent a bullet a fraction of an inch past fernand's head, at one point in the little story. "in short, the price is too high. what i want is to secure caroline smith from the inside. i want you to go to her, to persuade her to go away with you on a trip. take her to the bermudas, or to havana--any place you please. the moment the westerner thinks his lady is running away from him of her own volition he'll throw up his hands and curse his luck and go home. they have that sort of pride on the other side of the rockies. will you go back tonight, right now, and persuade caroline to go with you?" she bowed her head under the shock of it. ronicky doone had begged her to send caroline smith to meet her lover. now the counterattack followed. "do you think she'd listen?" "yes, tell her that the one thing that will save the head of bill gregg is for her to go away, otherwise i'll wipe the fool off the map. better still, tell her that gregg of his own free will has left new york and given up the chase. tell her you want to console her with a trip. she'll be sad and glad and flattered, all in the same moment, and go along with you without a word. will you try, ruth?" "i suppose you would have bill gregg removed--if he continued a nuisance?" "not a shadow of a doubt. will you do your best?" she rose. "yes," said the girl. then she managed to smile at him. "of course i'll do my best. i'll go back right now." he took her arm to the door of the room. "thank heaven," he said, "that i have one person in whom i can trust without question--one who needs no bribing or rewards, but works to please me. good-by, my dear." he watched her down the hall and then turned and went through room after room to the rear of the house. there he rapped on a door in a peculiar manner. it was opened at once, and harry morgan appeared before him. "a rush job, harry," he said. "a little shadowing." harry jerked his cap lower over his eyes. "gimme the smell of the trail, i'm ready," he said. "ruth tolliver has just left the house. follow her. she'll probably go home. she'll probably talk with caroline smith. find a way of listening. if you hear anything that seems wrong to you--anything about caroline leaving the house alone, for instance, telephone to me at once. now go and work, as you never worked for me before." chapter twenty-three _caroline takes command_ ruth left the gaming house of frederic fernand entirely convinced that she must do as john mark had told her--work for him as she had never worked before. the determination made her go home to beekman place as fast as a taxicab would whirl her along. it was not until she had climbed to caroline smith's room and opened the door that her determination faltered. for there she saw the girl lying on her bed weeping. and it seemed to the poor, bewildered brain of ruth tolliver, as if the form of ronicky doone, passionate and eager as before, stood at her side and begged her again to send caroline smith across the street to a lifelong happiness, and she could do it. though mark had ordered the girl to be confined to her room until further commands were given on the subject, no one in the house would think of questioning ruth tolliver, if she took the girl downstairs to the street and told her to go on her way. she closed the door softly and, going to the bed, touched the shoulder of caroline. the poor girl sat up slowly and turned a stained and swollen face to ruth. if there was much to be pitied there was something to be laughed at, also. ruth could not forbear smiling. but caroline was clutching at her hands. "he's changed his mind?" she asked eagerly. "he's sent you to tell me that he's changed his mind, ruth? oh, you've persuaded him to it--like an angel--i know you have!" ruth tolliver freed herself from the reaching hands, moistened the end of a towel in the bathroom and began to remove the traces of tears from the face of caroline smith. that face was no longer flushed, but growing pale with excitement and hope. "it's true?" she kept asking. "it is true, ruth?" "do you love him as much as that?" "more than i can tell you--so much more!" "try to tell me then, dear." talking of her love affair began to brighten the other girl, and now she managed a wan smile. "his letters were very bad. but, between the lines, i could read so much real manhood, such simple honesty, such a heart, such a will to trust! ruth, are you laughing at me?" "no, no, far from that! it's a thrilling thing to hear, my dear." for she was remembering that in another man there might be found these same qualities. not so much simplicity, perhaps, but to make up for it, a great fire of will and driving energy. "but i didn't actually know that i was in love. even when i made the trip west and wrote to him to meet the train on my return--even then i was only guessing. when he didn't appear at the station i went cold and made up my mind that i would never think of him again." "but when you saw him in the street, here?" "john mark had prepared me and hardened me against that meeting, and i was afraid even to think for myself. but, when ronicky doone--bless him!--talked to me in your room, i knew what bill gregg must be, since he had a friend who would venture as much for him as ronicky doone did. it all came over me in a flash. i did love him--i did, indeed!" "yes, yes," whispered ruth tolliver, nodding and smiling faintly. "i remember how he stood there and talked to you. he was like a man on fire. no wonder that a spark caught in you, caroline. he--he's a--very fine-looking fellow, don't you think, caroline?" "bill gregg? yes, indeed." "i mean ronicky." "of course! very handsome!" there was something in the voice of caroline that made ruth look down sharply to her face, but the girl was clever enough to mask her excitement and delight. "afterward, when you think over what he has said, it isn't a great deal, but at the moment he seems to know a great deal--about what's going on inside one, don't you think, caroline?" these continual appeals for advice, appeals from the infallible ruth tolliver, set the heart of caroline beating. there was most certainly something in the wind. "i think he does," agreed caroline, masking her eyes. "he has a way, when he looks at you, of making you feel that he isn't thinking of anything else in the world but you." "does he have that same effect on every one?" asked ruth. she added, after a moment of thought, "yes, i suppose it's just a habit of his. i wish i knew." "why?" queried caroline, unable to refrain from the stinging little question. "oh, for no good reason--just that he's an odd character. in my work, you know, one has to study character. ronicky doone is a different sort of man, don't you think?" "very different, dear." then a great inspiration came to caroline. ruth was a key which, she knew, could unlock nearly any door in the house of john mark. "do you know what we are going to do?" she asked gravely, rising. "well?" "we're going to open that door together, and we're going down the stairs--together." "together? but we--don't you know john mark has given orders--" "that i'm not to leave the room. what difference does that make? they won't dare stop us if you are with me, leading the way." "caroline, are you mad? when i come back--" "you're not coming back." "not coming back!" "no, you're going on with me!" she took ruth by the arms and turned her until the light struck into her eyes. ruth tolliver, aghast at this sudden strength in one who had always been a meek follower, obeyed without resistance. "but where?" she demanded. "where i'm going." "what?" "to ronicky doone, my dear. don't you see?" the insistence bewildered ruth tolliver. she felt herself driven irresistibly forward, with or without her own will. "caroline," she protested, trying feebly to free herself from the commanding hands and eyes of her companion, "are you quite mad? go to him? why should i? how can i?" "not as i'm going to bill gregg, with my heart in my hands, but to ask ronicky doone--bless him!--to take you away somewhere, so that you can begin a new life. isn't that simple?" "ask charity of a stranger?" "you know he isn't a stranger, and you know it isn't charity. he'll be happy. he's the kind that's happy when he's being of use to others?" "yes," answered ruth tolliver, "of course he is." "and you'd trust him?" "to the end of the world. but to leave--" "ruth, you've kept cobwebs before your eyes so long that you don't see what's happening around you. john mark hypnotizes you. he makes you think that the whole world is bad, that we are simply making capital out of our crimes. as a matter of fact, the cold truth is that he has made me a thief, ruth, and he has made you something almost as bad--a gambler!" the follower had become the leader, and she was urging ruth tolliver slowly to the door. ruth was protesting--she could not throw herself on the kindness of ronicky doone--it could not be done. it would be literally throwing herself at his head. but here the door opened, and she allowed herself to be led out into the hall. they had not made more than half a dozen steps down its dim length when the guard hurried toward them. "talk to him," whispered caroline smith. "he's come to stop me, and you're the only person who can make him let me pass on!" the guard hurriedly came up to them. "sorry," he said. "got an idea you're going downstairs, miss smith." "yes," she said faintly. the fellow grinned. "not yet. you'll stay up here till the chief gives the word. and i got to ask you to step back into your room, and step quick." his voice grew harsh, and he came closer. "he told me straight, you're not to come out." caroline had shrunk back, and she was on the verge of turning when the arm of ruth was passed strongly around her shoulders and stayed her. "she's going with me," she told john mark's bulldog. "does that make a difference to you?" he ducked his head and grinned feebly in his anxiety. "sure it makes a difference. you go where you want, any time you want, but this--" "i say she's going with me, and i'm responsible for her." she urged caroline forward, and the latter made a step, only to find that she was directly confronted by the guard. "i got my orders," he said desperately to ruth. "do you know who i am?" she asked hotly. "i know who you are," he answered, "and, believe me, i would not start bothering you none, but i got to keep this lady back. i got the orders." "they're old orders," insisted ruth tolliver, "and they have been changed." "not to my knowing," replied the other, less certain in his manner. ruth seized the critical moment to say: "walk on, caroline. if he blocks your way--" she did not need to finish the sentence, for, as caroline started on, the guard slunk sullenly to one side of the corridor. "it ain't my doings," he said. "but they got two bosses in this joint, and one of them is a girl. how can a gent have any idea which way he ought to step in a pinch? go on, miss smith, but you'll be answered for!" they hardly heard the last of these words, as they turned down the stairway, hurrying, but not fast enough to excite the suspicion of the man behind them. "oh, ruth," whispered caroline smith. "oh, ruth!" "it was close," said ruth tolliver, "but we're through. and, now that i'm about to leave it, i realize how i've hated this life all these years. i'll never stop thanking you for waking me up to it, caroline." they reached the floor of the lower hall, and a strange thought came to ruth. she had hurried home to execute the bidding of john mark. she had left it, obeying the bidding of ronicky doone. they scurried to the front door. as they opened it the sharp gust of night air blew in on them, and they heard the sound of a man running up the steps. in a moment the dim hall light showed on the slender form and the pale face of john mark standing before them. caroline felt the start of ruth tolliver. for her part she was on the verge of collapse, but a strong pressure from the hand of her companion told her that she had an ally in the time of need. "tut tut!" mark was saying, "what's this? how did caroline get out of her room--and with you, ruth?" "it's idiotic to keep her locked up there all day and all night, in weather like this," said ruth, with a perfect calm that restored caroline's courage almost to the normal. "when i talked to her this evening i made up my mind that i'd take her out for a walk." "well," replied john mark, "that might not be so bad. let's step inside and talk it over for a moment." they retreated, and he entered and clicked the door behind him. "the main question is, where do you intend to walk?" "just in the street below the house." "which might not lead you across to the house on the other side?" "certainly not! i shall be with her." "but suppose both of you go into that house, and i lose two birds instead of one? what of that, my clever ruth?" she knew at once, by something in his voice rather than his words, that he had managed to learn the tenor of the talk in caroline's room. she asked bluntly: "what are you guessing at?" "nothing. i only speak of what i know. no single pair of ears is enough for a busy man. i have to hire help, and i get it. very effective help, too, don't you agree?" "eavesdropping!" exclaimed ruth bitterly. "well--it's true, john mark. you sent me to steal her from her lover, and i've tried to steal her for him in the end. do you know why? because she was able to show me what a happy love might mean to a woman. she showed me that, and she showed me how much courage love had given her. so i began to guess a good many things, and, among the rest, i came to the conclusion that i could never truly love you, john mark. "i've spoken quickly," she went on at last. "it isn't that i have feared you all the time--i haven't been playing a part, john, on my word. only--tonight i learned something new. do you see?" "heaven be praised," said john mark, "that we all have the power of learning new things, now and again. i congratulate you. am i to suppose that caroline was your teacher?" he turned from her and faced caroline smith, and, though he smiled on her, there was a quality in the smile that shriveled her very soul with fear. no matter what he might say or do this evening to establish himself in the better graces of the girl he was losing, his malice was not dead. that she knew. "she was my teacher," answered ruth steadily, "because she showed me, john, what a marvelous thing it is to be free. you understand that all the years i have been with you i have never been free?" "not free?" he asked, the first touch of emotion showing in his voice. "not free, my dear? was there ever the least wish of yours since you were a child that i did not gratify? not one, ruth; not one, surely, of which i am conscious!" "because i had no wishes," she answered slowly, "that were not suggested by something that you liked or disliked. you were the starting point of all that i desired. i was almost afraid to think until i became sure that you approved of my thinking." "that was long ago," he said gravely. "since those old days i see you have changed greatly." "because of the education you gave me," she answered. "yes, yes, that was the great mistake. i begin to see. heaven, one might say, gave you to me. i felt that i must improve on the gift of heaven before i accepted you. there was my fault. for that i must pay the great penalty. kismet! and now, what is it you wish?" "to leave at once." "a little harsh, but necessary, if you will it. there is the door, free to you. the change of identity of which i spoke to you is easily arranged. i have only to take you to the bank and that is settled. is there anything else?" "only one thing--and that is not much." "very good." "you have given so much," she ran on eagerly, "that you will give one thing more--out of the goodness of that really big heart of yours, john, dear!" he winced under that pleasantly tender word. and she said: "i want to take caroline with me--to freedom and the man she loves. that is really all!" the lean fingers of john mark drummed on the back of the chair, while he smiled down on her, an inexplicable expression on his face. "only that?" he asked. "my dear, how strange you women really are! after all these years of study i should have thought that you would, at least, have partially comprehended me. i see that is not to be. but try to understand that i divide with a nice distinction the affairs of sentiment and the affairs of business. there is only one element in my world of sentiment--that is you. therefore, ask what you want and take it for yourself; but for caroline, that is an entirely different matter. no, ruth, you may take what you will for yourself, but for her, for any other living soul, not a penny, not a cent will i give. can you comprehend it? is it clear? as for giving her freedom, nothing under heaven could persuade me to it!" chapter twenty-four _the ultimate sacrifice_ she stared at him, as the blow fell, and then her glance turned slowly to caroline who had uttered a sharp cry and sunk into a chair. "help me, ruth," she implored pitifully. "no other person in the world can help me but you!" "do you see that," asked ruth quietly of john mark, "and still it doesn't move you?" "not a hairbreadth, my dear." "but isn't it absurd? suppose i have my freedom, and i tell the police that in this house a girl against her will--" "tush, my dear! you really do not know me at all. do you think they can reach me? she may be a hundred miles away before you have spoken ten words to the authorities." "but i warn you that all your holds on her are broken. she knows that you have no holds over her brother. she knows that ronicky doone has broken them all--that jerry is free of you!" "ronicky doone," said mark, his face turning gray, "is a talented man. no doubt of it; his is a very peculiar and incisive talent, i admit. but, though he has broken all the old holds, there are ways of finding new ones. if you leave now, i can even promise you, my dear, that, before the next day dawns, the very soul of caroline will be a pawn in my hands. do you doubt it? such an exquisitely tender, such a delicate soul as caroline, can you doubt that i can form invisible bonds which will hold her even when she is a thousand miles away from me? tush, my dear; think again, and you will think better of my ability." "suppose," ruth said, "i were to offer to stay?" he bowed. "you tempt me, with such overwhelming generosity, to become even more generous myself and set her free at once. but, alas, i am essentially a practical man. if you will stay with me, ruth, if you marry me at once, why, then indeed this girl is as free as the wind. otherwise i should be a fool. you see, my dear, i love you so that i must have you by fair means or foul, but i cannot put any chain upon you except your own word. i confess it, you see, even before this poor girl, if she is capable of understanding, which i doubt. but speak again--do you make the offer?" she hesitated, and he went on: "be careful. i have had you once, and i have lost you, it seems. if i have you again there is no power in you--no power between earth and heaven to take you from me a second time. give yourself to me with a word, and i shall make you mine forever. then caroline shall go free--free as the wind--to her lover, my dear, who is waiting." he made no step toward her, and he kept his voice smooth and clear. had he done otherwise he knew that she would have shrunk. she looked to him, she looked to caroline smith. the latter had suddenly raised her head and thrown out her hands, with an unutterable appeal in her eyes. at that mute appeal ruth tolliver surrendered. "it's enough," she said. "i think there would be no place for me after all. what could i do in the world except what you've taught me to do? no, let caroline go freely, and i give my--" "stop!" he checked her with his raised hand, and his eyes blazed and glittered in the dead whiteness of his face. "don't give me your word, my dear. i don't want that chain to bind you. there might come a time when some power arose strong enough to threaten to take you from me. then i want to show you that i don't need your promise. i can hold you for myself. only come to me and tell me simply that you will be mine if you can. will you do that?" she crossed the room slowly and stood before him. "i will do that," she said faintly, half closing her eyes. she had come so close that, if he willed, he could have taken her in his arms. she nerved herself against it; then she felt her hand taken, raised and touched lightly against trembling lips. when she stepped back she knew that the decisive moment of her life had been passed. "you are free to go," said john mark to caroline. "therefore don't wait. go at once." "ruth!" whispered the girl. ruth tolliver turned away, and the movement brought caroline beside her, with a cry of pain. "is it what i think?" she asked. "are you making the sacrifice all for me? you don't really care for him, ruth, and--" "caroline!" broke in john mark. she turned at the command of that familiar voice, as if she had been struck with a whip. he had raised the curtain of the front window beside the door and was pointing up and across the street. "i see the window of gregg's room," he said. "a light has just appeared in it. i suppose he is waiting. but, if you wish to go, your time is short--very short!" an infinite threat was behind the calmness of the voice. she could only say to ruth: "i'll never forget." then she fled down the hall and through the door, and the two within heard the sharp patter of her heels, as she ran down to the street. it was freedom for caroline, and ruth, lifting her eyes, looked into the face of the man she was to marry. she could have held out, she felt, had it not been for the sound of those departing footsteps, running so blithely toward a lifetime of happiness. even as it was she made herself hold out. then a vague astonishment came to clear her mind. there was no joy in the face of john mark, only a deep and settled pain. "you see," he said, with a smile of anguish, "i have done it. i have bought the thing i love, and that, you know, is the last and deepest damnation. if another man had told me that i was capable of such a thing, i'd have killed him on the spot. but now i have done it!" "i think i'll go up to my room," she answered, her eyes on the floor. she made herself raise them to his. "unless you wish to talk to me longer?" she saw him shudder. "if you can help it," he said, "don't make me see the brand i have put on you. don't, for heaven's sake, cringe to me if you can help it." "very well," she said. he struck his clenched hand against his face. "it's the price," he declared through his teeth, "and i accept it." he spoke more to himself than to her, and then directly: "will you let me walk up with you?" "yes." he took her passive arm. they went slowly, slowly up the stairs, for at each landing it seemed her strength gave out, and she had to pause for a brief rest; when she paused he spoke with difficulty, but with his heart in every word. "you remember the old greek fable, ruth? the story about all the pains and torments which flew out of pandora's box, and how hope came out last--that blessed hope--and healed the wounds? here, a moment after the blow has fallen, i am hoping again like a fool. i am hoping that i shall teach you to forget; or, if i cannot teach you to forget, than i shall even make you glad of what you have done tonight." the door closed on her, and she was alone. raising her head she found she was looking straight across the street to the lighted windows of the rooms of ronicky doone and bill gregg. while she watched she saw the silhouette of a man and woman running to each other, saw them clasped in each other's arms. ruth dropped to her knees and buried her face in her hands. chapter twenty-five _unhappy freedom_ once out in the street caroline had cast one glance of terror over her shoulder at the towering facade of the house of john mark, then she fled, as fast as her feet would carry her, straight across the street and up the steps of the rooming house and frantically up the stairs, a panic behind her. presently she was tapping hurriedly and loudly on a door, while, with her head turned, she watched for the coming of some swift-avenging figure from behind. john mark had given her up, but it was impossible for john mark to give up anything. when would he strike? that was the only question. then the door opened. the very light that poured out into the dim hall was like the reach of a friendly hand, and there was ronicky doone laughing for pure joy--and there was bill gregg's haggard face, as if he saw a ghost. "i told you, bill, and here she is!" after that she forgot ronicky doone and the rest of the world except gregg, as he took her in his arms and asked over and over: "how did it come about? how did it come about?" and over and over she answered: "it was ronicky, bill. we owe everything to him and ruth tolliver." this brought from ronicky a sudden question: "and what of her? what of ruth tolliver? she wouldn't come?" it pricked the bubble of caroline's happiness, that question. staring at the frowning face of ronicky doone her heart for a moment misgave her. how could she tell the truth? how could she admit her cowardice which had accepted ruth's great sacrifice? "no," she said at last, "ruth stayed." "talk about that afterward, ronicky," pleaded bill gregg. "i got about a million things to say to caroline." "i'm going to talk now," said ronicky gravely. "they's something queer about the way caroline said that. will you let me ask you a few more questions?" "won't you wait?" asked caroline, in an agony of remorse and shame. "won't you wait till the morning?" ronicky doone walked up and down the room for a moment. he had no wish to break in upon the long delayed happiness of these two. while he paced he heard bill gregg saying that they must start at once and put three thousand miles between them and that devil, john mark; and he heard caroline say that there was no longer anything to fear--the claws of the devil had been trimmed, and he would not reach after them--he had promised. at that ronicky whirled sharply on them again. "what made mark change his mind about you?" he asked. "he isn't the sort to change his mind without a pretty good reason. what bought him off? nothing but a price would change him, i guess." and she had to admit: "it was ruth." "she paid the price?" he asked harshly. "how, caroline?" "she promised to marry him, ronicky." the bitter truth was coming now, and she cringed as she spoke it. the tall body of ronicky doone was trembling with excitement. "she made that promise so that you could go free, caroline?" "no, no!" exclaimed bill gregg. "it's true," said the girl. "we were about to leave together when john mark stopped us." "ruth was coming with you?" asked ronicky. "yes." "and when mark stopped you she offered herself in exchange for your freedom?" "y-yes!" both she and bill gregg looked apprehensively at the dark face of ronicky doone, where a storm was gathering. but he restrained his anger with a mighty effort. "she was going to cut away from that life and start over--is that straight, caroline?" "yes." "get the police, ronicky," said bill gregg. "they sure can't hold no woman agin' her will in this country." "don't you see that it is her will?" asked ronicky doone darkly. "ain't she made a bargain? don't you think she's ready and willing to live up to it? she sure is, son, and she'll go the limit to do what she's said she'll do. you stay here--i'll go out and tackle the job." "then i go, too," said bill gregg stoutly. "you been through enough for me. here's where i go as far as you go. i'm ready when you're ready, ronicky." it was so just an offer that even caroline dared not cry out against it, but she sat with her hands clasped close together, her eyes begging ronicky to let the offer go. ronicky doone nodded slowly. "i hoped you'd say that, bill," he said. "but i'll tell you what: you stay here for a while, and i'll trot down and take a look around and try to figure out what's to be done. can't just walk up and rap at the front door of the house, you know. and i can't go in the way i went before. no doubt about that. i got to step light. so let me go out and look around, will you, bill? then i'll come back and tell you what i've decided." once in the street ronicky looked dubiously across at the opposite house. he realized that more than an hour had passed since caroline had left john mark's house. what had happened to ruth in that hour? the front of the house was lighted in two or three windows, but those lights could tell him nothing. from the inside of the house he could locate ruth's room again, but from the outside it was impossible for him to do it. the whole house, of course, was thoroughly guarded against his attack, for attack they knew he would. the only question was from what angle he would deliver his assault. in that case, of course, the correct thing was to find the unexpected means. but how could he outguess a band of trained criminals? they would have foreseen far greater subtleties than any he could attempt. they would be so keen that the best way to take them by surprise might be simply to step up to the house, ring the door bell and enter, if the door were opened. the idea intrigued him at once. they might be, and no doubt were, guarding every obscure cellar window, every skylight. to trick them was impossible, but it was always possible to bluff any man--even john mark and his followers. straight across the street marched ronicky doone and up the steps of the opposite house and rang the bell--not a timid ring, but two sharp pressures, such as would announce a man in a hurry, a brisk man who did not wish to be delayed. he took only one precaution, pulling his hat down so that the black shadow of the brim would fall like a robber's mask across the upper part of his face. then he waited, as a man both hurried and certain, turning a little away from the door, at an angle which still more effectually concealed him, while he tapped impatiently with one foot. presently the door opened, after he made certain that someone had looked out at him from the side window. how much had they seen? how much had they guessed as to the identity of this night visitor? the softness of the opening of the door and the whisper of the wind, as it rushed into the hall beyond, were like a hiss of threatening secrecy. and then, from the shadow of that meager opening a voice was saying: "who's there?" the very caution, however, reassured ronicky doone. had they suspected that it was he they would either have kept the door definitely closed, or else they would have flung it open and boldly invited him in. "i want to see harry morgan--quick!" he said and stepped close to the door. at his bold approach the door was closed like the winking of an eye, until it was barely an inch ajar. "keep back!" came the warning through this small opening. "keep clear, bo!" "damnation!" exclaimed ronicky. "what's the idea? i want harry, i tell you." "harry ain't here." "just hand me that piece of paper over there, and i'll write out the message," said ronicky, pointing to the little table just beyond the doorman. the latter turned with a growl, and the moment he was halfway around ronicky doone sprang in. his right arm fastened around the head of the unlucky warder and, passing down to his throat, crushed it in a strangle hold. his other hand, darting out in strong precision, caught the right arm of the warder at the wrist and jerked it back between his shoulders. in an instant he was effectively gagged and bound by those two movements, and ronicky doone, pausing for an instant to make sure of himself, heard footsteps in the hall above. it was too late to do what he had hoped, yet he must take his prize out of the way. for that purpose he half carried, half dragged his victim through the doorway and into the adjoining room. there he deposited him on the floor, as near death as life. relaxing his hold on the man's throat, he whipped out his colt and tucked the cold muzzle under the chin of the other. "now don't stir," he said; "don't whisper, don't move a muscle. partner, i'm ronicky doone. now talk quick. where's ruth tolliver?" "upstairs." "in her room?" "yes." ronicky started to rise, then, for there had been a slight fraction of a second's pause before the victim answered, he changed his mind. "i ought to smash your head open for that lie," he said at a random guess. "tell me straight, now, where's ruth tolliver?" "how can i tell, if she ain't in her room?" "look," said ronicky doone, "if anyone comes into the hall before you've told me where the girl is, you're dead, partner. that's straight, now talk." "she's with mark." "and where's he?" "he'd kill me if i tell." "not if i find him before he finds you. his killing days are ended! where's mark and the girl? has he run off with her?" "yes." "they're married?" asked ronicky, feeling that it might be a wild-goose chase after all. "i dunno." "but where are they?" "heaven help me, then! ill tell you." he began to whisper swiftly, incoherently, his voice shaking almost to silence, as he reached the heart of his narrative. chapter twenty-six _hills and sea_ the summerhouse lay in a valley between two hills; resting on the lawn before it ruth tolliver lay with her head pillowed back between her hands, and the broad brim of her straw that flopped down to shade her eyes. she could look up on either side to the sweep of grass, with the wind twinkling in it--grass that rolled smoothly up to the gentle blue sky beyond. on the one hand it was very near to her, that film of blue, but to her right the narrow, bright heads of a young poplar grove pushed up beyond the hilltop, and that made the sky fall back an immeasurable distance. not very much variety in that landscape, but there was an infinite variety in the changes of the open-air silence. overtones, all of them--but what a range! if she found that what was immediately overhead and beside her was too bland, if she wearied of that lovely drift of clouds across the sky, then she had only to raise herself upon one elbow and look down to the broad, white band of the earth, and the startling blue of the ocean beyond. she was a little way up among the hills, to be sure, but, in spite of her elevation, when she looked out toward the horizon it seemed that the sea was hollowed like a great bowl--that the horizon wave was apt at any moment to roll in upon the beach and overwhelm her among the hills. not a very great excitement for such a girl as ruth tolliver, to be sure. particularly when the faint crease between her eyes told of a perpetual worry and a strain under which she was now living. she was trying to lose herself in forgetfulness, in this open, drowsy climate. behind her a leisurely step came down one of the garden paths. it brought her to attention at once. a shadow passed across her face, and instantly she was sitting up, alert and excited. john mark sat down cross-legged beside her, a very changed john mark, indeed. he wore white trousers and low white shoes, with a sack coat of blue--a cool-looking man even on this sultry day. the cane, which he insisted upon at all times, he had planted between his knees to help in the process of lowering himself to the ground. now he hooked the head over his shoulder, pushed back his hat and smiled at the girl. "everything is finished," he said calmly. "how well you look, ruth--that hair of yours against the green grass. everything is finished; the license and the clergyman will arrive here within the hour." she shrugged her shoulders. as a rule she tried at least to be politely acquiescent, but now and then something in her revolted. but john mark was an artist in choosing remarks and moments which should not be noticed. apparently her silence made not even a ripple on the calm surface of his assurance. he had been so perfectly diplomatic, indeed, during the whole affair, that she had come to respect and fear him more than ever. even in that sudden midnight departure from the house in beekman place, in that unaccountable panic which made him decide to flee from the vicinity of ronicky doone--even in that critical moment he had made sure that there was a proper chaperon with them. during all her years with him he had always taken meticulous care that she should be above the slightest breath of suspicion--a strange thing when the work to which he had assigned her was considered. "well," he asked, "now that you've seen, how do you like it? if you wish, we'll move today after the ceremony. it's only a temporary halting place, or it can be a more or less permanent home, just as you please." it rather amused her to listen to this deprecatory manner of speech. of course she could direct him in small matters, but in such a thing as the choice of a residence she knew that in the end he would absolutely have his own way. "i don't know," she said. "i like silence just now. i'll stay here as long as you're contented." he pressed her hand very lightly; it was the only time he had caressed her since they left new york, and his hand left hers instantly. "of course," he explained, "i'm glad to be at a distance for a time--a place to which we can't be followed." "by ronicky doone?" her question had sprung impulsively to her lips. "exactly." from the first he had been amazingly frank in confessing his fear of the westerner. "who else in the world would i care about for an instant? where no other has ever crossed me once successfully, he has done so twice. that, you know, makes me begin to feel that my fate is wrapped up in the young devil." he shuddered at the thought, as if a cold wind had struck him. "i think you need not worry about him," said the girl faintly. "i suppose by this time he is in such a condition that he will never worry another soul in the world." the other turned and looked at her for a long, grave moment. "you think he attempted to break into the house?" "and didn't you expect the same thing? why else did you leave new york?" "i confess that was my idea, but i think no harm has come to him. the chances are nine out of ten, at least, that he has not been badly hurt." she turned away, her hands clenched hard. "oh my honor," he insisted with some emotion. "i gave directions that, if he made an attack, he was not to be harmed more than necessary to disarm him." "knowing that to disarm him would mean to kill him." "not at all. after all he is not such a terrible fellow as that--not at all, my dear. a blow, a shot might have dropped him. but, unless it were followed by a second, he would not be killed. single shots and single blows rarely kill, you know." she nodded more hopefully, and then her eyes turned with a wide question upon her companion. he answered it at once with the utmost frankness. "you wonder why i gave such orders when i dread doone--when i so dread doone--when i so heartily want him out of my way forever? i'll tell you. if doone were killed there would be a shadow between us at once. not that i believe you love him--no, that cannot be. he may have touched your heart, but he cannot have convinced your head, and you are equal parts of brain and soul, my dear. therefore you cannot love him." she controlled the faintest of smiles at the surety of his analysis. he could never escape from an old conclusion that the girl must be in large part his own product--he could never keep from attributing to her his own motives. "but just suppose," she said, "that ronicky doone broke into your house, forced one of your men to tell him where we are, and then followed us at once. he would be about due to arrive now. what if all that happened?" he smiled at her. "if all that happened, you are quite right; he would be about due to arrive. i suppose, being a westerner, that the first thing he would do in the village would be to hire a horse to take him out here, and he would come galloping yonder, where you see that white road tossing over the hills." "and what if he does come?" she asked. "then," said john mark very gravely, "he will indeed be in serious danger. it will be the third time that he has threatened me. and the third time--" "you've prepared even for his coming here?" she asked, the thought tightening the muscles of her throat. "when you have such a man as ronicky doone on your hands," he confessed, "you have to be ready for anything. yes, i have prepared. if he comes he'll come by the straightest route, certain that we don't expect him. he'll run blindly into the trap. yonder--you see where the two hills almost close over the road--yonder is shorty kruger behind the rocks, waiting and watching. a very good gunman is shorty. know him?" "yes," she said, shuddering. "of course i know him." "but even suppose that the he passes kruger--down there in the hollow, where the road bends in toward us, you can see lefty himself. i wired him to come, and there he is." "lefty?" asked the girl, aghast. "lefty himself," said john mark. "you see how much i respect ronicky doone's fighting properties? yes, lefty himself, the great, the infallible lefty!" she turned her back on the white road which led from the village and faced the sea. "if we are down here long enough," he said, "i'll have a little wharf built inside that cove. you see? then we can bring up a motor boat and anchor it in there. do you know much about boats?" "almost nothing." "that's true, but we'll correct it. between you and me, if i had to choose between a boat and a horse i don't know which i should--" two sharp detonations cut off his words. while he raised a startled hand for silence they remained staring at one another, and the long, faint echoes rolled across the hills. "a revolver shot first, far off," he said, "and then a rifle shot. that metallic clang always means a rifle shot." he turned, and she turned with him. covering their eyes from the white light of the sun they peered at the distant road, where, as he had pointed out, the two hills leaned together and left a narrow footing between. "the miracle has happened," said john mark in a perfectly sober voice. "it is ronicky doone!" chapter twenty-seven _the last stand_ at the same instant she saw what his keener eye had discerned the moment before. a small trail of dust was blowing down the road, just below the place where the two hills leaned together. under it was the dimly discernible, dust-veiled form of a horseman riding at full speed. "fate is against me," said john mark in his quiet way. "why should this dare-devil be destined to hunt me? i can gain nothing by his death but your hate. and, if he succeeds in breaking through lefty, as he has broken through kruger, even then he shall win nothing. i swear it!" as he spoke he looked at her in gloomy resolution, but the girl was on fire--fear and joy were fighting in her face. in her ecstasy she was clinging to the man beside her. "think of it--think of it!" she exclaimed. "he has done what i said he would do. ah, i read his mind! ronicky doone, ronicky doone, was there ever your like under the wide, wide sky? he's brushed kruger out of his way--" "not entirely," said john mark calmly, "not entirely, you see?" as he spoke they heard again the unmistakable sound of a rifle shot, and then another and another, ringing from the place where the two hills leaned over the road. "it's kruger," declared john mark calmly. "that chivalrous idiot, doone, apparently shot him down and didn't wait to finish him. very clever work on his part, but very sloppy. however, he seems to have wounded kruger so badly that my gunman can't hit his mark." for ronicky doone, if it were indeed he, was still galloping down the road, more and more clearly discernible, while the rifle firing behind him ceased. "of course that firing will be the alarm for lefty," went on john mark, seeming to enjoy the spectacle before him, as if it were a thing from which he was entirely detached. "and lefty can make his choice. kruger was his pal. if he wants to revenge the fall of kruger he may shoot from behind a tree. if not, he'll shoot from the open, and it will be an even fight." the terror of it all, the whole realization, sprang up in the girl. in a moment she was crying: "stop him, john--for heaven's sake, find a way to stop him." "there is only one power that can turn the trick, i'm afraid," answered john mark. "that power is lefty." "if he shoots lefty he'll come straight toward us on his way to the house, and if he sees you--" "if he sees me he'll shoot me, of course," declared mark. she stared at him. "john," she said, "i know you're brave, but you won't try to face him?" "i'm fairly expert with a gun." he added: "but it's good of you to be concerned about me." "i am concerned, more than concerned, john. a woman has premonitions, and i tell you i know, as well as i know i'm standing here, that if you face ronicky doone you'll go down." "you're right," replied mark. "i fear that i have been too much of a specialist, so i shall not face doone." "then start for the house--and hurry!" "run away and leave you here?" the dust cloud and the figure of the rider in it were sweeping rapidly down on the grove in the hollow, where lefty waited. and the girl was torn between three emotions: joy at the coming of the adventurer, fear for him, terror at the thought of his meeting with mark. "it would be murder, john! i'll go with you if you'll start now!" "no," he said quietly, "i won't run. besides it is impossible for him to take you from me." "impossible?" she asked. "what do you mean?" "when the time comes you'll see! now he's nearly there--watch!" the rider was in full view now, driving his horse at a stretching gallop. there was no doubt about the identity of the man. they could not make out his face, of course, at that distance, but something in the careless dash of his seat in the saddle, something about the slender, erect body cried out almost in words that this was ronicky doone. a moment later the first treetops of the grove brushed across him, and he was lost from view. the girl buried her face in her hands, then she looked up. by this time he must have reached lefty, and yet there was no sound of shooting. had lefty found discretion the better part of valor and let him go by unhindered? but, in that case, the swift gallop of the horse would have borne the rider through the grove by this time. "what's happened?" she asked of john mark. "what can have happened down there?" "a very simple story," said mark. "lefty, as i feared, has been more chivalrous than wise. he has stepped out into the road and ordered ronicky to stop, and ronicky has stopped. now he is sitting in his saddle, looking down to lefty, and they are holding a parley--very like two knights of the old days, exchanging compliments before they try to cut each other's throats." but, even as he spoke, there was the sound of a gun exploding, and then a silence. "one shot--one revolver shot," said john mark in his deadly calm voice. "it is as i said. they drew at a signal, and one of them proved far the faster. it was a dead shot, for only one was needed to end the battle. one of them is standing, the other lies dead under the shadow of that grove, my dear. which is it?" "which is it?" asked the girl in a whisper. then she threw up her hands with a joyous cry: "ronicky doone! ronicky, ronicky doone!" a horseman was breaking into view through the grove, and now he rode out into full view below them--unmistakably ronicky doone! even at that distance he heard the cry, and, throwing up his hand with a shout that tingled faintly up to them, he spurred straight up the slope toward them. ruth tolliver started forward, but a hand closed over her wrist with a biting grip and brought her to a sudden halt. she turned to find john mark, an automatic hanging loosely in his other hand. his calm had gone, and in his dead-white face the eyes were rolling and gleaming, and his set lips trembled. "you were right," he said, "i cannot face him. not that i fear death, but there would be a thousand damnations in it if i died knowing that he would have you after my eyes were closed. i told you he could not take you--not living, my dear. dead he may have us both." "john!" said the girl, staring and bewildered. "in the name of pity, john, in the name of all the goodness you have showed me, don't do it." he laughed wildly. "i am about to lose the one thing on earth i have ever cared for, and still i can smile. i am about to die by my own hand, and still i can smile. for the last time, will you stand up like your old brave self?" "mercy!" she cried. "in heaven's name--" "then have it as you are!" he said, and she saw the sun flash on the steel, and he raised the gun. she closed her eyes--waited--heard the distant drumming of hoofs on the turf of the hillside. then she caught the report of a gun. but it was strangely far away, that sound. she thought at first that the bullet must have numbed, as it struck her. presently a shooting pain would pass through her body--then death. opening her bewildered eyes she beheld john mark staggering, the automatic lying on the ground, his hands clutching at his breast. then glancing to one side she saw the form of ronicky doone riding as fast as spur would urge his horse, the long colt balanced in his hand. that, then, was the shot she had heard--a long-range chance shot when he saw what was happening on top of the hill. so swift was doone's coming that, by the time she had reached her feet again, he was beside her, and they leaned over john mark together. as they did so mark's eyes opened, then they closed again, as if with pain. when he looked again his sight was clear. "as i expected," he said dryly, "i see your faces together--both together, and actually wasting sympathy on me? tush, tush! so rich in happiness that you can waste time on me?" "john," said the girl on her knees and weeping beside him, "you know that i have always cared for you, but as a brother, john, and not--" "really," he said calmly, "you are wasting emotion. i am not going to die, and i wish you would put a bandage around me and send for some of the men at the house to carry me up there. that bullet of yours--by harry, a very pretty snap shot--just raked across my breast, as far as i can make out. perhaps it broke a bone or two, but that's all. yes, i am to have the pleasure of living." his smile was ghastly thing, and, growing suddenly weak, as if for the first time in his life he allowed his indomitable spirit to relax, his head fell to one side, and he lay in a limp faint. chapter twenty-eight _hope deferred_ time in six months brought the year to the early spring, that time when even the mountain desert forgets its sternness for a month or two. six months had not made bill gregg rich from his mine, but it had convinced him, on the contrary, that a man with a wife must have a sure income, even if it be a small one. he squatted on a small piece of land, gathered a little herd, and, having thrown up a four-room shack, he and caroline lived as happily as king and queen. not that domains were very large, but, from their hut on the hill, they could look over a fine sweep of country, which did not all belong to them, to be sure, but which they constantly promised themselves should one day be theirs. it was the dull period of the afternoon, the quiet, waiting period which comes between three or four o'clock and the sunset, and bill and his wife sat in the shadow of the mighty silver spruce before their door. the great tree was really more of a home for them than the roof they had built to sleep under. presently caroline stood up and pointed. "she's coming," she said, and, looking down the hillside, she smiled in anticipation. the rider below them, winding up the trail, looked up and waved, then urged her horse to a full gallop for the short remnant of the distance before her. it was ruth tolliver who swung down from the saddle, laughing and joyous from the ride. a strangely changed ruth she was. she had turned to a brown beauty in the wind and the sun of the west, a more buoyant and more graceful beauty. she had accepted none of the offers of john mark, but, leaving her old life entirely behind her, as ronicky doone had suggested, she went west to make her own living. with caroline and bill gregg she had found a home, and her work was teaching the valley school, half a dozen miles away. "any mail?" asked bill, for she passed the distant group of mail boxes on her way to the school. at that the face of the girl darkened. "one letter," she said, "and i want you to read it aloud, caroline. then we'll all put our heads together and see if we can make out what it means." she handed the letter to caroline, who shook it out. "it's from ronicky," she exclaimed. "it's from ronicky," said ruth tolliver gravely, so gravely that the other two raised their heads and cast silent glances at her. caroline read aloud: "dear ruth, i figure that i'm overdue back at bill's place by about a month--" "by two months," corrected ruth soberly. "and i've got to apologize to them and you for being so late. matter of fact i started right pronto to get back on time, but something turned up. you see, i went broke." caroline dropped the letter with an exclamation. "do you think he's gone back to gambling, ruth?" "no," said the girl. "he gave me his promise never to play for money again, and a promise from ronicky doone is as good as minted gold." "it sure is," agreed bill gregg. caroline went on with the letter: "i went broke because pete darnely was in a terrible hole, having fallen out with his old man, and pete needed a lift. which of course i gave him pronto, pete being a fine gent." there was an exclamation of impatience from ruth tolliver. "isn't that like ronicky? isn't that typical?" "i'm afraid it is," said the other girl with a touch of sadness. "dear old ronicky, but such a wild man!" she continued in the reading: "but i've got a scheme on now by which i'll sure get a stake and come back, and then you and me can get married, as soon as you feel like saying the word. the scheme is to find a lost mine--" "a lost mine!" shouted bill gregg, his practical miner's mind revolting at this idea. "my guns, is ronicky plumb nutty? that's all he's got to do--just find a 'lost mine?' well, if that ain't plenty, may i never see a yearling ag'in!" "find a lost mine," went on caroline, her voice trembling between tears and laughter, "and sink a new shaft, a couple of hundred feet to find where the old vein--" "sink a shaft a couple of hundred feet!" said bill gregg. "and him broke! where'll he get the money to sink the shaft?" "when we begin to take out the pay dirt," went on caroline, "i'll either come or send for you and--" "hush up!" said bill gregg softly. caroline looked up and saw the tears streaming down the face of ruth tolliver. "i'm so sorry, poor dear!" she whispered, going to the other girl. but ruth tolliver shook her head. "i'm only crying," she said, "because it's so delightfully and beautifully and terribly like ronicky to write such a letter and tell of such plans. he's given away a lot of money to help some spendthrift, and now he's gone to get more money by finding a lost mine!' but do you see what it means, caroline? it means that he doesn't love me--really!" "don't love you?" asked bill gregg. "then he's a plumb fool. why--" "hush, bill," put in caroline. "you mustn't say that," she added to ruth. "of course you have reason to be sad about it and angry, too." "sad, perhaps, but not angry," said ruth tolliver. "how could i ever be really angry with ronicky? hasn't he given me a chance to live a clean life? hasn't he given me this big free open west to live in? and what would i be without ronicky? what would have happened to me in new york? oh, no, not angry. but i've simply waked up, caroline. i see now that ronicky never cared particularly about me. he was simply in love with the danger of my position. as a matter of fact i don't think he ever told me in so many words that he loved me. i simply took it for granted because he did such things for me as even a man in love would not have done. after the danger and uniqueness were gone ronicky simply lost interest." "don't say such things!" exclaimed caroline. "it's true," said ruth steadily. "if he really wanted to come here--well, did you ever hear of anything ronicky wanted that he didn't get?" "except money," suggested bill gregg. "well, he even gets that, but most generally he gives it away pretty pronto." "he'd come like a bullet from a gun if he really wanted me," said ruth. "no, the only way i can bring ronicky is to surround myself with new dangers, terrible dangers, make myself a lost cause again. then ronicky would come laughing and singing, eager as ever. oh, i think i know him!" "and what are you going to do?" asked caroline. "the only thing i can do," said the other girl. "i'm going to wait." * * * * * far, far north two horsemen came at that same moment to a splitting of the trail they rode. the elder, bearded man, pointed ahead. "that's the roundabout way," he said, "but it's sure the only safe way. we'll travel there, ronicky, eh?" ronicky doone lifted his head, and his bay mare lifted her head at the same instant. the two were strangely in touch with one another. "i dunno," he said, "i ain't heard of anybody taking the short cut for years--not since the big slide in the canyon. but i got a feeling i'd sort of like to try it. save a lot of time and give us a lot of fun." "unless it breaks our necks." "sure," said ronicky, "but you don't enjoy having your neck safe and sound, unless you take a chance of breaking it, once in a while." transcriber's note: typesetting errors have been corrected, but what appear to be the author's spellings have not been changed. loc call number: f .d forty years a gambler on the mississippi by george h. devol. a cabin boy in ; could steal cards and cheat the boys at eleven; stock a deck at fourteen; bested soldiers on the rio grande during the mexican war; won hundreds of thousands from paymasters, cotton buyers, defaulters, and thieves; fought more rough-and-tumble fights than any man in america, and was the most daring gambler in the world. illustrated. first edition. devol & haines. cincinnati: . entered according to act of congress, the th day of october, , by devol & haines, in the office of the librarian of congress at washington, d. c. [all rights reserved.] preface. the author of this book has written the stories as they would recur to his memory, and no effort has been made at classification. they are not fictitious; many of the persons named are now living, and they can and will testify that the stories are founded on facts. he belongs to the celebrated devol family of marietta. his grandfather, jonathan devol, was an officer in the revolutionary war, and was well known to the pioneer history of ohio. he was one of the passengers on the _mayflower_, which he constructed for the use of the first company of emigrants to ohio. he erected a house on the campus martius in , and was joined by his wife and six children in december of that year. he was one of the committee to explore the country in search of suitable places for mills and farming settlements. in he repaired to belpre with his family. he succeeded in clearing a patch of land, and built a log cabin not far below the house of captain william dorce. the news of the big bottom massacre reached him while attending court at marietta, and he hurried home. mrs. devol, hearing that the indians were on the war-path, ordered the children to lie down with their clothes on, ready for the danger signal. he became famous by building the floating mill. in he built a twelve-oared barge of twenty-five tons burden for captain putnam. the author's father was barker devol, who died at carrollton, ky., on the th day of march, , at the age of . he was a ship-builder, and worked with his father at marietta. he left a widow and six children, who are all living, except one, the youngest being george h. devol. the author. contents. a religious captain a cold deck a woman with a gun a shrewd trick a paymaster's bluff a crazy man a good night's work a euchre hand a good stake-holder a mile dash an honorable man a bull fight a duck hunt a hard head a square game a coward ancient gambling boyhood days blowing up of the princess beat a good hand butler in new orleans broke a snap game before breakfast bill would gamble bill's present caught a sleeper collared the wrong man called a gambler control over suckers caught again caught a whale caught a defaulter canada bill close calls cheap jewelry cold steel didn't win the bags don't dye your whiskers didn't win the key dicky roach and i detectives and watches even the judges do it eight hundred dollars against a pistol fifty to the barkeeper fight with a longshoreman foot race forty miles an hour fights got up too soon got off between stations good luck governor pinchback general remarks george, the butter home again hard boiled eggs he knew my hand her eyes were opened he never knew he's one of us how i was beat he's not that old indians can play poker it made a man of him i had friends it was cold i raised the limit it shook the checks jew vs. jew judge devol knocked down $ kickers leaving home leap for life lost his wife's diamonds lucky at poker lacked the nerve left in time my first keno my jew partner my first love marked cards my crooked partner my partner alexander married his money my cards my little partner mules for luck my visit to old bill monumental gall mule thieves my partner won mccoole and coburn mobile now a gambler nipped in the bud no play on this boat no money in law narrow escapes no good at short cards on the circuit put ashore for fighting pittsburg's best man "pranking" with a new game posing as nic longworth's son quick work red and black rattlesnake jack reduced the price saved my partner's life sold out by a partner "snap games" sinking of the belle zane snaked the wheel stolen money signal service settled our hash she kissed me salted down strategem saved by his wife "short stops" the game of rondo ten thousand in counterfeit money the frenchman and the horse hair the chicken men and their silver the hungry man the big catfish the sermon on the (mount) boat the monte king the daguerreotype boat the black deck-hand the juergunsen watch the cotton man taught a lesson they paid the costs the boys from texas the quadroon girl the captain spoiled the game too sick to fight the gambler disguised the best looking sucker the alligators the big sucker the crazy man the brilliant stone the hidden hand the three fives the killer the deck-hand the black (leg) cavalry the paymaster's $ . the u. s. detective's bluff the young man from new york the yellow jeans the jack fish the black man the persuader the lap-robe the preacher away from home the cattle buyer the green cow-boy the police signal the good deacon the natchez and the lee the trick knife two forty on the shell road the arkansas killers the englishman and his gun traveling keno the two judges tapped the till war with mexico was in with the judge won and lost with a poker william jones (canada bill) forty years a gambler on the mississippi. boyhood days. "i'll serve his youth, for youth must have his course, for being restrained it makes him ten times worse; his pride, his riot, all that may be named, time may recall, and all his madness tamed." my dear reader: i first saw the light of day in a little town called marietta, at the mouth of the muskingum river in the state of ohio, on the first day of august, . i was the youngest of six children, and was the pet of the family. my father was a ship carpenter, and worked at boat-building in the beginning of the present century. i had good opportunities to secure an early education, as we had good schools in the west at that time. i had very little liking for books, and much less for school. when my parents thought me at school, i was playing "hookey" with other boys, running about the river, kicking foot-ball, playing "shinny on your own side," and having a fight nearly every day. i hardly ever went home that i did not have my face all scratched up from having been in a fight, which innocent amusement i loved much better than school. when i was hardly ten years of age, i would carry stones in my pocket and tackle the school teachers if they attempted to whip me. my father was away from home at his work most of the time, and my mother (god bless her dear old soul) could not manage me. she has often called in some passer-by to help her punish me. i can now see i richly deserved all the punishment i ever received, and more too. when there was company at our house, and my mother would be busy preparing a meal, i would get my bow and arrows and shoot the cups off from the table, and then run away. i guess i was about the worst boy of my age west of the allegheny mountains that was born of good christian parents. i have often heard the good old church members say: "that boy will be hung if he lives to be twenty years old." but i have fooled them, and am still on the turf, although i have had some pretty close calls, as you will see by reading this book. leaving home. in the year , while at the river one day, i saw a steamer lying at the wharf-boat by the name of _wacousta_. the first steward said i could ship as a cabin boy at $ per month. i thought this a great opportunity, so when the boat backed out i was on board without saying anything to my parents or any one else. my first duty was to scour knives. i knew they would stand no foolishness, so at it i went, and worked like a little trooper, and by so doing i gained the good will of the steward. at night i was told to get a mattress and sleep on the floor of the cabin; this i was very glad to do, as i was tired. about four o'clock in the morning the second steward came up to me and gave me a pretty hard kick in the side that hurt me, and called out: "get up here, and put your mattress away." i did get up and put away my bed, and then i went to the steward who kicked me and said: "look here! don't kick me that way again, for you hurt me." he let go and hit me a slap in the face that made my ears ring; so into him i pitched. i was a big boy for only ten years old; but i struck the wrong man that time, for he hit me another lick in the nose that came very near sending me to grass, but i rallied and came again. this time i had a piece of stone coal that i grabbed out of a bucket; i let it fly, and it caught him on the side of the head and brought him to his knees. by this time the passengers were getting up to see what was the matter; the pilot and first steward soon put a stop to the fight. i told my story to the boss, and he took sides with me. he told the officers of the boat that i was the best boy to work that he had; so they discharged the second steward at cincinnati, and you can bet i was glad. i remained on the _wacousta_ for some time, and thought myself a good steamboat man. i knew it all, for i had been there. the next boat i shipped on was the _walnut hills_, at $ per month. you could hear her "scape" (whistle) for a distance of twenty miles on a clear day or night. i would get up early in the morning and make some "five-cent pieces" (there were no nickels in those days) by blacking boots. put ashore for fighting. i quit the _walnut hills_ after three months, and shipped with captain patterson on the _cicero_, bound for nashville. the first trip up the cumberland river the boat was full of passengers, and i had a fight with the pantryman. the captain said i should go ashore. they brought me up to the office, and the clerk was told to pay me my wages, which amounted to the large sum of one dollar and fifty cents. i was told to get my baggage; but as two blue cotton shirts and what i had on my back was all i possessed, it did not take me long to pack. my trunk was a piece of brown paper with a pin lock. they landed me at a point where the bank was about one hundred feet high, and so steep that a goat could not climb it. they commenced to pull in the plank, when the steward yelled out to the captain, "that he could not get along without that boy," and asked him to let me go as far as nashville. i was told to come aboard, which i did, and i remained on that boat for one year, during which time i learned to play "seven-up," and to "steal card," so that i could cheat the boys, and i felt as if i was fixed for life. i quit the _cicero_, and shipped with captain mason on the steamer _tiago_. bill campbell, afterward the first captain of the _robert e. lee_, was a cabin boy on the same boat. he is now a captain in the vicksburg packet line. during the time i was on the _tiago_ the mexican war broke out. war with mexico. "lands intersected by a narrow frith abhor each other. mountains interposed make enemies of nations who had else, like kindred drops, been mingled into one." when the mexican war broke out, our boat was lying at pittsburg. the government bought a new boat called the _corvette_, that had just been built at brownsville. a cousin of mine was engaged to pilot her on the rio grande. his name was press devol. he was a good pilot on the ohio, from cincinnati to pittsburg, but had never seen the rio grande, except on the map. i thought i would like to go to war, and to mexico. my cousin got me the position as barkeeper, so i quit our boat, and shipped on the _corvette_, for the war. jack mccourtney, of wheeling, was the owner of the bar. there was a man aboard, on our way down, who took a great liking to me. he was well posted on cards, and taught me to "stock a deck," so i could give a man a big hand; so i was a second time "fixed for life." when we got down to new orleans they took the boat over to algiers, took her guards off, and part of her cabin, and we started across the gulf; and you bet my hair stood up at times, when those big swells would go clear over her in a storm. but finally we landed at bagdad, and commenced to load her with supplies for the army. i soon got tired of the rio grande, and after cheating all the soldiers that i could at cards (as there was no one else to rob), i took a vessel, and came back to new orleans. when i landed there, i was very comfortably fixed, as i had about $ , , and was not quite seventeen years old. here i was in a big city, and knew no one; so i went and got a boarding house, and left all my cash, but what i might need, in the care of an old gentleman that looked something like my father. i thought he must be honest, as he looked like him, and he proved himself so. i then picked up courage, and said to myself, "i believe that i will go home." but to pay passage was all foolishness, as i was such a good hand on a boat, so i shipped on the steamboat _montgomery_, captain montgomery, and windy marshall (as they called him) mate. i shipped as second steward, at twenty dollars per month. the boat was full of people, and the card tables were going ever night as soon as the supper tables were cleared. we had been out from new orleans two days and nights before i picked up a game. one afternoon in the texas, i beat my man out of $ ; and as there was no "squeal" in those days, i was all right, although they did not allow any of the crew to play with passengers. we got to louisville, where the boat laid up and paid off her crew, and i came on to cincinnati. home again. "be it a weakness, it deserves some praise; we love the play-place of our early days." "well, now i'll go home to the folks," i said, "and see if they will forgive me." i thought i would take home some presents, so i bought about $ worth of goods, including coffee, sugar, teas, etc., and took the old steamer _hibernia_, of pittsburg, captain clinefelter, master. you ought to have seen me when i stepped on the wharfboat at marietta, my birthplace, dressed to death, with my gold watch and chain, and a fine trunk i had bought in new orleans for $ . i got my groceries off the wharfboat, and hired a wagon, and i took it afoot, as in those days you could not get a hack except at a livery stable. my mother knew me at first sight. father was working at the ship- yard at port homer, on the other side of the muskingum river, and did not come home until night. i stopped at home a year, and had a fight nearly every week. i then came to cincinnati again, where i met my brother paul, who was working at calking steamboats. he coaxed me to stay with him, saying that he would teach me the trade. i consented, and soon was able to earn $ per day. we worked together a few years, and made a good deal of money; but every monday morning i went to work broke. i became infatuated with the game of faro, and it kept me a slave. so i concluded either to quit work or quit gambling. i studied the matter over a long time. at last one day while we were finishing a boat that we had calked, and were working on a float aft of the wheel, i gave my tools a push with my foot, and they all went into the river. my brother called out and asked me what i was doing. i looked up, a little sheepish, and said it was the last lick of work i would ever do. he was surprised to hear me talk that way, and asked me what i intended to do. i told him i intended to live off of fools and suckers. i also said, "i will make money rain;" and i did come near doing as i said. the game of rondo. after shoving my calking tools into the river, i went to keeping a "rondo" game for daniel and joseph smith, up on fifth street, at $ per week. hundreds of dollars changed hands every hour, both day and night. at the end of six months i was taken in as a partner, and at that time the receipts of the game were about $ every day. i had money to sell (or throw away), and, for a boy, i made it fly. in a short time the police began to raid us, and we would be fined fifty dollars each about once a month. then they raised it to $ , and next to $ . this was too much, so we had heavy oak and iron doors put up; but the police would batter them down, and get us just the same. one night they surrounded the house, broke down the door, and arrested my two partners; but i escaped by the roof. the next day i went up to the jail to take the boys something to eat, when they nabbed and locked me up also. they put me in the same cell with kissane, of the steamer _martha washington_ notoriety, who was living in great style at the jail. they fined us $ each and let us go, and that broke up "rondo." after retiring from the "rondo" business, i took passage with captain riddle on the steamer _ann livington_ bound for the wabash river, to visit a sister, who lived near bloomfield, edgar county, ills. there were no railroads in that part of the country in those days. my sister's husband bought , acres of land near paris, at $ . per acre, and the same land is now worth $ per acre. during my trip up the river i formed the acquaintance of sam burges, who was a great circus man. captain riddle and burges got to paying poker, and the captain "bested" him for about $ . i told burges that i could make him win if he could get me into the game. so, after supper, they sat down to play, and i was a looker-on. burges asked me to take a hand, which i did, and on my deal i would "fill" his hand, so that he soon had the captain badly rattled, and he lost about $ . the old captain was getting "full," and i looked for a fight sooner or later. burges invited all to take a drink, when the captain refused, and told burges that he was a "d----d gambler." burges called him a liar, so at it they went. the captain was getting the best of it when we parted them, and it was all we could do to keep burges from shooting. i got one-half of the $ , and no one called me a gambler either. as the boat was going through the "draw," at terre haute, she took a "shear" on the pilot, and knocked down her chimneys. the captain went up on deck, cursed the pilot, went down on the lower deck, knocked down two deck-hands, and raised cain generally. burges expected he would tackle him again, but the captain did not want any of that gun. when we arrived at the landing, i got off, and went to my sister's. i remained there about one month, and had a good time shooting wild turkeys and chickens. on my return trip i got into a game of poker, and took in a few hundred. i stopped off at louisville a short time, and then shipped for cincinnati, where i remained until i was very near broke. now a gambler. "if yet you love game at so dear a rate, learn this, that hath old gamesters dearly cost; dost lose? rise up. dost win? rise in that state. who strives to sit out losing hands are lost." i left cincinnati for st. louis; and when i landed there, i had just $ left. i secured a boarding house, and started to take in the town. i made inquiries for a faro bank, and at last found one; and i bolted in as if i was an old sport. i stepped up to the table, and asked the dealer for $ worth of checks. i then commenced to play, and won; and, pressing my good luck, in two hours had $ in checks in front of me. i told the dealer to cash my checks, and i walked out. the next day i was on my way to st. paul, as at that time there was a great emigration in that direction. i took passage on a steamer that had nearly people on board, going there to buy homes, and, of course, they had plenty of money with them. after the supper tables were cleared, a game of poker was commenced; then another, then another, until there were five tables going. i sat at one of the tables looking on for a long time, until at length one of the gentlemen said to me, "do you ever indulge?" i said, "hardly ever, but i do not care if i play a while." the bar was open, and they all appeared to enjoy a good drink, but i never cared for anything stronger than a lemonade. the result was that they all got full, and i thought i might as well have some of their money as to let the barkeeper have it, and i commenced to try some of the tricks i had learned. i found they worked finely, and at daybreak the bar and i had all the money. i got about $ , , which made me $ , strong. when we arrived at st. paul i struck another bank, and to my sorrow. i found one conducted by cole martin and "king cole," two old sports, who soon relieved me of my $ , . i then was without a cent, and too game to let the gamblers know i was broke. after i had been there about a week, one of them stopped me on the street, and asked me why i did not come around and see them. he said: "i don't ask you to play, but come and dine with us." i accepted his invitation, and went around that evening, and had as fine a bird supper as i ever sat down to. my first keno. "'tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support him after." the next day i visited another club-house, where they had keno going at fifty cents a card. i had seen it before, and took a great fancy to the game. i inquired how much an outfit would cost. they said they had two keno sets, and if i wanted one they would sell it to me for $ . now came the tug of war--how to get the keno. i at last thought of a plan, and that was to borrow the amount of one of the dealers who had won the $ , from me. so i made a bold front and told him what i wanted to do, and he gave me $ in cash, saying at the same time, "pay me when you are able, as i like to help a young man who tries to help himself." i bought the keno set, and had $ left, which paid all my debts and started me in business. cole martin, one of the men who loaned me the money, said to me: "now, after the faro bank closes to-night, at my house, if you bring your keno over i will help you get up a game." "all right," i said; so i took it over, and opened on the billiard tables, and he brought all of his players into the room, and said, "let us start this young man's game." they commenced playing at $ per card at twelve o'clock, and at six in the morning they were playing at $ per card. i was taking out per cent. they all got stuck. that night my receipts amounted to $ , . the result was they put the carpenters at work to fit up a nice room for me, and in eight months my part of the game was $ , . then i began to think i was a blooded boy, and soon began to take the girls out riding and to wine suppers, and to play the bank higher than a cat's back, as the old keno game was a great producer. about this time the town of winona was looking up. there were but two or three little frame houses, but a great many people got off there, going back in the country. so i went down there and bought a raft of great lumber, hired carpenters, and put them to work building houses. they soon had five or six done, and in about a week after they were finished, you could stand outside and throw a big dog through the cracks. but they were full every night at $ per head, bringing their own blankets and sleeping on the floor. i sent and got another keno set, and opened a bar room, and was making money like dirt, when one day a man walked in with a bucket of water, and commenced pouring it on one of my billiard tables that i got in chicago, and which cost me $ . i walked up to him and asked him what he was doing? he told me to go to h--l. i let fly, caught him on the neck, and down he went, and he lay there for some time. finally they took him to where he and his wife were stopping, and that night he died. then i commenced to think about getting out of that hot box. i got together what money i could, and carried a canoe to the river, and started for dubuque. there were no telegraph lines at that time. i had been there but a few days before the news came to me that the doctors had held a post mortem examination, and decided the man had had delirium tremens, and could only have lived a short time. they sawed open his skull, and found his brain a jelly in the center. so i went back and found his wife, gave her one of the houses which i had built and $ in money. i then put a man in charge of my business, and went back to st. paul, where my keno games were still going on. but the man i left in charge of my business at winona sold all he could and skipped out, and that was the last seen of him till i went up the missouri river two years after, when i found him in kansas city. at that time there were but three or four houses and a hotel down at the river bank. it was a great point for the santa fé traders. i became acquainted with a man named mcgee, who owned the largest part of kansas city. he was a great lover of the game of "seven- up," so we commenced to play at $ a game, and i beat him out of five lots (as he had no money), which i afterward sold at $ a piece. twelve years ago, as i passed through there, i saw those same lots bringing $ per foot. i went from there to st. joe, omaha, and council bluffs, and broke a great many fellows playing poker. i then settled down at dealing faro in st. joseph, mo. after staying there one year i went to st. louis, where i remained two or three months, and then went to new orleans. i landed there in . the yellow fever was raging, there being deaths per day. then was the time, if there was any fright in the young gambler, for it to have shown itself; but i made up my mind that if i had to go i might as well go then as at any other time. i was taken down with the fever, and nurses were scarce; but i got an old colored woman, and told her to stick to me, and i would give her $ per day as long as i was sick, and if i handed in my checks she might have all i left. in twenty-three days, by the grace of our good maker, i was up eating chicken soup. they watched me so close i could get nothing else. during this time i got an answer from a letter written to my partner at st. paul, telling him to sell out as best he could, and to send me my part, which he did. indians can play poker. the year i was in st. paul they paid off a lot of indians a short distance from the town. i was told that the red man was a good poker player, and was always looking for the best of it. they paid them in silver; so i got some of the hard money, hired a horse and buggy, got some whisky, and started out to give them a game, more for the fun and novelty of the thing than to win their money; for i had the old keno game running, and she was a good producer. when i got among the savages, they were having a war dance. after the dance they smoked the pipe of peace and drank my whisky, and i smoked their pipes. after the friendly smoking was over, they started in to playing poker. they invited and insisted on me changing in, so at last i sat down and took a hand. one of the old bucks soon began to cheat. he had an old hat in front of him, and inside of the hat he had a looking-glass, so that he could see on his deal every card he dealt out. i knew he was after me, so i told him to put the hat away and play fair. he saw that i was no "sucker," so he put it away. we played for some time, and it was all i could do to keep even by playing on the square with big "injins," as i found them very good card players. i held out a hand, but had to wait some time for the "wild man of the forest." at last there was a big "blind and straddle," and i kept raising it before the draw. they all "stayed," and drew two or three cards (i do not remember which). i took one, and when we came to "show down," i was the lucky fellow. this was too much for the bucks, so three of them dropped out, and left an old chief and myself single-handed. as i was over $ ahead of the game, i played liberally, to draw the old chieftain on; and as he had one of his bucks walking around behind, and talking "big injin" all the time, he was getting the best of me. i knew that my hands were being given away, but i did not let them know that i was onto their racket. i waited my chance, and clinched onto four fours and a jack. i kept "going blind," until the chief got a good hand, and then he came back at me strong. we had it hot and heavy. i let the buck see my hand until it came to the draw, and then i shifted the hand, and came up with the four fours and the jack, but the warrior did not see me get _that_ hand. i then made a big bet. the old chief called his squaw, and she brought him a sack of silver. he then "called" me. we showed down; the money was mine; and then you should have seen the fun. the buck that had been giving my hand away started to run. the old chief jumped up, grabbed his tomahawk, and lit out after him. i jerked off my coat, dumped all the silver into it, jumped into my buggy, and lost no time in getting out of that neck of the woods. as i was going at a : gait, i looked back and saw the buck and old chief going through the woods. i never knew whether the old man caught the buck or not, but i do know he did not catch me. i took desperate chances to win that pot, and i was very lucky in not losing my scalp. i never inquired when the indians were to be paid off again, for i had no notion of paying them a visit. any one who has a desire to play poker with "big injins" has my consent; but i would advise them to play a square game, and keep their eye skinned for the big "buck" that talks to the chief. a religious captain. i was on board the steamer _war eagle_ going from dubuque to st. paul. the captain was a member of the church, and did not allow any gambling on his boat; and any one caught at that innocent pastime would be put ashore. while walking over the boat i met a gentlemen who i thought had money (and i hardly ever made a mistake in my man). i invited him to join me in a drink, and then steered him into the barber shop. i told him i had lost some money betting on cards, but i did not mind very much, as my father was wealthy. while i was showing him how i had lost the money, my partner came, and after watching me throw the cards for a little while, he wanted to bet me $ he could pick the card. i threw them again, and told him to put up. he "turned," and won the money. then, turning to the man, he showed him one of the corners turned up, and wanted to bet me again. i told him i would not play with a man that beat me. the man then asked me if i would bet with him. i said i would, providing the other fellow would not tell him which card to turn, which was agreed to. the man then got out his big roll, and put up $ . i told him if he won i would only bet him the one time; and if i won i would only be even; and that i would not bet less than $ . he put up the $ , and turned the wrong card. after putting the money out of sight, i began to throw the cards again; for i saw a diamond stud and ring worth about $ , . while the cards were on the table i turned around to spit, and my partner marked one of the cards with a pencil, and let the man see the mark. he then bet me $ , and won it; then he walked away. the man began to get nervous and feel for his money; but he had only about seventy-five dollars left, and wanted to bet that. i told him i had just lost $ , and would not bet less than $ , . he insisted on betting the $ , but i told him to keep it for expenses, and that i would bet him $ against his stud and ring. up they went, and i put up $ . over went the marked card, and he lost again. out he went, and when i saw him again the captain was with him. i knew what was in the wind, and i stood my ground. the captain said to me, "have you been gambling on my boat?" "i do not know what you mean by that question," says i. "you don't? well, i will tell you, my boy; you give this gentleman back all the money and jewelry you won from him, or i will have my men take it from you, and then land you on the bank." i laughed at him, and told him to bring up his whole crew, and i would suffer the death of john rodgers before i would give up one cent. he ordered up the mate and crew. i backed up against the side of the boat, and told them to call for cards, as i "stood pat." they said they did not want any, for they could see by my looks i had the best hand, or at least i would play it for all it was worth. the captain then said, "you must go ashore." i said, "land her; both sides of the river are in america, and that big brick house up there is where i live." the old fellow could not help laughing at my cheek, and so concluded to let me alone. i have often had steamboat captains tell me i must give up the money or go ashore, and i had them to tell the suckers to go and get more money and try it again. i have also had them to say they would put the suckers ashore, and that would break them all up. a sucker thinks when he sees a mark on a card that he is robbing the gambler, and he is just as much of a robber and gambler as the other man. when two persons bet, one _must_ lose; and there is no law in this country to compel a man to bet his money or jewelry on anything. so my advice is, don't you do it. a cold deck. i was aboard the _sultana_, bound for louisville, and got into a five-handed game of poker. when we landed at the mouth of the cumberland, two of our party got off to take a boat for nashville; that left our game three-handed. for fear that another would get away, i thought i must get my work in without further delay; so i excused myself for a few moments and went to the bar. i got a deck just like the one we were using, and "run up" three hands, giving one three aces, one three kings, and myself four trays. we played a short time after my return, and on my deal i called their attention to something, and at the same time came up with the "cold deck." the betting was lively. i let them do the raising, and i did the calling until it came to the draw. they each took two cards, and i took one, saying "if i fill this flush, i will make you squeal." i knew they both had "full hands," and they just slashed their money on the table until there was over $ , up. then i made a "raise" of $ , , and they both "called." "gentlemen, i said, "i suppose you have me beat; i have only two pair." "oh!" says one, "i have a king full;" and the other one said, "i have an ace full." "well, boys, i can down both hands, for i have two pair of trays." the game came to a close, for there was no more money on the other side. caught a sleeper. i was playing poker once on the steamer _general quitman_. the party were all full of grape juice. along about morning the game was reduced to single-handed, and that man i was playing with was fast asleep, so i picked up the deck and took four aces and four kings out, with an odd card to each. i gave him the kings and i took the aces. i gave him a hunch, and told him to wake up and look at his hand. he partly raised his hand, but laid it down again and i knew he had not seen it. i gave him a push and shook him up pretty lively, and he opened his eyes. i said: "come, look at your hand, or i will quit." he got a glimpse of it, and i never saw such a change in a man's countenance. he made a dive for his money and said: "i will bet you $ , for i want to show you i am not asleep." i told him i thought he was "bluffing." i said in a joking way: "i will raise you $ , ." so he pulled out all his money and laid it on the table, and said: "i will only call you, but i know i have you beat." i showed down four big live aces, and he was awake sure enough after that. he never went into any more of those fits, and we played until they wanted the table for breakfast. i used to make it a point to "cold deck" a sucker on his own deal, as they then had great confidence in their hands. my old paw is large enough to hold out a compressed bale of cotton or a whole deck of cards, and it comes in very handy to do the work. i could hold one deck in the palm of my hand and shuffle up another, and then come the change on his deal. it requires a great deal of cheek and gall, and i was always endowed with both--that is, they used to say so down south. ten thousand in counterfeit money. we had a great "graft," before the war, on the upper mississippi, between st. louis and st. charles. we would go up on a boat and back by rail. one night going up we had done a good business in our line, and were just putting up the shutters, when a man stepped up and said "he could turn the right card." my partner, posey jeffers, was doing the honors that night, and he said, "i will bet from $ to $ , that no man can pick out the winning ticket." the man pulled out a roll nearly as large as a pillow, and put up $ , . posey put up the same amount, and over the card went for $ , ; but it was not the winner. "mix them up again," said the man, and he put up the same sum as before. he turned, and posey put the second $ , in his pocket. the man then went away as if to lose $ , was an every-day thing with him. we then closed up our "banking house," well pleased with ourselves. the next day we were counting our cash, and we found we had on hand $ , in nice new bills on the state bank of missouri, but it was counterfeit. we deposited it in the (fire) bank, as we had no immediate use for it. blowing up of the princess. i was on board of the steamer _princess_ on a down trip when she was carrying a large number of passengers, and there were fourteen preachers among them, on their way to new orleans to attend a conference. the boat was making the fastest time she had ever made. i had a big game of "roulette" in the barber shop, which ran all saturday night; and on sunday morning, just after leaving baton rouge, i opened up again, and had thirty-five persons in the shop, all putting down their money as fast as they could get up to the table. i was doing a land-office business, when all of a sudden there was a terrific noise, followed by the hissing of escaping steam, mingled with the screams and groans of the wounded and dying. the boat had blown up, and was almost a total wreck. there was but very little left, and that consisted mostly of the barber shop, which was at the time full of gamblers, and not one of them was hurt. the steamers _peerless_ and _mcray_ came to our aid; one boat looked after the dead and wounded, and the other took us lucky fellows out of the barber shop. one hundred souls were landed into eternity without a moment's warning, and among them were the fourteen preachers. it was a horrible sight; the bodies were so mangled and scalded that one could not have recognized his own brother or sister. captain william campbell (now of the vicksburg packet line) was steward of the _princess_ at the time of the explosion, and there was not a man on the boat that worked harder to save life and relieve the wounded. he richly deserved his promotion, and is now one of the best captains on the river. a woman with a gun. i was on a boat coming from memphis one night, when my partner beat a man out of $ , playing poker. after the game broke up, the man went into the ladies' cabin and told his wife. she ran into his room and got his pistol, and said, "i will have that money back, or kill the man." i saw her coming, pistol in hand, and stepped up to the bar and told the barkeeper to hand me that old gun he had in the drawer, which i knew had no loads in it. she came on, frothing at the mouth, with blood in her eyes. i saw she was very much excited, and i said to her: "madame, you are perfectly right. you would do right in shooting that fellow, for he is nothing but a gambler. i don't believe your pistol will go off; you had better take my pistol, for i am a government detective, and have to keep the best of arms." so i handed her the pistol, and took hers. just a moment later out stepped the man who had won the money, and she bolted up to him and said: "you won my husband's money, and i will just give you one minute to hand it to me, or i will blow your brains out in this cabin." well, you ought to have seen the passengers getting out of the cabin when she pulled down on him; but he knew the joke and stood pat, and showed what a game fellow he was. he told the woman her husband lost the money gambling, and he could not get a cent back. then she let go; but the pistol failed to go off, and he got her to go back into the cabin, and pacified her by giving her $ . after taking the charge out of her pistol, i returned it to her. so, reader, you can see what a gay life there is in gambling. the frenchman and the horse hair. i knew a frenchman who used to travel the river playing the wheel, who made a great deal of money and sent it to france. one night he opened a $ , snap at faro and i was to loan him my tools. he shuffled his own cards, as he was too smart to use any other; and i went down on deck and pulled some hairs out of a horse's tail, and came back and got one of the coppers and fastened a hair to it. a copper is used to make a bet lose and take the banker's side. when the copper is off, the bet is open. so i got my partner to buy a big lot of white checks, so that i could get my small bet behind them. my checks were $ . apiece; he was playing white checks at cents. we took one corner of the table, side by side. he placed his checks between the dealer and me; then i would put my little stack behind his checks, and when the dealer made a turn he would have to rise from his seat to see if my bet was coppered or not. if the card lost that we were on, i would let the copper remain; if it on, i gave the horse hair a little jerk and pulled the copper off, and we both won. i used to take it off when he was going to pay the bet, for fear he would get his fingers tangled in the hair; and in this way we won the bank roll, which made the frenchman very sick. saved my partner's life. we were once coming down on the steamer _belle key_, of louisville, and my partner was doing the playing that day. we had won some big money, and were about to quit, when up stepped a very tall man, who looked pale and sickly. he watched the game for some time, and then pulled out a $ , note and laid it on the card he wanted, and of course he lost. he did not say a word, but started back to this room. i thought he acted strange, and i concluded to keep an eye on him. pretty soon out he came with an overcoat on his arm, and he walked up as near the table as he could get, and commenced to push one of the crowd away so as to get closer. finally he got at my partner's back, with me close at his heels, when he commenced to pull from under his coat a large colt's pistol. as he leveled it to shoot him in the back of the head, i knocked him stiff, and the gun dropped on the floor. it was cocked, but it did not go off. they carried the man back to his room, put cold water on him, and finally brought him to. he sent for me, and went i went back he reached out his hand, and said: "friend, you did me a kindly act, for i had made up mind to kill that man. i am glad it happened so, for it was all the money i had, and it was raised by my friends, who, knowing that i never would reach home again, were sending me to florida, as all the doctors have given me up; and i thought i would kill him, as i do not expect to get off this boat alive. i have got consumption in its last stages." so i pulled out $ , , counted it out to him, and he cried like a child. his pistol i gave to the mate, as i thought he had no need of such a weapon. leap for life. another time i was coming up on the steamer _fairchild_ with captain fawcett, of louisville. when we landed at napoleon there were about twenty-five of the "arkansas killers" came on board, and i just opened out and cleaned the party of money, watches, and all their valuables. things went along smoothly for a while, until they commenced to drink pretty freely. finally one of them said: "jake, sam, ike, get bill, and let us kill that d----d gambler who got our money." "all right," said the party, and they broke for their rooms to get their guns. i stepped out of the side door, and got under the pilot-house, as it was my favorite hiding place. i could hear every word down stairs, and could whisper to the pilot. well, they hunted the boat from stem to stern--even took lights and went down into the hold--and finally gave up the chase, as one man said i had jumped overboard. i slipped the pilot $ in gold, as i had both pockets filled with gold and watches, and told him at the first point that stood out a good ways to run her as close as he could and i would jump. he whispered, "get ready," and i slipped out and walked back, and stood on the top of the wheel- house until she came, as i thought, near enough to jump, and away i went; but it was farther than i expected, so i went down about thirty feet into the river and struck into the soft mud clear up to my waist. some parties who were standing on the stern of the boat saw me and gave the alarm, when the "killers" all rushed back and commenced firing at me, and the bullets went splashing all around me. the pilot threw her into the bend as quick as he could, and then let on she took a sheer on him and nearly went to the other side. the shooting brought the niggers from the fields to the bank of the river. i hallooed to them to get a long pole and pull me out, for i was stuck in the mud. they did so, and i got up on the bank and waited for another boat. i was always very stubborn about giving up money if any one wanted to compel me to do it, but i wish i had one-quarter of what i have given back to people that did need it. i have seen many a man lose all he had, and then go back into the ladies' cabin and get his wife's diamonds, and lose them, thinking he might get even. but that was always a good cap for me, for i would walk back into the cabin, find the lady, and hand her jewels back; and i never beat a man out of his money that i did not find out from the clerk if his passage was paid. if not, i would pay it, and give the man some of his money to assist him to his destination. by so doing i was looked upon as being a pretty good robber--that is, if you call it robbing; but i tell you that a man that will bet on such a game as monte is a bigger robber than the man who does the playing, for he thinks he is robbing you, and you know you are robbing him. the chicken men and their silver. at one time, before the war, silver was such a drug in new orleans that you could get $ in silver for $ in state bank notes; but the commission men would pay it out to the hucksters dollar for dollar. they would put it in bags and label it with the man's name and the amount. at this time i was coming out on the steamer _john raine_, and, in looking around for customers, i found fifteen chicken men on board, who had sold their "coops," and had their sacks of silver setting in the office, as there was no room for it in the safe. after supper i got my men in the barber shop, pulled out my three cards, and began to throw them, at the same time telling the men i had lost $ , at the game, and that i was going to practice until i could throw equal to the man that had beat me out of my money. they all took a great interest in the game, and could turn the right card every time for fun. about this time the "capper" came up, and said he was positive he could guess the card, and kept insisting on betting me $ ; so at last i concluded to bet him, and he lost the $ . then the fun commenced. one of the chicken men saw the corner of the "right" card turned up; so he jumped up, and wanted to bet me $ that he could pick out the "right" card. i told him i did not want to bet, but if he made it $ , i would bet him, and if i lost i would quit. at the same time i pulled out a large roll of small bills, with a hundred dollar bill on the outside, and laid it on the table. the chicken men held a council of war, and of course they all saw the corner of the "right" card turned up. they went for their sacks of silver, and planked down four of them, with $ in each. i put up and said: "gentlemen, you must all agree on one card, and select one man to turn it, as i must have the two chances." they picked out their man; he turned the card with the corner turned up; but, of course, it was not the "right" card. the boat was just landing to take in sugar, so i said, "gentlemen, i will have to bid you good- by, as this is my sugar plantation." i called two of the porters and told them to take my sacks ashore. they said, "all right, massa george." you should have seen the chicken men look at me when i landed with my sacks; and all the niggers came to shake hands and say, "glad youse back, massa george," (for i knew all the niggers on the coast). after the boat pulled out, i opened one of the sacks and gave each black one of the "chicken" half- dollars. they guarded the money until another boat came down, which they hailed, and i was soon on my way back to new orleans to catch some more suckers. the hungry man. i was on board the _john simonds_ coming out of new orleans one night. i had a very lively game of "red and black," and did not close up until two o'clock in the morning. we were sitting around the stove in the bar, drinking, smoking, and telling stories, when there was a man came in whom i had not seen since the boat left new orleans. when he came aboard he was pretty full of "bug-juice," and had been asleep. when he woke up, of course he was dry, and had come into the bar to get a drink. i said to him, "you look dry, and you are just in time to join us." after thanking me, he took a drink, and then told me he had missed his supper. i told him i would send the porter into the texas, and get him a lunch, which i did. i then thought if i can get some more of that "go- your-money" whisky into him, i can size him up. so after taking another round, i said to him, "you should have been up when the big betting was going on." he said, "what was it?" i said, "there was a great tall fellow sat down to the table just after supper, and called all the men in the cabin to come and see how he had lost $ , of his father's money. he pulled out a lot of cards and began to throw them on the table, and said to us, 'if you see the same fellow who got my money, don't you bet with him, for he has two chances to his one.' i can't explain just how he did it, for i haven't got any of the cards." the barkeeper then said, "i have some of the fellow's cards that he left when he got off the boat." i said, "let me have them and i will try and show the game." i took the cards and bent them, and then said, "you ought to have seen him throw them through those long fingers; it would have made you laugh." i was throwing and explaining when my partner came in. after looking on for a little while he asked me if i would bet on the game. i pretended not to hear him, but invited them both to take a drink. then my partner offered to bet the drinks. i took him up, and he lost. while we were talking he picked up the cards and turned up one of the corners of the winner, and then let the other man see what he had done. i commenced to throw them again, when my partner wanted to know if i would bet just as they lay. i said i would after the shuffle. he said, "you beat me out of the drinks; now i will bet you $ i can pick up the card the first pick." "enough," says i, and up went the money in the "hungry" man's hands. over went the card, and my partner caught me for $ . i said, "give him the money, as he won it fairly." the stakeholder threw down his bread and meat, jumped up, pulled out his money, and said, "i will bet you $ i can turn the right card the first time." i saw he had about $ , or $ , , so i said, "i will make but one bet, and then quit; i will bet you $ , ." "enough said, i'll go you." the money was put up, and over went the card; but, as luck would have it, he turned the wrong one; and, to tell the truth, i was glad of it. he then pulled out $ in gold and wanted to bet that; but i told him to keep it, for i did not want to win it from him, but wanted to keep what i had. we sat down and had a drink, and in a short time the man went out on the guards. my partner and i were talking and laughing about how we won the money, when all of a sudden in rushed the man with his clothes all torn and very much excited. we asked him what had happened, when he told us that two fellows had grabbed and robbed him of the $ in gold. we got the mate and watchman, and searched the boat until we found one of the robbers in a fireman's bunk, down on the lower deck. we got all the money from him and returned it to the man. the other robber could not be found. we turned the one we had captured over to the police of baton rouge, and that was the last we ever heard of him. i took the next boat back to new orleans. collared the wrong man. i had been attending to business pretty faithfully, and had accumulated some wealth, when it struck me i must take a rest; so when i arrived in new orleans i laid off. i was playing the "bank" one night, and was a big loser. there was a big fighter came in and sat down at the same table, and in a short time he began to pick up checks. i thought he would take some of mine next, and i was not in the humor to let any one take my checks. sure enough, he clinched onto a stack i had on the nine. i said to him, "those are my fifty." he raised up, took me by the collar, and said, "you're a d----d liar." i thought i would get the old head ready for business once more, so i argued the question with him until i saw an opening, and then i let him have it just between the eyes. he dropped all in a heap, and it was some time before they could get him to sit up. he was pretty badly hurt; his nose was broken down flat with his face; the blood was running out of his ears, and i thought it was about time for me to get out. i cashed in my checks and quit the game over $ , a loser. so you see a man must fight at times, even when he has quit his regular business, and is laying off for a rest. my jew partner. i was on board the steamer _sultana_ one evening, coming up from new orleans, when a "jew" came up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and said: "mr. devol, i have heard of you for years, and have sat at the same table with you in new orleans playing the bank. i caught her this trip for over $ , ; but i have often wished i could make as much money as you do; you bet i would take better care of it than you. come, let us go and have a nice drink." i told him i did not drink anything but wine; and i was very glad he had beat the bank, for they nearly always beat me; but i could hold my own with any man at poker. he said: "oh, mr. devol, i know that no one can beat you at poker, and i would like to put my money in with you and have an interest." something struck me immediately that i might as well have the $ , as not, so i said to him: "i will see mr. bush (my partner), and let you know after supper." the first thing to be done was to manufacture a sucker to play me a big game of poker. i knew several good boys on board; some were gamblers and some were horsemen. i selected one of the horsemen, and took him to my room to teach him the ropes. i said to him: "i will cold deck you, and give you three kings, a seven and a eight, and you must put your thumb over one of the spots on the eight, so that the jew will think you have a king full on sevens when he sees your hand. i will have an ace full, and will bet you $ or $ before the draw; then you raise me $ , ." after giving him full instructions, so there would be no mistake, i gave him a big roll and let him out, with instructions not to know me until the time of the game. i told bush the plan, so after supper we opened up with our three cards and took in a few hundred dollars. after we had closed for the evening, i picked up my manufactured sucker and commenced a divvy game of poker. i told my jew partner to see every hand that the other fellow held, and to attract his attention so i could cold deck him. i came up with the ice and bet $ before the draw. the sucker came back and raised me $ , . the jew was behind him and saw his king full on sevens; he then came around and saw my ace full on trays. i pretended to be a little short, and called for bush to bring me some money. then my would-be partner commenced to get out his money, and was in such a hurry (for fear he would not be in time) that he tore the buttons off his vest. he put up his $ , ; bush got $ , from john c. heenan (the prize fighter, who was on the boat), and i called the bet. the game had attracted the attention of all the passengers; they were all around us, some on the tables and chairs, and every one was holding his breath waiting for the result, except my jew partner, who was so delighted with the sure thing of having won one-half of the money that he could not keep still a moment, but kept dancing around, rubbing his hands and smiling as if he had sold a suit of clothes without coming down a cent. when, to everybody's great surprise, the sucker said, "gentlemen, i have made a mistake in my hand; can't i take my money down?" the jew said: "oh, we don't rectify no mistakes in poker." the sucker looked up at him and said: "what in the h--l have you got to do with this game?" the jew said: "i thought you was bluffin'." the sucker then said: "hold on, gentlemen, we have not drawn yet. i thought i had a king full on sevens." he then threw down the seven and eight and called for two cards. the jew said: "we don't care for your mistake," and then walked around behind the sucker to see what he would get in the draw. i dealt him off two cards, but the jew did not get to see what he got. they had sent me some money from the office, and i bet him $ . the sucker hesitated a moment, and then bet $ , . i put up all the money i had, my big single stone, pin and ring, but that was not enough. then the jew put up his juergunsen watch, a large cluster pin and ring, and called the bet. the sucker said, "i have two pair." the jew was so glad (thinking i had won) that he could not keep still, but went up and down like a jumping-jack. i showed down my ace full, and then the sucker showed down two pair of kings. you should have seen my "new partner." he threw up both his hands, groaned, and fell over on the floor dead. we had to throw water in his face to bring him around, and when we got him up he started for the guards, saying: "i go drown myself; i don't want to live." some one ran and got him a life preserver, and told him to put it on before he jumped overboard. he finally quieted down and went to his room. i took the horseman into my room, gave him $ in money and my "partner's" diamonds. he was the lion of the boat, and did not have to pay for drinks from there to louisville. i got off at baton rouge at daybreak, and was soon on my way back to new orleans; and when i arrived there, every one i met would ask me about my bad luck. my friends were sorry for me. i could have borrowed almost any amount of money. the papers came out all over the country that devol had at last found his match. i saw the jew in st. louis some years later. he knew me, and said: "mr. devol, come and let us get a good drink. see that clothing store? that's mine. i never play poker since that time on the boat; don't you remember?" sold out by a partner. one night i was coming up the river on the steamer _morrison_. i had a partner with me named charles bush. he was a good, big- hearted fellow, but did not know much about beating a sucker out of his money. i had to teach him how to handle the blokes. well, bush and myself had made some money, and were sitting around looking at the gamblers. there were twenty-five of them on board, going to the memphis races. finally one of the sports, named dennis mccarthy, said to me, "devol, i will play you seven-up for $ a game." so i turned to bush and asked him if he wanted any interest in it. he said "no," so he sat down alongside of me, where he could see my hand. we commenced to play. i could see bush working a toothpick in his mouth, from the corner to the middle and then over to the other side. i thought i noticed when the toothpick was in the left side of his mouth i always had one trump; when he had it in the middle of his mouth i had two trumps; when in the right side i had no trumps. mccarthy beat me six straight games. the last game we played we were six and six. i saw bush take the toothpick out of his mouth. i looked at my hand and saw no trumps. mccarthy stood his hand, and led. he had no trumps either, but as he had some large cards in his hand he made the game, which put him out. bush was sitting on my right; so i let go with my left, caught him between the eyes, and straightened him out on the floor. they got a piece of beefsteak and put it on his eyes, and he went to bed. there was a big six-foot fellow named anderson, who said that any man that would hit another for nothing was a scoundrel, and he could whip him. he was not posted, and did not know why i hit him, so he made this bluff. i said to him, "take off your coat and come and see me." he took off his coat, and after he got it off he weakened, and picked up a big iron poker that lay by the stove. i pulled out old "betsy jane," one of the best tarantula pistols in the southern country, and told him to drop the poker, which he did. "now," said i, "if you want it on the square, i am your man." so at it we went, and i hit him and knocked him clear through the office door. i then reached down and caught him by the collar, raised him up and struck him with that good old faithful head of mine, and the fight was all over; for i had broken every bone in his nose. the clerks came rushing out of the office, the captain and passengers also came, and the captain asked me what was the matter. i told him, and the mate spoke up and said devol was perfectly right, for he had seen it all. i offered to pay for the door and chairs we broke, but the captain would not accept one cent. i went back to the room to see bush, for i was sorry i had hit him, although i thought he was guilty. i told him to get up and look out for me, and i would open faro bank for the gamblers, which he did. they all changed in except the big fellow with the broken nose; he went to bed. the result was, we broke every one of them, and then got off at baton rouge; they went to memphis, where the races commenced in a few days. bush was with me for three years after that; and many a night i have sat and dealt for a big game, and in the morning would divide several hundred dollars with bush, who was in bed and asleep. the big catfish. my old partner (bush) and i had been up all night in new orleans playing faro, and we were several hundred dollars winners, and thought we would walk down to the french market and get a cup of coffee before we went to bed. we saw a catfish that would weigh about pounds; its mouth was so large that i could put my head into it. we got stuck on the big cat, and while we were looking at it an old man came up to me and said: "that is the largest catfish i ever saw." bush was a little way off from me just at the time, and knowing i would have some fun (if not a bet) with the old man, he kept out of the way. i said to the old gent: "you are the worst judge of a fish i ever saw; that is not a cat, it is a pike, and the largest one ever brought to this market." he looked at me and then at the fish, and then said: "look here, my boy, where in the d---l were you raised?" i told him i was born and raised in indiana. "well, i thought you were from some hoop-pole state." we got to arguing about it; and i appeared to be mad, and offered to bet him $ that the fish was a pike. says he, "do you mean it?" i pulled out a roll, threw down $ and told him to cover it. he lammed her up, and i said: "who will we leave it to?" we looked around and saw bush, with a memorandum book in his hand and a pen behind his ear, talking to a woman who sold vegetables, and he was acting as if he was collector of the market. i said: "may be that man with the book in his hand might know." the old fellow called bush, and said to him, "do you belong about here?" "oh, yes; i have belonged about here for a good many years," says bush. "well, sir, you are just the man we want to decide our bet," says the old gent. "well, gentlemen, i am in somewhat of a hurry; but if you don't detain me too long, i will be glad to serve you to the best of my ability," said bush. "we want you to tell us what kind of a fish this is." "well, gentlemen, that can be done easily." "out with it," said the old gent. bush braced himself up, and said: "i have been market-master here for twenty years, and that is the largest _pike_ i ever saw in this market." "well! well! well!" says the old man; "i have lived on the tombigbee river for forty-five years, and i never saw two bigger fools than you two." i invited the old man and the "market-master" to join me in a cup of coffee. bush accepted, but the old one from the tombigbee declined, saying "he did not drink with men that did not know a catfish from a pike." we bid him good morning and went home, and we were both sound asleep in a short time; for we felt we had did an honest night's and morning's work. the sermon on the (mount) boat. "the hypocrite had left his mass, and stood in naked ugliness. he was a man who stole the livery of the court of heaven to serve the devil in." i was coming from new orleans on board the steamer _e. h. fairchilds_, bound for louisville. she was literally packed with people. after supper, on saturday evening, we started a game in the barber shop, which was kept up until sunday morning. over $ , changed hands, and i was a big winner. after eating my breakfast i went out on the guards to take a smoke before going to bed. while i was enjoying my cigar, a fine looking old gentleman about sixty years of age came up to me and entered into conversation. presently the captain joined us. the old gentleman said he was a minister from louisville, and would like to preach in the cabin. the captain gave his consent. the minister placed his arm in mine, and, before i was aware of what we were doing, he had me half way down the ladies' cabin, and then it was too late to back out or get away. he sat me down near where he was standing. i was impressed with his discourse, for it was full of practical sayings. he spoke of gambling in very plain terms, and of the game that had been kept up all night in the barber shop. he said: "it was a pity that such a fine looking gentleman as the one who sat near him should play cards for money." to tell the truth, his remarks on the subject of my business did make me feel a little mean. he did not look directly at me, but i thought he was getting close to home. the collection amounted to considerable, and i chipped in my share liberally. after the morning services were over i retired to my room to take a sleep, and it was not long until i had forgotten that we had an old preacher on board. i spent that sunday evening reading until near midnight; most of the passengers had retired. there was but one passenger in the cabin, and he was sitting with his back to me, reading. i approached him, and found it was the minister. i had changed my dress so that he did not recognize me. i sat down near him, and he began talking about the gambling game of the night before, and he handled the gamblers without gloves. i sided with him in his views, and then trumped up a story of how i had been roped into the game, and had lost $ , ; but that my father was rich, and gave me all the money i could spend, and that i did not mind the loss very much. he became very much interested, and asked a great many questions. i told him i had picked up some of the tickets that they played the game with, and had them in my room, and if he would like to see them i would go and get them. "oh, i would like very much to see the way it was played, and i will go to your room if you will show me." we went to my room, and i showed him the old three-card monte racket. i let him play with the cards until he thought he knew all about them, and he said to me: "my dear sir, i can't see how you could lose money on such a simple thing. i would not fail to pick out the right ticket every time." i said to him, "i'll make you a proposition; i will throw the tickets, and put up $ with you. if you gain the money, you are to donate it to your church; and if i get it i will do the same, for i want to show you how i lost playing them." the old fellow accepted my proposition, for he wanted to give the money to his church (and so did i). of course i displayed a big roll, and told him i would just as soon make it $ as $ . he agreed, and we put up. he turned the ticket, but he failed to pick the right one. it was such a simple thing that he got excited, and put down $ more, and again he failed to pick out the right one. we kept on until the old sucker lost an even $ , , then i said to him, "i am really sorry, for i had rather lost the amount myself. this money will do me no good, and it would hardly benefit your church; we have had lots of fun, and i want you to gain the money back. i will put up the $ , against your watch and chain, and when you gain it back we can have a big laugh over it." he put up his handsome watch and chain (that had been presented to him by his congregation), and, as he was playing in hard luck, i soon had the "ticker." he bade me good night, and went to his room. i went to see the captain, and when i showed him the reverend gentleman's watch, with the inscriptions on it, he could hardly believe his own eyes. after having a good laugh with the captain, i went to the minister's room, and found him on his knees. when he saw me he said, "i have just been praying for you." i replied, "brother, hadn't you do a little of that for yourself?" "oh," says he, "i have prayed mostly for myself this night." "well," i said, "since you have prayed for yourself, and me too, here is your watch, chain, and $ . 'go and sin no more.'" he said (with tears in his eyes), "god bless you." i left the boat at natchez, and did not get to see the old gentleman again. i caught a preacher once for all his money, his gold spectacles, and his sermons. then i had some of those queer feelings come over me (and when they came upon me i could not resist their influence), so i gave him his sermons and specks back. at one time there were fifteen preachers on the jackson road, going to a conference at hazelhurst. i got in among them, and, just for fun, i opened up monte, and i caught five out of the fifteen for every cent they had. i tell you, my dear readers, preachers are but human, and some of them will steal the livery of the court of heaven to serve the devil (devol) in. fifty to the barkeeper. i was in the st. charles bar-room one morning--having been up all night playing the bank--when a good looking old fellow walked in and called for a champagne cocktail. i turned to him and said, "have one with me; i drew $ , out of the havana lottery last evening, and i would like you to join me." he accepted the invitation; and while the barkeeper was mixing the drinks, i slipped out some monte cards, and began playing them on the counter. i told the old gentleman it was a kind of lottery i saw a man play, and i wanted to learn it. he looked at the game, and turned the card for fun, then for the drinks and cigars. finally he said, "i will bet you twenty-five dollars i can turn the card." i said, "if i bet, it will not be less than $ ." he got out his wallet, and there was plenty of money in sight. i then pretended that i wanted to back out, and i offered to treat to a bottle of wine. he said, "no sir; i hold you to the bet." i then acted a little huffy (as he thought), and offered to bet him $ , . he put up $ , ; and as i saw some left, i said, "here is $ more, and i will bet but once." he put up the extra $ . i said to him, "you know you must turn over the baby card the first time, or you lose." "all right," he said, and at the same time he grabbed a card as though he thought it would get away, and turned it over; but it was not the baby, and i was $ , winner, and did not have to divide with a capper, as i played the old sucker single-handed. i invited him to take another drink, and then bid him good morning. as i was going out, i rolled up a fifty-dollar bill into a little ball, and shot it at the barkeeper. he caught it on the fly, and put it in his pocket. i went to my room and slept until evening, when i was up and ready for the bank again. lost his wife's diamonds. i was playing poker with a gentleman on board the steamer _john simonds_, bound for louisville, late one night, and had won a few hundred dollars from him, when he got up without saying a word, and went to the ladies' cabin. in a short time he came back with a small velvet-covered box in his hand, and said to me, "come, let us finish our game." he opened the box, and i saw it was full of ladies' diamond jewelry. i said: "what are you going to do with those?" said he, "i will put them up as money." "oh, no, i have no use for ladies' jewelry." "well," says he, "if i lose i will redeem them when we get to louisville." i told him i was not going above vicksburg. "well," says he, "if you win, leave them with the clerk and i will pay him." i then loaned him $ , on the jewelry, and we sat down to play. it was about a. m. when we commenced, and before they wanted the tables for breakfast i had won the $ , back. we drank a champagne cocktail, and he went to his room. the barber was at work on me, so that i was a little late for breakfast, and the steward had to take me into the ladies' cabin to get me a seat. there was a gentleman, a very beautiful lady, and a sweet little child at the same table; the lady's eyes were red, as if she had been crying. i looked at the gentleman, and saw it was the same persons who had lost the diamonds. somehow, my breakfast did not suit me; and the more i looked at that young wife and mother, the less i felt like eating. so at last i got up and left the table. i went to my room, got the little velvet box, wrapped it up, and carried it back. they were just leaving the table when i returned. i called the chambermaid, and told her the lady had left a package, and for her to take it to her room. after it was gone i felt better, and i eat a square meal. the gentleman came and thanked me, and wanted my address; but as i never had any one to send me money lost at gambling, i told him not to mind the address; for i knew if i did not give it, i would not expect anything, and therefore would not be disappointed. the monte king. after getting well of the fever in new orleans, i took a trip up the river on one of the vicksburg packets. on this trip i met a man by the name of rollins, who was the first man i ever saw playing three-card monte. seeing i was pretty smart, he proposed a partnership. we commenced depredations on the packets. he did the playing, and i was the capper. i represented a planter's son traveling for my health. the first party that we fell on to was a nigger trader, who had forty-five big black coons on board, taking them to new orleans to sell. we found him an easy victim, and downed him for $ , and four of his niggers. we were afraid to win any more from him on account of a squeal, but he acted very honorably and made out a bill of sale. well, here i was a slave-holder with plenty of money. my partner was one of the best that i ever worked with, except canada bill, whom i shall speak of later. we sold our slaves at one of the yards for $ , ; they averaged $ , apiece, and in twenty minutes after i saw one of them put on the block and bring $ , . we knocked about the city, spending our money freely; riding to the lake, eating big suppers with the girls; and all were friends, for we would not allow any person to spend a cent, and the flowing champagne was a great luxury in those days. the next trip we took was on a red river packet. we went as far as shreveport and back on the same boat; and on the trip, clear of expenses, we were $ , winners, as it was no more trouble to win $ , then than $ now. well, the gamblers began to get a little jealous of us, and at the same time we lost heavily at their games when we played, as we were both good suckers at any game except our own. one night one of them struck my partner, and i jumped in between and told them i did all the fighting for both; and at it we went, and the result was i did him up; for i always kept myself in good condition by using dumb-bells and taking other exercise. when i was twenty-five years old, i did not think there was a man in the world that could whip me in a bar-room or on the street. after i got away with this gambler, they made up their minds that they would get a man who would make me squeal. we continued working the boats and making plenty of money, and every time we got out in the city both of us would lose a big sum of money; and then perhaps i would have to fight, for they were looking for a man to start a fuss with me. one night we had been down to the lake and had a big supper, and we drove up opposite the st. charles hotel and went in. there were about twenty-five gamblers standing in a saloon called the jewel. i saw at a glance they were drinking and full; i also saw two of my men that i had whipped previously. well, i could not show the white feather, so i called for a basket of wine and invited all to join me, when one of the party stepped out into the middle of the room, took off his coat, and said: "i can whip any man in the room." i looked around, and saw it was a job to either kill or whip me. i saw at a glance i had only one friend in the house; that was captain smoker, of the vicksburg packet company. i knew he could be of no service to me. the door was locked. i turned to the challenger and said: "i know who you mean this for," and i untied my cravat. i had a single stone on my shirt that cost me $ , . i took off my coat and vest, and handed them all to the barkeeper. the enemy was a powerfully built man, six feet and one inch high, and weighed thirty-five pounds more than myself; at that time i weighed pounds. well, to tell you the truth, it was a pretty hard fight; but i got one good lick at him with my head, and that won the battle for me. it took all the fight out of him. he said, "that will do." the doors were thrown open, and in less than a minute there were , people in there. we were both arrested and taken to the station-house, or calaboose, where we gave bail, captain smoker going on my bond. while they were signing our bonds, my opponent made some remark that i did not like, and i hit him a good crack in the neck and brought him down on his knees, but they parted us; and the next day, when we appeared in court, the judge said he had a notion to fine us $ apiece for not sending for him, as he wanted to see it himself; "but i will let you go this time." the man's name was john mortice, of natchez, miss. well, to tell you the truth, i was pretty well used up, but i staid in my room till i got all right again. we made several successful trips after that together. at last we parted, and he went to california, and soon after died. i was then king of the monte men, and did all of the playing myself. i got a man named charlie clark to do the capping for me, and we made a world of money. "eph" holland, alexander, and i were coming out of the red river one night. the boat was full of people, and a great many were playing poker. it was : a. m., when a large and powerful man rushed out of the ladies' cabin with nothing on but his night-shirt, and with a large butcher-knife in his hand. he rushed to one of the tables, where there were seven seated, and before they could rise he plunged the knife up to the hilt in two of the men. i jumped up and ran out into the hall, determined to kill him if he made a break for me; but the captain hallooed at me, "don't shoot, he is a crazy man." he had been brought on board at alexandria by his wife, who was taking him to an asylum. he came rushing through the cabin towards the hall, and i snatched up a big iron poker; for i made up my mind i would lay him out if he came within reach. he picked out another man and started for him, and they had it all around the guards. the poor fellow that he was after was almost scared to death. i jumped inside of the door, and as he came brandishing his knife i dealt him a heavy blow on the side of the head, which brought him down. we then got rope and tied him, and kept him in that position till the engineer made hand-cuffs for him. the daguerrotype boat. "good heaven! that sots and knaves should be so vain, to wish their vile remembrance may remain and stand recorded at their own request, to future days a libel or a jest." before the war, "eph" holland, my partner alexander, and myself were waiting for a boat at the mouth of the red river. there was a little boat lying at the landing, nicely fitted up for a daguerrotype gallery, and i proposed to the boys that we have our pictures taken all together, and i would pay for it, as i thought it would make a pretty group. they agreed, so we went on board the boat and let the artist take us all in a bunch. holland was in the middle, and the picture flattered him; so he insisted on having a dozen copies. i saw that the picture did not do me justice, so i wanted "eph" to sit alone, telling him it would cost less. he said he would pay the bill, for he could see it was the contrast that showed him off to so great an advantage. well, to please him we let the artist draw a bead on us eleven times more; for at that time they could only take one picture at a shot. holland paid the entire bill, which was so large that i asked the daguerrotype man if he would sell out. "oh, no; i am making too much money," says he. then i thought, i will try and get some of it; at least the amount that poor "eph" had paid for his vanity. i told the old story of how i had lost my money, and began to throw the cards. i soon had them guessing; alexander turned up the corner of the winner, and then bet me $ that the artist could turn it. i took him up, and lost the money. the artist got excited and wanted to bet his money. the result was, i won all he had, and told him i would give him a chance to get even, and would bet all he had lost against his boat and contents. he accepted the proposition. holland made out a bill of sale, the artist signed it, and in a short time he had lost his home and business. then i said to him: "you have played in bad luck, so i will pay you a salary to manage the business for me." he accepted the employment. we bid him good bye, and took a boat for new orleans. two weeks later i saw my picture boat at bayou sara. i went on board, and my employee was glad to see me (or at least he said he was). i asked him about the business, and he told me he was losing money; so i told him i would like to sell out. he wanted to know my price; i told him $ . he offered me $ cash, and his note for the balance; so i thought, as he had been losing money for two weeks, i had better sell. i have his note yet, and the first time i see holland i am going to try and sell it to him. there was no money in the business for me, as it was outside of my line; and i have come to the conclusion that a man should stick to his legitimate business. "eph" holland was sorry afterward that he ever had his picture taken in a group, for the next time he went to new orleans he was arrested on the street and taken to the chief's office, and there he saw his "group" picture in the rogues' gallery. he tried to explain how it was that his picture came to be grouped with two unknown horse-thieves, but the chief couldn't see it. then eph sent for his friends, who went on his bond, and he was let off until the next morning. as he and his friends were leaving the chief's office he caught sight of me, and then he "dropped," and said to me, "george, _you_ gave that picture to the chief." i said, "what picture?" then eph said, "boys, come on; it's all on me." the chief joined us; and when eph had settled the bill, he said to me, "george, the next time i have my picture taken i will go it alone." i said to him, "eph, all is vanity and vexation of spirit." pittsburg's best man. before the war there were a great many coal boatmen traveling on the river. i was coming up at that time with captain forsyth, on the steamer _cambria_. some of the coal boat crew traveled in the cabin, and others on deck. i got into a game with one of their bullies. they said he was the best man in pittsburg. in the play i bested him out of a few hundred dollars, and he did not like it a bit. he went down on deck and told his party there was a boy up stairs who had won all his money. "if he comes on deck i will let you know, and we will throw him down and take the money away from him." the news came to me, and i prepared for the boys by putting my money and jewelry in the office, took my pistol and went down on deck. the bully was there; he pointed me out to the gang. they commenced to gather around me. i backed up against a hogshead of sugar, telling them not to come any nearer to me or i would hurt some of them. they took the hint, but began to abuse me. the mate and some of the boat's crew came back into the deck-room, and then i commenced to open out on them. "now," said i to the bully, "perhaps you can whip me, but i can tell you in a few words you never saw a boy more willing to fight than myself; and if you will give me a boy's show, we will see who is the best of the two." he said, "i can whip you in a minute;" and so saying, he took off his coat. i threw mine off in quick time, ready for a fight. it was a good one. he hit me as hard as ever sullivan hit a man; but i kept dodging my head, so he would hit that, and he soon had his right hand as big as any man's head. i at last commenced to give it to him about the head pretty lively. and talk about a head! his looked like the hind-quarter of a beef. finally one of the crew called out enough for him, for he was not able to do so. they carried the big bully up stairs and laid him in his bed. to tell the truth, he was the toughest man i ever had anything to do with; for he was a powerful man, weighed two hundred pounds, and could hit like a jack a-kicking. the pittsburgers did hate to see their man get whipped, as he was their leader. the news went to pittsburg, and they could hardly believe that he could get the worst of a rough-and-tumble fight. at one time i was crossing the levee at new orleans about o'clock in the evening, when a big fellow jumped from behind a cotton bale and struck me on the head with an iron dray-pin, which he held in both hands. the blow staggered me, and i fell on my knees. i caught hold of the dray-pin until i recovered myself, when i got hold of him and took the pin out of his hand. i downed him; and was just getting ready to go to work, when the police rushed in and pulled me off. i would have given $ if they had let me alone just half a minute. they took us both to the lock-up. i put up money for both of us to appear, as i wanted to get at him again; but he called on the police to accompany him to his place of business. he was a boss drayman, and a particular friend of a stevedore i had whipped a year previously, and he had it in for me. didn't win the bags. there was a man in new orleans before the war that supplied the steamboat men with silver to pay their deck-hands. he could buy it at a discount, as it was a drug on the money market at that time. i have often seen him with his two heavy leather bags, on his way from the bank to the boats. one day my partner (charlie bush) and i were in a saloon on camp street, when in walked the "silver man," carrying his heavy leather bags. i gave bush the wink, and began throwing the cards on the counter. the man got stuck looking at the game; and when bush bet me $ and won it, he got more interested and bet me the drinks, which i lost; then he bet me the cigars, and i lost again. i then said to him: "you can't guess the winner for $ ." he said, "i will bet you $ i can." i told him i would not bet less than $ ; then bush said, "i will bet you," and we put up the money, and bush won it. old "silver" got excited when he saw bush pocket the $ , and i said to him, "i will bet you $ , against the silver in the two bags." he knew there was not near $ , in the bags, so he jumped them up on the counter, and said, "it's a go;" and then he stood close and watched me throw them, until i said "ready;" then he made a grab, and turned over the wrong card. if he had been struck by lightning, he could not have acted more dazed. he dropped into a chair and lost all control of himself, and i felt a little sorry for him; but "business is business." so i picked up the bags and started to go, when the fellow came to his senses and said: "hold on; you did not win the bags." i saw he had me on the bags; and as i knew he had them made for the business, i said to him: "if you get me something to put the money in, you can have the bags." he jumped up and ran out; and when he returned with a meal-sack, he found the barkeeper and his two bags, but not bush and me. we had bought some towels of the barkeeper, dumped the silver into them and lit out, for fear that the little old silver man would bring back a "cop" to hold us, in place of something to hold the silver. the little fellow was game, and did not say anything about his loss. the next time i met him he requested me to say nothing about the play; and every time we met we would take a drink, and laugh over the joke. the last time i met my silver friend he was crippled up with the rheumatism so he could hardly walk, and he was "dead broke." i gave him $ (for past favors), and i have not seen him since; and i expect he is now in his grave, for it has been many years ago since i won the silver, but not the bags. the black deck-hand. charlie clark and i left new orleans one night on the steamer _duke of orleans_. there were ten or twelve rough looking fellows on board, who did their drinking out of private bottles. charlie opened up shop in the cabin, and soon had a great crowd around him. i saw that the devils had been drinking too much, so i gave charlie the wink, and he soon closed up, claiming to be broke. then we arranged that i should do the playing, and he would be on the lookout. i soon got about all the money and some watches out of the roughs, besides i beat seven or eight of the other passengers. they all appeared to take it good-naturedly at the time; but it was not long before their loss, and the bad whisky, began to work on them. i saw there was going to be trouble, so i made a sneak for my room, changed my clothes, and then slipped down the back stairs into the kitchen. i sent word for clark to come down. i then blackened my face and hands, and made myself look like a deck- hand. i had hardly finished my disguise, when a terrible rumpus up stairs warned me that the ball was open. the whisky was beginning to do its work. they searched everywhere; kicked in the state-room doors, turned everything upside down, and raised h--l generally. if they could have caught me then, it would have been good bye george. they came down on deck, walked past, and inquired of a roustabout who stood by me if he had seen a well-dressed man on deck. he told them "he had not seen any gemman down on deck afore they came down." they had their guns out, and were swearing vengeance. the boat was plowing her way along up the river; the stevedores were hurrying the darkies to get up some freight, as a landing was soon to be made. the whistle blew, and the boat was headed for shore. those devils knew i would attempt to leave the boat, so as soon as the plank was put out they ran over on the bank, and closely scanned the face of every one who got off. there was a lot of plows to be discharged, so i watched my chance, shouldered a plow, followed by a long line of coons, and i fairly flew past the mob. i kept on up the high bank and threw my plow on to the pile, and then i made for the cotton fields. i lay down on my back until the boat was out of sight, and then i came out, washed myself white, and took a boat for vicksburg, where i met clark the next day, and we divided the boodle that he had brought with him. he told me that after i had left the boat they got lights and went down into the hold, looking for me, as they were sure i was still on the boat. it was a pretty close call, but they were looking for a well-dressed man, and not a black deck-hand. hard boiled eggs. i was going from baton rouge to new orleans on the steamer _grand duke_, one new year's eve, and had spent a great deal of money at the bar for wine. the barkeeper was an italian with a great name, which was napoleon. i said to him, "nap, i hear you have sixty dozen eggs on board; suppose you treat me to an eggnog." "oh, no; me no treat; if you pay, me make some." "if you don't treat me to an eggnog, i will quit buying wine," i said, and walked out. i went to daniel findlay, the steward, and told him how stingy old "nap" was to me. dan said, "never mind, george; i'll fix him and his eggs." he told the cook to fire up, and then get those sixty dozen eggs and boil them hard as h--l. after they were all hard- boiled, they put them into cold water, and then put them back into the box. i went back to the bar, and waited until dan sent me word that all was ready; then i said to old nappy, "i was only in fun; i wanted to see if you could make a good eggnog." "i make good eggnoggy as anybody," said nap. "well, i tell you what i will do; if you will make enough to treat all the passengers, i will give you $ ," i said. "all right," says he, and started to the storeroom to get his sugar, milk, eggs, etc. he soon returned, loaded down with stock. he got out his large bowl, and then cracked one of the eggs. it didn't crack to suit him; he looked at it, and then said to me, "lookey dat! a chick in the first egg!" he threw that one out of the window, and then cracked another, which was just like the first; then he said, "me boughty the egg for fresh; no good; all rot." then he broke another, and another, and finally he broke one open and found it hard boiled; then he said, "who biley the egg? me give five dollie to know who biley the egg!" his italian blood was up to fever heat, and it was some time before we could get a drink of any kind. he sold the eggs in market when we got to new orleans. we did not have our eggnog that new year's eve, but we had the best laugh at the expense of old napoleon that i ever had in my life. "snap games." i was coming down from the memphis races on the _r. w. hill_. there were about twenty-five gamblers on the boat, and they were all crazy for a game of faro. i told them i had a set of tools on board that i would loan them if they wanted to open. they accepted the offer, and took turns in opening "snaps." some opened as high as $ , at a time. i was playing poker, and did not pay much attention to their game. after supper i told them that i would open a $ , "snap," and they could tap it when they pleased. when i sat down to deal, i had a matched set of boxes; you could not tell one from the other. one box was fixed for all the cases to lose, and this i kept secreted. they knocked me out of $ on one deal; on the next deal i shuffled up the same cards and put them in the box, so they could see that everything was on the square. as i did so, my partner tipped over a big lot of silver on the layout, which he had stacked up on purpose to draw their attention, and i came the change on the boxes and threw my handkerchief over the box i held in my lap. everything went on all right. the first case that showed on the case-keeper they all jumped on to play it open, as they wanted to break the snap, as then i would open another; but the case lost, and i was a good big winner over the last deal. when it came to another case, they played it to win, and it lost; but they did not think anything was wrong, so they kept firing away till they were all pretty well crippled in money matters. they played the deal out, and nearly all were broke. at the end of the deal i said, "boys, i will have to quit you, as it is too much of a seesaw game;" and then they commenced to smell a rat, and you would have given $ to have heard them cursing for not watching me shuffle that deal. the game closed with nearly all the money won; some of them i had to loan money, to pay their expenses. the juergunsen watch. i won a juergunsen watch one time from a jew. i put $ , against it. after i got the watch the jew came to me and said: "look here, i want to tell you something. i bought that watch for $ . it is not worth that much, so help me gracious; but i bought it for a brother on a farm, and he don't know the difference. i'll tell you what i do; i will give you $ for it, for i don't want to fool him, as i am going out there now." i told him it was good enough to give to a boy, and i would keep it for a black boy i had. "i tell you what i do; rather than let a nigger boy get it, i'll give you $ ." i said "no." he kept raising till he got to $ . as i knew i could get no more, i let him have it. after he got the watch he commenced to laugh and said he cheated me, for the watch cost him $ . i knew what they cost, for i had priced the same watches, and they were worth $ at that time. it was one of the finest make, split seconds, and had an alarm. the cases were very heavy, with a diamond in the stem that would weigh a karat. the jew thought he had beat me, but he seemed to forget that i had beat him first. it made a man of him. "yet fondly we ourselves deceive, and empty hopes pursue; though false to others, we believe she will to us prove true." on my way up the river on board the old steamer _natchez_ (the boat that was burned up during the war), i won some money and a check for $ , on the louisiana state bank of new orleans. the check was signed by one of the largest planters on the coast, and i knew it was good if presented before payment was stopped; so i took passage on the _mary kean_ (one of the fastest boats on the river), bound for new orleans. we landed in the city about o'clock monday morning. i got a cab to take me down to the french market to get a cup of coffee before going to my room. as i was passing the st. louis hotel on my way from the market, i saw a man that i recognized as hailing from cincinnati (i will not give his name). he appeared to be glad to see me; but i could see he was not at his ease, so after a little while i thought i would sound him, so i said, "what was that trouble you got into in cincinnati?" he looked at me in surprise, and said: "how did you hear about it?" (there was no telegraph line from cincinnati to new orleans in those days). i told him it was all right, and he could trust me. i invited him to take breakfast with me; he accepted the invitation, and told me he would tell me about himself when we were in a more private place. after breakfast, we walked over to the bank, and i drew the $ , on the planter's check; then we went to my room, and he told me his story. he was a bookkeeper for a large pork house; became infatuated with a gay married woman, made false entries, and finally ran away with the enticing married woman. i advised him to put on a disguise, for i knew the police would soon be looking for him. he invited me to go with him and see his lady love, for said he, "she is one of the truest and best women in the world." i went with him, and met a very fine looking lady. i did not blame him very much for being infatuated; but i wondered how much money he did get away with, and how am i going to get my share; for i always felt that it was my duty (as an honest man) to win stolen money. i soon found out he had about $ , of other people's money, and i wanted it. i first taught him to play poker, so he could be in with me the first time we caught a sucker. i got clark to play the part, and he beat us out of $ , , most of which was "pork money." "the best and truest woman in the world" ran off with another fellow, which little thing nearly broke my young friend's heart; but in a short time he went to galveston, texas, got into a large cotton house, and the last time i saw him he said, "george, we live and learn. that little game made a man of me." the cotton man. my partner and i were waiting at the mouth of red river for a boat to take us to new orleans. there was a man who had twelve bales of cotton on the wharf, and he was also waiting for a boat. i told my partner to get acquainted with him, and to keep away from me. the result was that they were good friends when a boat arrived. we all took passage, the cotton was loaded, and we were on our way. i opened up the three-card racket; my partner won $ , and then the cotton man was crazy, for he did not have any money to bet. my partner told him he would loan him some on his cotton. they went to the clerk, who made out a bill of sale for the twelve bales. he got the money, and then he was happy, for he was sure of doubling it with me. he was happy but for a short time. i had all his money, and my partner had all of his cotton, so he (being a good friend) let him have some money to pay his expenses. he did not remain long, so the cost was not very heavy. the cotton was worth about ½ cents per pound at that time, but during the war it was many times that price. i was never very much stuck on cotton, as it was too bulky to get away with in case you had to leave a boat in a hurry. taught a lesson. i was playing poker with a man, who, after i had broke him, went to a gentleman friend of his and promised him twenty-five dollars for the loan of $ until he got home. as he was worth a great deal of money, his friend loaned him the $ . after he got a new stake, he came to me and wanted to renew the play. i had played a square game, and, believing him to be a gentleman, i sat down to play the same way; but i soon saw he thought himself a better player than myself, so i lit into the new stake, and it was not long until i had him broke again. then he went to the captain and set up a great kick. the captain said to him, "if you had won the money, would you have given it back?" he said, "captain, i give you my word of honor that i would." "then," says the captain, "why did you pay twenty-five dollars for the loan of the money?" "oh," says he, "i only wanted to teach him a lesson." "well," says the captain, "if you pay twenty-five dollars every time you want to teach such men as he is a lesson, you will soon get broke. i can't do anything for you, my fine fellow." the passengers laughed at him, and some called him "a good teacher" (and that broke him all up). he soon sneaked off to his room, and that was the last i saw of my teacher. sinking of the belle zane. i was a passenger on the steamer _belle zane_ during the winter season, and navigation was expected to be closed soon, as the river was full of floating ice. we had a large number of passengers on board, and were getting along very well until we left the ohio. we had left cairo, and were steaming down the mississippi, when the boat struck a snag, and in a very short time had sunk down to the cabin. it was about four o'clock in the morning, but i was up (as usual). we had the passengers out of their rooms in quick time, and got them up on the roof in their night clothes, as there was no time for them to dress. in a few moments the cabin separated from the deck, floated off, and then sank down until we were standing in the ice and water nearly knee deep. it was a terrible sight; such a one as i hope and pray i may never see again. men, women, and children standing amid the floating ice nearly frozen to death, and expecting every moment to sink into a watery grave. some were screaming for help, others were praying, while others stood as if they were lost. i caught up one poor woman, who was nearly frozen to death, and held her in my arms above the water. others did the same, while the crew and some of the passengers tore the boards off the pilot-house, and tried to paddle the wreck to shore. we floated down until we struck a point. the men that were doing the paddling jumped off onto the shore, and then held on to the wreck until they swung it around into an eddy. we got all the passengers off, but it was about a mile to the nearest house. we were all nearly freezing, and there was not one of us that did not have our feet frozen. we had no fire, nor any way to make one. some of us who were lucky enough to have coats took them off, and wrapped up the women and children. we then took them to a house that was about a mile distant, and the good people did all in their power to make us comfortable. the news reached cairo, and they sent a boat, with blankets, provisions, and medical aid to our relief. three or four men jumped overboard, and tried to swim ashore, but got chilled, and were drowned. some of the women were frozen so badly that they did not survive. i feel the effect in my feet to this day, and the accident happened over thirty years ago. jew vs. jew. "when greek meets greek, then comes the tug of war." when jew meets jew, they want each other's gore. we were going down the river from baton rouge at one time, and i had an old fellow with me they called "jew mose." there was a young jew from vidalia on board, and mose got him into a game of euchre. we had not played long until the young jew said, "i have got a good poker hand." mose spoke up and said, "my hand is worth ten dollars." then the young one put up his money, and as mose had nothing, he backed out. i saw vidalia had some nerve and money, so on my deal i ran up two hands, giving the young one four kings and the old one four aces. mose said, "i have a poker hand." vidalia said, "my hand is worth twenty-five dollars," and he put up. i tipped my hand to him, and raised it $ , at the same time giving mose the office not to raise, as i thought it was all the fellow would stand. they both called; we showed down, and mose had won the money. he made a reach for it, when vidalia made a grab, but mose was too quick for him. then the young one jumped up and said to mose, "you are a jew and i'm a jew, and you shan't have my money." mose would not give up, so at it they went. they hit, bit, scratched, gouged, and pulled hair, until they were rolling around in each other's gore. everybody came running to see what had broken loose, and it was ducks to see those two fellows fight. neither would give up, and it is no telling how long the circus tumbling would have kept up, if the officers of the boat had not separated them. after the fight the cabin looked as if we had been fighting a half-dozen newfoundland dogs from the amount of blood and black hair that was on the floor. the young one told mose if he ever came to vidalia he would lick him, so we supposed from that remark that he did not feel satisfied with the result. poor old mose did not live long enough to visit vidalia so the young one could make his word good for he went up to chicago, and soon after died. beat a good hand. i beat a man at poker out of $ , on the steamer _wild wagoner_. after he quit playing he asked me where i would get off. i told at the mouth of red river. when i left the boat i saw my friend had concluded to stop at the same place. it was not long before an officer called on me to take a walk with him, and we said, "we will go up and see the judge." when we arrived at his honor's place of business, i found that my twelve-hundred-dollar friend was there before me. the judge spoke to him before he did to me, and said, "how did this man swindle you out of your money?" "we were playing poker, your honor." "do you call playing poker swindling?" said the judge. "well, your honor, he must have swindled me; for every time i had a good hand he would beat it," said he. "if that is all the evidence you have, the case is closed, the defendant is dismissed, and you will be held for the costs," said his honor. i told the judge i would pay the costs if he would let the fellow go. he accepted the proposition, and that night i had the honor of playing in the same game with the judge, and i played a square game for once in my life, for fear i would have another friend who would want to see me at his honor's office. they paid the costs. i had beat a man out of $ on the railroad from new orleans to jackson. i saw that if i got off he would put me to some trouble, so i kept on until i got to canton, twenty-five miles above. he followed me there, and had me arrested. the trial was to come off in an hour, as it was meal time with the judge. we were all assembled in the court-room, and the judge wanted him to tell how i got his money. he said, "i could show you, judge, if i had some cards." i pulled out some of the same cards i beat him with, and gave them to the judge, and he wanted to know how they could bet money on the three cards. i said, "judge, i will show you so you can understand." i took the cards and mixed them over a few times, telling the judge to watch the jack. he did watch it, and he could turn it over every time, as one of the corners of the jack was turned up, and he said it was as fair a game as he ever saw. i told him i had two chances to his one; so he dismissed the case. i came near giving it to the judge for a few dollars, and then give them back; but i thought best not to do so. when the fellow went out of the court-room, the canton boys laughed at him and called him a fool. after he left, the judge and i went over to a saloon and had some cigars. he said he dearly loved to play poker; but i did not want any of his game, as i thought i might need him again some time; and it proved i was right, for it was not long after that i was coming down on the train from vicksburg, and beat five or six of the passengers out of a few hundred dollars. when we got to canton we were behind time and missed connection, and had to lay over until night. they had me arrested for the same trick, and taken before the same judge; and you ought to have heard him after he found out how they had lost their money, for he just gave them a good old-fashioned turning over. he called them a lot of babies, and put the costs of the court on them. i got the judge a box of fine cigars, and went down on the same train; but i was in the sleeper, and they did not see me until i got to new orleans. i played poker in the sleeper all the way to the city, and did not lose very much as the game was small, and we played on the square. i met some of them at the opera the same night, and they had their opera glasses pointed at me for some time. i guess they wondered how i got there so soon. my first love. "love gives esteem, and then he gives desert; he either finds equality, or makes it. like death, he knows no difference in degrees, but frames and levels all." there was a dance in the cabin of the steamer _magnolia_ one night, which was a fine affair, as there were a great many wealthy people on board. i had not done any playing on the boat, so i put on my good harness, and went back into the ladies' cabin to join in the dance. i was introduced to a number of fine ladies, among whom was a beautiful young widow. she joined me in a waltz, another dance, and a promenade on the guards. i thought her the most agreeable and sweetest woman i had ever met in my life. i was in her society most of the time, until the dancing ceased, and then i bade her "good night, good night; parting is such sweet sorrow, that i shall say good night till it be morrow." i met the fascinating widow the next day, and before i bade her good-by i had received a pressing invitation to visit her at her plantation; and, "boys," you can bet your life it was not long before i availed myself of the opportunity. during my visit i received every attention. the negroes could not have done more for their master. there was a nice lake on the plantation. the servants would drive the lady and i over to it, and we would enjoy ourselves at fishing for a few hours. on our return she would play and sing for me, and as i sat and looked at her i thought, what would i give if i was a square man, and how happy i could be with such a woman as my wife. i did not tell her my business, for fear she would think less of me. i could not endure the deception, so after three days of happiness i tore myself away, feeling as if i was "unfixed for life." in a short time she visited relatives in new orleans, and sent me an invitation to call; but as i was acquainted with her friends, the same old dread came upon me, so i declined, with the excuse that i was compelled to leave the city the same evening on the steamer _judge mclean_. we met again on board a steamer. she had been told my business, but she treated me more kindly than ever before. she begged me to quit gambling, and settle down. i partly agreed to do as she wished. we spent a very pleasant time together (for i would not attend to business while she was on the same boat). before she left the steamer she took off a large single-stone diamond ring, and said to me, "wear this until we meet again." i tried to refuse it, but she insisted; so i at last accepted the token. i bade her good-by at the stage-plank, and went up on deck. she remained on the levee waving her handkerchief (and i returned the compliment) until we were out of sight. i talked to the clerk until i felt that i was myself again, and then i started out to find a sucker; for i had enjoyed the pleasure before business. it was about three months before i saw my lady love again. i was glad to see her, and she appeared to be pleased at meeting me. before we parted i put the ring back on her finger, but she said she did not want it; and i believe she meant what she said. i received another invitation to visit her at her plantation, which i have neglected to this day, and that has been over thirty years ago. i have often thought what a different man i might have been if i had accepted that last invitation. there is one thing that i am sure of, and that is, if i had married my "first love," i would not now be writing "forty years a gambler on the mississippi." the boys from texas. i got on the steamer _b. l. hodge_ at baton rouge, bound for new orleans. it was on a new year's eve; everybody was feeling jolly, and i felt somewhat that way myself. there were five tables of poker going at one time, so i opened up the good old game of monte for the benefit of a lot of texas boys that didn't play poker. they all got around the table and watched me throw. in a short time my capper came up and wanted me to show him how to play the game. i showed him, and he wanted to bet a dollar. i told him if that was all the money he had, he had better keep it. he got as mad as a wet hen, and told me he had just as much money as i had. he pulled out a big roll and slashed down $ , , saying, "i will bet you i can turn the winner." i said, "you can't bluff me," and i put up. he turned one of the cards and lost. while i was putting the money away, he picked up the cards and turned up a corner on the winner, letting the boys see what he had done; then he said to me, "mix them up again," which i did, and he put down a roll, claiming it to be $ . he turned and won. then the boys began to nudge each other and get nervous. the capper then said, "i will let it all lay, and bet you again." he turned and caught me for $ , ; and then you should have seen the boys from texas. there never was such a cutting of cloths. one fellow pulled off his new coat and cut the lining nearly all to pieces; another took off his coat, vest, and shirt, for his money was sewed up in his undershirt; others had their money down their boot legs tied to a string, so that they could pull it up when they wanted it. they all wanted it just then, and they were in the biggest hurry of any suckers i ever saw. they all put up their pile, except two or three who had more than the rest. i told them to pick out one boy to turn the card, so they selected jim, who was their leader. jim made a grab for a sure thing; but when he turned it over, all the boys were _sure_ they had lost their money. they took it good-naturedly, and said it was fair. one said i was the greatest man in the world, and if he could do it as slick as i did he could get all the money out in their country. i promised that i would come out and see them, and that they would all be in with me. i did not say just when i would keep my promise; and as i do not like too many partners, i have put it off over thirty years, in hopes that some of the boys would give it up and move out of the country, so if a slick man did get all of their money he would not have to divide up so often. marked cards. while waiting for a boat at donelsville to take me to new orleans, i fell in with a fellow who proposed a game of cards to pass the time until the boat arrived. we went into a saloon and sat down to play a game of poker. he brought out an old deck of marked cards (which i recognized the minute i saw them). we began to play. i knew the fellow took me for a sucker, so i let him play me with "his cards" until i got a chance to down him, which i did for all he had, amounting to about $ . about this time some one announced that a boat was coming, so i proposed to quit, but mr. "gambler" did not want any quit in his, so long as he was loser and he had a sucker. i knew he had but little (if any) money left, so i quit and started for the landing. the boat had arrived, and was just about ready to leave, when an officer stepped up to me and said, "i have a warrant for your arrest." "the h--l you have! what have i done?" "you have swindled a gentleman out of his money, sir," says he. "all right, sir; i will go with you." he took me before a magistrate and there was the fellow who had played the marked cards on me. the justice wanted to know how i had swindled him. he said: "he put up the cards on me in a game of poker, and he is a gambler." you ought to have heard that old fellow give it to me. he said: "how dare you, sir, come in this place and rob our respectable citizens out of their money? i will teach you a lesson that you will not soon forget." he was going on in this strain, when i stopped him by saying, "hold on, your honor; i would like to say a word." "go on, sir." "well," says i, "this man invited me to play a game of poker with him, and when we sat down to play he brought out this old deck of marked cards on me, and i happened to know them as well, if not better than he did. he took me for a sucker, and i beat him at his own game. he calls me a gambler, but he is much worse; for he attempted to rob me with those marked cards." "show me the marks on those cards," said the justice; so i walked up and began reading the cards by their backs to him. he watched me as i read the cards, until i called a ten spot and turned it over; then he grabbed it up and examined the back, and said: "hold on; that will do; this is the same deck those d----d rascals have been playing on me; for the other night this ten of hearts fell in the spit, and here is the mark on it now. they have been swindling me for the last six months." then turning to me, he said: "you are dismissed; but i will fine this rascal $ and costs, and send him to jail if he does not pay it immediately." i thanked the justice for his just decision, and took the next boat to new orleans. my crooked partner. my partner, hugh foster, and i were on board the _elonzo childs_, bound for new orleans. foster had the reputation of being a wolf, and i did not have much use for him. he was acquainted with a man on board that claimed to have a man who had five thousand dollars, and he could make him lose against monte, but he wanted half or there would be no play. foster told him to get his man into a state-room, and they would win the money, and not let devol know anything about it. so foster came to me and said, "george, we will not try to do anything until after we leave cairo, will we?" "no," i said, "i want all the sleep i can get." foster said he felt tired, and would go to bed. i knew that the sneak had some scheme on hand, so i went to my room, but i did not go to bed; i went out the back door and up on the roof, where i could see what was going on down in the cabin. i had not been on watch very long until i saw foster come out of his room, and in a short time go into another with two gentlemen. i slipped down off the roof, went out on the guards, and called all the men into the barber shop. i told them i had a new game that i wanted to show them. it was a new game to them, and they were very much interested in it, as i let them win several small bets. after i got it well worked up, i said: "now, gentlemen, i will not take any more small bets, but will bet $ , that no one can turn the jack the first time." just then the barkeeper came in, and i said: "i will bet you $ that you can't turn the jack." he counted out the money and put it up. i mixed them, and he turned up the winner. he then walked out, and i knew if there was any big money i would get it. i began to mix them again, when up stepped a big fellow and asked me what was the least i would bet. i sized him up, and then i said $ , . he pulled out and put up. i counted out the same amount and put it up on my side of the table, so if there would be any snatching i could get there in time. i then saw he had some left, so i said i would back out and treat. this made him very anxious, and he said, "no, i will not let you back out." then i said, "if you will not let me out, i will bet you $ , , as i might as well be hung for an old sheep as a lamb." he put up the $ , and turned the card; but as i had two chances to his one, he made the same mistake that thousands had made before, and turned up the wrong one. he walked off without a word, and sat down on the guards. i kept an eye on him; but he was game, and took his medicine just as i had taken it many a time at the bank. i kept on playing until i had taken in all the pan-fish and a large white diamond stud that was worth about $ , . then i closed up shop and invited all to join me in a drink. they all accepted except my $ , friend. he was too busy thinking how it was that he had turned up the wrong card, when he could see so plainly that the right card had one corner bent. while we were drinking, in came foster, and he looked as if he had just been pulled out of the river; for it was a very hot day, and the fellow had been in a close state-room for an hour, and had not won a cent. i said, "you look warm; come and join us in a drink." he took a drink, saying: "it was so hot i could not sleep." i took the diamond stud out of my pocket and showed it to the barkeeper. foster saw it, and said: "george, i did not know that you had that stone." "what will you give for it?" said i. he looked at it, then offered me $ . i told him he could have it, so he paid me the money and put the stud in his shirt. in a few moments after he got the stone, a gentleman said to him: "that is a very fine stone; i am acquainted with the gentleman who lost it; he is a large jeweler in st. louis." "you must be mistaken," said foster. "oh, no, i am not; for i saw him lose it in the barber shop about half an hour ago." foster came to me and said: "george, you did not make a play, did you?" "oh, yes; did you not make one yourself?" that made him look sick; but when a friend of mine came up and said, "devol, you must have won $ , in that play," then he looked sicker. i said, "yes, i guess i got about $ , out of it, and i will treat." while we were drinking, the barkeeper handed me the $ he had won. i gave him $ for his cap; and then foster began to give me taffy. i told him i did not want anything more to do with him; that i had heard he was a sneak, etc. he got off at cairo, and i was glad to get rid of him. i had a good wheel game down to memphis, where i got off and lost $ , against faro. i took a boat for new orleans, and made more than i lost in memphis before i reached the city. judge devol. i was on board the _city of louisiana_, bound for new orleans. there was a large number of passengers, and a heavy load of freight. the roof was literally covered with coops full of chickens and turkeys. i had old monte running in full blast, but the chicken men could not bet, as they were going to market instead of coming away. they were so very much interested in the game that they forgot to watch their coops. after a while one of them went up, and found that some one had stolen some of the chickens. the pilot told him he saw the man taking them, so he went down and told the captain, and he sent for the pilot to pick out the thief. they found him and brought him into the cabin, when some one proposed to try him by judge and jury; so they elected me judge, and i impaneled a jury. we heard the evidence, and the attorneys made their arguments. then i charged the jury, and they retired to the bar-room (as we did not have any regular jury room). they were out about as long as it would take a first-class barkeeper to make up twelve drinks, and then they filed back into the court-room, each one putting his handkerchief away, as if they had all been crying over the awful verdict they were about to render. i asked the foreman if they had agreed upon a verdict, and he said, "we have, your honor." just at this time there was some commotion in the court-room (occasioned, no doubt, at the sight of the twelve handkerchiefs). i told the sheriff to rap for order, but it was some little time before it could be restored. i then told the jury to stand up and hear their verdict. the foreman read the verdict, which was: "we, the jury, find the defendant guilty." i then told the defendant to stand up and hear his sentence. "you are to return the chickens to their owner, pay a fine of six bottles of wine and the costs of this suit, and be imprisoned in the bar-room until the fine and costs are paid." as there were no other cases on the docket, i ordered the sheriff to adjourn court (to the bar). the sheriff went up with the man who had lost the chickens, and they picked out three dozen. when they came down and reported to me that they had returned three dozen chickens, the criminal yelled out that he had only taken one dozen. the poor fellow did not have the money to pay for the wine, so he had to give a bill of sale for his chickens. after all of my judicial duties were performed, and while the bar (of justice) was full of people, and the people were full (of what they got at the bar), i opened up the dear little three-card racket, and in a short time i owned every chicken and turkey on the roof of that boat. what to do with my live stock i did not know. i had a bill of sale from the chicken men, but what i wanted just then was a chicken buyer. i at last had an offer from the second clerk which was much less than the market value; but as i never had much use for anything i could not put in my pocket, i accepted his offer and sold out. the chicken men had no business in new orleans, as they had sold in transit, and not one of them had any money; so i called them up to the office, and gave each one money enough to take him back to cairo. my partner alexander. i went on board the steamer _imperial_ at memphis, bound for new orleans. it was ten o'clock at night, and i did not think of doing any business until the next day. while standing talking to the barkeeper, a man walked in and proposed to shake him for the drinks. they shook, and the stranger lost. he then proposed to shake for five dollars, and asked me if i would come in and make it three- handed. i said i would for a time or two. we shook, and he was a little loser, when he wanted to make it ten dollars. i consented, but the barkeeper dropped out. we sat down, and soon were shaking for $ a game. we were drinking during the time, and it was not very long until i had won $ , . the fellow was pretty full, so i thought i would complete the "filling," and then he would go to bed. as i expected, it was not long before he turned in, and i was at liberty to look around. i went into the cabin, and found three games of poker in full blast. i was looking at one of the games, when i noticed a man looking at me. he gave me a sign, and i walked out to the guards. he followed me and said, "you do not remember me; my name is alexander; i met you in st. louis over a year ago. i heard that you and clark had split up, and i am now on my way to new orleans to meet you, for i want to go to work." i told him that i was alone, and that we would begin our work on the morrow. we were in the barber shop the next day, when a man came to me and told me that he was a brother of mike carroll, and he wanted to cap for me. as i knew carroll well, i told him to go ahead. we were playing monte, and i had beat a man out of twenty- six twenty-dollar gold pieces. when we came to settle up there was one gold piece missing, so i said, "boys, there is one gold piece short." alexander proposed a search, and carroll said, "i have not got a cent, and that is why i wanted to cap, in order to pay my passage." we commenced the search, and when we took off carroll's hat the gold piece dropped out; so i paid his passage and let him go. at the expiration of four years, alexander showed me receipts for money he had sent to his home in dover, ky., amounting to $ , , and he was not a stingy man, either, for he was a good liver and dresser, and i have known him often to spend as much as $ in a night for wine, etc. he has often talked to me about playing the bank, and wanted me to quit it; and i can now see if i had taken his advice i might have been worth forty times $ , . the quadroon girl. i got on the _belle key_ one afternoon at vicksburg; and as i claimed to be a planter from white river, i soon became acquainted with some planters that lived on the coast. there was a game of poker started, and i was invited to sit in. we played until supper was ready. i had played on the square, and had won a few hundred dollars. after supper they got up a dance, and that spoiled the game. i was sitting in the hall, when one of the planters came to me and said, "don't you dance?" "no, i don't care to dance where i am not acquainted." "you are like me in that respect; i had rather play poker; but as those gentlemen who were playing in the game to-day have all got their families on board, they will not play, so what do you say to us having a game?" i said i did not care to play a while, but i would rather be a little more private, and that we might go up into the texas and play. we got the checks at the bar (and the barkeeper did not forget a deck of my cards). we went up and had just got seated, when up came my partner and said, "gentlemen, are you going to sport a little?" "we are, will you join us?" said the planter. "what are you going to play?" "poker, of course." he sat in, and then it was a very nice, gentlemanly game. we played on the square for a while (that is, if the cards had been square). finally i could put it off no longer, so i ran up two hands, giving the planter three eights, and then downed him for over $ . we played a little while longer, and then i ran up two more hands, and guarded them so nothing could fall in that time. i gave my partner the best hand, and he took in about $ . the planter was then over $ , loser, so he excused himself for a few minutes, and i knew that he had gone after more money. he soon returned with $ , , and that lasted him about one hour. he got up and said, "boys, i must have some more money." my partner and i went down with him, as i did not think he could get any more. we were at the bar taking a drink, when he turned to me and said, "i would like to play some more, but i can't get any more money, unless you will loan me some on my negro, as i have one on board that i paid $ , for, and she is one of the most likely girls you ever saw." i winked at my partner to loan him some money on his wench. he went back and brought out one of the prettiest quadroon girls, about seventeen years old, that i ever saw. my partner loaned him $ , , and got the clerk to draw up a bill of sale; then we resumed the game; but that did not last him but about half an hour, for i beat him out of nearly the whole amount on one hand, and that broke up the game. he had but seventy-five dollars left. we went down and took a drink, and then went to bed. the next day he got the money and redeemed his girl, then he said to me, "i have got about $ , so let us go up and play single- handed." we went up, and i soon got that money. he said, "in all my poker playing, i never played so unlucky in my life." he went to my partner and borrowed $ , more on the girl, and i took that in. he then went to captain keys, and tried to borrow the money to redeem his girl again, but the captain would not loan it to him. he found a man that loaned him the money, and he redeemed her again. he was considerable loser, but he got some more wine in him, then he wanted more poker, but i told my partner not to have anything more to do with his negro, for it was making too much talk on the boat already. when he got to his landing, he and his negro left the boat, and i tell you she was a dandy. the captain spoiled the game. i was coming out of new orleans one night on the _ohio belle_, a cincinnati boat, and she was full of good looking suckers. i went out on the guards and called them all into the cabin, and opened up monte. they all gathered around the table, and among them was the captain of the boat, who insisted on betting. i said to him, "you are the captain of the boat, and i do not want to bet with you." he kept insisting that his money was just as good as anybody's, and he put up $ . i gave my capper the office to take him away, but he would not have it. i then told him i would not bet less than $ . he called to the clerk to bring him $ , and then he put up $ . i told him not to bet if the loss would distress him, when he told me it was his money. i told him to turn the card, for i saw it was the only way to get rid of him. he turned, and lost; then he got mad, and made me close up. i had no intention of keeping his money, so i walked out on the guards, and then up on the roof, where i found him. i said, "here is your money; i did not want you to bet, and you have knocked me out of many a good dollar." he was surprised to get his money back, and he said he bet in good faith. i talked to him until he told me i could open up again, and then i told him to give me the $ , and so soon as i got opened up, for him to come up and make a play, and i would let him win it back. i went down and called all the boys into the cabin again, and had just begun to throw them, when up stepped the captain and said, "i lost once, but i will try it again." so he put up and won the money. then he walked away. then a sucker pulled out his wallet, and offered to bet me $ . i saw he had plenty left, so i said, "i will not bet less than $ , ." while he was hesitating, my partner came forward and said he did not have that much money, but he would bet $ , that he could turn the winner. i took him up and he lost. then the sucker was all excitement, for he saw that he didn't turn the card with the corner turned up, so he wanted to bet $ , . i would not bet less than $ , , so he at last put up. i gave them one more shuffle, and then he was so nervous that he turned the wrong card. it made him so sick that he went out on the guards and threw up his supper. the balance of the suckers did not want to get sick, so i closed up; but if it had not been for the captain's first play, i would have done a much better business on that boat. such is luck. too sick to fight. i was playing poker on the steamer _capitol_ with a negro trader, and had won some money from him, when he got up and went down on the boiler deck. in a little while he came back followed by an old black woman, and wanted me to loan him $ , on her. she was too old for me, so i told him i was not keeping a pawn-shop; but my partner told him he would loan him $ , on her, if he would make out a bill of sale. the bill was made out and he got the money. we began another game, and in about half and hour i had his $ , ; for we were playing with my cards, and they never went back on me or told me a lie. he went off, borrowed some more money and wanted to renew the game; but as he was getting very drunk, i declined to play with him any longer. then he set up a kick, and said he had been cheated. i told him all suckers talked that way when they lost their money. that made him hotter than ever, and he wanted to fight. i told him i was sickly and could not fight; so he left me to find my partner, to buy his old woman back again. i never refused to sell a nigger i had won, if any one would give me anything near the value; and i never had any use for old nigger women. the gambler disguised. i started out one night on the _crystal palace_. this boat left new orleans about o'clock in the evening. after supper i opened monte. there were some rough customers from greenville, and i knew if they lost their money there would be the devil to pay; but i took the chances, and caught some of them for a few hundred dollars, and there were some two or three of the passengers who also lost. after the greenville killers had lost their money they commenced to fill up, and i knew there would be war soon. i closed up, slipped around and got on another suit of clothes, put on my plug hat and gold glasses. then i gave my valise to the porter and told him to have it ready to go off at donaldsonville. i walked out in the cabin; they were all standing by the bar holding a consultation how they could get the money back. one said: "the first time the boat stops he will get off." "well, if he does he is a good one, for i will fill his hide full of lead if he tries that," says another. the boat blew her whistle to land, and you ought to have seen them break for the lower deck, gun in hand. i walked out through the cabin with my plug hat, white necktie, and gold glasses. you would have bet $ i was a preacher. you ought to have seen those fellows make room for me to pass by. my partner remained on board, as they were not on to him. i got a boat soon after and went to baton rouge, where my partner was waiting for me. he said they raised the d---l after i got off. married his money. i was on board the steamer _h. r. w. hill_ going up the river and had got my work in, and what money i had accumulated was at poker. we landed at natchez, and most all that were playing in the game got off. after supper i was sitting on the guards smoking, when a man came up and commenced conversation about gambling. he said: "i love to gamble, but my wife is bitterly opposed to it. i did want to play in that game to-day, but i dare not, as i have my family on board; so if you play to-night, i want to sit in." "well, i guess that we may make up a game after it gets later," i said. about two hours after supper he came out and proposed a game. i asked the barkeeper to pull out a table and put the checks and a deck of cards on it, which he did. i could see that this man was crazy for a game, so i told him to sit down at the table and to ask every man that came by the bar to play, and he did so. presently my partner came up to the bar and he got the invitation, so he sat in. they counted the checks and got all ready, when i dropped in. then we had a nice three-handed game, and as we were all first- class gentlemen there could not be anything wrong. i wanted to play along until the passengers got thinned out a little, as they were too thick about the table to suit me; and then my friend wanted his wife to get to bed before he started in. everything was going on beautifully, and i had not given my man a hand to see if he had any blood in him; but presently he got a hand on the square, and i knew i could beat him before the draw, so i slashed it at him pretty lively, but no big bets, and he staid like a man. when it came to the draw, he filled his hand, and i did not. it was my partner's age and the man's first bet. he bet $ , and i told him to take the pot. i had got in before the draw about $ . then i knew he was a darling sucker, and i nursed him like a baby. we played a hand or two, then i ran him up three aces and took four nines pat. i did not want my partner to raise it too much before the draw, for fear he would drop out. we had up about $ . it was my deal, and i asked him how many cards he wanted. he took two. i said, "i will only take one." my partner took three, as he had nothing, but had to stay in to cross lift. he tipped his hand to the man, and the gentleman bet $ . i just called the bet, so my partner bet $ , better; and the gentleman tore his pockets getting at his money, and he called the bet. so i said, "boys, i expect you have got me beat, but i will have to raise you back $ , ." that made my partner throw down his hand. then it was between him and myself. he said to me, "i know i ought to raise it, but will just call the bet." when i showed down four nines, it made him lie quiet. we were just getting ready to give the boy another hand, when his wife came out into the hall, and made him quit and go to bed. i was sorry to see such an angel leave the game; but such is luck. i found out that he was very rich, but had married the money. the best looking sucker. i was on board the steamer _eclipse_ from louisville to new orleans, and she was crowded with passengers. i knew all the officers, and they were glad to see me, as they knew i would make it lively while i was with them. i opened a few bottles of wine, and finally i called them all in off the guards and opened up monte. i explained the game to them. my partner stepped up and looked at it for some time, and at last he bet me $ , and lost it. he then took up one of my cards and bent up the corner, then showed it to the best looking sucker that was standing by. then he turned to me as he threw it down, and said: "please mix them up once more." so i threw them over again, and then i was ready for a bet. he pulled out his money and put it up in the gentleman's hand that he had picked out for the solid one. i said, "how much have you got there?" he said $ , . i put up the money, and at the same time i said: "i will make it $ , if you wish." "i have not got the money, or i would." he turned the card over and won. then he wanted to bet $ , ; but i told him, "whenever i get beat i never want to bet with the same man again." then the gentleman spoke up and said, "i will try you once for $ , ." i said i would not bet less than $ , , so by a little persuasion he laid it up and lost. he walked off, and i never saw him again about the table. i played a short time longer and took in a few hundred dollars, and then closed up for the evening. my cards. the first trip the steamer _eclipse_ made i was on board. there were five games of poker running at one time in the cabin. i was invited into one, and i represented myself as a horseman. i played on the square, as i wanted to gain their confidence; so when the game closed for the night, they all thought me a square man. after all my new friends had retired to their little beds, i got out six decks of my marked cards and went to the bar. i told the barkeeper what i wanted, but he objected, as he did not own the bar, and was afraid it would be found out, and then he would be discharged. i told him that no one but old gamblers could detect the marks, and not one in fifty of them, as it was my own private mark. i had been a good customer at the new bar, so the new barkeeper finally consented to take my cards and send them to the table where i would be playing. the next morning after breakfast the games were started, and my new friends wanted me to sit in. i accepted the invitation, and when the barkeeper put the checks and cards on the table, i saw my old friends (i mean the cards). the game was five-handed, and it was pretty hard to keep the run of all the hands; but i quit the game a few hundred dollars winner. after the game one of the gentlemen came to me and said: "i don't like a five-handed game; suppose we split up and make two games." that was just what i wanted, provided i could get in the game that had the most suckers, so i said to him: "i do not care to play, if you gentlemen can make up your game without me; but as we are all going through to new orleans, i will play a little to pass the time. you can arrange the games to suit yourselves, and can count me in if you are short a man." the gentlemen arranged two nice games, with me in one of them. i had no partner, so i had to depend entirely on myself and my old friends, the marks on the back. we played until the engines were stopped at the landing in new orleans, and i was $ , ahead. i might have won a great deal more with the assistance of a good partner, but then, you know, i would have had to divide with him; so i was very well pleased with my last day on the new steamer. i did not forget the new barkeeper, but gave him $ for using my cards at one of the tables in place of his own. fight with a long-shoreman. a big fellow tackled me by the name of barlow. he was a long- shoreman, and a tough one, but i did him up in seventeen minutes. he came into a saloon where i was in company with bill leonard and bob johnson. leonard is well known, having kept stables in new orleans and cincinnati for many years. i had given races that day, and it appears that this man barlow had lost some money. five or six toughs entered the saloon with barlow. he approached johnson and said to him, "you throwed that race, you s-- of a b----, and i am going to lick you for it." he cut loose and hit johnson, and he must have hit him pretty hard, for he knocked him clear into the street. as johnson was getting up, an officer ran up to him, when johnson cut loose and knocked him down, thinking it was barlow. they arrested johnson and took him off. then barlow turned to me and said, "you keep the race track, and you are as big a thief as that other fellow. you whipped a good man when you whipped fitzgerald, but you can't whip barlow." i looked around to see how many friends he had with him, and i saw there were six or seven, and only leonard on my side, who turned the key in the door, jumped on the counter, pulled his pistol, and said: "gentlemen, if these men fight, they shall have it on the square, and the first one that interferes i will fill him full of lead." so at it we went. he was a good, scienced man, and had his hands up very quick. he made a feint to strike me with his left, and let go with his right. i gave him my head for a mark, which he hit clearly, and his fist looked like a boxing glove two minutes afterward. i ran under his guard, caught him under the arms, and downed him. in the squabble i got one solid crack at him between the eyes with my head, which ended the fight. he just was able to cry "enough." i did not see him for several weeks after that. the next time i saw him was on st. charles street. he was drunk, and looking for me with a big knife up in his sleeve. i saw him coming, then i grabbed my gun and stood pat. i said, "don't come one step more towards me, or i will cook your goose." he came to the conclusion that i meant business, and walked off. about that time there was a man done for every day in the crescent city, but now new orleans is a moral place, and some of the best people in the world live there. don't dye your whiskers. we were on board the steamer _york town_ one day, when i thought there were no suckers aboard. i had looked around, and had about come to the conclusion that we would not make our expenses, when i saw a large, well-dressed fellow who had his whiskers dyed black as ink. i got into conversation with him, and we walked around over the boat, and finally up on the roof. bob whitney was at the wheel, and his partner, bill horricks, was with him in the pilot- house. i knew the boys were all right, so i invited my new acquaintance to go up, as we could see better than on the roof. he accepted the invitation, and we were soon enjoying the scenery. i threw some of my cards on the floor, under the seat. the gentleman noticed them in a little while, picked them up, and turning to me he said, "if we had a full deck we could have a game." i told him i hardly ever played, but i saw a fellow playing a game with three cards that beat anything i ever saw, but it took a smart one to play it. i began throwing them, when bob whitney got so interested that he came near letting the boat run away with him. he wanted to bet me fifty dollars, and he told bill horricks to hold the boat until he could make a bet. i told him i did not understand the game well enough to bet on it. about this time the capper put in an appearance, and he wanted to know all about the game. i explained it, and he made the usual bets. the pilot wanted to bet very bad, but i kept refusing. finally my friend with the black whiskers got worked up to $ , , and lost it. then my partner put a mark on the winner, and beat me out of $ , . the sucker saw the mark on the card, and wanted to bet $ . he was sure of winning, but he did not want to win but $ . so i took his bet, and just as he was about to turn the card i said, "i will make it $ , ;" but he only wanted the hundred dollars, and he got it. after winning the $ , and seeing the mark still on the card, he thought it was all his way, so he put up $ , . i saw it was about all he had, so i put up, and he turned the marked card; but it was not the winner for $ , so much as it had been for $ . he walked out of the pilot-house and went down on deck. my partner followed him. after they were gone, bob whitney said he would have turned the same card. then bill horricks laughed, and told him he could hold a steamboat, but he could not beat devol at his own game. i went down to the bar, and there was my black-whiskered friend talking to my partner. i invited them to join me, which they did, and then the gentleman said he would like to speak to me a moment. we walked out on the guards, when he said to me, "i know i am a fool, but i want to ask you one question, and i want you to be candid with me. why did you pick me out from among all the passengers for a sucker?" "well," i said, "i will be honest with you; don't you dye your whiskers?" "yes," said he. "well, that is the reason i picked you out." he said, "i thank you, sir," and walked off. i went into the cabin and opened up again. i caught a few suckers, and then closed up monte. i then got out my wheel, and took in all the pan-fish. after closing up for the evening, i walked into the bar, and there i met a fine looking smooth-faced gentleman, who asked me to take a drink, at the same time saying: "do you think shaving off my whiskers has improved my looks?" i told him there was not as much deception in him as there had been in the card with the pencil mark on it. we took another drink and separated, i with about $ , of his money, and he with the experience. called a gambler. i was coming from new orleans on the _duke of orleans_ at one time, and had won a few hundred dollars from some of the passengers, but had quit playing, and was standing in the hall talking to some gentlemen that had played in the game, when a big fellow stepped up and said he believed we were a set of gamblers, and had divided the money he lost in the game. i gave him the laugh, and that made him hot. he then pulled off his coat and said he could whip any man in the crowd, and he kept his eye on me all the time. i told him i could lick him for fifty or one hundred dollars in a fair rough-and-tumble fight down on deck. he said if any one would see he had a fair show he would fight me. the mate asked me if i was going to fight him. i said, "yes." so he told the big fellow he was an officer on the boat, and that no one would interfere if he wanted to fight. so he put up his fifty dollars in the mate's hand, and i covered it; for those days i would rather fight than eat, and i could fight for a man's life. we went on deck, and they cleared a place for us. while this was going on i offered to bet him fifty or a hundred dollars more that i would make him squeal. he said he had no more money to put up. we stripped off and got in the place prepared for us. he struck at me with one of those old-fashioned dutch winders. i ducked my head, and he hit that. i knew it hurt him, for he did not use that duke any more. i got in under him, let fly with my head, and caught him square in the face. it made him grunt, but the next time i got one in on him i made him look silly, for the blood came out of his ears and nose. he said, 'that will do." the mate took him up stairs, and had the barber wash and patch him up. i changed my clothes, as they were covered with the fellow's blood. i asked all hands to take a drink, and my man came up and joined us. i then paid the bar bill, and gave him back the balance of the fifty dollars i won from him on the fight. he claimed that it was his first whipping, but he could not stand the old head; it was too hard for him. i have had a great many fights in my day. there was a fellow tackled me on the levee in new orleans at one time when i was all alone, and he had a lot of his friends with him. i got him down, and was getting the best of him, when some of his friends began kicking me pretty lively. i guess i would have been licked that time, if it had not been for some men on a ship, who saw too many on one; so they came to my assistance, and then i made the fellow squeal in a short time. they had it in for me for a long time, but finally gave it up as a bad job; and i was glad of it, as i never wanted to kill a man, which i expect i would have done if they had not let me alone. the alligators. i went up on the _princess_. my old friend truman holmes was the captain of her. i was standing on the hurricane deck when we landed at the mouth of the red river to take in some passengers. i saw the negroes carrying some long boxes built like chicken-coops. i asked captain holmes what was in the boxes. he said, "alligators;" so i went down stairs and found the man that owned them. i took him up to the bar and had a drink; then i asked him what he was going to do with the alligators. he said he had a side-show, and he was going to play the fairs all over the entire northern country, and he wanted them to draw custom. i told him i thought it an excellent idea, and said, "i have a ten-legged wolf in a cage that i will get on board at vicksburg, and i will sell him cheap." this pleased him, and we took another drink. i insisted on paying for the drinks, but he would not consent, so we got to be good friends. after supper we got to playing whisky poker, as i told him i never gambled much, only once in a while, as planters would play a quarter antee. he insisted on changing it into a little draw; and as i had some very good cards in the bar, i was not hard to coax. we commenced at a quarter antee, and after we had been playing about an hour he insisted on raising it to $ . he flattered me more than i ever was flattered before, in telling me i was the luckiest man to draw he ever saw. the result was, before we reached natchez, i had won all his money and his alligators. but he took it so much to heart about losing his pets, that i sold them back to him and took his note. it is now older than the daguerrotype man's; and when i hand in my checks, i will leave the notes with my dear old mother-in-law for collection. control over suckers. i was playing euchre one night on the old _vicksburg_, and had a good sucker down in the game, and the clerk was watching us very close; so after i gave the sucker a good hand, and he wanted to bet on poker, i whispered and said, "if we make a bet we must put the money in a hat, and we must not speak about betting louder than in a whisper." we had up $ , when i saw the clerk coming; i grabbed the hat and threw down my hand. when the clerk got there the bird had flown. he told the captain it was all foolishness in trying to keep those gamblers from winning a sucker's money, for they could make a sucker whisper or do anything they wanted him to do; so that made two good men out of the captain and the clerk, for they never interfered with our innocent games after that, and we made many a dollar on that boat. she was a nice steamboat to travel on in those days; but they got to building them so much finer that a sucker was afraid to go on board one of them, thinking that they would charge him more money. nipped in the bud. i went on board the _general quitman_ late one night, and as i had been up all the night before, i got a room and went to bed. i saw some gamblers playing in the cabin as i went through, but i was too tired to notice them much. i had not been in my bed long until i heard a racket out in the cabin. i peeped out and soon understood what was up. some one had lost his money, and was doing the grand kicking act. i got up and was into my clothes in double quick time, and out among them, with old "betsy jane" in my pocket. i soon learned that a contractor on the levee, who had a lot of men down on deck, had lost his money playing poker with one of the gamblers, and he was going to have it back or he would bring up his men and take it by force. i told the gambler to stand his ground and not give up a red. the barkeeper told me the kicker had sent down for some of his men to come up; so i started for the stairs and met the contractor in the hall, waiting for them. i asked him what was the difficulty; he said "that was his business." then i said to him, "you are one of those d----d scoundrels who try to beat others out of their money, and kick like h--l when they get the worst of anything." he did not want to say anything until his gang was at his back, and they were then coming up. i ran out to the head of the stairs with old "betsy jane" in my hand, and ordered them to stop. they did stop, for i had her pulled down on them, and the other gamblers were standing by me. i said, "the first man that takes another step to come up these stairs will get hurt." they didn't come. then i turned to the kicker and told him if he made a move i would cook his goose. he saw we meant business, and weakened. the gang went back to their bunks, the kicking contractor went to his room, and we held the fort. i was told that the same man had lost his money about a year previous while playing poker with john deming, and he brought his men up, threw deming down, and did not only take the money he lost, but a large amount besides. i had the same thing tried on me once; so when i saw a fellow-gambler imposed upon, i went to the front. besides, if we let such a thing go too far it would ruin our business, so i thought it was best to nip it in the bud. the big sucker. we were out from new orleans with captain bill harrison one day on board the steamer _doubleloon_, and was having a good game of roulette, when we noticed that most of the fish were suckers, and did not bite so well at roulette; so we changed our tackle, and used monte for bait. we were fishing along, and had caught some pretty good fish, but none of the large ones we saw about the hooks. every time we would get one of them to come up and begin nibbling around, something would scare him away. we put on fresh bait, spit on it, and threw it out with all the care that we were capable of; but somehow or another they would not suck in the hook. i knew the bait was good, for i had caught thousands of suckers with it, and i could see that there was plenty of that kind of fish around us. i began looking, and soon discovered the trouble. it was a great big old sucker who wanted to be a kind of teacher over the school; for every time one of the young suckers would get up too close, he would pull his tail, and that would scare the young one so he would not take hold in earnest. i watched the big sucker for some time, and i saw it was no use trying to catch anything until i caught the old school teacher. so i put up my tackle, and began looking for a bait that would land the old one. i was walking on the guards, when i saw the man that had back-capped and spoiled my game. i went up to him and entered into conversation. i did not let him know i was mad; but i was, all the same, and would have given $ to give him one between the eyes; but i soon thought of a plan to make him contribute a part of what he had kept me from winning, so i said to him, "i was surprised to see you back- capping my game, for i could see you were a sporting man. i tried to give you the wink, and have you come up and win out something, so the suckers would take hold, but i could not get your eye." he said, "i did not understand it, or i would have been glad to help you." i told him that after dinner i would open up again, and for him to walk up and make a good big bet, and i would let him win; then for him to walk away, and i would catch all the suckers on the boat. after all had been arranged, i went to my room and got old "betsy jane;" for my new capper had one on him so long that it stuck down below his coat-tail. i told my partner to look out for the big gun and our new capper. i called the passengers around a table, and began to throw the hooks. up came the big fish, and wanted to know what was the least bet i would take. i told him $ . he planked her up, when i saw about $ left, so i told him i would make it $ . he put up the extra $ , for of course the more he put up the more he would win, as he was to suck in the hook with the extra kink in it. i gave them a little mixing and said "ready!" he darted in, and nabbed the bait more like a goggle-eye than a sucker, but he was caught all the same. he did not swim away (as he had been told to do), for he was held by a line that cost him $ , and he could not break it without a great struggle. i thought i had let him play about long enough, so i said: "gentlemen, there are no more suckers to be caught on this boat," and thus landed the biggest sucker i ever caught in all my life. i put up my fishing tackle and invited all hands to the bar, for i was feeling like all fishermen (a little dry). my big sucker joined us, as he had been out of water just long enough to want to get back. after we had quenched our thirst he said he would like to see me a minute. i told him he could see me for an hour, as i had no other business to look after. we walked out on the guards, and my partner was not far away. the big fellow said to me, "why didn't you let me win the money?" i looked up at him, but kept my hand on old betsy jane, and said, "my business is to catch suckers, and you are the biggest one i ever caught in my life if you think i will give you back your money." he went back for his gun, but i had old betsy out and up to his head before he could say jack robinson. i told him to put up his hands, and be d----d quick about it, too. he put them up, and said he did not want any gun to whip such a fellow as i was. i told him that he might be a good man down in texas, where he came from, but he was a sucker up in this country, and i could eat him up. i said: "we will put our guns in the bar, and have it out just as you like it." we went in the bar, and he handed over his young cannon, and then i put up betsy jane. i told my partner to get the captain and tell him to land the boat, and he would see some fun, for i knew he would rather see a fight than eat when he was hungry. so just as we got our guns behind the bar the captain walked in, and some one said "here comes the captain." the texas fellow said, "to h--l with him; i don't care a d--n for any captain." that made old bill hot, and he wanted to know what was all this racket about. i told him the big fellow wanted to lick me. he said, "i'll soon settle this; you will go ashore." the big fellow said there was not men enough on the boat to put him ashore. the captain then sent word to the pilot to land, and also sent for the mate and some of the deck- hands. the pilot ran the boat up on a point, and she got aground. i jumped off as soon as she struck; and the mate, assisted by two big deck-hands, soon had mr. texas off. the passengers were all out on the guards, for they had heard the racket, and wanted to see the fun. i pulled off my coat, and told texas to clean himself and come a-fighting. he was just as sure of licking me as i was of catching him for a sucker, but he had forgotten "nothing is sure that grows on earthly ground." he was onto me in an instant, and if he had hit me just where he aimed, he would have hurt me, for he was a hard hitter; but i gave him my dear old head, and he hurt himself very bad; but i did not care if he did. i then ran in under him, and had him down on his back before he recovered from the blow he struck against a rock (as he afterward called my head). after i got him down i gave him one just between the eyes, and he saw stars (although there were none in the sky just then). i gave him one more punch, and he said, "that will do." i let him up, and he was so dazed that he staggered and fell into the river. they pulled him out, and i heard some one remark, "that's the biggest sucker ever caught in this river." while the fight was going on, they were trying to get the boat off the point; but i guess they did not try very hard, for as soon as they fished out the sucker, the captain called for me to come aboard. i said, "captain, it is only three miles to donaldsonville, and as i want a little exercise, i will walk; but take good care of my 'big sucker.'" the crazy man. i was going up the illinois river once with dad ryan. we did not try to do anything the first night out from st. louis. the next day i picked up a man who had been to st. louis with wild game and butter, and had a great deal of money for a man of his calibre. i told him i lived in galena, ill., and had some of the finest lead mines in that part of the country. we got pretty well acquainted with each other, and had some drinks together. he got to feeling lively, for whenever he took a drink he would take a tumbler half full of whisky. after getting him warmed up pretty well, i walked him in the barber shop to see a white squirrel. during the while the barber was after it, dad opened out the three cards, and my friend and i had become very interested in the game. i looked on a while, then i said to ryan: "i think i can turn the winning card for $ ." he accepted the proposition, and i laid up the money and turned the wrong one. i then picked up the jack, as that was the winner, and bent the corner, showed it to my friend, "whispered" and told him not to say a word, as he would not detect its being bent. he said, "all right." i told the dealer to throw them over again, which he did. i then said, "i know you have two chances to our one, but i will try you for $ ." we put up our money into the butter man's hands, and i turned the card. the dealer told the butter man that he lost fair, and to give the money to me. then i wanted to try it for the $ , but he would not bet with me, saying: "when a man beats me once, i will not bet with him again." so i handed the money to my friend, and told him to bet it for me. "that will do," said ryan. he mixed them up again, and my friend turned the card and won for me. ryan took it very pleasantly, laughing all the time, so my friend thought he would try it with his own money, but ryan said: "you beat me once, and you know what i said." "well," said my friend, "i did not bet for myself." i coaxed ryan to let him bet, as he was entitled to one bet at least. he consented, and my friend got out $ ; but ryan said, "no; i will not bet less than $ ." i said to my friend, "if you have not got the money, i will loan it to you; and if you only win one small bet, he will not bet with you again." he pulled out a big roll with a string around it, and counted out $ more and laid it on the table. i told him i would hold the stakes, so he handed me the money. ryan saw that big roll, and hated to have him get away, as he might quit after losing. when he saw that i was holding stakes, he said: "i guess i will back out." i spoke up and told him he could not, and my friend said that it was not fair to back out. then said ryan, "i will raise you $ , ," and he laid it up in my hand. then my friend wanted to back out and take his money down, but ryan would not stand that. i insisted on putting up the rest, but ryan would not allow it, as he said, "i will bet but one at a time." i told him to lay up the money. he put it up at last, trembling like a man with the palsy; but finally he grabbed the card and lost. just about that time there was a little boat landed alongside of us, as we were lying at a landing putting off freight. i gave ryan the office to get on her. he slipped over on the boat, and the sucker just then came to his senses. when he saw that ryan had gone out, he said to me, "where did he go?" i told him he had gone back in the cabin; so he started back to look for him, and while he was gone the little boat backed out. i walked out in the hall to see what had become of my friend, and found him searching all the rooms in the ladies' cabin. he then rushed into a gentleman's room where his wife was, and then there was h--l to pay. the man came near shooting him, but i ran back and told the gentleman that the fellow was crazy and did not know what he was doing. he ran all around the boat, frothing at the mouth, and never said a word to any one. finally some of the officers grabbed him, got a rope and tied him, for they all thought he was crazy; and i commenced to think so myself, as all he would say was, "where is he? where did he go?" no one had seen the game but the barber, and i slipped him a twenty-dollar bill and told him to keep mum. they kept the man tied for about one hour, until he promised he would behave if they let him loose, which they did. he sat perfectly still and did not have a word to say. i knew he was not broke, for i saw he had about $ left; and that amount, together with his late experience, was capital enough for any man. didn't win the key. we were playing monte on board the steamer _magnolia_, out of new orleans, one night, and had a very lively game. we had won a few hundred dollars. there was a jew on board who had no money, but he had a fine watch. during the play he was very anxious to bet it, but i told him i did not want to play for his watch, as i knew i could win it whenever i saw fit. so, just as the game was about to close, i said to him, "what is your watch worth?" "three hundred dollars, and i can get that for it." i told him i would put up $ against it, and bet him he could not turn the picture card. he pulled out, put her up, and then turned over the wrong card. the passengers all laughed. he never said a word, but appeared to take it all right. after a while he came to me and said: "i have the key, and would like you to keep the watch wound up, as i think a great deal of it; and as soon as we get to natchez i can borrow the money on the wharf-boat, from charley frazier, to redeem it." when he spoke in that way i handed him his ticker, and he ran away with it. i laughed, and began thinking how to get it back again. so i took my partner, alexander, to one side and told him to get in with the jew, then tell him he heard me say i was going to give the watch back. "tell him you have been watching me play, and that you believed you could play it as well as the man he played against." he got in with him, and finally got some cards to show the jew how i played. the jew got very much taken with the game again, so he said to my partner, "i know that i could beat you, if you will play for something." so he won the drinks and cigars from my partner, and at last he wanted to put up his watch against $ that he could turn the card. my partner put up the money, and the jew the watch; but he missed it that time; and you never did hear such laughter as there was on that boat, for the passengers all turned loose and plagued the poor jew all the way up to natchez, asking him what time it was. he did not redeem it at natchez, so i had to buy a "key," and that nearly broke my heart. was in with the judge. i was on the train from jackson to new orleans. i opened in the smoking car, and won a good deal of money. we were just coming to a station called amite, about sixty miles above new orleans. i waited until the car got in motion, after learning the station, as i did not want to go into new orleans; for they were kicking like the d---l, and i knew there would be a big crowd at the depot. i slipped off, and told my partner to bring my valise, and come up the next day. they went into the city kicking like steers, and they had the officers looking for me, but they did not find me. two of them took the train and came back to amite that night, and in the morning when i came to breakfast there they were. i could not help laughing at them. after breakfast they went to the magistrate, and swore out a warrant for my arrest, and the constable came over to the hotel looking for me, but i had skipped out. i walked down the railroad and kept hid until they were satisfied i had gone. they left orders if i showed up to have me arrested, and telegraph them. i took the first train and went to the city. they came in on the evening train. the next day they found out i was in the city, and then i was arrested and brought before the recorder's court, when the judge asked me if i had an attorney. i told him i could plead my own case. i soon convinced him that the gambling was done in another parish, and i was discharged. they then took a train and went back, got the warrant they had out for me, and brought an officer with them. the officer stepped up to me and said: "i have a warrant for you." "all right; but we can't leave here until night. let us pass away the time until the train leaves." there was a big crowd followed us to get a look at the notorious devol, and the officer kept pulling out the warrant and showing it to the throng. he was getting pretty full of whisky, when i saw a thief in the crowd. i gave him the wink, and in less than five minutes he had the warrant. i got one of my friends to ask the officer to show him the warrant. he dove down in his pocket, but could not find it; so i told him he must have the paper, or i would not go with him. it sobered him up, and the last time i saw him he was with the two fellows going to the train to get fresh papers. i went up myself to see what they could do with me. i took a train and passed them coming down. they went into the city, and found that i had left for amite that morning, and that they had missed me. when i got there i took the judge and prosecutor out, and we had several drinks; then we went to a shoe shop, and ordered two pairs of boots for them, and took the size of their heads, and sent to new orleans for hats. when they came back, and the case was called, the judge heard their story, and then mine, and decided it was nothing but a case of gambling, and that he would have to fine us each five dollars and costs. we paid our fines, and they all took the train that day but myself. i stayed a day or two, and had a fishing game, as it was a great place to catch the little flappers. they said, when they came back to the city, that no law down here would do anything with that fellow, and his name ought to be "devil" instead of devol. they thought i must be some relation to claude duval, the highwayman. they were vermonters. they said if they had me down east they would fix me for the balance of my life; but i was not down east, and i had often been, before i met those suckers, "fixed for life." the brilliant stone. we were on board the steamer _southern belle_, bound for new orleans. there were several planters aboard that i was acquainted with, and we were drinking wine, telling stories, and enjoying ourselves, when a large, fine-looking gentleman stepped up to the bar and took a drink. he had a diamond stud in his shirt that was so large and brilliant that it attracted the attention of us all; so after he went out we began commenting on it. i finally said to one of the planters, "what would you give for that stone?" he said, "i would give $ , for it, but i bet it could not be bought for the money." "what will you give me for it?" i asked them. they all laughed, for they understood by my question that i thought the man was a sucker, and i could win it from him. one of them said: "devol, you are a good one, but that fellow is too smart to be caught by any of your tricks." i said, "gentlemen, i will bet two bottles of wine that i will have that stone inside of an hour. who will take me?" they all wanted to take the bet, and raise it to a basket; but i told them the odds were too much in their favor, and i would bet but two bottles; so it was settled that i was to win the stone, or pay for the wine. then we all went out in the cabin, and i called everybody to join me in some wine. my partner went up to the man with the brilliant stone, and asked him if he knew the man that was treating. he said he did not. then my partner told him that i was a planter; that i owned six plantations, and so many niggers that i did not know the number myself. the gentleman was introduced to me and the other planters, when he said: "i am very glad to form the acquaintance of you southerners; i'm a new yorker." the compliment cost me the wine for the entire party. while the barkeeper was serving the wine, i told him to bring me some of those tickets that they played the whisky game with. he brought the tickets, and i began to mix them. one of the planters bet me the wine that he could turn the ticket with the baby. i took him up, and he stuck me. then another bet me the cigars, and i stuck him. while we were lighting our cigars, my partner put a pencil mark on the baby ticket, and told the new yorker that he wanted to have some fun with me; that i was so good-natured, i would take it as a joke when i found it out. i commenced mixing them again, and wanted to know who would be the next man to try his luck. my partner came to the front, and wanted to know if i would bet money on the game. i told him so long as i had two chances to his one, i would bet a plantation, and a hundred niggers besides. he put up $ , , and said: "i will try you once for $ , ." i pulled out a roll so large that it made everybody look wild, saying, "that just suits me." i mixed, and my partner turned the ticket with the pencil mark on it, and caught me for $ , . i laughed and said, "you're a lucky fellow; i don't want to bet with you any more." he then slipped away, as though he was afraid i would detect the mark and raise a fuss. he gave the $ , to one of the planters, and told him to go and play it. the planter came up and said: "i'll try you for $ , ." i said, "all right, plank her up." he turned a card, but not knowing anything about the mark, he lost. i laughed and said, "try it again; you're not as lucky as the other fellow." "no," said he; "i've got enough." then my partner came up again and wanted to bet; but i told him he was the lucky fellow, and i was afraid of him. the new yorker could see the mark on the card, and he could not stand it any longer; so he pushed up to the table and laid down a roll, and said: "i will bet you $ ." i told him i would only make one more bet and then quit, and i would bet $ , or nothing. he picked up the money and turned away. my partner said, so i could hear him, "bet him." the man said, "i have not got the money." then my partner offered to loan it to him, when i told them i would not bet if the lucky fellow was in with it; but if the gentleman had anything worth the money, he could put it up. the lucky fellow told him to put up his diamond stud, saying in a whisper: "it is only for a minute; don't you see the mark on the card?" the gentleman put up the stone and the $ . i told him i would only take the stone for $ , . then my partner told him to put up his watch. he did so, and i put up $ , in money. i mixed, and he turned the marked card. he was very much excited; and when the card turned over, it had the mark on its back, but the baby had crawled off the other side. he drew a long breath and walked back to his state-room, and that was the last we saw of him. as he was walking away, some one called to him to join us in some wine; but he could not hear so well as when the capper told him in a whisper to put up, as it was only for a minute. we looked at our watches (i had two), and it wanted just five minutes of the hour. the planter that made the bet of two bottles spent over $ for the wine that night, and before he left the boat he gave me $ , for the "brilliant stone." lucky at poker. one night i went out on the steamer _belle lee_. she was running from memphis to new orleans. captain hicks was the commander, and a jolly fellow was he. he said to me: "devol, i never saw a gambler in the world that i was afraid to play with. i am just as smart as any of them." i said, "captain, you will get no game out of me, as i do not want any of your money." after supper i noticed the captain had a man, and they went to his room in the texas. i opened up and had a fine play at roulette, but it fell off at o'clock, and i closed up. i was sitting in the hall when the captain and his man came down. the man said: "captain, i am winner; let's have a bottle of wine." they invited me to join them. the captain said: "george, i will turn this gentleman over to you, as i can't beat him." "well," i said, "cap, if you can't beat him, i can't; for you are a better poker player than i am." then i winked at the barkeeper, who had a few decks of my cards that i had put in when i came on board. he knew what i wanted. i said to the man, "i'll tell you what i will do: i will play one game of seven-up for a bottle of wine;" as i thought that was the best way to get him started. he agreed. i said, "barkeeper, give us a deck of cards, and we will see who is the lucky man." we began, cut for deal, and i beat him. i dealt, and i knew every card in his hand. he had no trumps, and i had the jack alone. he begged; i gave him one and made four. he dealt, and i made three on his deal, which put me out. he was as hot as a pepper pod, but he called for the wine. after we drank it, he said: "i wonder if you are that lucky at poker; if so, i will try you a little while." i said, "all right; i think, myself, i am in luck to-night." we went at it, but he said the limit must be $ . we played until daylight began to peep through the skylight of the cabin, and i had to loan him money to defray his expenses. he told the captain it was the hardest game he ever struck. he sent me the money i loaned him by express, and wrote that if he ever met me on the river again he wanted to be in with my play. it was not long after that when i met him on the steamer _natchez_, and we made some big money together, as he got up some fine games with the planters. he was known all along the river, and captain leathers thought it strange to see him playing with me; but the gentleman understood it, for i was always "lucky at poker." the hidden hand. while in st. louis just before the war, i got acquainted with a man from detroit by the name of james scott. he was dealing faro bank, and was such a square fellow that all the boys would play against him. he had a big game one evening, and had downed quite a number of the boys, but he did it on the square. he quit dealing to go and get his supper, and while he was out the boys tried to think of some scheme to stick him for enough money to get a square meal for themselves. finally one of them thought of the same racket that i played on my jew partner, and they manufactured a sucker. when jim came back, they were playing a single-handed game of poker. jim loved poker, and as he had not finished picking his teeth, he stopped at the table to look on. that was just what the boys expected and wanted, so the two hands were run up. jim was behind the fellow that had the three kings and a pair of sevens; but just after he saw them, some one spoke to him on the other side, so he went around the table. the man with the kings made a big raise, and the other fellow said it was more money than he had. jim saw his three aces and a pair, so he said: "i am with you, old boy, for $ , ." the money was put up, and then the sucker said he had made a mistake in his hand, and wanted to take down his money; but everybody said he could not take down. then the fellow threw down two cards and called for two more. the old boy (jim's partner) gave them to him, and the sucker made another raise just large enough to use up the balance of jim's thousand. the old boy called the bet just in time to save jim from putting up another thousand, for they did not want to strike him too heavy the first time. they showed down, and the sucker had caught another king in the draw, and he won the pot. jim did not say a word, but began to deal the bank. the next night some of the boys that had eaten a good supper at jim's expense invited him to the theatre. jim wanted to know the play; they told him "the hidden hand." jim said, "no, boys; i saw that play last night, and i would not see it again for $ , ." jim is now living in detroit, and is one of the wealthiest men in the city. his father left him a fortune, and he has not laid down a dollar on a gambling table since; yet he likes the boys, and can tell some of the best stories of any man in this country. he is very fond of the theatres, but he says he never goes when they play "the hidden hand." caught again. while sitting in the hall of the steamer _petonia_, i noticed a fellow who kept looking at me so closely that i at last said to him, "do you live on the river, sir?" he replied, "are you speaking to me?" "well, yes; i asked you if you lived on the river." he answered me very gruffly, "no sir." i let him alone, for i thought i had seen him before, and it might be i had beat him out of some money; so i got up and walked down the cabin. after i left, he asked the barkeeper who i was, and he told him i was a planter, and the son of one of the wealthiest planters on the coast. the fellow said: "darn me if he don't look just like a fellow that beat me out of $ , some years ago." "i guess you are mistaken; although all planters gamble more or less," said the barkeeper. "well, let's take a drink; but i was sure he was the same man." just as they finished their drink, i walked up and called for some wine. the fellow spoke up and said, "have a drink with me." i said, "no, you join me, as i see you have finished yours." he accepted, and i ordered a bottle of wine. we sat down to drink the wine, when he said, "you must excuse me for the manner in which i spoke to you a while ago, as i took you for a man that beat me out of $ , on one of these boats, some years ago, at a game they called monte." "well, now," i said; "it must have been the same fellow that beat me, for that's what they called it, monte; but i did not care very much, as i was spending the old gent's money at that time." he replied: "but i did mind it, for i had just sold my place, and was going to put the money into business; but on account of that d----d rascal, i have had to work hard ever since; and i have sworn to kill him the first time i met him." "i do not blame you for feeling as you do, for you could not afford to lose the money; but i did not care, as the old gent had plenty more that i could get whenever i asked for it; and as he sometimes lost pretty heavy himself, he would say to me, 'son, if you bet you will win or lose; but if you lose, take it cool; for if you could not afford to lose, you had no business to bet.'" "you're right! i did not have any business to bet; but i thought i had a sure thing of winning. i would have killed that fellow the next morning; but when i began looking for him, i found he had got off the boat, and i have never seen him since." i laughed and said, "if you had won the money, you would not have felt like shooting the fellow, would you?" "oh, no." i found out the fellow had about $ ; but he was just as much a sucker as he was when he lost the $ , , and i made up my mind to win his money, and then tell him that i was the same man that beat him before. i excused myself, and told my partner all about the fellow, and that i wanted to win his money. after supper i opened up monte, and caught a good many suckers. my old producer was watching the game and me too. we had about finished up, when my partner said to my old friend, "i would like to make a bet, but i am unlucky; will you bet this $ for me?" he took the $ , put it up, and won. then he put up $ for himself, and lost. my partner wanted to know how he had made such a mistake, when he swelled up like a porpoise, and said: "i believe that is the same fellow that beat me out of my money before." he walked away, and my partner followed him. they were standing at the bar when i came up, and i invited all hands to join me in a drink. everybody accepted the invitation, except my arkansas killer. i made up my mind that we would have a fight, so i thought i would not put it off any longer. i turned to him and said, "come and take a cigar with me, for i see you are not drinking." he replied, "i pick my company." then i said, "you are in better company just now than you ever were in your life, except the time, some years ago, when you were in my company and lost $ , ." he said, "you are a d----d rascal." i then called him a liar and a coward. he attempted to draw, when my partner caught his arm and gave him one in the face, which was not a very heavy one, for he did not appear to mind it. i had old "betsy jane" out and had him covered; then i said, "lay away your old pop, and we will go down on deck and have it out. you are a much larger man than i am, but i will take a licking from you, if you are man enough to give it to me." we gave our guns to the barkeeper and started down. i heard some bets $ to $ on the big arkansas man, so i gave a friend of mine a roll and told him to take all the odds. when we got down on deck, the mate made a ring with some barrels, and said: "no man but the fighters shall get inside the ring." the big fellow stripped down to his undershirt, and looked like a young samson; then the bets ran up $ to $ . i pulled off my coat and vest, and stepped inside the ring. we shook hands, and time was called, the mate acting as referee. he made a lunge; i dropped my head, and he hit it a terrible blow. then he got one in below the belt, and i thought for an instant i would lose my supper and the fight; but i rallied, and got a good one in on the side of his neck, which doubled him up like a jackknife; then i ran in, caught him, and let drive with my head. i struck him between the eyes, and he fell over as if he had been shot. i took a seat on one of the barrels, folded my arms, and waited for time to be called. the mate said: "that will do; this man can't fight any more." they took him up stairs, and had the barber fix him up. i was not much the worse for having been in a fight. my friend handed me all my money, and over $ besides, that he had taken in on the result. i treated all hands, and sent some wine, also the $ i had won, back to my arkansas friend. he told the mate and some of the passengers that he had been in a great many fights, but that was the first time he was ever whipped. he said he "whipped himself when he hit my head; but when i gave him that butt, he thought he had been struck with a bar of iron." he told them they did not fight that way out where he lived, and he did not think it was fair. the mate told him everything was fair in a rough-and- tumble fight. i felt sorry for the big fellow when i saw his face, for his nose was broken all up. he forgot all about that he was going to shoot the man that beat him out of his $ , , for you see i returned the money that i won from him when i had him caught again. my little partner. a man by the name of dock chambers was working with me at one time, and he was like my partner foster--he would stoop to little things. i was playing poker one night with a man, and broke him. he got up from the table and went back into the ladies' cabin, and in a short time returned with some diamonds and a lady's watch and chain. he wanted to put them up, but i told him i never played for women's finery. a man offered him about one-half what the stuff was worth, and he was so crazy to play that he was about to let them go, when i advanced him much more on them than the stranger had offered; for i knew he would lose them. we began our play, and in about an hour i had won all the money that i had advanced him on the jewelry. i asked him if he was broke, and he told me that their passage was paid and his wife had some money. i bid him good night and went to bed. the next morning i put the jewelry in a cigar box, gave it to my partner, and told him to find the lady and return it to her. he found her and returned the box. she opened, and found everything her husband had lost; then she gave him $ , and told him to thank me for her. he came back and gave me the thanks, but did not say one word about the $ . i was well paid with the thanks, until i found out that she had sent $ with them, and that my partner had hogged onto it. i did not say a word at the time, but waited until i could get a big even. we were coming out of new orleans a short time after the chambers trick, and had a good monte business, which we closed up as soon as we had caught all the suckers. i went to a friend of mine who kept a drug store in vicksburg, and told him i wanted to get even with my partner. i gave him some money, and told him i would open my red and black, and that the jack paid eight for one. i said to him, "you come up and bet $ on the jack three times, and on the fourth time you put a one-hundred-dollar bill inside of the ten and put it on the same card, and i will make it win." he did just as i told him, and the jack lost the first three times, but the fourth time it won. i paid the $ , and started to make another turn, when the drug man said: "you will have to come again." i said, "there is your $ and your $ , sir." "please look at the $ ," he replied. i did look at it, and there was a great, big, live $ inside of it. it was over the limit; but i had turned, and there was no getting out of it. to tell the truth, i did not want to get out, for i was just getting in on my partner. i paid the $ over to the pill-mixer and shut up shop, as i did not want to lose any more of my "little partner's" money. lacked the nerve. i made a mistake one time that came near getting me licked, and it was only the want of nerve that saved me. i feel the effect of the shock to this day, and i believe it will follow me to my grave. i will tell how it happened. i was playing the little game of monte, and had caught some pretty good fish, when i noticed a jew, that i had seen in natchez, standing near the table and watching me and my cards very closely. i took him for one of the finny tribe, and expected to see him swim up and take hold of the hook; but he walked over to the bar and commenced talking to the barkeeper. i found out afterward that he asked the barkeeper who i was, and told him he could beat me at that game i was playing; for says he, "do you know, there is a little spot on one of the cards, and i don't believe he can see it." the barkeeper was a friend of mine, and he told the jew that i couldn't see very well, as i was up so much at night. i was fishing along, when back came the sucker. then i began to think a little better of myself; for i had spotted the fellow, and when i saw him walk off, i began to think that for once i had made a mistake in my man, and was losing some of my conceit. he got up very close, and then he asked me how much i would bet him that he could not turn the card with the old woman on it. i looked at him for a moment, as i had lost a little of my confidence when i saw him go away; but soon i remembered that the best fish will sometimes play around the bait and then swim off, only to come back, dart in and swallow it, hook and all; so i said to him, "i will bet you $ you can't pick up the old woman the first pick." i had $ worth of confidence, thirty years ago, that no man could pick up the old woman; but i am married now, and have quit gambling, but i will bet $ , that no man can pick up my old mother-in-law the first pick. well, the jew put up $ and picked up one of the cards, and as his eyesight was so much better than mine, he got the one with the little spot on it; and while he was looking for the old woman on the other side of the card, i put the $ in my pocket and rang down the curtain. the jew stood and held on to the card, until i told him if he was done with it i would like to have it. he handed it to me, and then walked over to the barkeeper and said to him, "that man devol can see better than we thought he could." i was standing out on the guards smoking, when up came my food for the brain. he said to me: "mr. devol, i am a poor man, with a wife and four little children. that money i lost was all i had in the world, and it was given to me by my friends to start me in a little business. if i don't get that money, i am a ruined man, and my poor wife and little children will starve to death, for i will never see them again. oh, mr. devol, take pity on my poor wife and four little children, and give me back the money. you are a rich man, and can make money so fast; and my poor wife and four little children will pray for you as long as we live; and i will tell my children's children what a good man mr. d----" "hold on," i said, as i saw the big tears running down the heart-broken man's face. "here's your money; take it and give it to your family." i handed him a five hundred-dollar bill and turned away, took out my handkerchief, and was just wiping something off my cheek, when i thought i heard something like a laugh. i turned around, and there, a little way off, stood my poor jew with seven five hundred- dollar bills in his hand, shaking them at me; and he said, "i haven't go no wife nor no four little children, mr. d----." he did not finish, for i started for him, and he lit out as if the devil, instead of devol, was after him. when we got to the city, i went into the first harness store i came to and bought a whip, but i never had the nerve to use it. the three fives. at one time i was going down the river below baton rouge, and there were a lot of raftsmen on board. they all loved to gamble, so one of them opened a chuckaluck game. they were putting down their money with both hands, and the game was over $ winner. i thought i would give him a little play, so i went to my room and got a set of dice the same size as he was using, and then changed in a five without winning a bet. then i asked him if i could shake them once for luck. "oh, yes," he said, for he was playing on the square. i came the change on him, then i put $ inside of a dollar bill, and put it on the five. he shook them up, when, lo and behold, up came three fives. he picked up my money, and when he saw the $ he looked worse than a sick monkey; but he paid up like a man. i then came the change back, and quit. a man should learn all the tricks in his trade before he takes down the shutters. snaked the wheel. we were going up with captain bill harrison on board the _doubleloon_, and just after leaving the wharf i took a look around to find some good-looking suckers. i had not found anything that i thought suited me, and was standing at the bar talking to captain bill, when he asked me if the fellows in the barber shop were with me. i said, "what fellows?" for i could see my partners, brown and chappell, sitting out on the guards. he said, "go back and take a peep at them." i did go back, and i saw some fellows with two tables covered all over with jewelry and silverware. they had a wheel with numbers on it, and the corresponding numbers were on the table under the jewelry, etc. they were just getting started, and had some customers who were paying their dollar, and trying their luck turning the wheel. i looked on until i thought i understood the game, and then i went to the pantry and came back. i saw a nice looking watch on one of the numbers, but the space on the wheel that had the same number on it was so very narrow that the wheel would not stop on it one time in a thousand. i asked the boss if the watch was good; and he told me that any one who won it could have $ in gold if he did not want the watch. i fooled around a little while, then i put down my dollar, and gave the wheel a pretty heavy whirl. she went around about twice, and stopped on the number that called for the watch. the fellow was all broke up, but he gave me $ in gold, and i put up another dollar. i started the wheel again, and i hope i may never see the back of my neck if she did not stop on the watch again. the boss was dumbfounded. he looked at the wheel, paid me another $ in gold, and as he paid over the money he looked at me as if he did not like me; and as i make it a rule not to stay where i am not wanted, i went out to see the boys. i told them how it was done, and they went in and got $ in gold. as they were coming out they heard the fellow say, "who in the h--l put this molasses on the wheel?" we opened monte, and caught the wheel man for his entire stock, and we had more christmas presents than anybody in the state. molasses will catch more suckers than soft soap. the killer. at one time i was dealing red and black on the wharf-boat at the mouth of red river, and as there were a number of texas boys on the boat i was doing a good business. while i was very busy watching the game, a big fellow who was employed by the proprietor of the boat came up and asked me to loan him $ for a few minutes, as he had made a bet with a man that he could show up that much money. i saw he had been drinking, but i was too busy just then to argue the case, for i knew if i refused him he would want a fuss, as he had the reputation of being a great fighter, and i had been told that he had killed three men; so i handed him a hundred-dollar bill, and went on with my game. after getting about all the money that the texas boys would give up, i closed my game and went out to find my $ . i inquired after the fellow, and was told that he was up on the levee, so i waited for him. it was not long until he showed up, and he was pretty drunk. i asked him to give me back the bill, and he told me he had spent it. i was mad, but i did not want to have a fuss just then, as the texas boys were standing around, and i did not want them to join in; so i said, "if you have spent it, all right; you can hand it to me to-morrow." i was just giving him taffy, for i knew he intended to rob me out of the money, thinking i would not dare to tackle him, but he did not know me. the texas boys had gone to bed, and there were but few persons in the room. the big killer was standing near the bar, when i saw a chance and let fly; i caught him under the chin and knocked him as stiff as a poker; then i took his big gun out of his pocket and threw it out into the river. i told a black boy to go through his pockets and see if he had my hundred-dollar bill. he did so, and finally found it in his fob pocket. after i got my money back i let him up, and told him to get off the boat; and i said, "if you come back while i am here, i will beat your head off." he lit out. i gave a black man a gun, and told him not to let the fellow on the boat. the next day i was told he was saying he was going to kill me; so i got a double barrel shot-gun, and sent him word to come down and see me. he did not come, but went down to hog's point, took a boat, and left that part of the country, as it had got too hot for him around there. i saw him some years later at laramie city, dakota, and put the police onto him. they gave him one hour to get out, and that is the last i have ever heard of him. caught a whale. an old friend of mine by the name of william hines (who was one of the best steamboat mates that ever ran on the river) and i were laying off at one time in new orleans, and we took a notion we would get a yacht and have a big sail. we laid in a supply of provisions, and did not forget a five-gallon jug of whisky. we went out to the lake, hired a yacht, and started. bill was pretty full, so i told him to go below and lay down for a while, and i would look after the boat. the wind was shifting about, and i was afraid the boom would knock him overboard. i was sailing along at a fine rate, tacking about with the wind, and did not notice that bill had come up on deck until i heard him yell out to me. i looked around and saw the big fat fellow floundering in the water about feet away. i gave her all the rudder, downed sail, and then threw out a line. bill swam up and caught hold of the line, and then i began pulling him in. i had landed many big suckers, but bill was no sucker; he was a whale. i got him up alongside, but i was not man enough to pull him up, as the boat stood about four feet out of the water. he was so full of whisky (and water) that he could not help himself. he was about played out, when he said to me, "george i'm a goner." i told him to hold on just a minute. i got a small line, took two half-hitches around his arm, and then made fast to the boat. i knew he could not go down unless his arm pulled out, and there was no danger of that. i took a rest, and then let on as if i was going to raise sail, when bill said, "george, what are you going to do?" i looked back at him and said, "i have caught a whale, and am not able to pull him in, so i'm going to tow him ashore." bill looked at me just long enough to satisfy himself that i was in earnest, and said, "for god's sake, george, give me one more pull, for i don't want you to sail in with me in tow." so i went to him, as i had got rested, and he had got sober; we pulled together, and i soon had the big fellow on board. we sailed around for some time; but when we had to make a tack, you can bet your life that bill was on the lookout for the boom. every time we would consult the jug, bill would say, "george, don't tell the boys about how much fun we have had on this trip, will you?" the deck-hand. the deck-hands of the steamer _niagara_ had been drinking, and some of them were a little drunk. they came up to get more of the fighting stuff, and got into some difficulty with the barkeeper. i was sitting near the bar at the time; and as i was always ready to do my friends a favor, i went out on the guards and tried to stop the fuss, and get the men to go down on deck. one big fellow, who was the fighting man of the crew and a favorite with the mate, thought it was none of my business, and the first thing i knew he cut loose at me. i saw it in time to get up my guard. i did not want to have any difficulty on a boat with any of the officers or crew, so i tried to quiet the fellow down; but he would not have it, but came at me again. i could not avoid it, as he was too drunk to have any sense; so i let fly, caught him under the chin, and brought him down. he was a game one, for he was up and at me once more. i then let into him and gave him a pretty good licking. they took him down on deck, and it was not long until tom hawthorn, the mate, came up and asked who it was that had whipped one of his men. the barkeeper told him about all the fuss; but he was mad, and would not excuse any man for defending himself against one of his men. i was in the barber shop at the time, but the barkeeper sent me word to look out for tom. i went and got my old friend (betsy jane), and waited for the fray. i was in the hall when tom came up looking for me. he walked up and said, "can't you find any one else to whip, without jumping on one of my men?" i knew he had been told the circumstance, and if he had any sense he would not blame me; but he was mad; and then he intended to teach me a lesson. i knew he would not listen to reason, so i said, "i gave that fellow just what he deserved." he began to pull of his coat, and at the same time said, "any man that licks one of my men has got to lick me." i saw i had to fight, so i off with my coat and waited for him. he struck out, but i caught it on my arm. i did not want to use my head unless it was necessary; but as he was a tall man with a long reach, he had the advantage. so i watched my chance, then ran in, caught him around the waist, and downed him. it was hard work to keep the old head from taking a hand, but i gave him several good ones on his face and neck. he tried to rise up, when i got in an upper cut which settled him. i let him up, and he went down on deck. he had it in for me, until one night in a saloon, when he hit a man; the fellow got the drop, and would have shot him if i had not taken a hand. after that we were good friends, and he would say to me, "george, you are the only man that can whip my deck-hands." the black (leg) cavalry. "for those that fly may fight again, which he can never do that's slain; hence, timely running's no mean part of conduct in the martial art; by which some glorious feats achieve, as citizens by breaking thrive." when the war broke out, some of the gamblers in new orleans got up a cavalry company, and named it the wilson rangers. i was a member of the company. we armed and equipped ourselves, and the ladies said we were the finest looking set of men in the army. if fine uniforms and good horses had anything to do with it, we were a fine body. when we were ordered out to drill (which was every day), we would mount our fine horses, gallop out back of the city, and the first orders we would receive from our commanding officer would be: "dismount! hitch horses! march! hunt shade! begin playing!" there was not a company of cavalry in the southern army that obeyed orders more promptly than we did; for in less than ten minutes from the time the order was given, there would not be a man in the sun. they were all in the shade, seated on the ground in little groups of four, five, and six; and in each group could be seen a little book of tactics (or at least it looked something like a book at a distance). we would remain in the shade until the cool of the evening, when the orders would be given: "cease playing! put up books! prepare to mount! mount! march!" when we would get back to the city, the people would come out, cheer, wave handkerchiefs, and present us with bouquets; for we had been out drilling in the hot sun, preparing ourselves to protect their homes from the northern invaders. after we had become proficient in drill, we were ordered to do patrol duty in the city. the citizens called us their defenders; and we did defend them, so long as there was no hostile foe within five hundred miles of them. we were as brave a body of men as there was in the south, until the news reached us that commodore farragut was bombarding forts jackson and st. philip; then we began to realize that the war was getting pretty close to home, and we were a little fearful that our knowledge of the tactics would be but little protection to us if the forts should capitulate. we threw aside the old books we had been studying for so long a time, and took up a new edition that our commander told us was much better in times of immediate danger. so for about six days we devoted ourselves to studying how to get out of the "jack-pot" we had got into, without losing our stake. we were not kept very long in suspense, for early one beautiful april morning we learned the terrible news that farragut's fleet had passed the forts, and general butler with a large land force was marching on the city. we heard the old familiar orders: "prepare to mount! mount! march!" but we did not swing into our saddles feeling as gay as when we were on our way to the drill- grounds. we were ordered to the front, and as we rode through the streets the ladies presented us with bouquets, and cheered after us; but then there was but little cheer in that fine body of gamblers. we had many times before attacked the enemy (tiger) without fear or trembling; but now we were marching to meet a foe with which we were but slightly acquainted. as we passed the old drill-grounds on our way to the front, there was a sigh passed the lips of every man, and our horses turned in, for they (poor dumb brutes) did not know that things had changed. we were about six miles below the city when the yankees saw us; but we did not see them, as they were about four miles distant. they were up in the rigging with their glasses, looking for just such suckers as we were; and they turned loose a salute of canister, which came buzzing about our ears, and the next instant we heard an order that we had never heard before: "retreat!" but we understood it, and lost no time in obeying the command; for i believe we would have executed the movement without orders, if they had not been given just after the first salute. we had a great deal just then to make us feel nervous, but we were thankful for one thing, and that was, we had good fast horses. i had taken mine off the race track, and i was glad of it, for in that race i came out several lengths ahead. when we got back to the city we dismounted without orders, and even forgot to tell the darkies to give our horses a good rubbing-down. we cut the buttons off our coats, buried our sabres, and tried to make ourselves look as much like peaceful citizens as possible; for we had enough of military glory, and were tired of war. after destroying immense quantities of cotton, sugar, steamboats, ships, and other property, to prevent its falling into the hands of the unionists, general lovell with his confederate troops retreated into the interior of the state, and left the city without any other defense except our company of cavalry; but as we had buried our arms and cut the brass buttons off our beautiful brown corduroy suits, the citizens hadn't as much confidence in our ability to defend as they had when the enemy was five hundred miles away. the merchants expected that the yankees would sack the city, so they threw open their stores and told everybody to take all they wanted. bush was boarding with me at the time, and as he was one of the biggest eaters in the world, i wanted more than i could carry; so i hired a dray (for which i had to pay $ ), and loaded it down to the guards. we put on a hogshead of sugar, twenty-five hams, a sack of coffee, box of tea, firkin of butter, barrel of potatoes, some hominy, beans, canned fruits, etc. i would have put on more, but the dray wouldn't hold it; and as the load started up canal street, i thought, when bush gets away with all that stuff, i'll make him change his boarding-house. after laying in my stock, i went down to the river to see the fleet come in, and there were all of our company, but they did not make the slightest resistance. the captain said, "it's no use trying to bluff them fellows, for they have got a full hand." butler in new orleans. general butler took possession of the city the st day of may, . his troops gutted the banks, but did not molest the merchants; so those fellows that had given their stuff away were kicking themselves for doing so. he closed up all the gambling-houses, and then issued licenses for public gambling to any one who would pay the fee and take his brother in as a partner. his profits must have been enough to make him independently rich without the spoons. he kept the city very clean, but old yellow-jack got in, and then ben got a furlough and went up to washington, and he took the spoons with him. he took the marble statue of henry clay out of the state- house at baton rouge and shipped it to his home in massachusetts. he could not hide that as easily as he could the spoons, as after the war the united states government made him return it, and that nearly killed him. i had the race-track, and was running games out at the lake. i was making a great deal of money, and would work the boats when i had time. some one told butler that i called him names, so he sent for me, and threatened to send me to tortugas, but i talked him out of that. some of his officers lost their money against my games and then kicked. the result was, old ben sent for me again. this time i did not get off so easily. he took me before the provost judge, who fined me $ , and sent me to jail for one year, and no amount of money could get me out. there were some of the best men in the south in with me, and our friends on the outside did not forget us. we had good beds, and everything to eat that the market afforded. we played poker, and i was making money all the time. i would fee the jailer, and at night he would take me out in the city, so that my prison life was not so very bad. butler made us a visit one day just at dinner time, and when he saw the birds and wine, you should have heard him roar. "why," said he, "those d----d rascals are living better than i ever did." the jailer told him that our friends sent in the luxuries. he looked at our big beds, shower bath, and other surroundings and said, "i have a d----d notion to send them to the penitentiary;" but the jailer told him it was pulled down, so he had to give up his d----d notion, and we were glad of it. i had been in jail for six months, when one day governor shipley visited us. he asked the jailer, "which is devol?" i was introduced to him, and he asked me where i was raised. i told him in ohio. he said the crime i was in for was not so very serious, and he told the jailer to turn me out, and i should come to his office. i was let out, and i reported to the governor. he told me not to beat the officers; i promised i would not, so i was once more a free man. when butler heard that i was let out on the governor's orders, he was mad as the d---l; so, to get even, he confiscated all my horses, which had cost me over $ , . i had promised the governor that i would not beat the officers; but i took my promise back when ben took my horses, and it was not long after that i caught a sucker paymaster for $ , , and they did not find out who it was that won the greenbacks. i made a pile of money, bought substitutes for some of my horses, and opened up the race-course again. ben butler and i got to be friendly, and he gave me two silver spoons to remember him by, and i have them yet. the paymaster's $ , . i remember a game of poker i had once coming down from cairo to new orleans, during the war. there was a paymaster in the game who lost about $ , , and when we got to memphis i found out before we landed that he was going to squeal; so i went to the mate and asked him to put me where they could not find me, as i knew when the soldiers came down to the boat i would have to divulge. he put me down in a little locker that was forward of the main hatch, and rolled barrels on it to hide the trap-door. well, they came down, took lights, and searched the boat and hold, the ladies' and gentlemen's cabin, and at last gave up. after i had staid down there for eight hours, the boat left for new orleans. i came up into the cabin, and you ought to have seen the passengers look at me. they did not know what to make of my appearance before them; but i told them i was up town and did not know anything of what was going on; and i took in many a dollar after that. general banks' detective. i had a big game of roulette one night during the war, when the northern officers were traveling up and down the river. the boat was full of officers, and general banks was on board. up stepped a big fellow from texas, who was a detective for general banks. he pulled out a $ confederate bill, and laid it on the red. i picked it up and said i had no confederate money to pay him in, in case he won. he got very saucy, and went over to the bar, where i could hear every word he said, and told the barkeeper that as soon as i closed that game he would whip me. so i closed up and sent my wheel down stairs in the locker, and walked up to the bar and asked him to take a drink, so that he would make some remark. he said, "i pick my company." i let drive and knocked the ginger out of him, and kept him spinning around until he yelled out. then came the rush. general banks and staff, followed by all the boat's officers. the fellow was bleeding like a stuck pig. the clerk told the general how he talked, and he said he got just what he deserved. i then sent down and got my wheel, opened, and all the officers played except general banks. i was sorry he did not appreciate the game, and change in a few greenbacks. the u. s. detective's bluff. i was coming up once on the steamer _fairchild_, of louisville, and had won considerable money. there was on board a united states detective. he was asleep at the time the games were going on, and when he came to his breakfast the next morning, there was a great deal of kicking going on about the money and diamonds that the gamblers had won the night before. some of the passengers at the table knew the detective, and when they got through breakfast they all got with him, and they told him finally they would give him half they had lost if he would get it back. so he saw a big opening, and concluded to make a big bluff to get the money. he came to me as i was standing by the office, and said, "are you the man who won all the money and diamonds last night?" i told him i was the man. he said, "you must give it back--every cent." that made me laugh, and i think it made him mad, for he pulled back his coat and showed me his badge. well, i thought he was as good a sucker as any of the rest, or he would not make such a break as that; and when he spoke of my swindling them, i said to him, "now, sir, i will show you just how i beat those fellows;" and i pulled out three cards, and said, "if you will walk over to the table, i will show you; then if you think there is any swindle about it, i will refund every dollar." he said, "all right." i commenced to play them over, and had him guessing lively, when up stepped the capper and took a look at the cards, and said, "i will bet you $ i can turn the king." he put up the $ , and did not turn the card; so he and the detective began to whisper to each other, the capper telling him about a spot that was on the right card. then he made a proposition to go me $ more. i put up the money to cover his, and he turned the right card, took his money and walked away from the game. then the detective said, "i will bet you $ myself." i put up. he laid up $ and turned the right card. one of the bystanders spoke up and said, "he is only baiting you along till he gets a big bet." i replied, "you are about right." he said, "i will bet you $ once more." so i put up the amount, and he turned the winning card again. so up stepped the capper and said, "i will bet you $ , that i can turn it." "that is just the kind of a bet i like to get." i put up $ , , and he put up his. just as he was going to turn, he got the detective by the collar and got his advice. so the detective told him which one it was. "are you sure?" said the capper. "no, not sure when he gets a big bet like that; but i think so." you see, he had been told i was only baiting for a big bet. well, the result was, the capper won the bet, and that made the detective swell up like a toad. he would not listen to any of the outsiders' talk any more, but offered to bet $ . i said, "if that is all the money you have, you had better keep it." that made him mad, and he pulled out his long pocket-book and said, "i have got as much money as you." "perhaps," said i, "you might cripple yourself if you lost much money." "no," said he; "i am no child. when i bet on a fair game like this, i expect to either win or lose." he counted out the money, and i saw he had the $ he won from me and a little more left. i told him i would bet him $ , that he could not turn the king; so he put up. just as he was about to turn the card, i looked at him and said, "i will let you back out, and give you $ to take down your money and not turn." "no, no," said he; "not i." "well," i said, "let her go;" and over she went, but he lost this time. he drew a long breath and sat down in a chair, and he looked like a sick kitten. then he got up and went to his room, and finally came out. i thought there would be the d---l to pay. he called me to one side, and said, "did you think i was betting in earnest?" "oh, no," said i, "you were only betting in fun; but i was just keeping in earnest." "well," said he, "you are not going to keep my money?" "oh, yes." "i don't care what you do with those other fellows' money, but i want mine," said he, "and i must have it." "well, you can not have a cent of it." i backed against the bar, and told him he must be crazy if he thought i would give him a cent back, as i never gave a sucker back his money. he then made a motion to his hip; but i had old betsy jane in my coat pocket with my hand on it, and my partner was there to assist in holding the fort. he saw his bluff was no good, and he began to give me taffy; saying he had just got that money as a reward for catching a man, and that he had worked six months to get it, and that he had a large family. i told him to go out among the passengers and tell them that he had lost his money at a fair game, and then come to my room and "knock at the back door, and they will not see you come in." well, he got among them all over the boat, and told them it was a fair game, and he had not a word to say. he came to my room and told me what he had done. i counted out $ and gave it to him, and told him that if he had not worked so hard for it he never would have got a cent back. so he went off contented, and there was no more squealing on the boat. the young man from new york. during the war i took my gambling tools and started for brownsville, texas, and metamoras. i took passage on board a screw steamer, which had sails also. there were about forty-five passengers, all told. the first two days out of new orleans were pleasant; but there came on a squall, which tore the sails into threads and came near swamping the vessel. it stopped blowing in about half an hour, and all was calm. there was a young man on board whose father was a very rich man in new york, and had sent his son over to attend to some business. while in new orleans he became acquainted with a rich firm, and through his letters from his father they intrusted him with $ , to be delivered in brownsville. it happened that the young man was on deck during the storm, and had to lie flat down and hold on to a coil of chain. after the storm he came into the cabin and said, "i have had bad luck." of course we were all anxious to know what had happened to him. he said he had had twelve one-thousand-dollar notes in the side pocket of his coat, and the wind had blown his coat over his head, and the bundle went into the gulf. he said it was money that had been put into his care to be delivered at brownsville, and that his father would have to stand the loss. we all felt sorry for the fellow, but it soon died out, and there was no more said about it till we got to brownsville. when we got to bagdad and took the stage, he sat close to me and commenced talking about losing the money. he said he felt ashamed to show up at the firm's office. that made me think he was crooked, and i concluded to keep an eye on him. we had not finished our dinners at the hotel in brownsville, when in marched a squad of soldiers, and the captain asked which man was devol. i raised up and said, "that is my name." he said the general in command wanted me. "all right," i said. i went down to headquarters, and when i got there the general said, "where is the money you won from that young man, coming over on the ship?" i told him i played no cards with any young man on the vessel. "have you got proof of that?" said the business man to whom the money belonged. "yes," said i, and i sent to the hotel and got the captain and the purser, who testified that the young man did not play a card coming over. so i was acquitted, and that was the last of it, as they were all satisfied that the boy did nothing wrong, and really had lost the money. but i had him spotted; for it takes a rascal to catch a rascal. the captain and the purser were the only two who did gamble going over, and they were very fond of poker. so my partner and self sat in, and we played four-handed all the way over. we realized about $ , , which paid our expenses and a few hundred dollars besides. about six of us agreed to go over to metamoras that night and spend the evening. the young man said to me that he would like to go along. i said "all right," so we all started, and we had a fine time drinking wine and pony brandy. we went into a gambling-house, and the roulette wheel was going, and a lively game at that. there was one man who was playing very high, and i asked his name. they said it was the mexican general cortenas, who was in command of metamoras. well, i took out a twenty-dollar bill and laid it on the red, and it came red; i let it lay, and it came red again. i took the $ and put it over on the black and it won again; so i picked up the money and walked out into the bar-room, and called up every one in the house. at that time a spaniard would run a knife through you for a dollar, if he caught you in the dark; and a man was not safe to step outside, if they knew he had money on his person. he wanted his pistol in his hand. well, the young man was delighted with my playing, and said: "i wish you would play again. i want to put in with you and take half your game." "all right," said i; "after a while." i wanted to get a few more ponies into him, for i was sure he had the money. so i changed the drinks to wine, and i could see his eyes snap at every glass. at last i said, "i guess i will make another play." he stepped back into another room, and came to me, and handed me a brand-new one-thousand-dollar bill that had never been crumpled. i handed it back to him, and told him i would put up $ of my own, and for him to put his money back; that if i lost, he could get it changed and give me $ . "all right," said he; and i bet $ on the black, and won it. i bet the same on the red, and it came black again. then i bet $ on the red, and it came red. the result was, i played along see-sawing until i was $ winner, and i quit. i handed my friend $ , and told him i was too tight to play with good judgment. we had our fun out, and got over to brownsville about daylight in the morning. we all slept that day, and went over that night again. we did not gamble any that night, but drank wine and smoked our havanas, and had a good time in general. that night my friend said to me: "i wish i was as smart as you at cards. i could make plenty of money." i said to him, "i can teach you." "well," said he, "if you get into any game, i want to be an equal partner." he did not know anything about my partner who came over with me, as i had posted him to keep away from me. my partner was a very quiet fellow, who lived in new orleans. his name was william mcgawley. well, i told him perhaps i might get up a game with some one. as i was saving him for myself and partner, i did not want the money split up into too many parts. i had too much sense to play in brownsville, so i fixed up a plan for him and me to take the stage and go to bagdad, to see if i could not find some one there to play poker. i told mcgawley to pay the bill at the hotel, and come to bagdad the next day with the baggage, which he did. the next evening my young new york friend and i were sitting on the porch at the hotel, when my young friend espied him, and said to me, "you recollect the man who played in the game coming over in the vessel?" "yes," said i; "there were three besides myself; which one do you mean?" "i don't mean the captain or the purser, but the other gentleman." "yes," said i, "i recollect him." "well," said he, "i just saw him down stairs. i am positive that it is he." i said, "let us go down and see him." so we both went down and shook hands with him. my new york friend was very much pleased to see him, thinking i might get a game of poker out of him. so i said, "it is very dull here; what will we do to pass away the time?" i said, "perhaps we might get up a little game of poker to help us out." mcgawley consented to play a little while, so we went and got a room in the hotel and some checks. mcgawley asked, "what limit will we play?" i said, "there will be no limit in the game." "all right," said he. i did not want to dwell too long on that $ , . mcgawley went out on purpose to let the gentleman get out his money. the new yorker asked me how much i would require. i said, "it is going to be an unlimited game, and you had better give me what money you can spare, for if i beat one good hand for him i will break him." he handed me six one thousand-dollar notes. well, we went to work; and you bet it was lively. i started in $ , winner, and you ought to have seen my partner's eyes snap. i don't mean mcgawley, of course, for he was a quiet as a lamb. finally my luck changed, and he beat one hand for $ , . then i did commence to kick at my bad luck, and we soon made up another purse. after playing some two hours more, mcgawley had all our money; so i said to him, "as you have broke us both, will you lend me $ , for a few days, until i get some from new orleans?" he said, "certainly," pulled out the money and handed it to me, and i gave my new york partner half, saying, "perhaps we will have better luck next time, as i will have all the money i want, soon, from new orleans; then i will tackle him again, and of course you are in with everything that i do." i had some $ in silver that i did not know how to get on board the ship, that laid outside of bagdad, without paying duty on it. so i went to a man from new orleans, whom i knew well, by the name of eugene dupratt. i told him i had this silver, and asked him if he could get it on board the vessel, as he had lighters running all the time. it was about equal to running the blockade, or smuggling. "well," said he, "i will take yourself, partner, trunks, and silver, and land you safe on board the ship, for $ ." "i will give you the money." that night we slipped the things out of the hotel and got them safely on board the lighter, and were soon on board the vessel, and in two hours were under sail for new orleans. we got home all right, and in ten days after we landed we were both broke, and ready for another trip. broke a snap game. we left new orleans on a red river packet, and had been out about an hour, when a man came up to me and said, "captain, have you any objection to a man opening faro on your boat?" i said, "no, you can open any time you please." he took me to be captain heath, and i knew he did not care. he said, "i will open after supper." it was near that time then, and i thought i must go to work if i wanted to beat this man. i found out what room he occupied, and then told my partner to stay and entertain him till i returned. i went to his room, and found an old-fashioned valise that held his tools. i tried the keys i had, and found one to fit. i opened the valise, took out the cards and punched every one of them; then i put them back and carefully locked the valise, went back and invited them to take a drink. then we went to supper, and after it was over the old fellow brought out his kit and opened a game. he shuffled and put the cards in the box. i asked him what limit he was going to deal. he said, "if any of you put too much on a card, i'll tell you." a good many of the passengers changed in, and he had a lively game. i stood alongside of him, so i could look down into the deck; and when i saw white show, i would copper in the big square, and my partner would play the other end and middle open--for when the white showed, it would be an ace or deuce. in this way we got the old fellow rattled. he changed decks every deal, but had the same bad luck. we finally broke him, and then won his tools. we returned the latter, paid his passage to shreveport, and gave him $ . after breaking up the faro man, i said, "gentlemen, i have a game here in which i only need three cards." i opened out, had a fine play, and took in all the money, watches, and pistols that they had. we were then ready to light out, as we had won $ , from the old faro dealer, and about $ , , besides the watches and pistols, at monte. we bid the boys good-bye, and got off at baton rouge. stolen money. i landed at natchez one evening just after dark, on the steamer _general quitman_. some one told me that a lady had been robbed of $ , that day by some smart thieves. they had watched her go into the bank and draw the money, and then walk over to her carriage, a short distance from the bank. one of the crooks took off his hat, put a pen behind his ear, ran over to the carriage, and said: "madam, you must excuse me, for i have made a mistake in the money i gave you. you need not get out, but sit still; i will go back and rectify it." she handed him the money, never to see it or him again. after we backed out from natchez, i opened out my wheel in the barber shop. the passengers came in and played until a. m., when i closed up. while i was packing up my wheel, a fellow came to me and said, "i've got a man with me who has got about $ , , and i want him to lose it. he loves to play poker; do you think you can beat him?" "oh, yes," i replied, "i can come pretty near doing it." he said, "i want half, as he is a thief, and no good. i had to divide $ , with him that i got in natchez to-day." "well, bring him to me, and i will try it;" and he did so. i was not long in doing him up for his part of the stealings. i divided with the other thief, and then opened out my rouge et noir game. the other fellow dropped in, and i won his part of the money, so i had it all. i bid him good night and went to bed; but i could not sleep, because i knew the one i beat last would rob me if he got a chance. i laid in my bed a long time. presently i heard some one feel the knob of the outside door. i was in the upper berth, and had my pistol under my pillow. my partner was in the lower berth, for he had not been well that night, and went to bed early. pretty soon, bang went the lock, and a piece of it fell on the floor. then everything was still for some time, and at last in he came. just as he commenced to look about him to see how the land lay, i pulled down on him with my gun, as i could see him plainly by the light through the transom. he saw the gun, and did not stop on the order of his going, but he went at once. i got up, dressed myself, and went out to the bar. there was mr. thief. i accused him of being in my room, but he denied it. i knew he was lying, but i thought best not to do anything with him, for fear i might have to give up the "stolen money," and i had not lost any myself. signal service. before the war they had an old steamer fitted up as a wharf-boat and lodging-house at baton rouge, to accommodate people that landed late at night, or would be waiting for a boat. this old boat was headquarters for the gamblers that ran the river. many a night we have played cards in the old cabin until morning, or until our boat would arrive. when thoroughbred gamblers meet around the table at a game of cards, then comes the tug of war. we would have some very hard games at times, and we found it pretty hard to hold our own. my partner proposed that we fix up some plan to down the gamblers that played with us on the old boat, so we finally hit upon a scheme. we bored a hole under one of the tables, and another under one of the beds in a state-room opposite. then we fixed a nail into a spring, and fastened the spring on the under side of the floor, so that the nail would come up through the floor under the table. next we attached a fine wire to the spring, and ran it up into the state-room. then we bored a hole in the bulkhead of the state-room, just over the top berth, so that a person could lie in the berth and look out into the cabin. now we were ready for the thoroughbreds. when we would get one of our smart friends, we would seat him at our table in his chair, which was always on the side of our state-room. we called it ours, for we had fitted it up just to suit us; and for fear some one would use it when we were out traveling for our health, we paid for it all the time. we had a good boy that liked to lie down and make money, so we would put him in the upper berth while the game was in progress. he would look through the peep-hole, and if our friend had one pair he would pull the wire once; if two pair, twice; if threes, three times; if fours, four times, etc. we would kick off one boot and put our foot over the nail, and then we would be able to tell what hand our friend held. one day i was playing a friend at our table, and he was seated in his chair. i got the signals all right for some time, and then the under-current seemed to be broken. i waited for the signals until i could not wait any longer, for i was a little behind (time), so i picked up a spittoon and let fly at our room. that restored communications, and i received the signals all right. my friend wanted to know what i threw the spittoon for. i told him the cards were running so bad that i got mad; and that an old nigger had told me once it was a good sign to kick over a spittoon when playing cards; so i thought i would not only kick it over, but would break the d----d thing all to pieces. he replied, "i noticed that your luck changed just after you threw her, and i will try it the next time i play in bad luck." got up too soon. we were passengers with captain j. m. white on board the steamer _katie_, bound for new orleans, one night, and i had taken a look over the boat, but there was nothing in sight. i was sitting in the hall near the bar, drinking wine and enjoying myself, when a fine looking gentleman came out of his room near by and asked me if supper was over. i told him it was, and asked him to join me in some wine, as he looked like he wanted something. he accepted the invitation, and told me he was hungry. i called the porter and told him to go to the pantry and get the gentleman a lunch, which he did. he thanked me for my kindness, for he thought i acted from pure motives (which i did), and then invited me to join him in some wine. i accepted, for i thought his intentions were honorable. while we were talking and drinking, i asked the barkeeper if he had any of the tickets that the gentleman played the new game with before supper. he said he had, and gave me some of them. i began throwing. we bet the drinks, cigars, and drinks again. i lost most of the time. my capper lost a bet of $ , when the gentleman said: "good gracious, man! where are your eyes? can't you see that the baby card has a spot on it?" my partner told him he had not noticed the spot, so the man pointed it out to him. then he made me another bet, and won. the gentleman then began to think he was smarter than the man who had lost $ and could not win it back until he told him about the little spot. i saw he was worked up, so i asked him if he wanted to win something before i quit, as i had no idea of betting money on the game when i sat down; but i would bet him $ he could not turn the card with the baby on. he flashed his leather, when i saw several large bills; but i pretended not to notice them, and said, "perhaps you had better not bet, for if you lose it might distress you; but if i lose i will not mind it much, as my father has five plantations." he did not like for me to think that the loss of a paltry $ would distress him, so he said, "i can afford to bet you $ , , win or lose." that made me mad, so i said, "i will make it $ , , if you like." he knew he would win; but he was no hog, and did not want me to ask my old dad for money so soon. my partner wanted him to make it $ , , and offered to take half, but i said, "no; one at a time, gentlemen." then the fellow put up, saying to my partner, "i thank you, but i am able to take it myself." he turned the spotted fawn, and found that, if he was not a hog, he was a sucker. i then told him i thought he was too much excited, and invited him to join me in a drink; for i was always very liberal about treating a man that had but little if any money. he accepted the invitation, for now he knew i was a gentleman, and that my motives were honorable. after taking our drinks, he bid me good-night and walked away, and i thought i heard him say, "i would have been better off if i had remained in bed until morning." i thought myself that he "got up too soon." the yellow jeans. at one time on the upper mississippi, while playing monte, i caught a jew from quincy, ill., who had been down to st. louis buying a stock of jewelry. i won all his money and the most of his best jewelry. i would not gamble for anything but good stuff in the jewelry line. after i beat the jew he set up a big kick, and got some of the other losers to join him. they finally agreed that they would make me give up; so they all got after me, and i knew there would be some fun. i got my gun, backed up against the side of the cabin, and said: "now, gentlemen, i am ready to pay out; the bank is open. the first one that comes shall be the first served, so don't be backward." but, somehow or another, no one wanted to be first, and i stood pat until the boat landed at a town called warsaw; then i backed out of the cabin, down stairs, and off the boat. when they saw me on the shore, they set up a yell of "police! police! arrest the fellow with the yellow jeans suit." the marshal came running down, and i told him i was the man they wanted arrested; so he waltzed me up to town, and nearly all the passengers followed us--some to get their money back, and others to see the fun. the captain said he would hold the boat if they would decide the case at once, so the mayor convened his court and we went into the trial. i had sent for the best lawyer in the town, and he said he would clear me for $ . the jew was put on the stand, and he swore i snatched his jewelry from him, and a great deal more of the same sort. some of the passengers that had seen the game swore they did not see any body do any snatching except the jew. my lawyer handled the case so nicely that i was acquitted. then you should have heard the passengers laugh at the jew for all his trouble. they would ask him if he did not want to trade some jewelry for a yellow jeans suit; but he did not have any good jewelry left, and he knew i was not sucker enough to trade for any other kind. there was another boat at the landing, and many of the passengers went up to hear the trial. i went on board the other boat, and in a short time was on my way back to st. louis. during the trip i ran up a poker hand in a game of euchre, and lifted a man out of $ , which more than paid the expenses of the trial. he knew my hand. we were on board a red river packet called the _j. k. bell_, and we had not made any preparations to gamble. after a while a gentleman came up and asked me if i ever played poker. my partners, tom brown and holly chappell, and some of the officers of the boat, were sitting there and heard the conversation. they had to put their handkerchiefs in their mouths to keep from laughing, when they heard my answer, "no, i did not." "well," said he, "i will teach you if you will sit down." he got a deck of cards at the bar, and commenced to show me which were the best hands. i at last agreed to play ten-cent ante. we played along, and i was amused to see him stocking the cards (or at least trying to do so). he gave me three queens, and i lost $ on them, for he beat them with three aces. presently he beat a full hand and won $ . that made him think his man was a good sucker. i always laughed at my losing, and kept telling him that after a while i would commence to bet higher. i pulled out a big roll of bills and laid it on the table. finally i held out four fives, and then i went a big blind on his deal, so that if he did not come in i would throw down my hand, and perhaps there would be no pair in it. about this time he commenced to work with the cards, but i paid very little attention to his work. after playing a while i got three jacks, and then we commenced to bet high. he raised me, and i raised him back, and at last he thought we had enough up. then i got away with the hand he gave me, and pulled up the four fives. then the betting became lively. i made him call me; and when he saw my hand, and i had got the money, he grabbed at me and said, "that is not the hand you had." "how the d---l do you know what i had?" "well," says he, "where are the other five cards?" "i don't know what you are talking about." he counted the cards carefully and found the jacks, for i had palmed them on top of the deck. then he pulled out his knife and said, "you are a gambler, and i want my money back." "oh, is that all? i did not understand. i will give it back, as i don't want to keep your money if you think i did not win it fairly." i let on as though i was taking out the money, when i pulled out old betsy jane. he saw her looking him in the face, and he wilted like a calf. i made him apologize, and you never saw a man get such a turning over as they all gave him. they told him he not pick out such apt scholars, for they learn too quickly. what hurt my feelings more than anything else was, that he would not speak to me all the way up to where i got off. as i was leaving the boat i said to him, "good-bye, sir. we are never too old to learn." her eyes were opened. high miller and i were playing monte one night on the first _j. m. white_, and had a good game, and made some money. we were about to close up, when a lady and gentleman passed by and saw high throwing the little tempters. they stopped and watched him. i saw they were interested, so i stepped up and lost $ . then they came back and asked high what kind of a game he was playing. he told them it was the pawn-shop game. the lady wanted to know why he called it pawn-shop? "because i have two chances to your one," said high. they laughed, and were starting away, when they noticed me turn up a corner on one of the cards. the lady nudged her husband. i made a bet of $ , and won it. the gentleman dropped the lady's arm, got out his money, and put up $ . high told him that he would not bet less than $ ; but the gentleman did not want but $ worth. then his help-mate tempted him, saying, "it is good." so the man hearkened unto the voice of his wife, put up the $ , turned a card and lost. while high was putting away the money, i grabbed up the right card and turned up the corner again. then i offered to bet him $ , that i could turn the winner. while this was going on the lady was giving her better half a piece of her mind. she was telling him that he was a fool; that he could not see anything, and that she could turn the right card every time. she got out her purse, took out $ in gold, and asked him how much money he had left. he told her $ . she said, "give it to me, and i will show you that a woman can beat a man every time." i was counting out my money to put up, when the lady asked me if i would not let her bet first. i said, "certainly;" for i knew a man never lost anything by being polite to the ladies, and in this particular case i could see we were going to gain $ . high told her he never bet with ladies, but if she would hand the money to her husband he would bet with him. "him!" says she, "he can't see as well now as when he picked me out for a wife. no, no; he shan't bet any of my money." "all right," says high. so she put up the money. high put up the same amount, and she watched him as though she was afraid he was not going to put up the full $ . after mixing them up a little, high said, "ready!" the woman took up the card, turned it over, saw it, and then threw it down, instead of giving it to her husband that he also could see. she then took her husband's arm and said, "come away; _my eyes are open_; if we stay here that man will win you next, and i don't want to lose you if you are a fool, and can't see as well now as when we were married." we had a good laugh, took something, and then high said, "george, that woman's a game one; what do you say to giving her back the gold?" "all right," says i. so he offered me the $ , and wanted me to return it. i told him i was not afraid of any man, but, said i, "that woman has got her eyes open, and she may think i am your partner." "no, george," says he, "you closed her eyes when you were putting up that $ , , and gave way to accommodate a lady; she knows you are a gentleman, and would not have anything to do with gamblers, except to do them the favor of returning money they had won from suckers." his fine words lured me into the trap, so i took the gold and found the lady. i told her that the gambler was sorry he had allowed her to bet, and had requested me to return the money. she looked at me a moment, with her eyes wide open, and said, "i will greatly multiply thy sorrow by refusing to accept the money, and may it be a sorrow to you gamblers all the days of your lives." the jack-fish. my old partner bush and i would play the trains on the jackson road out about forty miles above new orleans, and then get off and wait for a down train. some times we would be compelled to get off before we had gone that far; but, as a general thing, it would be about that distance before we would get our work in on the suckers. we would go up in the morning to a place called manshak, and fish until the train would come down in the evening. one day we were fishing and had got some distance apart, when i saw a school of large jack-fish coming down like lightning. i jumped up and grabbed a pike pole that was lying near, slipped the noose over my hand and let fly at them. i struck a big fellow, but he did not stop; he kept right on and pulled me in after him. i yelled to bush, and he came running to assist me; he reached me a long pole, and then pulled me out. the rope was still on my hand, and the fish was on the pike pole, so we pulled him out, and he weighed about sixty pounds. we took him down on the evening train, and had a part of him broiled for our supper. bush said it was the largest fish he ever caught. i told him i caught it, when he said: "why, george, i caught you both." red and black. i have been in some big games in my day, and have always been ready to win a dollar or so whenever i saw a chance. often in the flush times after the war i have stood up in the bar-room and tossed up a silver dollar or a twenty-dollar gold piece, "heads or tails," for from a hundred to five hundred dollars a throw, and have even indulged in the innocent amusement of spitting at a mark--the money, of course, going to the one that came nearest the spot. but of all the games that i ever ran, i think the biggest was during the war, just after captain leathers had purchased the elegant steamer _magenta_. the soldiers of the union army had burned his fine boat, the _natchez_. the story illustrates the old saying, that one good turn deserves another. when we left new orleans the boat was full of passengers, and the trip was worth $ , to the boat. reaching memphis, the captain soon saw that his chances for a big trip were the best that he had ever had. the boat was loaded to the guards with cotton, and the passenger list was , most of them being cotton brokers, who, of course, carried a great deal of ready money with them. after supper the boat laid up, and commenced blowing off steam. i stepped up to the captain's office and said to bob owens, the clerk: "bob, what's up--what's the boat laying here for?" "we are in a fix, haven't got enough money in the office to pay the charges on the cotton. it's too late to get anything from the banks, and we shall have to borrow." i took in the situation in a twinkling, and said: "you needn't look any further; perhaps i can let you have all you want." bob's face brightened up as he said: "i can get along with $ , ." in ten minutes the money was in his hands and the boat under way. the supper was over and tables cleared, when i opened out my game of _rouge et noir_, and it started in big at once. there were twenty-five players, and the smallest money on the table was fifty dollars. at the end of every deal i opened four bottles of wine, which cost me twenty dollars, as the sparkling vintage was then worth five dollars a bottle. there was one man at the table who got pretty full, and finally commenced to put down a thousand dollars at a bet. i was somewhat surprised to see him roll out three thousand-dollar snapping new bills, and put them down. at first i supposed he was a paymaster in the army, but soon learned that he was a cotton buyer, operating for a rich new york firm. everything was moving on swimmingly, when up came a contractor from memphis, whose name was harper. he was a knowing sort of chap; perhaps best described as a "smart aleck." he began to "nip out." i stood it for some time, but finally let go all holds, and started after him, and soon had him broke, though in doing so i lost $ , that i had won from the new york party. then he began to kick, and said the game was not fair; that he was going to have his money back, and threatened to bring up the crew of seventy-five men that he had on board, who had been working on the levee. i sent a message to the mate telling him what to watch out for, so he armed all of the boat's crew, roustabouts and all, with clubs and stone coal, and stationed them at the foot of the stairs; that brought matters to a stand-still. the contractor's men weakened, and the players who were the heaviest losers wanted the throw the contractor overboard, as they said the game was on the square and perfectly fair. there was so much noise made, however, that the passengers began to come out of their state-rooms. the captain hurried down from the hurricane roof, and ominously shook his head; so i cleared the game, and all was quiet once more. i settled my bar bill, which was $ ; and, counting over my money, found i was exactly $ , winner, and had i not been disturbed or molested might have won $ , , as there was more money on board then i ever saw in my life before, and all the men were "high rollers." that night the contractor and his men got off; the players sobered up, and we resumed operations; but the playing was not so large, nor the players so venturesome. still i kept the game open till we reached our destination, and came out a few thousands more ahead. he never knew. there are always men who have some scheme on hand--some trick or device that is a sure winner. it may be a system, a combination, marked cards, or something of the sort. such a man was john brogan, of alexandria. his stronghold was marked cards. he had played with them for years, and had been remarkably successful, having accumulated considerable property. i was once coming down the red river, when i made the acquaintance of a shrewd fellow named neice. he used a small concave reflector about the size of a gold dollar, which he placed in the pile of chips before him, and which in dealing the cards enabled him to see every card, and where it went. he generally played with gamblers, and so adroit was he in his manipulations that they were unable to catch him. i made up my mind that we could both make some money, so i told him that i had a man for him who was well heeled. he was willing to help me, and we started for alexandria. i got the captain to land about three miles above the city, and put off my partner, whom i had thoroughly posted. when i reached alexandria i went at once to the ice house, for that was the odd name given to the hotel, where i soon found brogan; and having had a good shake of the hand and a few drinks, we sat down for a social chat about old times, beguiling away the time with choice havanas. we had been chatting away for about an hour and a half, when a rough-looking fellow walked into the bar-room and asked if he could get a dram. "i've come a good distance," he said, "and am very tired. the fact is, i have been out in the back country looking up a mill site, and tramped 'round a good deal more than i calculated." "take something with me, my friend," spoke up brogan. "i don't mind," and we all three took a drink together. the stranger called shortly for another round, and as he settled, pulled out a roll of bills as big as a pillow, that at once caught brogan's eyes. he gave me a significant hunch. after supper the miller walked into the bar-room, purchased a cigar, and walked out. then brogan said to me, "how is the best way to get some of that money?" i told him, "i'll play monte for you; perhaps he'll bite at that." john hunted around, and soon brought the miller into the bar-room again. i was up to snuff, and made my talk and showed my cards, and john won $ from me. then the miller said, "i'll take a hand." he lost $ . i kept on playing the cards, but the miller would bet no more, remarking to me, "i think you are a sharper." john then asked the miller if he ever played poker. "oh, sometimes; i used to play for a quarter ante." "let's have a little game, then, to pass away time." the game began, and brogan trotted out his marked cards. i insisted on playing, but the miller said, "no, that i was too smart." so, somewhat crestfallen, i walked out and took a stroll, and was gone perhaps a couple of hours. when i returned they were playing for ten dollars ante, and brogan was losing very fast. i remained around the card table only for a short time and then went away. when i came back the miller had won every dollar brogan had as well as his diamonds, amounting to something like $ , . brogan came to me and wanted to borrow $ . i said, "certainly, you can have it; but, john, you are drinking too much; take my advice and wait till morning." "all right; then my luck will change." "of course, and that miller will be on hand." late that night a boat came along, and the miller skipped out. morning came and i bade john brogan good-bye. poor fellow; he never knew why his marked cards didn't work, and i never told him. both john brogan and neice have been dead many years, and, i trust, are happy in the spirit land--perhaps playing chuck-a-luck, marked cards, and concave reflectors with st. peter and the apostles. the black man. we were playing monte in the barber shop on board a steamer on one occasion, when a big black fellow, who had been watching the game through the window, asked me if i would bet with a black man. i had never gambled with the niggers, for in those days they were nearly all slaves, and had but little money, and i was looking for suckers who could afford to lose. so i inquired of this big fellow how much he wanted to bet. he said, "i'll bet five or ten dollars." i replied, "if that is all you have, you had better keep it; for i don't want to win a black man's money anyway." that got his african blood up, and he pulled out a pretty big roll, saying, "i got money, massa, if i is a black man." i saw he was well fixed, and so i asked him how he made his money. he replied, "i's a planter, sir, and i just done and sold my cotton." i took out ten twenty-dollar gold pieces, and said, "i will bet you all this against what you have in your hand." "oh, no, honey," says he, "i got more'n dat." "then i'll bet you this," i said, pulling out a thousand-dollar note. he put his money down and turned the card, and it was fun to see him open that big mouth, roll the whites of his eyes up, and then throw up both hands, ejaculating: "laws golly! if dis old nigger hasn't done gone and lost his eyesight, sho 'nuf." the persuader. bluff is a good game, and sometimes it will turn a trick when everything else fails. i boarded morgan's railroad, as it was called, upon one occasion at algiers. trains on that road were generally full of suckers, as the road connected with the galveston steamers at burwick's bay. tom brown and holly chappell, my partners, were both along; and as game was plenty along the road, we carried our shotguns along, and in the event of no bigger game were accustomed to get off and shoot snipe, catching the return train to the city in the evening. sure enough, there was a party of traders aboard, and brown lost no time in making their acquaintance and opening out. one of them commenced to cut his clothes the minute he got a glimpse of the corner after chappell made one cap. to make matters more binding, i came up and lost $ , . then the ball opened, and it was not more than half and hour before we had downed the party. then the devil was to pay. one of the party said: "look here; i must have my money back, or h--l will flop around here mighty quick." then they all joined in and made a big kick; and as i saw fun brewing, i slipped into the baggage-car, changed hats and coats with the baggage-master, got his badge and my double-barrelled shotgun. then i rushed into the car and drew the bead on the party who had collected around the boys, giving a war-whoop and demanding in stentorian tones, "who has been playing cards in this car?" "i have," said brown. "get off this train mighty quick;" and i pulled the rope. my partners lost no time in getting off. pulling the rope again, the train started; and when the conductor came back, i explained that somebody would have been hurt, had i not acted as i did. this was satisfactory, and going back he told the party that gambling on the road was against the rules, and that he could have them all arrested when the bay was reached, if he wished. this had the effect of quieting them down, especially as they knew that the man who had won their money was off the train. i was not long in reaching the baggage-car and returning the borrowed articles, and quietly slipping off at the first station, not forgetting my shotgun. hunting was good that day, and i bagged ten snipe and thirteen robbins, which the boys helped me eat at our old friend cassidy's restaurant, on gravier street, opposite the st. charles hotel. the boys all agreed that my conduct was all that saved the boodle, which consisted of $ , and two gold watches. thus it is that a little management, backed by a double-barrelled shotgun and an official badge, is often times a powerful persuader. i had friends. i was coming down from baton rouge one night in a stern-wheel boat. the night before i had gone up and had been pretty lucky, so i resolved to try and reach new orleans in time for the next evening's packet. mcgawley, my partner at the time, was along; and as we took a survey of the passengers, we noticed that most of them were raftsmen who had just been paid off. they were a pretty tough lot, but appeared to be well heeled, so i was not long in making up my mind to see the color of their money. i managed to scrape an acquaintance with a couple of them, and invited them to drink; then i proposed a game of euchre, to which both agreed. we made it four- handed, and played for the drinks, then the cigars, until finally i resolved to feel one of them; so i ran him up a hand. he sat on my left, and ordered me up. i gave him the laugh and said, "i'll euchre you." "i'll just bet you $ you don't," he quickly replied. "here's $ i do." borrowing $ of his partner, he said, "i'll take that bet." of course i euchred him, as i said i would; but the game broke up, and as i was winner i paid the bar bill. it was not long before i noticed some of them talking suspiciously together among themselves, and i deemed it the part of prudence to slip into my state-room and get my gun, for then i was not particularly disturbed as to what they proposed to do. they began to patronize the bar pretty extensively, and asked the barkeeper who i was. he replied that he did not know. they said that one of the negroes had said that i was a gambler, and they were going to lick me before i got off the boat. the barkeeper soon found an opportunity to tell me what was up; and as i did not have much confidence in my partner as a fighter, i concluded i was in for it. i knew, however, that he was no coward, and if he was attacked would fight. the barkeeper handed me a "billy," and i strolled back to the barber shop, where several of them were gathered together. returning through the cabin to the bar, i was accosted by one of them, but paid no attention. two of them at last approached me as i stood with my back to the bar, when one of them remarked, "i don't think you won that money fair." "i don't care a d--n whether i did or not," i quickly retorted. so he cut loose at me, and i caught his blow on my arm, let go my left duke and downed him at once. that was the signal for the circus to open. they all rushed in, and i began to lay them out as fast as i could with the billy. every whack brought blood and a heavy fall. mcgawley and the barkeeper took a hand, the former hurling a spittoon that cracked a fellow's head open and sent the blood spurting, while the latter brought a bottle on a raftsman's skull that raised a welt as big as a cocoanut. then the captain rushed in, and the mate followed with a gang of roustabouts, who soon had quiet restored. i was hit pretty hard with a chair, otherwise my injuries were not serious. i did not use my revolver, as none were drawn, for i never wanted to kill any man. the lap-robe. my dear old mother--she lived to be ninety-three years old--god bless her. i can see her now, with her silvered hair and tottering step. she used to pray for her wild son george, and on one occasion (i guess it was the result of her prayers) i did a good act that i have always been proud of, and i received the prayers of all the ladies of the church for it. i was in the south at the time, and on board a packet that was laid up at natchez for a few hours. some of the ladies of a prominent church there sent down a magnificently embroidered lap-rope, wishing to raise $ on it. i took ten chances at $ a chance, and then circulated among the passengers and easily raised a good sum. we shook the box, and one of my throws won. of course i had to set up the wine; but i put up the robe again, and got one of the blackest men on the boat to throw for me, and a second time i won. a third time the robe went up, and this time for good; but not until $ was realized, which was sent to the delighted ladies. i think that money spent did me more good than any that i ever squandered, for i was the recipient of the thanks as well as the prayers of the ladies. the preacher away from home. ever since the days when joseph's brothers gambled for his coat of many colors when they put him in the pit, the desire to venture in games of chance has been rampant in the human breast, and even "men of the cloth" have proved no exception to the rule. i recall an instance when i was going down the river on the _natchez_. as i got aboard the boat i said to myself, "everything looks blue; i've got no partner, and i don't think there is a dollar in sight." i scanned over the faces of the passengers, and soon found one of the old boys who formerly used to play a little, but who had now foresworn cards and become a prominent railroad magnate in new orleans. bob and myself were soon talking over old times and sipping juleps, until at last we got a stack of chips and a deck of cards, and began to play for a small limit. presently a tall, portly, fine looking gentleman came up to the table, and appeared to be so interested that i invited him to take a hand, as we were playing for a small limit just to pass away time. he readily consented, and the game went on smoothly enough, when i ran him out three queens and helped myself to three kings, and gave bob the office to remain in, as i wanted him to cross- lift, which he did. the game was a two-dollar limit, and at last we got him in for about fifty dollars before the draw. after the draw things livened up; he bet two dollars, bob went two better, and i chipped in two better than both of them. we got him in for about $ , when he borrowed $ , and we still kept on raising him until we were confident he could raise no more money. hands were shown, and the portly man wilted like a leaf before a november blast, but never even murmured a kick, and i soon knew the reason why, for captain leathers came up to me and whispered: "why, george, do you know who that was you were playing with?" "i do not." "he's a preacher; i have heard him in the pulpit many a time, and i know that he stands very high all along the coast. i don't know what to make of his gambling here to-night." i never mentioned his name, and i knew the captain would not; and as for bob, he'd never say a word, for he was afraid i'd give the snap away; and as for me, i had my reasons for keeping quiet, since bob was always generous with his passes, and john kilkenny would have the laugh on him; for all are now strict church goers. a shrewd trick. some men are born rascals, some men have rascality thrust upon them, others achieve it. this is a story of a chap that i think must have had a birthmark of knavery somewhere concealed about his body. it was during the war, and i was going up on the steamer _fashion_, captain pratt. i was dealing red and black, and had a big game, as there were a number of cotton buyers on board. one of them was a fine appearing gentleman from new york, who was soon $ , loser; then he began to play reckless, and was still followed by his bad luck. i noticed his nervousness, and came to the conclusion that he was not playing with his own money. finally looking up, he said, "how much will you turn for?" noticing his excited condition, i said, "put down as much as you think proper, and if you go too high i'll tell you." with that he pulled out a long pocket-book, and drawing forth a roll of hundred- dollar bills threw them on the red. i picked up the money and counted it, and found there were thirty-three one-hundred-dollar bills. "that's beyond my limit," i said; "but as i know you are a great deal heavier loser than that, i'll give you a chance to get even, so crack her down." i made a turn, he lost. with a trembling hand and wild eye he counted out the balance of his money and laid it before me, saying: "this is my last bet; if i lose, there is $ , , and there is $ more. will you turn for it?" "lay her up," was all i said. down it went, just as any high-roller would do if he had some one else's money; he lost, and fell back in his chair in a dead faint; ice water was brought and he was revived. after the game he came to me and said, "not a dollar of that money was my own; it belonged to a wealthy new york firm, one of the members of which i was to meet in new orleans, and render an account." i told him that he would have to say that the money was invested in cotton that would be shipped in a few days. "that will give you time to skip," i said, "for the affair is bound to come out, and then you will be in trouble." "no," he said, "i won't run away. i have thought of a plan that will let me out of the scrape. there is another man on the boat who is buying for the same firm. i will go to him and get a bundle of money which i will hand to you privately, and then you come before the passengers and hand it to me. you can say, 'i don't want your money, so here it is, take it.' i will thank you kindly, and there will be plenty of witnesses to say that i did not lose the money gambling." i did exactly as the fellow wanted, much to the astonishment of the passengers, who said that i must either be the biggest-hearted man in the country, or the biggest fool that ever ran unhung, to give a man back that much money after fairly winning it. when new orleans was reached i was arrested, but easily proved that i had returned the money, or rather refused to take it, and was discharged; but the good old greenbacks were safe in my inside pocket, all the same. mules for luck. in the flush days of gambling on the mississippi i used to take everything. if a man did not have the money, i would not refuse diamonds or a stock of goods. on one occasion, when i was going from memphis to cairo on the _belle of memphis_, a little game was started, and i won ten first-class mules. a bill of sale was drawn up, but when i went to land the mules at cairo, the former owner began to kick, so i had them transferred to another boat that was lying alongside of us, and bound for st. louis. the man hated to part with his mules, and went down pawing and clamoring among them until one of them gave him a severe kick which nearly proved fatal. at last they doctored him up so he could talk. we were then _en route_ for st. louis, but i was too smart to take them there, so i disembarked at cape girardeau, and sold the mules at a reduced price, for what did a gambler want with a pack of hungry mules trailing around after him anyhow? the cattle buyer. we had been playing monte one night on the steamer _southern belle_, out from new orleans, and had closed up. my partner was sitting out on the guards, and i was in the hall near the bar, when i saw a gentleman coming down the cabin toward me. i stepped up and ordered a drink, and as the man came up i invited him to join me. he accepted, and we entered into conversation. i proposed a game of euchre to pass the time; he assented, and we sat down. he proposed to play for ten dollars a game, as it would be more interesting. i said, "all right." i found him one of the best players i had ever met. he beat me two straight games, and i saw i could not beat him on the square, so i began to complain of my bad luck, and said the deck was unlucky to me. he proposed that we get another, so i told the barkeeper to bring us a new deck of cards, which he did, and when he put them on the table i saw they were my old friends. at this time my partner came up to the table and remarked: "you gentlemen seem to be enjoying yourselves." i replied, "we have played four games, and it's a stand-off." he then said, "if you were playing poker, i would like to take a hand." the gentleman said, "that will suit me, if you are satisfied." i said, "all right," and i invited my partner to sit in, which he did. we bought fifty checks each at a dollar apiece, and commenced playing. there were a great many of the passengers around the table, so we played on the square until everybody went to bed and left us alone; then i ran him up three large jacks, and gave my partner three queens, and guarded both hands so that nothing could drop in. our friend was on my left, and had up a big blind; my partner just saw his blind. i exposed my hand and said, "that is too good a pot to lose, so i will raise you gentlemen $ ." our friend put up, and my partner said, "i believe you are both bluffing; i see that and raise you $ ." i did not want to drive our friend out, so i raised $ . he put up, and we came to a draw. they both took two cards, and i stood pat with a nine-spot high. it was my partner's first bet; he hesitated, and finally bet but fifty dollars. i gave them one of those old "go-your-money" laughs, and said, "boys, i have you both," and i put up $ . our friend saw it and raised back $ . my partner looked at his hand, and after a while said, "i will call." i then bet $ , cold. they both called, and we showed down. the three queens just beat the three jacks, and i said, "i was trying to win that pot on a bluff." our friend remarked it was not safe to bluff when such hands were out against you. i said, "that is so, but i thought you were both bluffing." we had something to drink, and started in again. i ran up two hands, giving our friend three aces, and taking four tens myself. i did not give my partner anything, as i wanted him to do the tipping. the betting began, and it was pretty lively. when we came to the draw, our friend took two cards and i took one, remarking at the same time, "if i can fill this flush, good evening to you fellows." the betting was lively, and finally came to a call. we showed down, and i took in $ , . our friend was no kicker, but was as game a man as i ever met. he got up, laughed, and said, "gentlemen, let's take a drink, and i will go to bed." he bade us good-night and went to his room. i learned during our play that he was a large cattle buyer from texas. we got a nice slice of his cattle money; but i must say that he could hold his own with anyone in a square game of poker; but with two old sharks, and a deck of marked cards, there is no man that can win much money, as his bluffs don't go. even the judges do it. the love of gambling is confined to no class of people. preachers and lawyers, doctors and men of business, are as susceptible to the smiles of the fickle goddess of fortune as well as the roughest men. george hardy and myself were once going from jackson, mississippi, to vicksburg, and, for want of something better to do, fell to talking over old times and tricks with cards. near by sat a gentleman who appeared interested in our conversation, and i asked george who it was, as i had often seen him at vicksburg. "why, that's judge so-and-so," and he introduced me. pretty soon george remarked, "devol, you ought to show the judge the baby ticket," and as i had just played the trick for a joke, i said, "yes, judge, i have one of the best games for the drinks in the world; they play it out west altogether now instead of dice." of course, he was anxious to see how it was done. taking out some cards, the judge was greatly amused, and at last george offered to bet me $ that he could turn the card. i took him up, and he lost. then the judge, not at all discouraged by george's ill luck, said he could turn it up for $ ; but i told him i did not want to bet with him, since he had never seen the game before. at last i consented to go him once. he turned the card and lost, and then i thought that george would die with laughter. this only riled the judge, who was now bent on getting even; so he put up his gold watch and chain, and lost them. he was satisfied then, and the next day sent around a friend and redeemed them. george remarked, "the judge stands very high in this vicinity, so never say anything about this transaction;" and as i never did, i do not suppose george did. george had no idea that the judge would bet. both the parties are still living, and will, when they see this in cold type, heartily enjoy the story. no play on this boat. captain dan musselman, who was running the _belle of memphis_ from memphis to cairo, said to me one day as i got aboard his craft at memphis, "george, i don't want you to play that monte on this boat." "all right," i replied, as smiling as a maid of sixteen. as we were near hickman, ky., i downed a fellow in the barber shop for the trifling sum of $ . up stairs the fellow rushed in hot haste to the captain to try and get his money back. i remained talking with captain bill thorwegon, of st. louis. in came the captain and said, "george, did you win this man's money?" "yes, sir, i did;" as frankly as a school boy saying his catechism. "did i not tell you not to play that game on this boat?" "yes, sir; but, captain, the man dared me to bet, and i wouldn't take a dare from any man." "well, you'll have to go ashore at hickman." the boat was then about three miles below, and i had a faint recollection that there was a man living at hickman that i had beat only a short time before, so i said to the captain, "you can't land her too quick to suit me. put her into the bank as soon as you can." captain thorwegon tried to dissuade me, but i was obstinate, and insisted on being landed at once. dunlap, my partner, was ripping mad at my obstinacy, as it was dark, raining, and in the woods. out went the gang plank, however, and we on it, armed with some matches, cigars, and a bottle of whisky. a big tree was soon found, a fire started, and after patronizing the whisky bottle, and sampling the cigars, we turned in for the night. towards morning i was awakened by a noise, and found that dunlap, my partner, was on fire. i woke him up and rushed him down into the river, only a distance of about fifty feet, and he came out looking like the worst tramp that ever was on the road. his coat was burned off, and also one leg of his pantaloons, so he walked to hickman and purchased new clothes, and, boarding the first boat down, induced the captain to stop for me; and we returned to memphis $ ahead, but sadder and wiser men. the green cow-boy. i always had a great love for horse-flesh, and it is many a dollar i have won and lost on the turf. in flush times, just after the war, i was taking a lot of race-horses over to mobile, and had got them all nicely quartered on the boat and was taking a smoke on the boiler-deck, when a stranger approached me. "are you the gentleman who brought those horses over from new orleans?" "yes, sir." "there is one that i would like to buy." "and that one?" "the pacing horse." "can't sell him; need him in the races that i'm giving every week." at supper we sat together, and after supper we chatted for a long time. my partner sat near by, and knew what i was nursing him for. he let me know that he was from texas, and towards o'clock i asked him if he played euchre. he loved the game very much, and played a great deal. "suppose we amuse ourselves, if we can find a deck of cards," i suggested; and we sat down, playing single- handed until most of the passengers had retired. when i took out my watch at o'clock, a rough looking fellow, unshaven and long- haired, with a huge buffalo bill hat on his head, came up to the table and said he was from texas, and had never been in this part of the country before. "what part of texas are you from?" asked my friend, who appeared to be taken with the green country manners of the texan. "wall, i live on a ranch twenty-five odd miles from el paso." "what brought you so far away from home?" "me and my pap came over with cattle, sir, and they's all over in pens in new orleans. i reckoned as how we'd lose 'em all coming across the sea, and pap was skeered, so he never went to bed till we got them steers in the pens. i didn't want to go with pap when he started with them thar steers; but pap is the oldest, and i had to mind him." "but what did you come to mobile for?:" "well, i'll tell you. i got talking to a fellar, and he told me that if i would go over with him on the ship that he would buy all my critters; so i asked pap if i might go, and he said yes; but i'm kinder sorry i went now, for i got lost from that fellar and never laid eyes on him after we got over thar. he told me to pay his fare, and when he got over thar he would give me back the money; but i reckon he went after the money and got lost. but i haint going to say a word to pap, for i got to pranking with a fellow on the ship, and i'll be gol'darned if i didn't lose $ , ; but pap won't find it out, for i had $ , what i been saving to buy me a ranch, and i shan't tell pap anything about it." "how did you come to lose your money, stranger?" i asked. "wall, look here; i never seen such a thing. he had some tickets, and he would mix 'em up--sorter jumble 'em together--and then he would bet you that you couldn't lift the one that had the little baby on it. so i just watched it, and i just cut my coat to get the money, for mam she sewed it up before i started. well, i just laid down my greenbacks, and i didn't lift the boy, and he kept my greenbacks; then he went off and left his tickets lying on the bench, so i'm going to take them home with me, but i won't tell i lost anything." "let me see them," i said. "will you give 'em back?" "oh, certainly." so he pulled them out, and my friend and myself had never seen anything like them before; so i said, "show us how he did the trick." he showed us the best he could; then i caught up the one with the boy on it, and turned the corner and showed it to my friend, and gave him a quiet hunch under the table as i laid it down, and asked if he would bet on it. he said, "when i get back home i'm going to larn it, so i can win all the money i want." "will you bet a drink that i can't guess it the first time?" i said. he mixed them up and observed, "i'll go you a dram." i bet, and my friend was pleased to see what a fool i was; and i told my friend to bet him another dram that he could pick it up. but i said, "don't touch the one that has the corner turned up;" and he did as i said. that made the cow-boy laugh, who broke out in his peculiar vernacular: "oh, you old fools with store clothes on can't tell it no how." then i observed to my friend, "i am going to have some of that money; for that fool will never get back, for some one will win it sure." i began jesting and playing the fellow, till at last i dared him to bet me $ on it, and he said, "i won't take a dare," and pulled out about $ , in greenbacks, all in hundred-dollar bills. i laid my $ on the table, all in small bills; so when he commenced to put up his, i counted him out of $ , and that made it two to one; but i turned the card, and he told my friend to just hand me the money. "what is the least you will bet?" said my friend to the cow-boy. "wall, boys, you have got me at it, and i had just as leave bet it all; but i know you fellars with the store clothes on haint got that much; and i knows you darnt bet a dollar--if you did, the old woman would broomstick yer." my friend could not stand this sort of racket any longer, for i kept telling him to just lay up his money, and take it and put it in his pocket. at this stage of the game a tall, fine looking fellow with long black whiskers came up and said, "i'll bet $ , that i can turn the card." the cow-boy observed, "if i can win that bet, i'll be even on what i lost going over," so he put the money up and said, "come on, i'll go yer;" and the black-whiskered man put up his money and turned the wrong card. the cow-boy was delighted. my friend trembled, for he saw that the new comer did not take the one with the corner turned up. of course he began to get his money out; and he had lots of the long green stuff, for he was a large cotton buyer from galveston. he offered to bet $ , , but the cow-boy said, "i won't bet less than $ , ." i offered to take half, but the cow- boy would only bet with one person at a time; so i told him to lay it up. he did so and turned the card, but missed the winner. i grabbed up the boy ticket and turned the corner so quickly that he supposed he had made a mistake. the black-whiskered man at once pulled out his money and bet him $ , again, and this time he won. my friend wanted to try it again, for i made him believe that he made the mistake himself. he said, "shuffle them up, and i will make you one more bet." he counted out another $ , ; and says i, "that will only make you even if you win." so he took out $ , more, which was all he had, except perhaps $ in small bills. the cards were shuffled. the cow-boy counted out his money. the black-whiskered man wanted to chip in enough to make it even $ , , but the cow-boy wouldn't have it. my friend made a snatch at what he supposed was the boy card, and--lost. i felt very sorry for him. the fellow with the black whiskers was holly chappell, the cow-boy was tom brown. both were my partners. the cow-boy invited us all to the bar. my friend and i retired to our state-rooms for the night. no money in law. a man by the name of levy (of course he was a jew) and myself were once traveling on the jackson railroad, amusing ourselves playing in the smoking car, when along came a horseman from new orleans, and dropped in, thinking he could pick up the right card. i was doing the playing, and i asked the horseman if he thought he could pick out the card with the baby on. he said that was just what he could do for $ . "put her up," i said, and in a twinkling i covered his $ . he turned the card, and lost. then he studied for a moment and remarked: "i am going to try that once more." so he planked down his watch, which was a fine howard movement, worth about $ . he lost, got mad, and kicked by telegraphing ahead to arrest a couple of gamblers on the train who had been robbing a man. we were then a few miles below the sixty-two mile siding, and i knew there were no officers there; so we got off at the siding, and on the down train we spied an officer who was coming from winona after us. then we took to the hills, and kept a sharp lookout, where we could see and not be seen. the officer asked where we had gone, and the railroad people told them down the road. they returned to winona, and he offered a reward of fifty dollars for the watch, and $ for the return of the watch and money. bad news travels fast, and i soon heard of this, and i decided not to go so high up on the road. at last, however, i went to the town, though before i reached the depot i handed my money to a gentleman who resided there, who was a good friend of mine; and sure enough, as i expected, the constable served his warrant on me immediately. my friend at once stepped up and said that we would not go to jail, and forthwith furnished bail. we gave the officer the laugh, who only got mad and telegraphed to new orleans that he had the party who had won the watch and money belonging to the horseman. on the first train, up he came. when the case was called for trial, i asked the judge for a continuance on account of the absence of a material witness. he granted me one of three days. the horseman then offered to compromise if we would return the watch and money. failing in this he fell to abusing the judge for granting us a continuance. this reached the ears of the judge, who was anything but pleased, and when i had an opportunity i told the judge that if he wanted i would stand trial for gambling, and be fined; although i was aware that he had no jurisdiction in gambling cases, but i presumed that he and the constable wanted to make a piece for themselves. the trial came off, and the judge fined us thirty dollars apiece for gambling. my friend paid the fines, and then i turned to the judge and demanded a warrant for the horseman, for gambling in the state. he too was fined thirty dollars; and when he returned to new orleans, and told his story, the boys all gave him the laugh, and told him he had better have staid at home, for we all told you that you could never get a cent back from devol. when i reached new orleans i hunted the horseman up, and he redeemed his watch, giving me $ . this transaction made a man of him, for afterwards i met him and he wanted to help me skin suckers, and did make money. many business men whom i have at first won money from came to me afterwards and stood in with the game, so that i was given an opportunity to get into games that i never could have done without their influence. the police signal. they have a signal service on board the vessels running from new orleans to other points on the gulf, by which they can notify those on shore what is wanted some time before the vessel reaches the landing. if they run up the police flag, there will be twenty or more police at the wharf when the vessel arrives. we would play one vessel out to some point of landing, and then wait for another to bring us back. we had played a boat over to mobile at one time, and was on our way back, when we got a fellow down in a game of euchre. several times during the progress of the game, remarks had been made about good poker hands, so i ran the gentleman up the old hand of four queens and an ace. he picked it up and said, "i have a poker hand." i turned my head to spit, and in doing so i purposely exposed (or tipped) my hand so he caught a glimpse of it. i then said "how much will you bet?" he replied, "fifty dollars." i then raised him $ . my partner said, "gentlemen, as this is a game of bluff, i will raise you $ , ." i threw down my hand, remarking, "i started in to bluff you out; but you fellows are too much for me." the gentleman then said, "you can't bluff me; i will call the bet." they showed down, but the fellow's four queens and an ace were not enough, for my partner had four large live kings, and he took down the money. the fellow got up and raised a h--l of a kick, and finally, when he saw he could get nothing back, he went to the captain and told him we had stolen his money. the captain was a stranger to me, so i could do nothing with him. he ordered the police flag to be run up, and then we knew we would be arrested when we reached new orleans. i did not fear the result if we could get rid of our money, but i did not want the fellow to get a chance at that. i commenced looking around, and soon found a friend i could trust, so i gave him all the money my partner and i had, and then i did not care how quick they nabbed me. when we started off the boat, we were met by about twenty police. the kicker was there, and when he saw us he pointed me out and said, "there is one of them." the officers laughed when they saw us, for they knew me. we got into a cab and went up to the court, which was then in session. they searched us, but only found a few dollars. i employed a lawyer, and in about ten minutes we were free; but if we had not got away with the stuff we would have had more trouble, as he was ready to replevy. after being released we started out to find our friend, and when we got our money we had more wine than was good for our heads. i have often seen the police flag run up, but always managed someway to keep from giving up the boodle. if i could find no friend to trust it with before we landed, i would find one in the officers or the cab boys, and not one of then ever went back on me. a paymaster's bluff. the yellow fever was raging in the south in , and nearly every one was trying to reach the seaboard, as it is considered that the disease is not so violent there. on the steamer to mobile one night a big game was in progress. ten dollars was the ante; no limit. i was $ , loser, and soon resolved that i must stir myself and do something. there was no time to lose, so hurrying to the bar, upon some excuse, i got a deck such as they were using, and ran up four hands, being careful that i got the best of it. returning, i played fully half an hour before i came out with my deck. at last it came my deal, and i gave them threes and let them fill. it would have brought a smile to a dead man to have seen them bet, for they put up all the money they had, and one of them went to the office, and bringing out a valise, said, as he laid it on the table, "there is $ , in that valise, and i raise all of you that much." what to do i did not know. i was in a quandary, when, quick as thought, a plan flashed upon me. i jumped up, and rushing to the office, got all the small bills they had--mostly ones and twos--and securing a piece of brown paper, wrapped these bills around it, which made an enormous roll. there was a five hundred-dollar bill on the outside, and, putting a strip of paper around it, i marked it $ , . then rushing up, i said, "boys, i have at last raised the money;" and as i was about to put it on the table to call the bet, the owner of the valise snatched it off, saying, "that was only for a bluff." so i deemed it best to show down for what money we had up, as i knew all the rest were up all they had, and i have always made it a rule never to bet a man more than he had, to run him out, but always to give every man a chance for his money. turning to the fellow with the valise, i said, "i will bet you $ , on a side bet that my hand beats yours." he counted out the money and put it up, and there was nothing to do but show hands; but in the draw i took in another nine, which made four, and a five spot. that broke up the game, as that was all the money, except what the man with the valise and i had, and he got cold, for the money he was playing with belonged to the government. he was a paymaster, and had i won his money i should undoubtedly have got into trouble again. paymasters in the army were among the best suckers we ever had, and i fear we never shall have such fat plucking again. "prankin'" with a new game. i had a partner at one time by the name of tripp, and he was one of the smartest gamblers i ever worked with. he would play any and all games of chance, and would play them as high as any man in the country, and come as near winning all the time at most of them. he was a good, clever fellow. he and i were on the michigan southern railroad at one time. tripp was to do the playing with the three cards, and i was to be on the look-out. i began my part of the business; and in looking around, i saw an old gentleman that i thought might be well fixed in money matters; and if he was, i judged he would be a good subject; so i sat down and opened up conversation. i told him i was a miner from colorado; that i had some of the richest mines in the country, and that i was on my way to washington to take out a patent on a crushing machine that i had invented. he became very much interested, and i learned that he was from the state of michigan, and was very well fixed in this world's goods. i gave him some big talk about the mining business, telling him i often took out $ , a day--and much more of the same sort. he did not let me do all the blowing, but gave me to understand that, while he was not taking out of mother earth $ , per day, he was--and had been for many years-- getting out of the ground quite a number of thousands. while we were telling each other how much money we had accumulated for a rainy day, a cow-boy came up and took the seat just in front of us, and in a few moments he turned around and said, "be you gentlemen going to new york?" the old gentleman said, "i am, but this gentleman is going to washington city." "i be going to new york with my steers, for them fellars in chicago won't pay my price, and some of them beat me out of $ , in less than no time," said the cow-boy. i then told him to turn his seat over and tell us how they got his money. he got up, turned his seat, and said, "they had some kind of a game that they bet on; i got to pranking with it, and i just lost $ , afore you could say jack robinson." "it must have been seven-up, or some game of cards," said i. "it wasn't no seven-up, for i reckon as how i can play seven-up with any of the boys." "well, tell us about the game," said the old gentleman. the cow-boy then took out an old dirty rag, which i suppose he called a handkerchief, unfolded it, and produced three cards, saying, "them thar fellows gave me these ar cards, and i'm going to larn that ar game, so as when i get back to texas i can beat all the boys." i told him to show us how they could bet on three cards. then he bent them up and began throwing them on the seat beside him, saying at the same time, "i'm not as good at it as those chicago chaps, but i'm going to practice, and when i get down in texas i'll get even on our boys." i asked him if they got all his money. "oh, no, i just got loads of money; and then when i sell them thar steers in new york, i reckon i will have some more. now you see this card has got an old man on it, and you have to guess this 'er' one or you lose." we guessed a few times, and then i bent up the corner of the old man card, saying to the michigan gentleman, "now we will have some fun." then i said to the cow-boy, "will you bet money on the game yourself?" "i can't play it good enough yet to bet; but as i have two cards to your one, i would just as soon bet on it as on a pony race, and i often put up big money on a pony." i told the michigander not to turn up the card with the corner turned up so long as we were guessing for fun, so he turned up one of the other cards, and the cow-boy said, "you see you are just as big fools as i was in chicago." i then said, "i will bet you $ , that i can turn up the old man the first time." i told the old gentleman that we might as well get some of his money, as he would lose it anyway before he got back to texas. finally the cow-boy took out another dirty rag, unrolled it, and displayed a roll of money the size of one's leg. he counted out $ , , saying, "i'll go you once, for i don't 'low any man to back me out." he mixed the cards up, and i turned up the one with the bent corner and won the money. the cow-boy laughed and said, "well, i'll be gol darned if you didn't get me. you must have right smart eyes, for i swan i didn't know which one it was myself." the old gentleman asked if he would bet with him. "oh, yes; you are old, and can't see like this feller," said he. "don't be so sure about me not being able to see well," replied the old man. "you couldn't keep the run of them like this fellow; and then i guess as how you haven't got much money," said the cow-boy. the old gent then got out his leather, and it was chuck full of big bills. he took out $ and put it up in my hands. the cow-boy told him he would not bet less than $ , ; and said he, "the indians bet more'n that on a foot-race down where i live." i told the old gent it would serve the fellow just right if he would win all his money; so he put up the $ , , turned a card and lost. i snatched up the old man card and turned up the corner again, then said, "how in the name of common sense did you come to make that mistake?" "why, i turned the one with the corner up," says he. "no, you did not, for here it is," i said, picking up the winner. the old fellow thought he had made a mistake, and the cow-boy told him he couldn't see well, for he was too old. i then told him to mix them up, and i would bet him $ , . he did so, and i won. then the man from michigan got out what he had left, amounting to $ , , and said, "this is all i have with me, but i will bet it." he turned a card, but again he lost. he then settled back in his seat as though he was going to stay right there, and i don't believe he would have got out if the car had run off the track. the cow-boy put his cards back into the dirty rag, and remarked, "i be gol darned if i haint larning to play this 'er' game nigh like them chicago chaps; and if i hadn't been pranking with you feller with the smart eyes, i reckon i would have been about even." he got up, bid us good-day, and started out. we sat there talking about the cow-boy's tricks for a short time, when in came my partner, tripp, all dressed up so that no one would suspicion that he was ever a cow-boy. i introduced him to the old gentleman from michigan, but he was not near so talkative as he was when we first got acquainted. i did not want to hurt his feelings, so i did not say anything about the game before my partner; and i believe the old fellow was glad of it, for he looked just as if he would rather no one but that d----d cow-boy and myself should know what a sucker he had been. when we changed cars we bid him good-day, and i said, "if you see that fool with the steers in new york, tell him not to go pranking any more new games, or he will lose all his money." he looked at me in such a way that i believe he did not want to see him, although he did not say so. caught a defaulter. it is a singular fact that most of the men who turn out embezzlers, defaulters, and dishonest clerks, sooner or later lose their money gambling. oftentimes it is their love of cards that induces them to commit the crimes they do. i very well recollect a number of instances of this kind, and one in particular. i was going up the river on board the _j. m. white_, when i received a card requesting me to call at room no. . the name was written in a business hand, so i knew the card was from a gentleman. when i knocked a voice said, "come in!" upon entering, i saw a young man that i knew very well, who was a bookkeeper in one of the largest cotton houses in new orleans. i at once inquired what he was keeping himself locked up in his room for, and he replied, "i am afraid to show up in the cabin, but i will tell you all about it before you get off;" as he knew that i rarely went above baton rouge. late at night he came out of his state-room so completely disguised that i did not know him. we took several drinks together, until he began to feel jolly; then i asked him what he was up to. "well," he replied, "i have been playing the bank and poker for some time, and have been several thousand dollars loser, and i knew sooner or later the books would be overhauled, so i collected some money and skipped. here i am, and what to do i don't know, nor where i shall wind up." "oh, there are plenty of people in the same box that you are," i said. "don't flatter yourself that you are the only one who has taken money; but perhaps they will now go through the books, and, discovering the deficit, arrest you." "yes, but i don't intend to be caught. i think i will go to canada. i am now traveling under an assumed name." "are you sure none of the discharging clerks saw you when you came aboard?" "i was in this disguise, and came over two boats until i reached this one, and having a friend with me, he secured a room for two." "how much did you get away with?" "seventy-two hundred dollars." which he had collected the day before he left. he proposed going out and shaking the dice for the drinks. i stuck him again and again, and at last he proposed to shake for five dollars. that suited me; and when he proposed to shake for ten dollars, i was ready. then i began to work on him, for i thought i might as well have that money as anybody, as i knew he would gamble, and never reach canada with it. i suggested that we go to my state-room, as the bar-room was too public a place, and he acceded. in half and hour we were throwing for a hundred dollars a throw, and when i quit i was $ , ahead, as i knew that it would not do to win it all from him, so i told him that i was sleepy and tired. we took a drink at the bar, and he drank so heavily that i was obliged to tell the porter to see him to his room. i knew that he must have money to go out of the country, and it would not do to break him, as i would then have to loan him money. we were then twenty-five miles from baton rouge, and i slept on a couple of chairs in the cabin, and was awakened by my partner, who wanted to know if i wanted to sleep forever--as i had retired with him, but, unable to sleep, had risen. when i told my partner of the roll i had made, he said that i was the luckiest man he ever saw; but i told him it was no luck to hold out the dice most of the time. when we reached new orleans the detectives were hunting him high and low, but they thought he had gone out on one of the trains, and i never made them any the wiser. when i inquired if i had seen him, i replied: "oh, such fellows wouldn't get on a boat where i was." from that day to this i have never seen him; but i think he went west, as when he was under the influence of liquor he talked a great deal of that part of the country. he's one of us. tripp and i at one time played an early train from chicago down to michigan city, and there we got off to wait for another train to take us to detroit. we were in a saloon, and wishing for something to turn up that we might pass the time until the next train arrived. there was an old fellow in the saloon who was very talkative, and we learned from his talk that he was well posted about that part of the country. i did not think he had any money, so i had no idea of playing him, but thought i would talk about the country, crops, and such like. we had not talked long until i found he was waiting for the same train that we were expecting to take. i asked him if he would play euchre to pass the time, and he said he would. we then sat down and began a game for the drinks. once in a while the old fellow would say something about poker hands, so i finally ran him up the old chestnut of four queens and an ace, giving tripp four kings, and taking nothing myself. i came the old spit racket, and exposed my hand. the old fellow says: "i've a good poker hand." "how much will you bet on your hand?" i inquired. he said, "i will bet five dollars." "put her up," says i. he pulled out his money and put up. tripp then said, "i believe my hand is worth a call." i gave them the old "bush" laugh, and said, "boys, i believe you are both bluffing, so i will raise you both $ ." then the old one got out his money again and called. tripp said, "you fellows haven't got anything, and i will make you lay down; i will raise it $ ." he was right, so far as i was concerned, for he did make me lay down. the old fellow said, "i'm still on hand, boys." so out came the money again, but this time it took all there was in the roll. he put up, and called the bet. tripp had hardly time to show his hand when the old fellow, feeling so confident, began to pull her down. tripp showed down the old four kings, saying, "hold on! old fellow; not quite so fast." he put up his last hundred dollars to see that hand, and he saw it. about this time our train was coming, so we grabbed our grips and lit out. i saw the old gent talking to the conductor on the platform, and then go into the smoker. we went into the ladies' car, but in a short time i went over to take a smoke. i saw the old fellow just across from where i was sitting. the conductor came in and passed him without getting any ticket or fare, so when he came back he sat down with a gentleman just in front of me, who was the superintendent of the road. he asked the conductor why he passed the old fellow. "oh," says he, "he is one of us." "one of us? that old seedy cuss?" said the superintendent. "yes, he has been out west running a freight on a salary," replied the conductor. posing as nic. longworth's son. on one occasion while traveling from new orleans to baton rouge, i espied a gentleman who was a judge at the latter place. he was a man of aristocratic bearing, and somewhat haughty in his manners. i started up my wheel after supper, and soon had a fine game. it was not long before i noticed a slick young man that i knew was from cincinnati, walking arm and arm with the judge, and apparently on terms of utmost intimacy with him. this slick young cincinnatian had introduced himself as a son of the late nicholas longworth, who was well known up and down the river. he claimed that he was traveling for his health. i had made up my mind that he was playing a dead card, as i did not think the judge was of much force, though he always appeared to have plenty of money. they soon were playing euchre, and began talking about poker, and presently the judge came to me and said, "devol, will you loan me $ ? i will pay you when baton rouge is reached. i am a sure winner," he continued, and looking at his hand, i saw the old familiar four queens and an ace, with which i had downed so many suckers. i must say i wanted to see him get it in the neck, and i was not disappointed. i took chances, and loaned him $ , and when i saw longworth's would-be son putting it in his pocket that was the last time i ever beheld that money. the judge never recognized me again. this is what an honest man gets when in bad company. the good deacon. i was playing on the north missouri railroad, just out of kansas city, having a man named jeffers as a partner. one evening a fine looking, solid appearing gentleman came along, and appeared to take a great interest in the game, which was just for fun. jeffers came up and insisted on betting, but i quickly replied that i did not care to bet, as i was only showing my friend the game so as to guard him against ever betting on it in case he ever saw it being played. jeffers was so persistent that i finally yielded, at the same time telling him that the odds were so much in my favor that i would not mind venturing. "why, i can pick up the right card every time," he said. at last, turning to my friend, i observed, "i have a great mind to let the fool lose his money." accordingly i remarked, "i'll go you $ that you can't," and at once pulled out a big roll, which made the solid man look bad. the play was made, and i won, which greatly amused my friend, who was anxious for my success, as the fellow had given me the dare in a blustering sort of way. jeffers made no kick, but, picking up the cards, put a spot on one of them, which he showed my friend, threw the cards on the table, and said, "throw again." my friend gave me a hunch, as he did not wish to see me worsted. i paid no attention to him, however, when jeffers pulled out $ , played it, and won. then, turning to my friend, he said, "take $ , play it for me, and i'll pay you for your trouble." he did so, and won. i laughed, and let the old fellow know that i didn't think he had pluck enough to bet at any game. "oh, i would bet if the money i have was my own." then jeffers began to work him, telling him that i was rich, and that they might as well have some of my money as not. "just try it once," said the insinuating jeffers. "put the money in my hand, and when you win i will hand it back to you." jeffers next offered to bet again, but i said i wouldn't bet with him, "but i will with my friend here, as his eyes are not so keen as yours." at last the old man pulled out $ , and i tried to make him put up more, but he stuck to the $ , when i said, "i will have to raise you $ "--as i had noticed that he had $ , in the roll. he wanted to take down his money, but i couldn't see it, so jeffers told him if he didn't put up the $ that he would lose what he had put up, so at last he laid it up, turned the card, and lost. then i looked for fun. at this moment the porter of the sleeper came in and told me that my wife wanted to see me for a moment. excusing myself, i started back, with my friend at my heels, but the porter refused him admission to the sleeper. i was ready to get off at the first station, but waited until the train was under way, when i dropped off, only to find that some one else had done the same thing, and was rolling over in the sand. i went to see who it was, and there was my friend, considerably bruised and banged up. "do you live here?" i asked. "oh, no," he replied, "but i want my money back." "well, if that is what you got off for, you are a bigger fool than i took you to be, for not one cent will you ever get of that money." he hung to me nearly all night, until i was compelled to tell my story to a man at the station, and get him to hitch up a horse for me and leave it standing behind a small hill, and have another horse ready in his barn so that he could follow me and show me the road. a bran new twenty-dollar bill consummated this arrangement. i fooled around with the sucker for some time; then running, i mounted the horse and galloped off. the game worked to perfection. the old fellow bawled out that i had stolen a horse, and the owner mounted the other horse and pushed hard after me. when i had gone about four miles i slackened up and let him overtake me, and we reached another train going to kansas city fifteen minutes before starting time. the owner of the horses returned to town and told the story that he had fired at me, and that i was wounded and bleeding, and, he feared, would die. jeffers came up to kansas city the next day, and was astonished to see me alive. several days after i came face to face on the street with my old friend, who at once had me arrested for stealing $ , from him. i went to the chief's office, and explained that i had neither stolen a horse nor robbed any body; that i had won the money at cards. the old fellow wanted the money back, and declared that he was a deacon in a church. jeffers, the capper, came in when he heard that i was arrested, and told the chief that he had given the deacon ten dollars to win the bet for him, so the chief, in face of this evidence, had nothing to do but release me. the next day a prominent member of the church was scouring kansas city for the good deacon, thinking he had absconded with the church funds. i never gave up a cent, though when they have passed around the hat i have always chipped in, and, during the last forty years, have probably contributed to churches ten times as much as the deacon lost, and never regretted it either. narrow escapes. there are a great many men who, whenever they lose any money, begin to kick, and oftentimes they will resort to very desperate means to recover back the money which they have honestly lost. coming out of canton, miss., one night on the jackson railroad, i won some money in the smoking-car, and then retired to the sleeper and was reading a paper, when the conductor coming along said, "are you the gentleman who won some money a short time ago in the smoker?" "i am, sir." "well, you want to be on the lookout, as the parties are threatening to have it back or there will be blood." just then the three entered the car, and as i raised up my eyes the foremost one, a pittsburger, said, "we are looking for you." "well, you have found me at home; what is your business?" "we want our money back; and if we don't get it, you will never get off this train alive." that was enough for me, and in a second i had my big gun leveled at the one nearest me, and i said, "if you move an inch i'll cook your goose for you sure." he fell back in good order, and in the next second the name behind him made a break at me, when i caught him with my big three-pound pistol, splitting his head open; and next i made a lunge for the third man, cutting him over the forehead so that he fell through a rack of glass, and when he raised up i struck him with my head. the conductor and brakeman interfered and took the ruffians out. there was a quart of blood on the floor; and at the first station they sent out and procured sticking-plaster. i paid the porter $ to sponge up the blood and get the glass reset. a man once pulled out his gun on me at milan, whom i had beaten out of $ . i let on as though i would return it, until he turned his head away, when i hit him a stinging blow on the ear that doubled him up like a jack-knife. i took his pistol, and was arrested for winning his money and assaulting him; but when the judge heard the testimony, he fined us both $ and costs, amounting to $ . . he gave the fellow a lecture for drawing a pistol, and i paid my fine and was off. another time in new orleans, i was crossing the levee late one night with a valise full of money, when two men came from behind a cotton bale and started toward me. i pulled out my big pistol and told them an inch further and i would shoot. they weakened, and after they started i turned her loose, to enjoy the sport of seeing them run. a crazy man. one afternoon i started from kansas city on the missouri pacific railroad, and while seated waiting for the train to start i fell asleep. we had not gone more than ten miles when a crazy man, armed with a colt's navy, entered the car. the passengers all fled, leaving me alone. up rushed the lunatic and cracked me over the head a couple of times with so much force that i speedily awoke, and saw this wild-eyed man standing over me saying, "if you move i will kill you." i didn't move; only said, "you have made a mistake;" at which he backed out of the car. thereupon the passengers all rushed in with revolvers in hand, wanting to know where that lunatic was. though i have seen many crazy people since, i can never forget the terrible glare of those eyes, and can compare them to nothing but the fiery glare of a cat's eyes in the dark. i returned to kansas city and laid up for some time, as the physicians feared that erysipelas would set in. it was not more than a week after this that the lunatic was seen on a house-top hurling bricks down on the passers-by. he was at last lassoed with a rope and taken to the station-house. he butted his brains out against the iron bars of his cell and killed himself. eight hundred dollars against a pistol. i was playing monte one night on the _robert e. lee_, when a fellow stepped up to the table and bet me $ . i knew it was all the money he had, for he tried to make it $ , by putting up his watch; but in those days i would not turn for a watch unless it was a juergunsen or very fine make. when he had lost his money and spent a few moments studying, he whipped out a colt's navy and said, "see here, friend, that is all the money i have got, and i am going to die right here but i will have it back." i coolly said, "did you think i was going to keep the money?" he replied, "i knew very well you would not keep it. if you had, i would have filled you full of lead. i am from texas, sir;" and the man straightened himself up. pulling out a roll of money, i said, "i want to whisper to you." he put his head down, and i said "that i didn't want to give up the money before all these people; that then they would want their money back; but you offer to bet me again, and i will bet the $ against your pistol." that pleased him. "all right," he said, and the $ and pistol went up in my partner's hands. over went the wrong card. i grabbed the pistol, and told my partner to give me the stake money. pulling the gun on him, "now," i said, "you have acted the wet dog about this, and i will not give you a cent of your money; and if you cut any more capers, i'll break your nose." i presented the pistol to the mate of the boat, who kept it for a number of years, and said that it was the best he had ever owned. another time on the same boat i was playing euchre with a californian, when we got to betting on poker hands. he lost $ , and his watch, then told the clerk that he was going to his state-room for his pistol, and going to kill that gambler on sight. the clerk soon gave me a hint, and i got out old betsy jane; and pretty soon he came along, holding his pistol under his coat, and just as he stepped out of the cabin door i pulled down on him, saying, "i have got you, my boy, and if you make one move i'll turn her loose." he saw i had the drop on him, threw up both hands; and taking his pistol away, i threw it into the river. it was cold. there are many occasions when a shrewd man can get in his work on gamblers, it matters not how smart they are, provided his conduct is not suspicious, and his ambition so vaulting that when it leaps it is not lost upon the other side. i shall never forget the trip i made down the river from louisville in the good old _ante-bellum_ days. when we reached the mouth of the cumberland river, anderson waddell, who is now one of louisville's wealthiest citizens, and william cheatham came on board bound for the new orleans races. charles burns and edward ryan, better known to the sporting fraternity as "dad ryan," were along with me. both waddell and cheatham were gentlemen of good repute in nashville, and it was not long before they proposed a game of poker. burns and ryan both sat in the game, and at the time they were unknown to the gentlemen. the wine flowed freely, and everybody felt very happy, and i resolved it was about time for me to go to the bar and procure some cards similar to those they were playing with. it did not take me long to run up three good hands, and, sitting down by ryan, i laid the cold deck in ryan's lap. it was not long before the cold deck came up, and then the boys began to bet lively, each getting in a few hundred. then waddell commenced to smell a rat, and turning to cheatham, said, "hold on, bill, don't go in any deeper, as i think this deck of cards does not feel as warm as it did a few minutes ago." "oh, no," responded bill, "i hardly believe there is anything wrong." at last they came to a call; then they knew that they had got the worst of it, yet they never uttered a word or make a kick, and when we reached new orleans they confessed that the boys had made suckers of them. poor bill is now dead, and waddell, who is still living, would, if asked, laugh and say that he had long ago learned not to hunt up poker games on steamboats. how i was beat. sam houstin and harry monell were in business with me working the missouri pacific, and we were very successful, making a great deal of money. during the summer we played the bank, and in the winter operated on the river and southern roads. immediately after the big fire we resolved to go to chicago, but, at the last minute, houstin was unable to go; but i told him he should be in with the play, and share the profits as if he was along. monell and i started, and made a few hundred dollars, and when houstin joined us he received his share of the spoils. we were all stopping at the tremont house, on lake street. we made a little money, and one sunday morning i arose early, and resolved to go out on the road about twenty miles. while waiting for breakfast i made the acquaintance of a gentleman from texas, who had just sold some cattle that he had brought with him. we had a cocktail together, and i sent the porter to awaken my partners, whom i duly introduced to the stranger, letting them know that he had money, and to keep a sharp lookout on him until monday morning. when i returned at night i found that my partners had beat the texan, and he had houstin locked up in jail. i carried him down a good supper from a restaurant, and then hunted up the texan, who told me that he had started in betting, and at first won and then lost $ , , and that his only object in arresting houstin was to scare him so as to get his money back. the other man he could not find. he said he had gambled when in texas, but these fellows were too smart for him, and that he could not afford to lose that money. when the case was called for trial, the judge dismissed it on the ground that they were all gamblers. nothing was said about the settlement of the game for a couple of days, when one morning they both arose, paid their bills, and skipped, and i never received a cent of that money. i have since learned that monell is doing time at sing sing, along with "paper collar joe," while houstin is an old man trying to lead a square life, i understand, down in florida. the late sherman thurston once said to me, "george, those fellows are rotten apples;" but i did not heed his advice, and let them alone. settled our hash. jew mose and myself were once traveling on the missouri railroad, having headquarters at cheyenne and making a good deal of money, when one evening i picked up a man on the sleeper and beat him out of $ , . that game settled our hash, for he proved to be one of the directors of the road, and as soon as he reached omaha he had a lot of handbills printed and hung up in the cars, not only prohibiting gambling, but that conductors permitting the game on their cars would be at once discharged. i was then running a game in greer brothers' gold room saloon, and occasionally slipped out and started a game on some of the trains. there were a dozen cow- boys aboard one night, when mose opened out and took in a couple of them. they began to drink heavily, and then resolved to make the gambler disgorge. i expected fun, so i told mose to get off and jump on the engine at the first station. he was none too quick, for the boys went through the train and never found him; but they never said a word to me, as they supposed i was a sucker like themselves, for at the time i was very roughly dressed. these cow- boys, while very blustering when on the trains, were peaceable enough when they entered a gambling-house; for the gamblers would stand no foolishness with them, and were always prepared to draw at a second's warning. i raised the limit. i recollect playing in a game of poker at one time on the steamer _natchez_. it was a five-handed game, and the party were all friends of each other. we were playing on the square, with a straight deck of cards and for a small limit. i could enjoy myself in such a game for a limited time, then the old desire to play my tricks would come over me, and i could not resist the temptation. i did not want to beat my friends only on the square, but i did want to have some fun; so i excused myself for a few moments and left the table. on my return i sat in again, and the game went on as before. we had been playing a short time, when one of the boys picked up his hand, got a glimpse of it, and then threw it down as quick as lightning, saying, "what's the limit?" all the others looked at their hands, but none of them seemed to remember what limit we had been playing. one thought it was $ , but was willing to raise it to $ if the others would agree. i remarked that the limit had been but $ , but i never kicked if anybody wanted to raise her. so they all consented to raise it to $ . the one next to the age put up the limit, the next one saw that and went him twenty better, the next one did the same. i said, "boys, you are bluffing, so i will just call." the age then raised her the limit, and it went around until most of the boys had put up all their money. then it came to a draw. some took one card, some stood pat, and i took three. then the betting was resumed at a lively rate. those that had put up all their money borrowed from friends; and, to tell the truth, i never did see four men have so much confidence in their hands. i kept calling, and finally it was a call all around, but no one wanted to be the first to show down. i threw down three tens, when they all said, "i've got you beat." i said, "gentlemen, it's a call all around; why don't you show down?" they all came down about the same time; and you should have been there--for all the passengers on the boat were looking on. they saw each other's hands, and i be gol darned if every one of them didn't have fours, and they were all aces at that. all four of them spoke up in the same breath, "who dealt the cards?" i replied, "i did." we sent for the first and second clerks to bring a quire of paper and figure out who won the money and how much each one was entitled to. after the problem was solved we resumed the play, but first the boys made me swear i did not have any more cold decks on my persons with sixteen aces in them. as i had raised the limit to $ , i took the oath, and we again settled down to a square game. got off between stations. a man by the name of charlie adams, tripp, and myself, started out from chicago on the michigan central railroad one day, to turn a few honest dollars. we took separate cars and began looking for a game. i was in the ladies' car, and thought i saw plenty of material, but the most of it was handicapped with female riders. there was one old gentleman sitting alone, so i took a seat beside him and began to feel his pulse. he had sold a pair of horses for $ , and an interest in a patent for $ , . i did not want to play him in that car, for i wanted some of the other a little later on; so i invited him to join me in a smoke. he declined, and told me that he never smoked a cigar, chewed tobacco, or drank a drop of liquor in his life. then i knew he would be a darling sucker; so i invited him to go over in the smoking-car until i could have a little smoke myself. he consented, and we went over. we took a seat just behind a green looking countryman who was smoking a cob pipe, and it was not long until he turned round and asked us the name of a station we had just passed. we did not know the name, so he said: "i don't wonder you can't tell the names, for i never saw so many towns strung 'long a railroad. why, out where i live we don't have a town only about once in fifty miles." i asked him where he lived. he replied: "when i'm to hum, i lives on a ranch in colorado; but i've been to chicago sellin' of my steers, and them thar fellows came nigh gettin' the best of me with some of their new-fangled games; but they gave me some of their tickets, and when i get home i'll make the boys think i didn't take my critters to chicago for nothing. i guess as how they would have got more of my money, but i left it up at the tavern with the feller that had his hair all glued down to his forehead as if he thought it would fall off. so when they got all i had with me they thought i was broke and let me go." the old gent asked him to show us how they beat him with the tickets. he said, "i've not larnt it yet, but i will try and show you;" so he got out his three tickets and began to throw them on the seat, explaining that we must guess the ticket with the little boy on it. we guessed, sometimes right and sometimes wrong. i bent up the corner of the little boy ticket, and told the old gent not to turn that card until we got a bet out of the fool; so we would miss it every time after that. finally i offered to bet him $ that i could turn up the boy ticket the first turn. he said, "no, i won't bet on her yet, for i can't play her good 'nough." then i offered to bet him five to two, so he got out his big roll, saying, "this is the money i left up to the tavern, so i'll just try you once." i put up my $ , and he put up $ . i turned the ticket with the corner bent, and won. he looked at me a moment, then said to the old gent, who was holding the stakes, "give him the money, for gol darned if he didn't get her fair." then i offered to bet him $ , , but he said, "you got an eye like an indian, and i don't want to play with you any more; but i will play with your pap" (pointing to the old gent). the old fellow said, "i am a church member, and never bet; but i expect some one will win all that fellow's money before he gets home." "certainly," said i; "and we may as well have it as any one else." the old gent got out his money and wanted to bet $ , but the fellow would not bet less than $ , . i then offered to put up the balance, but the fellow would not have it, saying, "your eyes are too good." then the old gent put up the money in my hands and turned the card; but it was not the winner, for somehow, in mixing them, the corner of the boy card had got straightened out and the corner of another was turned up. i put a mark on the boy card with my pencil while the fellow was putting away his money, and then told him as he was a little winner he should let me bet once more. he said, "all right," so i put up $ , , turned the marked card and won. the old church member could not stand it to see me win all that fool's money, so he put up $ , more in order to get even. the fellow told him he would make it $ , ; and as that would get him out ahead, up she went, and he turned the marked card; but, as was the case with the crocked corner, the little mark was on another card. the old gent dropped back in his seat with a groan, and just then a gentleman who had been sitting across the aisle got up and said, "you fellows have been trying to rob this boy out of his money. i have been watching you, and will report you to the officers at the next station." the old gent got up and started back to his car, saying to me in a whisper, "you had better get out of this, or you may get into trouble." i replied, "i think so myself." so i got up and started back with him, but he was in such a hurry that i got lost from him. when the train got up to the next station, there were three less passengers on board than when that fellow said, "i will report you to the officers." a good night's work. there had been quite a number of communications received by the officers of the michigan southern, complaining about the gamblers beating the passengers on that road, consequently orders were issued to the conductors not to allow any gambling on their trains. they did try to prevent it, but the boys were too smart for them, and got away with many a good dollar while the conductor was collecting fare or out on the platform at a station. the result was, the complaints continued to go to the officers of the road, and some of them went so far as to claim that the conductors were in with the gamblers. the poor conductors insisted that they could not watch the rascals and their trains at one and the same time; but the superintendent thought they could, and threatened to discharge any one who was complained of again. he found out one day that he conductors were right and he was wrong. i will tell you how he was convinced. tripp, adams, and myself got on a train going out of chicago on the michigan southern one evening, and took seats in different parts of the car. in a few moments after the train started, the conductor and a fine looking old gray-headed gentleman came into the car where we were seated, and something told me that he was one of the officers. i saw them talking together a short distance from where i was sitting alongside of a big fat man. the conductor was evidently pointing us out, for i could see by his actions that they had us spotted. the other boys knew what was in the wind, for we had all been there before and understood our business. the conductor left the car, but the old gentleman took a seat facing us; so we began to think the jig was up for that trip, for there was a pair of eyes constantly upon us. but as we did not make a move, the old fellow got a little careless, took out a package of papers, and began to look over them. when i saw he was very much interested in the papers and began to use his pencil, i gave tripp the wink, and he slipped over to my seat. we went through the old business about the same as if the old pair of eyes was not in the same car, only we talked low, and while the car was in motion no one could hear what was going on. just before we reached a station, tripp beat the big fat man out of $ , and he had beaten me out of $ before we got him to put up. i gave him the office to get off at the station; so when the cars stopped, he was on the platform. there was a jew sitting just behind us who had been watching the game, and he saw tripp out on the platform, so he laughed and said, "you see that fellow? he gets off when he wins your moneys." the old superintendent jumped up, put away his papers, and said: "what's this? some one been _gambling_ in _this_ car?" the jew told him that the fellow with the slouch hat had won $ from the big fat man, and $ from me. i told my fat friend it was no one's business if we lost our money; so when the old gent, who had been watching his papers just long enough for us to get our work in, came up to us and asked if we had lost our money, my fat friend said, "it's none of your business; the money did not belong to you." just then the conductor came in, so the superintendent said to him: "those d----d villains have played their games right under my very nose, beat these d----d fools out of over $ , , and got off. now, if any one comes into my office and tells me our conductors are in with the d----d gamblers, i will take a club and knock his d----d brains out. you attend to the train hereafter, and let the d----d suckers take care of themselves." the conductor said, "all right, sir." the old fellow was so hot that he went out into another car to cool off. my fat friend bid me good-bye soon after, and asked me to call on him, should i ever stop off at his place. i promised to do so, and we separated warm friends. when i told tripp what the old superintendent said, he replied, "george, it's the best night's work we ever did." at another time we were playing a train (or at least we had paid our passage for the purpose of turning a few dollars), but i noticed the conductor was watching us very closely; and i knew that about the time we had our man ready, he would drop down on us and tell the sucker that we were gamblers, and then we would have all our trouble for nothing. so i told my partners to work up the business, and when i saw everything was o. k., i would go to the conductor and entertain him until the job was finished. well, the boys had a fellow all ready to blow himself, when i saw the knight of the punch bearing down upon them. i jumped up and met him, but he was in a hurry, and did not want to stop; so i caught him, and held on until all was over. he kicked like a government mule, but it was too late; so he said i would not catch him again. i gave him a cigar, and told him i would try a new scheme next time, as a burnt child dreaded the fire. he laughed, and so did i, and that ended it. he's not that old. about forty years ago i was a pioneer in the great northwest (or lake and central states), and was pretty largely interested in the different branches of business that paid a large profit on the amount of capital invested. i was running keno in st. paul; playing poker with the indians, and running the risk of losing my scalp, in minnesota; building frame shanties out of green lumber for lodgers, at a dollar a head, at winona; and running a restaurant, saloon, billiard and keno room at dubuque, iowa. i was kept pretty busy looking after and attending to my different branches of business, and i divided my time between them. at one time while i was in dubuque looking after my restaurant, saloon, billiard and keno rooms, i met a robust, rosy-cheeked young man, who had come out west seeking his fortune in the show business. he came into my place and introduced himself, as he was a total stranger in those parts. i took quite a liking to the good-looking young man, and i told him to make my place his home while he remained in our town. he thanked me for my kindness (for in those days i was kind), and said he would be pleased if i would assist him in advertising his show. they did not have such large, handsome show- bills to draw the crowds (to the bill-boards, i mean) in those days, as they have now; but this young showman knew a thing or two, so he adopted the plan that is largely practiced by our minstrel troupes at this late day. he got some of us ordinary-looking chaps to show him the town--i don't mean like it is done in these days. he wanted us to walk around all the nice streets, so he could see the people, and so the girls could see him. we did it; and the result was, all the girls in that place were at the show the first night. i got all the boys to go over and give the young fellow a lift; and when he left the town, he was much better fixed financially than when he landed. all the girls (and some of the boys) were sorry to see him leave. he thanked me for the favors (more especially for the one of showing him the town), and he has not forgotten them to this day, for we often speak of the old times out west; but he insists that it is not near forty years ago. but i know why he don't want me to give dates. he need not fear, for i will not tell who the good looking, rosy-cheeked boy was that i met in dubuque about forty years ago; and no one would ever guess, for at that time he was not running a grand opera house--and, "by joe" (bijou), i don't believe he ever expected to. canada bill. canada bill was a character one might travel the length and breadth of the land and never find his match, or run across his equal. imagine a medium-sized, chicken-headed, tow-haired sort of man with mild blue eyes, and a mouth nearly from ear to ear, who walked with a shuffling, half-apologetic sort of a gait, and who, when his countenance was in repose, resembled an idiot. for hours he would sit in his chair, twisting his hair in little ringlets. then i used to say, "bill is studying up some new devilment." his clothes were always several sizes too large, and his face was as smooth as a woman's and never had a particle of hair on it. canada was a slick one. he had a squeaking, boyish voice, and awkward, gawky manners, and a way of asking fool questions and putting on a good natured sort of a grin, that led everybody to believe that he was the rankest kind of a sucker--the greenest sort of a country jake. woe to the man who picked him up, though. canada was, under all his hypocritical appearance, a regular card shark, and could turn monte with the best of them. he was my partner for a number of years, and many are the suckers we roped in, and many the huge roll of bills we corralled. he was an arrant coward, though, and would not fight a woman if she said boo. his right name was jones. when tom brown and holly chappell traveled with me, the four of us made a quartette that could give most any crowd any sort of monte they wanted. brown got $ , for his share of the profit, and chappell went north with his portion, and is to-day as poor as myself. bill never weighed over pounds, and was always complaining of pains in his head. i always found him honest to a fault; and when the poor fellow died, i felt that i had lost one of my truest friends. the natchez and the lee. when the great steamboat race came off between the _natchez_ and the _robert e. lee_, the excitement all along the mississippi river, and at st. louis, new orleans, and all the river towns, was at fever heat. betting ran high, a great deal of money changed hands, and very little else was talked about for a long time. i came to the conclusion that the boats were pretty evenly matched, but thought that the _natchez_ ought to beat in a straight run. i knew the _lee_ could make two landings to the _natchez_ one, the latter boat being somewhat top-heavy and difficult to handle. however, i put my money on her, and believe she would have won had not captain canon out-generaled and out-managed captain leathers. captain canon took off every extra pound of freight, including anchors, chains, beds, and bedding, even taking the doors and shutters off the hinges; while the hold and decks he saved to be filled with dry pine knots. besides, he engaged the steamer _paragoad_ to go up above baton rouge, loaded down with the choicest of fuel. the _paragoad_ was a very fast boat; and when baton rouge was reached, the _lee_ never stopped her engines, only slackened her speed a little, while the _paragoad_ lay alongside and dumped the fuel on to the _lee_. the _natchez_ had to land and take a coal-boat in tow, and by this management made a difference of over three hours. this gave the _lee_ a start of perhaps five hours, as when she did land it was for a moment only. the _natchez_ kept everything on board, and caught all the winds, while they whistled through the _lee_. on the day of the race the excitement was so great in new orleans that when the _mayflower_ advertised to take people up about twenty miles to see the fun, it was not long before she was loaded to her gunwales with all the young bloods of the crescent city. a jollier set of fellows never got together; and as money was plenty, they made the wine fly with a whirl. i hunted up old bill and dad ryan, and made up my mind we would tackle the gentry and given them something to spend their money for. bill opened up, and the young sprigs of the aristocracy began to pile up the bills, which bill was not slow to rake in. there was nothing mean about bill, and he didn't refuse to take gold watches and sparklers; and after the game closed, some of the fellows resembled picked ducks. they wanted to redeem their watches and diamonds, so bill agreed to meet them at a certain well known saloon the next day, as all he wanted was the stuff. nearly all of them wished to make me a nice present, and none of them ever met me afterwards without asking me up to smile. just as bill was closing up, an old fellow, who knew me well, came up and said: "devol, who is that old fool trying to play that game?" my friend had been up on the hurricane roof, and had not noticed the game going on; so i remarked to him: "hold on. i have been watching him, and am going to take him in pretty soon." i then gave bill the wink to keep on, and turning to the old fellow, i observed, "don't leave here, as i may want you to hold stakes for me." "all right," was the answer; and then i turned to bill and said, "let me see your cards;" so i picked up the one with the old woman on it and put a pencil mark on it, which i showed the old man (who, by-the-by, was a large wholesale grocery merchant, whom i had known for twenty-five years, and he had seen me play monte many a time). i asked the old fellow that was turning the cards, "if he would bet on the game." "yes," he replied; "i'll bet you can't find any card you may mention, after i mix 'em up." then i said, "hide the old woman." so he mixed them up again, and i said, "i know it's hard to find, but i'll bet you $ , i can pick her up the first time." he laid up the money on the table, and i continued, "this gentleman will hold the stakes." "all right," said bill, and he put the money in the grocery-man's hand, and i turned the card. bill said, "all right; fairly won. give him the money;" and i pocketed the stuff. then i offered to bet him $ , , but bill declined to bet with me any more; so my friend the grocery-man spoke up: "i'll bet you i can turn the card." bill replied, "i have just lost $ , , and if i bet any more it will not be less than $ , ." so i handed my friend the money to put up; but bill wouldn't stand it, and spoke up: "i won't do that. if you don't play your own money, i won't bet;" so i told him to just lay it up and turn the card, and i would hand it to him. he got out his wallet and put up $ , , and i loaned him $ to make it up; so he turned the card. the old fellow could not believe himself. he stood still for a few minutes, looked at bill, then at me, and finally said, "devol, lend me a five-dollar bill, and i will go home and stay there until i get some sense." he did what he said he would, and i never saw him for a couple of months, when one day, as i was passing his house, he hailed me, and calling me in he counted me out $ in five-dollar bills, and said, "here is what i owe you. now i want to know if you have found any more old fellows who don't know how to play that game of monte." of course i laughed at the joke, and we were always good friends. dicky roach and i. while playing one night in st. louis at old mr. peritts' game of faro, and dick roach was dealing, luck ran dead against me, and at every play i turned up loser, when in came a drunken man who was quarrelsome, and insisted on annoying me. i told him that i was in no condition to have anybody clawing me around. then he got mad and wanted to fight. i said nothing, and stood it as long as i could, when i got up out of my chair, and hit him a slug in the ear that curled him up on the floor like a possum. then i cashed my checks and set out for a walk. i knocked around for about half an hour, and got to thinking about how much money i had lost, and resolved to try my luck again. there was no other bank open, so i went back to peritts' game, and there, sprawled out on the floor, lay the big lubber that i had knocked over, and roach was kneeling down by him and rubbing him with ice water and a towel, so i resolved to take another walk, when roach, catching sight of me, said: "devol, i guess you owe me something for taking care of your patient, and if that's the way you hit, i don't want you to hit me. i've been rubbing this fellow ever since you left." dick was fond of fun, and had a man who went by the name of shell fairchild, who he thought could throw down or whip anybody, and he was willing to put up his money on him. one night we were all in loops' saloon, when fairchild and dick roach came in. thurston and roach got into an argument about wrestling, and thurston said, "i have got a man that can put your man on his back for this fifty- dollar bill," pulling out the money. roach covered it in a minute, and then thurston asked me if i would wrestle him. "yes," i said. we picked out a place, tossed off our coats, and i put him on his back in a minute. that wasn't satisfactory , so i did it again. "satisfied," said roach, as he handed thurston the money. sherman, poor fellow, bucked the fifty dollars right against the bank, and then, of course, roach got it all back again, and sherman only regretted that he hadn't stuck roach for more. knocked down $ . canada bill and i were on board the steamer _doubloon_, going up the red river on one occasion. bill was doing the playing, and i was driving and baiting. we had caught a nice string of fish, and had about come to the conclusion that there were no more of our kind left worth fishing for, when a nice looking young man came swimming up. we thought at first he was too small to angle for; but you can't sometimes always tell, for we found out that this one was larger than anything we had caught that evening. he came right up, and, before we had time to put on fresh bait, wanted to bet $ that he could turn the winner. bill said, "all right; i'll go you just once," and began counting out the money. i caught a glimpse of the sucker's leather, and gave bill the office to raise him about $ , . bill then said, "i'll just raise you $ , if it breaks me." the young one then turned to me and asked if i would hold the money. i told him that i did not like to hold stakes, for one or the other must lose when two men bet, but if they had a thorough understanding, and would promise not to quarrel, i would hold the money. the sucker replied: "i guess i understand what i'm about, and all you have to do is to give the money to the one who wins it." "all right," says i; "but i know the loser is not as well satisfied as the winner, and i want you gentlemen to have a fair understanding. put up your money, and i will hand it over to the one who is the lucky man." he counted out what he thought was $ , , but i saw it was $ , , for i was not a bit excited, although i did not like to hold stakes. bill put up $ , , for he heard me tell the young man he had put up that amount. after bill had mixed them up and said he was ready, the sucker made a dive and nabbed the card with the mark on it, but it was not the winner. i asked him if i should give up the money (just as if i did not know anything about the game). he replied, "i made a mistake. give him the money." i handed it over to bill, and said to the young man as he was walking away, "i am sorry for your loss, but some one must lose when two men bet." he replied, "it's all right, but i thought i had a sure thing." after we closed up, and were taking our night-cap, i said to bill, "what do you think of our last catch?" "well, george, when that chap came right up and offered to bet $ , without any coaxing, i thought he was a smart one, and may be he would get the right card. i don't believe i would have raised that $ , if it had not been he wanted you to hold the stakes. then i knew he was a sucker sure enough." we had another night-cap and then went to bed. the next day we settled up, and when bill divided the $ , we had won on the last shuffle, he only accounted for $ , . i said, "bill, that fellow put up $ , ." "i guess not, george," he replied; but i could see that he had knocked down $ on me. my visit to old bill. a short time after the occurrence narrated in the preceding story, canada bill said to me, "george, don't you think we could make big money on the wharf-boat at the mouth of the red river, out of those texas boys that get off there to take the red river boats?" i replied, "yes, there is plenty of money there, bill. when do you want to go up?" i thought he wanted to stop off for a few days, as we had often done before; but he said, "george, i am in poor health, and i want to quit the river and settle down, and i want you to be with me." i did not blame the old fellow, for many a time we would have some pretty hard knocks and duckings in our business on the rivers and railroads; but i was well and hearty--and then i was of a roving disposition, and enjoyed the life i was leading--so i said: "bill, you go up there and take a rest just as long as you like; but for me, i could not think of settling down on a wharf-boat, with nothing but cow-boys to break the monotony. i'll stick to the old thing as long as they will let me, or until i get married." i did not think just then there was any possibility of my doing the latter thing; but men don't always know just what they will do, for i am married now, and have a dear old mother-in-law, too. "well, george, i don't like to leave you, but i will try her just once, anyhow." we separated. bill went to the wharf-boat, and i began looking for another partner. a few months after dissolving partnership with my old friend bill, i met a man from red river who told me that bill was making big money up there. he said, "why, that crazy looking old fellow is running a corner grocery, livery stable, and winning all the money and horses about the landing." i was not sorry he was doing well--in fact, i was glad of it; and i resolved that i would stop off on my next trip and see him. so in a few days i was on my way up to the mouth of the red river. when the boat landed i started off, and there stood the old fellow, just as natural as life. i would have known him among ten thousand. he caught sight of me, and then he began to stretch those long thin legs of his, and in an instant he had me by the hand, saying, "why, george! i'll be gol darned if i haint down-right glad to see you, old boy. come right up and let's take something." we had a few drinks, talked over old times, and to tell the truth, i was just as glad to see the old boy as he appeared to be to see me. after we had drank enough to make us feel pretty good, bill said, "george, i've got some of the best critters in my barn that there is in this part of the country, and i won most of 'em playing the baby ticket." as we had been together for about an hour and had got no further than the bar, i proposed that we go to his stables and see the horses, for i was always fond of good stock. as we went into the stable, we saw a fellow sitting on a box just inside of the open doors. he looked like a bull-driver, with his large whip, slouch hat, pants in boots all covered with mud, and an old pipe in his mouth. i did not take much notice of him, as i supposed he belonged around there; and then i had come to look at bill's fine horses. while we were looking at the stock, some one called bill, and he excused himself for a few moments. in a short time bill came back, and i began asking him some questions about a horse i had been looking at; but bill did not appear to hear me, but said, "george, did you notice that bull-driver sitting by the door as we came in the stable?" "yes, i saw a fellow sitting there, but i supposed he belonged around here, and i did not pay any attention to him." "why george! what do you think? that fellow is out there on the box counting his money, and i'll be gol darned if he hasn't got nigh on to $ , , for i saw him counting over the big bills until i couldn't stand it any longer, and i just came back here to get you, for i know, george, that you can get it if any man can." i replied, "bill, i didn't think that old tramp had any money; but if you saw it, all right. we will give him a whirl. how will be play him?" bill then said, "well, george, you go and get in with him, and when you are all ready just give me the old sign, and i will come up and try the old monte on him." "all right," said i. so i found the fellow, and began my part of the business. i inquired where he came from and all that, told him i was a planter waiting for a boat, and invited him to take a drink. while we were drinking, old bill came up, rigged out just as i had seen him so many times before; so if the fellow had noticed him and i together when we went in the stable, he would not suspicion that bill was the same person. we were just taking another drink when the old crazy looking fool came up, so i said to the bull-driver, "what do you think of that fellow coming up there? let's have some fun with him." "all right," said he. so i said, "come up and join us in a drink; we are just taking one." bill walked up and began his talk about where he had been, where he was going, and how he had lost his money. he got out his tickets and showed us how the game was played. we bet the drinks and cigars. i lost $ , then i put a spot on the baby and won $ . the bull-driver began to get nervous, and finally offered to bet $ he could turn over the baby. bill thought his time had come, so he said, "i'll just go you $ , that you can't turn the baby." the driver got out his big roll and counted out $ , . bill counted out $ , , but i called it $ , . mr. "bull-driver" then said to me, "if i win that money, i'm going to have it; if i lose it, all right; but i won't stand any foolishness." old bill gave one of those peculiar chuckles, saying, "all right; if you win her, you shall have it." he then mixed them up as well as i ever saw him do it in my life, and when he was ready the driver made a grab and we both thought he was going for the one with the spot on it; but i be darned if he didn't grab up the one with the baby on it, just as he said he would. then he turned to me and said, "hand over that money, for i won it." bill said, "hold on, that's one rub on me. try it again." mr. bull just yanked out a gun as long as your arm, and drew her down on me, saying, "see here; i want that money d----d quick, for i won it fair." he then turned the big gun on bill, and said, "tell him to hand it over, or i be d----d if i don't blow h--l out of you d----d quick." poor old bill was shaking all over, but he managed to say, "give her up, george." he forgot himself when he called my name; but the old fellow was excited, and did not know that he was giving us both away. i handed the fellow the money, and he walked away, saying, "i don't want any more to do with you d----d fellows, for you are in with each other." bill and i stood looking after the fellow until he got on the wharf- boat, then he turned to me and said, "george, i've been thinking, and i be darned if i can make out how it was he turned the baby. and, george, another thing i can't understand. i've seen more than ten guns cocked up against your head, and that's the first time i ever saw you weaken." "well, bill, i tell you there was blood in that fellow's eyes, and i could see he meant business; besides, bill, he won the money fair, and you know a fellow will fight like thunder for his own." "all right, george; but i've always said no man living could make you give up. but i guess you was right this time, for i be darned if i didn't think he was going to let her go at me before you could hand over." we took a drink, and then bill went to his room to take off his make-up. while he was thus engaged, i walked down on the wharf- boat, and there was the bull-driver, waiting for a boat that was just coming in to the landing. i waited for bill to come down; but i guess he was feeling bad; so i went up to the stable, and there he sat, on the same box where he saw the bull-driver counting his money. i went up to him and said, "bill, i won $ and lost $ while we were playing that fellow, so i owe you $ ." he said, "that's right, george." then i said, "bill, you only put up $ , against his $ , , but i called it $ , ." "that's right, george." "well, bill, do you remember the fellow that put up $ , against the $ , , and you thought i didn't know it?" he looked all around the stable as if he was looking for the bull- driver, but he didn't say a word. i counted out $ , and handed it to him, saying, "bill, here is all your money but $ . i wanted to come up and see you; but you know i like to have some fun at the expense of my friends, and it cost me just about $ to rig out the 'bull-driver' to play you for a sucker." bill looked at me for a moment, and then said, "george, i am a sucker, for i might have known you was up to some of your old tricks." before breakfast. after settling up with canada bill for the "bull-driver" racket, i said to him, "well, old boy, you now see that we are all suckers, and can be caught if the bait is nicely handled." "you're right, george," he replied. then i said, "the faro banks are my diet, and short cards have landed you many a time, but i must confess that i was a little fearful that the bait i had fixed up for you would not land a sucker; but it did, all the same, didn't it bill?" "yes, george," was all he would say. "well now, bill, that we have had our fun, let's shake hands and be good friends." he looked at me for an instant, gave one of those old chuckles, held out his hand and said, "all right, george." we went over to the bar, and sealed the compact with a ----. he arranged his business, and we started on the war-path once more, and were together for two years after that, and made a world of money; but we were both suckers when our kind of diet was spread out before us. at one time, after forming our new partnership, we made our headquarters at canton, miss., and worked the trains up and down the railroad. we made big money during the week, but on saturday night we would run down to new orleans, and get away with the most of it before monday morning. we were at the canton depot one evening when the train arrived from new orleans, and among the passengers that got off was my old friend jack hardy, from brookhaven, miss. he was one of the best men that the sun ever shone upon, and loved to play poker better than to eat when he was hungry. after supper we got up a game with some of the canton boys to amuse my friend hardy. we played along until about four o'clock, when some of the canton boys thought i had bested them, so i quit and went to bed. bill was not in the game, but had gone to bed early, as we were to take the up train at about six o'clock in the morning. i overslept myself, and the train had left when i reached the depot. i did not see old bill, so i went back to the hotel. about eight o'clock i went in to breakfast. while i was enjoying my morning meal, old bill walked in and sat down with me, saying, "george, where was you this morning when the up train came in?" i replied, "i was up late last night playing poker with hardy and the canton boys, and overslept myself; but what in the d---l have you been doing with yourself? for i walked down to the depot to find you, for i knew you would not go out without me." "well, george, i did go up about six miles, but could not find you on the train, so i got off and walked back." "the h--l you did!" says i. "yes, george, i went up, and if you had been with me, we would have made over $ , , for the train was full of the best suckers i ever saw." "i'm d----d sorry, but i wanted to entertain my old friend hardy, and that's what i get for neglecting business." bill then said, "george, we got $ , out of the trip, anyway, and here is your half." i laughed, and told bill he had done well to make so much, and walk six miles before breakfast. he did not need to tell me of his winnings, for i could hardly believe him when he did; but the "bull- driver" racket at the mouth of red river had taught him a good lesson, and i believe did him good; at least it did me to the amount of $ --before breakfast. foot race. one day, after bill and i had worked the morning train on the jackson road with that degree of success which was warranted by our prudence and perseverance, we took an afternoon train into the city, and as i was glancing through the cars i spied both of the superintendents aboard, so of course i made up my mind that there would be no playing on that train. to make the matter doubly sure, one of them came to me and said, "george, do not play any on our trains." "certainly not, gentlemen, and you can rest assured of that" (while you are aboard), i said to myself. we had not traveled far when the news came that a freight train was ditched a short distance up the road. our train stopped, and the superintendents went to the wreck of the engine. then i saw my chance and got up a foot race among the passengers. meanwhile billy opened up on a log as the contestants were getting ready to run. a crowd soon collected around billy's booth, and he garnered in , good dollars and some fine gold watches. up came the engine, and when the superintendents heard of it, they said, "we might have known that devol would fix up some plan to get these suckers' money." thus it was that i was always blamed for all the devilment that was done. i really believe if a horse had been stolen the verdict would have been: devol did it. forty miles an hour. the train was going out of louisville. the rate of speed was forty miles an hour. ten owen county yahoos had been beaten at three-card monte. they pulled at long black bottles. the vacuum made by the loss of their money, they filled with whisky. "boys, let's have our money and watches back, or kill that gambler," shouted one of them. owen county boys are rough, and tough. it's a word and a blow, and the blow first. when in crowd together, owen county boys are as brave as a warrior; single-handed and alone, they are as cowardly as a sick kitten. canada bill was not well, so i had been doing the playing. bill did the capping; and as he lost, their suspicion did not light on him. i suddenly had an idea. i rushed back into the hind sleeper, and gave the porter a five-dollar bill. "tell them the door is locked, and i have the key," were my words. i was none too quick. the train was going at forty miles an hour, and was sixteen minutes behind time. la grange was only three miles off, and well i knew that if i got off there i would have to give up. did i want to give up my hard-earned money? never! lowering my body carefully at a clear spot in the road, i jumped, took chances, broke no bones, rolled over in the dirt, and heard a shower of bullets whizzing past my ears from the fast receding train, that was soon out of sight. fortunately the country was not new to me, and skipping over a fence, i avoided la grange, and soon reached the lexington junction, some distance above. "have you heard the news?" said a switchman. "no. what is it?" "the owen county boys have just killed some gamblers a short distance below la grange." "glad of it," was all the response he got. meantime i walked in towards lexington. at the first station i boarded a train for lexington, put up at the hotel for a couple of days, and there revived an acquaintance with clem payne, clerk of the hotel, whom i had known twenty years or so ago at kansas city. one morning i was called for the early train for louisville, and while waiting for breakfast i made the acquaintance of a large fat man, who was going on a stage journey afar back in the country. we got into conversation (i was always partial to conversation with strangers), and it was not long before i showed him the big three. he became intensely interested, and in a few moments i had his twelve fifty-dollar bills. i did not deem it advisable to wait for breakfast, but, paying my bill, jumped into a hack and drove to the first station in time to make the train. before la grange was reached, i entered the baggage-car and told the baggage-master to pile the trunks all around me. i was thus completely hid, as snug as a bug in a rug. when la grange was reached, there were signs of tumult about. five of the owen county gang were at the depot, and they boarded every train, and had been doing it for two days. a newsboy gave me away, and told them where i was secreted. they all then remained on board and kept a regular watch over me until louisville was reached. the train moves slowly through the city. i quietly slipped off; not quick enough, however, for one of them espied me, and, pulling his revolver, shot--not me, but himself. his companions all ran. he lay upon the ground bellowing like a calf, and said i had shot him. the police arrested me. mr. shadburne was the chief of police. i related to him the true facts of the case. "release that man," he said. "i will be responsible for his appearance in the morning." morning came, and the owen county deputation were early at the court-house with a lawyer. they wanted to compromise for $ . "no, sir, not for a cent." they dropped to $ . the lawyer wanted $ . i gave them $ , and they went off with their hard-earned stuff. bill would gamble. one of bill's most striking peculiarities was his love for gambling. he loved gambling for its own sake, just as the moralists love virtue for its own sake. no man that i ever came in contact with ever struck me as being so fond of gambling. i have seen him give parties two points in casino and seven-up, and they would play marked cards on him. on one occasion when we had a settlement there was $ in small gold coin, which i told him to keep and we would fix it up at some other time. no; he wouldn't have it that way. he wanted to play seven-up for it. this i positively declined, saying that when partners played together it sometimes broke friendship and gave rise to hard feelings. but he insisted until at last i played him. we cut for deal, and he dealt. hearts were trumps. i stood, and made three to his nothing. i dealt; he begged; i gave him one, and made three more. thus i was six to his one. he dealt, and i picked up the queen and stood, which was high. i went out, and refused to play any more. but bill was bound to play with somebody, so he picked up a man and gave him two points in seven-up, and they kept at it all day, until bill lost $ , . no good at short cards. bill couldn't play any short card game. monte was his hold, and the gamblers knew it. i never knew bill to play at a short card game that he did not quit loser, and i have known him to play as long as seventy hours at a sitting. one night we were on a boat that was putting off freight at the wharf-boat that lay at the mouth of red river. bill was in his element. he had a big pile of money up in front of him, and a large crowd intent on watching the game. soon i noticed a fellow sitting at bill's right who was fishing for one of the hundred-dollar bills, trying to coax it over to his side of the house. i waited patiently until he got it, then went around to him and said, "is that the way you gamble where you live?" "i don't know what you mean," he said, still holding his hand over the stolen bill. i gave his hand a push, and there lay the bill, which i grabbed. then turning to bill, i said, "you would sit here and let these ducks steal all your money. won't you never drop to anything?" the fellow was on his feet in a minute, shouting, "that is my money. i took it out of my pocket and was waiting for a chance to bet it." "you lie; you were trying to steal it." three or four of his friends at that arose, and i knew that war was in sight; so i slipped my big gun into my overcoat pocket, and expected h--l. but just then somebody yelled "monte!" and the mate coming up, the facts of the case were stated to him, and he said, "everybody must keep quiet." bill of course cleaned the crowd out, and reached the wharf-boat with a large roll of the good green stuff; but he did not keep it long, for jack armstrong, of louisville, was lying there in wait for him to play casino at $ a game. monumental gall. there are some men who, when they are caught once, like burned children ever after dread the fire. others there are who have such overweening confidence in their own smartness that their lives are nothing but a series of losses. canada bill and myself were nearing magnolia, about a hundred miles above new orleans, when bill opened up his three cards. it was not long before a crowd gathered about to witness the sport. one large man in particular watched the play as a hawk does a chicken. this i was not slow to perceive; so turning to bill, i said, "what'll you bet i can't turn the baby?" "$ , that no man can turn it." i pulled out a roll that looked like $ , , though it was not; for we had been playing bank, and were nearly busted. bill won, and i lost. then he said, in his screechy voice, "by golly! you see i've got two cards to your one, and can win every time." the big fellow was getting terribly worked up, for he knew that the corner of the baby card was turned up. then he commenced getting out his money, and i was soon by his side. "can you guess it?" i innocently asked. "if you can, tell me, so i can get even." but he was too selfish, and proposed to win it all. he offered to bet $ , but bill wouldn't have anything but a thousand-dollar bet. up went the money quicker than you could say jack robinson. the result is easily foreshadowed. the man turned up the wrong card. he made a grab, however, for the money, but i was in a second between him and the stuff, so that bill got there first. "there's going to be trouble, bill," i whispered. "get off." he lost no time in obeying. the train was just leaving the station. the fat man followed, and chased bill around the car. bill jumped back; so did the fat man. then bill slid off again, but the fat man was at his heels. this could not last long. bill's slim build helped him in the emergency, and again he caught the train. the fat man was unable to, but the conductor backed the cars and took him aboard. "where is the tramp cowboy that robbed me?" he excitedly demanded. "he jumped off as you got on." "i wouldn't mind the loss of the money," he said, "but the idea of being swindled out of it by such a cowboy looking kind of tramp breaks me all up." where was bill? in the sleeper was a smooth-faced young man who had taken off a cowboy suit of clothes, put on a bran new suit of black broadcloth, gold eye-glasses, clean-shaved face. this preacher- looking fellow soon came into the car where the big man and myself were talking over the loss, and sat down near us. i was busy pumping the sucker to see if he had any more money. "why, anybody can play that game," he said, and of course i remarked: "the dealer though has every advantage, as he has two cards to your one. if i had some cards, i would show you how it is done." that was enough for the preacher-looking man, and, slipping back into the sleeper, he procured some cards and dropped them down into one of the seats near me. i saw them and picked them up, observing, "i believe these are the same cards." the sucker looked at them and declared that he believed they were. i began playing the cards, but the fat fellow said, "you are pretty good, but you can't handle them like the cowboy did." "it wants practice," i said. i practiced on, when up stepped the preacher-looking, gold-glassed individual, saying: "i'll bet you a dollar i can guess the card." "oh, i don't want to bet with any boy preacher," i said. "i'm no boy preacher. i'm studying to become a priest." "you'd better keep that dollar; that's my advice." i was only waiting for bill to put a mark on the card, which he soon did while i went back to get a drink. as i came back they all began to laugh at me, and the big fellow said, "any fool could tell the card the way you throw them." then i pretended to get mad; so i offered to bet $ , that no man could turn the right card. the priest spoke up, "i'll bet you $ in gold that i can do it." "put it up," i said. this made the sucker crazy, for he was so anxious to get even that he pulled out and counted down $ . but i would not bet less than $ , . there was a little man standing near who offered to loan him the $ to make up the $ , , when bill turned and said, "i'll bet you $ that my friend, the big man, wins." talk about monumental gall; i thought then that calling the fat man his friend, who a few moments before had been chasing him around, ready to kill him, was about the grandest specimen of sublime impudence that i ever saw. the big fellow turned the card, and lost as usual, and the little man looked at me, then at the fat man, as much as to say, you two rascals are partners. he took the priest aside, who was no other than canada bill, and assured him that he was positive of this fact. i won the money, and there was no kick. close calls. i never will forget the night that canada bill and myself were on the michigan southern road, where we had been working for some time, and finally shaken down a man for $ , . he telegraphed ahead for a warrant to arrest canada bill, and i knew that bill would have to hustle, as the cars would be searched. i hurried him into the sleeper and found a top berth that was empty, while a lady occupied the lower. her dress was laying in the top berth, and she was fast asleep in the lower one. "bill, jump into this," i cried, holding up the garment. he refused at first, but as the emergency was desperate, at last consented, and, tying a handkerchief around his head, his face being as smooth as a baby's, made as fine a looking woman as you would want to see. along came the officers with the conductor and lantern, and searched all the berths in the sleeper; but as soon as they spied the two ladies in the two berths, upper and lower, they apologized and hastily withdrew. when i was asked where bill was, i informed everybody that he had gotten off, and i feared was seriously injured. reaching detroit early in the morning, bill managed to escape from the cars unnoticed, and i got out at the depot as if nothing had happened. another time, on the missouri pacific from kansas city to st. louis, bill and i succeeded in beating a jew out of a few hundred dollars. he was a gamey little hooked-nosed son of abraham, and, like all the rest of his class, loved money as a duck does water. so when he was on the platform he drew a pistol from his hip pocket, and resolved in an instant to die, thinking, no doubt, it was preferable for a jew to be dead, rather than penniless. placing the muzzle to his mouth, he pulled the trigger. a flash, loud report, when all the passengers rushed out to see what had happened. the jew lay on the platform, bleeding at the mouth. we straightened him up, held over his head to spit out the blood, when out dropped the bullet. two of his teeth were gone, which must have checked the speed of the bullet, as it had found lodgment in the rear of his mouth. of course he didn't die, but he had a close call. bill and i made a good deal of money one night going up on the cars from jackson, miss., to vicksburg. the suckers began to kick, and i saw trouble ahead, so i told bill to hustle into the sleeper, but he sat still. i went on into the smoking car. a large man grappled bill, and, pulling a long bowie-knife, demanded every dollar he had won, and the watches. the conductor hurriedly called me, and grabbing my betsy jane, i rushed back just in time to knock one of the men senseless with the butt end of the weapon, which i drew on the rest and held them at bay. this was long enough to allow bill a chance to reach the platform, pull the bell cord, and jump off. i was not long in following, and that, too, was too close a call to be styled pleasant. a euchre hand. one evening i played a game of euchre on the _grand republic_ with a sucker. i gave him a big hand, and told him i could euchre him. he offered to bet $ , and i bet him $ . up went the money, when down came the clerk, who i knew would stop the game; but quickly giving my hand to my partner, i rushed up and grabbed the clerk, good naturedly holding him until bill had all the stuff taken. the clerk made a holy howl and a terrible kick, but i gave him the laugh, telling him that if he made me give up the money it would be taking the bread and meat out of my mouth. this amused him, and no more was said. i was playing in a game of poker at one time, and one of the party was a friend of mine. i saw i could win some big money if i could get my friend out of the game. i tried every way i could to run him out, but he was game, and would not run, so i at last ran him up a hand, and then broke him; then he retired in good order. after getting him out i started in and made the balance of the party sick in less than no time. after the game broke up, i found my friend and asked him how much he lost. he told me. i handed him the amount, saying, "i tried to get you out of the game without winning your money, but you would not go, so all i could do was to break you; but i never try to beat a friend, so i want you to have all your money back." he thanked me very kindly, and said, "george, if you ever want a favor that is in my power to grant, do not hesitate to ask it of me, for i will be happy to grant it." the above is one of the many similar circumstances that i have experienced during my forty years as a gambler. i always loved to play a social game with my friends, for a small limit, and i never took any advantage, unless it was for a joke, or to run a friend out, and then i would return all i had won. bill's present. my old friend and partner, canada bill, presented me with a very fine double-barreled shotgun, which i would often take with me when we were out on our trips. we were on the l. & n. railroad one morning, and i had the gun with me. we had left our baggage in the ladies' car, and were over in the smoker, when we saw a sucker. we went to work on him in the usual way, and it was not long until bill had $ of his money. i expected he would kick, from the way he was squirming around; so i gave bill the office to get off, and i went back in the ladies' car where we had left our baggage. old bill was sometimes slow in getting off after he had won the money, and on this occasion he was again behind time. i had not been seated but a moment, when a brakeman came running in and told me my partner was in trouble. i jumped up, grabbed my shotgun, and started for the smoking-car; and i did not get there any too soon, for the four-hundred-dollar sucker had bill crouching in a seat, and was standing over him with a big gun covering him. he had given bill but two minutes to give up the money, and bill had out his roll counting her out. i rushed up, struck the big fellow with the new gun on the side of the head and knocked him senseless. his big gun dropped on the floor. i picked it up and stuck it in my pocket. bill lit out as soon as he could get out of his seat, and left me to look after the big fellow on the floor. with the assistance of some of the passengers i got him up, and found he was pretty badly hurt. i told him i was sorry i had hit him, but i thought he was going to kill the old fellow. he said, "i was only trying to scare him so he would give me back my money, as it was all i had. i could not have shot him if i had wanted to, as the pistol was not loaded." i pulled out the old thing, and sure enough there was not a load in it. i asked the fellow what business he was engaged in, and he told me he was a ship-carpenter. as that was my father's business, i felt very sorry for him, and i gave him $ and left the train at the next station. i learned from the brakeman that bill had dropped off a few miles back, and i knew he would show up soon; so i left the baggage at the depot, took my gun, and made for the woods. robbins were plentiful, and in a short time i had eight nice birds for our breakfast. i went back to the station, where i found old bill waiting for me. he was glad to see me and the birds, so he said, "george, i'm glad i bought that gun for you, for it saved my life to-day; besides, we will have birds for breakfast." i replied, "yes, bill, that was the worst fellow you ever met. he would have killed you, sure, with that big gun." good luck. canada bill and i went over from canton, miss., to vicksburg at one time, to catch a boat for new orleans. we met all the boys, and had a good time while waiting for a boat. the meader boys (jesse and aud) had fitted up very fine faro rooms but a short time before our visit, and they were very glad to see us. jesse wanted to buy all the wine in vicksburg for me, for he knew i was a good producer. after he had expended about $ for wine, he invited me to go down and see their rooms. he did not ask me to play. he said, "just come down, george, and see our new place." i went down and took a survey of the house, and then i was introduced to the faro-table, where "aud" was doing the honors. they knew well i could not see a bank in full blast without changing in. i told "aud" to give me $ worth of checks and i would try my luck in the new house. i got the checks, and they gave me a front seat so that i could bet all over the lay-out if i so desired. on the first deal i won out about $ . "aud" shuffled up again with a great deal of care, and i started in again. i played three deals, and then looked up at aud, saying, "this is too much of a see-saw, and i guess i will quit, for i don't want to miss that boat." i cashed in my checks, and i had won just $ , . some of the boys laughed, but jesse and aud looked as sober as mose wilson used to look when he was on the police bench saying "thirty, fifty." the meader boys were game to the backbone, and although they could not laugh with the other boys when i made my first play in their new house, they did ask me to have some wine, and gave me a very pressing invitation to come and see them again; for well they knew my luck would change, and then they could laugh as heartily as any of the boys. they were right, for if i had to-day the money i have lost in vicksburg alone, i could go into the furniture business and carry as large a stock, on a cash basis, as any house in this country. bill and i caught the boat for new orleans, and i was $ , ahead. we made good money going down, but it was nearly all deposited in the faro bank before we left the city. governor pinchback. great oaks from little acorns grow; and you can never tell the eminent position to which the little bare-footed, ragged boy may climb if he has good luck. there is governor pinchback, of louisiana. he was my boy. i raised him, and trained him. i took him out of a steamboat barber shop. i instructed him in the mysteries of card- playing, and he was an apt pupil. never shall i forget the night we left new orleans on the steamer _doubloon_. there was a strong team of us--tom brown, holly chappell, and the boy pinch. we sent pinch and staked him to open a game of chuck-a-luck with the niggers on deck, while we opened up monte in the cabin. the run of luck that evening was something grand to behold. i do not think there was a solitary man on the boat that did not drop around in the course of the evening and lose his bundle. when about thirty miles from new orleans a heavy fog overtook us, and it was our purpose to get off and walk about six miles to kennersville, where we could take the cars to the city. pinchback got our valises together, and a start was made. a drizzling rain was falling, and the darkness was so great that one could not see his hand before his face. each of us grabbed a valise except pinch, who carried along the faro tools. the walking was so slippery that we were in the mud about every ten steps, and poor pinch he groaned under the load that he carried. at last he broke out: "tell you what it is, master devol, i'll be dumbed if this aint rough on pinch. ise going to do better than this toting along old faro tools." "what's that, pinch? what you going to do?" "ise going to get into that good old legislature; and i'll make rome howl if i get there." of course i thought at the time that this was all bravado and brag; but the boy was in earnest, and sure enough he got into the legislature, became lieutenant-governor, and by the death of the governor he slipped into the gubernatorial chair, and at last crawled into the united states senate. he did me a good turn when he got up in the world, and true and high honor did not dim the kindly feeling he had for me. i had been playing on the jackson railroad, and my luck had been good; but i was satisfied, from certain ominous signs, that a big kick was brewing. to avoid trouble i got off the train a few miles before reaching the city, and had been in town a day or two when the chief of police sent for me. of course i responded, when he told me, "devol, you have beat one of the police commissioners out of $ , and he says you shan't live in the city." "i have lived in the city too many years to be run out by any one man." thinking it best to have this matter settled, i went to my old friend bush, and we took a hack and drove to the executive mansion. pinchback, my old boy, was governor then; and though it was late at night, he insisted on calling us in, woke up all the servants, and set out a royal lunch, with all sorts of liquors, and we had a high old time. "go to bed, george," he said, "and don't give yourself any uneasiness. i'll settle that fellow in the morning." that was the end of the $ police commissioner. a good stakeholder. sherman thurston, my old friend, is dead. he has passed in his checks, shuffled his last cards, dealt his final lay-out, and been gathered to the gods. he was an honorable, great-hearted man, and i can recall the time when no living man could do him up in a rough- and-tumble fight. cow-boy tripp was once doing the playing for me on the missouri pacific railroad; and as i saw sherman, i said to him: "see that conductor? i've got a little game going on here, and a first-class sucker in tow. now the conductor is watching us very closely, and as soon as he sees him put up his money, he will walk up and stop the game. what i want you to do is to go and sit alongside of him, and entertain him until the lawful proceedings are over." tripp opened up the game, and the sucker put up his stuff; and sure enough the conductor made a rush to stop the game. but sherman grabbed him by the waist and held him as you would a baby, and kept on talking all the time, telling him not to have any fuss, that he didn't want to see any trouble, etc. sherman thurston was the best stakeholder in america. he was death to coat-tail pullers. he had a way of acting as if he was in a terrible passion, and coming down on their feet with a stamp that made them lie quiet. sherman was a man of hard sense and native resources that rendered him ready for any emergency. once when we had won some money from a man, he began to raise a fuss and carry on like one bereft of reason. sherman humored him. he locked him up in the car, and told everybody that he was a lunatic that he was removing to the asylum--to keep away from him, as he was dangerous and entirely irresponsible. then when the fellow got too noisy, sherman went and said, "see here, old fellow, you had better keep still, for gambling is a penitentiary offense in this state, and you are just as much implicated as the man who won your money." that settled it, and the man quieted down as mild as a pet lamb. she kissed me. a woman's heart-rending shriek rang through the cabin of the steamer _huntsville_ one afternoon, as she lay taking in wood. i was standing on the guards watching the jolly, happy negroes as they seized the huge sticks and ran to the music of their camp-meeting hymns and piled it near the engine. rushing back, i saw that a little girl had fallen overboard into the water. losing no time, i jumped overboard and got ashore with the little one. when i carried her, dripping and wet, to her parents, who stood on the gang- plank, the mother caught the baby in her arms and nearly smothered her with kisses; and my turn came next, for she began to hug and kiss me, pouring forth her gratitude; but i pushed her away, as i did not want her husband to see her kiss me. the little one was taken into the ladies' cabin and dry clothes put on her, and the father came down and wanted to recompense me, but i would not have it, for i said, "i have only done what i would for any child that was drowning." years afterwards i met the young lady and her father traveling on one of the new orleans packets. she had grown to be a beautiful young lady, but her mother had been dead many years. the trick knife. there are a great many devices, some of which are very old, some a little more modern, and some new ones are being manufactured every day, to catch the uninitiated, all of which are more or less successful--for there are just as many suckers to-day as there were forty years ago. i remember seeing a knife that was so constructed that the blade could not be opened without pressing upon springs. it had one spring that if pressed would allow the blade to open; and there was another spring that would lock the first one so that it would not work, and when the second spring was used, no one could open the blade with the first spring alone. like most tricks, this knife racket took two persons to work it successfully. the one with the knife would be dressed up like a countryman, and he would go up to a person who he thought could be played for a sucker, and enter into conversation with him. finally he would show the knife, and explain how to open the blade when locked with but one spring. about this time the capper (a well dressed man) would come up, and the country looking fellow that owned the knife would say to the sucker, "there comes a fellow; say nothing to him about the spring, and we will win some money." the capper would take the knife and try to open it, then he would say, "that is a dummy; it was not made to open." the owner of the knife would then say, "yes, it can be opened." then the nice man would try it again, and finally he would offer to bet that no man could open the knife in ten or fifteen minutes. the sucker would take him up; and as he did not know anything about the second spring, of course he lost his money. i did not have any use for such contrivances, as old monte was good enough for me; but i always tried to keep posted on all the tricks and schemes, so as to be able to down the schemers at their own games. bill and i went on board the steamer _bart able_, bound for new orleans, late one night. i was tired and sleepy, so i told bill i would go to bed. he said he would take a smoke, and then join me. i had not been in bed but a few moments, when a black boy called me and said that my partner was in trouble in the barber shop. i was up and into my pants in a moment. i grabbed old betsy jane and started. when i arrived at the shop door, i saw two fellows standing over bill; one had a big pocket-knife, the other had a poker. i did not stop to inquire what the trouble was about, but rushed in, struck the fellow with the knife, and as the fellow with the poker started to run i let him have one, and they both measured their lengths on the floor. i turned to ask bill what the d---l the fellows were after him for, when they both jumped up and lit out. bill said: "well, george, i'll tell you. them fellows took me for a sucker, and bet me $ that i couldn't open a big knife they had; but, george, i knew how to open her just as well as they did, and i won their money. they wanted me to give it up; but when i saw the black boy start after you, i thought i would hold on until you came, then i knew they would get left--didn't i, george?" "yes, bill; you bet you won't have to give up when i'm around." "george, them fellows took me for a sucker. do i look like a sucker?" "no, bill; you look like a nice, smart counter-hopper," i replied. bill laughed and said, "george, i'm $ better off than i would have been if you had not got here just in time; let's take something and then go to bed." the fellow dropped his big knife, which we found on the floor; so that he was out $ and his knife by tackling--not a sucker, but one of the oldest and best sucker-catchers in the country. two-forty on the shell road. during the war, after ben butler took possession of new orleans, the city was always full of union officers and soldiers. money was very plentiful, and of course everything was lively. i was running the race-course and gambling games out at the lake, and was making big money. i had nineteen good horses. some were trotters, some pacers, and some runners. i would drive out and in over the shell road, which at that time was one of the finest drives in this country. i did not allow any one to have a faster horse than myself, and generally drove a pacer, as the road was very hard, and would stove up a trotter in a short time. i had a very pretty bay mare that could pace in : every day in the week, and she had beaten fourteen other horses at the state fair in : ½. i drove "emma devol" (the bay mare) most of the time. i had a big black horse called the "duke of orleans," which was faster than "emma devol," but i hardly ever drove him on the shell road, as i kept him for the race-track. i was driving the "duke" out on the road one evening, when i overtook a big fellow by the name of jim dueane, who was a lieutenant of police at that time. he was a good, clever fellow when sober, but very quarrelsome when drunk. he was driving a good horse, and i could see he was under the influence of liquor. he asked me where i got the plug i was driving, for he did not recognize the "duke." i told him it was an old fellow i had bought for $ to drive on the road, as i did not want to stove up my race-horses. we were about two miles from the lake, when he offered to bet me a bottle of wine he could beat me to the lake. i took him up, and we started. i let him get a little ahead, so i could see how his horse moved. we were going along in this way for the first mile, when he looked back and said, "come on, devol, or you will have to pay for the wine." i replied, "all right, i will do it, as i do not want to lose the bet." i gave "duke" the word, and he got right down to business and passed dueane so quick that he did not know what to make of the old plug. after i got about feet ahead of him, i looked back and told him to come on or he would have to pay for the wine. he tried very hard to catch me, but it was no use, as "duke" was not that kind of a horse. i was at the lake, out of my wagon, and had the blanket on the "duke of orleans," when dueane drove up. i could see that he was not in good humor. he got and hitched his horse, and then we walked over to the hotel to get the bottle of wine. i began laughing at him, and wanted to know what he thought of the "duke" as a $ plug, when he let drive at me. i ducked my head, and he hit it a pretty hard lick. i started for him, but some of the officers jumped in between us and put a stop to the fight, and in a little while he apologized and we were drinking together. i could have whipped him, for i was in my prime at that time; but i was glad they separated us, as i did not want to have any trouble with the police. while we were drinking and talking about the race, a great big colonel of a new york regiment, who was pretty drunk, spoke up and said, "i can whip any man that will do anything to dueane." i knew he had reference to me; but the room was full of shoulder- strapped fellows, and i did not want any of his chicken pie just then, so i paid no attention to his remarks. he kept on with his abuse, and i was just itching to get at him, but knew i would not stand a fair show unless some of my friends should drop in, which i expected they would do before long, as it was a little early for the town boys. in a short time a friend of mine, by the name of joe summers, and a crowd of new orleans boys came in. then i knew i would have a fair show, so i walked up to the big colonel and said, "you are a big lubber, and can't fight just a little bit." up went his hands, but before he could lead off i gave him one under the chin, and he measured his length on the floor. my friends were all around us in an instant, and joe summers said that it should be a fair fight. i was ready to give him my head when he got up, but the big lubber said, "that will do." in ten minutes after i knocked him down we were drinking wine together, and no one would have though we ever had a difficulty. he was so big that he thought he could bluff me; but he did not know that i was about the worst man in that part of the country at that time to bluff at any game, more especially at the game of fight--for i would rather have fought than not, and i did not think there was a man living in those days that could whip me in a rough- and-tumble. we had several bottles of wine on the strength of our little misunderstanding. the result was, we were all feeling pretty good and liberal, and i do believe we opened bottles of wine before o'clock. there were about seventy-five teams hitched around the hotel, and i knew when their owners started home they would get to racing on the shell road, and some of the horses and buggies would get hurt; so i told a stable-boy to put my horse up, and i would wait until morning. a few of the others did the same thing, but the balance started, and some of them were so drunk that they could not see the road, although it was as white as marble. the next morning after i had eaten my breakfast i had my team brought out, and started for the city. the wine of the night previous had done its work, for i saw seven buggies, or parts of them, strewn along the road. dueane had run into the toll-gate, and came near killing himself and his horse. wine is a great worker when one gets too much of it inside. it gave employment to the buggy-makers, and put me to bed on that occasion; and i was glad of it when i saw the wrecks it had made of my boon companions of the night before. a mile dash. about the time referred to in the preceding story, the livery business was very good in new orleans, and some of the livery-men kept quite fast horses, which they would let out to persons they knew would not abuse them. my old friend dick barnum was running a stable in those days, and is in the same business to-day; but he is getting old now, like myself, and i suppose he goes to church regularly every sunday instead of going out to the race-track, as he and i did twenty-five years ago. i was at dick's stable one day when he was feeling pretty good, and he began bragging on a horse that he had, and which he called "tom parker." i let him blow for some time, when i said to him: "dick, you don't weigh more than pounds, and i weigh over . i'll tell you what i will do. i will hitch my black horse to a skeleton wagon and put on a bag of sand weighing pounds. you can hitch tom to a sulky and we will drive our own horses, and i will bet you $ that i can beat you one dash of a mile around the track." he said, "put her up." we put up the money in johnnie hawkins' hands, and agreed to pace that afternoon. the news of the race spread rapidly, and there was a large crowd at the course to see the sport. henry foley was in the judge's stand, and we were all ready. the bets were about even, although my horse was handicapped with four wheels to dick's two-wheeled sulky, and besides i had pounds to his . we tossed up for the pole, and dick won. we went up the stretch and came down for the tap, but dick wanted the best of it, and was about ten lengths ahead when he went under the wire. i nodded to henry, so he let us go. dick went flying from the start, and i eased my horse around the first turn, so that when i got straightened up on the back stretch dick was yards ahead. the betting was then $ to $ in favor of dick, as they all thought that i could never close up that big gap. i gave old "duke" one cut across the back, and he went down that stretch like a race-horse, sure enough. we came around the next turn, and when i got square into the home stretch i gave the horse a war-whoop, and we went past dick so fast that he thought he was tied to the fence. i went under the wire about ten lengths ahead of dick, and the fellows that had taken some of the $ to $ bets raised the yell and kept it up until you would have thought they were a pack of wild indians. my friend johnnie hawkins took all the bets that he could get in that short time. dick did not blow about "tom parker" any more after that, and when i would ask him if he wanted another race, he would say, "no, george; i would rather take a drink;" and that was about all i was ever able to get out of him. i hope to see the old fellow alive and happy the next time i visit new orleans; for he is a good, clever fellow, and i hope he will live as long as i do--and i expect to live forever. mule thieves. during the time i was running the race-course and my games at the lake i was taken down with the yellow fever, and was confined to my bed for about twenty days. i was about well, and had been sitting up for a few days, when my horse-trainer, and a friend of mine by the name of george leonard, called to see me; and as i was feeling so much better, they wanted me to go out to the track and time one of my pacing horses with a running mate. so i muffled myself up in a big overcoat and went out. i sat in the buggy and held the watch, but when they came to ask me what time had been made, i was lying in the bottom of the buggy. they took me back to my room, and i was just as sick as i had been any time during the fever. i had the best physician in new orleans, and he said, after i was out of danger, that if it had not been for my iron constitution he could not have pulled me through. i felt the effects of my last attack with yellow-jack for two years afterward, and i am not afraid of it to-day. a short time after getting well of the fever, i was at the livery stable early one morning where i kept some of my horses. the stable was owned by my friends william and george leonard, and they were large dealers in horses and mules. when i arrived the boys were red-hot, for they had sold twenty head of good mules to some fellows the evening before, and had allowed them to put the mules on board of a little boat lying at the landing, on the promise that they would pay the money as soon as the bank opened the next day. the boys had been down to the landing, and had found that the boat and mules were gone. they wanted me to go with them and catch the thieves, so we armed ourselves with pistols and double-barreled shotguns, took a fast packet, and started. about forty miles above the city we saw the little boat lying at the levee, but as we passed, it could be seen that there were no mules on board. we went up about a mile, and then got off and started back a-foot. when we got near the little boat, we saw the mules in a pasture. we "let" down the fence and started to drive them out, when the fellows saw us and came off to stop us. i told the boys to take the mules and i would take care of the d----d thieves. they were coming with their guns out. i pulled my shotgun down on them and told them to halt, which they did. when the boys got the mules on the run up the levee, i followed them, and the thieves followed me. they ran us up into a little town, when they got out a replevy and took the mules. we had a trial and won the case, so we put our mules on a boat and were soon back in new orleans. the leonard boys get the money now before they let the stock go aboard a boat. an honorable man. some men are the soul of honor, and if they lose a bet will walk right up to the captain's office and settle; while others are fast enough to make bets, take chances, and all that sort of thing, but when it comes to paying their losses, if there is a hole to crawl out of, they are the very men to do it. coming out of new orleans one time on the steamer _peerless_, i was open for business, waiting for somebody to try his luck, when, looking around, i espied one of the leading dry good merchants of the crescent city, whose place of business was on canal street. he asked me the kind of game i was running, and i explained it to him, when my capper came along, and, looking on, made a bet for the drinks that he could turn the jack. the capper won, and we had the drinks all around, when he took the jack and turned up a corner, taking care to let the merchant see what he had done. then he began bantering me to bet with him. i persisted that i had the best of it, as i had two chances to his one, and was dead sure to win two out of three times. the merchant had often seen me playing short cards and rouge et noir. we kept up a running conversation for some time, till at last i told him that i had never run a game i would not bet on, except this one. then the capper offered to wager $ that he could turn the right card. "put up your money," was all i said, and i handed mine to the merchant. sure enough, he turned the right card, and i unconcernedly remarked, "well, you got her." then the merchant wanted to bet me $ that he could turn the right card, when i replied: "i will make just one bet with you for $ ." he began going through his pockets, and only found $ ; so i said: "i'll back out, as i do not know much about the game, anyhow; but if there is any other game you want to be on, why, i am your man." continuing, i said: "any other game but this one, i will bet $ , on. i pride myself on betting as big as anybody." "this is the first time i ever knew of your backing out," replied the merchant. the capper then offered to bet $ , and began to abuse me. he put up his money, guessed the right card, and of course won. things were now getting exciting, and my merchant friend was very warm under the collar, and wanted to bet me the $ ; but i wouldn't have it, and said in a majestic manner: "no, sir; nothing less than a cool thousand, as i am now a big loser." the capper offered to loan the merchant some money to make up the balance, but i would not allow it. at last he put up his watch and diamond pin, and went to turn the jack. of course he lost. afterwards he came to me and gave me a check for $ , , and i returned him his jewelry and money. we stopped for half an hour at one of the landings, and he slipped off and countermanded the payment of the check by telegraph. when i presented the check at the bank i was shown the dispatch, and to this day the check has never been paid, though the merchant still does business on canal street. he was an honorable, high-toned merchant. my partner won. dunlap and i got on the steamer _paragoad_ one evening at baton rouge, and seeing no one of board that i thought was of any particular service to me, i got a bottle of wine and a good cigar and was sitting in the hall, when a coal merchant whom i knew very well in baton rouge came along, and seeing me said: "devol, this is rather a slim trip for your business." laughingly i replied, "yes." "but that don't hinder us from taking a drink together, does it?" "i have just had one, thank you." he insisted, and i did not hang back; so, after smoking, we sat down near the bar, when he remarked that this was the first boat he ever was on where they didn't have a game of poker. i thought myself it was something strange, as in those days everybody played cards. at last we got to throwing for the drinks, when he finally remarked that if there were one or two more around we might have a good game of poker. though i said i didn't care to play, as i was sleepy, yet he persisted. along came dunlap, whom he did not know, and i asked him if he ever played poker. he replied a little, when he was at home in illinois. "come on, then, and take a drink," said the coal man. i gave dunlap the wink, and excusing himself for a moment he went to his room, and procuring a pack of marked cards gave them to the barkeeper. when he came in, the coal man at once began: "sit down, and we'll make up a game." then dunlap asked the barkeeper for some cards, and of course the marked pack was handed out. it was then half-past o'clock. we started in at a $ limit, and played until the table was needed for breakfast. the coal man and myself were both losers. he said he lost $ , . i lost $ , but as i lost it to my partner, i was not broken-hearted. haunted. one night, anxious to reach new orleans, i took a stern-wheel boat out of wichita; and as it was late, the clerk said the only berth he could give me was in a state-room with another man. i crawled into the top berth, and towards morning i was awakened by a noise beneath me. carefully looking over the berth, i spied the occupant of the lower berth with a long colt's navy revolver in his hand. his hair was disheveled, and his eye was wild, while his actions indicated that he was hunting for somebody. i lay very quiet, however, thinking that he was either a victim of delirium tremens or a lunatic. at last he arose and opened the door and went into the cabin, the only occupants of which were the porter and the watchman. they lost no time in leaving, when they saw a man clad only in a night-shirt and drawers, with a drawn revolver in his hand. i arose and dressed, as i had had enough of such a room-mate; and on telling the clerk of the facts, he said: "that's strange, for i knew the man very well. he never drinks, but he has killed three men." that settled it with me. he was haunted by the ghosts of his murdered victims. mccoole and coburn. when the mccoole and coburn fight came on, i left new orleans for the purpose of witnessing the sport. on reaching cincinnati, john franklin invited me to go over to latonia springs and see coburn. i did so, and spent a pleasant afternoon with him. he invited me to come over and keep him company; and as i thought i could turn an honest penny as well as have a little recreation, i packed up my faro tools and went into the dark and bloody ground back of covington. when any strangers came along, i opened up and caught all that was in sight. as the time for the fight drew near, a number of coburn's friends came on from new york. they were glad to see him in such good heart and spirits. they came with a good deal of money to back him up; and as the boys had to do something to while away the weary hours, joe introduced them to my partner, saying that he was a new orleans gentleman who had come on to aid me in money matters. joe called him a planter, and the new yorkers were so pleased with him that they invited him into a game of poker. the result was that he did them up for a few hundred, and one of the party, who was an old faro dealer, secured a few of the cards, examined them in another room, and coming back, observed: "count me out of this game. i don't want any more of it." that broke things all up; and the next day they began on coburn and gave him a terrible cursing for steering them against such a game as that, when they came on with good intentions to back him in the fight. they never said anything, however, to hoy, as they knew he was always looking for the best of every game, and was as ready to fleece a friend as a foe. when we were going down to cold spring, i opened up on the cars and won a little money. just then a man stepped up and began to get out his money, when elliott and his gang rushed in, picked up the fellow, and threw him up against the top of the car. when he came down he didn't have a cent. i was amused to see him hunt around for his money. when we reached the ground i opened out, having a negro to hold the stand for me. at last, as the crowd began to rush for the ring, i told hoy that i would go and see the fun; so i handed hoy all my money except a lot of broken bank-notes that i had. this i rolled in a large wad and placed conspicuously in a side coat pocket. i noticed, as i edged close up to the ring, that i was closely eyed by the thieves, and it was not long before the pocket- book disappeared. then i made a terrible squeal, and when the reporters came around i gave out that i had been robbed of $ , . the next day the papers all had an account of the robbery of mr. devol, of new orleans. hazen at last found my pocket-book, which was worth more than the money it contained, and had a good advertisement free. salted down. if the old saying, "every man has his price," be true, then every man can be caught on some scheme or trick. there are persons who have never made a bet of any kind in their lives, that would do so if they saw something that they knew to be a sure winner. then there are others who will bet on many things, but they pride themselves on being too smart to bet on any man's trick; and the more they see others doing so, the more sanguine they are that no one could ever catch them with chaff. i have met many of the latter class, and always tried to down them. they, of course, would not bit at the monte bait, for it was too stale for them; so i would study sometimes for hours how to take the conceit out of them. i remember being on board the steamer _grand duke_, coming out of new orleans, at one time just after the mardi gras festival. the boat was crowded with passengers, and we were having a very lively game of monte, when a fellow from the red river country, named picket, came up to the table and began pulling coat-tails. he was one of those smart alecks who knew all the tricks (or at least he thought he did), and he imagined that it was his especial duty to warn others of their danger. if he could not stop them with a tail pull, he would tell them not to bet, as i was a regular gambler and would win their money sure when they thought the sure thing was in their favor; and some of them would not heed his warning, but put down their money, and of course lose it. i put up with picket's interference for some time, and then i put up my cards, resolving to down the red river man if it lay in my power. i invited all hands to join me in a drink, and then excused myself, saying: "i'm suffering with the toothache, and will go to my room." in a short time i returned and took a seat in the hall near the stove, as it was quite chilly. mr. picket and a number of other gentlemen were seated around, and we soon got to telling stories. my tooth ached so badly that i could not enjoy the stories, and was constantly complaining of the pain. a great many remedies were suggested, but they could not be had on the boat. finally the barkeeper recommended hot salt held on the side of the face. i asked him if he had any. he said no, but i could get it in the pantry. i got up and went for the salt. i returned in a short time with a package of salt about the size of a goose egg, which was twisted up in a piece of paper. i put it on the stove, and when it got hot i held it to my face until it cooled off, then i put it back on the stove. while the salt was getting hot a second time, i went to my room to get something. the barkeeper said to the crowd: "let's have some fun with devol." so saying, he opened the package, threw out the salt, and filled up the paper with ashes. i came back, picked up my salt, and held it to my face. picket asked me if it was doing my tooth any good. i told him i thought it was. then they all laughed at the idea of hot salt being good for the toothache, and picket said: "devol, do you know that when salt gets hot it will turn into ashes?" "no, i don't. what do you take me for? you must have been drinking," i replied. they all laughed again, and picket spoke up, saying: "i don't believe you have any salt in that paper." i set the package on the stove again, and replied: "you must take me for a d----d fool, sure enough; but you don't look like you had any more sense than the law allows. i got that salt out of the salt-bag, and i tasted it before i wrapped it up, and i know it is salt, and that settles it." "but, devol, salt does turn to ashes when it is hot; and i will bet you the drinks for the crowd that there is no salt in that paper on the stove." then they had another big laugh at my expense, and i got mad. i jumped up and said: "i will bet you $ that there is nothing in that paper but salt." picket jumped up also, saying: "i will just go you once, anyway." i put up my $ with the barkeeper; but picket did not have but $ , and he wanted to bet that. i told him he could back out, but i would not bet less than what i had up. then he put up his watch and chain for the other $ . one of the men that had been enjoying the fun, said: "i will bet you $ that mr. picket wins the money." i replied, "i will not bet less than $ ." then picket said, "he wants to bluff you out; but he can't bluff me worth a cent." so the man put up his $ , and i covered it. everybody was excited, and some of my friends who had seen the trick that was being played on me told me not to bet; but i was mad, and would not listen to them. when all was ready, the package was taken off the stove and handed to the barkeeper. he untwisted the paper and spread it out on the counter, and in it was as nice fine white--salt as you ever saw in your life. the barkeeper tasted some of it, just as i did when i put up the _two_ papers _just_ alike, and then handed me over the money and mr. picket's watch and chain. mr. "red river" took a large pinch of the bait, and it (or the loss of his money and watch) came near strangling him. he did not entirely recover from the effect while he remained on the boat; for every time he was well enough to come out of his room, some one would say "salt," and that would make him sick again. i have caught a great many suckers in my time, but mr. picket was the first one i ever salted down. the arkansas killers. for many years i almost lived on board the packets. i felt more at home on any of the mississippi steamboats than i did on land in any city or town in the united states. i had friends wherever i went, and i knew every officer and many of the crew on nearly every boat that ran the river. while on water, i did not fear any man or set of men; but there were localities on land along the mississippi river that no man could hold his own with the rough element that lived around them. so i always gave such places a wide berth. helena and napoleon, ark., were two towns where it was not safe for any man to do the bluff act, for they would kill him just to see him kick. i won some money from one of helena's killers at one time on board a steamer, and he set up a big kick; but as he was alone, he was like all men of his class--a coward. i well knew that if he caught me on his ground i would get the worst of it, so i resolved never to give him a chance; but one evening i was compelled to get off at helena, as things had gotten a little too warm for me on board the boat, and i thought i would run the risk of the killers rather than give up the money i had won at that time. i went up to the hotel to get my supper and wait for another boat, and one of the first men i met was the fellow i had beaten out of his money. i knew there would be trouble, so i put betsy jane in a handy place, resolving to use her for what she was worth if the killers got after me. i did not leave the hotel until the boat arrived; and just about the time i was starting out, the clerk told me that some of the gamblers had beaten one of the worst men in the country on a boat, and he was down at the landing with a crowd of his roughs, waiting to do him up. there was a lot of persons waiting for the same boat, among them some gamblers. i told the clerk to send for a carriage, and i would not go down until just as the boat was about to leave. all the others left the hotel and started for the landing before the boat came in. the killers jumped on the poor gamblers, supposing of course that i was among them. they beat them up fearfully, and came near killing one of them. during the excitement i was driven to the plank and jumped out, and was on board before any one recognized me. when the killers learned that i had given them the slip, they were determined to board the boat and get me; but the mate got his crew on the guards and would not let any of them on board. the boat backed out at once, and i was again at home among my friends; and you can bet i was glad of it, for i think that was one of my close calls. cheap jewelry. before the war, there was hardly a boat of any size that plied up and down the mississippi and its tributaries that did not count among its travelers or passengers some peddler with his pack. for the most part, his stock in trade consisted of cheap jewelry, gilded sleeve-buttons, galvanized watches, plated chains, various notions and unassortable knick-knacks. sometimes these peddlers carried along a wheel, and had the things marked with numbers corresponding to those on the wheel. the charge was a dollar a spin, and at whatever number the wheel stopped, the article corresponding belonged to the investor in the game. captain dix was then in command of the _hiawatha_, a packet running from new orleans to st. louis. one evening captain dix said: "george, i have got one of those infernal wheel peddling chaps aboard, and he has been annoying the life out of me. i've driven him out of the cabin, and he has taken refuge in the barber shop. i wish you could take him in." strolling down towards the barber shop, i caught a glimpse of the fellow; and being satisfied that he did not know me, i watched his game for some time, and then ran against it $ worth. "that's a heap fairer game than i lost $ , at," i said to the owner. "what game was that?" he curiously asked. "the fellow called it rocky mountain euchre. i'll go and get you some of the tickets, and show everybody how the fellow chiseled me out of my money." "oh, that's three-card monte," said the wheel man. alexander was along with me; so i began throwing the cards around awkwardly, when my partner stepped up to the table and began guessing for fun. finally he bent one of the corners and showed it to the wheelman, whispering to him: "let's have a little fun out of the old fellow." aleck told me to mix 'em up, and offered to bet the drinks that he could turn up the old woman. "i've got two chances to your one," i replied; "but i'll go yer." he turned the wrong one, and i laughed, as did the wheel man. aleck then began blackguarding me, saying that i dare not bet on it; that he did not believe i had any money; till at last i pulled out a bundle that made the wheel man look wild. aleck kept on daring me, so at last i bet him $ that he couldn't find it the first time after i had done mixing them. then he made the bet, putting the money up in the wheelman's hands; and sure enough, he turned the old woman. then i offered to bet him again for $ , and he turned it a second time. then i pretended to drop on him, and refused to bet, saying "that his eyesight was too fine;" but he offered to bet me "that the wheel man could do it." i replied that i'd bet any amount that he couldn't, unless he told him how. this settled the wheelman, who said that he could turn the right card for $ . "but i am already a loser for more than that, and i won't bet now for less than $ ." he began counting out his roll, but could only make out $ . he was wearing a $ watch and chain, and aleck whispered to him to put up that for the remaining $ . this he did, and i soon raked them in, as of course he got the wrong card. the fellow looked a little blue, but aleck made him believe that he had in his hurry picked up the wrong card. so the fellow was bound to have revenge, and he put up his jewelry and wheel, all of which i soon won. when captain dix came around, he was so overjoyed that he set up the wine and had a hearty laugh over it. i gave the fellow $ and paid his passage back to st. louis, while his jewelry i gave to a lame fellow that i knew in new orleans, and it was a start in life for him. the next morning, before the story of the jewelry man had gotten out among the passengers, we took in two or three suckers, and were intending to get off at baton rouge; but noticing several good men getting aboard, determined to try our hands on them. the fates were propitious, for we won $ , and a watch from one of them, and the other was plucked for $ and a $ diamond pin. i afterwards learned that they were both wealthy men who had been up to see the governor, so the trifling loss of their pocket money did not affect them. won and lost. we had been playing monte at one time in the bar-room of the old prentis house at vicksburg, miss., and had just closed up, when in came four fellows that lived back in the country. we thought they had some money, so we opened up again to take it in. it was not long until we had all of their cash stuff. then one of them pointed out a fine horse that was hitched with three others out at the rack, and wanted to bet me the horse against $ . the others then said they would do the same thing, so i put up $ against their four horses, and they selected one of their party to turn the card. he turned and lost. i sent a black boy to put my horses into the stable, and he started with two of them, when two of the fellows rushed out, jumped onto the other two horses, and went up the hill as if the d---l was after them. i sent word to them by the other two that if they ever came back to vicksburg i would have them arrested for stealing the horses. i did not wait to see if they ever did come back, but sold the two horses i had left for $ , and took the next boat for new orleans. there was a poor woman with six children on board the boat, and she did not have any money to pay her passage, so we passed the hat around, and every person on the boat that was told about the poor woman chipped in something, except one stingy fellow. we took the money to captain leathers, as we were on his boat; but he refused to accept one cent for her passage, and told us to give the money to the woman. he gave her a state-room, and treated her as if she was paying full price for her passage. after the poor woman and her children had been taken care of, we opened up monte, and one of the first fellows we caught was the man who would not chip in to help the poor woman and her little children. we downed him for $ , and he kicked like a government mule. he went to the captain, who had been told how mean he had been, so he got no sympathy from him or any one else. the passengers called him "old stingy," and asked him if he was not sorry he had not given something to the woman before he lost his money. it always did me a great deal of good to down a stingy man, for i knew he would soon have more, even if he had to starve himself to get it. detectives and watches. tripp and i were playing the trains on the missouri pacific railroad at one time. we had been out on the road, and were on our way back to st. louis, and had got away with all the suckers on the train. i was enjoying a smoke in the sleeper, when a nice looking gentleman came in. i offered him a cigar, telling him i was in the tobacco business at new orleans. we talked cigars, tobacco, etc. i learned he was a united states detective from arkansas, on his way to washington city. while we were talking and smoking, in came tripp dressed up like a cow-boy. he told his story, and finally caught the fellow for $ , . the detective did not do any kicking until we got to st. louis, then he went to the chief of detectives, who was at that time a mr. horrigan. he told the chief how we had robbed him, and wanted us arrested. mr. horrigan was a sensible man, and knew that the sucker expected to win our money, or he would not have lost his. so he told him that his experience was worth what he had lost, and that he had no time to hunt up gamblers. the detective went on to washington city a sadder but a wiser man. i always enjoyed taking in detectives, for they think themselves too smart to be caught. they are but human, and like other mortals can be landed for suckers if the bait is good and nicely handled. at another time on the same road we met a new conductor, or at least we supposed he was a new one, as he did not know us, or we him. when we started to play our game he broke back to the sleeper, and i found out from the porter that he went to the superintendent and told him here was a lot of gamblers in the smoker, and asked him what he should do. the superintendent was something like mr. horrigan, the chief of detectives of st. louis, for he told the conductor to look after his train and let the gamblers look after the suckers, as he did not care if they lost all their money, for they would not bet if they did not expect to win. i inquired the name of the superintendent, for i thought he must be a brother of mr. horrigan, but his name was different. we downed several fellows. the conductor looked on, but did not say a word. i learned that he was a freight conductor, and had never run a passenger train before, so i excused him for wanting to interfere; and as i had now a few good watches, i let him have one very cheap, and he appreciated my kindness. speaking of watches, i had orders from a great many persons to win them certain kinds of watches. so when i got one to suit the order i would take it to my customer in place of the pawn shops. my old friend, simon mccarthy, of indianapolis, had given me an order to win him a good watch. so one day, going into the city, i downed a gentleman for some money and his watch. when i got to indianapolis i went to see simon, and told him i had a watch i thought would suit him. he looked at it, and when he opened the back case he threw up both hands and said: "why, george, this is our mayor's watch. where did you get it?" i told him i won it coming in on the train, and described the man. he told me it was the mayor, and advised me to return it to him. i learned where he lived, went to his house, rang the bell, and asked to see the mayor. he came out to the door, and i handed him his ticker. he asked me to come in, and told me to say nothing about it, and if he could ever do me a favor he would do so. i did a good thing for myself that night, for it was but a short time after that until i was arrested and taken before his honor. he let me off with a big fine, and after my prosecutors were gone he remitted the fine, and we then had a drink together. i wanted to return what little money i had won from him, but he would not receive it, saying it was well invested. fights. before the time of railroad in the west, the steamboats on the ohio, mississippi, missouri, and other rivers carried a great many passengers, as it was the most pleasant and rapid mode of travel in those early days. i was on board of some water craft nearly all the time for forty years of my life, and during that period met with a great many rough characters. i believe that i can truthfully say i have had more fights in the cabin and bar of steamboats than any other man in this country. i never tried to pick a fuss with any man; but in my business it was very hard to avoid them without showing the white feather--and in those days there was no such tint in my plumage. the officers did not like a fuss on their boats, but most of them had rather see a fellow fight than to take an insult; and i can not call to mind just now a single case, in all my many fights, where the captain of a boat blamed me for licking my man; but i do remember some good old captains who would rather see a fight than eat when they were hungry. i always carried the very best pistol that could be bought for money, and had one that i called "betsy jane," for which i paid $ . i never wanted to turn her loose, for i did not want ever to kill a man. i only used her as a bluffer, and she has often responded to my wants successfully. i was on board the steamer _kate kinney_ coming down the missouri river at one time, and had won a great deal of money. one big fellow lost $ , and i could see he was very mad about it. he would go to the bar and take a big drink, and then come back to the table. finally he got himself nerved up pretty well, so he said to the bystanders: "i have a d----d notion to kick that table over and break up his game." i replied, "it will do you no good to kick the table over, as i have caught all the suckers, and am now going to quit and take a drink." i started to the bar, and invited all hands to join me. the big fellow followed, but would not take a drink. i could see he was sizing me up, and i knew he wanted some of my mutton, so i said to him: "we have all had a drink but you; won't you join me?" he replied, "i can buy my own drinks, and you can go to h--l." i did not reply to him, but walked out into the cabin. he followed me out, for he knew he had me afraid of him by my not resenting the insult. he got up pretty close and said: "if you did get my money, i can lick you." i told him he had better find an easier fight, when he let fly at me. i was on my guard, caught his lick on my arm, and then i lit into him, and we had it rough-and-tumble all around the hall. we came near upsetting the stove; but i had him whipped in about two minutes, and he squealed like a pig under a gate. at another time i was coming down the missouri river from st. joseph to st. louis, and had beaten a fellow out of $ . he was a rolling- mill man from st. louis, and i found out he could hit a pretty hard lick. i was playing a game of euchre in the hall after closing up monte, when this fellow slipped up and hit me a lick on the side of the neck that came near flooring me. i rallied and was on my guard in an instant. he came at me again, and we had it up and down and around the cabin for some little time before i could get a crack at him with my head. when the old head did get a chance, it was not long until he cried quit. the captain and every one who saw the fellow hit me from behind said they were glad to see him get licked, and so was i. at another time i was in a game of poker on the steamer _telegraph_ coming up from madison, ind., and there was a big blacksmith in the game who was very quarrelsome. he wanted to fight every time he would lose a dollar, so i ran him up a hand and then broke him. he left the game and went into the bar. my old friend jake bloom had the bar at the time. the big fellow told jake he was going to whip that fellow they called colonel when the game was over. jake told him he could get a much easier fight, if he wanted to lick some one. he replied: "why, i can lick that fellow in a minute." i was sitting where i could hear what he said; so, as there was very little more money in the party i was playing, i left the game and went into the bar-room, and said to the blacksmith. "come, old top, and join me in a drink, for i beat you on that last hand." he replied, "i don't drink with such fellows as you." he had hardly got the words out of his mouth before he was lying on the floor, for i gave him a lick under the chin that straightened him out. as he was getting up, i let the old head go, and down he went again. he said, "that will do;" so i let up on him. he went to his room, and did not leave it until the next morning, when he had to be led off the boat, as he could not see. he swore out a warrant for my arrest; but when the policeman came to get me, the clerk told him i had left the boat. that was the last i ever heard by my big blacksmith. the englishman and his gun. every nationality has its suckers, and it would be pretty hard for me to decide which has the most, for i have, in my time, downed them all. i was on board the steamer _great republic_ at one time when there was a number of english lads among the passengers. they had come over to this country to hunt the buffalo, and had brought their guns with them. i got acquainted with them, as they were often in the bar-room after the bloody, blarsted wine, and they liked to talk about old h'england and their fine guns, you know. i got one of them to show me his gun, and i think it was the finest piece i ever saw. each gun had two sets of barrels, and had the owner's name engraved on it, inlaid with gold, and not one of them cost less than $ . i tried to buy one, but it could not be done. one night after my partner had gone to bed i was in the bar-room, when one of the english lads came in. he had been in bed, but got up to get a blarsted drink, and he invited me to join him, which i did, and then i insisted on him joining me in a small bottle. we drank three bottles, then i excused myself, and sent for my partner to get up and come to the bar-room. i then began telling the english lad about a new game, and finally i got out the tickets and was showing them, when my partner came in about half asleep. he, like the english lad, had been in bed and had got up to get a drink. he invited us to join him, as he did not like to drink alone. we accepted, and as the lad was feeling pretty good by this time, he could not let a gentleman treat without returning the compliment, you know. my partner and the lad got to guessing for fun, and then proposed to wager the wine. i lost a bottle, and so did my partner. while we were drinking my partner put a crimp in the baby ticket, but took good care that the english lad saw him do it. then he wanted me to bet money on the game, and i said: "i have two chances to your one, and could win all your money if we would bet." the englishman laughed, and said: "why, lad, you 'avent a bloody bit of a chance; you would lose every blarsted cent you 'ave if you bet." my partner kept bantering me, when i pulled out a roll of greenbacks that made them open their eyes, saying: "i would not be one bit afraid to wager all that." the englishman gave me a nudge and said: "lad, don't you do it." my partner then said: "i haven't got one-half so much money, but i will bet you $ i can pick up the baby ticket." we put our money in the englishman's hand, and i turned to him and offered to bet him a bottle of wine that i would win the money. he took me up. my partner turned the card, and i lost the money and the wine. he wanted to bet me $ , , but i told him he was a little too lucky for me. i saw johnnie bull was crazy to bet, so i said to him: "do you think you could guess the baby ticket?" "indeed i do," he replied. "i will wager you that you can't." he got out his leather bag and counted out twenty sovereigns. i saw he had plenty more, so i would not bet him less than one hundred sovereigns. he put them up, and i put up $ in greenbacks. he turned the card and lost. my partner made him believe that he had made a mistake, by showing him that the corner of the baby ticket was still turned up. he wanted to bet with me, so i took him for $ , and he won. that made johnnie bull hot, as he did not have any more ready money except maybe $ . i saw he was ready for anything, so i told him i would bet him $ , against his gun if it was on the table. he jumped up, went to his room, and soon returned with his case. he unlocked it and showed me his gun. i put $ , in the barkeeper's hands, as i wanted to get the gun where he could not snatch it and run, as i expected he would do, if i gave him a chance. i mixed the cards, and he went for the baby, but he must have been excited, for he missed it. it was fun to see him. he looked at the cards, at me and my partner, then at his gun case, but it was behind the bar, and he could not get it. as soon as he could speak he said: "oh! my gun; i've lost my gun." he walked up and down the guards, coming in every moment to look at his gun. i finally told him if he would raise the money i would let him have his gun for $ . then he was happy, but he would not go to bed or leave the bar for fear i would get off with his fine english gun. the next morning he told his companions, and they raised the $ in less than no time. i heard them talking. one would say to another: "the lad has lost his gun, lads, and we must get the bloody thing for 'im." i could have got $ , for it just as quick as the $ . i tried to show the other johnnie bulls how the lad lost his gun, but they would not come within a mile of the table. i bid them all good- bye and left the boat at vicksburg, but i was always sorry i did not keep that gun. traveling keno. away back in the fifties, when there was but few railroads in the northwest, i went by stage from lacrosse to portage city, wis. it was during the winter season, and a bitter cold day. i came very near to freezing on the road, but i expected to make money, and i guess that was what saved me. i had a keno outfit with me, and it was my intention to play the surrounding towns after the manner of a traveling show. the first thing to be done after my arrival was to get thawed out, then to see the mayor and get his permission (or license) to advertise and run my game. i called upon his honor and stated my business. he did not know much about keno, so i explained the little innocent game to him. the result was, i got authority to open my game. i secured a room that had been used as a school-room, and advertised that i would open the next night, and in a short time after the door was opened the room was full of pupils. some of them had never been to such a school, so i had to teach them the first principles; but it did not take me very long, as all those that had taken lessons rendered me all the assistance in their power, and i was very thankful for it, as i was anxious to get to work. after distributing the books, i began to call the numbers, and i must say i never saw a more quiet and attentive set of pupils in a school-room. we were getting along so nicely that i began to think it a pleasure to teach such nice boys, when a great big, rough-looking fellow came in, stalked all around the school-room, and made so much noise that i had to call some of the numbers over again. some of the boys told him to sit down, take a book and study his lesson, but he would not do it. i saw he was a bad boy, and would not let the other boys alone; so i spoke to him very kindly, telling him to sit down, and see if he could not learn something; but he was one of the worst boys i ever saw, for he told me to go to h--l, and he would do just as he pleased. i remembered when i went to school how my teacher used to serve me when i was a bad boy and would annoy the other boys. so i told the scholars we would take a recess for about twenty minutes. they all threw down their books, and most of them went out to play. during recess i walked up to the bad boy and said: "you are a very bad boy to come in here and annoy my pupils, and you deserve a whipping." he replied: "you are not man enough to whip me." that was all i wanted him to say; so i let fly and gave him a good one on the jaw, and then i kept it up, until he cried worse than i ever did when i went to school. he got out of that school room faster than he came in, and then i called order and went on with my duties just as if nothing had happened out of the regular order. i remained in portage city for some time. my pupils liked me and paid their tuition promptly. some of them paid much more than they could well afford, but they did it voluntarily. i went from portage to madison, where i had a good game, but i had to whip a fellow the second day, and in fact i had one or more fights in every town i went to; for there is nearly always some big bully in a town or city that has whipped some one, and he thinks that every one is afraid of him, and he can do just as he pleases; but they found out that they could not run me on my keno business. a bull fight. the steamer _john walsh_ was on an upward trip, two days out from new orleans. a crowd of gentlemen were gathered about the bar, punishing wine at $ a bottle. with flushed faces, jocund laughter, and the incessant pop of the champagne corks, the time flew unheeded past. the barkeeper smiled when at the little window of the bar the ebony head of a stalwart negro appeared. "say, boss, gimme some whisky." everybody turned, and laughter that was about to burst forth, or the jest that was ready, was hushed; for the negro's head was split open and the blood pouring down his cheeks in rivulets, crimsoning his swarthy, shiny skin and clothing. "been fighting?" said the barkeeper. "yes; de fireman he butted me." up came the mate, who observed: "we've got a fireman down below who has killed two or three niggers by butting them to death with his head." "send him up," i said, "and i'll butt him till he is sick of butting." we had all been drinking wine, and everybody laughed, supposing that it was the liquor talking, and not me. "why, devol, i wouldn't give five cents for your head if that nigger gets a lick at it," spoke up a young planter who was in the party. then i got mad, and exclaimed: "i'll bet $ i can make the nigger squeal." the mate roared out with laughter; but i put up my money, and so did the young planter, thinking that i would back out. he only had $ in his roll, and he offered to bet that. "all right; i don't back out. i'll butt the nigger for $ ." the money was soon up in the barkeeper's hands; and then the mate knew that i meant business, and he put up $ to make bet the even $ . at this juncture the mate called a halt. "wait till i see if the nigger will butt with a white man;" and rushing down stairs, the "image of god cut in ebony" was interviewed. "i doant like for to butt a white man," he said, "for i'm afraid i'll kill him, and den dey hang de ole nigger." but the mate said, "i've just put up $ on you, and i want to win it." "all right; if yer means it, boss, i'll go yer." at the bar i procured a long string and a ribbon from a cigar bunch, and started down stairs. instantly the wildest excitement reigned on the boat. two of the deck-hands stood guard at the foot of the stairs to keep the crowd back, and the hurricane roof and boiler deck were thronged with an eager and excited crowd. fastening one end of the string to the jack-staff and the other to the steps at about the proper height, the ribbon was tied in the centre of the string, and the black man and myself stood back five feet on either side, and at a given signal were to come forward and strike at the ribbon. then the passengers said it was a shame to let that nasty nigger butt that nice white man to death; but as there were no s. p. c. a. officers aboard, the game went on. the deck-hands all rolled up their eyes and looked at me as they would at a corpse. just before the word ready was given, i asked the nigger if he had any money to put up on the result, and running his hand down in his watch-pocket he pulled out a ten-dollar bill. i covered it, and the planter told the nigger he would give him $ more if he downed me. i cocked my eye on the nigger's head, and saw that it was one of those wedge-shaped cocoanuts so peculiar to people of african descent; so i inwardly resolved to hit him on one side of his wedge-shaped cranium. the nigger had his face to the sun, so that i felt confident that i could hit him pretty near where i wanted to. the word was given, and at the ribbon we both rushed like a couple of frenzied bulls. i gave him a glancing blow that skinned his head for about three inches. the next time there was a crash, a jar that shook the boat and drew a shriek of terror from the passengers, for the nigger fell with a dull thud on the deck. he lay as stiff and cold as a dead man. "dat nigger is done gone dead! dat nigger is no good any more!" shouted the alarmed roustabouts. the mate lifted him up, and he began bleeding from the nose, eyes, and ears. the mate kindly asked him if he wanted to butt any more. he did not reply, only shook his head sadly and murmured inaudibly, "no." they applied whisky and water to his head, and at last removed him into the deck to cool off. many years have rolled by, and i have never heard the last of that butting adventure. the papers wrote it up, and in less than ten days every planter on the coast had heard of it. the planter who lost the $ tells the story to this day; and bill patterson, the mate (he is dead now), used to tell it to every new crew that he shipped. towards night the old nigger came crawling up stairs and said: "massa, you have done for this poor nigger, for i must go to the hospital and get cured up." i returned him his $ , and for the rest of the trip the passengers paid for everything i wanted to drink. it shook the checks. it never pays a man to be too officious and volunteer information or advice when it is not asked, for he very often makes enemies and courts a disturbance that he could easily have avoided if he had simply minded his own business. some seven years ago i attended a fair at cynthiana, ky., and opened out a gentleman's game in the smith hotel bar-room. there were a number of sports from louisville and cincinnati present, and everything was moving along lively, and as decorous as a funeral, when some of the paris and louisville boys indulged in a scrimmage and were arrested. everybody left the hotel and went to see the result of the trial. i sat near the judge, and when the evidence was all in i whispered to him to fine them $ each. this he did, and as we were leaving the court-room, i noticed that a big fellow from paris, ky., regarded me with very sour looks. after supper i opened up my game, and in he came, and going to the bar-keeper, whispered in a tone of voice loud enough for me to hear: "i am going to whip that dealer." pretty soon i closed up the game, and then sam aliways and myself took a turn around the town, and running into a saloon, met the big bully. he had his coat off and a six-shooter a foot long hanging to his side; so, edging up to where he stood, i tapped him on the shoulder, observing: "you are the gentleman that is looking for a fight." as soon as he saw who it was, he grabbed for his shooting-iron; but just as he got hold of the handle, i dealt him a blow in the neck and he fell over against the counter, but i soon grabbed him and hit him a butt with my head. that ended the fight. he had sense enough to say, "that will do;" and seeing a policeman coming in one door, i went out another, hastened to the hotel and paid my bill, and caught the train for covington. i was none too quick, however; for the next day when aliways came along with my tools, he said that the fellow had a host of friends in the town, and that at least fifty fellows came around armed with case-knives, axes, double-barreled shotguns, revolvers, and rocks; and that if they had caught me, i would have met a fate worse than the martyr stephen or the chicago anarchists. the fellow went by the name of bill legrets. when he was asked why he didn't shoot me, he said: "shoot h--l. the first lick he hit me, i thought my neck was disjointed; and when he ran that head into me, i though it was a cannon-ball." bob linn was dealing up stairs at the time, and he afterwards said that when the bloody duffer fell to the floor, that all the checks on the table trembled like aspen leaves. poor fellow! he is dead now, having been shot in paris a few years since. with a poker. once when traveling in the west, and winning some money from a man from kansas city, some smart aleck told him that i had cheated him, so he made up his mind to kill me on sight. i made some inquiries, and ascertained that he was a desperate man and had already killed his two men. accordingly i put my gun in my pocket and staid about the town, just keeping my eyes on the lookout, and at last went up to omaha. i was sitting one evening playing the bank, having forgotten all about the kansas city man, when a friend of mine came to me and said that the man was in the adjoining room, and would soon be in to play faro. i lost no time in making my preparations to meet the gentleman. my friend had no pistol, nor had i; but seeing a poker lying on the floor near the stove, i rushed for it; and as i knew i could not go out without going through the room where he was, i simply put the poker under my coat and got up close to the door that led into the faro room and awaited his arrival. it was not long; and as soon as i saw him and was sure, i let drive and caught him square in the mouth, knocking him stiff. then i rushed forward, and, grabbing him, secured his pistol, as i thought he would in all probability turn it loose on me. then i attended to his head for a few minutes, endeavoring to kick the fight out of him. i learned afterwards that he had a very bad reputation, having killed three men and been warned off the plains by a vigilant committee. he was confined to his bed for a couple of weeks, and i was congratulated on all sides for having walloped the fellow. left in time. thirty-five or forty years ago the cincinnati boats used to carry a great many passengers, and the new orleans boats were always well filled. i once got aboard the _yorktown_ at vicksburg. there was a full passenger list, and when i opened up there was at once a crowd around my frugal board. they seemed to enjoy the fair, and i won a good pile of money. at last we reached bayou plaquemine, at which point there was a strong current sweeping down the bayou, so that flat-boats were frequently driven in there and stranded. the _yorktown_ undertook to land at the mouth of the bayou, but the current which flowed like a mill-dam was too strong, and she started down the bayou. they headed her at once for the bank, and her stern swung around, and, lodging against the opposite bank, formed a perfect bridge across the mouth of the bayou. the boat was loaded to the guards, and the water ran through her deck rooms so rapidly that i thought every minute she would sink or fill with water, but they put weight on the hatches, then dug around the stern, so as to let her swing around. just then two boats came along, one upward bound and the other down. one of them pushed and the other pulled the boat off, and then i began to look around, only to see that all the passengers had gone ashore. after wandering about the town the suckers decided it was time to kick and have me arrested, but i divined what was in the wind, and, like lord byron's arab, silently folded my tent and crept away. i reached new orleans first. on the circuit. during the summer of the centennial year i followed the races; gambling on horses, running faro bank, red and black, old monte, and anything else that came up. i had a partner at the beginning by the name of john bull, of chicago, and he was a good, clever boy. he dealt faro, and i the red and black. we separated at jackson, mich., he going to chicago and i to cleveland, where i witnessed the great race between "goldsmith maid" and the horse "smuggler," on which i lost some money; but i had a good game of red and black, so i was about even. i then concluded i would follow the trotters through the circuit. while sitting at the hotel one day in cleveland i saw on the opposite side of the street a face and form that i thought i recognized. i ran over, and sure enough it was my old partner, canada bill, and with him another great capper by the name of dutch charlie. i was more than glad to see bill, and he was very glad to see me. he wanted me to tell him where i had been, what i had been doing, and where i was going, and would up by saying: "george, let's go and get something." we soon found a bar-room, and began telling each other all that had happened since we were last together. i told bill i had about made up my mind to follow the horses through the circuit. he told me that he and charlie were going to do the same thing, and insisted that i should join, allowing as "how we three would make a good, strong team." i agreed. so it was settled we would all work together. while we were talking a slick-looking fellow, who i took to be a store clerk, walked in, and bill invited him to take a drink, which he did, and i was introduced to mason long, who now styles himself "the converted gambler." bill, charlie, and i left cleveland and went to buffalo, but the night we left we had downed a sucker for $ , , and thought best not to wait for morning. we caught some good ones on the trip over, and they set up a great big kick. they telegraphed a description of bill to buffalo, so we got him to get off before we reached the city, telling him where to meet charlie and myself the next day. we went on to the city and waited for bill to show up, which he did the next night. he was too smart to come in by rail, so he got a man to drive him in. we kept him in his hotel for a few days, until we thought the kickers that we had beat out of $ , had left the city. then we made him dress up in store clothes, which he did not like a bit, saying: "i don't feel good in the tarnal stuff things, nohow." we thought best not to try our old games in buffalo for fear the police would be looking for bill, so we played the faro banks, bet on horses, and quit big losers at the end of the week. dutch charlie saved his money. he did not play the bank or horses, and it was well for us that he did not, for we always had a roll to use in making a bluff, which sometimes we would not have had if it had not been for him. we went from buffalo to rochester, and as we did not catch any kicking sucker on the way down, we had clear sailing during the week. we won a pile of money at monte, but bill and i lost heavily at the races and faro banks. from rochester we went to utica, where i remained but a day or two, then concluded to run down to philadelphia and see the exposition. i bid the boys good-bye, promising to return before they left utica. i did not take but little money with me, as i did not expect to do any bluffing while i was away. i took in the faro banks the first night, and the next day did not have a dollar. i started out on the street and soon met a man that i knew by the name of john wilson. i saw by his actions he was like myself, "running light," for he did not ask me to take something, which i knew was his custom, for he was a clever fellow. we understood each other very soon, and parted. i had not gone very far until i heard some one call my name. i looked up, and saw two old friends of mine from new orleans in a carriage that had just passed me. then i knew i had struck oil. i lost no time in getting alongside of that rig and shaking hands with samuel debow and wm. graham from my adopted home. they invited me to accompany them to the exposition grounds, which i was very glad to do. they soon saw by my actions that something was out of tune, so they pressed me to know what it was. i told them, and i soon had all the money i wanted. after taking in the exposition and a very large quantity of wine, i bid my friends good-bye, promising to meet them in saratoga within a week. i went back to utica and found that the boys, bill and charlie, had won $ , , and they insisted that i was in with it. from utica we went to poughkeepsie, and in a few days i again left the boys to meet my new orleans friends at saratoga. i put up at the same hotel where they were stopping. the next day we took in the races, where i met another friend by the name of rufus hunt. he was well posted and gave us some good pointers. we bought pools and won $ . then we all tried to see how much wine we could take in, and i do believe we got in $ worth. canada bill came over, and we spent a week with my friends. then we promised to meet them in new york city, and left for poughkeepsie, where we found dutch charlie, and we all took a hudson river boat, called the _mary powell_, for new york. on our way down we got into a friendly game of euchre with an old gent, and we relieved him of $ . after dinner i went up on the roof and saw my old friend captain leathers, of the steamer _natchez_, in the pilot- house. he was insisting that his boat could beat the _mary powell_, and when he saw me he said: "i can prove it by that man coming up here now." i was glad to see the old fellow so far from home, so i told the pilot that the _natchez_ was the fastest boat on the mississippi; and captain leathers went down to see the boys and the barkeeper. bill, charlie, and i remained in new york for some time, and we proved what old bill said in cleveland: "we three would make a good, strong team." the time came when i was compelled to leave the boys and go to chicago, and that was the last i saw of old canada bill and dutch charlie until the following winter, when they both came down to new orleans, and them we again made the suckers think we three were a good team. strategem. we went on board of captain william eads' boat at st. charles, mo., late one night, and found that all the state-rooms were taken and we could get no bed. there was no one up about the cabin except the officers of the boat, and as we never tried to win their money, things looked a little blue for any business before morning, unless some of the passengers could be got up. young bill eads, a son of the captain, was one of the pilots on the boat. he was off watch and at the bar drunk when we got on board. his father had married a young wife that day, and was taking his wedding trip on that boat. young bill was mad because his father had secured a young step-mother for him, and was just raising "ned" about it. a short time after going on board, the boat made a landing, and while we were tied up, the other pilot came down to the bar to see bill and also to get something. his name was john consall--an old friend of mine. i invited him and bill to join me, and while we were drinking i said: "i wish we could get up a little excitement, so some of the suckers would come out of their holes." young bill replied: "i'll get them out for you, and that d----d quick." john consall went back to the pilot-house, and soon had the boat on her way. bill went out, and in about twenty minutes there was the darndest racket on that boat you ever heard. everybody was sneezing at one and the same time, and you would have thought they were trying to blow the roof off, from the amount of noise they made. bill came up to us out on the guards, and said: "didn't i tell you i would drive them out of their holes?" i looked into the cabin, and, sure enough, everybody was out of their rooms, rushing up and down the cabin and finally out on the guards. old captain bill and young bill's new step-mother were among the crowd, and it was fun the see the young bride rushing around after her old hubby, trying to keep him from blowing up the boat with his sneezing and cursing. he would pull away from her every time he would make a big sneeze, and then he would curse until another one would overtake him. he and young bill knew what was the cause of all the racket, and the old one soon learned who had put the red pepper on the hot stove. he tried to find his bad boy, but he was up on the roof, so his step-mother did not get to see her hubby throw him overboard, as he swore he would do if he caught him. they opened all the doors, and soon the red pepper was all out of the cabins and state-rooms. the old captain and all the passengers, except a few good suckers, went back to bed. young bill came out of his hiding-place, and we all took something to wash down the pepper. we went to work on the fellows who remained up, and won $ , , besides several good watches--which we would not have had a chance to do if the passengers had not been sneezed out. i appreciated the part bill and john had played, and presented each with a good watch. at another time i got on a boat after all the passengers had gone to bed, and did not want to wait until morning without doing some business; so i inquired after the passengers, and learned that there was one on board who had been drinking and flashing his money. i sent the porter to his room and told him to knock and tell him to get up at once, that the boat was on fire, but for him not to make any noise. in an instant the fellow was into a part of his clothes and out into the cabin. he rushed up to where we were sitting and wanted to know where the fire was. we told him down stairs under the boiler. then he told us that some one came to his room and told him the boat was on fire. we laughed, and told him he must have been dreaming--and he thought he must have been, if we had heard nothing about it. we all took something at his expense, and then my partner began to throw the tickets. we beat him out of $ , and as he started to the room, he said: "i wish the d----d boat had been on fire." mobile. general canby captured mobile, taking , prisoners, cannon, and , bales of cotton on the th day of april, , and this about closed the war of the rebellion. i was in new orleans at the time running the race-course and my games. i knew there would be plenty of money at mobile after the union army took possession, and i resolved to get over there just as soon as possible. so in a short time after the surrender i was in mobile trying to get permission to open up my games. it was not long until i had a faro bank in full blast in the city, and a rouge-et-noir and wheel game at a resort on the shell road, about seven miles out from the city. i had a partner in the faro bank by the name of pettypan. he was a creole, and not the best fellow in the world by any means when in liquor. he looked after the city trade, while i ran the game out on the shell road, in which he had no interest. the union officers, and all the citizens that could afford it, would drive out to the road-house where i was holding forth, and i was making a barrel of money out of them. my old friend and former partner, charlie bush, was running faro in new orleans, and when he heard how much money i was making at mobile he came over to run opposition. i gave him a call and he downed me for a big roll. he made big money, and then wanted to go back to new orleans without leaving any of it, but the grand jury indicted him and made him come down pretty heavy. they got an indictment against me at the same time, but somehow it got into a pigeon-hole, and i guess it is there yet, for i never heard anything of it after bush left. my partner in the faro bank was a little jealous of me, for i was making more money out on the shell road than he was in the city. one day when we were settling up our bank account he got mad, as he was drunk, and pulled his gun and said he would shoot me. he knew i did not have any gun with me, so he took this advantage. i saw he had me, so i just opened my vest and told him to shoot. that made him ashamed of himself, and he put up his gun and apologized. i was dealing red and black at the resort one night, when an officer came up and said: "i'll bet $ on the red." i replied: "which $ do you mean?" then he said: "it don't make any difference which. i say i will bet you $ on the red." "no bet goes on this layout unless the money is up," i said. he then straightened himself to over six feet, and said: "you are a d----d rascal." "that is the conclusion i have come to about you," i remarked. then he made a rush for me, and at it we went. we had a lively time for a few moments, but i soon got a chance to give him my old head, and he hollowed enough. he went away and washed himself, and i did not see any more of him. his fellow officers heard how he had acted, and as he was a very quarrelsome man, they told me i served him just right, and they were all glad of it, and i had a better game after that than before. i remained at mobile for some time, then sold out and went back to good old new orleans, for it was hard in those days to stay away any great length of time, and even now i feel more at home there than any other place in this country. sometime after my return to new orleans i was taken down with the yellow fever (of which i have spoken in a preceding story). i remained for a few months, when i took a notion to go north. so i sold out, and again i was on board one of the packets going up the old mississippi. i played all the old games up to st. louis, and then i took a missouri river packet and went to omaha, still keeping up my games. i then started out on the union pacific railroad, and went as far as julesburg, which was at that time the terminus. i remained there, playing the contractors and every one else i could get a hold of, until the road was finished to cheyenne city. i won a great deal of money, but as the good old game of faro followed in the track of civilization and the railroad, i lost nearly as fast as i won. i remained in the west for five months, when the old desire to get back home on the mississippi took possession of me, and i could not resist the temptation, so i turned my face to the east, and in a short time i was in st. joseph, mo., where i met my old friend ben allman, who was running a fine large billiard hall. i concluded to stop and open a keno room, so i went to chicago, bought a very fine outfit, and opened up over allman's place. i advertised my business in all the papers, just as a dry goods merchant would advertise his business. my keno netted me from $ to $ per day, and i set a lunch each night at a cost of $ . most men would have been content, but i was not, as i still longed for the life i had led for so many years on the river. so i sold out, and was soon in st. louis ready for a down river packet. on my way down i won considerable money, and that, together with the fact that i was on my way back to the place i loved so well, made me happy. one night i went on board a boat that was so crowded with passengers that i could not get a room; so i opened up monte, and as i was winning money, i did not realize that i was sleepy until they began to make up cots in the cabin, and most all the passengers had gone to bed. then i would have given almost any price for a place to sleep, but all the cots were engaged, and i was left. nothing remained for me but to patronize the bar, which i was doing, when a man came in to get a drink that had been asleep on one of the cots. i told him as he had been resting if he would let me have his cot for the balance of the night i would give him $ . he accepted my proposition, and i went to bed. i had been lying down but a few moments, when there was a fuss started near me. i raised up to see what was the cause, when i saw two jews that had come aboard at baton rouge, and they were fighting for the possession of a cot. i got up and told them to stop their fighting and join me in a drink. they accepted the invitation. while we were drinking i learned that they had been playing cards at baton rouge before they had got on the boat, and had had a falling out over the game. i told them i saw a fellow playing a game that beat anything i ever had seen. they wanted to know what it was, so i showed them the three cards, and in a short time i had won $ from them. i forgot all about being sleepy while i was working up the jew boys, and by the time i had won their money the steward was clearing the cabin to set the tables for breakfast. i had lost the sleep for which i had paid $ , but i did not mind it much, as i had won $ . a duck hunt. during the winter season, wild ducks are so plentiful around new orleans that a good wing shot can bag a hundred of them in a few hours. i have often seen men coming in on the boats and trains with hundreds of nice wild ducks, and at such times i would promise myself to lay off and have a hunt; so one morning i took my gun and about a hundred rounds of ammunition and went out on the l. & n. railroad to lake pontchartrain. i killed at least twenty-five ducks, but only got six of them, as they fell in the water and i had no dog to fetch them. i went back to the station with my six ducks, and there i saw five frenchmen and some dogs, and they had about ducks. i felt ashamed of myself, so i tried to buy some of their ducks, but they would not sell. then i thought i would interest them in old monte until the train arrived; so i opened up on an old fish box and soon had them guessing for the baby ticket. one fellow wanted to bet a dollar, so i put up and he won. another put up, and he won. then i pulled out a roll and offered to bet them $ against their entire lot of ducks that they could not turn the baby ticket. they all talked french to each other for a while, and then told me they would take me up. i told them to put their ducks all up beside the box and i would put up the $ . they did so, and all pointed to the same card, so i told them to turn it over. one of them did so, but it was not the card they wanted or thought it was, so they lost their ducks. the train arrived; i got my ducks into the baggage-car and went to the city. i had the game hauled up to a restaurant, and sent for a lot of my friends, and i gave them all the ducks they wanted. i sold some, and had some cooked for myself and my friends. all the boys heard of my good luck. some of them wanted to borrow my gun, while others wanted to go out with me the next time i went hunting; and there were some of the boys who knew me very well, who said: "devol did not shoot a single one of those ducks--he either bought or won them." i insisted that i shot every one; and as the frenchmen did not know me, none of my friends ever knew that i won them on the baby ticket. quick work. i went fishing one day out on lake pontchartrain, and caught a large string of fine fish. when i got back to the hotel, i sent an invitation to some of my city friends to drive out that evening and join me in a fish supper. they accepted the invitation, and were all on hand at the appointed time. we were seated around a table enjoying ourselves drinking wine and telling stories, while waiting for supper, when we heard quite a noise down stairs in the direction of the bar-room. i told my friends to remain seated and have some more wine, while i went down and inquired into the cause of the racket. they did so, and i ran down to the bar-room. looking in, i saw ten or twelve steamboat cooks, who were on a big drunk. they were breaking glasses, fussing with the barkeeper, and raising old ned generally. i knew some of them, but as they were all pretty drunk, i concluded i could do no good, and was just turning away to go back to my friends, when four or five union officers and a man by the name of dave curtis came up and started into the bar-room. they saw and recognized me, and insisted on me joining them. we all went in and were taking a drink, when the cooks began their racket again. one fellow was just spoiling for a fight. he was a bully, and had whipped some of his associates, so no one seemed to want anything to do with him. like most drunken men, he wanted everybody to know what a great man he was, so he began on us. we requested him to go away and join his friends, but he would not do it, so finally i said: "that fellow must have a fight, or he will get sick." then i told him i would let him try his hand on me, if he was sure he could lick any man in the room. he came at me, made a feint with his left and then let drive with his right. i dropped down, ran under, and had him on his back before he knew what i was doing. then i gave him just one with "that old head of mine," and i broke every bone in his nose. he yelled like an indian, then i let him up. his friends or companions did not offer to interfere in his behalf, so i expect they were very glad to see him get licked so easy and so very quick--for it was all over in much less time than it takes me to tell the story. i took another drink with the union officers and then hurried up stairs to my friends whom i had left waiting for their fish supper. they asked me what was the cause of the noise down stairs, and i told them it was a lot of drunken cooks. i said nothing about having had a fight, and they did not know anything about it until we all went down stairs, when some one spoke to me about the fellow's nose being all broken, etc. then they asked me when i had a fight. i told them while we were waiting for supper. they thought it was pretty quick work to raise a fuss and whip a good cook while another cook was frying some fish. a hard head. in most all of the many fights that i have been engaged in, i made use of what i have called "that old head of mine." i don't know (and i guess i never will while i'm alive) just how thick my old skull is; but i do know it must be pretty thick, or it would have been cracked many years ago, for i have been struck some terrible blows on my head with iron dray-pins, pokers, clubs, stone-coal, and bowlders, which would have split any man's skull wide open unless it was pretty thick. doctors have often told me that my skull was nearly an inch in thickness over my forehead. they were only guessing at it then, of course, but if my dear old mother-in- law don't guard my grave, they will know after i am dead, sure enough, for i have heard them say so. for ten or fifteen years during my early life, the sporting men of the south tried to find a man to whip me, but they couldn't do it, and finally gave it up as a bad job. after they gave up trying to have me whipped, and they knew more about my old head, they would all go broke that i could whip or kill any man living, white or black, by butting him. i have had to do some hard butting in my early days, on account of the reputation i had made for my head. i am now nearly sixty years of age, and have quit fighting, but i can to-day batter down any ordinary door or stave in a liquor barrel with "that old head of mine;" and i don't believe there is a man living (of near my own age) who can whip me in a rough-and-tumble fight. i never have my hair clipped short, for if i did i would be ashamed to take my hat off, as the lines on my old scalp look about like the railroad map of the state in which i was born. during the winter of ' or ' , john robinson's circus was showing in new orleans, and they had with them a man by the name of william carroll, whom they advertised as "the man with the thick skull, or the great butter." he could out-butt anything in the show, except the elephant. one night after the show, al. and gill robinson were up town, and their man carroll was with them. we all met in a saloon and began drinking wine. while we were enjoying ourselves, something was said about butting, when gill spoke up and said carroll could kill any man in the world with his head. "dutch jake," one of the big sporting men of new orleans, was in the party, and he was up in an instant, and said: "what's that? i'll bet $ , or $ , that i can find a man he can't kill or whip either." i knew what was up; and as we were all friends, i did not want to change the social to a butting match, so i said: "boys, don't bet, and mr. carroll and i will come together just once for fun." the robinson boys had great confidence in carroll, and so did "dutch jake" have in me. i was at least fifty pounds heavier than carroll, and i knew that was a great advantage, even if his head was as hard as my own. it was finally agreed that there would be no betting, so we came together. i did not strike my very best, for i was a little afraid of hurting the little fellow; but then he traveled on his head, so i thought i could give him a pretty good one. after we struck, carroll walked up to me, laid his hand on my head, and said: "gentlemen, i have found my papa at last." he had the hardest head i ever ran against; and if he had been as heavy as i was, i can't say what the result would have been if we had come together in earnest. poor fellow! he is dead now, and i know of no other man with as hard a head, except it is myself. my old head is hard and thick, and maybe that is the reason i never had sense enough to save my money. it is said of me that i have won more money than any sporting man in this country. i will say that i hadn't sense enough to keep it; but if i had never seen a faro bank, i would be a wealthy man to-day. saved by his wife. i shall never forget a trip that i took many years ago in the steamer _tagleona_, a pittsburg boat. it was her first trip out, and adam clark, who has now been dead for many years, was with me as a partner. he was doing the playing, and money was plenty. clark was an englishman, and when he spread his board in the hall- way and made his introductory speech, a great crowd gathered about; for as he dropped his h's, like all cockneys, it was very amusing to hear him talk. in those days the big fish had the first choice, and the small fry, or poor fish, had to wait around some time before they got a chance to lose their money. i noticed an old man hanging around, and so i sized him up as a pretty solid fellow, and giving my partner the wink, i called up all hands to the bar, and they all came willingly enough except a couple of fellows, who hung back. i sent one of the crowd back to invite them up, as i did not want them to see what the old man lost. they came along, and while we were at the bar adam downed his man for $ , at one bet. when we came back from the bar, adam kept right on playing as if nothing had happened, using the same cards with the corner turned up. when the poor fish saw this they all wanted to play, so i said: "boys, let's make up a pony purse and give him a good bet." this was readily agreed to, and when i asked adam what was the least he would turn for, he said $ , . i was pretty sure there was not that amount of money in the party, but i remarked that i would go half of it. then a little wizen-faced, dried-up old man said he would put up $ . the rest chipped in, and $ was raised. i put up the balance, and we were all ready to turn, when down the cabin rushed a woman squealing like a stuck pig. adam looked up, and the little woman grabbed the dried-up old man and shouted: "where's my money? give me my money!" of course such a commotion aroused all the passengers on the boat, who were anxious to see what the trouble was. i got the old lady to one side, and when she cooled off a little, she said that she had $ in her dress pocket and had lain down to sleep; that when she awoke she found her money gone, and knew no one had taken it but her husband, as he had done such a trick before. "i knew he was gambling," she said. adam counted out the $ and handed it back to the old man, and said: "that settles it. i won't take the bet." somebody turned the card for the balance, and, of course, adam won. at another time a man lost a few hundred dollars and then went back and got the keys of his wife's trunk, and, securing some jewelry and a fine shawl, sold them to a passenger, and receiving the money came around and lost it. after the game was all over i learned of the occurrence, and going to the party who had purchased the goods i made him disgorge, and paid him what he paid for them. taking the goods and wrapping them up in a paper, i handed them to the lady, at the same time i advised her to keep her keys from her husband, and have no doubt she was very grateful to me for it, for she seemed to be. i did not want the lady to lose her jewelry and shawl, for i have noticed that a man who will gamble away all his money, and then steal his wife's money, jewelry, or clothes to raise a stake, is not the man to replace what he has stolen, in any great hurry. cold steel. we got aboard of captain charles blunt's boat at omaha, neb., bound for st. louis, mo. we played our games during the trip, without anything of notice occurring until we made a landing at a wood station, about twenty miles above st. joseph, mo. it was a lonely place in the woods, with nothing but long wood-piles to make it a desirable place to stop over night at. there had been some trouble between the deck-hands, who were mostly irishmen, and some of the officers of the boat. so the former chose this lonely spot to settle the matter. after loading the wood they all armed themselves with clubs and bowlders, and took possession of the stairway, swearing that no man should come down on deck or let go the line until their wrongs were righted. captain blunt was a brave man, and did not like to be forced to do anything against his own free will; but he did not know just how to manage those fellows, for they were a bad crowd, and had the advantage of him in numbers; besides he had no arms on board except a few pistols, and he knew that an irishman did not fear gunpowder. finally i said to the captain: "if you will take my advice, we can soon run those fellows ashore, and then we can cut the line and leave them." he asked me what i would do, so i told him to get all the butcher knives in the kitchen, and everything else on board that would cut, or looked like it would, and arm the officers and passengers, and we would charge down the steps on to the fellows. he thought it a good plan, so we were soon ready. i wanted the largest knife, telling the captain i would lead if he would let me have it. he wanted the glory of leading the attack himself, so i had hard work to get the largest one; but i did get one about fifteen inches long. we all rushed out of the cabin and down the steps with a war-whoop, and before the deck-hands had time to rally, we were onto them, cutting right and left. we did not want to kill; we only wanted to scare them. i got a lick on the head; it did not hurt, but it made me mad, and i cut two or three fellows across the part that they sit down on, and they began to yell cold steel, and made a rush for the plank. the others followed, and were in such a hurry they did not take time to find the plank, but jumped overboard and waded out. some one cut the line, and we were soon away from shore. the captain told the pilot to hold the boat, and then he told the deck-hands if they would come on board and behave themselves he would take them to st. joseph. they promised they would not raise any more disturbance, so he took them on board and we started on our way. soon after starting some one told the captain that the deck-hands were talking about having me arrested when we got to st. joseph, so he put me ashore on the opposite side of the river, and when he was through with his business at st. joseph he came over after me and took me to st. louis. we landed alongside of the steamer _emigrant_ a short distance below st. joseph. captain blunt went over on board and told the officers all about our gallant charge. my old friend, henry mange, who keeps a boat store in new orleans, was running the bar on the _emigrant_ at the time, and he often asks me about the war on the missouri river. "rattlesnake jack." "rattlesnake jack" was about the last man i worked with as a partner playing three-card monte. his right name was jackson mcgee. he was born and raised in the mountains of virginia, and spent much of his early life catching snakes, which he would sell to showmen, who gave him the name of "rattlesnake jack." he was over fifty years of age, and weighed about pounds, at the time he and i worked together. he was a good talker, and had but few equals at throwing the three cards. he looked like the greenest sort of a backwoodsman when he had his "make-up" on. he was not the bravest man in the world, but he was not afraid of snakes, and could make some good big bluffs with his long six-shooter. he is now living in west virginia with his family, and no one would think, to see him, that he used to catch rattlesnakes for a living, or played three-card monte with old devol. he has a beautiful daughter, who is highly accomplished, and jack is proud of her. old jack and i were on board of the steamer _natchez_ one saturday night, coming out of new orleans, and she had a large number of passengers on board. we did not see any good monte suckers, so i opened up a game of rouge-et-noir and did a fair business until o'clock; then i closed up and went to the bar, where i met a gentleman i had often seen on the packets. he knew me and my business, for he had seen me play monte several times. he invited me to join him in a drink, and then laughingly said: "devol, how is the old business, anyway?" i laughed back, saying: "oh, it's just so-so; but let's take another drink." he accepted, and while we were drinking, old "rattlesnake jack" walked up and said to the barkeeper: "mister, how much you ax fur a dram o' liquor?" the barkeeper told him cents. "fifteen cents?" says jack. "wall, now! up whar i live you can get a dram for cents; but let's have her, even if she does cost cents. i reckon as how it must be perty good." the barkeeper set him out a small glass and a bottle. jack looked at the glass, picked it up, and stuck his finger in it, then set it down and said: "say, mister, do you call a little thing like that a cent dram o' liquor?" the barkeeper told him he did. jack filled the glass full, saying: "up whar i live they give you a tin cup when you take a dram." he pulled out a roll about the size of a "boarding house pillow" to pay for the drink, and the smallest bill he had was $ . that made my friend open his eyes, and he whispered to me: "devol, he would be a good subject for you." i replied, "yes; and i am going to have some of that money before i go to bed." my friend then turned to jack and said: "old boy, where do you come from?" "i used to live in greenups," replied jack. "where in the world is greenups?" "wall, greenups is up nigh the big sandy." as i was born in the part of the country, and knew something about the people, i asked jack if he was one of those fellows who made the counterfeit half-dollars on the big sandy. he laughed and said: "no; but i'd spent more'n a half-bushel of 'em for dames afore they got on to 'em." i then asked jack where he was bound for, and he replied; "wall, you see i sold my farm up on 'sandy' for a perty big pile, and pap writ me to come out whar he lives in texas and buy another; so i'm just goin' out to see pap, and if i likes it out thar, i reckon as how i'll stay." my friend then asked him if he would not join us in a drink. "i'll jine yer in a dram; but i'll be gol darned if you don't look just like a chap what dinkered me out of $ , when i got off at cincinnati to see the town; but he wasn't so big." that made my friend laugh. he asked jack how he lost his money. "wall, i'll tell yers. i went into a place what thar was a big glass full of beer painted on the winder to get a dram, and a nice- looking chap got talking to me, and perty soon he asked me to have a dram along with him. then another fellar what was thar, he axed us if we ever played rock-mountain euchre. he had some tickets, and he would jumble 'em up, and then we would bet yer on 'em. this nice-looking chap he bet him, and he win $ . wall, i just planked down my money, and the fellar win it; but he gave me the tickets for a dram, and i'm goin' to take 'em out what pap lives--but i won't tell pap i lost anything, fur he don't know how much i got fur my farm." my friend said, "why, devol, he has been playing three-card monte." i told him not to give me away, and i would get the fellow to play the game for us. then i said to old jack: "what are you going to do with the tickets when you get out to texas?" "wall, i'm goin' to larn 'em, and when i get out to pap's i'll win all the money them gol-darned cow-boys hev got." "do you think you can learn them well enough to win their money?" "oh, yes; i'm larnen 'em all the time, and sometimes i can mix 'em up so i fool myself." my friend thought he must help me, so he invited us to join him in another drink. old jack said: "wall, i don't care if i do." after getting another dram into old jack i asked him if he would show us the tickets. he said: "yes, but you mustn't spile 'em, fur i want to keep 'em perty till i git out war pap lives." he then pulled out a leather pouch, opened it, took out a handkerchief, unfolded it very carefully, and produced the three cards. my friend shrugged his shoulders and laughed. i asked old jack to show us how he played the game, when he said: "i can't show yer so good without a table." i told him there was a nice table in the barber shop, and invited him to go back. he consented, so we were soon in the shop seated around the table, and jack began to throw the cards. my friend was very attentive, for he was sure i would win the old fellow's money, and he did not want to miss any of the fun. i told jack i would bet him the drinks i could turn up the ticket with the boy on it. he said: "wall, look here. i've got the name of bein' the spunkyest fellar up at greenups'. i never 'lowed any man to back me down fur a dram, or two drams, either." he mixed them up; i turned the wrong card and lost. then jack laughed so loud and long that it attracted the attention of everybody that was awake on the boat, and quite a number of gentlemen came in to see the fun. when jack recovered from his big laugh, he said: "i knowed yer would miss it." i called for the drinks, and then told my friend i did not want to turn the right card until i could get a big bet. after we drank our liquor, i began bantering old jack to bet me some money, but he did not want anything but drams. i kept on playing him, and finally he said: "i'll go yer once for $ , anyhow." i told him to put up. i turned and lost again. then old jack rolled off his chair and roared so loud that i was afraid he would wake up all the passengers on the boat. the room was soon full of people, and every one was crowding around to get a look at the old fool that was making so much noise. jack ordered the drinks, saying: "you fellars think i haint got no sense, but i'll bet yer's long's i's got two kerds to yer's one." while old jack was paying the barkeeper for the drams i put a pencil mark on the boy ticket, and my friend saw me do it. i then offered to make another bet. old jack said: "i'll bet $ this time." i told him to put up, and he did. then i replied: "i will raise you $ ," and i put up the amount in my friend's hands. "what's that? what yer put up $ agin my $ for?" my friend told him he would have to put up $ more, or he would lose his $ . "wall, i'll be gol darned; i haint goin' to be backed out, fur if the boys in greenups would hear on't they wouldn't speak to me when i go back thar." he put up $ more, then mixed the cards, and i turned the winner. everybody roared with laughter. old jack turned around, looked at the crowd for a moment, then said: "you fellars kin laugh at me just's much as yer like, but i don't 'low no man to back me down." he then told the barkeeper to bring him a dram. i said to my friend: "that old fool will lose all his money before he gets to texas, and i may as well have it as any one else." he replied: "yes; and i'm going to have some of it myself." he then insisted on making a bet. i told him to make a good big one, as the old fellow was getting too drunk to handle his cards, and he might fall over and stop the game. my friend then ordered the drinks, thinking, no doubt, that if he would treat, old jack would bet more liberally with him. when the bystanders saw jack take another of those big drams, some of them remarked: "those gamblers have that old fellow so drunk they will win all of his money before they let him go. it's a shame, and we ought to stop it." my friend offered to bet $ , when old jack said: "boys, i'm drinking, and i don't care, fur my spunk's up, and i'd just's soon bet her all the first bet; them tarnal fellers guzzled me out of $ , in cincinnater, and i wants ter get even." so saying he pulled out his big roll, slammed it down on the table, and said: "thar's my pile, and you fellars darn't cover her." i whispered to my friend, telling him that now was the time. then i asked jack how much he had in the roll. he said: "wall, i don't know; i had $ , when i left greenups, and i lost $ , in cincinnater and what yer win just now, so i reckon i've got nigh onto $ , ." i requested one of the bystanders to count the money, which he did, and found it to be just $ , . my friend had $ , , and i put up the balance. i told him to turn the card, as he had up the most. old jack mixed them up, but he was so drunk he could hardly pick up a card. my friend could hardly wait for jack to say ready before he dove in and grabbed the one with the spot on it, but when he turned it over he saw it was not the one with the boy on it. old jack snatched the money from the gentleman that was holding stakes, and shoved it down into his pockets. then turning to the crowd, he said: "wall, why don't yer's laugh now?" they did laugh, for most of them felt like it. old jack joined in, and laughed louder than any of them, and then turning around to the table, he began looking for his precious tickets. he had put them in his pocket without any one seeing him, but pretended he was ruined if he could not find them. i told him the barkeeper had some just like them, and i would go and get them for him. that quieted him down, and he said: "wall, if i kin get t'others i don't care, fur i wanted to show 'em to pap when i gets out thar in texas." i went to the bar, as though i had gone for the cards, and returned with them. old jack laughed when he saw them, saying: "wall, i be gol-darned if they haint just like t'others." i gave jack the new set, but i turned up a corner on the boy card so every one could see it. then i told him to mix them up, and i would make him a bet of a $ , . we put up the money; i turned and won. then the bystanders began to take more interest in the game than ever, and the fun began again. one fat gentleman crowded in and wanted to bet. i said: "boys, let us make up a pony purse, and we will all bet on the same card." my friend wanted to get into the same party, but did not have any ready cash, so he asked me for a loan, offering his watch and diamond as security. i let him have $ , , which he put up. the fat gent put up $ , , and another man put in $ . i put up $ , , which made the purse $ , . old jack was very drunk, but he got up his money someway, and then began to mix. we picked on the fat gentleman to do the turning. he took his time, as most fat men do, but when he turned the card it was the wrong one, so we lost all our money. just then some one yelled out: "sold again and got the money." that broke up the little game, and old jack said: "boys, come and take a dram with me, and then i'll go to bed." we all went to the bar, and when jack took his big dram i noticed that he drank out of a different bottle from the rest of us. he then went to his room, and in a short time i went to look for him, but i did not find him in his room. he was up in the texas eating up the officers' lunch. my friend said he would send me the money to redeem his jewelry by the barkeeper the next trip. as i had downed him for $ , in cash i gave him his jewelry on his promise. he did not keep it, and well i knew he would not. the next time i met him he said nothing about the $ , , so i told him he did not owe me anything, as i got one-half of what he lost, and that i had sent out west and got "rattlesnake jack" on purpose to down him at the old game that he knew so well. that made him mad, and he would never speak to me after that, and that nearly broke my heart. "short stops." mcgawley, "rattlesnake jack," and myself were on the morgan railroad, going out from new orleans. i occupied a seat beside an old gent from iowa, on his way to texas to buy a farm. the conductor was on to our racket, and would not give us a show. we had to wait for a change of conductors before we could open up for business. i gave jack the office to come up, which he did, looking like a texas ranchman. the cow-boy had been to new orleans to sell his critters, and wanted a dram. the old gent did not drink, nor did i--just then. the cow-boy had been pranking with a new game, had lost $ , , but had plenty more left. he showed us how he had lost his money. i bent up the corner of the winning card and won a few hundred dollars. mcgawley, not knowing anything about the corner of the winner being turned up, lost a few hundred dollars. the old gent knew all about the corner and how i won. he wanted to bet, but his money was sewed up in his shirt. i had a sharp knife that i loaned him. he cut his shirt and got out his money. the cow-boy would bet his pile, amounting to $ , , against the old gent's pile. i would bet with him if i was the old gent, for he had but $ , . the money was put up. the card was turned. the old gent lost. the cow-boy bet another man $ and won, then asked him for a dram out of his bottle. i had an idea that my wife wanted me to come back and see her in the texas sleeper. i would return as soon as i learned how her headache was. a station was reached. i got off. looking after the receding train, i saw two men drop off; they walked back to the station. mcgawley, rattlesnake jack, and myself waited for the next train to new orleans, with $ , more than we had a few hours previous. we were on the train going in to new orleans. old jack occupied a seat just behind a lady and gentleman. the lady had something lying in her lap about the size of an infant, covered with a shawl. whatever it was, she was very careful of it. mcgawley and i were seated across the aisle, near by. jack was telling the lady and gentleman some very interesting story. he showed them three tickets. he threw them over each other on the seat beside him. the lady gave the gentleman some money, which he laid over on the seat where jack was throwing the tickets. he reached over and turned one of the tickets. jack put the money in his pocket. the lady gave the gentleman more money. he laid it in the same place as before. he turned one of the tickets the same as before. jack put the money in his pocket the same as before. the lady talked to the gentleman in very angry tones. she talked to jack very pleasantly. she took out more money and offered to lay it on the seat where the gentleman had laid the money before. jack would not let a lady put money down. the lady uncovered the something she had lying in her lap. she showed it to jack. they talked about it. she got up and called me over to hold it. jack gave me $ to hold. he threw the tickets. the lady reached over and turned one of them. she threw up both hands and said: "mercy on me! what shall i do? i have lost my dear tommy." i handed jack the $ and the twelve-pound tommy. the passengers all roared with laughter. the lady scolded her hubby very badly. she cried, sobbed, and wrung her hands, saying: "i have lost my tommy! oh, my dear tommy, tommy; i will never see you any more!" jack could stand it no longer. he handed his thomas cat over to the lady. first she smiled, then she laughed, and then she said: "hubby, get out your bottle and give this dear, good, nice gentleman a drink." the passengers all roared again. jack took a drink. the train rolled into the depot. we all bid the lady and gentleman and "tommy" good-bye and got off. "selah." kickers. all men that bet should not be classed as gamblers, for some _things_ that style themselves _men_ will bet (to win, of course), and kick if they lose, which a gambler will never do, although he may sometimes be sucker enough to bet (to win) against a sure thing, like old monte, or a brace game. a kicker, or squealer, always speaks of the money he has lost, against any game, as his money; while the gambler considers the money he loses, against any game, as lost; and it belongs to the person who won it, and you never hear one of them do any kicking. "old rattlesnake" and i left new orleans one evening on the steamer _robert e. lee_. we played the good old game in the usual way, and caught quite a number of good sized suckers, among which was one from st. joseph, la. we got off at baton rouge, and took another boat back to new orleans. the next trip we made on the _lee_ we learned from my old friend carnahan, the steward, that the st. joseph sucker, whom we had downed on the last trip, made a big kick when he learned that we had left the boat at baton rouge. he said he would get a lot of the st. joseph boys, go back to where we got off, and make us give up his money, or he would kill us. the steward told him not to do it, for said he: "those fellows are bad men to fool with. i have seen twenty suckers try to make them give up, but i never saw them do it." as we were not within miles of this kicker, who, i have no doubt, styled himself a man, of course he could do a great deal of blowing; but when a short time afterwards we met him with a lot of st. joseph boys at his back, we could not get within speaking distance of him. i was glad of it, as they were a bad crowd. old carnahan and i were cabin boys on the same boat before the mexican war. he is dead now, but i shall always remember him for telling the kicker, "those fellows are bad men to fool with." old jack and i traveled north during the summer season, playing the boats and railroad trains. we were going out of detroit, mich., on the great western railroad, over into ontario, one night, when there was quite a number of half- breed (french and irish) canadians on board. they had six or seven bull-dogs with them that had been fighting against some dogs in detroit, and from their talk we learned that they downed uncle sam. so we thought (as we were americans) that we would try and down them; not with bull-dogs, but with the good old game. jack was soon among them, and in a short time, with my assistance as capper, he had downed several of the canucks for a few hundred. they were kickers from the old house. they all got together and began cackling like a lot of old hens when a hawk is after them. no one but themselves could understand a word they said; but they soon made a rush for jack and demanded, in english, that he give up their money, or they would kill him. their bull-dogs wanted to take part in the fight, and i guess they would have done it if it had not been for their owners, for if a dog's master runs he will be sure to run after him. old jack whipped out that big, long six- shooter of his, and the instant they saw it they all started and made a regular stampede for the other car. the dogs took after their masters, and it was fun to see the passengers climbing upon the seats. the men and the dogs rushed into the ladies' car, and you would have thought it was on fire if you had heard the screams and yells that the passengers set up when the men and bull-dogs rushed in among them. the poor dumb brutes were frightened as much as their owners, and they set up the d----dest howl i ever heard in all my life. we were just nearing a station, so i told old jack to drop off, which he did, and then he got onto the hind sleeper. the people at the station had heard the screams, and came running to see what was the matter. the railroad boys had hard work to get the dogs and men out of the ladies' car, but they could not get one of the dogs back into the cars he had been run out of. i did not blame the brutes much, for they had been badly frightened. we were coming out of chicago at one time on the burlington & quincy railroad, and had downed some suckers, when one of them began to kick like a bad mule. he told the conductor that old jack had robbed him out of his money. the conductor told him he could do nothing except turn the gambler over to the police at the next station. he locked the doors to keep jack from jumping off, and the sucker quieted down, thinking he would be o. k. when he reached the station. i saw two gentlemen from quincy in the car that i was acquainted with, so i wrote a note to them, requesting that they tell the kicker he was in the same boat with the gambler, as he would be fined just as much as the man who got his money, and that the fine in illinois was $ . the result was the fellow hid himself, and when the conductor pointed old jack out he could not find the kicker. we got off with the officers, and as no one was on hand to testify, of course we only had to treat until the next train arrived. william jones. (canada bill.) canada bill--peace to his ashes--is dead. he died in reading, penn., about ten years ago, and, poor fellow, he did not leave enough money of all the many thousands he had won to bury him. the mayor of reading had him decently interred, and when his friends in chicago learned the fact, they raised money enough to pay all the funeral expenses and erect a monument to the memory of one who was, while living, a friend to the poor. i was in new orleans at the time of his death, and did not hear the sad news for some months after. i hope the old fellow is happy in a better land. if kind acts and a generous heart can atone for the sin of gambling, and entitle men to a mansion in the skies, canada bill surely got one, "where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest." there never lived a better hearted man. he was liberal to a fault. i have known him to turn back when we were on the street and give to some poor object we had passed. many a time i have seen him walk up to a sister of charity and make her a present of as much as $ , and when we would speak of it, he would say: "well, george, they do a great deal for the poor, and i think they know better how to use the money than i do." once i saw him win $ from a man, and shortly after his little boy came running down the cabin, bill called the boy up and handed him the $ and told him to give it to his mother. he was a man, take him for all in all, that possessed many laudable traits of character. he often said suckers had no business with money. he had some peculiar traits. while he was a great man at monte, he was a fool at short cards. i have known men who knew this to travel all over the country after bill, trying to induce him to play cards with them. he would do it, and this is what kept him poor. mason long, the converted gambler, says of william jones (canada bill): "the confidence men and monte players were in clover. among them was the most notorious and successful _thief_ who ever operated in this country, canada bill. he was a _large_ man, with a nose _highly illuminated_ by the joint action of _whisky_ and heat. bill squandered his money very lavishly, and _drank_ himself to death in about a year after the incident i have related. he died a pauper." "but by all thy nature's weakness, hidden faults and follies know. be thou, in rebuking evil, conscious of thine own." is mason long converted? god and himself only know. was he fully converted when he wrote "the converted gambler"? if the bible be true, and it was left for me to decide, i would answer in the language of st. paul: "though i speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, i am become as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal." a true christian will exercise charity toward all offenders, granting a boon of pity to the erring, and cast a glance of mercy upon the faults of his fellows. he will cherish a recollection of his virtues, and bury all his imperfections. is mason long a true christian? read his description of canada bill. then read a true description of bill's personal appearance on page in this book. if mason long had never seen canada bill, i would excuse him, but he said he capped for him once, or at least he tried to do so. has he shown any christian charity in speaking of a man in his grave? read what he says, and you will see that he or i are mistaken. bill was not a thief, he was honest to a fault. he was not a large man, for he never weighed over . he did not have a nose highly illuminated by the joint action of whisky and heat. he did not drink himself to death within a year of , for he visited me in new orleans in . he did not drink whisky at all. his great drink was christian cider, and it was very seldom i could get him to drink wine. he did die a pauper, and god bless him for it, for he gave more money to the poor than a thousand professed christians that i know, who make a great parade of their reformation. the public put all sporting men into one class, called gamblers; likewise they put all church members into classes and call them christians, etc. there is as wide a difference between a true gambler and one who styles himself a sport, as there is between a true christian and one who puts on the cloak of christianity to serve the devil in. there is an old saying, "honor among thieves." i will add a maxim or two: there is honor among gamblers, and dishonor among some business men that stand very high in the community in which they live. the two judges. "he can not e'en essay to walk sedate, but in his very gait one sees a jest that's ready to break out in spite of all his seeming." some years ago judge smith was upon the bench of the police court at new orleans, and during the time judge wilson occupied the same position at cincinnati. judge smith made a trip to the north one summer, and stopped at cincinnati for a few days on his way home. while in the queen city he formed the acquaintance of judge moses f. wilson, and as he was in the "thirty-fifty" business like himself, he felt as though they were somewhat akin. judge smith was very fond of a joke, and when he met mose wilson, he met a good-humored man, who had a fondness for "gags," and was ever joking. these kindred spirits were soon well pleased with each other. wilson felt that the duty of entertaining a fellow judge from a sister city was incumbent upon him, and he just spread himself to do it. they had a right royal time together, but all things must come to an end some time, and the time had come for judge smith to tear himself away and return once more to the field of his labor. they bid each other an affectionate good-bye, but not until after mose had promised smith to visit him the next winter, and stay forevermore. judge smith was at the depot. his baggage was on board, and he was just stepping upon the platform, when two gentlemen stepped up, and one of them said: "we want you," at the same time displaying his police badge. "what for?" inquired smith. "suspicion," replied the officer. "gentlemen, you are mistaken; i am judge of the police court of new orleans." "oh! you are? well, we never arrest a fellow like you that he is not a judge, lawyer, doctor, or some big bug somewhere, to hear him tell it; but you take a walk with us up to the chief's office, and explain to him who and what you are." smith saw it was of no use trying to explain. the train was moving off with his baggage on board, and he was left (in the hands of the two officers). they marched him up to the chief's office, and when they arrived everything seemed to be in readiness for an immediate trial; for there was judge wilson, the prosecuting attorney, and quite a number of witnesses. smith was found guilty of desertion. the judge fined him (a bottle), and ordered that he be confined within the city limits for one day. smith paid the fine, but pleaded to be let off from the imprisonment. judge wilson was firm (for once in his life), so poor smith had to serve out his time; but the judge was kind enough to see that he did not suffer for the want of anything, and when he was set at liberty he was like some birds born and raised in a cage. they like the confinement, and when the door is open they will not fly away; but frighten the bird, and away it will go. it was so with smith; he had already stayed too long. he got frightened and flew away to the sunny south. the cold blasts of winter were sweeping over the north, when judge wilson remembered his promise made to judge smith to visit him in new orleans, and he was soon on his way to make his promise good, for he is a man of his word. he telegraphed smith that he would arrive on a certain train, expecting, of course, that he would be received with a brass band, etc. the train on which mose was being transported from the land of snow to the land of flowers was about ten miles from new orleans, when it passed a northern-bound freight, and in a few moments two large men, with brass buttons on their coats, came marching into the cincinnati sleeper. they came down the aisle, closely scanning the faces of all the male passengers. they halted at the seat occupied by mose. they looked at him and then at a photograph they had with them. finally one of them put his hand on mose's shoulder, and said: "we want you's." the judge took in the situation at once, for he had not forgotten the time he played a similar joke; but he did not like the idea of all the passengers (especially as there were a great many ladies on board) thinking that he was under arrest in earnest. so he smiled one of those sweet smiles of his, and said: "officers, this is all a joke. i am judge of the police court of cincinnati, and i am well acquainted with the judge of your court. i expected to be received in new orleans with a brass band, in place of brass buttons." "do yez hear that? he a judge of the police court; expected to be received wid a brass band. why, he's got more brass than there is in twenty brass bands. he's the biggest thafe in the whole country. didn't we see the chafe go right straight to the rogue's gallery and get his picture; and didn't he tell pat and meself to come out here and arrest yez, and didn't we's ride on a freight train?" mose saw it was no use trying to make the officers or passengers understand that it was a joke, so he said: "all right, i will go with you." "of course yez will. won't he, pat?" "you bet he will," says pat. the officers sat down facing him, so they could keep a watch on him, for they were afraid he would try to jump out the window. when the train arrived at new orleans the officers got a carriage (at mose's request), and they were driven to the chief's office. the chief pretended not to know the honorable judge, and told him to send for his friends. he called for an officer to take mose down and lock him up, when in walked judge smith. mose smiled and said: "smith, i owe you one." judge smith told the chief he would be responsible for mose while in the city, so he let him go. there was a carriage in waiting. they got in and were driven to leon's restaurant, where they found a large number of judge smith's friends and a fine dinner awaiting them. after dinner, while we were drinking to mose's health and smoking cigars, judge smith requested me to show our honored guest the baby ticket. i did, and downed him for a bottle, but it did not cost him a cent, for his queen city money was no good in the crescent city so long as he remained with the judge, for they were kindred spirits. tapped the till. it is often said that faro banks are never broke, but i recall one incident that will prove the contrary. it was during the war, and a number of us were playing together at new orleans at charlie bush's, my old partner. they were all high rollers, and when one of them, who was a big loser, went to get his checks cashed for $ , , the cashier pulled out the drawer and found that the bottom had been cut out, and all the money was gone. some snoozer had crawled under the table, and with a sharp knife cut the bottom clear out. of course the proprietors were very mad, but the joke was such a good one that it wouldn't keep. still, in spite of all this, i had rather deposit my money in faro banks than the fidelity, of cincinnati, and i guess all honest citizens feel the same way. a square game. i met a man in a saloon one night at cincinnati. he was a stranger, and he inquired of me if i knew of a good, big poker game. i told him there were no public games running at that time, that most of the hotels had games, but they were private. we took a drink or two together, and he again remarked that he would like a game. i invited him to my room, and we had a nice, square game from that time until morning. i won $ from him, and as he was about broke i invited him to take breakfast with me. after we had finished breakfast and were smoking our cigars he began to kick. i told him if he was that kind of a man i would never play with him any more. i left him and went to bed. i got up in the afternoon and went out on the street, when i saw my poker friend in company with detective steve mead. then i knew he was a kicker, sure enough. mead told me the chief wanted to see me, so we started for his office. on our way up central avenue we stopped to get a drink. i thought i could trust the good-looking barkeeper, so i just threw a roll over behind the counter, and was then ready to see his honor. the chief asked me if i won the man's money. i told him i did. "but," said chief woods, "he said you cheated him." i replied: "why, chief, how could i, a man that knows but very little about cards, cheat an old gambler like this fellow?" "i'm no gambler," replied the kicker. the chief asked mead what he had learned, and he said: "they were playing a square game of poker." "that settles it," said the chief. so i walked out and down to where i had left my roll. the good- looking young man handed it over, and since then i have always thought billy gruber was an honest man and deserved to own two of the finest saloons in the queen city. a coward. while in chicago playing the bank one day i had some angry words with a fellow by the name of john lawler, and i slapped him in the face. he did not resent it, but went out. about o'clock in the afternoon i cashed in my checks and started to my room. i was walking down clark street, and was near the corner of madison, when this fellow lawler stepped out and began firing at me. the first shot would have hit me in the breast if i had not thrown up my arm; as it was, it struck me on the wristbone and ran up my arm near the shoulder. after the coward fired he began running backward, and kept it up until he had fired all six shots. i had nothing but a little cane, but i started after him, and just as he fired the last shot i struck him with my good arm and downed him. i was onto him, and was just getting that old head of mine ready when the police arrested me. there were thousands of people on the street, but you could not see a cop until the last shot was fired. the fellow was sent up for three years, and i signed a petition to get him out. i was mad when he shot me, and i guess i would have killed him if they had not taken me off; but i do not hold malice to any one, not even if he tries to kill me. i was laid up for some time with my arm. the bullet was cut out, and was as flat as a half-dollar. i went from chicago to st. paul to see my dear old mother and a sister, who were living there at that time. my arm is as strong as ever; or, at least, some fellows who have felt it since, say so. reduced the price. no one knows the difficulty that a man experiences who, having been a gambler for a long period of years, suddenly resolves to change his course, lead a new life, engage in a different business, and make a new man out of himself. it is all very well for moralists to say that all that is needed is will-power. there is something else. i well remember once that i resolved to leave the business. it was when i was living in vicksburg. i saw an opportunity to start a beer garden. i rented a house and furnished it up in fine style, and stocked it up with liquors and cigars. my friends were glad to see this course i had taken, and promised to encourage me. they did so, and i could not complain for a lack of patronage. beer i sold at five cents a glass, and as everybody before had been charging ten cents, i soon secured a large patronage. when the boats landed at the wharf the passengers and crew all came up and paid the garden a visit. did i succeed in my new undertaking? no, of course i did not. the saloon-keepers all combined and kicked against me because i had reduced the price of beer. two of them were members of the city council, and two more of the board of aldermen. they sent spies to see if i sold liquor to minors, but being unable to detect me they resolved that i should not have a license. i had taken out my united states revenue license. i was compelled to sell out at a great sacrifice, and all my efforts at reform were unavailing. general remarks. when a sucker sees a corner turned up, or a little spot on a card in three-card monte, he does not know that it was done for the purpose of making him think he has the advantage. he thinks, of course, the player does not see it, and he is in such a hurry to get out his money that he often cuts or tears his clothes. he feels like he is going to steal the money from a blind man, but he does not care. he will win it, and say nothing about how he did it. after they have put up their money and turned the card, they see that the mark was put there for a purpose. then they are mad, because they are beat at their own game. they begin to kick, and want their money back, but they would not have thought of such a thing had they won the money from a blind man, for they did think he must be nearly blind, or he could have seen the mark on the winning card. they expected to rob a blind man, and got left. i never had any sympathy for them, and i would fight before i would give them back one cent. it is a good lesson for a dishonest man to be caught by some trick, and i always did like to teach it. i have had the right card turned on me for big money by suckers, but it was an accident, for they were so much excited that they did not get the card they were after. i have also given a big hand in poker to a sucker, and had him to knock the ginger out of me, but this would make me more careful in the future. i've seen suckers win a small amount, and then run all over the boat, telling how they downed the gambler; but they were almost sure to come back and lose much more than they had won. i have often given a sucker back his money, and i have seen them lose it with my partner, or at some other game on the same boat. i have won hundreds of thousands from thieves who were making tracks for some other country to keep out of jail and to spend their ill- gotten gains. i enjoyed beating a man that was loaded down with stolen money more than any one else. i always felt as if it was my duty to try and keep the money in our own country. young men and boys have often stood around the table and bothered me to bet. i would tell them to go away, that i did not gamble with boys. that would make some of the smart alecks mad, and they would make a great deal of noise. so, when i was about to close up, i would take in the young chap. he would walk away with a good lesson. but when i had to win money from a boy to keep him quiet, i would always go to him and return the money, after giving him a good talking to. i meet good business men very often now that take me by the hand and remind me of when i won some money from them when they were boys, and returned it with a good lecture. i have sometimes wished i had one-tenth part of what i have returned to boys and suckers, for then i would have enough to keep me the balance of my life. i had the niggers all along the coast so trained that they would call me "massa" when i would get on or off a boat. if i was waiting at a landing i would post some old "nig" what to say when i went on board, so while the passengers were all out on the guards and i was bidding the "coons" good-bye, my "nig" would cry out: "good-bye, massa george; i's goin' to take good care of the old plantation till you comes back." i would go on board, with one of the niggers carrying my saddle- bags, and those sucker passengers would think i was a planter sure enough; so if a game was proposed i had no trouble to get into it, as all who play cards are looking for suckers that they know have money; and who in those old ante-bellum times had more money than a southern planter? i have often stepped up to the bar as soon as i would get on board and treat every one within call, and when i would pay for the drinks i would pull out a roll that would make everybody look wild. then i was sure to get into the first game that would be started, for all wanted a part of the planter's roll. i have downed planters and many good business men, who would come to me afterwards and want to stand in with my play; and many are the thousands i have divided with them; and yet the truly good people never class such men among gamblers. the world is full of such men. they are not brave enough to take the name, but they are always ready for a part of the game. a gambler's word is as good as his bond, and that is more than i can say of many business men who stand very high in a community. i would rather take a true gambler's word than the bond of many business men who are to-day counted worth thousands. the gambler will pay when he has money, which many good church members will not. ancient gambling. hobbes, the philosopher, says man is the only animal that laughs. he might have appropriately added, he is the only animal that gambles. to gamble or venture on chance, his own property with the hope of winning the property of another is peculiar to him. other animals in common with man will fight for meat, drink, and lodging, and will battle for love as fiercely as the old knights of chivalry; but there is no well authenticated account that any of the lower animals ever chanced any of their property on "odd-or- even," or drew lots for choice of pasturage. no master has ever yet taught his dog to play with him at casino, and even the learned pig could never learn what was trumps. hence gambling is a proof of man's intellectual superiority. certain it is that men, from the earliest ages, have been addicted to some form of gambling, or settling matters by chance. it was by lot that it was determined in biblical days which of the goats should be offered by aaron; by lot the land of canaan was divided; by lot saul was marked out for the hebrew kingdom; by lot jonah was discovered to be the cause of the storm. even in legendary days there is a pretty story that mercury fell in love with rhea (or the earth), and wishing to do her a favor, gambled with the moon, and won from her every seventieth part of the time she illumined the horizon, all of which parts he united together, making up five days, and added them to the earth's year, which had previously consisted of only days, and was now . there is not an age of the world, nor a people, who have not been gamblers. the romans, the greeks, the asiatics--all have their games of chance. there was, indeed, a period in the history of the world when gambling was the amusement and recreation of kings and queens, professional men and clergymen. even john wesley, the founder of methodism, played cards. the rev. caleb c. colton was one of the luckiest of gamesters. he was a graduate of cambridge, and the author of "lacon, or many things in a few words." at one time in paris he won $ , . he left a large fortune, part of which he employed in forming a picture gallery at paris. general scott, the father-in-law of george canning, made one of the largest winnings ever known. he won at white's one million dollars, owing to his sobriety and knowledge of the game of whist. who loved his country more than cato? and yet he was a great gambler. guido, the painter, and coquillart, a famous poet, were both inveterate gamblers. the great philosophers montaigne and descartes at an early age were seduced by the allurements of gambling. the generality of people throughout the world are of the opinion that gamblers are the worst people on the face of the earth. they are wrong, for i tell you there is ten times more rascality among men outside of the class they call gamblers than there is inside it. person that the generality of people class as gamblers are only those who play at games of chance with cards. what are the members of the board of trade but gamblers? the board of trade is just as much a gambling house as a faro bank. do not the members put up their (and often times other peoples') money on puts, calls, margins, and futures? do not some poor people have to wait a long time in the "future" before they get back the money some rascal has put up and lost? talk about the morality of gamblers. they are not thieves and swindlers, and i never heard of one who ever served a term in the penitentiary, or was arrested for embezzling money. george--"the butter." "there goes one of the most remarkable men in the country," said a well-known gentleman standing in front of the gibson house yesterday. the person referred to was a stoutly-built, sandy- whiskered individual of medium size. he is well known to most men about town, and his exploits on southern rivers might fill a book. it was george h. devol. "i have known him for thirty-eight years," the gentleman continued, "my acquaintance with him having been strictly in the south. do you know that physically he was for years one of the best men we had down there?" "no. never heard that george was a fighter," added the reporter somewhat surprised. "well, he was, and as good as they made them, too. i never saw him take water in my life, and personally i know that for nineteen years they tried to find a man to whip him. they couldn't do it. he was a terrible rough-and-tumble fighter, and many a tough citizen have i seen him do up. george was a great 'butter.' he could use his head with terrible effect. one night at new orleans a stevedore tackled him. it was a set-up job. the stevedore was a much larger man, but george got the best of it. during the fight the stevedore's friends stood over george with drawn pistols, threatening to kill him should he do any butting. he can kill any man living, white or black, by butting him. although over fifty years of age, i don't believe there is a man living who can whip him. new orleans sporting men will go broke on that." "he made considerable money in the south, didn't he?" "yes, he has won more money than any sporting man in the country. he had the privileges for years on all boats on the southern mississippi. when ben butler took possession of new orleans he confiscated all of george's horses and sent him to jail. that little affair cost george just $ , . he retaliated, however, for he had not been released two weeks until he beat one of the general's paymasters out of $ , . it was on the red river. i see he has settled down and quit sporting, and i am glad of it. had he never seen a faro bank he would have been an immensely wealthy man thirty years ago. one night before the war i saw him lose $ , at one sitting. he left the table without enough money with which to buy a cup of coffee."--_the cincinnati enquirer_. the winds of chance by rex beach author of "the silver horde" "the spoilers" "the iron trail" etc. chapter i with an ostentatious flourish mr. "lucky" broad placed a crisp ten-dollar bill in an eager palm outstretched across his folding-table. "the gentleman wins and the gambler loses!" mr. broad proclaimed to the world. "the eye is quicker than the hand, and the dealer's moans is music to the stranger's ear." with practised touch he rearranged the three worn walnut-shells which constituted his stock in trade. beneath one of them he deftly concealed a pellet about the size of a five-grain allopathic pill. it was the erratic behavior of this tiny ball, its mysterious comings and goings, that had summoned mr. broad's audience and now held its observant interest. this audience, composed of roughly dressed men, listened attentively to the seductive monologue which accompanied the dealer's deft manipulations, and was greatly entertained thereby. "three tiny tepees in a row and a little black medicine-man inside." the speaker's voice was high-pitched and it carried like a "thirtythirty." "you see him walk in, you open the door, and--you double your money. awfully simple! simpully awful! what? as i live! the gentleman wins ten more--ten silver-tongued song-birds, ten messengers of mirth--the price of a hard day's toil. take it, sir, and may it make a better and a stronger man of you. times are good and i spend my money free. i made it packin' grub to linderman, four bits a pound, but--easy come, easy go. now then, who's next? you've seen me work. i couldn't baffle a sore-eyed siwash with snow-glasses." lucky broad's three-legged table stood among some stumps beside the muddy roadway which did service as the main street of dyea and along which flowed an irregular stream of pedestrians; incidental to his practised manipulation of the polished walnut-shells he maintained an unceasing chatter of the sort above set down. now his voice was loud and challenging, now it was apologetic, always it stimulated curiosity. one moment he was jubilant and gay, again he was contrite and querulous. occasionally he burst forth into plaintive self-denunciations. fixing a hypnotic gaze upon a bland, blue-eyed bystander who had just joined the charmed circle, he murmured, invitingly: "better try your luck, olaf. it's danish dice--three chances to win and one to lose." the object of his address shook his head. "aye ant danish, aye ban norvegen," said he. "danish dice or norwegian poker, they're both the same. i'll deal you a free hand and it won't cost you a cent. fix your baby blues on the little ball and watch me close. don't let me deceive you. now then, which hut hides the grain?" noting a half-dozen pairs of eyes upon him, the norseman became conscious that he was a center of interest. he grinned half-heartedly and, after a brief hesitation, thrust forth a clumsy paw, lifted a shell, and exposed the object of general curiosity. "you guessed it!" there was commendation, there was pleased surprise, in mr. broad's tone. "you can't fool a foreigner, can you, boys? my, my! ain't it lucky for me that we played for fun? but you got to give me another chance, lars; i'll fool you yet. in walks the little pill once more, i make the magic pass, and you follow me attentively, knowing in your heart of hearts that i'm a slick un. now then, shoot, kid; you can't miss me!" the onlookers stirred with interest; with eager fingers the artless norwegian fumbled in his pocket. at the last moment, however, he thought better of his impulse, grunted once, then turned his back to the table and walked away. "missed him!" murmured the dealer, with no display of feeling; then to the group around him he announced, shamelessly: "you got to lead those birds; they fly fast." one of mr. broad's boosters, he who had twice won for the norseman's benefit, carelessly returned his winnings. "sure!" he agreed. "they got a head like a turtle, them swedes." mr. broad carefully smoothed out the two bills and reverently laid them to rest in his bank-roll. "yes, and they got bony mouths. you got to set your hook or it won't hold." "slow pickin's," yawned an honest miner with a pack upon his back. attracted by the group at the table, he had dropped out of the procession in the street and had paused long enough to win a bet or two. now he straightened himself and stretched his arms. "these michael strogoffs is hep to the old stuff, lucky. i'm thinking of joining the big rush. they say this klondike is some rich." inasmuch as there were no strangers in sight at the moment, the proprietor of the deadfall gave up barking; he daintily folded and tore in half a cigarette paper, out of which he fashioned a thin smoke for himself. it was that well-earned moment of repose, that welcome recess from the day's toil. mr. broad inhaled deeply, then he turned his eyes upon the former speaker. "you've been thinking again, have you?" he frowned darkly. with a note of warning in his voice he declared: "you ain't strong enough for such heavy work, kid. that's why i've got you packing hay." the object of this sarcasm hitched his shoulders and the movement showed that his burden was indeed no more than a cunning counterfeit, a bundle of hay rolled inside a tarpaulin. "oh, i got a head and i've been doing some heavy thinking with it," the kid retorted. "this here dawson is going to be a good town. i'm getting readied up to join the parade." "are you, now?" the shell-man mocked. "i s'pose you got it all framed with the canucks to let you through? i s'pose the chief of police knows you and likes you, eh? you and him is cousins, or something?" "coppers is all alike; there's always a way to square 'em--" "lay off that 'squaring' stuff," cautioned a renegade crook, disguised by a suit of mackinaws and a week's growth of beard into the likeness of a stampeder. "a thousand bucks and a ton of grub, that's what the sign says, and that's what it means. they wouldn't let you over the line with nine hundred and ninety-nine fifty." "right!" agreed a third capper. "it's a closed season on broken stiffs. you can't monkey with the mounted police. when they put over an edict it lays there till it freezes. they'll make you show your 'openers' at the boundary. gee! if i had 'em i wouldn't bother to go 'inside.' what's a guy want with more than a thousand dollars and a ton of grub, anyhow?" "all the same, i'm about set to hit the trail," stubbornly maintained the man with the alfalfa pack. "i ain't broke. when you boys get to dawson, just ask for kid bridges' saloon and i'll open wine. these woollys can have their mines; me for a hootch-mill on main street." lucky addressed his bevy of boosters. "have i nursed a serpent in my breast, or has the kid met a banker's son? gimme room, boys. i'm going to shuffle the shells for him and let him double his money. keep your eye on the magic pea, mr. bridges. three tiny tepees in a row--" there was a general laugh as broad began to shift the walnut-shells, but kid bridges retorted, contemptuously: "that's the trouble with all you wiseacres. you get a dollar ahead and you fall for another man's game. i never knew a faro-dealer that wouldn't shoot craps. no, i haven't met no banker's son and i ain't likely to in this place. these pilgrims have sewed their money in their underclothes, and they sleep with their eyes open. seems like they'd go blind, but they don't. these ain't rubes, lucky; they're city folks. they've seen three-ringed circuses and three-shell games, and all that farmer stuff. they've been 'gypped,' and it's an old story to 'em." "you're dead right," broad acknowledged. "that's why it's good. d'you know the best town in america for the shells? little old new york. if the cops would let me set up at the corner of broad and wall, i'd own the stock exchange in a week. madison and state is another good stand; so's market and kearney, or pioneer square, down by the totem pole. new york, chicago, 'frisco, seattle, they're all hick towns. for every city guy that's been stung by a bee there's a hundred that still thinks honey comes from a fruit. this rush is just starting, and the bigger it grows the better we'll do. say, kid, if you mush over to tagish with that load of timothy on your spine, the police will put you on the wood-pile for the winter." while mr. lucky broad and his business associates were thus busied in discussing the latest decree of the northwest mounted police, other townsmen of theirs were similarly engaged. details of this proclamation--the most arbitrary of any, hitherto--had just arrived from the international boundary, and had caused a halt, an eddy, in the stream of gold-seekers which flowed inland toward the chilkoot pass. a human tide was setting northward from the states, a tide which swelled and quickened daily as the news of george carmack's discovery spread across the world, but at healy & wilson's log-store, where the notice above referred to had been posted, the stream slowed. a crowd of new-comers from the barges and steamers in the roadstead had assembled there, and now gave voice to hoarse indignation and bitter resentment. late arrivals from skagway, farther down the coast, brought word of similar scenes at that point and a similar feeling of dismay; they reported a similar increase in the general excitement, too. there, as here, a tent city was springing up, the wooded hills were awakening to echoes of unaccustomed life, a thrill and a stir were running through the wilderness and the odor of spruce fires was growing heavier with every ship that came. pierce phillips emerged from the trading-post and, drawn by the force of gravitation, joined the largest and the most excited group of argonauts. he was still somewhat dazed by his perusal of that police edict; the blow to his hopes was still too stunning, his disappointment was still too keen, to permit of clear thought. "a ton of provisions and a thousand dollars!" he repeated, blankly. why, that was absurd, out of all possible reason! it would bar the way to fully half this rushing army; it would turn men back at the very threshold of the golden north. nevertheless, there stood the notice in black and white, a clear and unequivocal warning from the canadian authorities, evidently designed to forestall famine on the foodless yukon. from the loud arguments round about him phillips gathered that opinion on the justice of the measure was about evenly divided; those fortunate men who had come well provided commended it heartily, those less fortunate fellows who were sailing close-hauled were equally noisy in their denunciation of it. the latter could see in this precautionary ruling nothing except the exercise of a tyrannical power aimed at their ruin, and in consequence they voiced threats, and promises of violence the which phillips put down as mere resentful mouthings of no actual significance. as for himself, he had never possessed anything like a thousand dollars at one time, therefore the problem of acquiring such a prodigious sum in the immediate future presented appalling difficulties. he had come north to get rich, only to find that it was necessary to be rich in order to get north. a fine situation, truly! a ton of provisions would cost at least five hundred dollars and the expense of transporting it across summer swamps and tundras, then up and over that mysterious and forbidding chilkoot of which he had heard so much, would bring the total capital required up to impossible proportions. the prospect was indeed dismaying. phillips had been ashore less than an hour, but already he had gained some faint idea of the country that lay ahead of him; already he had noted the almost absolute lack of transportation; already he had learned the price of packers, and as a result he found himself at an impasse. one thousand dollars and two hundred pounds! it was enough to dash high hopes. and yet, strangely enough, phillips was not discouraged. he was rather surprised at his own rebound after the first shock; his reasonless optimism vaguely amazed him, until, in contemplating the matter, he discovered that his thoughts were running somewhat after this fashion: "they told me i couldn't make it; they said something was sure to happen. well, it has. i'm up against it--hard. most fellows would quit and go home, but i sha'n't. i'm going to win out, somehow, for this is the real thing. this is life, adventure. it will be wonderful to look back and say: 'i did it. nothing stopped me. i landed at dyea with one hundred and thirty-five dollars, but look at me now!'" thoughts such as these were in his mind, and their resolute nature must have been reflected in his face, for a voice aroused him from his meditations. "it don't seem to faze you much, partner. i s'pose you came heeled?" phillips looked up and into a sullen, angry face. "it nearly kills me," he smiled. "i'm the worst-heeled man in the crowd." "well, it's a darned outrage. a ton of grub? why, have you seen the trail? take a look; it's a man-killer, and the rate is forty cents a pound to linderman. it'll go to fifty now--maybe a dollar--and there aren't enough packers to handle half the stuff." "things are worse at skagway," another man volunteered. "i came up yesterday, and they're losing a hundred head of horses a day--bogging 'em down and breaking their legs. you can walk on dead carcasses from the porcupine to the summit." a third stranger, evidently one of the well-provided few, laughed carelessly. "if you boys can't stand the strain you'd better stay where you are," said he. "grub's sky-high in dawson, and mighty short. i knew what i was up against, so i came prepared. better go home and try it next summer." the first speaker, he of the sullen visage, turned his back, muttering, resentfully: "another wise guy! they make me sick! i've a notion to go through anyhow." "don't try that," cautioned the man from skagway. "if you got past the police they'd follow you to hell but what they'd bring you back. they ain't like our police." still meditating his plight, pierce phillips edged out of the crowd and walked slowly down the street. it was not a street at all, except by courtesy, for it was no more than an open waterfront faced by a few log buildings and a meandering line of new white tents. tents were going up everywhere and all of them bore painful evidence of their newness. so did the clothes of their owners for that matter--men's garments still bore their price-tags. the beach was crowded with piles of merchandise over which there was much wrangling, barges plying regularly back and forth from the anchored ships added hourly to the confusion. as outfits were dumped upon the sand their owners assembled them and bore them away to their temporary camp sites. in this occupation every man faced his own responsibilities single-handed, for there were neither drays nor carts nor vehicles of any sort. as phillips looked on at the disorder along the water's edge, as he stared up the fir-flanked dyea valley, whither a steady stream of traffic flowed, he began to feel a fretful eagerness to join in it, to be up and going. 'way yonder through those hills towered the chilkoot, and beyond that was the mighty river rushing toward dawson city, toward life and adventure, for that was what the gold-fields signified to phillips. yes, life! adventure! he had set out to seek them, to taste the flavor of the world, and there it lay--his world, at least--just out of reach. a fierce impatience, a hot resentment at that senseless restriction which chained him in his tracks, ran through the boy. what right had any one to stop him here at the very door, when just inside great things were happening? past that white-and-purple barrier which he could see against the sky a new land lay, a radiant land of promise, of mystery, and of fascination; pierce vowed that he would not, could not, wait. fortunes would reward the first arrivals; how, then, could he permit these other men to precede him? the world was a good place--it would not let a person starve. to the young and the foot-free adventure lurks just over the hill; life opens from the crest of the very next divide. it matters not that we never quite come up with either, that we never quite attain the summit whence our promises are realized; the ever-present expectation, the eager straining forward, is the breath of youth. it was that breath which phillips now felt in his nostrils. it was pungent, salty. he noted a group of people gathered about some center of attraction whence issued a high-pitched intonation. "oh, look at the cute little pea! klondike croquet, the packer's pastime. who'll risk a dollar to win a dollar? it's a healthy sport. it's good for young and old--a cheeild can understand it. three eskimo igloos and an educated pill!" "a shell-game!" pierce phillips halted in his tracks and stared incredulously, then he smiled. "a shell-game, running wide open on the main street of the town!" this was the frontier, the very edge of things. with an odd sense of unreality he felt the world turn back ten years. he had seen shell-games at circuses and fairgrounds when he was much younger, but he supposed they had long since been abandoned in favor of more ingenious and less discreditable methods of robbery. evidently, however, there were some gulls left, for this device appeared to be well patronized. still doubting the evidence of his ears, he joined the group. "the gentleman wins and the gambler loses!" droned the dealer as he paid a bet. "now then, we're off for another journey. who'll ride with me this time?" phillips was amazed that any one could be so simple-minded as to squander his money upon such a notoriously unprofitable form of entertainment. nevertheless, men were playing, and they did not seem to suspect that the persons whom the dealer occasionally paid were his confederates. the operator maintained an incessant monologue. at the moment of pierce's arrival he was directing it at an ox-eyed individual, evidently selected to be the next victim. the fellow was stupid, nevertheless he exercised some caution at first. he won a few dollars, then he lost a few, but, alas! the gambling fever mounted in him and greed finally overcame his hesitation. with an eager gesture he chose a shell and phillips felt a glow of satisfaction at the realization that the man had once more guessed aright. drawing forth a wallet, the fellow laid it on the table. "i'll bet the lump," he cried. the dealer hesitated. "how much you got in that alligator valise?" "two hundred dollars." "two hundred berries on one bush!" the proprietor of the game was incredulous. "boys, he aims to leave me cleaner than a snow-bird." seizing the walnut-shell between his thumb and forefinger, he turned it over, but instead of exposing the elusive pellet he managed, by an almost imperceptible forward movement, to roll it out from under its hiding-place and to conceal it between his third and fourth fingers. the stranger was surprised, dumfounded, at sight of the empty shell. he looked on open-mouthed while his wallet was looted of its contents. "every now and then i win a little one," the gambler announced as he politely returned the bill-case to its owner. he lifted another shell, and by some sleight-of-hand managed to replace the pellet upon the table, then gravely flipped a five-dollar gold piece to one of his boosters. phillips's eyes were quick; from where he stood he had detected the maneuver and it left him hot with indignation. he felt impelled to tell the victim how he had been robbed, but thought better of the impulse and assured himself that this was none of his affair. for perhaps ten minutes he looked on while the sheep-shearing proceeded. after a time there came a lull and the dealer raised his voice to entice new patrons. meanwhile, he paused to roll a cigarette the size of a wheat straw. while thus engaged there sounded the hoarse blast of a steamer's whistle in the offing and he turned his head. profiting by this instant of inattention a hand reached across the table and lifted one of the walnut-shells. there was nothing under it. "five bucks on this one!" a soiled bill was placed beside one of the two remaining shells, the empty one. thus far phillips had followed the pea unerringly, therefore he was amazed at the new better's mistake. the dealer turned back to his layout and winked at the bystanders, saying, "brother, i'll bet you ten more that you've made a bad bet." his offer was accepted. simultaneously phillips was seized with an intense desire to beat this sharper at his own game; impulsively he laid a protecting palm over the shell beneath which he knew the little sphere to lie. "i'll pick this one," he heard himself say. "better let me deal you a new hand," the gambler suggested. "nothing of the sort," a man at phillips' shoulder broke in. "hang on to that shell, kid. you're right and i'm going down for the size of his bankroll." the speaker was evidently a miner, for he carried a bulky pack upon his shoulders. he placed a heavy palm over the back of phillips' hand, then extracted from the depths of his overalls a fat roll of paper money. the size of this wager, together with the determination of its owner, appeared briefly to nonplus the dealer. he voiced a protest, but the miner forcibly overbore it: "say, i eat up this shell stuff!" he declared. "it's my meat, and i've trimmed every tinhorn that ever came to my town. there's three hundred dollars; you cover it, and you cover this boy's bet, too." the fellow winked reassuringly at phillips. "you heard him say the sky was his limit, didn't you? well, let's see how high the sky is in these parts!" there was a movement in the crowd, whereupon the speaker cried, warningly: "boosters, stand back! don't try to give us the elbow, or i'll close up this game!" to pierce he murmured, confidentially: "we've got him right. don't let anybody edge you out." he put more weight upon phillips' hand and forced the young man closer to the table. pierce had no intention of surrendering his place, and now the satisfaction of triumphing over these crooks excited him. he continued to cover the walnut-shell while with his free hand he drew his own money from his pocket. he saw that the owner of the game was suffering extreme discomfort at this checkmate, and he enjoyed the situation. "i watched you trim that farmer a few minutes ago," phillips' companion chuckled. "now i'm going to make you put up or shut up. there's my three hundred. i can use it when it grows to six." "how much are you betting?" the dealer inquired of phillips. pierce had intended merely to risk a dollar or two, but now there came to him a thrilling thought. that notice at healy & wilson's store flashed into his mind. "one thousand dollars and a ton of food," the sign had read. well, why not bet and bet heavy? he asked himself. here was a chance to double his scanty capital at the expense of a rogue. to beat a barefaced chater at his own game surely could not be considered cheating; in this instance it was mere retribution. he had no time to analyze the right or the wrong of his reasoning--at best the question would bear debate. granting that it wasn't exactly honest, what did such nice considerations weigh when balanced against the stern necessities of this hour? a stranger endeavored to shove him away from the table and this clinched his decision. he'd make them play fair. with a sweep of his free arm. phillips sent the fellow staggering back and then placed his entire roll of bills on the table in front of the dealer. "there's mine," he said, shortly. "one hundred and thirty-five dollars. i don't have to count it, for i know it by heart." "business appears to be picking up," murmured the proprietor of the game. phillips' neighbor continued to hold the boy's hand in a vicelike grip. now he leaned forward, saying: "look here! are you going to cover our coin or am i going to smoke you up?" "the groans of the gambler is sweet music in their ears!" the dealer shrugged reluctantly and counted out four hundred and thirty-five dollars, which he separated into two piles. a certain shame at his action swept over phillips when he felt his companion's grasp relax and heard him say, "turn her over, kid." this was diamond cut diamond, of course; nevertheless, it was a low-down trick and-- pierce phillips started, he examined the interior of the walnut-shell in bewilderment, for he had lifted it only to find it quite empty. "every now and then i win a little one," the dealer intoned, gravely pocketing his winnings. "it only goes to show you that the hand--" "damnation!" exploded the man at phillips' side. "trimmed for three hundred, or i'm a goat!" as pierce walked away some one fell into step with him; it was the sullen, black-browed individual he had seen at the trading-post. "so they took you for a hundred and thirty-five, eh? you must be rolling in coin," the man observed. even yet pierce was more than a little dazed. "do you know," said he, "i was sure i had the right shell." "why, of course you had the right one." the stranger laughed shortly. "they laid it up for you on purpose, then kid bridges worked a shift when he held your hand. you can't beat 'em." pierce halted. "was he--was that fellow with the pack a booster?" "certainly. they're all boosters. the kid carries enough hay on his back to feed a team. it's his bed. i've been here a week and i know 'em." the speaker stared in surprise at phillips, who had broken into a hearty laugh. "look here! a little hundred and thirty-five must be chicken feed to you. if you've got any more to toss away, toss it in my direction." "that's what makes it so funny. you see, i haven't any more. that was my last dollar. well, it serves me right. now i can start from scratch and win on my own speed." the dark-browed man studied phillips curiously. "you're certain'y game," he announced. "i s'pose now you'll be wanting to sell some of your outfit. that's why i've been hanging around that game. i've picked up quite a bit of stuff that way, but i'm still short a few things and i'll buy--" "i haven't a pound of grub. i came up second-class." "huh! then you'll go back steerage." "oh no, i won't! i'm going on to dawson." there was a momentary silence. "you say you've been here a week? put me up for the night--until i get a job. will you?" the black-eyed man hesitated, then he grinned. "you've got your nerve, but--i'm blamed if i don't like it," said he. "my brother jim is cooking supper now. suppose we go over to the tent and ask him." chapter ii the headwaters of the dyea river spring from a giant's punch-bowl. three miles above timber-line the valley bottom widens out into a flinty field strewn with boulders which in ages past have lost their footing on the steep hills forming the sides of the cup. between these boulders a thin carpet of moss is spread, but the slopes themselves are quite naked; they are seamed and cracked and weather-beaten, their surfaces are split and shattered from the play of the elements. high up toward the crest of one of them rides a glacier--a pallid, weeping sentinel which stands guard for the great ice-caps beyond. winter snows, summer fogs and rains have washed the hillsides clean; they are leached out and they present a lifeless, forbidding front to travelers. in many places the granite fragments which still encumber them lie piled one above another in such titanic chaos as to discourage man's puny efforts to climb over them. nevertheless, men have done so, and by the thousands, by the tens of thousands. on this particular morning an unending procession of human beings was straining up and over and through the confusion. they lifted themselves by foot and by hand; where the slope was steepest they crept on all-fours. they formed an unbroken, threadlike stream extending from timberline to crest, each individual being dwarfed to microscopic proportions by the size of his surroundings. they flowed across the floor of the valley, then slowly, very slowly, they flowed up its almost perpendicular wall. now they were lost to sight; again they reappeared clambering over glacier scars or toiling up steep, rocky slides; finally they emerged away up under the arch of the sky. looking down from the roof of the pass itself, the scene was doubly impressive, for the wooded valley lay outstretched clear to the sea, and out of it came that long, wavering line of ants. they did, indeed, appear to be ants, those men, as they dragged themselves across the meadow and up the ascent; they resembled nothing more than a file of those industrious insects creeping across the bottom and up the sides of a bath-tub, and the likeness was borne out by the fact that all carried burdens. that was in truth the marvel of the scene, for every man on the chilkoot was bent beneath a back-breaking load. three miles down the gulch, where the upward march of the forests had been halted, there, among scattered outposts of scrubby spruce and wind-twisted willow, stood a village, a sprawling, formless aggregation of flimsy tents and green logs known as sheep camp. although it was a temporary, makeshift town, already it bulked big in the minds of men from maine to california, from the great lakes to the gulf, for it was the last outpost of civilization, and beyond it lay a land of mystery. sheep camp had become famous by reason of the fact that it was linked with the name of that via dolorosa, that summit of despair, the chilkoot. already it had come to stand for the weak man's ultimate mile-post, the end of many journeys. the approach from the sea was easy, if twelve miles of boulder and bog, of swamp and nigger-head, of root and stump, can be called easy under the best of circumstances; but easy it was as compared with what lay beyond and above it. nevertheless, many argonauts had never penetrated even thus far, and of those who had, a considerable proportion had turned back at the giant pit three miles above. one look at the towering barrier had been enough for them. the chilkoot was more than a mountain, more than an obstacle of nature; it was a presence, a tremendous and a terrifying personality which overshadowed the minds of men and could neither be ignored at the time nor forgotten later. no wonder, then, that sheep camp, which was a part of the chilkoot, represented, a sort of acid test; no wonder that those who had moved their outfits thus far were of the breed the northland loves--the stout of heart and of body. provisions were cached at frequent intervals all the way up from the sea, but in the open meadow beneath the thousand-foot wall an immense supply depot had sprung up. this pocket in the hills had become an open-air commissary, stocked with every sort of provender and gear. there were acres of sacks and bundles, of boxes and bales, of lumber and hardware and perishable stuffs, and all day long men came and went in relays. one relay staggered up and out of the canon and dropped its packs, another picked up the bundles and ascended skyward. pound by pound, ton by ton, this vast equipment of supplies went forward, but slowly, oh, so slowly! and at such effort! it was indeed fit work for ants, for it arrived nowhere and it never ended. antlike, these burden-bearers possessed but one idea--to fetch and to carry; they traveled back and forth along the trail until they wore it into a bottomless bog, until every rock, every tree, every landmark along it became hatefully familiar and their eyes grew sick from seeing them. the character of then--labor and its monotony, even in this short time, had changed the men's characters--they had become pack-animals and they deported themselves as such. all labor-saving devices, all mechanical aids, all short cuts to comfort and to accomplishment, had been left behind; here was the wilderness, primitive, hostile, merciless. every foot they moved, every ounce they carried, was at the cost of muscular exertion. it was only natural that they should take on the color of their surroundings. money lost its value a mile above sheep camp said became a thing of weight, a thing to carry. the standard of value was the pound, and men thought in hundredweights or in tons. yet there was no relief, no respite, for famine stalked in the yukon and the northwest mounted were on guard, hence these unfortunates were chained to their grub-piles as galley-slaves are shackled to their benches. toe to heel, like peons rising from the bowels of a mine, they bent their backs and strained up that riven rock wall. blasphemy and pain, high hopes and black despair, hearts overtaxed and eyes blind with fatigue, that was what the chilkoot stood for. permeating the entire atmosphere of the place, so that even the dullest could feel it, was a feverish haste, an apprehensive demand for speed, more speed, to keep ahead of the pressing thousands coming on behind. pierce phillips breasted the last rise to the summit, slipped his pack-straps, and flung himself full length upon the ground. his lungs felt as if they were bursting, the blood surged through his veins until he rocked, his body streamed with sweat, and his legs were as heavy as if molded from solid iron. he was pumped out, winded; nevertheless, he felt his strength return with magic swiftness, for he possessed that marvelous recuperative power of youth, and, like some fabled warrior, new strength flowed into him from the earth. round about him other men were sprawled; some lay like corpses, others were propped against their packs, a few stirred and sighed like the sorely wounded after a charge. those who had lain longest rose, took up their burdens, and went groaning over the sky-line and out of sight. every moment new faces, purple with effort or white with exhaustion, rose out of the depths--all were bitten deep with lines of physical suffering. on buckled knees their owners lurched forward to find resting-places; in their eyes burned a sullen rage; in their mouths were foul curses at this devil's stairway. there were striplings and graybeards in the crowd, strong men and weak men, but here at the summit all were alike in one particular--they lacked breath for anything except oaths. here, too, as in the valley beneath, was another great depot of provision piles. near where phillips had thrown himself down there was one man whose bearing was in marked contrast to that of the others. he sat astride a bulging canvas bag in a leather harness, and in spite of the fact that the mark of a tump-line showed beneath his cap he betrayed no signs of fatigue. he was not at all exhausted, and from the interest he displayed it seemed that he had chosen this spot as a vantage-point from which to study the upcoming file rather than as a place in which to rest. this he did with a quick, appreciative eye and with a genial smile. in face, in dress, in manner, he was different. for one thing, he was of foreign birth, and yet he appeared to be more a piece of the country than any man pierce had seen. his clothes were of a pattern common among the native packers, but he wore them with a free, unconscious grace all his own. from the peak of his canadian toque there depended a tassel which bobbed when he talked; his boots were of indian make, and they were soft and light and waterproof; a sash of several colors was knotted about his waist. but it was not alone his dress which challenged the eye--there was something in this fellow's easy, open bearing which arrested attention. his dark skin had been deepened by windburn, his well-set, well-shaped head bore a countenance both eager and intelligent, a countenance that fairly glowed with confidence and good humor. oddly enough, he sang as he sat upon his pack. high up on this hillside, amid blasphemous complaints, he hummed a gay little song: "chante, rossignol, chante! toi qui a le coeur gai! tu as le coeur a rire mai j'l'ai-t-a pleurer," ran his chanson. phillips had seen the fellow several times, and the circumstances of their first encounter had been sufficiently unusual to impress themselves upon his mind. pierce had been resting here, at this very spot, when the canuck had come up into sight, bearing a hundred-pound pack without apparent effort. two flour-sacks upon a man's back was a rare sight on the roof of the chilkoot. there were not many who could master that slope with more than one, but this fellow had borne his burden without apparent effort; and what was even more remarkable, what had caused pierce phillips to open his eyes in genuine astonishment, was the fact that the man climbed with a pipe in his teeth and smoked it with relish. on that occasion the frenchman had not stopped at the crest to breathe, but had merely paused long enough to admire the scene outspread beneath him; then he had swung onward. of all the sights young phillips had beheld in this new land, the vision of that huge, unhurried canadian, smoking, had impressed him deepest. it had awakened his keen envy, too, for pierce was beginning to glory in his own strength. a few days later they had rested near each other on the long lake portage. that is, phillips had rested; the canadian, it seemed, had a habit of pausing when and where the fancy struck him. his reason for stopping there had been the antics of a peculiarly fearless and impertinent "camp-robber." with a crust of bread he had tolled the bird almost within his reach and was accepting its scolding with intense amusement. having both teased and made friends with the creature, he finally gave it the crust and resumed his journey. this was a land where brawn was glorified; the tales told oftenest around the stoves at sheep camp had to do with feats of strength or endurance, they were stories of mighty men and mighty packs, of long marches and of grim staying powers. already the names of certain "old-timers" like dinsmore and mcdonald and peterson and stick jim had become famous because of some conspicuous exploit. dinsmore, according to the legend, had once lugged a hundred and sixty pounds to the summit; mcdonald had bent a horseshoe in his hands; peterson had lifted the stem-piece out of a poling-boat lodged on the rocks below white horse; stick jim had run down a moose and killed it with his knife. from what phillips had seen of this french canadian it was plain that he, too, was an "old-timer," one of that jovian band of supermen who had dared the dark interior and robbed the bars of forty mile in the hard days before the el dorado discovery. since this was their first opportunity of exchanging speech, phillips ventured to address the man. "i thought i had a load this morning, but i'd hate to swap packs with you," he said. the frenchman flashed him a smile which exposed a row of teeth snow-white against his tan. "ho! you're stronger as me. i see you plenty tams biffore." this was indeed agreeable praise, and pierce showed his pleasure. "oh no!" he modestly protested. "i'm just getting broken in." "look out you don' broke your back," warned the other. "dis chilkoot she's bad bizness. she's keel a lot of dese sof' fellers. dey get seeck in de back. you hear 'bout it?" "spinal meningitis. it's partly from exposure." "dat's him! don' never carry too moch; don' be in soch hurry." phillips laughed at this caution. "why, we have to hurry," said he. "new people are coming all the time and they'll beat us in if we don't look out." his comrade shrugged. "mebbe so; but s'posin' dey do. wat's de hodds? she's beeg countree; dere's plenty claims." "are there, really?" phillips' eyes brightened. "you're an old-timer; you've been 'inside.' do you mean there's plenty of gold for all of us?" "dere ain't 'nuff gold in all de worl' for some people." "i mean is dawson as rich as they say it is?" "um--m! i don' know." "didn't you get in on the strike?" "i hear 'bout 'im, but i'm t'inkin' 'bout oder t'ings." phillips regarded the speaker curiously. "that's funny. what business are you in?" "my bizness? jus' livin'." the canadian's eyes twinkled. "you don' savvy, eh--? wal, dat's biccause you're lak dese oder feller--you're in beeg hurry to be reech. me--?" he shrugged his brawny shoulders and smiled cheerily. "i got plenty tam. i'm loafer. i enjoy myse'f--" "so do i. for that matter, i'm enjoying myself now. i think this is all perfectly corking, and i'm having the time of my young life. why, just think, over there"--pierce waved his hand toward the northward panorama of white peaks and purple valleys--"everything is unknown!" his face lit up with some restless desire which the frenchman appeared to understand, for he nodded seriously. "sometimes it scares me a little." "wat you scare' 'bout, you?" "myself, i suppose. sometimes i'm afraid i haven't the stuff in me to last." "dat's good sign." the speaker slipped his arms into his pack-harness and adjusted the tumpline to his forehead preparatory to rising. "you goin' mak' good 'sourdough' lak me. you goin' love de woods and de hills wen you know 'em. i can tell. wal, i see you bimeby at wite 'orse." "white horse? is that where you're going?" "yes. i'm batteau man; i'm goin' be pilot." "isn't that pretty dangerous work? they say those rapids are awful." "sure! everybody scare' to try 'im. w'en i came up dey pay me fifty dollar for tak' one boat t'rough. by gosh! i never mak' so moch money--tree hondred dollar a day. i'm reech man now. you lak get reech queeck? i teach you be pilot. swif' water, beeg noise! plenty fun in dat!" the canadian threw back his head and laughed loudly. "w'at you say?" "i wouldn't mind trying it," pierce confessed, "but i have no outfit. i'm packing for wages. i'll be along when i get my grub-stake together." "good! i go purty queeck now. w'en you come, i tak' you t'rough de canyon free. in one day i teach you be good pilot. you ask for 'poleon doret. remember?" "i say!" phillips halted the cheerful giant as he was about to rise. "do you know, you're the first man who has offered to do me a favor; you're the only one who hasn't tried to hold me back and climb over me. you're the first man i've seen with--with a smile on his face." the speaker nodded. "i know! it's peety, too. dese poor feller is scare', lak' you. dey don' onderstan'. but bimeby, dey get wise; dey learn to he'p de oder feller, dey learn dat a smile will carry a pack or row a boat. you remember dat. a smile and a song, she'll shorten de miles and mak' fren's wid everybody. don' forget w'at i tell you." "thank you, i won't," said pierce, with a flicker of amusement at the man's brief sermon. this doret was evidently a sort of backwoods preacher. "adieu!" with another flashing smile and a wave of his hand the fellow joined the procession and went on over the crest. it had been pleasant to exchange even these few friendly words, for of late the habit of silence had been forced upon pierce phillips. for weeks now he had toiled among reticent men who regarded him with hostility, who made way for him with reluctance. haste, labor, strain had numbed and brutalized them; fatigue had rendered them irritable, and the strangeness of their environment had made them both fearful and suspicious. there was no good-fellowship, no consideration on the chilkoot. this was a race against time, and the stakes went to him who was most ruthless. phillips had not exaggerated. until this morning, he had received no faintest word of encouragement, no slightest offer of help. not once had a hand been outstretched to him, and every inch he had gained had been won at the cost of his own efforts and by reason of his own determination. he was yet warm with a wordless gratitude at the frenchman's cheer when a figure came lurching toward him and fell into the space doret had vacated. this man was quite the opposite of the one who had just left; he was old and he was far from robust. he fell face downward and lay motionless. impulsively phillips rose and removed the new-comer's pack. "that last lift takes it out of you, doesn't it?" he inquired, sympathetically. after a moment the stranger lifted a thin, colorless face overgrown with a bushy gray beard and began to curse in a gasping voice. the youth warned him. "you're only tiring yourself, my friend. it's all down-hill from here." the sufferer regarded phillips from a pair of hard, smoky-blue eyes in which there lurked both curiosity and surprise. "i say!" he panted. "you're the first white man i've met in two weeks." pierce laughed. "it's the result of a good example. a fellow was decent to me just now." "this is the kind of work that gives a man dead babies," groaned the stranger. "and these darned trail-hogs!" he ground his teeth vindictively. "'get out of the way!' 'hurry up, old man!' 'step lively, grandpa!' that's what they say. they snap at your heels like coyotes. hurry? you can't force your luck!" the speaker struggled into a sitting posture and in an apologetic tone explained: "i dassent lay down or i'll get rheumatism. tough guys--frontiersmen--pah!" he spat out the exclamation with disgust, then closed his eyes again and sank back against his burden. "coyotes! that's what they are! they'd rob a carcass, they'd gnaw each other's bones to get through ahead of the ice." up out of the chasm below came a slow-moving file of indian packers. their eyes were bent upon the ground, and they stepped noiselessly into one another's tracks. the only sound they made came from their creaking pack-leathers. they paused briefly to breathe and to take in their surroundings, then they went on and out of sight. when they had disappeared the stranger spoke in a changed tone. "poor devils! i wonder what they've done. and you?" he turned to phillips. "what sins have you committed?" "oh, just the ordinary ones. but i don't look at it that way. this is a sort of a lark for me, and i'm having a great time. it's pretty fierce, i'll admit, but--i wouldn't miss it for anything. would you?" "would i? in a minute! you're young, i'm old. i've got rheumatism and--a partner. he can't pack enough grub for his own lunch, and i have to do it all. he's a jonah, too--born on friday, or something. last night somebody stole a sack of our bacon. sixty pounds, and every pound had cost me sweat!" again the speaker ground his teeth vindictively. "lord! i'd like to catch the fellow that did it! i'd take a drop of blood for every drop of sweat that bacon cost. have you lost anything?" "i haven't anything to lose. i'm packing for wages to earn money enough to buy an outfit." after a brief survey of phillips' burden, the stranger said, enviously: "looks like you wouldn't have to make more than a trip or two. i wish i could pack like you do, but i'm stove up. at that, i'm better than my partner! he couldn't carry a tune." there was a pause. "he eats good, though; eats like a hired man and he snores so i can't sleep. i just lie awake nights and groan at the joints and listen to him grow old. he can't even guard our grub-pile." "the vigilantes will put a stop to this stealing," pierce ventured. "think so? who's going to keep an eye on them? who's going to strangle the stranglers? chances are they're the very ones that are lifting our grub. i know these citizens' committees." whatever the physical limitations of the rheumatic argonaut, it was plain that his temper was active and his resentment strong. phillips had cooled off by this time; in fact, the chill breath of the snow-fields had begun to penetrate his sodden clothing, therefore he prepared to take up his march. "going through to linderman?" queried the other man. "so am i. if you'll wait a second i'll join you. maybe we can give each other a hand." the speaker's motive was patent; nevertheless, phillips obligingly acceded to his request, and a short time later assisted him into his harness, whereupon they set out one behind the other. pierce's pack was at least double the weight of his companion's, and it gave him a pleasurable thrill to realize that he was one of the strong, one of the elect; he wondered pityingly how long this feeble, middle-aged man could last. before they had tramped far, however, he saw that the object of his pity possessed a quality which was lacking in many of the younger, stronger stampeders--namely, a grim determination, a dogged perseverance--no poor substitute, indeed, for youth and brawn. once the man was in motion he made no complaint, and he managed to maintain a very good pace. leaving the crest of chilkoot behind them, the travelers bore to the right across the snowcap, then followed the ridge above crater lake. every mile or two they rested briefly to relieve their chafed and aching shoulders. they exchanged few words while they were in motion, for one soon learns to conserve his forces on the trail, but when they lay propped against their packs they talked. phillips' abundant vigor continued to evoke the elder man's frank admiration; he eyed the boy approvingly and plied him with questions. before they had traveled many miles he had learned what there was to learn, for pierce answered his questions frankly and told him about the sacrifice his family had made in order to send him north, about the trip itself, about his landing at dyea, and all the rest. when he came to the account of that shell-game the grizzled stranger smiled. "i've lived in wide-open countries all my life," said the latter, "but this beats anything i ever saw. why, the crooks outnumber the honest men and they're running things to suit themselves. one of 'em tried to lay me. me!" he chuckled as if the mere idea was fantastically humorous. "have you heard about this soapy smith? he's the boss, the bell-cow, and he's made himself mayor of skagway. can you beat it? i'll bet some of his men are on our citizens' committee at sheep camp. they need a lot of killing, they do, and they'll get it. what did you do after you lost your money?" "i fell in with two brothers and went to packing." "went partners with them?' "no, they--" phillips' face clouded, he hesitated briefly. "i merely lived with them and helped them with their outfit from time to time. we're at sheep camp now, and i share their tent whenever i'm there. i'm about ready to pull out and go it alone." "right! and don't hook up with anybody." the old man spoke with feeling. "look at me. i'm nesting with a dodo--darned gray-whiskered milliner! he's so ornery i have to hide the ax every time i see him. i just yearn to put him out of his misery, but i dassent. of course he has his points--everybody has; he's a game old rooster and he loves me. that's all that saves him." phillips was greatly interested to learn that two men so unfitted for this life, this country, should have essayed the hardships of the chilkoot trail. it amazed him to learn that already most of their outfit was at linderman. "do you mean to say that you have done all the packing for yourself and your partner?" he inquired. "n--no. old jerry totters across with a package of soda-crackers once in a while. you must have heard him; he creaks like a gate. of course he eats up all the crackers before he gets to linderman and then gorges himself on the heavy grub that i've lugged over, but in spite of that we've managed to make pretty good time." after a moment of meditation he continued: "say! you ought to see that old buzzard eat! it's disgusting, but it's interesting. it ain't so much the expense that i care about as the work. old jerry ought to be in an institution--some place where they've got wheel-chairs and a big market-garden. but he's plumb helpless, so i can't cut him loose and let him bleach his bones in a strange land. i haven't got the heart." they were resting at the long lake outlet, some time later, when the old man inquired: "i presume you've got a camp at linderman, eh?" "no. i have some blankets cached there and i sleep out whenever i can't make the round trip." "round trip? round trip in one day? why, that's thirty miles!" "real miles, too. this country makes a man of a fellow. i wouldn't mind sleeping out if i were sure of a hot meal once in a while, but money is no good this side of the summit, and these people won't even let a stranger use their stoves." "you can't last long at that, my boy." phillips smiled cheerfully. "i don't have to last much longer. i sent a thousand dollars to dyea this morning by jim mccaskey, one of the fellows i live with. he's going to put it in healy he's altogether different to us tenderfeet. he made me rather ashamed of myself." the elderly man nodded. "most pioneers are big-calibered. i'm a sort of pioneer myself, but that infernal partner of mine has about ruined my disposition. take it by and large, though, it pays a man to be accommodating." chapter iii having crossed the high barrens, phillips and his companion dropped down to timber-line and soon arrived at linderman, their journey's end. this was perhaps the most feverishly busy camp on the entire thirty-mile dyea trail, but, unlike the coast towns, there was no merrymaking, no gaiety, no gambling here. linderman's fever came from overwork, not from overplay. a tent village had sprung up at the head of the lake, and from dawn until dark it echoed to the unceasing sound of ax and hammer, of plane and saw. the air was redolent with the odor of fresh-cut spruce and of boiling tar, for this was the shipyard where an army of jasons hewed and joined and fitted, each upon a bark of his own making. half-way down the lake was the boundary, and a few miles below that again was the customs station with its hateful red-jacketed police. beyond were uncharted waters, quite as perilous, because quite as unknown, as those traversed by that first band of argonauts. deep lakes, dark canons, roaring rapids lay between linderman and the land of the golden fleece, but the nearer these men approached those dangers the more eagerly they pressed on. already the weeding-out process had gone far and the citizens of linderman were those who had survived it. the weak and the irresolute had disappeared long since; these fellows who labored so mightily to forestall the coming winter were the strong and the fit and the enduring--the kind the north takes to herself. in spite of his light pack, phillips' elderly trailmate was all but spent. he dragged his feet, he stumbled without reason, the lines in his face were deeply set, and his bearded lips had retreated from his teeth in a grin of exhaustion. "yonder's the tent," he said, finally, and his tone was eloquent of relief. in and out among canvas walls and taut guy-ropes the travelers wound their way, emerging at length upon a gravelly beach where vast supplies of provisions were cached. all about, in various stages of construction, were skeletons of skiffs, of scows, and of barges; the ground was spread with a carpet of shavings and sawdust. pierce's companion paused; then, after an incredulous stare, he said: "look! is that smoke coming from my stovepipe?" "why, yes!" there could be no mistake about it; from the tent in question arose the plain evidence that a lively fire was burning inside. "well, i'll be darned!" breathed the elder man. "somebody's jumped the cache." "perhaps your partner--" "he's in sheep camp." the speaker laboriously loosened his pack and let it fall, then with stiff, clumsy fingers he undid the top buttons of his vest and, to pierce's amazement, produced a large-calibered revolver, which he mechanically cocked and uncocked several times, the while his eyes remained hypnotically fixed upon the telltale streamer of smoke. not only did his action appear to be totally uncalled for, but he himself had undergone a startling transformation and phillips was impelled to remonstrate. "here! what the deuce--?" he began. "listen to me!" the old man spoke in a queer, suppressed tone, and his eyes, when he turned them upon his fellow-packer, were even smokier than usual. "somebody's up to a little thievin', most likely, and it looks like i had 'em red-handed. i've been layin' for this!" pierce divested himself of his pack-harness, then said, simply, "if that's the case, i'll give you a hand." "better stand back," the other cautioned him. "i don't need any help--this is my line." the man's fatigue had fallen from him; of a sudden he had become surprisingly alert and forceful. he stole forward, making as little noise as possible, and phillips followed at his back. they came to a pause within arm's-length of the tent flaps, which they noted were securely tied. "hello inside!" the owner spoke suddenly and with his free hand he jerked at one of the knots. there came an answering exclamation, a movement; then the flaps were seized and firmly held. "you can't come in!" cried a voice. "let go! quick!" the old man's voice was harsh. "you'll have to wait a minute. i'm undressed." phillips retreated a step, as did the other man; they stared at each other. "a woman!" pierce breathed. "lord!" the owner of the premises slowly, reluctantly sheathed his weapon under his left arm. "i invited myself in," the voice explained--it was a deep-pitched contralto voice. "i was wet and nobody offered to let me dry out, so i took possession of the first empty tent i came to. is it yours?" "it is--half of it. i'm mighty tired and i ain't particular how you look, so hurry up." as the two men returned for their loads the speaker went on, irritably. "she's got her nerve! i s'pose she's one of these actresses. there's a bunch of 'em on the trail. actresses!" he snorted derisively. "i bet she smells of cologne, and, gosh! how i hate it!" when he and pierce returned they were admitted promptly enough, and any lingering suspicions of the trespasser's intent were instantly dissipated. the woman was clad in a short, damp underskirt which fell about to her knees; she had drawn on the only dry article of apparel in sight, a man's sweater jacket; she had thrust her bare feet into a pair of beaded moccasins; on a line attached to the ridgepole over her head sundry outer garments were steaming. phillips' first thought was that this woman possessed the fairest, the whitest, skin he had ever seen; it was like milk. but his first impressions were confused, for embarrassment followed quickly upon his entrance and he felt an impulse to withdraw. the trespasser was not at all the sort of person he had expected to find, and her complete self-possession at the intrusion, her dignified greeting, left him not a little chagrined at his rudeness. she eyed both men coolly from a pair of ice-blue eyes--eyes that bespoke her nationality quite as plainly as did her features, her dazzling complexion, and her head of fine, straight flaxen hair. she was scandinavian, she was a norsewoman; that much was instantly apparent. she appeared to derive a certain malicious pleasure now from the consternation her appearance evoked; there was a hint of contempt, of defiance, in her smile. in a voice so low-pitched that its quality alone saved it from masculinity, she said: "pray don't be distressed; you merely startled me, that's all. my indians managed to get hold of some hootch at tagish and upset our canoe just below here. it was windy and of course they couldn't swim--none of them can, you know--so i had hard work to save them. i've already explained how i happened to select this particular refuge. your neighbors--" her lip curled disdainfully, then she shrugged. "well, i never got such a reception as they gave me, but i suppose they're cheechakos. i'll be off for dyea early in the morning. if you can put me up for the night i'll pay you well." during this speech, delivered in a matter-of-fact, business-like tone, the owner of the tent had managed to overcome his first surprise; he removed his hat now and began with an effort: "i'm a bad hand at begging pardons, miss, but you see i've been suffering the pangs of bereavement lately over some dear, departed grub. i thought you were a thief and i looked forward to the pleasure of seeing you dance. i apologize. would you mind telling me where you came from?" "from dawson." there was a silence the while the flaxen-haired woman eyed her interrogator less disdainfully. "yes, by poling-boat and birch-bark. i'm not fleeing the law; i'm not a cache-robber." "you're--all alone?" the woman nodded. "can you stow me away for the night? you may name your own price." "the price won't cripple you. i'm sorry there ain't some more women here at linderman, but--there ain't. we had one--a doctor's wife, but she's gone." "i met her at lake marsh." "we've a lot more coming, but they're not here. my name is linton. the more-or-less christian prefix thereto is tom. i've got a partner named jerry. put the two together, and drink hearty. this young man is mr.--" the speaker turned questioningly upon phillips, who made himself known. "i'm a family man. mr. phillips is a--well, he's a good packer. that's all i know about him. i'm safe and sane, but he's about the right age to propose marriage to you as soon as he gets his breath. a pretty woman in this country has to expect that, as you probably know." the woman smiled and shook hands with both men, exchanging a grip as firm and as strong as theirs. "i am the countess courteau," said she. "the--which?" mr. linton queried, with a start. the countess laughed frankly. "it is french, but i'm a dane. i think my husband bought the title--they're cheap in his country. he was a poor sort of count, and i'm a poor sort of countess. but i'm a good cook--a very good cook indeed--and if you'll excuse my looks and permit me to wear your sweater i'll prepare supper." linton's eyes twinkled as he said, "i've never et with the nobility and i don't know as i'd like their diet, for a steady thing, but--the baking-powder is in that box and we fry with bacon grease." wood and water were handy, the countess courteau had a quick and capable way, therefore supper was not long delayed. the tent was not equipped for housekeeping, hence the diners held their plates in their laps and either harpooned their food from the frying-pan or ladled it from tin cans, but even so it had a flavor to-night so unaccustomed, so different, that both men grasped the poignant fact that the culinary art is mysteriously wedded to female hands. mr. linton voiced this thought in his own manner. "if a countess cooks like this," he observed, "i'd sure love to board with a duke." later, while the dishes were being washed and when his visitor had shown no intention of explaining her presence in further detail, he said, whimsically: "see here, ma'am, our young friend has been watching you like he was afraid you'd disappear before he gets an eyeful, and it's plain to be seen that he's devoured by curiosity. as for me, i'm totally lacking in that miserable trait, and i abhor it in others; but all the same, if you don't see fit to tell us pretty quick how you came to pole up from dawson and what in heaven's name a woman like you is doing here, a lone and without benefit of chaperon, i shall pass away in dreadful agony." "it's very simple," the countess told him. "i have important business 'outside.' i couldn't go down the river, for the yukon is low, the steamers are aground on the flats, and connections at st. michael's are uncertain at best. naturally i came up against the stream. i've been working 'up-stream' all my life." she flashed him a smile at this latter statement. "as for a chaperon--i've never felt the need of one. do you think they're necessary in this country?" "does your husband, count--" "my husband doesn't count. that's the trouble." the speaker laughed again and without the faintest trace of embarrassment. "he has been out of the picture for years." she turned to phillips and inquired, abruptly, "what is the packing price to sheep camp?" "fifty cents a pound, coming this way. going back it is nothing," he told her, gallantly. "i haven't much to carry, but if you'll take it i'll pay you the regular price. i'd like to leave at daylight." "you seem to be in a rush," mr. linton hazarded, mildly. "i am. now, then, if you don't mind i'll turn in, for i must be in dyea to-morrow night." pierce phillips had said little during the meal or thereafter, to be sure, nevertheless, he had thought much. he had indeed used his eyes to good purpose, and now he regretted exceedingly that the evening promised to be so short. the more he saw of this unconventional countess the more she intrigued his interest. she was the most unusual woman he had ever met and he was eager to learn all about her. his knowledge of women was peculiarly elemental; his acquaintance with the sex was extremely limited. those he had known in his home town were one kind, a familiar kind; those he had encountered since leaving home were, for the most part, of a totally different class and of a type that awoke his disapproval. to a youth of his training and of his worldly experience the genus woman is divided into two species--old women and young women. the former are interesting only in a motherly way, and demand nothing more than abstract courtesy. they do not matter. the latter, on the contrary, separate themselves again into two families or suborders--viz., good women and bad women. the demarcation between the two branches of the suborder is distinct; there is nothing common to the two. good women are good through and through--bad ones are likewise thoroughly bad. there are no intermediate types, no troublesome variations, no hybrids nor crosses. the countess courteau, it seemed to him, was a unique specimen and extremely hard to classify, in that she was neither old nor young--or, what was even more puzzling, in that she was both. in years she was not far advanced--little older than he, in fact--but in experience, in wisdom, in self-reliance she was vastly his superior; and experience, he believed, is what makes women old. as to the family, the suborder to which she belonged, he was at an utter loss to decide. for instance, she accepted her present situation with a sang-froid equaling that of a camp harpy, a few of whom pierce had seen; then, too, she was, or had been, married to a no-account foreigner to whom she referred with a calloused and most unwifely flippancy; moreover, she bore herself with a freedom, a boldness, quite irreconcilable to the modesty of so-called "good women." those facts were enough to classify her definitely, and yet despite them she was anything but common, and it would have taken rare courage indeed to transgress that indefinable barrier of decorum with which she managed to surround herself. there was something about her as cold and as pure as blue ice, and she gave the same impression of crystal clarity. all in all, hers was a baffling personality and phillips fell asleep with the riddle of it unanswered. he awoke in the morning with it still upon his mind. the countess courteau had been first to arise; she was fully dressed and the sheet-iron stove was glowing when her companions roused themselves. by the time they had returned from the lake she had breakfast ready. "old jerry is going to be awful sore at missing this court function," mr. linton told her during the meal. "he's a great ladies' man, old jerry is." "perhaps i shall meet him." "you wouldn't like him if you did; nobody likes him, except me, and i hate him." linton sighed. "he's a handicap to a young man like me." "why don't you send him home?" "home? old jerry would die before he'd turn back. he'd lift his muzzle and bay at the very idea until some stranger terminated him. well, he's my cross; i s'pose i've got to bear him." "who is mr. linton?" the countess inquired, as she and pierce left the village behind them. "just an ordinary stampeder, like the rest of us. i think." "he's more than that. he's the kind who'll go through and make good. i dare say his partner is just like him." phillips approved of the countess courteau this morning even more thoroughly than he had on the evening previous, and they had not walked far before he realized that as a traveler she was the equal of him or of any man. she was lithe and strong and light of foot; the way she covered ground awoke his sincere admiration. she did not trouble to talk much and she dispensed with small talk in others; she appeared to be absorbed in her own affairs, and only when they rested did she engage in conversation. the more phillips studied her and the better acquainted he became with her the larger proportions did she assume. not only was she completely mistress of herself, but she had a forceful, compelling way with others; there was a natural air of authority about her, and she managed in some subtle manner to invest herself and her words with importance. she was quite remarkable. now, the trail breeds its own peculiar intimacy; although the two talked little, they nevertheless got to know each other quite well, and when they reached the summit, about midday, phillips felt a keen regret that their journey was so near its end. a mist was drifting up from the sea; it obscured the valley below and clung to the peaks like ragged garments. up and out of this fog came the interminable procession of burden-bearers. the countess paused to observe them and to survey the accumulation of stores which crowned the watershed. "i didn't dream so many were coming," said she. "it's getting worse daily," pierce told her. "dyea is jammed, and so is skagway. the trails are alive with men." "how many do you think will come?" "there's no telling. twenty, thirty, fifty thousand, perhaps. about half of them turn back when they see the chilkoot." "and the rest will wish they had. it's a hard country; not one in a hundred will prosper." they picked their way down the drunken descent to the scales, then breasted the sluggish human current to sheep camp. a group of men were reading a notice newly posted upon the wall of the log building which served as restaurant and hotel, and after scanning it pierce explained: "it's another call for a miners' meeting. we're having quite a time with cache-robbers. if we catch them we'll hang them." the countess nodded. "right! they deserve it. you know we don't have any stealing on the 'inside.' now, then, i'll say good-by." she paid pierce and extended her hand to him. "thank you for helping me across. i'll be in dyea by dark." "i hope we'll meet again," he said, with a slight flush. the woman favored him with one of her generous, friendly smiles. "i hope so, too. you're a nice boy. i like you." then she stepped into the building and was gone. "a nice boy!" phillips was pained. a boy! and he the sturdiest packer on the pass, with perhaps one exception! that was hardly just to him. if they did meet again--and he vowed they would--he'd show her he was more than a boy. he experienced a keen desire to appear well in her eyes, to appear mature and forceful. he asked himself what kind of man count courteau could be; he wondered if he, pierce phillips, could fall in love with such a woman as this, an older woman, a woman who had been married. it would be queer to marry a countess, he reflected. as he walked toward his temporary home he beheld quite a gathering of citizens, and paused long enough to note that they were being harangued by the confidence-man who had first initiated him into the subtleties of the three-shell game. mr. broad had climbed upon a raised tent platform and was presenting an earnest argument against capital punishment. two strangers upon the fringe of the crowd were talking, and pierce heard one of them say: "of course he wants the law to take its course, inasmuch as there isn't any law. he's one of the gang." "the surest way to flush a covey of crooks is to whistle for old judge lynch," the other man agreed. "listen to him!" "have they caught the cache-robbers?" phillips made bold to inquire. "no, and they won't catch them, with fellows like that on the committee. the crooks hang together and we don't. if i had my way that's just what they'd do--hang together. i'd start in by bending a limb over that rascal." phillips had attended several of these indignation meetings and, remembering that all of them bad proved purposeless, he went on toward the mccaskey brothers' tent. he and the mccaskeys were not the closest of friends, in spite of the fact that they had done him a favor--a favor, by the way, for which he had paid many times over--nevertheless, they were his most intimate acquaintances and he felt an urgent desire to tell them about his unusual experience. his desire to talk about the countess courteau was irresistible. but when he entered the tent his greeting fell flat, for joe, the elder mccaskey, addressed him sharply, almost accusingly: "say, it's about time you showed up!" "what's the matter?" pierce saw that the other brother was stretched out in his blankets and that his head was bandaged. "hello!" he cried. "what ails jim? is he sick?" "sick? worse than sick," joe grumbled. "that money of yours is to blame for it. it's a wonder he isn't dead." "my money? how?" phillips was both mystified and alarmed. jim raised himself in his blankets and said, irritably: "after this you can run your own pay-car, kid. i'm through, d'you hear?" "speak out. what's wrong?" "jim was stuck up, that's what's wrong. that's enough, isn't it? they bent a six-gun over his head and grabbed your coin. he's got a dent in his crust the size of a saucer!" phillips' face whitened slowly. "my money! robbed!" he gasped. "jim! who did it? how could you let them?" the younger mccaskey fell back weakly; he waved a feeble gesture at his brother. "joe'll tell you. i'm dizzy; my head ain't right yet." "a stranger stopped him--asked him something or other--and another guy flattened him from behind. that's all he remembers. when he came to he found he'd been frisked. he was still dippy when he got home, so i put him to bed. he got up and moved around a bit this morning, but he's wrong in his head." phillips seated himself upon a candle-box. "robbed!" he exclaimed, weakly. "broke--again! gee! that was hard money! it was the first i ever earned!" joe mccaskey's dark face was doubly unpleasant as he frowned down upon the youth. "thinking about nothing except your coin, eh? why don't you think about jim? he did you a favor and 'most lost his life." "oh, i'm sorry--of course!" phillips rose heavily and crossed to the bed. "i didn't mean to appear selfish. i don't blame you, jim. i'll get a doctor for you, then you must describe the hold-ups. give me a hint who they are and i'll go after them." the younger brother rolled his head in negation and mumbled, sullenly: "i'm all right. i don't want a doctor." joe explained for him: "he never saw the fellows before and he don't seem to remember much about them. that's natural enough. your money's gone clean, kid, and a yelp won't get you anything. the crooks are organized and if you set up a holler they'll get all of us. they'll alibi anybody you accuse--it's no trick to alibi a pal--" "isn't it?" the question was uttered unexpectedly; it came from the front of the tent and startled the occupants thereof, who turned to behold a stranger just entering their premises. he was an elderly man; he possessed a quick, shrewd eye; he had poked the tent flap aside with the barrel of a colt's revolver. through the door-opening could be seen other faces and the bodies of other men who had likewise stolen up unheard. during the moment of amazement following his first words these other men crowded in behind him. "maybe it 'll be more of a trick than you figure on." the stranger's gray mustache lifted in a grin that was not at all friendly. "what the blazes--?" joe mccaskey exploded. "go easy!" the intruder cautioned him. "we've been laying around, waiting for your pal to get back." with a movement of the revolver muzzle he indicated phillips. "now then, stretch! on your toes and reach high. you there, get up!" he addressed himself to jim, who rose from his bed and thrust his hands over his bandaged head. "that's nice!" the stranger nodded approvingly. "now don't startle me; don't make any quick moves or i may tremble this gun off--she's easy on the trigger." to his friends he called, "come in, gentlemen; they're gentle." there were four of the latter; they appeared to be substantial men, men of determination. all were armed. pierce phillips' amazement gave way to indignation. "what is this, an arrest or a hold-up?" he inquired. "it's right smart of both," the leader of the posse drawled, in a voice which betrayed the fact that he hailed from somewhere in the far southwest. "we're in quest of a bag of rice--a bag with a rip in it and 'w. k.' on the side. while i slap your pockets, just to see if you're ironed, these gentlemen are goin' to look over your outfit." "this is an outrage!" jim mccaskey complained. "i'm just getting over one stick-up. i'm a sick man." "sure!" his brother exclaimed, furiously. "you're a pack of fools! what d'you want, anyhow?" "we want you to shut up! see that you do." the old man's eyes snapped. "if you've got to say something, tell us how there happens to be a trail of rice from this man's cache"--he indicated one of his companions--"right up to your tent." the mccaskeys exchanged glances. phillips turned a startled face upon them. "it isn't much of a trail, but it's enough to follow." for a few moments nothing was said, and meanwhile the search of the tent went on. when pierce could no longer remain silent he broke out: "there's some mistake. these boys packed this grub from dyea and i helped with some of it." "aren't you partners?" some one inquired. joe mccaskey answered this question. "no. he landed broke. we felt sorry for him and took him in." joe was interrupted by an exclamation from one of the searchers. "here it is!" said the man. he had unearthed a bulging canvas sack which he flung down for inspection. "there's my mark, 'w. k.,' and there's the rip. i knew we had 'em right!" after a brief examination the leader of the posse turned to his prisoners, whose hands were still held high, saying: "anything you can think of in the way of explanations you'd better save for the miners' meeting. it's waitin' to welcome you. we'll put a guard over this plunder till the rest of it is identified. now, then, fall in line and don't crowd. after you, gentlemen." pierce phillips realized that it was useless to argue, for his words would not be listened to, therefore he followed the mccaskeys out into the open air. the odium of this accusation was hard to bear; he bitterly resented his situation and something told him he would have to fight to clear himself; nevertheless, he was not seriously concerned over the outcome. public feeling was high, to be sure; the men of sheep camp were in a dangerous frame of mind and their actions were liable to be hasty, ill-considered--their verdict was apt to be fantastic--but, secure in the knowledge of his innocence, pierce felt no apprehension. rather he experienced a thrill of excitement at the contretemps and at the ordeal which he knew was forthcoming. the countess courteau had called him a boy. this wasn't a boy's business; this was a real man-sized adventure. "gee! what a day this has been!" he said to himself. chapter iv the story of the first trial at sheep camp is an old one, but it differs with every telling. in the hectic hurry of that gold-rush many incidents were soon forgotten and such salient facts as did survive were deeply colored, for those were colorful days. that trial marked an epoch in early yukon history, for, although its true significance was unsensed at the time, it really signalized the dawn of common honesty on the chilkoot and the chilkat trails, and it was the first move taken toward the disruption of organized outlawry--a bitter fight, by the way, which ended only in the tragic death of soapy smith and the flight of his notorious henchmen. although the circumstances of the sheep camp demonstration now seem shocking, they did not seem so at the time, and they served a larger purpose than was at first apparent; not only did theft become an unprofitable and an uninteresting occupation thereafter, but also the men who shaped a code and drew first blood in defense of it experienced a beneficial reaction and learned to fit the punishment to the crime--no easy lesson to learn where life runs hot and where might is right. the meeting was in session and it had been harangued into a dangerous frame of mind when pierce phillips and the two mccaskeys were led before it. a statement by the leader of the posse, corroborated by the owner of the missing sack of rice, roused the audience to a fury. even while these stories were being told there came other men who had identified property of theirs among the provision piles inside the mccaskey tent, and when they, too, had made their reports the crowd began to mill; there were demands for a speedy trial and a swift vengeance. these demands found loudest echo among the outlaw element for which lucky broad had acted as mouthpiece. although the members of that band were unknown--as a matter of fact, no man knew his neighbor--nevertheless it was plain that there was an organization of crooks and that a strong bond of understanding existed between them. now, inasmuch as the eye of suspicion had been turned away from them, now that a herring had been dragged across the trail, their obstructive tactics ended and they, too, became noisy in their clamor that justice be done. the meeting was quickly organized along formal lines and a committee of three was appointed to conduct the hearing. the chairman of this committee-he constituted himself chairman by virtue of the fact that he was first nominated--made a ringing speech in which he praised his honesty, his fairness, and his knowledge of the law. he complimented the miners for their acumen in selecting for such a position of responsibility a man of his distinguished qualifications. it was plain that he believed they had chosen wisely. then, having inquired the names of his two committeemen, he likewise commended them in glowing terms, although of course he could not praise them quite as unstintedly as he had praised himself. still, he spoke well of them and concluded by stating that so long as affairs were left in his hands justice would be safeguarded and the rights of this miserable, cringing trio of thieves would be protected, albeit killing, in his judgment, was too mild a punishment for people of their caliber. "hear! hear!" yelled the mob. pierce phillips listened to this speech with a keenly personal and yet a peculiarly detached interest. the situation struck him as unreal, grotesque, and the whole procedure as futile. under other circumstances it would have been grimly amusing; now he was uncomfortably aware that it was anything but that. there was no law whatever in the land save the will of these men; in their hands lay life or death, exoneration or infamy. he searched the faces round about him, but could find signs neither of friendship nor of sympathy. this done, he looked everywhere for a glimpse of a woman's straw-colored hair and was relieved to discover that the countess courteau was not in the audience. doubtless she had left for dyea and was already some distance down the trail. he breathed easier, for he did not wish her to witness his humiliation, and her presence would have merely added to his embarrassment. the prosecution's case was quickly made, and it was a strong one. even yet the damning trickle of rice grains could be traced through the moss and mire directly to the door of the prisoners' tent, and the original package, identified positively by its owner, was put in evidence. this in itself was enough; testimony from the other men who had likewise recovered merchandise they had missed and mourned merely strengthened the case and further inflamed the minds of the citizens. from the first there had never been a doubt in phillips' mind that the mccaskeys were guilty. the facts offered in evidence served only to explain certain things which had puzzled him at various times; nevertheless, his indignation and his contempt for them were tempered with regrets, for he could not but remember that they had befriended him. it was of course imperative that he establish his own innocence, but he determined that in so doing he would prejudice their case as little as possible. that was no more than the merest loyalty. when it came tune to hear the defense, the mccaskeys stared at pierce coolly; therefore he climbed to the tent platform and faced his accusers. he made known his name, his birthplace, the ship which had borne him north. he told how he had landed at dyea, how he had lost his last dollar at the gambling-table, how he had appealed to the mccaskey boys, and how they had given him shelter. that chance association, he took pains to explain, had continued, but had never ripened into anything more, anything closer; it was in no wise a partnership; he had nothing to do with them and they had nothing to do with him. inasmuch as the rice had been stolen during the previous night, he argued that he could have had no hand in the theft, for he had spent the night in linderman, which fact he offered to prove by two witnesses. "produce them," ordered the chairman. "one of them is still at linderman, the other was here in sheep camp an hour ago. she has probably started for dyea by this time." "a woman?" "yes, sir. i brought her across." "what is her name?" phillips hesitated. "the countess courteau," said he. there was a murmur of interest; the members of the committee conferred with one an other. "do you mean to tell us that you've got a titled witness?" the self-appointed spokesman inquired. his face wore a smile of disbelief; when the prisoner flushed and nodded he called out over the heads of the crowd: "countess courteau!" there was no answer. "do any of you gentlemen know the countess courteau?" he inquired. his question was greeted by a general laugh. "don't let him kid you," cried a derisive voice. "never heard of her, but i met four kings last night," yelled another. "call the marquis of queensberry," shouted still a third. "countess courteau!" repeated the chairman, using his hands for a megaphone. the cry was taken up by other throats. "countess courteau! countess courteau!" they mocked. "come, countess! nice countess! pretty countess!" there was a ribald note to this mockery which caused phillips' eyes to glow. "she and the count have just left the palace. let's get along with the hangin'," one shrill voice demanded. "you won't hang me!" phillips retorted, angrily. "be not so sure," taunted the acting judge. "inasmuch as your countess appears to be constituted of that thin fabric of which dreams are made; inasmuch as there is no such animal--" "hol' up!" came a peremptory challenge. "m'sieu jodge!" it was the big french canadian whom pierce had met on the crest of the divide; he came forward now, pushing his resistless way through the audience. "wat for you say dere ain't nobody by dat name, eh?" he turned his back to the committee and addressed the meeting. "wat for you hack lak dis, anyhow? by gosh! i heard 'bout dis lady! she's ol'-timer lak me." "well, trot her out! where is she?" "she's on her way to dyea," pierce insisted. "she can't be far--" 'poleon doret was angry. "i don' listen to no woman be joke 'bout, you hear? dis boy spik true. he was in linderman las' night, for i seen him on top of chilkoot yesterday myse'f, wit' pack on his back so beeg as a barn." "do you know the accused?" queried the spokesman. 'poleon turned with a shrug. "non! no! but--yes, i know him li'l bit. anybody can tell he's hones' boy. by gar! she's strong feller, too--pack lak hell!" pierce phillips was grateful for this evidence of faith, inconclusive as it was in point of law. he was sorry, therefore, to see the frenchman, after replying shortly, impatiently, to several senseless cross-questions, force his way out of the crowd and disappear, shaking his head and muttering in manifest disgust at the temper of his townsmen. but although one friend had gone, another took his place--a champion, by the way, whom pierce would never have suspected of being such. profiting by the break in the proceedings, lucky broad spoke up. "frenchy was right--this kid's on the square," he declared. "i'm the gentleman who gathered his wheat at dyea--he fairly fed it to me, like he said--so i guess i'm acquainted with him. we're all assembled up to mete out justice, and justice is going to be met, but, say! a sucker like this boy wouldn't know enough to steal!" it was doubtful if this witness, well-intentioned as he was, carried conviction, for, although his followers took their cue from him and applauded loudly, their very manifestations of faith aroused suspicion among the honest men present. one of the latter, a red-faced, square-shouldered person, thrust a determined countenance close to broad's and cried, angrily: "is that so? well, i'm for hangin' anybody you boost!" this sentiment met with such instantaneous second that the confidence-man withdrew precipitately. "have it your own way," he gave in, with an airy gesture. "but take it from me you're a bunch of boobs. hangin' ain't a nice game, and the guy that hollers loudest for it is usually the one that needs it worst." it took some effort on the part of the chairman to bring the meeting to order so that the hearing could be resumed. phillips went on with his story and told of spending the night with tom linton, then of his return to sheep camp to learn that he had been robbed of all his savings. corroboration of this misfortune he left to the oral testimony of the two brothers mccaskey and to the circumstantial evidence of jim's bandaged head. while it seemed to him that he had given a simple, straightforward account of himself which would establish his innocence, so far, at least, as it applied to the theft of the sack of rice, he was uncomfortably aware that evidence of systematic pilfering had been introduced and that evidence he had not met except indirectly. his proof seemed good so far as it went, but it did not go far, and he believed it all too likely that his hearers still considered him an accomplice, at the best. jim mccaskey was next called and pierce made way for him. the younger brother made a poor start, but he warmed up to his own defense, gaining confidence and ease as he talked. in the first place, both he and joe were innocent of this outrageous charge--as innocent as unborn babes--and this air of suspicion was like to smother them. this jim declared upon his honor. the evidence was strong, he admitted, but it was purely circumstantial, and he proposed to explain it away. he proposed to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; letting the blame fall where it would and leaving the verdict entirely up to his hearers. joe would substantiate his every statement. it was quite true that he and his brother had been good samaritans; they had opened their doors and had taken in this young man when he was hungry and homeless, but that was their habit. they had fed him, they had shared their blankets with him, they had helped him in a thousand ways, not without serious inconvenience to themselves. why, only on the day before the speaker himself had volunteered to take the young man's earnings to dyea for safekeeping, thereby letting himself in for an unmerciful mauling, and suffering a semi-fractured skull, the marks of which would doubtless stay with him for a long time. phillips had left camp early the previous morning, to be sure, and he had not come home until an hour or two ago, but where he had gone, how he had occupied himself during his absence, where he had spent the night, of course the speaker had no way of knowing. phillips was often absent at night; he came and he went at all hours, and neither joe nor the witness ever questioned him, believing his statements that he was packing for hire. neither his brother nor he had ever seen that sack of rice antil it was uncovered by the posse, and as for the other plunder, it was all part and parcel of an outfit which their guest had been assembling for some time. they supposed, of course, that he had bought it, bit by bit, with his earnings. pierce phillips listened in speechless amazement, scarcely believing his own ears, the while jim mccaskey struck the fetters from his own and his brother's limbs and placed them upon his. it seemed impossible that such a story could carry weight, but from all indications it did. when joe mccaskey took the center of the stage and glibly corroborated his brother's statements pierce interrupted him savagely, only to be warned that he'd better be silent. "that's all we've got to say," concluded the elder of the precious pair when he had finished. "you can judge for yourselves who did the stealing. jim and i've got all the grub we want; this fellow hasn't any." "have you anything to say for yourself?" the chairman addressed himself to phillips. "i have." pierce again took the stand. "you're making a great mistake," he said, earnestly. "these men have lied; they're trying to save themselves at my expense. i've told you everything, now i demand that you wait to hear the countess courteau or mr. linton. they'll prove where i spent last night, at least." "mr. chairman!" a stranger claimed general attention. "i've listened to the evidence and it's strong enough for me. the grub didn't get up and walk away by itself; somebody took it. grub is more than grub in this country; it's more than money; it's a man's life, that's what it is. now, then, the mccaskeys had an outfit when they landed; they didn't need to steal; but this fellow, this dirty ingrate, he hadn't a pound. i don't swallow his countess story and i don't care a hoot where he was last night. let's decide first what punishment a thief gets, then let's give it to him." "hear! hear!" came the cry. "hanging is good enough for thieves!" shouted the choleric individual who had so pointedly made known his distrust of lucky broad. "i say stretch 'em." "right! let's make an example!" "hang him!" there rose a hoarse chorus of assent to this suggestion, whereupon the chairman stepped forward. "all those in favor of hanging--" he began. but again he was interrupted by 'poleon doret, who once more bored his way into the crowd, crying: "wait! i got somet'ing to say." he was breathing heavily, as if from a considerable exertion; perspiration stood upon his face; his eyes were flashing. he vaulted lightly to the platform, then flung out his long arms, crying: "you hack lak crazee mans. wat talk is dis 'bout hangin'? you ain't wild hanimals!" the red-faced advocate of the noose who had spoken a moment before answered him in a loud voice: "i paid hard money for my grub and i've packed every pound of it on my back. you can take a mark's life by stealing his matches the same as by shooting him. i want to see thieves on the end of a rope." doret bent down to him. "all right, m'sieu! you want blood; we give it to you. bring on dat rope. i'll put it on dis boy's neck if you'll do de pullin'. for me, i ain't care 'bout killin' no-body, but you--you're brave man. you hang on tight w'ile dis boy he keeck, an' strangle, an' grow black in de face. it's goin' mak you feel good all over!" "rats! _i_ won't do the trick, but--" "somebody mus' do de pullin'." 'poleon grinned. "he ain't goin' hang himse'f. mebbe you got pardner w'at lak give you hand, eh?" he raised his head and laughed at the crowd. "messieurs, you see how 'tis. it tak' brave man to hang a feller lak dis. some day policeman's goin' come along an' say: 'by gar, i been lookin' for you long tarn. de new jodge at dyea he tell me you murder a boy at sheep camp. s'pose you come wit' me an' do little hangin' yourse'f.' no, messieurs! we ain't hinjuns; we're good sensible peoples, eh?" a member of the committee, one who had hitherto acted a passive part, now stepped forward. "frenchy has put it right," he acknowledged. "we'll have courts in this country some day, and we'll have to answer to them. miners' law is all right, so far as it goes, but i won't be a party to a murder. that's what this would be, murder. if you're going to talk hanging, you can take me off of your committee." lucky broad uttered a yelp of encouragement. "hangin' sounds better 'n it feels," he declared. "think it over, you family men. when you make your stakes and go home, little johnny's going to climb onto your knee and say, 'papa, tell me why you hung that man at sheep camp,' and you'll say, 'why, son, we hung him because he stole a sack of rice.' like hell you will!" 'poleon doret regained public attention by saying, "messieurs, i got s'prise for you." he lifted himself to his toes and called loudly over the heads of the assembled citizens, "dis way, madame." from the direction he was looking there came a swiftly moving figure, the figure of a tall woman with straw-gold hair. men gave way before her. she hurried straight to the tent platform, where 'poleon leaned down, took her beneath her arms, and swung her lightly up beside him. "madame de countess courteau," he announced; then with a flourish he swept off his knitted cap and bowed to the new-comer. to those beneath him he cried, sharply, "tak' off dose hat or i knock dem off." the countess, too, had evidently made haste, for she was breathing deeply. she flashed a smile at pierce phillips, then said, so that all could hear: "i understand you accuse this young man of stealing something last night. well, he was in linderman. he brought me over to-day." "we don't care so much about the rice; this stealing has been going on for a long time," a bystander explained. "true. but the rice was stolen last night, wasn't it? the man who stole it probably stole the other stuff." "they're two to one," pierce told her. "they're trying to saw it off on me." the countess turned and stared at the mccaskey brothers, who met her look defiantly. "ban!" she exclaimed. "i haven't heard the evidence, for i was on my way to dyea when mr.--" she glanced inquiringly at 'poleon. he bowed again. "doret," said he. "napoleon doret." "--when mr. doret overtook me, but i'm willing to wager my life that this boy isn't a thief." again she smiled at phillips, and he experienced a tumult of conflicting emotions. never had he seen a woman like this one, who radiated such strength, such confidence, such power. she stood there like a goddess, a splendid creature fashioned of snow and gold; she dominated the assembly. he was embarrassed that she should find him in this predicament, shamed that she should be forced to come to his assistance; nevertheless, he was thrilled at her ready response. it was the elder mccaskey who next claimed attention. "we've made our spiel," he began; then he launched into a repetition of his former statement of facts. the countess stepped to pierce's side, inquiring, quickly, "what is this, a joke?" "i thought so at first, but it looks as if i'll be cutting figure eights on the end of a tent-rope." "what makes them think you did the stealing?" "the mccaskeys swear i did. you see, i had no outfit of my own--" "are you broke?" "n--no! i wasn't yesterday. i am now." in a few sentences pierce made known the facts of his recent loss, and pointed to jim mccaskey's bandaged head. when the elder brother had concluded, the countess again addressed the meeting. "you men take it for granted that phillips did the stealing because he needed grub," said she. "as a matter of fact he wasn't broke, he had a thousand dollars, and--" "say! who hired you to argue this case?" it was jim mccaskey speaking. he had edged his way forward and was scowling darkly at the woman. "what's the idea, anyhow? are you stuck on this kid?" the countess courteau eyed her interrogator coolly, her cheeks maintained their even coloring, her eyes were as icy blue as ever. it was plain that she was in no wise embarrassed by his insinuation. very quietly she said: "i'll tell you whether i am if you'll tell me who got his thousand dollars. was it your brother?" jim mccaskey recoiled; his face whitened. "who hit you over the head?" the woman persisted. "did he?" "that's none of your business," jim shouted. "i want to know what you're doing in this case. you say the kid was in linderman last night. well, i say--you're a--! how d'you know he was there? how d'you know he didn't steal that rice before he left, for that matter?" "i know he was in linderman because i was with him." "with him? all night?" the speaker grinned insultingly. "yes, all night. i slept in the same tent with him and--" "now i've got your number," the younger mccaskey cried, in triumph. "bah!" the countess shrugged unconcernedly. "as for the rice being stolen before he--" "'countess.' ha!" jim burst forth again. "swell countess you are! the dyea dance-halls are full of 'countesses' like you--counting percentage checks. boys, who are you going to believe? she slept all night--" mccaskey got no further, for with a cry of rage pierce phillips set his muscles and landed upon him. it was a mighty blow and it found lodgment upon the side of its victim's face. jim mccaskey went down and his assailant, maddened completely by the feel of his enemy's flesh, lunged forward to stamp him beneath his heels. but stout arms seized him, bodies intervened, and he was hurled backward. a shout arose; there was a general scramble for the raised platform. there were yells of: "shame!" "hang on to him!" "stretch him up!" "dirty ingrate!" phillips fought with desperation; his struggles caused the structure to creak and to strain; men piled over it and joined in the fight. he was whining and sobbing in his fury. meanwhile ready hands had rescued jim from the trampling feet and now held his limp body erect. it was the clarion call of the countess courteau which first made itself heard above the din. she had climbed to the railing and was poised there with one arm outflung, a quivering finger leveled at jim mccaskey's head. "look!" she cried. "look, men--at his head! there's proof that he's been lying!" the victim of the assault had lost his cap in the scuffle, and with it had gone the bandage. his head was bare now, and, oddly enough, it showed no matted hair, no cut, no bruise, no swelling. it was, in fact, a perfectly normal, healthy, well-preserved cranium. phillips ceased his struggles; he passed a shaking hand over his eyes to clear his vision; his captors released him and crowded closer to jim mccaskey, who was now showing the first signs of returning consciousness. "he told you he was held up--that his skull was cracked, didn't he?" the countess threw back her head and laughed unrestrainedly. "my! but you men are fools! now, then, who do you suppose got young phillips' money? use your wits, men." there was a great craning of necks, a momentary hush, the while jim mccaskey rolled his head loosely, opened his eyes, and stared wildly about. the countess bent down toward him, and now her cheeks had grown white, her blue eyes were flaming. "well, my man," she cried, in a shaking voice, "now you know what kind of a woman i am. 'counting percentage checks,' eh?" she seemed upon the point of reaching out and throttling jim with her long strong fingers. "let's see you and your precious brother do a little counting. count out a thousand dollars for this boy. quick!" it was 'poleon doret who searched the palsied victim. while other hands restrained the older brother he went through the younger one and, having done so, handed pierce phillips a bulky envelope addressed in the latter's handwriting. "she's yours, eh?" 'poleon inquired. phillips made a hasty examination, then nodded. the countess turned once more to the crowd. "i move that you apologize to mr. phillips. are you game?" her question met with a yell of approval. "now, then, there's a new case on the docket, and the charge is highway robbery. are you ready to vote a verdict?" her face was set, her eyes still flashed. "guilty!" came with a roar. "very well. hang the ruffians if you feel like it!" she leaped down from her vantage-point, and without a word, without a glance behind her set out along the dyea trail. chapter v "looked kind of salty for a spell, didn't it?" the grizzled leader of the posse, he who had effected the capture of the thieves, was speaking to pierce. "well, i'm due for a private apology. i hope you cherish no hard feelings. eh?" "none whatever, sir. i'm only too glad to get out whole and get my money back. it was quite an experience." already phillips' mind had ranged the events of the last crowded hour into some sort of order; his fancy had tinged them with a glamour already turning rosy with romance, and he told himself that his thrills had been worth their price. "lucky that woman showed up. who is she?" phillips shook his head. in his turn he inquired, "what are you going to do with the mccaskeys?" the elder man's face hardened. "i don't know. this talk about hangin' makes me weary. i'd hang 'em; i'd kick a bar'l out from under either of 'em. i've done such things and i never had any bad dreams." but it was plain that the sentiment favoring such extreme punishment had changed, for a suggestion was made to flog the thieves and send them out of the country. this met with instant response. a motion was put to administer forty lashes and it was carried with a whoop. preparations to execute the sentence were immediately instituted. a scourge was prepared by wiring nine heavy leather thongs to a whip-handle, the platform was cleared, and a call was issued for a man to administer the punishment. some delay ensued at this point, but finally a burly fellow volunteered, climbed to the stage, and removed his canvas coat. since the younger mccaskey appeared to be still somewhat dazed from the rough handling he had suffered, his brother was thrust forward. the latter was stripped to the waist, his wrists were firmly bound, then trussed up to one of the stout end-poles of the tent-frame which, skeleton-like, stood over the platform. this done, the committee fell back, and the wielder of the whip stepped forward. the crowd had watched these grim proceedings intently; it became quite silent now. the hour was growing late, the day had been overcast, and a damp chill that searched the marrow was settling as the short afternoon drew to a close. the prisoner's naked body showed very white beneath his shock of coal-black hair; his flesh seemed tender and the onlookers stared at it in fascination. joe mccaskey was a man of nerve; he held himself erect; there was defiance in the gaze which he leveled at the faces below him. but his brother jim was not made of such stern, stuff--he was the meaner, the more cowardly of the pair--and these methodical preparations, the certainty of his own forthcoming ordeal, bred in him a desperate panic. the sight of his brother's flesh bared to the bite of the lash brought home to him the horrifying significance of a flogging, and then, as if to emphasize that significance, the executioner gave his cat-o'-nine-tails a practice swing. as the lashes hissed through the air the victim at the post stiffened rigidly, but his brother, outside the inclosure, writhed in his tracks and uttered a faint moan. profiting by the inattention of his captors, jim mccaskey summoned his strength and with an effort born of desperation wrenched himself free. hands grasped at him as he bolted, bodies barred his way, but he bore them down; before the meaning of the commotion had dawned upon the crowd at large he had fought his way out and was speeding down the street. but fleet-footed men were at his heels, a roar of rage burst from the mob, and in a body it took up the chase. down the stumpy, muddy trail went the pursuit, and every command to halt spurred the fleeing man to swifter flight. cabin doors opened; people came running from their tents; some tried to fling themselves in the way of the escaping criminal; packers toiling up the trail heard the approaching clamor, shook off their burdens and endeavored to seize the figure that came bounding ahead of it. but jim dodged them all. failing in their attempt to intercept him, these newcomers joined the chase, and the fugitive, once the first frenzy of excitement had died in him, heard their footsteps gaining on him. he was stark mad by now; black terror throttled him. then some one fired a shot; that shot was followed by others; there came a scattered fusillade, and with a mighty leap jim mccaskey fell. he collapsed in midair; he was dead when his pursuers reached him. mob spirit is a peculiar thing; its vagaries are difficult to explain or to analyze. some trivial occurrence may completely destroy its temper, or again merely serve to harden it and give it edge. in this instance the escape, the flight, the short, swift pursuit and its tragic ending, had the effect, not of sobering the assembled citizens of sheep camp, not of satisfying their long-slumbering rage, but of inflaming it, of intoxicating them to a state of insane triumph. like the paris mobs that followed shouting, in the wake of the tumbrels bound for the guillotine, these men came trooping back to the scene of execution, and as they came they bellowed hoarsely and they waved their arms. men react powerfully to environment; they put on rough ways with rough clothes. smooth pavements, soap and hot water, safety-razors, are strong civilizing agents, but a man begins to revert in the time it takes his beard to grow. these fellows had left the world they knew behind them; they were in a world they knew not. old standards had fallen, new standards had been reared, new values had attached to crime, therefore they demanded that the business in hand go on. such was the spirit of the chilkoot trail. at the first stroke of the descending whip a howl went up--a merciless howl, a howl of fierce exultation. joe mccaskey rocked forward upon the balls of his feet; his frame was racked by a spasm of agony; he strained at his thongs until his shoulder muscles swelled. the flesh of his back knotted and writhed; livid streaks leaped out upon it, then turned crimson and began to trickle blood. "one!" roared the mob. the wielder of the scourge swung his weapon again; again the leather strips wrapped around the victim's ribs and laid open their defenseless covering. "two!" mccaskey lunged forward, then strained, backward; the tent-frame creaked as he pulled at it. his head was drawn far back between his shoulders, his face was convulsed, and his gums were bared in a skyward grin. if he uttered any sound it was lost in the uproar. "three!" it was a frightful punishment. the man's flesh was being stripped from his bones. "four!" "five!" the count went on monotonously, for the fellow with the whip swung slowly, putting his whole strength behind every blow. when it had climbed to eight the prisoner's body was dripping with blood, his trousers-band was sodden with it. when it had reached ten he hung suspended by his wrists and only a fierce involuntary muscular reaction answered the caress of the nine lashes. forty stripes had been voted as the penalty, but 'poleon doret vaulted to the platform, seized the upraised whip, and tore it from the executioner's hand. he turned upon the crowd a countenance white with fury and disgust. "enough!" he shouted. "by gar! you keel him next! if you mus' w'ip somebody, w'ip me; dis feller is mos' dead." he strode to the post and with a slash of his hunting-knife cut mccaskey down. this action was greeted by an angry yell of protest; there was a rush toward the platform, but 'poleon was joined by the leader of the posse, who scrambled through the press and ranged himself in opposition to the audience. the old man was likewise satiated with this torture; his face was wet with sweat; beneath his drooping gray mustache his teeth were set. "back up, you hyenas!" he cried, shrilly. "the show's over. the man took his medicine and he took it like a man. he's had enough." "gimme the whip. i'll finish the job," some one shouted. the former speaker bent forward abristle with defiance. "you try it!" he spat out. "you touch that whip, and by god, i'll kill you!" he lent point to this threat by drawing and cocking his six-shooter. "if you men ain't had enough blood for one day, i'll let a little more for you." his words ended in a torrent of profanity. "climb aboard!" he shrilled. "who's got the guts to try?" doret spoke to him shortly, "dese men ain't goin' mak' no trouble, m'sieu'." with that he turned his back and, heedless of the clamor, began to minister to the bleeding man. he had provided himself with a bottle of lotion, doubtless some antiseptic snatched from the canvas drugstore down the street, and with this he wet a handkerchief; then he washed mccaskey's lacerated back. a member of the committee joined him in this work of mercy; soon others came to their assistance, and gradually the crowd began breaking up. some one handed the sufferer a drink of whisky, which revived him considerably, and by the time he was ready to receive his upper garments he was to some extent master of himself. joe mccaskey accepted these attentions without a word of thanks, without a sign of gratitude. he appeared to be numbed, paralyzed, by the nervous shock he had undergone, and yet he was not paralyzed, for his eyes were intensely alive. they were wild, baleful; his roving glance was like poison to the men it fell upon. "you're due to leave camp," he was told, "and you're going to take the first boat from dyea. is there anything you want to say, anything you want to do, before you go?" "i--want something to--eat," joe answered, hoarsely. "i'm hungry." these were the first words he had uttered; they met with astonishment; nevertheless he was led to the nearest restaurant. surrounded by a silent, curious group, he crouched over the board counter and wolfed a ravenous meal. when he had finished he rose, turned, and stared questioningly at the circle of hostile faces; his eyes still glittered with that basilisk glare of hatred and defiance. there was something huge, disconcerting, about the man. not once had he appealed for mercy, not once had he complained, not once had he asked about his brother; he showed neither curiosity nor concern over jim's fate, and now he betrayed the utmost indifference to his own. he merely shifted that venomous stare from one face to another as if indelibly to photograph each and every one of them upon his mind. but the citizens of sheep camp were not done with him yet. his hands were again bound, this time behind him; a blanket roll was roped upon his shoulders, upon his breast was hung a staring placard which read: "i am a thief! spit on me and send me along." thus decorated, he met his crowning indignity. extending from the steps of the restaurant far down the street twin rows of men had formed, and this gauntlet joe mccaskey was forced to run. he bore this ordeal as he had borne the other. men jeered at him, they flung handfuls of wet moss and mud at him, they spat upon him, some even struck him, bound as he was. sickened at the sight, pierce phillips witnessed the final chapter of this tragedy into which the winds of chance had blown him. for one instant only did his eyes meet those of his former tentmate, but during that brief glance the latter made plain his undying hatred. mccaskey's gaze intensified, his upper lip drew back in a grimace similar to that which he had lifted to the sky when agony ran through his veins like fire; he seemed to concentrate the last ounce of his soul's energy in the sending of some wordless message. hellish fury, a threat too baneful, too ominous, for expression dwelt in that stare; then a splatter of mire struck him in the face and blotted it out. when the last jeer had died away, when the figure of joe mccaskey had disappeared into the misty twilight, phillips drew a deep breath. what a day this had been, what a tumult he had lived through, what an experience he had undergone! this was an adventure! he had lived, he had made an enemy. life had come his way, and the consciousness of that fact caused him to tingle. this would be something to talk about; what would the folks back home say to this? and the countess--that wonderful woman of ice and fire! that superwoman who could sway the minds of men, whose wit was quicker than light. well, she had saved him, saved his good name, if not his neck, and his life was hers. who was she? what mission brought her here? what hurry crowded on her heels? what idle chance had flung them into each other's arms? or was it idle chance? was there such a thing as chance, after all? were not men's random fortunes all laid out in conformity with some obscure purpose to form a part of some intricate design? dust he was, dust blown upon the breath of the north, as were these other human atoms which had been borne thither from the farthest quarters of the earth; but when that dust had settled would it not arrange itself into patterns mapped out at the hour of birth or long before? somehow he believed that such would be the case. as for the countess, his way was hers, her way was his; he could not bear to think of losing her. she was big, she was great, she drew him by the spell of some strange magic. the peppery old man who, with doret's help, had defied the miners' meeting approached him to inquire: "say, why didn't old tom come back with you from linderman?" "old tom?" "sure! old tom linton. we're pardners. i'm jerry quirk." "he was tired out." "tired!" mr. quirk snorted derisively. "what tired him? he can't tote enough grub to satisfy his own hunger. me, i'm double-trippin'--relayin' our stuff to the summit and breakin' my back at it. i can't make him understand we'd ought to keep the outfit together; he's got it scattered like a mad woman's hair. but old tom's in the sere and yellow leaf: he's onnery, like all old men. i try to humor him, but--here's a limit." the speaker looked pierce over shrewdly. "you said you was packin' for wages. well, old tom ain't any help to me. you look strong. mebbe i could hire you." phillips shook his head. "i don't want work just now," said he. "i'm going to dyea in the morning." jim mccaskey was buried where he had fallen, and there beside the trail, so that all who passed might read and ponder, the men of sheep camp raised a board with this inscription: "here lies the body of a thief." chapter vi a certain romantic glamour attaches to all new countries, but not every man is responsive to it. to the person who finds enjoyment, preoccupation, in studying a ruin or in contemplating glories, triumphs, dramas long dead and gone, old buildings, old cities, and old worlds sound a resistless call. the past is peopled with impressive figures, to be sure; it is a tapestry into which are woven scenes of tremendous significance and events of the greatest moment, and it is quite natural, therefore, that the majority of people should experience greater fascination in studying it than in painting new scenes upon a naked canvas with colors of their own imagining. to them new countries are crude, uninteresting. but there is another type of mind which finds a more absorbing spell in the contemplation of things to come than of things long past; another temperament to which the proven and the tried possess a flat and tasteless flavor. they are restless, anticipative people; they are the ones who blaze trails. to them great cities, established order, the intricate structure of well-settled life, are both monotonous and oppressive; they do not thrive well thereunder. but put them out on the fringe of things, transplant them to wild soil, and the sap runs, they flower rankly. to pierce phillips the new surroundings into which he had been projected were intensely stimulating; they excited him as he had never been excited, and each day he awoke to the sense of new adventures. life, as he had known it, had always been good--and full, too, for that matter--and he had hugely enjoyed it; nevertheless, it had impressed upon him a sense of his own insignificance. he had been lost, submerged, in it. here, on the threshold of a new world, he had begun to find himself, and the experience was delightful. by some magic he had been lifted to a common level with every other man, and no one had advantage over him. the momentous future was as much his as theirs and the god of luck was in charge of things. there was a fever in the very air he breathed, the food he ate, the water he drank. life ran at a furious pace and it inspired in him supreme exhilaration to be swept along by it. over all this new land was a purple haze of mystery--a sense of the unknown right at hand. the beyond was beckoning; it was as if great curtains had parted and he beheld vistas of tremendous promise. keenest of all, perhaps, was his joy at discovering himself. appreciation of this miraculous rebirth was fullest when, at rare intervals, he came off the trail and back to dyea, for then he renewed his touch with that other world, and the contrast became more evident. dyea throbbed nowadays beneath a mighty head of steam; it had grown surprisingly and it was intensely alive. phillips never came back to it without an emotional thrill and a realization of great issues, great undertakings, in process of working out. the knowledge that he had a part in them aroused in him an intoxicating pleasure. dyea had become a metropolis of boards and canvas, of logs and corrugated iron. stores had risen, there were hotels and lodging-houses, busy restaurants and busier saloons whence came the sounds of revelry by night and by day. it was a healthy revelry, by the way, like the boisterous hilarity of a robust boy. dyea was just that--an overgrown, hilarious boy. there was nothing querulous or sickly about this child; it was strong, it was sturdy, it was rough; it romped with everybody and it grew out of its clothes overnight. every house, every tent, in the town was crowded; supply never quite overtook demand. pack-animals were being imported, bridges were being built, the swamps were being hastily corduroyed; there was talk of a tramway up the side of the chilkoot, but the gold rush increased daily, and, despite better means of transportation, the call for packers went unanswered and the price per pound stayed up. new tribes of indians from down the coast had moved thither, babies and baggage, and they were growing rich. the stampede itself resembled the spring run of the silver salmon--it was equally mad, equally resistless. it was equally wasteful, too, for birds and beasts of prey fattened upon it and the outsetting current bore a burden of derelicts. values were extravagant; money ran like water; the town was wide open and it took toll from every new-comer. the ferment was kept active by a trickle of outgoing klondikers, a considerable number of whom passed through on their way back to the states. these men had been educated to the liberal ways of the "inside" country and were prodigal spenders. the scent of the salt sea, the sight of new faces, the proximity of the open world, were like strong drink to them, hence they untied their mooseskin "pokes" and scattered the contents like sawdust. their tales of the new el dorado stimulated a similar recklessness among their hearers. to a boy like pierce phillips, in whom the spirit of youth was a flaming torch, all this spelled glorious abandon, a supreme riot of olympic emotions. precisely what reason he had for coming to town this morning he did not know; nevertheless, he was drawn seaward as by a mighty magnet. he told himself that ordinary gratitude demanded that he thank the countess courteau for her service to him, but as a matter of fact he was less interested in voicing his gratitude than in merely seeing her again. he was not sure but that she would resent his thanks; nevertheless, it was necessary to seek her out, for already her image was nebulous, and he could not piece together a satisfactory picture of her. she obsessed his thoughts, but his intense desire to fix her indelibly therein had defeated its purpose and had blurred the photograph. who was she? what was she? where was she going? what did she think of him? the possibility that she might leave dyea before answering those questions spurred him into a gait that devoured the miles. but when he turned into the main street of the town his haste vanished and a sudden embarrassment overtook him. what would he say to her, now that he was here? how would he excuse or explain his obvious pursuit? would she see through him? if so, what light would kindle in those ice-blue eyes? the countess was an unusual woman. she knew men, she read them clearly, and she knew how to freeze them in their tracks. pierce felt quite sure that she would guess his motives, therefore he made up his mind to dissemble cunningly. he decided to assume a casual air and to let chance arrange their actual meeting. when he did encounter her, a quick smile of pleased surprise on his part, a few simple words of thanks, a manly statement that he was glad she had not left before his duties permitted him to look her up, and she would be completely deceived. thereafter fate would decree how well or how badly they got acquainted. yes, that was the way to go about it. having laid out this admirable program, he immediately defied it by making a bee-line for the main hotel, a big board structure still in process of erection. his feet carried him thither in spite of himself. like a homing-pigeon he went, and instinct guided him unerringly, for he found the countess courteau in the office. she was dressed as on the day before, but by some magic she had managed to freshen and to brighten herself. in her hand she held her traveling-bag; she was speaking to the proprietor as pierce stepped up behind her. "fifteen thousand dollars as it stands," he heard her say. "that's my price. i'll make you a present of the lumber. the queen leaves in twenty minutes." the proprietor began to argue, but she cut him short: "that's my last word. three hundred per cent, on your money." "but--" "think it over!" her tone was cool, her words were crisp. "i take the lighter in ten minutes." she turned to find phillips at her shoulder. "good morning!" her face lit up with a smile; she extended her hand, and he seized it as a fish swallows a bait. he blushed redly. "i'm late," he stammered. "i mean i--i hurried right in to tell you--" "so they didn't hang you?" "no! you were wonderful! i couldn't rest until i had told you how deeply grateful--" "nonsense!" the countess shrugged her shoulders. "i'm glad you came before i left." "you're not--going away?" he queried, with frank apprehension. "in ten minutes." "see here!" it was the hotel proprietor who addressed the woman. "you can't possibly make it before snow flies, and the boats are overloaded coming north; they can't handle the freight they've got." "i'll be back in three weeks," the countess asserted, positively. "i'll bring my own pack-train. if something should delay me, i'll open up here and put you out of business. this town will be good for a year or two." "you can't threaten me," the fellow blustered. "twenty thousand is my price." "good-by!" the countess turned once more to pierce. "are you leaving for good?" he inquired, despondently, unable to dissemble. "bless you, no! i'll probably die in this country. i'm going out on business, but i'll be back in dawson ahead of the ice. you'll be going across soon, i dare say. come, walk down to the beach with me." together they left the building and found their way to the landing-place, where a lighter was taking on passengers for the steamship queen. "i suppose you know how sorry i am for what happened yesterday," pierce began. the countess looked up from her abstracted contemplation of the scene; there was a faint inquiry in her face. "sorry? i should think you'd be about the happiest boy in dyea." "i mean what jim mccaskey said. i'd have--killed him if i could. i tried to!" "oh!" the woman nodded; her teeth gleamed in a smile that was not at all pleasant. "i heard about the shooting this morning; i meant to ask you about it, but i was thinking of other things." she measured the burly frame of the young man at her side and the vindictiveness died out of her expression. phillips was good to look at; he stood a full six feet in height, his close-cropped hair displayed a shapely head, and his features were well molded. he was a handsome, open lad, the countess acknowledged. aloud she said: "i dare say every woman loves to have a man fight for her. i do my own fighting, usually, but it's nice to have a champion." her gaze wandered back to the hotel, then up the pine-flanked valley toward the chilkoot; her abstraction returned; she appeared to weigh some intricate mathematical calculation. with his hands in his pockets the hotel-keeper came idling down to the water's edge and, approaching his departing guest, said, carelessly: "i've been thinking it over, ma'am. there isn't room for two of us here. i might make it seventeen thousand five hundred, if--" "fifteen! no more." there came a signal from the steamer in the offing; the countess extended her hand to pierce. "good-by! if you're still here three weeks from now you may be able to help me." then she joined the procession up the gang-plank. but the hotel-keeper halted her. "fifteen is a go!" he said, angrily. the countess courteau stepped back out of the line. "very well. make out the bill of sale. i'll meet you at healy & wilson's in ten minutes." a moment later she smiled at pierce and heaved a sigh of relief. "well, i brought him to time, didn't i? i'd never have gone aboard. i'd have paid him twenty-five thousand dollars, as a matter of fact, but he hadn't sense enough to see it. i knew i had him when he followed me down here." "what have you bought?" "that hotel yonder--all but the lumber." "all but the lumber! why, there isn't much else!" pierce was more than a little astonished. "oh yes, there is! dishes, hardware, glass, beds, bedding, windows, fixtures--everything inside the building, that's what i bought. that's all i wanted. i'll have the place wrecked and the stuff packed up and on men's backs in two days. it cost--i don't know what it cost, and i don't care. the fellow was perfectly right, though; i haven't time to get to seattle and back again. know any men who want work?" "i want it." "know any others?" pierce shook his head. "find some--the more the better. carpenters first, if there are any." the speaker was all business now. "you're working for me from this minute, understand? treat me right and i'll treat you right. i'll take you through to dawson. i want carpenters, packers, boatmen; they must work fast. long hours, long chances, big pay, that's what it will mean. that outfit must be in dawson ahead of the ice. such a thing has never been done; it can't be done! but i'll do it! do you want to tackle the job?" phillips' eyes were dancing. "i'll eat it up!" he cried, breathlessly. "good! i think you'll do. wait for me at the hotel." with a brisk nod she was off, leaving him in a perfect whirl of emotions. her man! she had called him that. "fast work, long hours, long chances"; an impossible task! what happy impulse had sped him to town this morning? ten minutes was the narrow margin by which he had won his opportunity, and now the door to the north had opened at a woman's touch. inside lay--everything! she thought he'd do? why, she must know he'd do. she must know he'd give up his life for her! he pinched himself to ascertain if he were dreaming. the northern hotel was less than three-quarters built, but within an hour after it had changed ownership it was in process of demolition. the countess courteau was indeed a "lightning striker"; while phillips went through the streets offering double wages to men who could wield hammer and saw, and the possibility of transportation clear to dawson for those who could handle an oar, she called off the building crew and set them to new tasks, then she cleared the house of its guests. rooms were invaded with peremptory orders to vacate; the steady help was put to undoing what they had already done, and soon the premises were in tumult. such rooms as had been completed were dismantled even while the protesting occupants were yet gathering their belongings together, beds were knocked down, bedding was moved out; windows, door-knobs, hinges, fixtures were removed; dishes, lamps, mirrors, glassware were assembled for packing. through all this din and clatter the countess courteau passed, spurring the wreckers on to speed. yielding to phillips' knowledge of transportation problems and limitations, she put him in general charge, and before he realized it he found that he was in reality her first lieutenant. toward evening a ship arrived and began to belch forth freight and passengers, whereupon there ensued a rush to find shelter. pierce was engaged in dismantling the office fixtures when a stranger entered and accosted him with the inquiry: "got any rooms?" "no, sir. we're moving this hotel bodily to dawson." the new-comer surveyed the littered premises with some curiosity. he was a tall, gray-haired man, with a long, impassive face of peculiar ashen color. he had lost his left hand somewhere above the wrist and in place of it wore a metal hook. with this he gestured stiffly in the direction of a girl who had followed him into the building. "she's got to have a bed," he declared. "i can get along somehow till my stuff is landed to-morrow." "i'm sorry," pierce told him, "but the beds are all down and the windows are out. i'm afraid nobody could get much sleep here, for we'll be at work all night." "any other hotels?" "some bunk-houses. but they're pretty full." "money no object, i suppose?" the one-armed man ventured. "oh, none." the stranger turned to his companion. "looks like we'd have to sit up till our tents come off. i hope they've got chairs in this town." "we can stay aboard the ship." the girl had a pleasant voice--she was, in fact, a pleasant sight to look upon, for her face was quiet and dignified, her eyes were level and gray, she wore a head of wavy chestnut hair combed neatly back beneath a trim hat. alaska, during the first rush, was a land of pretty women, owing to the fact that a large proportion of those who came north did so for the avowed purpose of trading upon that capital, but even in such company this girl was noticeable and pierce phillips regarded her with distinct approval. "you can have my part of that," the man told her, with a slight grimace. "this racket is music, to the bellow of those steers. and it smells better here. if i go aboard again i'll be hog-tied. why, i'd rather sit up all night and deal casino to a mad chinaman!" "we'll manage somehow, dad." the girl turned to the door and her father followed her. he paused for a moment while he ran his eye up and down the busy street. "looks like old times, doesn't it, letty?" then he stepped out of sight. when darkness came the wrecking crew worked on by the light of lamps, lanterns, and candles, for the inducement of double pay was potent. along about midnight mr. lucky broad, the shell-man, picked his way through the bales and bundles and, recognizing phillips, greeted him familiarly: "hello, kid! where's her nibs, the corn-tassel countess?" "gone to supper." "well, she sprung you, didn't she? some gal! i knew you was all right, but them boys was certainly roily." pierce addressed the fellow frankly: "i'm obliged to you for taking my part. i hardly expected it." "why not? i got nothing against you. i got a sort of tenderness for guys like you--i hate to see 'em destroyed." mr. broad grinned widely and his former victim responded in like manner. "i don't blame you," said the latter. "i was an awful knot-head, but you taught me a lesson." "pshaw!" the confidence-man shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "the best of 'em fall for the shells. i was up against it and had to get some rough money, but--it's a hard way to make a living. these pilgrims squawk so loud it isn't safe--you'd think their coin was soldered onto 'em. that's why i'm here. i understand her grace is hiring men to go to dawson." "yes." "well, take a flash at me." mr. broad stiffened his back, arched his chest, and revolved slowly upon his heels. "pretty nifty, eh? what kind of men does she want?" "packers, boatmen--principally boatmen--fellows who can run white water." the new applicant was undoubtedly in a happy and confident mood, for he rolled his eyes upward, exclaiming, devoutly: "i'm a gift from heaven! born in a batteau and cradled on the waves--that's me!" the countess herself appeared out of the night at this moment and pierce somewhat reluctantly introduced the sharper to her. "here's an able seaman in search of a job," said he. "able seaman?" the woman raised her brows inquiringly. "he said it." mr. broad nodded affirmatively. "i'm a jolly tar, a bo'sun's mate, a salt-horse wrangler. i just jumped a full-rigged ship--thimble-rigged!" he winked at phillips and thrust his tongue into his cheek. "here's my papers." from his shirt pocket he took a book of brown rice-papers and a sack of tobacco, then deftly fashioned a tiny cigarette. "roll one for me," said the countess. "why, sure!" mr. broad obliged instantly and with a flourish. "are you really a boatman?" the woman inquired. "don't stall, for i'll find you out." pierce undertook to get her eye, but she was regarding broad intently and did not see his signal. "i'm all of that," the latter said, seriously. "i'm going to move this outfit in small boats, two men to a boat, double crews through the canon and in swift water. can you get a good man to help you?" "he's yours for the askin'--kid bridges. ain't his name enough? he's a good packer, too; been packin' hay for two months. pierce knows him." again mr. broad winked meaningly at phillips. "come and see me to-morrow," said the countess. lucky nodded agreement to this arrangement. "why don't you load the whole works on a scow?" he asked. "you'd save men and we could all be together--happy family stuff. that's what kirby's going to do." "kirby?" "sam kirby. 'one-armed' kirby--you know. he got in to-day with a big liquor outfit. him and his gal are down at the ophir now, playing faro." "no scow for mine," the countess said, positively. "i know what i'm doing." after the visitor had gone pierce spoke his mind, albeit with some hesitancy. "that fellow is a gambler," said he, "and kid bridges is another. bridges held my hand for a minute, the day i landed, and his little display of tenderness cost me one hundred and thirty-five dollars. do you think you want to hire them?" "why not?" the countess inquired. then, with a smile, "they won't hold my hand, and they may be very good boatmen indeed." she dropped her cigarette, stepped upon it, then resumed her labors. phillips eyed the burnt-offering with disfavor. until just now he had not known that his employer used tobacco, and the discovery came as a shock. he had been reared in a close home-circle, therefore he did not approve of women smoking; in particular he disapproved of the countess, his countess, smoking. after a moment of consideration, however, he asked himself what good reason there could be for his feeling. it was her own affair; why shouldn't a woman smoke if she felt like it? he was surprised at the unexpected liberality of his attitude. this country was indeed working a change in him; he was broadening rapidly. as a matter of fact, he assured himself, the countess courteau was an exceptional woman; she was quite different from the other members of her sex and the rules of decorum which obtained for them did not obtain for her. she was one in ten thousand, one in a million. yes, and he was "her man." while he was snatching a bit of midnight supper pierce again heard the name of kirby mentioned, and a reference to the big game in progress at the ophir. recalling lucky broad's words, he wondered if it were possible that kirby and his girl were indeed the father and daughter who had applied at the northern for shelter. it seemed incredible that a young woman of such apparent refinement could be a gambler's daughter, but if it were true she was not only the daughter of a "sporting man," but a very notorious one, judging from general comment. prompted by curiosity, pierce dropped in at the ophir on his way back to work. he found the place crowded, as usual, but especially so at the rear, where the games were running. when he had edged his way close enough to command a view of the faro-table he discovered that sam kirby was, for a fact, the one-armed man he had met during the afternoon. he was seated, and close at his back was the gray-eyed, brown-haired girl with the pleasant voice. she was taking no active part in the game itself except to watch the wagers and the cases carefully. now and then her father addressed a low-spoken word to her and she answered with a nod, a smile, or a shake of her head. she was quite at ease, quite at home; she was utterly oblivious to the close-packed ring of spectators encircling the table. the sight amazed phillips. he was shocked; he was mildly angered and mildly amused at the false impression this young woman had given. it seemed that his judgment of female types was exceedingly poor. "who is mr. kirby?" he inquired of his nearest neighbor. "big sport. he's rich--or he was; i heard he just lost a string of race-horses. he makes a fortune and he spends it overnight. he's on his way 'inside' now with a big saloon outfit. that's letty, his girl." another man laughed under his breath, saying: "old sam won't bet a nickel unless she's with him. he's superstitious." "i guess he has reason to be. she's his rudder," the first speaker explained. mr. kirby rapped sharply upon the table with the steel hook that served as his left hand, then, when a waiter cleared a passageway through the crowd, he mutely invited the house employees to drink. the dealer declined, the lookout and the case-keeper ordered whisky, and kirby signified by a nod that the same would do for him. but his daughter laid a hand upon his arm. he argued with her briefly, then he shrugged and changed his order. "make it a cigar," he said, with a smile. "boss's orders." there was a ripple of laughter. "sam's a bad actor when he's drinking," one of pierce's informants told him. "letty keeps him pretty straight, but once in a while he gets away. when he does--oh, boy!" long after he had returned to his tasks the memory of that still-faced girl in the foul, tobacco-laden atmosphere of the gambling-hall remained to bother pierce phillips; he could not get over his amazement and his annoyance at mistaking her for a--well, for a good girl. early in the morning, when he wearily went forth in quest of breakfast and a bed, he learned that the game at the ophir was still going on. "i want you to hire enough packers to take this stuff over in one trip--two at the most. engage all you can. offer any price." the countess was speaking. she had snatched a few hours' sleep and was now back at the hotel as fresh as ever. "you must take more rest," pierce told her. "you'll wear yourself out at this rate." she smiled brightly and shook her head, but he persisted. "go back to sleep and let me attend to the work. i'm strong; nothing tires me." "nor me. i'll rest when we get to dawson. have those packers here day after to-morrow morning." there were numerous freighters in dyea, outfits with animals, too, some of them, but inquiry developed the fact that none were free to accept a contract of this size at such short notice, therefore pierce went to the indian village and asked for the chief. failing to discover the old man, he began a tent-to-tent search, and while so engaged he stumbled upon joe mccaskey. the outcast was lying on a bed of boughs; his face was flushed and his eyes were bright with fever. evidently, in avoiding the town he had sought shelter here and the natives had taken him in without question. overcoming his first impulse to quietly withdraw, pierce bent down to the fellow and said, with genuine pity: "i'm sorry for you, joe. is there anything i can do?" mccaskey stared up at him wildly; then a light of recognition kindled in his black eyes. it changed to that baleful gleam of hatred. his hair lay low upon his forehead and through it he glared. his face was covered with a smut of beard which made him even more repellent. "i thought you were jim," he croaked. "but jim's--dead." "you're sick. can i help you? do you want money or--" "jim's dead," the man repeated. "you killed him!" "i? nonsense. don't talk--" "you killed him. you!" mccaskey's unblinking stare became positively venomous; he showed his teeth in a frightful grin. "you killed him. but there's more of us. plenty more. we'll get you." he appeared to derive a ferocious enjoyment from this threat, for he dwelt upon it. he began to curse his visitor so foully that pierce backed out of the tent and let the flap fall. it had been an unwelcome encounter; it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. as he went on in search of the village shaman he heard joe muttering: "jim's dead! dead! jim's dead!" chapter vii sam kirby's outfit was one of the largest, one of the costliest, and one of the most complete that had ever been landed on the dyea beach, for kirby was a man who did things in a large way. he was a plunger; he had long since become case-hardened to risks and he knew how to weigh probabilities; hence the fact that he had staked his all upon one throw did not in the least disturb him. many a time he had done the same and the dice had never failed to come out for him. possessing a wide practical knowledge of new countries, he had shrewdly estimated the klondike discovery at its true worth and had realized that the opportunity for a crowning triumph, a final clean-up, had come his way. this accounted for the energetic manner in which he had set about improving it. most men are successful in direct proportion to their ability to select and retain capable assistants. fortune had favored sam kirby by presenting him with a daughter whose caution and good sense admirably supplemented his own best qualities, and he was doubly blessed in possessing the intense, nay, the ferocious, loyalty of one danny royal, a dependable retainer who had graduated from various minor positions into a sort of castellan, an admirable crichton, a good left hand to replace that missing member which kirby had lost during the white-hot climax of a certain celebrated feud--a feud, by the way, which had added a notch to the ivory handle of sam's famous six-shooter. this danny royal was all things. he could take any shift in a gambling-house, he was an accomplished fixer, he had been a jockey and had handled the kirby string of horses. he was a miner of sorts, too, having superintended the rouletta mine during its brief and prosperous history; as a trainer he was without a peer. he had made book on many tracks; he it was who had brought out the filly rouletta, sam kirby's best-known thoroughbred, and "mopped up" with her. both mine and mare danny had named after kirby's girl, and under danny's management both had been quick producers. all in all, royal was considered by those who knew him best as a master of many trades and a jack of none. he was an irreligious man, but he possessed a code which he lived up to strictly; epitomized it ran as follows, "sam kirby's will be done!" he believed in but one god, and that rouletta kirby was his profit. equipped with the allegiance of such a man as royal, together with several tons of high-proof spirits, a stock of case-goods and cigars, some gambling paraphernalia, and a moderate bank roll with which to furnish the same, old sam felt safe in setting out for any country where gold was mined and where the trails were new. of course he took his daughter with him. sooner than leave her behind he would have severed his remaining hand. rouletta and agnes, they constituted the foundation upon which the kirby fortunes rested, they were the rocks to which sam clung, they were his assets and his liabilities, his adjuncts and his adornments. agnes was his gun. having seen his freight safely ashore, kirby left royal in charge of it, first impressing upon him certain comprehensive and explicit instructions; then he and rouletta and agnes went up the trail and over the chilkoot. somehow, between the three of them, they intended to have a scow built and ready when danny landed the last pound of merchandise at linderman. mr. royal was an energetic little person. he began an immediate hunt for packers, only to discover that another outfit was ahead of his and that no men were immediately available. he was resourceful, he was in the habit of meeting and overcoming obstacles, hence this one did not greatly trouble him, once he became acquainted with the situation. two days and nights enabled the countess courteau to strip the northern hotel, to assemble the movable appurtenances thereto, and to pack them into boxes, bales, and bundles, none of which weighed more than one hundred pounds. this lapse of time likewise enabled the indians whom pierce had hired to finish their contracts and return to the coast. in spite of the appalling amount of freight, pierce believed he had enough men to move it in two trips, and when the hour came to start the countess complimented him upon his thorough preparations. as swiftly as might be he formed his packers in line, weighed their burdens, and sent them on their journey. these preparations occasioned much confusion and a considerable crowd assembled. among the onlookers was a bright-eyed, weazened little man who attached himself to the chief and engaged him in conversation. when the last burden-bearer had departed the countess directed lucky broad and kid bridges to stay in the hotel and stand guard over the remainder of her goods. "take six-hour shifts," she told them. "i'll hold you responsible for what's here." "it's as safe as wheat," broad assured her. "i'll camp at the scales with the stuff that has gone forward, and pierce will bring the indians back." "d'you think you can ride herd on it?" bridges inquired. "i understand there's a lawless element at large." the countess smiled. "i'm sort of a lawless element myself when i start," she said. her eyes twinkled as she measured mr. bridges' burly proportions. "you're going to miss your alfalfa bed before i get you to linderman." the kid nodded seriously. "i know," said he. "serves me right for quittin' a profession for a trade, but i got to look over this dawson place. they say it's soft pickin'. lucky is taking his stock in trade along, all three of 'em, so maybe we'll tear off a penny or two on the way." pierce's pack consisted of a tent for the countess, some bedding, and food; with this on his back he and his employer set out to overtake their train. this they accomplished a short distance below the first crossing of the river. already the white packers, of whom there were perhaps a score, had drawn together; the indians were following them in a long file. having seen his companion safely across the stream, pierce asked her, somewhat doubtfully: "do you think broad and his partner are altogether trustworthy?" "nobody is that," she told him. "but they're at least intelligent. in this kind of a country i prefer an intelligent crook to an honest fool. most people are honest or dishonest when and as they think it is to their advantage to be so. those men want to get to dawson, and they know the police would never let them across the line. i'm their only chance. they'll stand assay." it was mid-forenoon when the countess halted pierce, who was a short distance ahead of her, saying: "wait! didn't you hear somebody calling us?" they listened. they were about to move onward when there came a faint hallo, and far down the trail behind them they saw a figure approaching. after a moment of scrutiny pierce declared: "why, it's broad!" "something has happened!" the countess stepped upon a fallen log and through her cupped palms sent forth an answering call. mr. broad waved his hat and broke into a run. he was wet with sweat, he was muddy and out of breath, when he finally overtook them. "whew!" he panted. "thought i'd never run you down ... well, set yourselves." "what's wrong?" demanded the woman. "plenty. you've been double-crossed, whip-sawed. your noble red men have quit you; they dumped your stuff at the river and made a deal at double rates to move sam kirby's freight. they're back in dyea now, the whole works." the countess courteau exploded with a man's oath. her face was purple; her eyes were blazing. "danny royal, kirby's man, done it. sam's gone on to linderman to build a boat. i saw danny curled up on the chief's ear while you were loading. after you'd gone him and the old pirate followed. me 'n' bridges never thought anything about it until by and by back came the whole party, empty. danny trooped 'em down to the beach and begun packin' 'em. i know him, so i asked him what the devil. 'hands off!' says he. 'sam kirby's got a rush order in ahead of yours, and these refreshments is going through by express. i've raised your ante. money no object, understand? i'll boost the price again if i have to, and keep on boosting it.' then he warned me not to start anything or he'd tack two letters onto the front of my name. he'd do it, too. i took it on the run, and here i am." "sam kirby, eh?" the countess' flaming rage had given place to a cool, calculating anger. pierce protested violently. "i hired those indians. we agreed on a price and everything was settled." "well, danny unsettled it. they're workin' for him and he intends to keep 'em." "what about our white packers?" the woman inquired of broad. "they must have crossed before danny caught up, or he'd have had them, too. 'money no object,' he said. i'm danged if i'd turn a trick like that." "where's our stuff?" "at the crossing." the countess turned back down the trail and pierce followed her. "i'll settle this royal," he declared, furiously. "danny's a bad boy," lucky broad warned, falling into step. "if old sam told him to hold a buzz-saw in his lap he'd do it. maybe there wouldn't be much left of danny, but he'd of hugged it some while he lasted." little more was said during the swift return to the river. it was not a pleasant journey, for the trail was miserable, the mud was deep, and there was a steady upward flow of traffic which it was necessary to stem. there were occasional interruptions to this stream, for here and there horses were down and a blockade had resulted. behind it men lay propped against logs or tree-trunks, resting their tired frames and listening apathetically to the profanity of the horse-owners. rarely did any one offer to lend a helping hand, for each man's task was equal to his strength. in one place a line of steers stood belly deep in the mire, waiting the command to plow forward. broken carts, abandoned vehicles of various patterns, lined the way; there were many swollen carcasses underfoot, and not infrequently pedestrians crossed mud-holes by stepping from one to another, holding their breaths and battling through swarms of flies. much costly impedimenta strewed the roadside--each article a milestone of despair, a monument to failure. there were stoves, camp furniture, lumber, hardware, boat fittings. the wreckage and the wastage of the stampede were enormous, and every ounce, every dollar's worth of it, spoke mutely of blasted hopes. now and then one saw piles of provisions, some of which had been entirely abandoned. the rains had ruined most of them. when the countess came to her freight she paused. "you said royal was loading his men when you left?" she faced broad inquiringly. "right!" "then he'll soon be along. we'll wait here." of phillips she asked, "do you carry a gun?" pierce shook his head. "what are you going to do?" he could see that she was boiling inwardly, and although his own anger had increased at every moment during the return journey, her question caused him genuine apprehension. avoiding a direct answer, the woman said: "if royal is with the indians, you keep your eye on him. i want to talk to them." "don't inaugurate any violent measures," mr. broad cautioned, nervously. "danny's a sudden sort of a murderer. of course, if worse comes to worst, i'll stick, but--my rating in the community ain't a . there's a lot of narrow-minded church members would like to baptize me at high tide. as if that would get their money back!" a suggestion of a smile crept to the countess' lips and she said, "i knew you'd stick when i hired you." then she seated herself upon a box. danny royal did accompany his packers. he did so as a precaution against precisely such a coup as he himself had engineered, and in order to be doubly secure he brought the head indian with him. the old tribesman had rebelled mildly, but royal had been firm, and in consequence they were the first two to appear when the procession came out of the woods. the chief halted at sight of phillips, the man who had hired him and his people, but at a word from royal he resumed his march. he averted his eyes, however, and he held his head low, showing that this encounter was not at all to his liking. royal, on the contrary, carried off the meeting easily. he grinned at lucky broad and was about to pass on when the countess courteau rose to her feet and stepped into the trail. "just a minute!" she said. of royal's companion she sternly demanded, "what do you mean by this trick?" the old redskin shot her a swift glance; then his face became expressionless and he gazed stolidly at the river. "what do you mean?" the woman repeated, in a voice quivering with fury. "him people--" the chief began, but royal spoke for him. removing his hat, he made a stiff little bow, then said, courteously enough: "i'm sorry to hold you up, ma'am, but--" "you're not holding me up; i'm holding you up," the woman broke in. "what do you take me for, anyhow?" she stared at the white man so coldly, there was such authority and such fixity of purpose in her tone and her expression, that his manner changed. "i'm on orders," said he. "there's no use to argue. i'd talk plainer to you if you was a man." but she had turned her eyes to the chief again. "you lying scoundrel!" she cried, accusingly. "i made a straight deal with you and your people and i agreed to your price. i'm not going to let you throw me down!" the wooden-faced object of her attack became inexplicably stupid; he strove for words. "me no speak good," he muttered. "me no savvy--" "perhaps you'll savvy this." as the countess spoke she took from her pocket a short-barreled revolver, which she cocked and presented in a capable and determined manner so close to the old native's face that he staggered backward, fending off the attack. the woman followed him. "look here!" danny royal exploded. he made a movement with his right hand, but pierce phillips and lucky broad stepped close to him. the former said, shortly: "if you make a move i'll brain you!" "that's me," seconded mr. broad. "lift a finger, danny, and we go to the mat." royal regarded the two men searchingly. "d'you think i'll let you people stick me up?" he queried. "you're stuck up!" the countess declared, shortly. "make sure of this--i'm not bluffing. i'll shoot. here--you!" she called to one of the packers at the rear of the line who had turned and was making off. "get back where you were and stay there." she emphasized this command with a wave of her weapon and the indian obeyed with alacrity. "now then, mr. royal, not one pound of sam kirby's freight will these people carry until mine is over the pass. i don't recognize you in this deal in any way. i made a bargain with the chief and i'll settle it with him. you keep out. if you don't, my men will attend to you." it was surprising what a potent effect a firearm had upon the aged shaman. his mask fell off and his knowledge of the english language was magically refreshed. he began a perfectly intelligible protest against the promiscuous display of loaded weapons, particularly in crowded localities. he was a peaceful man, the head of a peaceful people, and violence of any sort was contrary to his and their code. "this was no way in which to settle a dispute--" "you think not, eh? well, it's my way," stormed the countess. "i'll drop the first man who tries to pass. if you think i won't, try me. go ahead, try me!" mr. royal undertook to say something more, but without turning her head the woman told phillips, "knock him down if he opens his mouth." "will i?" pierce edged closer to his man, and in his face there was a hunger for combat which did not look promising to the object of his attentions. lucky broad likewise discouraged the ex-jockey by saying, "if you call her hand, danny, i'll bust you where you're biggest." the countess still held the muzzle of her revolver close to the chief's body. now she said, peremptorily: "you're going to end this joke right now. order their packs off, quick!" this colloquy had been short, but, brief as the delay had been, it had afforded time for newcomers to arrive. amazed at the sight of a raging woman holding an army of red men at bay, several "mushers" dropped their burdens and came running forward to learn the meaning of it. the countess explained rapidly, whereupon one exclaimed: "go to it, sister!" another agreed heartily. "when you shoot, shoot low. we'll see you through." "i don't need any assistance," she told them. "they'll keep their agreement or they'll lose their head man. give the word, chief." the old redskin raised his voice in expostulation, but one of the late-comers broke in upon him: "aw, shut up, you robber! you're gettin' what you need." "i'm going to count three," the woman said, inflexibly. her face had grown very white; her eyes were shining dangerously. "at four i shoot. one! two--!" the wrinkled indian gave a sign; his tribesmen began to divest themselves of their loads. "pile it all up beside the trail. now get under my stuff and don't let's have any more nonsense. the old price goes and i sha'n't raise it a penny." turning to danny royal, she told him: "you could have put this over on a man, but women haven't any sense. i haven't a bit. every cent i own is tied up in this freight and it's going through on time. i think a lot of it, and if you try to delay it again i'm just foolish enough to blow a hole in this savage--and you, too. yes, and a miners' meeting would cheer me for doing it." there was a silence; then mr. royal inquired: "are you waiting for me to speak? well, all i've got to say is if the james boys had had a sister they'd of been at work yet. i don't know how to tackle a woman." "are you going to keep hands off?" "sure! i'm licked. you went about it in the right way. you got me tied." "i don't know whether you're lying or not. but just to make sure i'm going to have lucky walk back to town with you to see that you don't get turned around." danny removed his hat and made a sweeping bow; then he departed in company with his escort. the indians took up those burdens which they had originally shouldered, and the march to the chilkoot was resumed. now, however, the countess courteau brought up the rear of the procession and immediately in advance of her walked the head man of the dyea tribe. chapter viii it was a still, clear morning, but autumn was in the air and a pale sun lacked the necessary heat to melt a skin of ice which, during the night, had covered stagnant pools. the damp moss which carpets northern forests was hoary with frost and it crackled underfoot. winter was near and its unmistakable approach could be plainly felt. a saw-pit had been rigged upon a sloping hillside--it consisted of four posts about six feet long upon which had been laid four stringers, like the sills of a house; up to this scaffold led a pair of inclined skids. resting upon the stringers was a sizable spruce log which had been squared and marked with parallel chalk-lines and into which a whip-saw had eaten for several feet. balanced upon this log was tom linton; in the sawdust directly under him stood jerry quirk. mr. linton glared downward, mr. quirk squinted fiercely upward. mr. linton showed his teeth in an ugly grin and his voice was hoarse with fury; mr. quirk's gray mustache bristled with rage, and anger had raised his conversational tone to a high pitch. both men were perspiring, both were shaken to the core. "don't shove!" mr. quirk exclaimed, in shrill irritation. "how many times d'you want me to tell you not to shove? you bend the infernal thing." "i never shoved," linton said, thickly. "maybe we'd do better if you'd quit hanging your weight on those handles every time i lift. if you've got to chin yourself, take a limb--or i'll build you a trapeze. you pull down, then lemme lift--" mr. quirk danced with fury. "chin myself? shucks! you're petered out, that's what ails you. you 'ain't got the grit and you've throwed up your tail. lift her clean--don't try to saw goin' up, the teeth ain't set that way. lift, take a bite, then leggo. lift, bite, leggo. lift, bite--" "don't say that again!" shouted linton. "i'm a patient man, but--" he swallowed hard, then with difficulty voiced a solemn, vibrant warning, "don't say it again, that's all!" defiance instantly flamed in jerry's watery eyes. "i'll say it if i want to!" he yelled. "i'll say anything i feel like sayin'! some folks can't understand english; some folks have got lignumvity heads and you have to tell 'em--" "you couldn't tell me anything!" "sure! that's just the trouble with you--nobody can tell you anything!" "i whip-sawed before you was born!" astonishment momentarily robbed mr. quirk of speech, then he broke out more indignantly than ever. "why, you lyin' horse-thief, you never heard of a whip-saw till we bought our outfit. you was for tying one end to a limb and the other end to a root and then rubbin' the log up and down it." "i never meant that. i was fooling and you know it. that's just like you, to--" "say, if you'd ever had holt of a whip-saw in all your useless life, the man on the other end of it would have belted you with the handle and buried you in the sawdust. i'd ought to, but i 'ain't got the heart!" the speaker spat on his hands and in a calmer, more business-like tone said: "well, come on. let's go. this is our last board." tom linton checked an insulting remark that had just occurred to him. it had nothing whatever to do with the subject under dispute, but it would have goaded jerry to insanity, therefore it clamored for expression and the temptation to hurl it forth was almost irresistible. linton, however, prided himself upon his self-restraint, and accordingly he swallowed his words. he clicked his teeth, he gritted them--he would have enjoyed sinking them into his partner's throat, as a matter of fact--then he growled, "let her whiz!" in unison the men resumed their interrupted labors; slowly, rhythmically, their arms moved up and down, monotonously their aching backs bent and straightened, inch by inch the saw blade ate along the penciled line. it was killing work, for it called into play unused, under-developed muscles, yes, muscles which did not and never would or could exist. each time linton lifted the saw it grew heavier by the fraction of a pound. whenever quirk looked up to note progress his eyes were filled with stinging particles of sawdust. his was a tearful job: sawdust was in his hair, his beard, it had sifted down inside his neckband and it itched his moist body. it had worked into his underclothes and he could not escape it even at night in his bed. he had of late acquired the habit of repeating over and over, with a pertinacity intensely irritating to his partner, that he could taste sawdust in his food--a statement manifestly false and well calculated to offend a camp cook. after they had sawed for a while jerry cried: "hey! she's runnin' out again." he accompanied this remark by an abrupt cessation of effort. as a result the saw stopped in its downward course and tom's chin came into violent contact with the upper handle. the man above uttered a cry of pain and fury; he clapped a hand to his face as if to catch and save his teeth. jerry giggled with a shameless lack of feeling. "spit 'em out," he cackled. "they ain't no more good to you than a mouthful of popcorn." he was not really amused at his partner's mishap; on the contrary, he was more than a little concerned by it, but fatigue had rendered him absurdly hysterical, and the constant friction of mental, spiritual, and physical contact with tom had fretted his soul as that sawdust inside his clothes had fretted his body. "he, he! ho, ho!" he chortled. "you don't shove. oh no! all the same, whenever i stop pullin' you butt your brains out." "i didn't shove!" the ferocity of this denial was modified and muffled by reason of the fact that a greater part of the speaker's hand was inside his mouth and his fingers were taking stock of its contents. "all right, you didn't shove. have it your own way. i said she was runnin' out again. we ain't cuttin' wedges, we're cuttin' boat-seats." "well, why don't you pull straight? i can't follow a line with you skinning the cat on your end." "my fault again, eh?" mr. quirk showed the whites of his eyes and his face grew purple. "lemme tell you something, tom. i've studied you, careful, as man and boy, for a matter of thirty years, but i never seen you in all your hideousness till this trip. i got you now, though; i got you all added up and subtracted and i'll tell you the answer. it's my opinion, backed by figgers, that you're a dam'--" he hesitated, then with a herculean effort he managed to gulp the remainder of his sentence. in a changed voice he said: "oh, what's the use? i s'pose you've got feelin's. come on, let's get through." linton peered down over the edge of the log. "it's your opinion i'm a what?" he inquired, with vicious calmness. "nothing. it's no use to tell you. now then, lift, bite, leg--why don't you lift?" "i am lifting. leggo your end!" mr. linton tugged violently, but the saw came up slowly. it rose and fell several times, but with the same feeling of dead weight attached to it. tom wiped the sweat out of his eyes and once again in a stormy voice he addressed his partner: "if you don't get off them handles i'll take a stick and knock you off. what you grinnin' at?" "why, she's stuck, that's all. drive your wedge--" jerry's words ended in an agonized yelp; he began to paw blindly. "you did that a-purpose." "did what?" "kicked sawdust in my eyes. i saw you!" mr. linton's voice when he spoke held that same sinister note of restrained ferocity which had characterized it heretofore. "when i start kicking i won't kick sawdust into your eyes! i'll kick your eyes into that sawdust. that's what i'll do. i'll stomp 'em out like a pair of grapes." "you try it! you try anything with me," jerry chattered, in a simian frenzy. "you've got a bad reputation at home; you're a malo hombre--a side-winder, you are, and your bite is certain death. that's what they say. well, ever see a mexican hog eat a rattler? that's me--wild hog!" "'wild hog.' what's wild about you?" sneered the other. "you picked the right animal but the wrong variety. any kind of a hog makes a bad partner." for a time the work proceeded in silence, then the latter speaker resumed: "you said i was a dam' something or other. what was it?" the object of this inquiry maintained an offensive, nay an insulting, silence. "a what?" linton persisted. quirk looked up through his mask of sawdust. "if you're gettin' tired again why don't you say so? i'll wait while you rest." he opened his eyes in apparent astonishment, then he cried: "hello! why, it's rainin'." "it ain't raining," tom declared. "must be--your face is wet." once more the speaker cackled shrilly in a manner intended to be mirthful, but which was in reality insulting beyond human endurance. "i never saw moisture on your brow, tom, except when it rained or when you set too close to a fire." "what was it you wanted to call me and was scared to?" mr. linton urged, venomously. "a dam' what?" "oh, i forget the precise epithet i had in mind. but a new one rises to my lips 'most every minute. i think i aimed to call you a dam' old fool. something like that." slowly, carefully, mr. linton descended from the scaffold, leaving the whip-saw in its place. he was shaking with rage, with weakness, and with fatigue. "'old'? me old? i'm a fool, i admit, or i wouldn't have lugged your loads and done your work the way i have. but, you see, i'm strong and vigorous and i felt sorry for a tottering wreck like you--" "'lugged my loads'?" snorted the smaller man. "me a wreck? my gawd!" "--i did your packing and your washing and your cooking, and mine, too, just because you was feeble and because i've got consideration for my seniors. i was raised that way. i honored your age, jerry. i knew you was about all in, but i never called you old. i wouldn't hurt your feelings. what did you do? you set around on your bony hips and criticized and picked at me. but you've picked my last feather off and i'm plumb raw. right here we split!" jerry quirk staggered slightly and leaned against a post for support. his knees were wobbly; he, too, ached in every bone and muscle; he, too, had been goaded into an insane temper, but that which maddened him beyond expression was this unwarranted charge of incompetency. "split it is," he agreed. "that'll take a load off my shoulders." "we'll cut our grub fifty-fifty, then i'll hit you a clout with the traces and turn you a-loose." jerry was still dazed, for his world had come to an end, but he pretended to an extravagant joy and managed to chirp: "good news--the first i've had since we went pardners. i'll sure kick up my heels. what'll we do with the boat?" "cut her in two." "right. we'll toss up for ends. we'll divide everything the same way, down to the skillet." "every blame' thing," linton agreed. side by side they set off heavily through the woods. quarrels similar to this were of daily occurrence on the trail, but especially common were they here at linderman, for of all the devices of the devil the one most trying to human patience is a whip-saw. it is a saying in the north that to know a man one must eat a sack of flour with him; it is also generally recognized that a partnership which survives the vexations of a saw-pit is time and weather proof--a predestined union more sacred and more perfect even than that of matrimony. few indeed have stood the test. it was in this loosening of sentimental ties, in the breach of friendships and the birth of bitter enmities, where lay the deepest tragedy of the chilkoot and the chilkat trails. under ordinary, normal circumstances men of opposite temperaments may live with each other in harmony and die in mutual accord, but circumstances here were extraordinary, abnormal. hardship, monotony, fatigue score the very soul; constant close association renders men absurdly petulant and childishly quarrelsome. many are the heartaches charged against those early days and those early trails. of course there was much less internal friction in outfits like kirby's or the countess courteau's, where the men worked under orders, but even there relations were often strained. both danny royal and pierce phillips had had their troubles, their problems--nobody could escape them--but i on the whole they had held their men together pretty well and had made fast progress, all things considered. royal had experience to draw upon, while phillips had none; nevertheless, the countess was a good counselor and this brief training in authority was of extreme value to the younger man, who developed some of the qualities of leadership. as a result of their frequent conferences a frank, free intimacy had sprung up between pierce and his employer, an intimacy both gratifying and disappointing to him. just how it affected the woman he could not tell. as a matter of fact he made little effort to learn, being for the moment too deeply concerned in the great change that had come over him. pierce phillips made no effort to deceive himself: he was in love, yes, desperately in love, and his infatuation grew with every hour. it was his first serious affair and quite naturally its newness took his breath. he had heard of puppy love and he scorned it, but this was not that kind, he told himself; his was an epic adoration, a full-grown, deathless man's affection such as comes to none but the favored of the gods and then but once in a lifetime. the reason was patent--it lay in the fact that the object of his soul-consuming worship was not an ordinary woman. no, the countess was cast in heroic mold and she inspired love of a character to match her individuality; she was one of those rare, flaming creatures the like of whom illuminate the pages of history. she was another cleopatra, a regal, matchless creature. to be sure, she was not at all the sort of woman he had expected to love, therefore he loved her the more; nor was she the sort he had chosen as his ideal. but it is this abandonment of old ideals and acceptance of new ones which marks development, which signalizes youth's evolution into maturity. she was a never-ending surprise to pierce, and the fact that she remained a well of mystery, an unsounded deep that defied his attempts at exploration, excited his imagination and led him to clothe her with every admirable trait, in no few of which she was, of course, entirely lacking. he was very boyish about this love of his. lacking confidence to make known his feelings, he undertook to conceal them and believed he had succeeded. no doubt he had, so far as the men in his party were concerned--they were far too busy to give thought to affairs other than their own--but the woman had marked his very first surrender and now read him like an open page, from day to day. his blind, unreasoning loyalty, his complete acquiescence to her desires, his extravagant joy in doing her will, would have told her the truth even without the aid of those numerous little things which every woman understands. now, oddly enough, the effect upon her was only a little less disturbing than upon him, for this first boy-love was a thing which no good woman could have treated lightly: its simplicity, its purity, its unselfishness were different to anything she had known--so different, for instance, to that affection which count courteau had bestowed upon her as to seem almost sacred--therefore she watched its growth with gratification not unmixed with apprehension. it was flattering and yet it gave her cause for some uneasiness. as a matter of fact, phillips was boyish only in this one regard; in other things he was very much of a man--more of a man than any one the countess had met in a long time--and she derived unusual satisfaction from the mere privilege of depending upon him. this pleasure was so keen at times that she allowed her thoughts to take strange shape, and was stirred by yearnings, by impulses, by foolish fancies that reminded her of her girlhood days. the boat-building had proceeded with such despatch thanks largely to phillips, that the time for departure was close at hand, and inasmuch as there still remained a reasonable margin of safety the countess began to feel the first certainty of success. while she was not disposed to quarrel with such a happy state of affairs, nevertheless one thing continued to bother her: she could not understand why interference had failed to come from the kirby crowd. she had expected it, for sam kirby had the name of being a hard, conscienceless man, and danny royal had given proof that he was not above resorting to desperate means to gain time. why, therefore, they had made no effort to hire her men away from her, especially as men were almost unobtainable here at linderman, was something that baffled her. she had learned by bitter experience to put trust in no man, and this, coupled perhaps with the natural suspicion of her sex, combined to excite her liveliest curiosity and her deepest concern; she could not overcome the fear that this unspoken truce concealed some sinister design. feeling, this afternoon, a strong desire to see with her own eyes just what progress her rivals were making, she called pierce away from his work and took him with her around the shore of the lake. "our last boat will be in the water to-morrow," he told her. "kirby can't hold us up now, if he tries." "i don't know," she said, doubtfully. "he is as short-handed as we are. i can't understand why he has left us alone so long." phillips laughed. "he probably knows it isn't safe to trifle with you." the countess shook her head. "i couldn't bluff him. he wouldn't care whether i'm a woman or not." "were you bluffing when you held up royal? i didn't think so." "i don't think so, either. there's no telling what i might have done--i have a furious temper." "that's nothing to apologize for," the young man declared, warmly. "it's a sign of character, force. i hope i never have reason to feel it." "you? how absurd! you've been perfectly dear. you couldn't be otherwise." "do you think so, really? i'm awfully glad." the countess was impelled to answer this boy's eagerness by telling him frankly just how well she thought of him, just how grateful she was for all that he had done, but she restrained herself. "all the fellows have been splendid, especially those two gamblers," she said, coolly. after a moment she continued: "don't stop when we get to kirby's camp. i don't want him to think we're curious." neither father nor daughter was in evidence when the visitors arrived at their destination, but danny royal was superintending the final work upon a stout scow the seams of which were being calked and daubed with tar. mast and sweeps were being rigged; royal himself was painting a name on the stern. at sight of the countess the ex-horseman dropped his brush and thrust his hands aloft, exclaiming, "don't shoot, ma'am!" his grin was friendly; there was no rancor in his voice. "how you gettin' along down at your house?" he inquired. "very well," the countess told him. "we'll get loaded to-morrow," said pierce. "same here," royal advised. "better come to the launching. ain't she a bear?" he gazed fondly at the bluff-bowed, ungainly barge. "i'm goin' to bust a bottle of wine on her nose when she wets her feet. first rainy-weather hack we ever had in the family. her name's rouletta." "i hope she has a safe voyage." royal eyed the speaker meditatively. "this trip has got my goat," he acknowledged. "water's all right when it's cracked up and put in a glass, but--it ain't meant to build roads with. i've heard a lot about this canon and them white horse rapids. are they bad?" when the countess nodded, his weazened face darkened visibly. "gimme a horse and i'm all right, but water scares me. well, the rouletta's good and strong and i'm goin' to christen her with a bottle of real champagne. if there's anything in good liquor and a good name she'll be a lucky ship." when they were out of hearing the countess courteau repeated: "i don't understand it. they could have gained a week." "we could, too, if we'd built one scow instead of those small boats," pierce declared. "kirby is used to taking chances; he can risk all his eggs in one basket if he wants to, but--not i." a moment later the speaker paused to stare at a curious sight. on the beach ahead of her stood a brand-new rowboat ready for launching. near it was assembled an outfit of gear and provisions, divided into two equal piles. two old men, armed each with a hand-saw, were silently at work upon the skiff. they were sawing it in two, exactly in the middle, and they did not look up until the countess greeted them. "hello! changing the model of your boat?" she inquired. the partners straightened themselves stiffly and removed their caps. "yep!" said quirk, avoiding his partner's eyes. "changing her model," mr. linton agreed, with a hangdog expression. "but--why? what for?" "we've split," mr. quirk explained. then he heaved a sigh. "it's made a new man of me a'ready." "my end will look all right when i get her boarded up," linton vouchsafed, "but old jerry drew the hind quarters." his shoulders heaved in silent amusement. "'old' jerry!" snapped the smaller man. "where'd you get the 'old' at? i've acted like a feeble-minded idiot, i'll admit--bein' imposed on so regular--but that's over and i'm breathin' free. wait till you shove off in that front end; it 'ain't got the beam and you'll upset. ha!" he uttered a malicious bark. "you'll drownd!" mr. quirk turned indignant eyes upon the visitors. "the idea of him callin' me 'old.' can you beat that?" "maybe i will drown," linton agreed, "but drowning ain't so bad. it's better than being picked and pecked to death by a blunt-billed buzzard. i'd look on it as a kind of relief. anyhow, you won't be there to see it; you'll be dead of rheumatism. i've got the tent." "huh! the stove's mine. i'll make out." "have you men quarreled after all these years?" the countess made bold to inquire. jerry answered, and it was plain that all sentiment had been consumed in the fires of his present wrath. "i don't quarrel with a dam' old fool; i give him his way." linton's smoky eyes were blazing when he cried, furiously: "cut that 'old' out, or i'll show you something. your mind's gone--senile decay, they call it--but i'll--" quirk flung down his saw and advanced belligerently around the hull of the boat. he was bristling with the desire for combat. "what'll you show me?" he shrilly challenged. "you're bigger than me, but i'll cut you down: i'll--" the countess stepped between the two men, crying, impatiently: "don't be silly. you're worn out and irritable, both of you, and you're acting like perfect idiots. you'll have everybody laughing at you." jerry diverted his fury to this intermediary. "is that so?" he mocked. "well, let 'em laugh; it'll do 'em good. you're a nice woman, but this ain't ladies' day at our club and we don't need no outside advice on how to run our party." "oh, very well!" the countess shrugged and turned away, motioning pierce to follow her. "fight it out to suit yourselves." quirk muttered something about the insolence of strangers; then he picked up his saw. in silence the work was resumed, and later, when the boat had been divided, each man set about boarding up and calking the open end of his respective half. neither of them was expert in the use of carpenter's tools, therefore it was supper-time before they finished, and the result of their labor was nothing to be proud of. each now possessed a craft that would float, no doubt, but which in few other respects resembled a boat; linton's was a slim, square-ended wedge, while quirk's was a blunt barge, fashioned on the lines of a watering-trough. they eyed the freaks with some dismay, but neither voiced the slightest regret nor acknowledged anything but supreme satisfaction. without a word they gathered up their tools and separated to prepare their evening meals. linton entered his tent, now empty, cold, and cheerless; quirk set up his stove in the open and rigged a clumsy shelter out of a small tarpaulin. under this he spread his share of the bedding. engaged in this, he realized that his two blankets promised to be woefully inadequate to the weather and he cocked an apprehensive eye heavenward. what he saw did not reassure him, for the evening sky was overcast and a cold, fitful wind blew from off the lake. there was no doubt about it, it looked like rain--or snow--perhaps a combination of both. mr. quirk felt a shiver of dread run through him, and his heart sank at the prospect of many nights like this to come. he derived some scanty comfort from the sight of old tom puttering wearily around a camp-fire, the smoke from which followed him persistently, bringing tears to his smarting eyes and strangling complaints from his lungs. "he's tryin' to burn green wood," jerry said, aloud, "the old fool!" a similar epithet was upon his former partner's tongue. linton was saying to himself, "old jerry's enjoying life now, but wait till his fire goes out and it starts to rain." he chuckled maliciously and then rehearsed a speech of curt refusal for use when quirk came to the tent and begged shelter from the weather. there would be nothing doing, tom made up his mind to that; he tried several insults under his breath, then he offered up a vindictive prayer for rain, hail, sleet, and snow. a howling dakota blizzard, he decided, would exactly suit him. he was a bit rusty on prayers, but whatever his appeal may have lacked in polish it made up in earnestness, for never did petition carry aloft a greater weight of yearning than did his. tom fried his bacon in a stewpan, for the skillet had been divided with a cold chisel and neither half was of the slightest use to anybody. after he had eaten his pilot-bread, after he had drunk his cup of bitter tea and crept into bed, he was prompted to amend his prayer, for he discovered that two blankers were not going to be enough for him. even the satisfaction of knowing that jerry must feel the want even more keenly than did he failed to warm him sufficiently for thorough comfort. tom was tired enough to swoon, but he refused to close his eyes before the rain came--what purpose was served by retributive justice unless a fellow stayed on the job to enjoy it? truth to say, this self-denial cost him little, for the night had brought a chill with it and the tent was damp. linton became aware, ere long, that he couldn't go to sleep, no matter how he tried, so he rose and put on extra clothes. but even then he shivered, and thereafter, of course, his blankets served no purpose whatever. he and old jerry were accustomed to sleeping spoon fashion, and not only did tom miss those other blankets, but also his ex-partner's bodily heat. he would have risen and rekindled his camp-fire had it not been for his reluctance to afford quirk the gratification of knowing that he was uncomfortable. some people were just malicious enough to enjoy a man's sufferings. well, if he were cold here in this snug shelter, jerry must be about frozen under his flapping fly. probably the old fool was too stubborn to whimper; no doubt he'd pretend to be enjoying himself, and would die sooner than acknowledge himself in the wrong. jerry had courage, that way, but--this would serve him right, this would cure him. linton was not a little disappointed when the rain continued to hold off. chapter ix the change in the weather had not escaped pierce phillips' notice, and before going to bed he stepped out of his tent to study the sky. it was threatening. recalling extravagant stories of the violence attained by storms in this mountain-lake country, he decided to make sure that his boats and cargo were out of reach of any possible danger, and so walked down to the shore. a boisterous wind had roused lake linderman, and out of the inky blackness came the sound of its anger. as pierce groped his way up to the nearest skiff he was startled by receiving a sharp challenge in the countess courteau's voice. "who is that?" she cried. "it's i, pierce," he answered, quickly. he discovered the woman finally, and, approaching closer, he saw that she was sitting on a pile of freight, her heels drawn up beneath her and her arms clasped around her knees. "i came down to make sure everything was snug. but what are you doing here?" she looked down into his upturned face and her white teeth showed in a smile. "i came for the same purpose. now i'm waiting for the storm to break. you can make out the clouds when your eyes grow accustomed--" "it's too windy. you'll catch cold," he declared. "oh, i'm warm, and i love storms!" she stared out into the night, then added, "i'm a stormy creature." again he urged her to return to her tent, and in his voice was such genuine concern that she laid her hand upon his shoulder. it was a warm, impulsive gesture and it betrayed a grateful appreciation of his solicitude; it was the first familiarity she had ever permitted herself to indulge in, and when she spoke it was in an unusually intimate tone: "you're a good friend, pierce. i don't know what i'd do without you." phillips' surprise robbed him momentarily of speech. this woman possessed a hundred moods; a few hours before she had treated him with a cool indifference that was almost studied; now, without apparent reason, she had turned almost affectionate. perhaps it was the night, or the solitude, that drew them together; whatever the reason, those first few words, that one impulsive gesture, assured pierce that they were very close to each other, for the moment at least. "i'm--glad," he said, finally. "i wish i were more--i wish--" "what?" she queried, when he hesitated. "i wish you couldn't do without me." it was out; he realized in a panic that his whole secret was hers. with no faintest intention of speaking, even of hinting at the truth, he had blurted forth a full confession. she had caught him off guard, and, like a perfect ass, he had betrayed himself. what would she think? how would she take his audacity, his presumption? he was surprised to feel her fingers tighten briefly before her hand was withdrawn. the countess courteau was not offended. had it not been for that pressure upon his shoulder phillips would have believed that his words had gone unheard, for she entirely ignored them. "night! wind! storm!" she said, in a queer, meditative tone. "they stir the blood, don't they? not yours, perhaps, but mine. i was always restless. you see, i was born on the ocean--on the way over here. my father was a sailor; he was a stormy-weather man. at a time like this everything in me quickens, i'm aware of impulses i never feel at other times--desires i daren't yield to. it was on a stormy night that the count proposed to me." she laughed shortly, bitterly. "i believed him. i'd believe anything--i'd do, i'd dare anything--when the winds are reckless." she turned abruptly to her listener and it seemed to him that her eyes were strangely luminous. "have you ever felt that way?" he shook his head. "lucky for you; it would be a man's undoing. tell me, what am i? what do you make of me?" while the young man felt for an answer she ran on: "i'd like to know. what sort of woman do you consider me? how have i impressed you? speak plainly--no sentiment. you're a clean-minded, unsophisticated boy. i'm curious to hear--" "i can't speak like a boy," he said, gravely, but with more than a hint of resentment in his tone, "for--i'm not a boy. not any longer." "oh yes, you are! you're fresh and wholesome and honorable and-- well, only boys are that. what do i seem, to you?" "you're a chameleon. there's nobody in the world quite like you. why, at this minute you're different even to yourself. you--take my breath--" "do you consider me harsh, masculine--?" "oh no!" "i'm glad of that. i'm not, really. i've had a hard experience and my eyes were opened early. i know poverty, disappointment, misery, everything unpleasant, but i'm smart and i know how to get ahead. i've never stood still. i've learned how to fight, too, for i've had to make my own way. why, pierce, you're the one man who ever did me an unselfish favor or a real, disinterested courtesy. do you wonder that i want to know what kind of a creature you consider me?" "perhaps i'm not altogether unselfish," he told her, sullenly. the countess did not heed this remark; she did not seem to read the least significance into it. her chin was upon her knees, her face was turned again to the darkness whence came the rising voice of stormy waters. the wind whipped a strand of her hair into phillips' face. "it is hard work fighting men--and women, too--and i'm awfully tired. tired inside, you understand. one gets tired fighting alone--always alone. one has dreams of--well, dreams. it's a pity they never come true." "what are some of them?" he inquired. the woman, still under the spell of her hour, made as if to answer; then she stirred and raised her head. "this isn't a safe night to talk about them. i think i shall go to bed." she extended her hand to phillips, but instead of taking it he reached forth and lifted her bodily down out of the wind. she gasped as she felt his strong hands under her arms; for a moment her face brushed his and her fragrant breath was warm against his cheek. philips lowered her gently, slowly, until her feet were on the ground, but even then his grasp lingered and he held her close to him. they stood breast to breast for a moment and pierce saw that in this woman's expression was neither fear nor resentment, but some strange emotion new-born of the night--an emotion which his act had started into life and which as yet she did not fully understand. her eyes were wide and wondering; they remained fixed upon his, and that very fixity suggested a meaning so surprising, so significant, that he felt the world spin dizzily under him. she was astonished, yet expectant; she was stunned but ready. he experienced a fierce desire to hold her closer, closer, to crush her in his arms, and although she resisted faintly, unconsciously she yielded; her inner being answered his without reserve. she did not turn her face away when his came closer, even when his lips covered hers. after a long moment she surrendered wholly, she snuggled closer and bowed her head upon his shoulder. her cheek against his was very cold from the wind and pierce discovered that it was wet with tears. "it has been a long fight," she sighed, in a voice that he could scarcely hear. "i didn't know how tired i was." phillips groped for words, but he could find nothing to say, his ordered thoughts having fled before this sudden gust of ardor as leaves are whirled away before a tempest. all he knew was that in his arms lay a woman he had knelt to, a worshipful goddess of snow and gold before whom he had abased himself, but who had turned to flesh at his first touch. he kissed her again and again, warmly, tenderly, and yet with a ruthless fervor that grew after each caress, and she submitted passively, the while those tears stole down her cheeks. in reality she was neither passive nor passionless, for her body quivered and phillips knew that his touch had set her afire; but rather she seemed to be exhausted and at the same time enthralled as by some dream from which she was loath to rouse herself. after a while her hand rose to his face and stroked it softly, then she drew herself away from him and with a wan smile upon her lips said: "the wind has made a fool of me." "no, no!" he cried, forcefully. "you asked me what i think of you--well, now you know." still smiling, she shook her head slowly, then she told him, "come! i hear the rain." "but i want to talk to you. i have so much to say--" "what is there to talk about to-night? hark!" they could feel, rather than hear, the first warnings of the coming downpour, so hand in hand they walked up the gravelly beach and into the fringe of the forest where glowed the dull illumination from lamplit canvas walls. when they paused before the countess' tent pierce once more enfolded her in his arms and sheltered her from the boisterous breath of the night. his emotions were in a similar tumult, but as yet he could not voice them, he could merely stammer: "you have never told me your name." "hilda." "may i--call you that?" she nodded. "yes--when we are alone. hilda halberg, that was my name." "hilda! hilda--phillips." pierce tried the sound curiously. the countess drew back abruptly, with a shiver; then, in answer to his quick concern, said: "i--i think i'm cold." he undertook to clasp her closer, but she held him off, murmuring: "let it be hilda halberg for to-night. let's not think of--let's not think at all. hilda--bride of the storm. there's a tempest in my blood, and who can think with a tempest raging?" she raised her face and kissed him upon the lips, then, disengaging herself once more from his hungry arms, she stepped inside her shelter. the last he saw of her was her luminous smile framed against the black background; then she let the tent-fly fall. as phillips turned away big raindrops began to drum upon the near-by tent roofs, the spruce-tops overhead bent low, limbs threshed as the gusty night wind beat upon them. but he heard none of it, felt none of it, for in his ears rang the music of the spheres and on his face lingered the warmth of a woman's lips, the first love kiss that he had ever known. tom linton roused himself from a chilly doze to find that the rain had come at last. it was a roaring night; his tent was bellied in by the force of the wind, and the raindrops beat upon it with the force of buckshot. through the entrance slit, through the open stovepipe hole, the gale poured, bringing dampness with it and rendering the interior as draughty as a corn-crib. rolling himself more tightly in his blankets, linton addressed the darkness through chattering teeth. "darned old fool! this'll teach him!" he strained his ears for sounds of jerry, but could hear nothing above the slatting of wet canvas, the tattoo of drops, and the roar of wind in the tree-tops. after the first violence of the squall had passed he fancied he could hear his former partner stirring, so he arose and peered out into the night. at first he could see nothing, but in time he dimly made out jerry struggling with his tarpaulin. evidently the fly had blown down, or up, and its owner was restretching it. linton grinned. that would drench the old dodo to the skin and he'd soon be around, begging shelter. "but i won't let him in, not if he drowns," tom muttered, harshly. he recalled one of jerry's gibes at the saw-pit, a particularly unfeeling, nay, a downright venomous insult which had rankled steadily ever since. his former friend had seen fit to ridicule honest perspiration and to pretend to mistake it for raindrops. that remark had been utterly uncalled for and it had betrayed a wanton malice, a malevolent desire to wound; well, here was a chance to even the score. when jerry came dripping to the tent door, tom decided he would poke his head out into the deluge and then cry in evident astonishment: "why, jerry, you've been working, haven't you? you're all sweaty!" mr. linton giggled out loud. that would be a refinement of sarcasm; that would be a get-back of the finest. if jerry insisted upon coming in out of the wet he'd tell him gruffly to get out of there and try the lake for a change. but mr. quirk made no move in the direction of the tent; instead he built a fire in his stove and crouched over it, endeavoring vainly to shelter himself from the driving rain. linton watched him with mingled impatience and resentment. would the old fool never get enough? jerry was the most unreasonable, the most tantalizing person in the world. after a time mr. linton found that his teeth were chattering and that his frame had been smitten as by an ague; reluctantly he crept back into bed. he determined to buy, beg, borrow, or steal some more bedding on the morrow--early on the morrow in order to forestall jerry. jerry would have to find a tent somewhere, and inasmuch as there were none to be had here at linderman, he would probably have to return to dyea. that would delay him seriously--enough, perhaps, so that the jaws of winter would close down upon him. through the drone of pattering drops there came the faint sound of a cough. mr. linton sat up in bed. "pneumonia!" he exclaimed. well, jerry was getting exactly what he deserved. he had called him, tom, an "old fool," a "dam' old fool," to be precise. the epithet in itself meant nothing--it was in fact a fatuous and feeble term of abuse as compared to the opprobrious titles which he and jerry were in the habit of exchanging--it was that abominable adjective which hurt. jerry and he had called each other many names at times, they had exchanged numerous gibes and insults, but nothing like that hateful word "old" had ever passed between them until this fatal morning. jerry quirk himself was old, the oldest man in the world, perhaps, but tom had exercised an admirable regard for his partner's feelings and had never cast it up to him. thus had his consideration been repaid. however, the poor fellow's race was about run, for he couldn't stand cold or exposure. why, a wet foot sent him to bed. how, then, could a rickety ruin of his antiquity withstand the ravages of pneumonia--galloping pneumonia, at that? linton reflected that common decency would demand that he wait over a day or two and help bury the old man--people would expect that much of him. he'd do it. he'd speak kindly of the departed; he'd even erect a cross and write an epitaph upon it--a kindly, lying epitaph extolling the dead man's virtues, and omitting all mention of his faults. once more that hacking cough sounded, and the listener stirred uneasily. jerry had some virtues--a few of the common, elemental sort--he was honest and he was brave, but, for that matter, so were most people. yes, the old scoundrel had nerve enough. linton recalled a certain day, long past, when he and quirk had been sent out to round up some cattle-rustlers. being the youngest deputies in the sheriff's office, the toughest jobs invariably fell to them. those were the good, glad days, tom reflected. jerry had made a reputation on that trip and he had saved his companion's life--linton flopped nervously in his bed at the memory. why think of days dead and gone? jerry was an altogether different man in those times. he neither criticized nor permitted others to criticize his team-mate, and, so far as that particular obligation went, linton had repaid it with compound interest. if anything, the debt now lay on jerry's side. tom tried to close the book of memory and to consider nothing whatever except the rankling present, but, now that his thoughts had begun to run backward, he could not head them off. he wished jerry wouldn't cough; it was a distressing sound, and it disturbed his rest. nevertheless, that hollow, hacking complaint continued and finally the listener arose, lit a lantern, put on a slicker and untied his tent flaps. jerry's stove was sizzling in the partial shelter of the canvas sheet; over it the owner crouched in an attitude of cheerless dejection. "how you making out?" tom inquired, gruffly. his voice was cold, his manner was both repellent and hostile. "who, me?" jerry peered up from under his glistening sou'wester. "oh, i'm doin' fine!" linton remained silent, ill at ease; water drained off his coat; his lantern flared smokily in the wind. after a time he cleared his throat and inquired: "wet?" "naw!" there was a long pause, then the visitor inquired: "are you lying?" "unh-hunh!" again silence claimed both men until tom broke out, irritably: "well, you aim to set here all night?" "sure! i ain't sleepy. i don't mind a little mist and i'm plenty warm." this cheerful assertion was belied by the miserable quaver in which it was voiced. "why don't you-er-run over to my tent?" linton gasped and swallowed hard. the invitation was out, the damage was done. "there's lots of room." mr. quirk spared his caller's further feelings by betraying no triumph whatever. rather plaintively he declared: "i got room enough here. it ain't exactly room i need." again he coughed. "here! get a move on you, quick," linton ordered, forcefully. "the idea of you setting around hatching out a lungful of pneumonia bugs! git! i'll bring your bedding." mr. quirk rose with alacrity. "say! let's take my stove over to your tent and warm her up. i bet you're cold?" "n-no! i'm comfortable enough." the speaker's teeth played an accompaniment to this mendacious denial. "of course i'm not sweating any, but--i s'pose the stove would cheer things up, eh? rotten night, ain't it?" "worst i ever saw. rotten country, for that matter." "you said something," mr. linton chattered. he nodded his head with vigor. it was wet work moving jerry's belongings, but the transfer was finally effected, the stove was set up and a new fire started. this done, tom brought forth a bottle of whisky. "here," said he, "take a snifter. it'll do you good." jerry eyed the bottle with frank astonishment before he exclaimed: "why, i didn't know you was a drinkin' man. you been hidin' a secret vice from me?" "no. and i'm not a drinking man. i brought it along for--you. i--er--that cough of yours used to worry me, so--" "pshaw! i cough easy. you know that." "you take a jolt and"--linton flushed with embarrassment--"and i'll have one with you. i was lying just now; i'm colder 'n a frog's belly." "happy days," said quirk, as he tipped the bottle. "a long life and a wicked one!" linton drank in his turn. "now then, get out of those cold compresses. here's some dry underclothes--thick, too. we'll double up those henskin blankets--for to-night--and i'll keep the fire a-going. i'll cure that cough if i sweat you as white as a washwoman's thumb." "you'll do nothing of the sort," jerry declared, as he removed his sodden garments and hung them up. "you'll crawl right into bed with me and we'll have a good sleep. you're near dead." but linton was by no means reassured; his tone was querulous when he cried: "why didn't you come in before you caught cold? s'pose you get sick on me now? but you won't. i won't let you." in a panic of apprehension he dug out his half of the contents of the medicine-kit and began to paw through them. "who got the cough syrup, jerry; you or me?" the speaker's voice broke miserably. mr. quirk laid a trembling hand upon his ex-partner's shoulder; his voice, too, was shaky when he said, "you're awful good to me, tom." the other shook off the grasp and undertook to read the labels on the bottles, but they had become unaccountably blurred and there was a painful lump in his throat. it seemed to him that old jerry's bare legs looked pitifully thin and spidery and that his bony knees had a rheumatic appearance. "hell! i treated you mighty mean," said he. "but i'most died when you--began to cough. i thought sure--" tom choked and shook his gray head, then with the heel of his harsh palm he wiped a drop of moisture from his cheek. "look at me--cryin'!" he tried to laugh and failed. jerry, likewise, struggled with his tears. "you--you dam' old fool!" he cried, affectionately. linton smiled with delight. "give it to me," he urged. "lam into me, jerry. i deserve it. gosh! i was lonesome!" a half-hour later the two friends were lying side by side in their bed and the stove was glowing comfortably. they had ceased shivering. old jerry had "spooned" up close to old tom and his bodily heat was grateful. linton eyed the fire with tender yearning. "that's a good stove you got." "she's a corker, ain't she?" "i been thinking about trading you a half interest in my tent for a half interest in her." "the trade's made." there was a moment of silence. "what d'you say we hook up together--sort of go pardners for a while? i got a long outfit and a short boat. i'll put 'em in against yours. i bet we'd get along all right. i'm onnery, but i got good points." mr. linton smiled dreamily. "it's a go. i need a good partner." "i'll buy a new fryin'-pan out of my money. mine got split, somehow." tom chuckled. "you darned old fool!" said he. jerry heaved a long sigh and snuggled closer; soon he began to snore. he snored in a low and confidential tone at first, but gradually the sound increased in volume and rose in pitch. linton listened to it with a thrill, and he assured himself that he had never heard music of such soul-satisfying sweetness as issued from the nostrils of his new partner. chapter x to the early klondikers, chilkoot pass was a personality, a presence at once sinister, cruel, and forbidding. so, too, only in greater measure, was miles canon. the chilkoot toyed with men, it wore them out, it stripped them of their strength and their manhood, it wrecked their courage and it broke their hearts. the canon sucked them in and swallowed them. this canon is nothing more nor less than a rift in a great basaltic barrier which lies athwart the river's course, the entrance to it being much like the door in a wall. above it the waters are dammed and into it they pour as into a flume; down it they rage in swiftly increasing fury, for it is steeply pitched, and, although the gorge itself is not long, immediately below it are other turbulent stretches equally treacherous. it seems as if here, within the space of some four miles, nature had exhausted her ingenuity in inventing terrors to frighten invaders, as if here she had combined every possible peril of river travel. the result of her labors is a series of cataclysms. immediately below miles canon itself are the squaw rapids, where the torrent spills itself over a confusion of boulders, bursting into foam and gyrating in dizzy whirlpools, its surface broken by explosions of spray or pitted by devouring vortices resembling the oily mouths of marine monsters. below this, in turn, is the white horse, worst of all. here the flood somersaults over a tremendous reef, flinging on high a gleaming curtain of spray. these rapids are well named, for the tossing waves resemble nothing more than runaway white horses with streaming manes and tails. these are by no means all the dangers that confronted the first yukon stampeders--there are other troublesome waters below--for instance, rink rapids, where the river boils and bubbles like a kettle over an open fire, and five fingers, so-called by reason of a row of knobby, knuckled pinnacles that reach up like the stiff digits of a drowning hand and split the stream into divergent channels--but those three, miles canon, the squaw, and white horse, were the worst and together they constituted a menace that tried the courage of the bravest men. in the canon, where the waters are most narrowly constricted, they heap themselves up into a longitudinal ridge or bore, a comb perhaps four feet higher than the general level. to ride this crest and to avoid the destroying fangs that lie in wait on either side is a feat that calls for nerve and skill and endurance on the part of boatmen. the whole four miles is a place of many voices, a thundering place that numbs the senses and destroys all hearing. its tumult is heard afar and it covers the entire region like a blanket. the weight of that sound is oppressive. winter was at the heels of the courteau party when it arrived at this point in its journey; it brought up the very tail of the autumn rush and the ice was close behind. the countess and her companions had the uncomfortable feeling that they were inside the jaws of a trap which might be sprung at any moment, for already the hills were dusted with gray and white, creeks and rivulets were steadily dwindling and shelf ice was forming on the larger streams, the skies were low and overcast and there was a vicious tingle to the air. delays had slowed them up, as, for instance, at windy arm, where a gale had held them in camp for several days; then, too, their boats were built of poorly seasoned lumber and in consequence were in need of frequent attention. eventually, however, they came within hearing of a faint whisper, as of wind among pine branches, then of a muffled murmur that grew to a sullen diapason. the current quickened beneath them, the river-banks closed in, and finally beetling cliffs arose, between which was a cleft that swallowed the stream. just above the opening was a landing-place where boats lay gunwale to gunwale, and here the courteau skiffs were grounded. a number of weather-beaten tents were stretched among the trees. most of them were the homes of pilots, but others were occupied by voyagers who preferred to chance a winter's delay as the price of portaging their goods around rather than risk their all upon one throw of fortune. the great majority of the arrivals, however, were restowing their outfits, lashing them down and covering them preparatory to a dash through the shouting chasm. there was an atmosphere of excitement and apprehension about the place; every face was strained and expectant; fear lurked in many an eye. on a tree near the landing were two placards. one bore a finger pointing up the steep trail to the top of the ridge, and it was marked: "this way--two weeks." the other pointed down directly into the throat of the roaring gorge. it read: "this way--two minutes." pierce phillips smiled as he perused these signs; then he turned up the trail, for in his soul was a consuming curiosity to see the place of which he had heard so much. near the top of the slope he met a familiar figure coming down--a tall, upstanding french-canadian who gazed out at the world through friendly eyes. 'poleon doret recognized the new-comer and burst into a boisterous greeting. "wal, wal!" he cried. "you 'ain't live' to be hung yet, eh? now you come lookin' for me, i bet." "yes. you're the very man i want to see." "good! i tak' you t'rough." phillips smiled frankly. "i'm not sure i want to go through. i'm in charge of a big outfit and i'm looking for a pilot and a professional crew. i'm a perfect dub at this sort of thing." 'poleon nodded. "dere's no use risk it if you 'ain't got to, dat's fac'. i don' lost no boats yet, but--sometam's i bus' 'em up pretty bad." he grinned cheerily. "dese new-comer get scare' easy an' forget to row, den dey say 'poleon she's bum pilot. you seen de canon yet?" when pierce shook his head the speaker turned back and led the way out to the rim. it was an impressive spectacle that phillips beheld. perhaps a hundred feet directly beneath him the river whirled and leaped; cross-currents boiled out from projecting irregularities in the walls; here and there the waters tumbled madly and flung wet arms aloft, while up out of the gorge came a mighty murmur, redoubled by the echoing cliffs. a log came plunging through and it moved with the speed of a torpedo. phillips watched it, fascinated. "look! dere's a boat!" 'poleon cried. in between the basalt jaws appeared a skiff with two rowers, and a man in the stern. the latter was braced on wide-spread legs and he held his weight upon a steering-sweep. down the boat came at a galloping gait, threshing over waves and flinging spray head-high; it bucked and it dove, it buried its nose and then lifted it, but the oarsman continued to maintain it on a steady course. "bravo!" doret shouted, waving his cap. to pierce he said: "dat's good pilot an' he knows swif' water. but dere's lot of feller here who ain't so good. dey tak' chance for beeg money. wal, w'at you t'ink of her? she's dandy, eh?" "it's an--inferno," phillips acknowledged. "you earn all the money you get for running it." "you don' care for 'im, w'at?" "i do not. i don't mind taking a chance, but--what chance would a fellow have in there? why, he'd never come up." "dat's right." phillips stared at his companion curiously. "you must need money pretty badly." the giant shook his head in vigorous denial. "no! money? pouf! she come, she go. but, you see--plenty people drowned if somebody don' tak' dem t'rough, so--i stay. dis winter i build myse'f nice cabin an' do li'l trappin'. nex' summer i pilot again." "aren't you going to dawson?" pierce was incredulous; he could not understand this fellow. doret's expression changed; a fleeting sadness settled in his eyes. "i been dere," said he. "i ain't care much for seein' beeg city. i'm lonesome feller." after a moment he exclaimed, more brightly: "now we go, i see if i can hire crew to row your boats." "how does she look to you?" lucky broad inquired, when pierce and his companion appeared. he and bridges had not taken the trouble to acquaint themselves with the canon, but immediately upon landing had begun to stow away their freight and to lash a tarpaulin over it. "better go up and see for yourself," the young man suggested. lucky shook his head. "not me," he declared. "i can hear all i want to. listen to it! i got a long life ahead of me and i'm going to nurse it." kid bridges was of like mind, for he said: "sure! we was a coupla brave guys in dyea, but what's the good of runnin' up to an undertaker and giving him your measurements? he'll get a tape-line on you soon enough." "then you don't intend to chance it?" pierce inquired. broad scowled at the questioner. "say! i wouldn't walk down that place if it was froze." "nor me," the other gambler seconded. "not for a million dollars would i tease the embalmer that way. not for a million. would you, lucky?" broad appeared to weigh the figures carefully; then he said, doubtfully: "i'm a cheap guy. i might risk it once--for five hundred thousand, cash. but that's rock bottom; i wouldn't take a nickel less." doret had been listening with some amusement; now he said, "you boys got wide pay-streak, eh?" bridges nodded without shame. "wider'n, a swamp, and yeller'n butter." "wal, i see w'at i can do." the pilot walked up the bank in search of a crew. in the course of a half-hour he was back again and with him came the countess courteau. calling pierce aside, the woman said, swiftly: "we can't get a soul to help us; everybody's in a rush. we'll have to use our own men." "broad and bridges are the best we have," he told her, "but they refuse." "you're not afraid, are you?" now pierce was afraid and he longed mightily to admit that he was, but he lacked the courage to do so. he smiled feebly and shrugged, whereupon the former speaker misread his apparent indifference and flashed him a smile. "forgive me," she said, in a low voice. "i know you're not." she hurried down to the water's edge and addressed the two gamblers in a business-like tone: "we've no time to lose. which one of you wants to lead off with doret and pierce?" the men exchanged glances. it was broad who finally spoke. "we been figuring it would please us better to walk," he said, mildly. "suit yourselves," the countess told them, coolly. "but it's a long walk from here to dawson." she turned back to pierce and said: "you've seen the canon. there's nothing so terrible about it, is there?" phillips was conscious that 'poleon doret's eyes were dancing with laughter, and anger at his own weakness flared up in him. "why, no!" he lied, bravely. "it will be a lot of fun." kid bridges leveled a sour look at the speaker. "some folks have got low ideas of entertainment," said he. "some folks is absolutely depraved that way. you'd probably enjoy a broken arm--it would feel so good when it got well." the countess courteau's lip was curled contemptuously when she said: "listen! i'm not going to be held up. there's a chance, of course, but hundreds have gone through. i can pull an oar. pierce and i will row the first boat." doret opened his lips to protest, but broad obviated the necessity of speech by rising from his seat and announcing: "deal the cards! i came in on no pair; i don't aim to be raised out ahead of the draw-not by a woman." mr. bridges was both shocked and aggrieved by his companion's words. "you going to tackle it?" he asked, incredulously. lucky made a grimace of intense abhorrence in pierce's direction. "sure! i don't want to miss all this fun i hear about." "when you get through, if you do, which you probably won't," bridges told him, with a bleak and cheerless expression, "set a gill-net to catch me. i'll be down on the next trip." "good for you!" cried the countess. "it ain't good for me," the man exclaimed, angrily. "it's the worst thing in the world for me. i'm grand-standing and you know it. so's lucky, but there wouldn't be any living with him if he pulled it off and i didn't." doret chuckled. to pierce he said, in a low voice: "plenty feller mak' fool of demse'f on dat woman. i know all 'bout it. but she 'ain't mak' fool of herse'f, you bet." "how do you mean?" pierce inquired, quickly. 'poleon eyed him shrewdly. "wal, tak' you. you're scare', ain't you? but you sooner die so long she don't know it. plenty oder feller jus' lak' dat." he walked to the nearest skiff, removed his coat, and began to untie his boots. lucky broad joined the pilot, then looked on uneasily at these preparations. "what's the idea?" he inquired. "are you too hot?" 'poleon grinned at him and nodded. very reluctantly broad stripped off his mackinaw, then seated himself and tugged at his footgear. he paused, after a moment, and addressed himself to bridges. "it's no use, kid. i squawk!" he said. "beginning to weaken, eh?" "sure! i got a hole in my sock-look! somebody 'll find me after i've been drowned a week or two, and what'll they say?" "pshaw! you won't come up till you get to st. michael's, and you'll be spoiled by that time." kid bridges tried to smile, but the result was a failure. "you'll be swelled up like a dead horse, and so'll i. they won't know us apart." when pierce had likewise stripped down and taken his place at the oars, broad grumbled: "the idea of calling me 'lucky'! it ain't in the cards." he spat on his hands and settled himself in his seat, then cried, "well, lead your ace!" as the little craft moved out into the stream, pierce phillips noticed that the kirby scow, which had run the courteau boats a close race all the way from linderman, was just pulling into the bank. lines had been passed ashore and, standing on the top of the cargo, he could make out the figure of rouletta kirby. in spite of a strong steady stroke the rowboat seemed to move sluggishly; foam and debris bobbed alongside and progress appeared to be slow, but when the oarsmen lifted their eyes they discovered that the shores were running past with amazing swiftness. even as they looked, those shores rose abruptly and closed in, there came a mounting roar, then the skiff was sucked in between high, rugged walls. unseen hands reached forth and seized it, unseen forces laid hold of it and impelled it forward; it began to plunge and to wallow; spray flew and wave-crests climbed over the gunwales. above the tumult 'poleon was urging his crew to greater efforts. "pull hard!" he shouted. "hi! hi! hi!" he swayed in unison to their straining bodies. "mak' dose oar crack," he yelled. "by gar, dat's goin' some!" the fellow's teeth were gleaming, his face was alight with an exultant recklessness, he cast defiance at the approaching terrors. he was alert, watchful; under his hands the stout ash steering-oar bent like a bow; he flung his whole strength into the battle with the waters. soon the roar increased until it drowned his shouts and forced him to pantomime his orders. the boat was galloping through a wild smother of ice-cold spray and the reverberating cliffs were streaming past like the unrolling scenery on a painted canvas panorama. it was a hellish place; it echoed to a demoniac din and it was a tremendous sensation to brave it, for the boat did not glide nor slip down the descent; it went in a succession of jarring leaps; it lurched and twisted; it rolled and plunged as if in a demented effort to unseat its passengers and scatter its cargo. to the occupants it seemed as if its joints were opening, as if the boards themselves were being wrenched loose from the ribs to which they were nailed. the men were drenched, of course, for they traveled in a cloud of spume; their feet were ankle-deep in cold water, and every new deluge caused them to gasp. how long it lasted pierce phillips never knew; the experience was too terrific to be long lived. it was a nightmare, a hideous phantasmagoria of frightful sensations, a dissolving stereopticon of bleak, scudding walls, of hydrophobic boulders frothing madly as the flood crashed over them, of treacherous whirlpools, and of pursuing breakers that reached forth licking tongues of destruction. then the river opened, the cliffs fell away, and the torrent spewed itself out into an expanse of whirlpools--a lake of gyrating funnels that warred with one another and threatened to twist the keel from under the boat. 'poleon swung close in to the right bank, where an eddy raced up against the flood; some one flung a rope from the shore and drew the boat in. "wal! i never had no better crew," cried the pilot. "wat you t'ink of 'im, eh?" he smiled down at the white-lipped oarsmen, who leaned forward, panting and dripping. "is--that all of it?" lucky broad inquired, weakly. "mais non! look! dere's wite 'orse." doret indicated a wall of foam and spray farther down the river. directly across the expanse of whirlpools stood a village named after the rapids. "you get plenty more bimeby." "you're wrong. i got plenty right now," broad declared. "i'm glad the countess didn't come," said phillips. when the men had wrung out their clothes and put on their boots they set out along the back trail over the bluffs. danny royal was not an imaginative person. he possessed, to be sure, the superstitions of the average horseman and gambler, and he believed strongly in hunches, but he was not fanciful and he put no faith in dreams and portents. it bothered him exceedingly, therefore, to discover that he was weighed down by an unaccountable but extremely oppressive sense of apprehension. how or why it had come to obsess him he could not imagine, but for some reason miles canon and the stormy waters below it had assumed terrible potentialities and he could not shake off the conviction that they were destined to prove his undoing. this feeling he had allowed to grow until now a fatalistic apathy had settled upon him and his usual cheerfulness was replaced by a senseless irritability. he suffered explosions of temper quite as surprising to the kirbys, father and daughter, as to himself. on the day of his arrival he was particularly ugly, wherefore rouletta was impelled to remonstrate with him. "what ails you, danny?" she inquired. "you'll have our men quitting." "i wish they would," he cried. "boatmen! they don't know as much about boats as me and sam." "they do whatever they're told." royal acknowledged this fact ungraciously. "trouble is we don't know what to tell 'em to do. all sam knows is 'gee' and 'haw,' and i can't steer anything that don't wear a bridle. why, if this river wasn't fenced in with trees we'd have taken the wrong road and been lost, long ago." rouletta nodded thoughtfully. "father is just as afraid of water as you are. he won't admit it, but i can tell. it has gotten on his nerves and--i've had hard work to keep him from drinking." "say! don't let him get started on that!" danny exclaimed, earnestly. "that would be the last touch." "trust me. i--" but kirby himself appeared at that moment, having returned from a voyage of exploration. said he: "there's a good town below. i had a chance to sell the outfit." "going to do it?" danny could not conceal his eagerness. the elder man shook his gray head. "hardly. i'm no piker." "i wish you and danny would take the portage and trust the pilot to run the rapids," rouletta said. kirby turned his expressionless face upon first one then the other of his companions. "nervous?" he inquired of royal. the latter silently admitted that he was. "go ahead. you and letty cross afoot--" "and you?" "oh, i'm going to stick!" "father--" the girl began, but old sam shook his head. "no. this is my case bet, and i'm going to watch it." royal's weazened face puckered until it resembled more than ever a withered apple. "then i'll stick, too," he declared. "i never laid down on you yet, sam." "how about you, letty?" the girl smiled. "why, i wouldn't trust you boys out of my sight for a minute. something would surely happen." kirby stooped and kissed his daughter's cheek. "you've always been our mascot, and you've always brought us luck. i'd go to hell in a paper suit if you were along. you're a game kid, too, and i want you to be like that, always. be a thoroughbred. don't weaken, no matter how bad things break for you. this cargo of rum is worth the best claim in dawson, and it'll put us on our feet again. all i want is one more chance. double and quit--that's us." this was an extraordinarily long speech for "one-armed" kirby; it showed that he was deeply in earnest. "double and quit?" breathed the girl. "do you mean it, dad?" he nodded: "i'm going to leave you heeled. i don't aim to take my eyes off this barge again till she's in dawson." rouletta's face was transformed; there was a great gladness in her eyes--a gladness half obscured by tears. "double and quit. oh--i've dreamed of--quitting--so often! you've made me very happy, dad." royal, who knew this girl's dreams as well as he knew his own, felt a lump in his throat. he was a godless little man, but rouletta kirby's joys were holy things to him, her tears distressed him deeply, therefore he walked away to avoid the sight of them. her slightest wish had been his law ever since she had mastered words enough to voice a request, and now he, too, was happy to learn that sam kirby was at last ready to mold his future in accordance with her desires. letty had never liked their mode of life; she had accepted it under protest, and with the passing years her unspoken disapproval had assumed the proportions of a great reproach. she had never put that disapproval into words--she was far too loyal for that--but danny had known. he knew her ambitions and her possibilities, and he had sufficient vision to realize something of the injustice she suffered at her father's hands. sam loved his daughter as few parents love a child, but he was a strange man and he showed his affection in characteristic ways. it pleased royal greatly to learn that the old man had awakened to the wrong he did, and that this adventure would serve to close the story, as all good stories close, with a happy ending. in spite of these cheering thoughts, danny was unable wholly to shake off his oppressive forebodings, and as he paused on the river-bank to stare with gloomy fascination at the jaws of the gorge they returned to plague him. the sound that issued out of that place was terrifying, the knowledge that it frightened him enraged the little man. it was an unpropitious moment for any one to address royal; therefore, when he heard himself spoken to, he whirled with a scowl upon his face. a tall french-canadian, just back from the portage, was saying: "m'sieu', i ain't good hand at mix in 'noder feller's bizneses, but--dat pilot you got she's no good." royal looked the stranger over from head to foot. "how d'you know?" he inquired, sharply. "biccause--i'm pilot myse'f." "oh, i see! you're one of the good ones." danny's air was surly, his tone forbidding. "yes." "hate yourself, don't you? i s'pose you want his job. is that it? no wonder--five hundred seeds for fifteen minutes' work. soft graft, i call it." the speaker laughed unpleasantly. "well, what does a good pilot charge?" "me?" the canadian shrugged indifferently. "i charge you one t'ousan' dollar." royal's jaw dropped. "the devil you say!" he exclaimed. "i don't want de job--your scow's no good--but i toss a coin wit' you. one t'ousan' dollar or--free trip." "nothing doing," snapped the ex-horseman. "bien! now i give you li'l ad-vice. hol' hard to de right in lower end dis canon. dere's beeg rock dere. don't touch 'im or you goin' spin lak' top an' mebbe you go over w'ite 'orse sideways. dat's goin' smash you, sure." royal broke out, peevishly: "another hot tip, eh? everybody's got some feed-box information--especially the ones you don't hire. well, i ain't scared--" "oh yes, you are!" said the other man. "everybody is scare' of dis place." "anyhow, i ain't scared a thousand dollars' worth. takes a lot to scare me that much. i bet this place is as safe as a chapel and i bet our scow goes through with her tail up. let her bump; she'll finish with me on her back and all her weights. i built her and i named her." danny watched the pilot as he swung down to the stony shore and rejoined pierce phillips; then he looked on in fascination while they removed their outer garments, stepped into a boat with kid bridges, and rowed away into the gorge. "it's--got my goat!" muttered the little jockey. chapter xi although scows larger than the rouletta had run miles canon and the rapids below in safety, perhaps none more unwieldy had ever done so. royal had built his barge stoutly, to be sure, but of other virtues the craft had none. when loaded she was so clumsy, so obstinate, so headstrong that it required unceasing effort to hold her on a course; as for rowing her, it was almost impossible. she took the first swooping rush into the canon, strange to say, in very good form, and thereafter, by dint of herculean efforts, royal and his three men managed to hold her head down-stream. sweeping between the palisades, she galloped clumsily onward, wallowing like a hippopotamus. her long pine sweeps, balanced and bored to receive thick thole-pins, rose and fell like the stiff legs of some fat, square-bodied spider; she reared her bluff bow; then she dove, shrouding herself in spray. it was a journey to terrify experienced rivermen; doubly terrifying was it to royal and kirby, who knew nothing whatever of swift water and to whom its perils were magnified a thousandfold. in spite of his apprehension, which by now had quickened into panic, danny rose to the occasion with real credit. his face was like paper, his eyes were wide and strained; nevertheless, he kept his gaze fixed upon the pilot and strove to obey the latter's directions implicitly. now with all his strength he heaved upon his sweep; now he backed water violently; at no time did he trust himself to look at the cliffs which were scudding past, nor to contemplate the tortuous turns in the gorge ahead. that would have been too much for him. even when his clumsy oar all but grazed a bastion, or when a jagged promontory seemed about to smash his craft, he refused to cease his frantic labors or to more than lift his eyes. he saw that rouletta kirby was very pale, and he tried to shout a word of encouragement to her, but his cry was thin and feeble, and it failed to pierce the thunder of the waters. danny hoped the girl was not as frightened as he, nor as old sam--the little man would not have wished such a punishment upon his worst enemy. kirby, by reason of his disability, of course, was prevented from lending any active help with the boat and was forced to play a purely passive part. that it was not to his liking any one could have seen, for, once the moorings were slipped, he did not open his lips; he merely stood beside rouletta, with the fingers of his right hand sunk into her shoulder, his gray face grayer than ever. together they swayed as the deck beneath them reeled and pitched. "look! we're nearly through!" the girl cried in his ear, after what seemed an interminable time. kirby nodded. ahead he could see the end of the canon and what appeared to be freer water; out into this open space the torrent flung itself. the scow was riding the bore, that ridge of water upthrust by reason of the pressure from above; between it and the exit from the chute was a rapidly dwindling expanse of tossing waves. kirby was greatly relieved, but he could not understand why those rollers at the mouth of the gorge should rear themselves so high and should foam so savagely. the bluffs ended, the narrow throat vomited the river out, and the scow galloped from shadow into pale sunlight. the owner of the outfit drew a deep breath, his clutching fingers relaxed their nervous hold. he saw that danny was trying to make himself heard and he leaned forward to catch the fellow's words, when suddenly the impossible happened. the deck beneath his feet was jerked backward and he was flung to his knees. simultaneously there came a crash, the sound of rending, splintering wood, and over the stern of the barge poured an icy deluge that all but swept father and daughter away. rouletta screamed, then she called the name of royal. "danny! danny!" she cried, for both she and old sam had seen a terrible thing. the blade of royal's sweep had been submerged at the instant of the collision and, as a consequence, the force of that rushing current had borne it forward, catapulting the man on the other end overboard as cleanly, as easily as a school-boy snaps a paper pellet from the end of a pencil. before their very eyes the kirbys saw their lieutenant, their lifelong friend and servitor, picked up and hurled into the flood. "danny!" shrieked the girl. the voice of the rapids had changed its tone now, for a cataract was drumming upon the after-deck and there was a crashing and a smashing as the piles of boxes came tumbling down. the scow drove higher upon the reef, its bow rose until it stood at a sharp incline, and meanwhile wave after wave cut like a broach over the stern, which steadily sank deeper. then the deck tilted drunkenly and an avalanche of case-goods was spilled over the side. sam kirby found himself knee-deep in ice water; a roller came curling down upon him, but with a frantic clutch he laid hold of his daughter. he sank the steel hook that did service as a left hand into a pile of freight and hung on, battling to maintain his footing. with a great jarring and jolting the rouletta rose from the deluge, hung balanced for a moment or two, and then, relieved of a portion of her cargo, righted herself and swung broadside to the stream as if upon a pivot; finally she was carried free. onward she swept, turning end for end, pounding, staggering, as other rocks from below bit into her bottom. the river was very low at this season, and the rouletta, riding deep because half filled, found obstacles she would otherwise have cleared. she was out of the crooked channel now and it was impossible to manage her, so in a crazy succession of loops and swoops she gyrated down toward that tossing mane of spray that marked the white horse. with eyes of terror sam kirby scanned the boiling expanse through which the barge was drifting, but nowhere could he catch sight of danny royal. he turned to shout to his pilot, only to discover that he also was missing and that the steering-sweep was smashed. "god! he's gone!" cried the old man. it was true; that inundation succeeding the mishap had swept the after-deck clean, and now the scow was not only rudderless, but it lacked a man of experience to direct its course. rouletta kirby was tugging at her father's arm. she lifted a white, horrified face to his and exclaimed: "danny! i saw him--go!" her father's dead face was twitching; he nodded silently. then he pointed at the cataract toward which they were being carried. he opened his lips to say something, but one of the crew came running back, shouting hoarsely and waving his arms. "we're going over," the fellow clamored. "we'll all be drowned!" kirby felled him with a blow from his artificial hand; then, when the man scrambled to his feet, his employer ordered: "get busy! do what you can!" for himself, he took royal's sweep and struggled with it. but he was woefully ignorant of how to apply his strength and had only the faintest idea what he ought to do. meanwhile the thunder of the white horse steadily increased. having brought the last of the courteau boats through the canon, 'poleon doret piloted the little flotilla across to the town of white horse and there collected his money, while pierce phillips and the other men pitched camp. the labor of making things comfortable for the night did not prevent lucky broad from discussing at some length the exciting incidents of the afternoon. "i hope her highness got an eyeful of me shooting the chutes," said he, "for that's my farewell trip--positively my last appearance in any water act." "mighty decent of you and the kid to volunteer," pierce told him. "it sure was," the other agreed. "takes a coupla daredevils like him and me to pull that kind of a bonehead play." mr. bridges, who was within hearing distance, shrugged with an assumption of careless indifference. "it takes more 'n a little lather to scare me," he boasted. "i'm a divin' venus and i ate it up!" "you--liar!" lucky cried. "why, every quill on your head was standing up and you look five years older 'n you did this morning! you heard the undertaker shaking out your shroud all the way down--you know you did. i never seen a man as scared as you was!" when bridges accepted the accusation with a grin, the speaker ran on, in a less resentful tone: "i don't mind saying it hardened my arteries some. it made me think of all my sins and follies; i remembered all the bets i'd overlooked. recollect that pioneer we laid for four hundred at dyea?" the kid nodded. "sure! i remember him easy. he squawked so loud you gave him back half of it." "and all the time he had a thousand sewed in his shirt! wasted opportunities like that lay heavy on a man when he hears the angels tuning up and smells the calla-lilies." bridges agreed in all seriousness, and went on to say: "lucky, if i gotta get out of this country the way i got into it i'm going to let you bury me in dawson. look at them rapids ahead of us! why, the guy that laid out this river was off his nut!" "you're talking sense. we'll stick till they build a railroad up to us or else we'll let 'em pin a pair of soft-pine overcoats on the two of us. the idea of us calling ourselves wiseacres and doing circus stunts like this! we're suckers! we'll be working in the mines next. i bet i'll see you poulticed onto a pick-handle before we get out." "not me! i've raised my last blister, and if ever i get another callous it'll be from layin' abed. safe and sane, that's me. i--" bridges' words were cut short by an exclamation from doret, who had approached, in company with the countess courteau. "hallo!" the french canadian broke in. "dere comes dat beeg barge." out from the lower end of the gorge the kirby craft had emerged; it was plunging along with explosions of white foam from beneath its bow and with its sweeps rising and falling rhythmically. to doret's companions it seemed that the scow had come through handily enough and was in little further danger, but 'poleon, for some reason or other, had blazed into excitement. down the bank he leaped; then he raised his voice and sent forth a loud cry. it was wasted effort, for it failed to carry. nevertheless, the warning note in his voice brought his hearers running after him. "what's the matter?" pierce inquired. the pilot paid no heed; he began waving his cap in long sweeps, cursing meanwhile in a patois which the others could not understand. even while they stared at the rouletta she drove head on into an expanse of tumbling breakers, then--the onlookers could not believe their eyes--she stopped dead still, as if she had come to the end of a steel cable or as if she had collided with an invisible wall. instantly her entire after part was smothered in white. slowly her bow rose out of the chaos until perhaps ten feet of her bottom was exposed, then she assumed a list. the countess uttered a strangled exclamation. "oh--h! did you see? there's a man overboard!" her eyes were quick, but others, too, had beheld a dark bundle picked up by some mysterious agency and flung end over end into the waves. the rouletta's deck-load was dissolving; a moment or two and she turned completely around, then drifted free. "why--they brought the girl along!" cried the countess, in growing dismay. "sam kirby should have had better sense. he ought to be hung--" from the tents and boats along the bank, from the village above, people were assembling hurriedly, a babel of oaths, of shouts arose. 'poleon found his recent employer plucking at his sleeve. "there's a woman out there--kirby's girl," she was crying. "can't you do something?" "wait!" he flung off her grasp and watched intently. soon the helpless scow was abreast of the encampment, and in spite of the frantic efforts of her crew to propel her shoreward she drifted momentarily closer to the cataract below. manifestly it was impossible to row out and intercept the derelict before she took the plunge, and so, helpless in this extremity, the audience began to stream down over the rounded boulders which formed the margin of the river. on the opposite bank another crowd was keeping pace with the wreck. as they ran, these people shouted at one another and gesticulated wildly. their faces were white, their words were meaningless, for it was a spectacle tense with imminent disaster that they beheld; it turned them sick with apprehension. immediately above white horse the current gathers itself for the final plunge, and although, at the last moment, the rouletta seemed about to straighten herself out and take the rapids head on, some malign influence checked her swing and she lunged over quarteringly to the torrent. a roar issued from the throats of the beholders; the craft reappeared, and then, a moment later, was half hidden again in the smother. it could be seen that she was completely awash and that those galloping white-maned horses were charging over her. she was buffeted about as by battering-rams; the remainder of her cargo was being rapidly torn from her deck. soon another shout arose, for human figures could be seen still clinging to her. onward the scow went, until once again she fetched up on a reef or a rock which the low stage of the river had brought close to the surface; there she hung. 'poleon doret had gone into action ere this. having satisfied himself that some of the rouletta's crew remained alive, he cast loose the painter of the nearest skiff and called to phillips, who was standing close by: "come on! we goin' get dose people!" now pierce had had enough rough water for one day; it seemed to him that there must be other men in this crowd better qualified by training than he to undertake this rescue. but no one stepped forward, and so he obeyed doret's order. as he slipped out of his coat and kicked off his boots, he reflected, with a sinking feeling of disappointment, that his emotions were not by any means such as a really courageous man would experience. he was completely lacking in enthusiasm for this enterprise, for it struck him as risky, nay, foolhardy, insane, to take a boat over that cataract in an attempt to snatch human beings out from the very midst of those threshing breakers. it seemed more than likely that all hands would be drowned in the undertaking, and he could not summon the reckless abandon necessary to face that likelihood with anything except the frankest apprehension. he was surprised at himself, for he had imagined that when his moment came, if ever it did, that he, phillips, would prove to be a rather exceptional person; instead he discovered that he was something of a coward. the unexpectedness of this discovery astonished the young man. being deeply and thoroughly frightened, it was nothing less than the abhorrence at allowing that fright to become known which stiffened his determination. in his own sight he dwindled to very small proportions; then came the realization that doret was having difficulty in securing volunteers to go with them, and he was considerably heartened at finding he was not greatly different from the rest of these people. "who's goin' he'p us?" the frenchman was shouting. "come now, you stout fellers. dere's lady on dat scow. 'ain't nobody got nerve?" it was a tribute to the manhood of the north that after a brief hesitation several men offered themselves. at the last moment, however, broad and bridges elbowed the others aside, saying: "here, you! that's our boat and we know how she handles." into the skiff they piled and hurriedly stripped down; then, in obedience to doret's command, they settled themselves at the forward oars, leaving pierce to set the stroke. 'poleon stood braced in the stern, like a gondolier, and when willing hands had shot the boat out into the current he leaned his weight upon the after oars; beneath his and pierce's efforts the ash blades bent. out into the hurrying flood the four men sent their craft; then, with a mighty heave, the pilot swung its bow down-stream and helped to drive it directly at the throat of the cataract. there came a breath-taking plunge during which the rescuing skiff and its crew were hidden from the view of those on shore; out into sight they lunged again and, in a cloud of spray, went galloping through the stampeding waves. at risk of capsizing they turned around and, battling furiously against the current, were swept down, stern first, upon the stranded barge. doret's face was turned back over his shoulder, he was measuring distance, gauging with practised eye the whims and vagaries of the tumbling torrent; when he flung himself upon the oars pierce phillips felt his own strength completely dwarfed by that of the big pilot. 'poleon's hands inclosed his in a viselike grasp; he wielded the sweeps as if they were reeds, and with them he wielded phillips. two people only were left upon the rouletta, that sidewise plunge having carried the crew away. once again sam kirby's artificial hand had proved its usefulness, and without its aid it is doubtful if either he or his daughter could have withstood the deluge. for a second time he had sunk that sharp steel hook into the solid wood and had managed, by virtue of that advantage, to save himself and his girl. both of them were half drowned; they were well-nigh frozen, too; now, however, finding themselves in temporary security, kirby had broached one of the few remaining cases of bottled goods. as the rowboat came close its occupants saw him press a drink upon his daughter, then gulp one for himself. it was impossible either to lay the skiff alongside the wreck with any degree of care or to hold her there; as a matter of fact, the two hulls collided with a crash, kid bridges' oar snapped off short and the side of the lighter boat was smashed in. water poured over the rescuers. for an instant it seemed that they were doomed, but, clawing fiercely at whatever they could lay hands upon, they checked their progress long enough for the castaways to obey doret's shout of command. the girl flung herself into pierce's arms; her father followed, landing in a heap amidships. even as they jumped the skiff was torn away and hurried onward by the flood. sam kirby raised himself to his knees and turned his ashen face to rouletta. "hurt you any, kid?" he inquired. the girl shook her head. she was very white, her teeth were chattering, her wet dress clung tightly to her figure. staring fixedly at the retreating barge the old man cried: "all gone! all gone!" then, bracing himself with his good hand, he brandished his steel hook at the rapids and heaped curses upon them. a half-mile below the wreck 'poleon doret brought his crippled skiff into an eddy, and there the crowd, which had kept pace with it down the river-bank, lent willing assistance in effecting a landing. as kirby stepped ashore he shook hands with the men who had jeopardized their lives for him and his daughter; hi a cheerless, colorless voice he said, "it looks to me like you boys had a drink coming." from his coat pocket he drew a bottle of whisky; with a blow of that artificial hand he struck off its neck and then proffered it to doret. "drink hearty!" said he. "it's all that's left of a good outfit!" chapter xii a chilly twilight had fallen by the time the castaways arrived at the encampment above the rapids. kirby and his daughter were shaking from the cold. the countess courteau hurried on ahead to start a fire in her tent, and thither she insisted upon taking rouletta, while her men attended to the father's comfort. on the way up there had been considerable speculation among those who knew sam kirby best, for none of them had ever seen the old fellow in quite such a frame of mind as now. his misfortune had crushed him; he appeared to be numbed by the realization of his overwhelming loss; gone entirely was that gambler's nonchalance for which he was famous. the winning or the losing of large sums of money had never deeply stirred the old sporting-man; the turn of a card, the swift tattoo of horses' hoofs, often had meant far more to him in dollars and cents than the destruction of that barge-load of liquor; he had seen sizable fortunes come and go without a sign of emotion, and yet to-night he was utterly unnerved. with a man of less physical courage such an ordeal as he had undergone might well have excused a nervous collapse, but kirby had no nerves; he had, times without number, proved himself to be a man of steel, and so it greatly puzzled his friends to see him shaken and broken. he referred often to danny royal's fate, speaking in a dazed and disbelieving manner, but through that daze ran lightning-bolts of blind, ferocious rage--rage at the river, rage at this hostile, sinister country and at the curse it had put upon him. over and over, through blue lips and chattering teeth, he reviled the rapids; more than once he lifted the broken-necked bottle to his lips. of thanksgiving, of gratitude at his own and his daughter's deliverance, he appeared to have none, at least for the time being. rouletta's condition was pitiable enough, but she was concerned less with it than with her father's extraordinary behavior, and when the countess undertook to procure for her dry clothing she protested: "please don't trouble. i'll warm up a bit; then i must go back to dad." "my dear, you're chilled through--you'll die in those wet things," the older woman told her. miss kirby shook her head and, in a queer, strained, apprehensive voice, said: "you don't understand. he's had a drink; if he gets started--" she shivered wretchedly and hid her white face in her hands, then moaned: "oh, what a day! danny's gone! i saw him drown--" "there, there!" the countess comforted her as best she could. "you've had a terrible experience, but you mustn't think of it just yet. now let me help you." finding that the girl's fingers were stiff and useless, the countess removed the wet skirt and jacket, wrung them out, and hung them up. then she produced some dry undergarments, but miss kirby refused to put them on. "you'll need what few things you have," said she, "and--i'll soon warm up. there's no telling what dad will do. i must keep an eye on him." "you give yourself too much concern. he's chilled through and it's natural that he should take a drink. my men will give him something dry to wear, and meanwhile--" rouletta interrupted with a shake of her head, but the countess gently persisted: "don't take your misfortune too hard. the loss of your outfit means nothing compared with your safety. it was a great tragedy, of course, but you and your father were saved. you still have him and he has you." "danny knew what was coming," said the girl, and tears welled into her eyes, then slowly overflowed down her white cheeks. "but he faced it. he was game. he was a good man at heart. he had his faults, of course, but he loved dad and he loved me; why, he used to carry me out to see the horses before i could walk; he was my friend, my playmate, my pal. he'd have done murder for me!" through her tears rouletta looked up. "it's hard for you to believe that i know, after what he did to you, but--you know how men are on the trail. nothing matters. he was angry when you outwitted him, and so was father, for that matter, but i told them it served us right and i forbade them to molest you further." "you did that? then it's you i have to thank." the countess smiled gravely. "i could never understand why i came off so easily." "i'm glad i made them behave. you've more than repaid--" rouletta paused, she strained her ears to catch the sound of voices from the neighboring tents. "i don't hear father," said she. "i wonder if he could have gone?" "perhaps the men have put him to bed--" but miss kirby would not accept this explanation. "i'm afraid--" again she listened apprehensively. "once he gets a taste of liquor there's no handling him; he's terrible. even danny couldn't do anything with him; sometimes even i have failed." hurriedly she took down her sodden skirt and made as if to draw it on. "oh, child, you mustn't! you simply must not go out this way. wait here. i'll find him for you and make sure he's all right." the half-clad girl smiled miserably. "thank you," said she. but when the countess had stepped out into the night she finished dressing herself. her clothing, of course, was as wet as ever, for the warmth of the tent in these few moments had not even heated it through; nevertheless, her apprehension was so keen that she was conscious of little bodily discomfort. "you were right," the countess announced when she returned. "he slipped into some borrowed clothes and went up-town. he told the boys he couldn't sit still. but you mustn't follow--at least in that dress-" "did he--drink any more?" "i'm afraid he did." heedless of the elder woman's restraining hands, rouletta kirby made for the tent opening. "please don't stop me," she implored. "there's no time to lose and--i'll dry out in time." "let me go for you." "no, no!" "then may i go along?" again the girl shook her head. "i can handle him better alone. he's a strange man, a terrible man, when he's this way. i--hope i'm not too late." rouletta's wet skirts slatted about her ankles as she ran; it was a windy, chilly night, and, in spite of the fact that it was a steep climb to the top of the low bluff, she was chilled to the bone when she came panting into the sprawling cluster of habitations that formed the temporary town of white horse. tents were scattered over a dim, stumpy clearing, lights shone through trees that were still standing, a meandering trail led past a straggling row of canvas-topped structures, and from one of these issued the wavering, metallic notes of a phonograph, advertising the place as a house of entertainment. sam kirby was at the bar when his daughter discovered him, and her first searching look brought dismay to the girl. pushing her way through the crowd, she said, quietly: "father!" "hello!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "what are you doing here?" "i want to speak to you." "now, letty," he protested, when she had drawn him aside, "haven't you been through enough for one day? run back to the countess' camp where i left you." "don't drink any more," she implored, with an agony of dread in her face. kirby's bleak countenance set itself in stony lines. "i've got to," said he. "i'm cold--frozen to the quick. i need something to warm me up." letty could smell the whisky on his breath, she could see a new light in his eyes and already she sensed rather than observed a subtle change in his demeanor. "oh, dad!" she quavered; then she bowed her head weakly upon his arm and her shoulders shook. kirby laid a gentle hand upon her, then exclaimed, in surprise: "why, kid, you're still wet! got those same clothes on, haven't you?" he raised his voice to the men he had just left. "want to see the gamest girl in the world? well, here she is. you saw how she took her medicine to-day? now listen to this: she's wet through, but she came looking for her old dad--afraid he'd get into trouble!" disregarding the crowd and the appreciative murmur her father's praise evoked, rouletta begged, in a low, earnest voice: "please, dear, come away. please--you know why. come away--won't you--for my sake?" kirby stirred uneasily. "i tell you i'm cold," he muttered, but stopped short, staring. "yes, and i see danny. i see him as he went overboard. drowned! i'll never get him out of my sight. i can't seem to understand that he's gone, but--everything's gone, for that matter. everything!" "oh no, dad. why, you're here and i'm here! we've been broke before." kirby smiled again, but cheerlessly. "oh, we ain't exactly broke; i've got the bank-roll on me and it 'll pull us through. we've had bad luck for a year or two, but it's bound to change. you cheer up--and come over to the stove. what you need is to warm up while i get you a little drink." rouletta gazed up into the gray face above her. "dad, look at me." she took his hand. "haven't we had enough trouble for one day?" the gambler was irritated at this persistence and he showed it. "don't be foolish," he cried, shortly. "i know what i need and i know what i can stand. these men are friends of mine, and you needn't be uneasy. now, kid, you let me find a place for you to spend the night." "not until you're ready to go along." "all right, stick around for a little while. i won't be long." old sam drew a bench up beside the stove and seated the girl upon it. "i'm all broke up and i've just got to keep moving," he explained, more feelingly. then he returned to the bar. realizing that he was completely out of hand and that further argument was futile, rouletta kirby settled herself to wait. in spite of her misery, it never occurred to her to abandon her father to his own devices, even for an hour--she knew him too well to run that risk. but her very bones were frozen and she shivered wretchedly as she held her shoes up to the stove. although the fire began slowly to dry her outer garments, the clothes next to her flesh remained cold and clammy. even so, their chill was as nothing to the icy dread that paralyzed the very core of her being. pierce phillips told himself that this had been a wonderful day--an epoch-making day--for him. lately he had been conscious that the north was working a change in him, but the precise extent of that change, even the direction it was taking, had not been altogether clear; now, however, he thought he understood. he had been quite right, that first hour in dyea, when he told himself that life lay just ahead of him--just over the chilkoot. such, indeed, had proved to be the case. yes, and it had welcomed him with open arms; it had ushered him into a new and wondrous world. his hands had fallen to men's tasks, experience had come to him by leaps and bounds. in a rush he had emerged from groping boyhood into full maturity; physically, mentally, morally, he had grown strong and broad and brown. having abandoned himself to the tides of circumstance, he had been swept into a new existence where adventure had rubbed shoulders with him, where love had smiled into his eyes. danger had tested his mettle, too, and to-day the final climax had come. what roused his deepest satisfaction now was the knowledge that he had met that climax with credit. to-night it seemed to him that he had reached full manhood, and in the first flush of realization he assured himself that he could no longer drift with the aimless current of events, but must begin to shape affairs to his own ends. more than once of late he had pondered a certain thought, and now, having arrived at a decision, he determined to act upon it. ever since that stormy evening at linderman his infatuation for hilda had increased, but, owing to circumstances, he had been thwarted in enjoying its full delights. during the daylight hours of their trip, as matter of fact, the two had never been alone together even for a quarter of an hour; they had scarcely had a word in confidence, and in consequence he had been forced to derive what comfort he could from a chance look, a smile, some inflection of her voice. even at night, after camp was pitched, it had been little better, for the thin walls of her canvas shelter afforded little privacy, and, being mindful of appearances, he had never permitted himself to be alone with her very long at a time--only long enough, in fact, to make sure that his happiness was not all a dream. a vibrant protestation now and then, a secret kiss or two, a few stolen moments of delirium, that was as far as his love-affair had progressed. not yet had he and hilda arrived at a definite understanding; never had they thoroughly talked out the subject that engrossed them both, never had they found either time or opportunity in which to do more than sigh and whisper and hold hands, and as a result the woman remained almost as much of a mystery to pierce as she had been at the moment of her first surrender. it was an intolerable situation, and so, under the spell of his buoyant spirits, he determined to make an end of it once for all. the countess recognized his step when he came to her tent and she spoke to him. mistaking her greeting for permission to enter, he untied the strings and stepped inside, only to find her unprepared for his reception. she had made her shelter snug, a lively fire was burning, the place was fragrant of pine boughs, and a few deft feminine touches here and there had transformed it into a boudoir. hilda had removed her jacket and waist and was occupied in combing her hair, but at pierce's unexpected entrance she hurriedly gathered the golden shower about her bare shoulders and voiced a protest at his intrusion. he stood smiling down at her and refused to withdraw. never had phillips seen such an alluring picture. now that her hair was undone, its length and its profusion surprised him, for it completely mantled her, and through it the snowy whiteness of her bare arms, folded protectingly across her rounded breasts, was dazzling. the sight put him in a conquering mood; he strode forward, lifted her into his embrace, then smothered her gasping protest with his lips. for a long moment they stood thus. finally the woman freed herself, then chided him breathlessly, but the fragrance of her hair had gone to his brain; he continued to hold her tight, meanwhile burying his face in the golden cascade. roughly, masterfully, he rained kisses upon her. he devoured her with his caresses, and the heat of his ardor melted her resistance until, finally, she surrendered, abandoning herself wholly to his passion. when, after a time, she flung back her head and pushed him away, her face, her neck, her shoulders were suffused with a coral pinkness and her eyes were misty. "you must be careful!" she whispered in a tone that was less of a remonstrance than an invitation. "remember, we're making shadowgraphs for our neighbors. that's the worst of a tent at night--one silhouettes one's very thoughts." "then put out the light," he muttered, thickly; but she slipped away, and her moist lips mocked him in silent laughter. "the idea! what in the world has come over you? why, you're the most impetuous boy--" "boy!" pierce grimaced his dislike of the word. "don't be motherly; don't treat me as if i had rompers on. you're positively maddening to-night. i never saw you like this. why, your hair"--he ran his hands through that silken shower once more and pressed it to his face--"it's glorious!" the countess slipped into a combing-jacket; then she seated herself on the springy couch of pine branches over which her fur robe was spread, and deftly caught up her long runaway tresses, securing them in place with a few mysterious twists and expert manipulations. "boy, indeed!" he scoffed, flinging himself down beside her. "that's over with, long ago." "oh, i don't feel motherly," she asserted, still suffused with that telltale flush. "not in the way you mean. but you'll always be a boy to me--and to every other woman who learns to care for you." "every other woman?" pierce's eyes opened. "what a queer speech. there aren't going to be any other women." he looked on while she lighted a cigarette, then after a moment he inquired, "what do you mean?" she answered him with another question. "do you think i'm the only woman who will love you?" "why--i haven't given it any thought! what's the difference, as long as you're the only one _i_ care for? and i do love you, i worship--" "but there will be others," she persisted, "there are bound to be. you're that kind." "really?" the countess nodded her head with emphasis. "i can read men; i can see the color of their souls. you have the call." "what call?" pierce was puzzled. "the--well, the sex-call, the sex appeal." "indeed? am i supposed to feel flattered at that?" "by no means; you're not a cad. men who possess that attraction are spoiled sooner or later. you don't realize that you have it, and that's what makes you so nice, but--i felt it from the first, and when you feel it you'll probably become spoiled, too, like the others." this amused phillips, but the woman was in sober earnest. "i mean what i say. you're the kind who cause women to make fools of themselves--old or young, married or single. when a girl has it--she's lost." "i'm not sure i understand. at any rate, you haven't made a fool of yourself." "no?" the countess smiled vaguely, questioningly. she opened her lips to say more, but changed her mind and in an altered tone declared, "my dear boy, if you understood fully what i'm driving at you'd be insufferable." laying her warm hand over his, she continued: "you resent what you call my 'motherly way,' but if i were sixteen and you were forty it would be just the same. women who are afflicted with that sex appeal become men's playthings; the man who possesses it always remains a 'boy' to the woman who loves him--a bad boy, a dangerous boy, perhaps, but a boy, nevertheless. she may, and probably will, adore him fiercely, passionately, jealously, but at the same time she will hover him as a hen hovers her chick. he will be both son and lover to her." he had listened closely, but now he stirred uneasily. "i don't follow you," he said. "and it isn't exactly pleasant for a fellow to be told that he's a baby don juan, to be called a male vampire in knee-pants--especially by the woman he's going to marry." disregarding her attempt to speak, he went on: "what you said about other women--the way you said it--sounded almost as if--well, as if you expected there would be such, and didn't greatly care. you didn't mean it that way, i hope. you do care, don't you, dear? you do love me?" the face phillips turned upon the countess courteau was earnest, worried. her fingers tightened over his hand. when she spoke there was a certain listlessness, a certain fatigue in her tone. "do you need to ask that after--what happened just now? of course i care. i care altogether too much. that's the whole trouble. you see, the thing has run away with me, pierce; it has carried me off my feet, and--that's precisely the point i'm trying to make." he slipped an arm about her waist and drew her close. "i knew it wasn't merely an animal appeal that stirred you. i knew it was something bigger and more lasting than that." "even yet you don't understand," she declared. "the two may go together and--" but without allowing her to finish he said, vibrantly: "whatever it is, you seem to find it an obstacle, an objection. why struggle against the inevitable? you are struggling--i've seen you fighting something ever since that first night when truth came to us out of the storm. but, hilda dear, i adore you. you're the most wonderful creature in the world! you're a goddess! i feel unworthy to touch the hem of your garments, but i know--that you are mine! nothing else matters. think of the miracle, the wonder of it! it's like a beautiful dream. i've had doubts about myself, and that's why i've let matters drift. you see, i was a sort of unknown quantity, but now i know that i've found myself. to-day i went through hell and--i came out a man. i'm going to play a man's part right along after this." he urged her eagerly. "we've a hard trip ahead of us before we reach dawson; winter may overtake us and delay us. we can't continue in this way. why wait any longer?" "you mean--?" the woman inquired, faintly. "i mean this--marry me here, to-morrow." "no, no! please--" the countess freed herself from pierce's embrace. "why not? are you afraid of me?" she shook her head silently. "then why not to-morrow instead of next month? are you afraid of yourself?" "no, i'm afraid of-what i must tell you." phillips' eyes were dim with desire, he was ablaze with yearning; in a voice that shook he said: "don't tell me anything. i won't hear it!" then, after a brief struggle with himself, he continued, more evenly: "that ought to prove to you that i've grown up. i couldn't have said it three months ago, but i've stepped out of--of the nursery into a world of big things and big people, and i want you. i dare say you've lived--a woman like you must have had many experiences, many obstacles to overcome; but--i might not understand what they were even if you told me, for i'm pretty green. anyhow, i'm sure you're good. i wouldn't believe you if you told me you weren't. it's no credit to me that i haven't confessions of my own to make, for i'm like other men and it merely so happens that i've had no chance to-soil myself. the credit is due to circumstance." "everything is due to circumstance," the woman said. "our lives are haphazard affairs; we're blown by chance--" "we'll take a new start to-morrow and bury the past, whatever it is." "you make it absolutely necessary for me to speak," the countess told him. her tone again had a touch of weariness in it, but pierce did not see this. "i knew i'd have to, sooner or later, but it was nice to drift and to dream--oh, it was pleasant--so i bit down on my tongue and i listened to nothing but the song in my heart." she favored pierce with that shadowy, luminous smile he had come to know. "it was a clean, sweet song and it meant a great deal to me." when he undertook to caress her she drew away, then sat forward with her heels tucked close into the pine boughs, her chin upon her knees. it was her favorite attitude of meditation; wrapped thus in the embrace of her own arms, she appeared to gain the strength and the determination necessary to go on. "i'm not a weak woman," she began, staring at the naked candle-flame which gave light to the tent. "it wasn't weakness that impelled me to marry a man i didn't love; it was the determination to get ahead and the ambition to make something worth while out of myself--a form of selfishness, perhaps, but i tell you all women are selfish. anyhow, he seemed to promise better things and to open a way whereby i could make something out of my life. instead of that he opened my eyes and showed me the world as it is, not as i had imagined it to be. he was--no good. you may think i was unhappy over that, but i wasn't. really, he didn't mean much to me. what did grieve me, though, was the death of my illusions. he was mercenary--the fault of his training, i dare say--but he had that man-call i spoke about. it's really a woman-call. he was weak, worthless, full of faults, mean in small things, but he had an attraction and it was impossible to resist mothering him. other women felt it and yielded to it, so finally we went our separate ways. i've seen nothing of him for some time now, but he keeps in touch with me and--i've sent him a good deal of money. when he learns that i have prospered in a big way he'll undoubtedly turn up again." pierce weighed the significance of these words; then he smiled. "dear, it's all the more reason why we should be married at once. i'd dare him to annoy you then." "my boy, don't you understand? i can't marry you, being still married to him." phillips recoiled; his face whitened. dismay, reproach, a shocked surprise were in the look he turned upon his companion. "still married!" he gasped. "oh--hilda!" she nodded and lowered her eyes. "i supposed you knew--until i got to telling you, and then it was too late." pierce rose; his lips now were as colorless as his cheeks. "i'm surprised, hurt," he managed to say. "how should i know? why, this is wretched--rotten! people will say that i've got in a mess with a married woman. that's what it looks like, too." his voice broke huskily. "how could you do it, when i meant my love to be clean, honorable? how could you let me put myself, and you, in such a position?" "you see!" the woman continued to avoid his eye. "you haven't grown up. you haven't the least understanding." "i understand this much," he cried, hotly, "that you've led me to make something worse than a cad of myself. look here! there are certain things which no decent fellow goes in for--certain things he despises in other men--and that's one of them." he turned as if to leave, then he halted at the tent door and battled with himself. after a moment, during which the countess courteau watched him fixedly, he whirled, crying: "well, the damage is done. i love you. i can't go along without you. divorce that man. i'll wait." "i'm not sure i have legal grounds for a divorce. i'm not sure that i care to put the matter to a test--as yet." "what?" pierce gazed at her, trying to understand. "say that over again!" "you think you've found yourself, but--have you? i know men pretty well and i think i know you. you've changed--yes, tremendously--but what of a year, two years from now? you've barely tasted life and this is your first intoxication." "do you love me, or do you not?" he demanded. "i love you as you are now. i may hate you as you will be to-morrow. i've had my growth; i've been through what you're just beginning--we can't change together." "then will you promise to marry me afterward?" the countess shook her head. "it's a promise that would hold only me. why ask it?" "you're thinking of no one but yourself," he protested, furiously. "think of me. i've given you all i have, all that's best and finest in me. i shall never love another woman--" "not in quite the way you love me, perhaps, but the peach ripens even after its bloom has been rubbed off. you have given me what is best and finest, your first love, and i shall cherish it." "will you marry me?" he cried, hoarsely. she made a silent refusal. "then i can put but one interpretation upon your actions." "don't be too hasty in your judgment. can't you see? i was weak. i was tired. then you came, like a draught of wine, and--i lost my head. but i've regained it. i dreamed my dream, but it's daylight now and i'm awake. i know that you believe me a heartless, selfish woman. maybe i am, but i've tried to think for you, and to act on that good impulse. i tell you i would have been quite incapable of it before i knew you. a day, a month, a year of happiness! most women of my age and experience would snatch at it, but i'm looking farther ahead than that. i can't afford another mistake. life fits me, but you--why, you're bursting your seams." "you've puzzled me with a lot of words," the young man said, with ever-growing resentment, "but what do they all amount to? you amused yourself with me and you're ready enough to continue so long as i pour my devotion at your feet. well, i won't do it. if you loved me truly you wouldn't refuse to marry me. isn't that so? true love isn't afraid, it doesn't quibble and temporize and split hairs the way you do. no, it steps out boldly and follows the light. you've had your fun, you've--broken my heart." phillips' voice shook and he swallowed hard. "i'm through; i'm done. i shall never love another woman as i love you, but if what you said about that sex-call is true, i--i'll play the game as you played it." he turned blindly and with lowered head plunged out of the tent into the night. the countess listened to the sounds of his departing footsteps; then, when they had ceased, she rose wearily and flung out her arms. there was a real and poignant distress in her eyes. "boy! boy!" she whispered. "it was sweet, but--there had to be an end." for a long time she stood staring at nothing; then she roused herself with a shiver, refilled the stove, and seated herself again, dropping her chin upon her knees as she did instinctively when in deep thought. "if only i were sure," she kept repeating to herself. "but he has the call and--i'm too old." chapter xiii rouletta kirby could not manage to get warm. the longer she sat beside the stove the colder she became. this was not strange, for the room was draughty, people were constantly coming in and going out, and when the door was opened the wind caused the canvas walls of the saloon to bulge and its roof to slap upon the rafters. the patrons were warmly clad in mackinaw, flannel, and fur. to them the place was comfortable enough, but to the girl who sat swathed in sodden undergarments it was like a refrigerator. more than once she regretted her heedless refusal of the countess courteau's offer of a change; several times, in fact, she was upon the point of returning to claim it, but she shrank from facing that wintry wind, so low had her vitality fallen. then, too, she reasoned that it would be no easy task to find the countess at this hour of the night, for the beach was lined with a mile of tents, all more or less alike. she pictured the search, herself groping her way from one to another, and mumbling excuses to surprised occupants. no, it was better to stay here beside the fire until her clothes dried out. she would have reminded her father of her discomfort and claimed his assistance only for the certainty that he would send her off to bed, which was precisely what she sought to prevent. her presence irritated him; nevertheless, she knew that his safety lay in her remaining. sam kirby sober was in many ways the best of fathers; he was generous, he was gentle, he was considerate. sam kirby drunk was another man entirely--a thoughtless, wilful, cruel man, subject to vagaries of temper that were as mysterious to the girl who knew him so well as they were dangerous to friend and foe alike. he was drunk now, or in that peculiar condition that passed with him for drunkenness. intoxication in his case was less a condition of body than a frame of mind, and it required no considerable amount of liquor to work the change. whisky, even in small quantities, served to suspend certain of his mental functions; it paralyzed one lobe of his brain, as it were, while it aroused other faculties to a preternatural activity and awoke sleeping devils in him. the more he drank the more violent became his destructive mood, the more firmly rooted became his tendencies and proclivities for evil. the girl well knew that this was an hour when he needed careful watching and when to leave him unguarded, even temporarily, meant disaster. rouletta clenched her chattering teeth and tried to ignore the chills that raced up and down her body. white horse, at this time, was purely a make-shift camp, hence it had no facilities for gambling. the saloons themselves were little more than liquor caches which had been opened overnight for the purpose of reaping quick profits; therefore such games of chance as went on were for the most part between professional gamblers who happened to be passing through and who chose to amuse themselves in that way. after perhaps an hour, during which a considerable crowd had come and gone, sam kirby broke away from the group with which he had been drinking and made for the door. as he passed rouletta he paused to say: "i'm going to drift around a bit, kid, and see if i can't stir up a little game." "where are we going to put up for the night?" his daughter inquired. "i don't know yet; it's early. want to turn in?" rouletta shook her head. "i'll find a place somewhere. now you stick here where it's nice and warm. i'll be back by and by." with sinking heart the girl watched him go. after a moment she rose and followed him out into the night. she was surprised to discover that the mud under foot had frozen and that the north wind bore a burden of fine, hard snow particles. keeping well out of sight, she stumbled to another saloon door, and then, after shivering wretchedly outside for a while, she stole in and crept up behind the stove. she was very miserable indeed by this time, and as the evening wore slowly on her misery increased. after a while her father began shaking dice with some strangers, and the size of their wagers drew an audience of interested bystanders. rouletta realized that she should not have exposed herself anew to the cold, for now her sensations had become vaguely alarming. she could not even begin to get warm, except now and then when a burning fever replaced her chill; she felt weak and ill inside; the fingers she pressed to her aching temples were like icicles. eventually--she had lost all track of time--her condition became intolerable and she decided to risk her father's displeasure by interrupting him and demanding that he secure for both of them a lodging-place at once. there were several bank-notes of large denomination on the plank bar-top and sam kirby was watching a cast of dice when his daughter approached; therefore he did not see her. nor did he turn his head when she laid a hand upon his arm. now women, especially pretty women, were common enough sights in alaskan drinking-places. so it was not strange that rouletta's presence had occasioned neither comment nor curiosity. more than once during the last hour or two men had spoken to her with easy familiarity, but they had taken no offense when she had turned her back. it was quite natural, therefore, that the fellow with whom kirby was gambling should interpret her effort to claim attention as an attempt to interrupt the game, and that he should misread the meaning of her imploring look. there being considerable money at stake, he frowned down at her, then with an impatient gesture he brushed her aside. "none of that, sister!" he warned her. "you get out of here." sam kirby was in the midst of a discussion with the proprietor, across the bar, and because there was a deal of noise in the place he did not hear his daughter's low-spoken protest. "oh, i mean it!" the former speaker scowled at rouletta. "you dolls make me sick, grabbing at every nickel you see. beat it, now! there's plenty of young suckers for you to trim. if you can't respect an old man with gray hair, why--" the rest of his remark caused the girl's eyes to widen and the chattering voices to fall silent. sam kirby turned, the dice-box poised in his right hand. "eh? what's that?" he queried, vaguely. "i'm talking to this pink-faced gold-digger--" "father!" rouletta exclaimed. "i'm just telling her--" the fellow repeated his remark, whereupon understanding came to kirby and his expression slowly altered. surprise, incredulity, gave place to rage; his eyes began to blaze. "you said that to--her?" he gasped, in amazement. "to my kid?" there was a moment of tense silence during which the speaker appeared to be numbed by the insult, then, "by god!" sam placed the dice-box carefully upon the bar. his movement was deliberate, but he kept his flaming gaze fixed upon the object of his wrath, and into his lean, ashen countenance came such demoniac fury as to appal those who saw it. rouletta uttered a faint moan and flung herself at her father; with a strength born of terror she clung to his right wrist. in this she was successful, despite old sam's effort to shake her off, but she could not imprison both his arms. kirby stepped forward, dragging the girl with him; he raised that wicked artificial left hand and brought it sweeping downward, and for a second time that day the steel shaft met flesh and bone. his victim spun upon his heels, then, with outflung arms and an expression of shocked amazement still upon his face, he crashed backward to the floor. kirby strode to him; before other hands could come to rouletta's assistance and bear him out of reach he twice buried his heavy hobnailed boot in the prostrate figure. he presented a terrible exhibition of animal ferocity, for he was growling oaths deep in his throat and in his eyes was the light of murder. he fought for liberty with which to finish his task, and those who restrained him found that somehow he had managed to draw an ivory-handled six-shooter from some place of concealment. nor could they wrench the weapon away from him. "he insulted my kid--my girl letty!" kirby muttered, hoarsely. when the fallen man had been lifted to his feet and hurried out of the saloon old sam tried his best to follow, but his captors held him fast. they pleaded with him, they argued, they pacified him as well as they could. it was a long time, however, before they dared trust him alone with rouletta, and even then they turned watchful eyes in his direction. "i didn't want anything to happen." the girl spoke listlessly. kirby began to rumble again, but she interrupted him. "it wasn't the man's fault. it was a perfectly natural mistake on his part, and i've learned to expect such things. i--i'm sick, dad. you must find a place for me, quick." sam agreed readily enough. the biting cold of the wind met them at the door. rouletta, summoning what strength she could, trudged along at his side. it did not take them long to canvass the town and to discover that there were no lodgings to be had. rouletta halted finally, explaining through teeth that chattered: "i--i'm frozen! take me back where there's a stove--back to the saloon--anywhere. only do it quickly." "pshaw! it isn't cold," kirby protested, mildly. the nature of this remark showed more plainly than anything he had said or done during the evening that the speaker was not himself. it signified such a dreadful change in him, it marked so surely the extent of his metamorphosis, that rouletta's tears came. "looks like we'd have to make the best of it and stay awake till morning," the father went on, dully. "no, no! i'm too sick," the girl sobbed, "and too cold. leave me where i can keep warm; then go find the countess and--ask her to put me up." returning to their starting-point, kirby saw to his daughter's comfort as best he could, after which he wandered out into the night once more. his intentions were good, but he was not a little out of patience with letty and still very angry with the man who had affronted her; rage at the insult glowed within his disordered brain and he determined, before he had gone very far, that his first duty was to right that wrong. probably the miscreant was somewhere around, or, if not, he would soon make his appearance. sam decided to postpone his errand long enough to look through the other drinking-places and to settle the score. no one, on seeing him thus, would have suspected that he was drunk; he walked straight, his tongue was obedient, and he was master of his physical powers to a deceptive degree; only in his abnormally alert and feverish eyes was there a sign that his brain was completely crazed. rouletta waited for a long while, and steadily her condition grew worse. she became light-headed, and frequently lost herself in a sort of painful doze. she did not really sleep, however, for her eyes were open and staring; her wits wandered away on nightmare journeys, returning only when the pains became keener. her fever was high now; she was nauseated, listless; her chest ached and her breathing troubled her when she was conscious enough to think. her surroundings became unreal, too, the faces that appeared and disappeared before her were the faces of dream figures. unmindful of his daughter's need, heedless of the passage of time, sam kirby loitered about the saloons and waited patiently for the coming of a certain man. after a time he bought some chips and sat in a poker game, but he paid less attention to the spots on his cards than to the door through which men came and went. these latter he eyed with the unblinking stare of a serpent. pierce phillips' life was ruined. he was sure of it. precisely what constituted a ruined life, just how much such a one differed from a successful life, he had only the vaguest idea, but his own, at the moment, was tasteless, spoiled. dire consequences were bound to follow such a tragedy as this, so he told himself, and he looked forward with gloomy satisfaction to their realization; whatever they should prove to be, however terrible the fate that was to overtake him, the guilt, the responsibility therefor, lay entirely upon the heartless woman who had worked the evil, and he earnestly hoped they would be brought home to her. yes, the countess courteau was heartless, wicked, cruel. her unsuspected selfishness, her lack of genuine sentiment, her cool, calculating caution, were shocking. pierce had utterly misread her at first; that was plain. that he was really hurt, deeply distressed, sorely aggrieved, was true enough, for his love--infatuation, if you will--was perfectly genuine and exceedingly vital. nothing is more real, more vital, than a normal boy's first infatuation, unless it be the first infatuation of a girl; precisely wherein it differs from the riper, less demonstrative affection that comes with later years and wider experience is not altogether plain. certainly it is more spontaneous, more poignant; certainly it has in it equal possibilities for good or evil. how deep or how disfiguring the scar it leaves depends entirely upon the healing process. but, for that matter, the same applies to every heart affair. had phillips been older and wiser he would not have yielded so readily to despair; experience would have taught him that a woman's "no" is not a refusal; wisdom would have told him that the absolute does not exist. but, being neither experienced nor wise, he mistook the downfall of his castle for the wreck of the universe, and it never occurred to him that he could salvage something, or, if need be, rebuild upon the same foundations. what he could neither forget nor forgive at this moment was the fact that hilda had not only led him to sacrifice his honor, or its appearance, but also that when he had managed to reconcile himself to that wrong she had lacked the courage to meet him half-way. there were but two explanations of her action: either she was weak and cowardly or else she did not love him. neither afforded much consolation. in choosing a course of conduct no man is strong enough to divorce himself entirely from his desires, to follow the light of pure reason, for memories, impulses, yearnings are bound to bring confusion. although pierce told himself that he must renounce this woman--that he had renounced her--nevertheless he recalled with a thrill the touch of her bare arms and the perfume of her streaming golden hair as he had buried his face in it, and the keenness of those memories caused him to cry out. the sex-call had been stronger than he had realized; therefore, to his present grief was added an inescapable, almost irresistible feeling of physical distress--a frenzy of balked desire--which caused him to waver irresolutely, confusing the issue dreadfully. for a long time he wandered through the night, fighting his animal and his spiritual longings, battling with irresolution, striving to reconcile himself to the crash that had overwhelmed him. more than once he was upon the point of rushing back to the woman and pouring out the full tide of his passion in a desperate attempt to sweep away her doubts and her apprehensions. what if she should refuse to respond? he would merely succeed in making himself ridiculous and in sacrificing what little appearance of dignity he retained. thus pride prevented, uncertainty paralyzed him. some women, it seemed to him, not bad in themselves, were born to work evil, and evidently hilda was one of them. she had done her task well in this instance, for she had thoroughly blasted his life! he would pretend to forget, but nevertheless he would see to it that she was undeceived, and that the injury she had done him remained an ever-present reproach to her. that would be his revenge. real forgetfulness, of course, was out of the question. how could he assume such an attitude? as he pondered the question he remembered that there were artificial aids to oblivion. ruined men invariably took to drink. why shouldn't he attempt to drown his sorrows? after all, might there not be real and actual relief in liquor? after consideration he decided to try it. from a tent saloon near by came the sounds of singing and of laughter, and thither he turned his steps. when he entered the place a lively scene greeted him. somehow or other a small portable organ had been secured, and at this a bearded fellow in a mackinaw coat was seated. he was playing a spirited accompaniment for two women, sisters, evidently, who sang with the loud abandon of professional "coon shouters." other women were present, and phillips recognized them as members of that theatrical troupe he had seen at sheep camp--as those "actresses" to whom tom linton had referred with such elaborate sarcasm. all of them, it appeared, were out for a good time, and in consequence white horse was being treated to a free concert. the song ended in a burst of laughter and applause, the men at the bar pounded with their glasses, and there was a general exodus in that direction. one of the sisters flung herself enthusiastically upon the volunteer organist and dragged him with her. there was much hilarity and a general atmosphere of license and unrestraint. phillips looked on moodily; he frowned, his lip curled. all the world was happy, it seemed, while he nursed a broken heart. well, that was in accord with the scheme of things--life was a mad, topsy-turvy affair at best, and there was nothing stable about any part of it. he felt very grim, very desperate, very much abused and very much outside of all this merriment. men were playing cards at the rear of the saloon, and among the number was sam kirby. the old gambler showed no signs of his trying experience of the afternoon; in fact, it appeared to have been banished utterly from his mind. he was drinking, and even while pierce looked on he rapped sharply with his iron hand to call the bartender's attention. meanwhile he scanned intently the faces of all new-comers. when the crowd had surged back to the organ pierce found a place at the bar and called for a drink of whisky--the first he had ever ordered. this was the end he told himself. he poured the glass nearly full, then he gulped the liquor down. it tasted much as it smelled, hence he derived little enjoyment from the experience. as he stripped a bill from his sizable roll of bank-notes the bartender eyed him curiously and seemed upon the point of speaking, but pierce turned his shoulder. after perhaps five minutes the young man acknowledged a vague disappointment; if this was intoxication there was mighty little satisfaction in it, he decided, and no forgetfulness whatever. he was growing dizzy, to be sure, but aside from that and from the fact that his eyesight was somewhat uncertain he could feel no unusual effect. perhaps he expected too much; perhaps, also, he had drunk too sparingly. again he called for the bottle, again he filled his glass, again he carelessly displayed his handful of paper currency. engaged thus, he heard a voice close to his ear; it said: "hello, man!" pierce turned to discover that a girl was leaning with elbows upon the plank counter at his side and looking at him. her chin was supported upon her clasped fingers; she was staring into his face. she eyed him silently for a moment, during which he returned her unsmiling gaze. she dropped her eyes to the whisky-glass, then raised them again to his. "can you take a drink like that and not feel it?" she inquired. "no. i want to feel it; that's why i take it," he said, gruffly. "what's the idea?" "idea? well, it's my own idea--my own business." the girl took no offense; she maintained her curious observation of him; she appeared genuinely interested in acquainting herself with a man who could master such a phenomenal quantity of liquor. there was mystification in her tone when she said: "but--i saw you come in alone. and now you're drinking alone." "is that a reproach? i beg your pardon." pierce swept her a mocking bow. "what will you have?" without removing her chin from its resting-place, the stranger shook her head shortly, so he downed his beverage as before. the girl watched him interestedly as he paid for it. "that's more money than i've seen in a month," said she. "i wouldn't be so free and easy with it, if i were you." "no? why not?" she merely shrugged, and continued to study him with that same disconcerting intentness--she reminded him of a frank and curious child. pierce noticed now that she was a very pretty girl, and quite appropriately dressed, under the circumstances. she wore a boy's suit, with a short skirt over her knickerbockers, and, since she was slim, the garments added to her appearance of immaturity. her face was oval in outline, and it was of a perfectly uniform olive tint; her eyes were large and black and velvety, their lashes were long, their lids were faintly smudged with a shadowy under-coloring that magnified their size and intensified their brilliance. her hair was almost black, nevertheless it was of fine texture; a few unruly strands had escaped from beneath her fur cap and they clouded her brow and temples. at first sight she appeared to be foreign, and of that smoky type commonly associated with the russian idea of beauty, but she was not foreign, not russian; nor were her features predominantly racial. "what's your name?" she asked, suddenly. pierce told her. "and yours?" he inquired. "laure." "laure what?" "just laure--for the present." "humph! you're one of this--theatrical company, i presume." he indicated the singers across the room. "yes. morris best hired us to work in his place at dawson." "i remember your outfit at sheep camp. best was nearly crazy--" "he's crazier now than ever." laure smiled for the first time and her face lit up with mischief. "poor morris! we lead him around by his big nose. he's deathly afraid he'll lose us, and we know it, so we make his life miserable." she turned serious abruptly, and with a candor quite startling said, "i like you." "indeed!" pierce was nonplussed. the girl nodded. "you looked good to me when you came in. are you going to dawson?" "of course. everybody is going to dawson." "i suppose you have partners?" "no!" pierce's face darkened. "i'm alone--very much alone." he undertook to speak in a hollow, hopeless tone. "big outfit?" "none at all. but i have enough money for my needs and--i'll probably hook up with somebody." now there was a brave but cheerless resignation in his words. laure pondered for a moment; even more carefully than before she studied her companion. that the result satisfied her she made plain by saying: "morris wants men. i can get him to hire you. would you like to hook up with us?" "i don't know. it doesn't much matter. will you have something to drink now?" "why should i? they don't give any percentage here. wait! i'll see morris and tell you what he says." leaving pierce, the speaker hurried to a harassed little man of hebraic countenance who was engaged in the difficult task of chaperoning this unruly aggregation of talent. to him she said: "i've found a man for you, morris." "man?" "to go to dawson with us. that tall, good-looking fellow at the bar." mr. best was bewildered. "what ails you?" he queried. "i don't want any men, and you know it." "you want this fellow, and you're going to hire him." "am i? what makes you think so?" "because it's--him or me," laure said, calmly. mr. best was both surprised and angered at this cool announcement. "you mean, i s'pose, that you'll quit," he said, belligerently. "i mean that very thing. the man has money--" best's anger disappeared as if by magic; his tone became apologetic. "oh! why didn't you say so? if he'll pay enough, and if you want him, why, of course--" laure interrupted with an unexpected dash of temper. "he isn't going to pay you anything: you're going to pay him--top wages, too. understand?" the unhappy recipient of this ultimatum raised his hands in a gesture of despair. "himmel! there's no understanding you girls! there's no getting along with you, either. what's on your mind, eh? are you after him or his coin?" "i--don't know." laure was gazing at phillips with a peculiar expression. "i'm not sure. maybe i'm after both. will you be good and hire him, or--" "oh, you've got me!" best declared, with frank resentment. "if you want him, i s'pose i'll have to get him for you, but"--he muttered an oath under his breath--"you'll ruin me. oy! oy! i'll be glad when you're all in dawson and at work." after some further talk the manager approached phillips and made himself known. "laure tells me you want to join our troupe," he began. "i'll see that he pays you well," the girl urged. "come on." phillips' thoughts were not quite clear, but, even so, the situation struck him as grotesquely amusing. "i'm no song-and-dance man," he said, with a smile. "what would you expect me to do? play a mandolin?" "i don't know exactly," best replied. "maybe you could help me ride herd on these bernhardts." he ran a hand through his thin black hair, thinner now by half than when he left the states. "if you could do that, why--you could save my reason." "he wants you to be a simon legree," laure explained. the manager seconded this statement by a nod of his head. "sure! crack the whip over 'em. keep 'em in line. don't let 'em get married. i thought i was wise to hire good-lookers, but--i was crazy. they smile and they make eyes and the men fight for 'em. they steal 'em away. i've had a dozen battles and every time i've been licked. already four of my girls are gone. if i lose four more i can't open; i'll be ruined. oy! such a country! every day a new love-affair; every day more trouble--" laure threw back her dark head and laughed in mischievous delight. "it's a fact," she told pierce. "the best best gets is the worst of it. he's not our manager, he's our slave; we have lots of fun with him." stepping closer to the young man, she slipped her arm within his and, looking up into his face, said, in a low voice: "i knew i could fix it, for i always have my way. will you go?" when he hesitated she repeated: "will you go with me or--shall i go with you?" phillips started. his brain was fogged and he had difficulty in focusing his gaze upon the eager, upturned face of the girl; nevertheless, he appreciated the significance of this audacious inquiry and there came to him the memory of his recent conversation with the countess courteau. "why do you say that?" he queried, after a moment. "why do you want me to go?" laure's eyes searched his; there was an odd light in them, and a peculiar intensity which he dimly felt but scarcely understood. "i don't know," she confessed. she was no longer smiling, and, although her gaze remained hypnotically fixed upon his, she seemed to be searching her own soul. "i don't know," she said again, "but you have a--call." in spite of this young woman's charms, and they were numerous enough, phillips was not strongly drawn to her; resentment, anger, his rankling sense of injury, all these left no room for other emotions. that she was interested in him he still had sense enough to perceive; her amazing proposal, her unmistakable air of proprietorship, showed that much, and in consequence a sort of malicious triumph arose within him. here, right at hand, was an agency of forgetfulness, more potent by far than the one to which he had first turned. dangerous? yes. but his life was ruined. what difference, then, whether oblivion came from alcohol or from the drug of the poppy? deliberately he shut his ears to inner warnings; he raised his head defiantly. "i'll go," said he. "we leave at daylight," best told him. chapter xiv with 'poleon doret to be busy was to be contented, and these were busy times for him. his daily routine, with trap and gun, had made of him an early riser and had bred in him a habit of greeting the sun with a song. it was no hardship for him, therefore, to cook his breakfast by candle-light, especially now that the days were growing short. on the morning after his rescue of sam kirby and his daughter 'poleon washed his dishes and cut his wood; then, finding that there was still an hour to spare before the light would be sufficient to run miles canon, he lit his pipe and strolled up to the village. the ground was now white, for considerable snow had fallen during the night; the day promised to be extremely short and uncomfortable. 'poleon, however, was impervious to weather of any sort; his good humor was not dampened in the least. even at this hour the saloons were well patronized, for not only was the camp astir, but also the usual stale crowd of all-night loiterers was not yet sufficiently intoxicated to go to bed. as 'poleon neared the first resort, the door opened and a woman emerged. she was silhouetted briefly against the illumination from within, and the pilot was surprised to recognize her as rouletta kirby. he was upon the point of speaking to her when she collided blindly with a man who had preceded him by a step or two. the fellow held the girl for an instant and helped her to regain her equilibrium, exclaiming, with a laugh: "say! what's the matter with you, sister? can't you see where you're going?" when rouletta made no response the man continued in an even friendlier tone, "well, i can see; my eyesight's good, and it tells me you're about the best-looking dame i've run into to-night." still laughing, he bent his head as if to catch the girl's answer. "eh? i don't get you. who d'you say you're looking for?" 'poleon was frankly puzzled. he resented this man's tone of easy familiarity and, about to interfere, he was restrained by rouletta's apparent indifference. what ailed the girl? it was too dark to make out her face, but her voice, oddly changed and unnatural, gave him cause for wonderment. could it be--'poleon's half-formed question was answered by the stranger who cried, in mock reproach: "naughty! naughty! you've had a little too much, that's what's the matter with you. why, you need a guardeen." taking rouletta by the shoulders, the speaker turned her about so that the dim half-light that filtered through the canvas wall of the tent saloon shone full upon her face. 'poleon saw now that the girl was indeed not herself; there was a childish, vacuous expression upon her face; she appeared to be dazed and to comprehend little of what the man was saying. this was proved by her blank acceptance of his next insinuating words: "say, it's lucky i stumbled on to you. i been up all night and so have you. s'pose we get better acquainted. what?" rouletta offered no objection to this proposal; the fellow slipped an arm about her and led her away, meanwhile pouring a confidential murmur into her ear. they had proceeded but a few steps when 'poleon doret strode out of the gloom and laid a heavy hand upon the man. "my frien'," he demanded, brusquely, "w'ere you takin' dis lady?" "eh?" the fellow wheeled sharply. "what's the idea? what is she to you?" "she ain't not'in' to me. but i seen you plenty tams an'--you ain't no good." rouletta spoke intelligibly for the first time: "i've no place to go--no place to sleep. i'm very--tired." "there you've got it," the girl's self-appointed protector grinned. "well, i happen to have room for her in my tent." as doret's fingers sank deeper into his flesh the man's anger rose; he undertook to shake off the unwelcome grasp. "you leggo! you mind your own business--" "dis goin' be my biznesse," 'poleon announced. "dere's somet'ing fonny 'bout dis--" "don't get funny with me. i got as much right to her as you have--" 'poleon jerked the man off his feet, then flung him aside as if he were unclean. his voice was hoarse with disgust when he cried: "get out! beat it! by gar! you ain't fit for touch decent gal. you spik wit' her again, i tear you in two piece!" turning to rouletta he said, "mam'selle, you lookin' for your papa, eh?" miss kirby was clasping and unclasping her fingers, her face was strained, her response came in a mutter so low that 'poleon barely caught it: "danny's gone--gone--dad, he's--no use fighting it--it's the drink--and there's nothing i can do." it was 'poleon's turn to take the girl by the shoulders and wheel her about for a better look at her face. a moment later he led her back into the saloon. she was so oddly obedient, so docile, so unquestioning, that he realized something was greatly amiss. he laid his hand against her flushed cheek and found it to be burning hot, whereupon he hastily consulted the nearest bystanders. they agreed with him that the girl was indeed ill--more than that, she was half delirious. "sacre! wat's she doin' roun' a saloon lak dis?" he indignantly demanded. "how come she's gettin' up biffore daylight, eh?" it was the bartender who made plain the facts: "she 'ain't been to bed at all, frenchy. she's been up all night, ridin' herd on old sam kirby. he's drinkin', understand? he tried to get some place for her to stay, along about midnight, but there wasn't any. she's been settin' there alongside of the stove for the last few hours and i been sort of keepin' an eye on her for sam's sake." doret breathed an oath. "dat's nice fader she's got! i wish i let 'im drown." "oh, he ain't exactly to blame. he's on a bender--like to of killed a feller in here. somebody'd ought to take care of this girl till he sobers up." during this conference rouletta stood quivering, her face a blank, completely indifferent to her surroundings. 'poleon made her sit down, and but for her ceaseless whispering she might have been in a trance. doret's indignation mounted as the situation became plain to him. "fine t'ing!" he angrily declared. "wat for you fellers leave dis seeck gal settin' up, eh? me, i come jus' in tam for catch a loafer makin' off wit' her." again he swore savagely. "dere's some feller ain't wort' killin'. wal, i got good warm camp; i tak' her dere, den i fin' dis fader." "sam won't be no good to you. what she needs is a doctor, and she needs him quick," the bartender averred. "eh bien! i fin' him, too! mam'selle"--'poleon turned to the girl--"you're bad seeck, dat's fac'. you care for stop in my tent?" the girl stared up at him blankly, uncomprehendingly; then, drawn doubtless by the genuine concern in his troubled gaze, she raised her hand and placed it in his. she left it there, the small fingers curling about his big thumb like those of a child. "poor li'l bird!" the woodsman's brow puckered, a moisture gathered in his eyes. "dis is hell, for sure. come, den, ma petite, i fin' a nes' for you." he raised her to her feet; then, removing his heavy woolen coat, he placed it about her frail shoulders. when she was snugly buttoned inside of it he led her out into the dim gray dawn; she went with him obediently. as they breasted the swirling snowflakes doret told himself that, pending sam kirby's return to sanity, this sick girl needed a woman's care quite as much as a doctor's; naturally his thoughts turned to the countess courteau. of all the women in white horse, the countess alone was qualified to assume charge of an innocent child like this, and he determined to call upon her as soon as he had summoned medical assistance. when, without protest, rouletta followed him into his snug living-quarters, doret thought again of the ruffian from whom he had rescued her and again he breathed a malediction. the more fully he became aware of the girl's utter helplessness the angrier he grew, and the more criminal appeared her father's conduct. white horse made no pretense at morality; it was but a relay station, a breathing-point where the mad rush to the klondike paused; there was neither law nor order here; the women who passed through were, for the most part, shameless creatures; the majority of the men were unruly, unresponsive to anything except an appeal to their animal appetites. sympathy, consideration, chivalry had all but vanished in the heat of the great stampede. that sam kirby should have abandoned his daughter to such as these was incredible, criminal. mere intoxication did not excuse it, and 'poleon vowed he would give the old man a piece of his mind at the first opportunity. his tent was still warm; a few sticks of dry spruce caused the little stove to grow red; he helped rouletta to lie down upon his bed, then he drew his blankets over her. "you stay here li'l while, eh?" he rested a comforting hand upon her shoulder. "'poleon goin' find your papa now. bimeby you goin' feel better." he was not sure that she understood him, for she continued to mutter under her breath and began to roll her head as if in pain. then he summoned all the persuasiveness he could. "dere now, you're safe in 'poleon's house; he mak' you well dam' queeck." a good many people were stirring when the pilot climbed once more to the stumpy clearing where the village stood, and whomsoever he met he questioned regarding sam kirby; it did not take him long to discover the latter's whereabouts. but 'poleon's delay, brief as it had been, bore tragic consequences. had he been a moment or two earlier he might have averted a catastrophe of far-reaching effect, one that had a bearing upon many lives. the gold belt saloon had enjoyed a profitable all-night patronage; less than an hour previously morris best had rounded up the last of his gay song-birds and put an end to their carnival. the poker game, however, was still in progress at the big round table. already numerous early risers were hurrying in to fortify themselves against the raw day just breaking, and among these last-named, by some evil whim of fate, chanced to be the man for whom sam kirby had so patiently waited. the fellow had not come seeking trouble--no one who knew the one-armed gambler's reputation sought trouble with him--but, learning that kirby was still awake and in a dangerous mood, he had entered the gold belt determined to protect himself in case of eventualities. doret was but a few seconds behind the man, but those few seconds were fateful. as the pilot stepped into the saloon he beheld a sight that was enough to freeze him motionless. the big kerosene lamps, swung from the rafter braces above, shed over the interior a peculiar sickly radiance, yellowed now by reason of the pale morning light outside. beneath one of the lamps a tableau was set. sam kirby and the man he had struck the night before were facing each other in the center of the room, and doret heard the gambler cry: "i've been laying for you!" kirby's usually impassive face was a sight; it was fearfully contorted; it was the countenance of a maniac. his words were loud and uncannily distinct, and the sound of them had brought a breathless hush over the place. at the moment of doret's entrance the occupants of the saloon seemed petrified; they stood rooted in their tracks as if the anger in that menacing voice had halted them in mid-action. 'poleon, too, turned cold, for it seemed to him that he had opened the door upon a roomful of wax figures posed in theatric postures. then in the flash of an eye the scene dissolved into action, swift and terrifying. what happened was so unexpected, it came with such a lack of warning, that few of the witnesses, even though they beheld every move, were able later to agree fully upon details. whether kirby actually fired the first shot, or whether his attempt to do so spurred his antagonist to lightning quickness, was long a matter of dispute. in a flash the room became a place of deafening echoes. shouts of protest, yells of fright, the crash of overturning furniture, the stamp of fleeing feet mingled with the loud explosion of gunshots--pandemonium. fortunately the troupe of women who had been here earlier were gone and the tent was by no means crowded. even so, there were enough men present to raise a mighty turmoil. some of them took shelter behind the bar, others behind the stove and the tables; some bolted headlong for the door; still others hurled themselves bodily against the canvas walls and ripped their way out. the duel was over almost as quickly as it had begun. sam kirby's opponent reeled backward and fetched up against the bar; above the din his hoarse voice rose: "he started it! you saw him! tried to kill me!" he waved a smoking pistol-barrel at the gambler, who had sunk to his knees. even while he was shouting out his plea for justification kirby slid forward upon his face and the fingers of his outstretched hand slowly unloosed themselves from his gun. it had been a shocking, a sickening affair; the effect of it had been intensified by reason of its unexpectedness, and now, although it was over, excitement gathered fury. men burst forth from their places of concealment and made for the open air; the structure vomited its occupants out into the snow. 'poleon doret had been swept aside, then borne backward ahead of that stampede, and at length found himself wedged into a corner. he heard the victor repeating: "you saw him. tried to kill me!" the speaker turned a blanched face and glaring eyes upon those witnesses who still remained. "he's sam kirby. i had to get him or he'd have got me." he pressed a hand to his side, then raised it; it was smeared with blood. in blank stupefaction the man stared at this phenomenon. doret was the first to reach that motionless figure sprawled face down upon the floor; it was he who lifted the gray head and spoke kirby's name. a swift examination was enough to make quite sure that the old man was beyond all help. outside, curiosity had done its work and the human tide was setting back into the wrecked saloon. when 'poleon rose with the body in his arms he was surrounded by a clamorous crowd. through it he bore the limp figure to the cloth-covered card-table, and there, among the scattered emblems of sam kirby's calling, 'poleon deposited his burden. by those cards and those celluloid disks the old gambler had made his living; grim fitness was in the fact that they should carpet his bier. when 'poleon doret had forced his way by main strength out of the gold belt saloon, he removed his cap and, turning his face to the wind, he breathed deeply of the cool, clean air. his brow was moist; he let the snowflakes fall upon it the while he shut his eyes and strove to think. engaged thus, he heard lucky broad address him. with the speaker was kid bridges; that they had come thither on the run was plain, for they were panting. "what's this about kirby?" lucky gasped. "we heard he's just been croaked!" the kid exclaimed. 'poleon nodded. "i seen it all. he had it comin' to him," and with a gesture he seemed to brush a hideous picture from before his eyes. "old sam! dead!" broad, it seemed, was incredulous. he undertook to bore his way into the crowd that was pressing through the saloon door, but doret seized him. "wait!" cried the latter. "dat ain't all; dat ain't de worst." "say! where's letty?" bridges inquired. "was she with him when it happened? does she know--" "dat's w'at i'm goin' tell you." in a few words 'poleon made known the girl's condition, how he had happened to encounter her, and how he had been looking for her father when the tragedy occurred. his listeners showed their amazement and their concern. "gosh! that's tough!" it was broad speaking. "me 'n' the kid had struck camp and was on our way down to fix up our boat when we heard about the killin'. we couldn't believe it, for sam--" "seems like it was a waste of effort to save that outfit," bridges broke in. "sam dead and letty dyin'--all in this length of time! she's a good kid; she's goin' to feel awful. who's goin' to break the news to her?" "i don' know." 'poleon frowned in deep perplexity. "dere's doctor in dere now," he nodded toward the gold belt. "i'm goin' tak' him to her, but she mus' have woman for tak' care of her. mebbe madame la comtesse--" "why, the countess is gone! she left at daylight. me 'n' the kid are to follow as soon as we get our skiff fixed." "gone?" "sure!" "sacre! de one decent woman in dis place, wal!" 'poleon shrugged. "dose dance-hall gal' is got good heart--" "hell! they pulled out ahead of our gang best ran his boats through the white horse late yesterday and he was off before it was light. i know, because phillips told me. he's joined out with 'em--blew in early and got his war-bag. he left the countess flat." doret was dumfounded at this news and he showed his dismay. "but--dere's no more women here!" he stammered. "dat young lady she's seeck; she mus' be nurse'. by gar! who's goin' do it, eh?" the three of them were anxiously discussing the matter when they were joined by the doctor to whom 'poleon had referred. "i've done all there is to do here," the physician announced. "now about kirby's daughter. you say she's delirious?" the pilot nodded. he told of rouletta's drenching on the afternoon previous and of the state in which he had just found her. "jove! pneumonia, most likely. it sounds serious, and i'm afraid i can't do much. you see i'm all ready to go, but--of course i'll do what i can." "who's goin' nurse her?" 'poleon demanded for a second time. "dere ain't no women in dis place." the physician shook his head. "who indeed? it's a wretched situation! if she's as ill as you seem to think, why, we'll have to do the best we can, i suppose. she probably won't last long. come!" together he and the french canadian hurried away. chapter xv it was afternoon when lucky broad and kid bridges came to 'poleon doret's tent and called its owner outside. "we're hitched up and ready to say 'gid-dap,' but we came back to see how letty's getting along," the former explained. 'poleon shook his head doubtfully; his face was grave. "she's bad seeck." "does she know about old sam?" "she ain't know not'in'. she's crazee altogether. poor li'l gal, she's jus' lak baby. i'm scare' as hell." the confidence-men stared at each other silently; then they stared at doret. "what we goin' to do about it?" the kid inquired, finally. 'poleon was at a loss for an answer; he made no secret of his anxiety. "de doctor say she mus' stay right here--" "here?" "he say if she get cold once more--pouf! she die lak dat! plenty fire, plenty blanket, medicine every hour, dat's all. i'm prayin' for come along some woman--any kin' of woman at all--i don' care if she's squaw." "there ain't any skirts back of us. best's outfit was the last to leave linderman. there won't be any more till after the freeze-up." "eh bien! den i s'pose i do de bes' i can. she's poor seeck gal in beeg, cold countree wit' no frien's, no money--" "no money?" broad was startled. "why, sam was 'fat'! he had a bank-roll--" "he lose five t'ousan' dollar' playin' card las' night. less 'n eighty dollar' dey lef' him. eighty dollar' an'--dis." from the pocket of his mackinaw 'poleon drew kirby's revolver, that famous single-action six-shooter, the elaborate ivory grip of which was notched in several places. broad and his partner eyed the weapon with intense interest. "that's agnes, all right!" the former declared. "and that's where old sam kept his books." he ran his thumb-nail over the significant file-marks on the handle. "looks like an alligator had bit it." bridges was even more deeply impressed by the announcement of kirby's losses than was his partner. "sam must of been easy pickin', drunk like that. he was a gamblin' fool when he was right, but i s'pose he couldn't think of nothin' except fresh meat for agnes. letty had him tagged proper, and i bet she'd of saved him if she hadn't of gone off her nut. d'you think she's got a chance?" "for get well?" 'poleon shrugged his wide shoulders. "de doctor say it's goin' be hard pull. he's goin' stay so long he can, den--wal, mebbe 'noder doctor come along. i hope so." "if she does win out, then what?" broad inquired. 'poleon considered the question. "i s'pose i tak' her back to dyea an' send her home. i got some dog." lucky studied the speaker curiously; there was a peculiar hostile gleam in his small, colorless eyes. "medicine every hour, and a steady fire, you say. you don't figger to get much sleep, do you?" "non. no. but me, i'm strong feller; i can sleep hangin' up by de ear if i got to." "what's the big idea?" "eh?" doret was frankly puzzled. "wat you mean, 'beeg idea'?" "what d'you expect to get out of all this?" "m'sieu'!" the french canadian's face flushed, he raised his head and met the gaze of the two men. there was an air of dignity about him as he said: "dere's plenty t'ing in dis worl' we don' get pay' for. you didn't 'spect no pay yesterday when you run de w'ite 'orse for save dis gal an' her papa, did you? no. wal, i'm woodsman, river-man; i ain't dam' stampeder. dis is my countree, we're frien's together long tam; i love it an' it loves me. i love de birds and hanimals, an' dey're frien's wit' me also. 'bout spring-tam, w'en de grub she's short, de canada jays dey come to visit me, an' i feed dem; sometam' i fin' dere's groun-squirrel's nest onder my tent, an' mebbe mister squirrel creep out of his hole, t'inkin' summer is come. dat feller he's hongry; he steal my food an' he set 'longside my stove for eat him. you t'ink i hurt dose he'pless li'l t'ing? you s'pose i mak' dem pay for w'at dey eat?" 'poleon was soaring as only his free soul could soar; he indicated the tent at his back, whence issued the sound of rouletta kirby's ceaseless murmurings. "dis gal--she's tiny snowbird wit' broken wing. bien! i fix her wing de bes' i can. i mak' her well an' i teach her to fly again. dat's all." broad and bridges had listened attentively, their faces impassive. lucky was the first to speak. "letty's a good girl, y'understand. she's different to these others--" 'poleon interrupted with a gesture of impatience. "it ain't mak' no difference if she's good or bad. she's seeck." "me 'n' the kid have done some heavy thinkin', an' we'd about decided to get a high stool and take turns lookin' out letty's game, just to see that her bets went as they laid, but i got a hunch you're a square guy. what d'you think, kid?" mr. bridges nodded his head slowly. "i got the same hunch. the point is this," he explained. "we can't very well throw the countess--we got some of her outfit--and, anyhow, we'd be about as handy around an invalid as a coupla cub bears. i think we'll bow out. but, frenchy"--the gambler spoke with intense earnestness--"if ever we hear a kick from that gal we'll--we'll foller you like a track. won't we, lucky?" "we'll foller him to hell!" mr. broad feelingly declared. gravely, ceremoniously, the callers shook hands with doret, then they returned whence they had come. they went their way; rouletta's delirium continued; 'poleon's problem increased daily; meanwhile, however, the life of the north did not slacken a single pulse-beat. never since their earliest associations had tom linton and jerry quirk found themselves in such absolute accord, in such complete harmony of understanding, as during the days that immediately followed their reconciliation. each man undertook to outdo the other in politeness; each man forced himself to be considerate, and strove at whatever expense to himself to lighten the other's burdens; all of their relations were characterized by an elaborate, an almost mid-victorian courtesy. a friendly rivalry in self-sacrifice existed between them; they quarreled good-naturedly over the dish-washing, that disgusting rite which tries the patience of every grown man; when there was wood to be cut they battled with each other for the ax. but there is a limit to politeness; unfailing sunshine grows tedious, and so does a monotonous exercise of magnanimity. while it had been an easy matter to cut their rowboat in two, the process of splicing it together again had required patience and ingenuity, and it had resulted in delay. by the time they arrived at miles canon, therefore, the season was far advanced and both men, without knowing it, were in a condition of mind to welcome any sort of a squall that would serve to freshen the unbearably stagnant atmosphere of amiability in which they were slowly suffocating. here for the first time the results of their quarrel arose to embarrass them; they could find no pilot who would risk his life in a craft so badly put together as theirs. after repeated discouragements the partners took counsel with each other; reluctantly they agreed that they were up against it. "seems like i've about ruined us," mr. quirk acknowledged, ruefully. "you? why, jerry, it was my fault we cut the old ship in two," mr. linton declared. the former speaker remonstrated, gently. "now, tom, it's just like you to take the blame, but it was my doin's; i instigated that fratricidal strife." sweetly but firmly linton differed with his partner. "it ain't often that you're wrong, jerry, old boy--it ain't more than once or twice in a lifetime--but you're wrong now. i'm the guilty wretch and i'd ought to hang for it. my rotten temper--" "pshaw! you got one of the nicest dispositions i ever see--in a man. you're sweeter 'n a persimmon. i pecked at you till your core was exposed. i'm a thorn in the flesh, tom, and folks wouldn't criticize you none for doin' away with me." "you're 'way off. i climbed you with my spurs--" "now, tom!" sadly mr. quirk wagged his gray head. "i don't often argue with anybody, especially with you, but the damnable idea of dividin' our spoils originated in my evil mind and i'm goin' to pay the penalty. i'll ride this white-pine outlaw through by myself. you ear him down till i get both feet in the stirrups, then turn him a-loose; i'll finish settin' up and i won't pull leather." "how you talk! boats ain't like horses; it'll take a good oarsman to navigate these rapids--" "well?" quirk looked up quickly. "i'm a good oarsman." there was a momentary pause. "ain't i?" mr. linton hastily remedied his slip of the tongue. "you're a bear!" he asserted, with feeling. "i don't know as i ever saw a better boatman than you, for your weight and experience, but--there's a few things about boats that you never had the chance to pick up, you being sort of a cactus and alkali sailor. for instance, when you want a boat to go 'gee' you have to pull on the 'off' oar. it's plumb opposite to the way you steer a horse." "sure! didn't i figger that out for the both of us? we 'most had a runaway till i doped it out." now this was a plain perversion of fact, for it was tom who had made the discovery. mr. linton was about to so state the matter when he reflected that doubtless jerry's intentions were honest and that his failing memory was to blame for the misstatement. it was annoying to be robbed of the credit for an important discovery, of course, but tom swallowed his resentment. "the point is this," he said, with a resumption of geniality. "you'd get all wet in them rapids, jerry, and--you know what that means. i'd rather take a chance on drowning myself than to nurse you through another bad cold." it was a perfectly sincere speech--an indirect expression of deep concern that reflected no little credit upon the speaker's generosity. tom was exasperated, therefore, when jerry, by some characteristic process of crooked reasoning, managed to misinterpret it. plaintively the latter said: "i s'pose i am a handicap to you, tom. you're mighty consid'rate of my feelin's, not to throw it up to me any oftener than you do." "i don't throw it up to you none. i never did. no, jerry, i'll row the boat. you go overland and keep your feet dry." "a lot of good that would do." mr. quirk spoke morosely. "i'd starve to death walkin' around if you lost the grub." this struck tom linton as a very narrow, a very selfish way of looking at the matter. he had taken no such view of jerry's offer; he had thought less about the grub than about his partner's safety. it was an inconsiderate and unfeeling remark. after a moment he said: "you know i don't throw things up to you, jerry. i ain't that kind." mr. quirk stirred uneasily. "you didn't mean to say that, did you?" what jerry would have answered is uncertain, for his attention at the moment was attracted by a stranger who strode down the bank and now accosted him and his partner jointly. "bonjour, m'sieu's!" said the new-comer. "i'm lookin' for buy some lemon'. you got some, no?" mr. quirk spoke irritably. "sure. we've got a few, but they ain't for sale." the stranger--quirk remembered him as the frenchman, doret, whom he had seen at sheep camp--smiled confidently. "oh yes! everyt'ing is for sale if you pay 'nough for him," said he. now this fellow had broken the thread of a conversation into which a vague undertone of acrimony was creeping--a conversation that gave every indication of developing into an agreeable and soul-satisfying difference of opinion, if not even into a loud and free-spoken argument of the old familiar sort. to have the promise of an invigorating quarrel frustrated by an idiotic diversion concerning lemons caused both old men to turn their pent-up exasperation upon the speaker. "we've got use for our lemons and we're going to keep them," said tom. "we're lemon-eaters--full of acid--that's us." "we wouldn't give lemon aid to nobody." jerry grinned in malicious enjoyment of his own wit. "you got how many?" 'poleon persisted. "oh, 'bout enough! mebbe a dozen or two." "i buy 'em. dere's poor seeck lady--" tom cut in brusquely. "you won't buy anything here. don't tell us your troubles. we've got enough of our own, and poverty ain't among the number." "w'at trouble you got, eh? me, i'm de trouble man. mebbe i fix 'em." sourly the partners explained their difficulty. when 'poleon understood he smiled again, more widely. "good! i mak' bargain wit' you, queeck. me, i'm pilot of de bes' an' i tak' your boat t'rough for dose lemon'." the elderly men sat up; they exchanged startled glances. "d'you mean it?" "i'm goin' have dose lemon'." "can't you buy any in the saloons?" "no. wal, w'at you say?" tom inquired of his partner, "reckon you can get along without 'em, jerry?" "why, i been savin' 'em for you." "then it's a go!" "one t'ing you do for me, eh?" 'poleon hesitated momentarily. "it's goin' tak' tam for fin' dam' fool to he'p me row dat bateau, but--i fin' him. mebbe you set up wit' li'l seeck gal while i'm gone. what?" in a few words he made known the condition of affairs at his camp, and the old men agreed readily enough. with undisguised relief they clambered stiffly out of their boat and followed the french canadian up the trail. as they toiled up the slope 'poleon explained: "de doctor he's go to dawson, an' t'ree day dis gal been layin' seeck--crazee in de head. every hour medicine, all de tam fire in de stove! sapre! i'm half 'sleep." "we'll set up with her as long as you want," tom volunteered. "being a family man myself, i'm a regular nurse." "me, too," jerry exclaimed. "i never had no family, but i allus been handy around hosses, and hosses is the same as people, only bigger--" mr. linton stifled a laugh at this remark. "that'll show you!" said he. "you leave it to me, jerry." "well, ain't they?" "no." "they are, too." "plumb different." the argument waxed hot; it had reached its height when 'poleon laid a finger upon his lips, commanding silence. on tiptoe he led the two men into his tent. when he had issued instructions and left in search of a boatman the partners seated themselves awkwardly, their caps in their hands. curiously, apprehensively, they studied the fever-flushed face of the delirious girl. "purty, ain't she?" jerry whispered. tom nodded. "she's sick, all right, too," he said in a similar tone; then, after a moment: "i've been thinking about them lemons. we're getting about a hundred dollars a dozen for 'em. kind of a rotten trick, under the circumstances. i'm sorry you put it up to that feller the way you did." mr. quirk stiffened, his eyes widened in astonishment. "me? i didn't put it up to him. you done it. they're your lemons." "how d'you figure they're mine?" "you bought 'em, didn't you?" "i paid for 'em, if that's what you mean, but i bought 'em for you, same as i bought that liquor. you've et most of 'em, and you've drank most of the whisky. you needed it worse than i did, jerry, and i've always considered--" now any reference, any reflection upon his physical limitations, however remote or indirect, aroused jerry's instant ire. "at it again, ain't you?" he cried, testily. "i s'pose you'll forget about that whisky in four or five years. i hope so--" "'sh-h!" tom made a gesture commanding silence, for jerry had unconsciously raised his voice. "what ails you?" he inquired, sweetly. "nothin' ails me," jerry muttered under his breath. "that's the trouble. you're allus talkin' like it did--like i had one foot in the grave and was gaspin' my last. i'm hard as a hickory-nut. i could throw you down and set on you." mr. linton opened hia bearded lips, then closed them again; he withdrew behind an air of wounded dignity. this, he reflected, was his reward for days of kindness, for weeks of uncomplaining sacrifice. jerry was the most unreasonable, the most difficult person he had ever met; the more one did for him the crankier he became. there was no gratitude in the man, his skin wouldn't hold it. take the matter of their tent, for instance: how would the old fellow have managed if he, tom, had not, out of pure compassion, taken pity on him and rescued him from the rain back there at linderman? had jerry remembered that act of kindness? he had not. on the contrary, he had assumed, and maintained, an attitude of indulgence that was in itself an offense--yes, more than an offense. tom tried to center his mind upon his partner's virtues, but it was a difficult task, for honesty compelled him to admit that jerry assayed mighty low when you analyzed him with care. mr. linton gave up the effort finally with a shake of his head. "what you wigwaggin' about?" jerry inquired, curiously. tom made no answer. after a moment the former speaker whispered, meditatively: "i'd have give him the lemons if he'd asked me for 'em. sick people need lemons." "sometimes they do and sometimes they don't," mr. linton whispered, shortly. "lemons is acid, and acid cuts phlegm." "lemons ain't acid; they're alkali." this statement excited a derisive snort from mr. quirk. "alkali! my god! ever taste alkali?" jerry had an irritating way of asserting himself in regard to matters of which he knew less than nothing; his was the scornful certainty of abysmal ignorance. "did you ever give lemons to sick folks?" tom inquired, in his turn. "sure! thousands." now this was such an outrageous exaggeration that linton was impelled to exclaim: "rats! you never saw a thousand sick folks." "i didn't say so. i said i'd given thousands of lemons--" "oh!" tom filled his pipe and lit it, whereupon his partner breathed a sibilant warning: "put out that smudge! d'you aim to strangle the girl?" with a guilty start the offender quenched the fire with his thumb. "the idea of lightin' sheep-dip in a sick-room!" mr. quirk went on. with his cap he fanned violently at the fumes. "you don't have to blow her out of bed," tom growled. clumsily he drew the blankets closer beneath the sick girl's chin, but in so doing he again excited his companion's opposition. "here!" jerry protested. "she's burnin' up with fever. you blanket 'em when they've got chills." gently he removed the covers from rouletta's throat. linton showed his contempt for this ridiculous assertion by silently pulling the bedding higher and snugly tucking it in. jerry promptly elbowed him aside and pulled it lower. tom made an angry gesture, and for a third time adjusted the covers to suit himself, whereupon jerry immediately changed them to accord with his ideas. aggressively, violently, but without words this time, the partners argued the matter. they were glaring at each other, they had almost come to blows when, with a start, jerry looked at his watch. swiftly he possessed himself of the medicine-glass and spoon; to tom he whispered: "quick! lift her up." linton refused. "don't you know anything?" he queried. "never move a sick person unless you have to. give it to her as she lays." "how you goin' to feed medicine out of a spoon to anybody layin' down?" the other demanded. "easy!" tom took the glass and the teaspoon; together the two men bent over the bed. but linton's hands were shaky; when he pressed the spoon to rouletta's lips he spilled its contents. the girl rolled her head restlessly. "pshaw! she moved." "she never moved," jerry contradicted. "you missed her." from his nostrils issued that annoying, that insulting, snort of derision which so sorely tried his partner's patience. "you had a fair shot at her, layin' down, tom, and you never touched her." "maybe i'd have had better luck if you hadn't jiggled me." "hell! who jiggled--?" "'sh--h!" once more mr. quirk had spoken aloud. "if you've got to holler, go down by the rapids." after several clumsy attempts both men agreed that their patient had doubtless received the equivalent of a full dose of medicine, so tom replaced the glass and spoon. "i'm a little out of practice," he explained. "i thought you done fine." jerry spoke with what seemed to be genuine commendation. "you got it into her nose every time." tom exploded with wrath and it was jerry's turn to command silence. "why don't you hire a hall?" the latter inquired. "or mebbe i better tree a 'coon for you so you can bark as loud as you want to. family man! huh!" linton bristled aggressively, but the whisperer continued: "one head of children don't make a family any more 'n one head of heifers makes a herd." tom paled; he showed his teeth beneath his gray mustache. leaning forward, he thrust his quivering bearded face close to the hateful countenance opposite him. "d'you mean to call my daughter a heifer?" he demanded, in restrained fury. "keep them whiskers to yourself," jerry snapped. "you can't pick a row with me, tom; i don't quarrel with nobody. i didn't call your daughter a heifer, and you know i didn't. no doubt she would of made a fine woman if she'd of grown up, but--say! i bet i know why you lost her. i bet you poured so much medicine in her crib that she drownded." jerry giggled at this thought. "that ain't funny," the other rumbled. "if i thought you meant to call a member of my family a heifer--" "you've called your wife worse 'n that. i've heard you." "i meant everything i said. she was an old catamount and--" "prob'bly she was a fine woman." jerry had a discourteous habit of interrupting. "no wonder she walked out and left you flat--she was human. no doubt she had a fine character to start with. so did i, for that matter, but there's a limit to human endurance." "you don't have to put up with me any longer than you want to," linton stormed, under his breath. "we can get a divorce easy. all it takes is a saw." "you made that crack once before, and i called your bluff!" jerry's angry face was now out-thrust; only with difficulty did he maintain a tone inaudible to the sick girl. "out of pity i helped you up and handed you back your crutches. but this time i'll let you lay where you fall. a hundred dollars a dozen for lemons! for a poor little sick girl! you 'ain't got the bowels of a shark!" "it was your proposition!" "it wasn't!" "it was!" "some folks lie faster 'n a goat can gallop." "meaning me?" "who else would i mean?" "why don't you call me a liar and be done with it?" "i do. it ain't news to anybody but you!" having safely landed his craft below the rapids, 'poleon doret hurried back to his tent to find the partners sitting knee to knee, face to face, and hurling whispered incoherencies at each other. both men were in a poisonous mood, both were ripe for violence. they overflowed with wrath. they were glaring; they shook their fists; they were racked with fury; insult followed abuse; and the sounds that issued from their throats were like the rustlings of a corn-field in an autumn gale. nor did inquiry elicit a sensible explanation from either. "heifer, eh? drowned my own child, did i?" tom ground his teeth in a ferocious manner. "don't file your tusks for me," jerry chattered; "file the saw. we're goin' to need it." "you men goin' cut dat boat in two again?" 'poleon inquired, with astonishment. "sure. and everything we've got." it was linton who spoke; there was a light of triumph in his eyes, his face was ablaze with an unholy satisfaction. "we've been drawing lots for twenty minutes, and this time--i got the stove!" chapter xvi once again tom and jerry's skiff had been halved, once again its owners smarted under the memory of insults unwarranted, of gibes that no apology could atone for. this time it had been old jerry who cooked his supper over an open fire and old tom who stretched the tarpaulin over his stove. neither spoke; both were sulky, avoiding each other's eye; there was an air of bitter, implacable hostility. into this atmosphere of constraint came 'poleon doret, and, had it not been for his own anxieties, he would have derived much amusement from the situation. as it was, however, he was quite blind to it, showing nothing save his own deep feeling of concern. "m'sieu's," he began, hurriedly, "dat gal she's gettin' more seeck. i'm scare' she's goin' die to-night. mebbe you set up wit' me, eh?" tom quickly volunteered: "why, sure! i'm a family man. i--" "family man!" jerry snorted, derisively. "he had one head, mister, and he lost it inside of a month. i'm a better nurse than him." "bien! i tak' you both," said 'poleon. but jerry emphatically declined the invitation. "cut me out if you aim to make it three-handed--i'd jim the deck, sure. no, i'll set around and watch my grub-pile." tom addressed himself to 'poleon, but his words were for his late partner. "that settles me," said he. "i'll have to stick close to home, for there's people i wouldn't trust near a loose outfit." this was, of course, a gratuitous affront. it was fathered in malice; it had its intended effect. old jerry hopped as if springs in his rheumatic legs had suddenly let go; he uttered a shrill war-whoop--a wordless battle-cry in which rage and indignation were blended. "if a certain old buzzard-bait sets up with you, frenchy, count your spoons, that's all. i know him. a hundred dollars a dozen for lemons! he'd rob a child's bank. he'd steal milk out of a sick baby's bottle." the pilot frowned. "dis ain't no tam for callin' names," said he. "to-night dat gal goin' die or--she's goin' begin get well. me, i'm mos' dead now. mebbe you fellers forget yourse'f li'l while an' he'p me out." tom stirred uneasily. with apparent firmness he undertook to evade the issue, but in his eyes was an expression of uncertainty. jerry, too, was less obdurate than he had pretended. after some further argument he avoided a weak surrender by muttering: "all right. take him along, so i'll know my grub's safe, and i'll help you out. i'm a good hand with hosses, and hosses are like humans, only bigger. they got more sense and more affection, too. they know when they're well off. now if a hoss gets down you got to get him up and walk him around. my idea about this girl--" mr. linton groaned loudly, then to 'poleon he cried: "lead the way. you watch the girl and i'll watch this vet'rinary." that was an anxious and a trying night for the three men. they were unskilled in the care of the sick; nevertheless, they realized that the girl's illness had reached its crisis and that, once the crisis had passed, she would be more than likely to recover. hour after hour they sat beside her, administering her medicine regularly, maintaining an even temperature in the tent, and striving, as best they could, to ease her suffering. this done, they could only watch and wait, putting what trust they had in her youth and her vitality. their sense of helplessness oppressed the men heavily; their concern increased as the hours dragged along and the life within the girl flared up to a blaze or flickered down to a mere spark. doret was in a pitiable state, on the verge of exhaustion, for his vigil had been long and faithful; it was a nightmare period of suspense for him. occasionally he dozed, but only to start into wakefulness and to experience apprehensions keener than before. the man was beside himself, and his anxiety had its effect upon tom and jerry. their compassion increased when they learned how sam kirby had been taken off and how rouletta had been brought to this desperate pass. the story of her devotion, her sacrifice, roused their deepest pity, and in the heat of that emotion they grew soft. this mellowing process was not sudden; no spirit of forgiveness was apparent in either of the pair. far from it. both remained sullen, unrelenting; both maintained the same icy front. they continued to ignore each other's presence and they exchanged speech only with doret. nevertheless, their sympathy had been stirred and a subtle change had come over them. this change was most noticeable in linton. as the night wore on distressing memories, memories he considered long dead and gone, arose to harass him. it was true that he had been unhappily married, but tune had cured the sting of that experience, or so he had believed. he discovered now that such was not the case; certain incidents of those forgotten days recurred with poignant effect. he had experienced the dawn of a father's love, a father's pride; he lost himself in a melancholy consideration of what might have been had not that dawn been darkened. how different, how full, how satisfying, if--as he looked down upon the fair, fever-flushed face of this girl he felt an unaccustomed heartache, a throbbing pity and a yearning tenderness. the hand with which he stroked the hair back from her brow and rearranged her pillow was as gentle as a woman's. jerry, too, altered in his peculiar way. as the hours lengthened, his wrinkled face became less vinegary, between his eyes there appeared a deepening frown of apprehension. more than once he opened his lips to ask tom's opinion of how the fight progressed, but managed in time to restrain himself. finally he could maintain silence no longer, so he spoke to doret: "mister! it looks to me like she ain't doin' well." 'poleon rose from his position beside the stove; he bent over the sick-bed and touched rouletta's brow with his great hand. in a low voice he addressed her: "ma soeur! ma petite soeur! it's 'poleon spik to you." rouletta's eyes remained vacant, her ceaseless whispering continued and the man straightened himself, turning upon his elderly companions. alarm was in his face; his voice shook. "m'sieu's! w'at shall we do? queeck! tell me." but tom and jerry were helpless, hopeless. doret stared at them; his hands came slowly together over his breast, his groping fingers interlocked; he closed his eyes, and for a moment he stood swaying. then he spoke again as a man speaks who suffers mortal anguish. "she mus' not die! she--mus' not die! i tell you somet'ing now: dis li'l gal she's come to mean whole lot for me. at firs' i'm sorry, de same lak you feel. sure! but bimeby i get to know her, for she talk, talk--all tam she talk, lak crazee person, an' i learn to know her soul, her life. her soul is w'ite, m'sieu's, it's w'ite an' beautiful; her life--i lit 'im together in little piece, lak broken dish. some piece i never fin', but i save 'nough to mak' picture here and dere. sometam i smile an' listen to her; more tam' i cry. she mak' de tears splash on my hand. "wal, i begin talk back to her. i sing her li'l song, i tell her story, i cool her face, i give her medicine, an' den she sleep. i sit an' watch her--how many day an' night i watch her i don' know. sometam i sleep li'l bit, but when she stir an' moan i spik to her an' sing again until-she know my voice." 'poleon paused; the old men watched his working face. "m'sieu's," he went on, "i'm lonely man. i got no frien's, no family; i live in dreams. dat's all i got in dis whole worl'--jus' dreams. one dream is dis, dat some day i'm going find somet'ing to love, somet'ing dat will love me. de hanimals i tame dey run away; de birds i mak' play wit' dey fly south when de winter come. i say, 'doret, dis gal she's poor, she's frien'less, she's alone. she's very seeck, but you goin' mak' her well. she ain't goin' run away. she ain't goin' fly off lak dem birds. no. she's goin' love you lak a broder, an' mebbe she's goin' let you stay close by.' dieu! dat's fine dream, eh? it mak' me sing inside; it mak' me warm an' glad. i w'isper in her ear, 'ma soeur! ma petite soeur! it's your beeg broder 'poleon dat spik. he's goin' mak' you well,' an' every tam she onderstan'. but now--" a sob choked the speaker; he opened his tight-shut eyes and stared miserably at the two old men. "i call to her an' she don' hear. wat i'm goin' do, eh?" neither linton nor quirk made reply. 'poleon leaned forward; fiercely he inquired: "which one of you feller' is de bes' man? which one is go to church de mos'?" tom and jerry exchanged glances. it was the latter who spoke: "tom--this gentleman-knows more about churches than i do. he was married in one." mr. linton nodded. "but that was thirty years ago, so i ain't what you'd call a regular attendant. i used to carry my religion in my wife's name, when i had a wife." "you can pray?" tom shook his head doubtfully. "i'd be sure to make a mess of it." doret sank to a seat; he lowered his head upon his hands. "me, too," he confessed. "every hour i mak' prayer in my heart, but--i can't spik him out." "if i was a good talker i'd take a crack at it," jerry ventured, "but--i'd have to be alone." doret's lips had begun to move; his companions knew that he was voicing a silent appeal, so they lowered their eyes. for some moments the only sound in the tent was the muttering of the delirious girl. linton spoke finally; his voice was low, it was husky with emotion: "i've been getting acquainted with myself to-night--first time in a long while. things look different than they did. what's the good of fighting, what's the use of hurrying and trampling on each other when this is the end? gold! it won't buy anything worth having. you're right, doret; somebody to love and to care for, somebody that cares for you, that's all there is in the game. i had dreams, too, when i was a lot younger, but they didn't last. it's bad, for a man to quit dreaming; he gets mean and selfish and onnery. take me--i ain't worth skinning. i had a kid--little girl--i used to tote her around in my arms. funny how it makes you feel to tote a baby that belongs to you; seems like all you've got is wrapped up in it; you live two lives. my daughter didn't stay long. i just got started loving her when she went away. she was--awful nice." the speaker blinked, for his eyes were smarting. "i feel, somehow, as if she was here to-night--as if this girl was her and i was her daddy. she might have looked something like this young lady if she had lived. she would have made a big difference in me." tom felt a hand seek his. it was a bony, big-knuckled hand not at all like 'poleon doret's. when it gave his fingers a strong, firm, friendly pressure his throat contracted painfully. he raised his eyes, but they were blurred; he could distinguish nothing except that jerry quirk had sidled closer and that their shoulders all but touched. now jerry, for all of his crabbedness, was a sentimentalist; he also was blind, and his voice was equally husky when he spoke: "i'd of been her daddy, too, wouldn't i, tom? we'd of shared her, fifty-fifty. i've been mean to you, but i'd of treated her all right. if you'll forgive me for the things i've said to you maybe the lord will forgive me for a lot of other things. anyhow, i'm goin' to do a little rough prayin' for this kid. i'm goin' to ask him to give her a chance." mr. quirk did pray, and if he made a bad job of it, as he more than suspected, neither of his earthly hearers noticed the fact, for his words were honest, earnest. when he had finished tom linton's arm was around his shoulders; side by side the old men sat for a long time. their heads were bowed; they kept their eyes upon rouletta kirby's face. doret stood over them, motionless and intense; they could hear him sigh and they could sense his suffering. when the girl's pain caused her to cry out weakly, he knelt and whispered words of comfort to her. thus the night wore on. the change came an hour or two before dawn and the three men watched it with their hearts in their throats. mutely they questioned one another, deriving deep comfort from each confirmatory nod and gesture, but for some time they dared not voice their growing hope. rouletta's fever was breaking, they felt sure; she breathed more deeply, more easily, and she coughed less. her discomfort lessened, too, and finally, when the candle-light grew feeble before the signs of coming day, she fell asleep. later the men rose and stole out of the tent into the cold. doret was broken. he was limp, almost lifeless; there were deep lines about his eyes, but, nevertheless, they sparkled. "she's goin' get well," he said, uncertainly. "i'm goin' teach dat li'l bird to fly again." the partners nodded. "sure as shootin'," jerry declared. "right-o!" linton agreed. "now then"--he spoke in an energetic, purposeful tone--"i'm going to put jerry to bed while i nail that infernal boat together again." "not much, you ain't!" jerry exclaimed. "you know i couldn't sleep a wink without you, tom. what's more, i'll never try." arm in arm the two partners set off down the river-bank. 'poleon smiled after them. when they were out of sight he turned his face up to the brightening sky and said, aloud: "bon dieu, i t'ank you for my sister's life." pierce phillips awoke from a cramped and troubled slumber to find himself lying upon a pile of baggage in the stern of a skiff. for a moment he remained dazed; then he was surprised to hear the monotonous creak of oars and to feel that he was in motion. a fur robe had been thrown over him; it was powdered with snowflakes, but it had kept him warm. he sat up to discover laure facing him. "hello!" said he. "you here?" the girl smiled wearily. "where did you think i'd be? have a good sleep?" he shrugged and nodded, and, turning his eyes shoreward, saw that the forest was flowing slowly past. the boat in which he found himself was stowed full of impedimenta; forward of laure a man was rowing listlessly, and on the seat beyond him were two female figures bundled to the ears in heavy wraps. they were the 'coon-shouting sisters whose song had drawn pierce into the gold belt saloon the evening before. in the distance were several other boats. "you feel tough, i'll bet." laure's voice was sympathetic. after a moment of consideration pierce shook his head. "no," said he. "i feel fine--except that i'm hungry. i could eat a log-chain." "no headache?" "none. why?" laure's brown eyes widened in admiration and astonishment. "jimminy! you're a hound for punishment. you must have oak ribs. were you weaned on rum?" "i never took a drink until last night. i'm a rank amateur." "really!" the girl studied him with renewed interest. "what set you off?" pierce made no answer. his face seemed fixed in a frown. his was a tragic past; he could not bear to think of it, much less could he speak of it. noting that the oarsman appeared to be weary, pierce volunteered to relieve him, an offer which was quickly accepted. as he seated himself and prepared to fall to work laure advised him: "better count your money and see if it's all there." he did as directed. "it's all here," he assured her. she flashed him a smile, then crept into the place he had vacated and drew up the robe snugly. pierce wondered why she eyed him with that peculiar intentness. not until she had fallen asleep did he suspect with a guilty start that the robe was hers and that she had patiently waited for him to finish his sleep while she herself was drooping with fatigue. this suspicion gave him a disagreeable shock; he began to give some thought to the nature of his new surroundings. they were of a sort to warrant consideration; for a long time he rowed mechanically, a frown upon his brow. in the first place, he was amazed to find how bravely he bore the anguish of a breaking heart, and how little he desired to do away with himself. the world, strangely enough, still remained a pleasant place, and already the fret for new adventure was stirring in him. he was not happy--thoughts of hilda awoke real pain, and his sense of injury burned him like a brand--nevertheless, he could not make himself feel so utterly hopeless, so blackly despondent as the circumstances plainly warranted. he was, on the whole, agreeably surprised at his powers of resistance and of recuperation, both physical and emotional. for instance, he should by all means experience a wretched reaction from his inebriety; as a matter of fact, he had never felt better in his life; his head was clear, he was ravenously hungry. then, too, he was not altogether hopeless; it seemed quite probable that he and hilda would again meet, in which event there was no telling what might happen. evidently liquor agreed with him; in his case it was not only an anodyne, but also a stimulus, spurring him to optimistic thought and independent action. yes, whisky roused a fellow's manhood. it must be so, otherwise he would never have summoned the strength to snap those chains which bound him to the countess courteau, or the reckless courage to embark upon an enterprise so foreign to his tastes and to his training as this one. his memory of the later incidents of the night before was somewhat indistinct, as was his recollection of the scene when he had served his notice upon the countess. of this much he felt certain, however, he had done the right thing in freeing himself from a situation that reflected discredit upon his manhood. whether he had acted wisely by casting in his lot with morris best's outfit was another matter altogether. he was quite sure he had not acted wisely, but there is a satisfaction at certain times in doing what we know to be the wrong thing. pierce was no fool; even his limited experience in the north had taught him a good deal about the character of dance-hall women and of the men who handled them; he was in no wise deceived, therefore, by the respectability with which the word "theatrical" cloaked this troupe of wanderers; it gave him a feeling of extreme self-consciousness to find himself associated with such folk; he felt decidedly out of place. what would his people think? and the countess courteau? well, it would teach her that a man's heart was not a football; that a man's love was not to be juggled with. he had made a gesture of splendid recklessness; he would take the consequences. in justice to the young man, be it said he had ample cause for resentment, and whatever of childishness he displayed was but natural, for true balance of character is the result of experience, and as yet he had barely tasted life. as for the girl laure, she awoke no real interest in him, now that he saw her in the light of day; he included her in his general, vague contempt for all women of her type. there was, in fact, a certain contamination in her touch. true, she was a little different from the other members of the party-greatly different from pierce's preconceived ideas of the "other sort"--but not sufficiently different to matter. it is the privilege of arrogant youth to render stern and conclusive judgment. best waved his party toward the shore shortly before dusk. a landing-place was selected, tents, bedding, and paraphernalia were unloaded; then, while the women looked on, the boatmen began pitching camp. the work had not gone far before phillips recognized extreme inefficiency in it. confusion grew, progress was slow, best became more and more excited. irritated at the general ineptitude, pierce finally took hold of things and in a short time had made all snug for the night. lights were glowing in the tents when he found his way through the gloom to the landing in search of his own belongings. seated on the gunwale of a skiff he discovered laure. "i've been watching you," she said. "you're a handy man." he nodded. "is this the way best usually makes camp?" "sure. only it usually takes him much longer. i'll bet he's glad he hired you." pierce murmured something. "are you glad he did?" "why, yes--of course." "what do you think of the other girls?" "i haven't paid much attention to them," he told her, frankly. there was a moment's pause; then laure said: "don't!" "eh?" "i say, don't!" phillips shrugged. in a world-weary, cynical tone he asserted, "women don't interest me." "what ails you to-day?" laure inquired, curiously. "nothing. i'm not much of a ladies' man, that's all." "yes, you are. anyhow, you were last night." "i was all tuned up, then," he explained. "that's not my normal pitch." "don't you like me as well as you did?" "why--certainly." "is there another woman?" "'another'?" pierce straightened himself. "there's not even one. what difference would it make if there were?" "oh, none." laure's teeth flashed through the gloom. "i was just curious. curiosity killed a cat, didn't it? will you help me up the bank?" pierce took the speaker's arm; together they climbed the gravelly incline toward the illumination from the cook fire. in the edge of the shadows laure halted and her hand slipped down over pierce's. "remember!" she said, meaningly. "don't--or you'll hear from me." chapter xvii laure had no cause to repeat her admonition, for, in the days that followed, pierce phillips maintained toward the women members of the party an admirable attitude of aloofness. he was not rude, neither was he discourteous; he merely isolated himself from them and discouraged their somewhat timid advances toward friendship. this doubtless would have met with laure's whole-hearted approval had he not treated her in precisely the same way. she had at first assumed a somewhat triumphant air of proprietorship toward him, but this quickly gave way to something entirely different. they began to know each other, to be sure; for hours upon end they were together, which could have resulted in nothing less than a thorough acquaintance; notwithstanding this, there lurked behind phillips' friendly interest an emotional apathy that piqued the girl and put her on her mettle. she hid her chagrin under an assumption of carelessness, but furtively she studied him, for every hour he bulked bigger to her. he exercised a pronounced effect upon her; his voice, his laughter, brought a light and a sparkle to her eyes; she could not rest when he was out of her sight. his appeal, unconscious on his part, struck to the very core of her being. to discover that she lacked a similar appeal for him roused the girl to desperation; she lay awake nights, trying to puzzle out the reason, for this was a new experience to her. recalling their meeting and the incidents of that first night at white horse, she realized that here was a baffling secret and that she did not possess the key to it. one night the truth came home to her. best had made camp later than usual, and as a result had selected a particularly bad spot for it--a brushy flat running back from a high, overhanging bank beneath which ran a swirling eddy. the tents were up, a big camp-fire was blazing brightly, when pierce phillips, burdened with a huge armful of spruce boughs and blinded by the illumination, stepped too close to the river's rim and felt the soil beneath him crumble away. down he plunged, amid an avalanche of earth and gravel; the last sound he heard before the icy waters received him was laure's affrighted scream. an instant later he had seized a "sweeper," to which he clung until help arrived. he was wet to the skin, of course; his teeth were chattering by the time he had regained the camp-fire. of the entire party, laure alone had no comment to make upon the accident. she stood motionless, leaning for support against a tent-pole, her face hidden in her hands. best's song-birds were noisily twittering about pierce; best himself was congratulating the young man upon his ability to swim, when laure spoke, sharply, imperiously: "somebody find his dry things, quickly. and you, morris, get your whisky." while one of the men ran for pierce's duffle-bag, best came hurrying with a bottle which he proffered to pierce. the latter refused it, asserting that he was quite all right; but laure exclaimed: "drink! take a good one, then go into our tent and change as fast as you can." "sure!" the manager urged. "don't be afraid of good liquor. there isn't much left. drink it all." a short time later, when pierce reappeared, clad in dry garments, he felt none the worse for his mishap, but when he undertook to aid in the preparations for the night he suspected that he had taken his employer's orders too literally, for his brain was whirling. soon he discovered that his movements were awkward and his hands uncertain, and when his camp-mates began to joke he desisted with a laughing confession that he had imbibed too much. laure drew him out of hearing, then inquired, anxiously, "are you all right again?" "sure! i feel great." "i--i thought i'd die when i saw you disappear." she shuddered and hid her face in her hands for a second time. it was quite dark where they stood; they were sheltered from observation. "served me right," he declared. "next time i'll look where--" he halted in amazement. "why, laure, i believe you're crying!" she lifted her face and nodded. "i'm frightened yet." she laid trembling, exploratory hands upon him, as if to reassure herself of his safety. "pierce! pierce!" she exclaimed, brokenly. suddenly phillips discovered that this girl's concern affected him deeply, for it was genuine--it was not in the least put on. all at once she seemed very near to him, very much a part of himself. his head was spinning now and something within him had quickened magically. there was a new note in his voice when he undertook to reassure his companion. at his first word laure looked up, startled; into her dark eyes, still misty with tears, there flamed a light of wonder and of gladness. she swayed closer; she took the lapels of his coat between her gloved fingers and drew his head down to hers; then she kissed him full upon the lips. slowly, resolutely, his arms encircled her. on the following morning laure asked morris best for a bottle of whisky. the evenings were growing cold and some of the girls needed a stimulant while camp was being pitched, she explained. the bottle she gave to pierce, with a request to stow it in his baggage for safekeeping, and that night when they landed, cramped and chilly, she prevailed upon him to open it and to drink. the experiment worked. laure began to understand that when pierce phillips' blood flowed warmly, when he was artificially exhilarated, then he saw her with the eyes of a lover. it was not a flattering discovery, but the girl contented herself, for by now she was desperate enough to snatch at straws. thenceforth she counted upon strong drink as her ally. the closing scenes of the great autumn stampede to dawson were picturesque, for the rushing river was crowded with boats all racing with one another. 'neath lowering skies, past ghostly shores seen dimly through a tenuous curtain of sifting snowflakes, swept these craft; they went by ones and by twos, in groups and in flotillas; hourly the swirling current bore them along, and as the miles grew steadily less the spirits of the crews mounted. loud laughter, songs, yells of greeting and encouragement, ran back and forth; a triumphant joyfulness, a jovian mirth, animated these men of brawn, for they had met the north and they had bested her. restraint had dropped away by now, and they reveled in a new-found freedom. there was license in the air, for adventure was afoot and the unknown beckoned. urged on by oar and sweep, propelled by favoring breezes, the argonauts pressed forward exultantly. at night their roaring camp-fires winked at one another like beacon lights along some friendly channel. unrolling before them was an endless panorama of spruce and birch and cottonwood, of high hills white with snow, of unexplored valleys dark with promise. as the yukon increased in volume it became muddy, singing a low, hissing song, as if the falling particles of snow melted on its surface and turned to steam. out of all the traffic that flowed past the dance-hall party, among all the boats they overhauled and left behind, pierce phillips nowhere recognized the countess courteau's outfit. whether she was ahead or whether they had outdistanced her he did not know and inquiry rewarded him with no hint. during this journey a significant change gradually came over the young man. familiarity, a certain intimacy with his companions, taught him much, and in time he forgot to look upon them as pariahs. best, for instance, proved to be an irritable but good-hearted little hebrew; he developed a genuine fondness for pierce, which he took every occasion to show, and pierce grew to like him. the girls, too, opened their hearts and made him feel their friendship. for the most part they were warm, impulsive creatures, and pierce was amazed to discover how little they differed from the girls he had known at home. among their faults he discovered unusual traits of character; there was not a little kindliness, generosity, and of course much cheerfulness. they were free-handed with what they had; they were ready with a smile, a word of encouragement or of sympathy; they were absurdly grateful, too, for the smallest favor or the least act of kindness. moreover, they behaved themselves extremely well. they were an education to phillips; he acknowledged that he had gravely misjudged them, and he began to suspect that they had taught him something of charity. as for laure, he knew her very well by now and she knew him--even better. this knowledge had come to them not without cost--wisdom is never cheap--but precisely what each of them had paid or was destined to pay for their better understanding of each other they had not the slightest idea. one thing the girl by this time had made sure of, viz., when pierce was his natural self he felt her appeal only faintly. on the other hand, the moment he was not his natural self, the moment his pitch was raised, he saw allurements in her, and at such times they met on common ground. she made the most of this fact. dawson city burst into view of the party without warning, and no el dorado could have looked more promising. hounding a bend of the river, they beheld a city of logs and canvas sprawled between the stream and a curving mountain-side. the day was still and clear, hence vertical pencil-markings of blue smoke hung over the roofs; against the white background squat dwellings stood out distinctly, like diminutive dolls' houses. upon closer approach the river shore was seen to be lined with scows and rowboats; a stern-wheeled river steamer lay moored abreast of the town. above it a valley broke through from the north, out of which poured a flood of clear, dark water. it was the valley of the klondike, magic word. the journey was ended. best's boats were unloaded, his men had been paid off, and now his troupe had scattered, seeking lodgings. as in a dream pierce phillips joined the drifting current of humanity that flowed through the long front streets and eddied about the entrances of amusement places. he asked himself if he were indeed awake, if, after all, this was his ultima thule? already the labor, the hardship, the adventure of the trip seemed imaginary; even the town itself was unreal. dawson was both a disappointment and a satisfaction to pierce. it was not what he had expected and it by no means filled the splendid picture he had painted in his fancy. crude, raw, unfinished, small, it was little more than dyea magnified. but in enterprise it was tremendous; hence it pleased and it thrilled the youth. he breathed its breath, he drank the wine of its intoxication, he walked upon air with his head in the clouds. pierce longed for some one to whom he could confide his feeling of triumph, but nowhere did he recognize a face. finally he strolled into one of the larger saloons and gambling-houses, and was contentedly eying the scene when he felt a gaze fixed upon him. he turned his head, opened his lips to speak, then stiffened in his tracks. he could not credit his senses, for there, lounging at ease against the bar, his face distorted into an evil grin, stood joe mccaskey! pierce blinked; he found that his jaw had dropped in amazement. mccaskey enjoyed the sensation he had created; he leered at his former camp-mate, and in his expression was a hint of that same venom he had displayed when he had run the gauntlet at sheep camp after his flogging, he broke the spell of pierce's amazement and proved himself to be indeed a reality by uttering a greeting. pierce was inclined to ignore the salutation, but curiosity got the better of him and he answered: "well! this is a surprise. do you own a pair of seven-league boots or--what?" mccaskey bared his teeth further. in triumph he said: "thought you'd lost me, didn't you? but i fooled you-fooled all of you. i jumped out to the states and caught the last boat for st. michael, made connections there with the last up-river packet, and--here i am. i don't quit; i'm a finisher." pierce noted the emphasis with which joe's last words were delivered, but as yet his curiosity was unsatisfied. he wondered if the fellow was sufficiently calloused to disregard his humiliating experience or if he proposed in some way to conceal it. certainly he had not evaded recognition, nor had he made the slightest attempt to alter his appearance. from his bold insouciance it seemed evident that he was totally indifferent as to who recognized him. either the man possessed moral courage of the extremest sort or else an unbelievable effrontery. as for pierce, he was deeply resentful of joe's false accusation--the memory of that was ineradicable--nevertheless, in view of the outcome of that cowardly attempt, he had no desire for further revenge. it seemed to him that the fellow had been sufficiently punished for his misdeed; in fact, he could have found it easy to feel sorry for him had it not been for the ill-concealed malice in joe's present tone and attitude. he was upon the point of answering joe's indirect threat with a warning, when his attention was attracted to a short, thick-set, nervous man at his elbow. the latter had edged close and was staring curiously at him. he spoke now, saying: "so you're phillips, eh?" it was joe who replied: "sure. this is him." there was no need of an introduction. pierce recognized the stranger as another mccaskey, for the family likeness was stamped upon his features. during an awkward moment the two men eyed each other, and joe mccaskey appeared to gloat as their glances clashed. "this is frank," the latter explained, with a malicious grin. "he and jim was pals. and, say! here's another guy you ought to meet." he laid a hand upon still a second stranger, a man leaning across the bar in conversation with a white-aproned attendant. "count, here's that fellow i told you about." the man addressed turned, exposing a handsome, smiling blond face ornamented with a well-cared-for mustache. "i beg pardon?" he exclaimed, vacuously. "meet phillips. he can give you some dope on your wife." joe chuckled. phillips flushed; then he paled; his face hardened. "ah! to be sure." count courteau bowed, but he did not extend his hand. "phillips! yes, yes. i remember. you will understand that i'm distracted for news of hilda. she is with you, perhaps?" "i left her employ at white horse. if she's not here, she'll probably arrive soon." "excellent; i shall surprise her." pierce spoke dryly. "i'm afraid it won't be so much of a surprise as you think. she rather expects you." with a short nod and with what pretense of carelessness he could assume he moved on toward the rear of the building, whence came the sounds of music and the voice of a dance-hall caller. for some time he looked on blindly at the whirling figures. joe mccaskey here! and count courteau! what an astonishing coincidence! and yet there was really nothing so remarkable about it; doubtless the same ship had brought them north, in which event they could not well have avoided a meeting. pierce remembered hilda's prophecy that her indigent husband would turn up, like a bad penny. his presence was agitating--for that matter, so was the presence of joe mccaskey's brother frank, as yet an unknown quantity. that he was an enemy was certain; together, he and joe made an evil team, and pierce was at a loss just how to meet them. later, when he strolled out of the saloon, he saw the three men still at the bar; their heads were together; they were talking earnestly. chapter xviii rouletta kirby was awakened by the sound of chopping; in the still, frosty morning the blows of the ax rang out loudly. for a moment she lay staring upward at the sloping tent-roof over her bed, studying with sleepy interest the frost-fringe formed by her breath during the night. this fringe was of intricate design; it resembled tatters of filmy lace and certain fragments of it hung down at least a foot, a warning that the day was to be extremely cold. but rouletta needed no proof of that fact beyond the evidence of her nose, the tip of which was like ice and so stiff that she could barely wrinkle it. she covered it now with a warm palm and manipulated it gently, solicitously. there was a damp, unpleasant rime of hoar-frost standing on the edge of her fur robe, and this she gingerly turned back. cautiously she freed one arm, then raised herself upon her elbow. reaching up, she struck the taut canvas roof a sharp blow; then with a squeak, like the cry of a frightened marmot, she dodged under cover just in time to avoid the frosty shower. the chopping abruptly ceased. 'poleon's voice greeted her gaily: "bon jour, ma soeur! by golly! you gettin' be de mos' lazy gal! i'spect you sleep all day only i mak' beeg noise." "good morning!" rouletta's voice was muffled. as if repeating a lesson, she ran on: "yes, i feel fine. i had a dandy sleep; didn't cough and my lungs don't hurt. and no bad dreams. so i want to get up. there! i'm well." "you hongry, too, i bet, eh?" "oh, i'm dying. and my nose--it won't work." doret shouted his laughter. "you wait. i mak' fire queeck an' cook de breakfas', den--you' nose goin' work all right. i got beeg s'prise for dat li'l nose to-day." the top of rouletta's head, her eyes, then her mouth, came cautiously out from hiding. "what is it, 'poleon? something to eat?" "sapre! what i tol' you? every minute 'eat, eat'! you' worse dan harmy of swede'. i ain't goin' tol' you what is dis s'prise--bimeby you smell him cookin'." "moose meat!" rouletta cried. "no'" 'poleon vigorously resumed his labor every stroke of the ax was accompanied by a loud "huh!" "i tol' you not'in'!" he declared; then after a moment he voiced one word, "caribou!" again rouletta uttered a famished cry. soon the tent strings were drawn and the axman pushed through the door, his arms full of dry spruce wood. he stood smiling down at the face framed snugly in the fox fur; then he dropped his burden and knelt before the stove. in a moment there came a promising crackle, followed quickly by an agreeable flutter which grew into a roar as the stove began to draw. "caribou!" rouletta's eyes were bright with curiosity and an emotion far more material. "where in the world--?" "some hinjun hunter mak' beeg kill. i got more s'prise as dat, too. by golly! dis goin' be regular chris'mas for you." rouletta stirred. there was stubborn defiance in her tone when she said: "i'm going to get up and i'm--going--outdoors--clothes or no clothes. i'll wrap the robe around me and play i'm a squaw." she checked 'poleon's protest. "oh, i'm perfectly well, and the clothes i have are thick enough." "look out you don' froze yourse'f. dat pretty dress you got is give you chillsblain in haugust." the speaker blew upon his fingers and sat back upon his heels, his eyes twinkling, his brown face wreathed in smiles. "then i can do it? you'll let me try?" rouletta was all eagerness. "we'll talk 'bout dat bimeby. first t'ing we goin' have beeg potlatch, lak siwash weddin'." "goody! now run away while i get up." but the man shook his head. "don' be soch hurry. dis tent warm slow. las' night de reever is froze solid so far you look. pretty queeck people come." "do you think they'll have extra clothes--something warm that i can wear?" "sure! i fix all dat." still smiling, 'poleon rose and went stooping out of the tent, tying the flaps behind him. a few rods distant was another shelter which he had pitched for himself; in front of it, on a pole provision-cache, were two quarters of frozen caribou meat, and seated comfortably in the snow beneath, eyes fixed upon the prize, were several "husky" dogs of unusual size. at 'poleon's appearance they began to caper and to fawn upon him. "ho, you ole t'iefs!" he cried, sternly. "you lak steal dose meat, i bet! wal, i eat you 'live." stretching on tiptoe, he removed one of the quarters and bore it into his tent. the dogs gathered just outside the door; cautiously they nosed the canvas aside; and as 'poleon set to work with hatchet and hunting-knife their bright eyes followed his every move. "non!" he exclaimed, with a ferocious frown. "you don't get so much as li'l smell. you t'ink ma soeur goin' hongry to feed loafer' lak you?" bushy gray tails began to stir, the heads came farther forward, there was a most unmannerly licking of chops. "by gar! you sound lak' miner-man eatin' soup. wat for you'spect nice grub? you don' work none." 'poleon removed a layer of fat, divided it, and tossed a portion to each animal. the morsels vanished with a single gulp, with one wolfish click of sharp white teeth, "no, i give you not'in'." for no reason whatever the speaker broke into loud laughter; then, to further relieve his bubbling joyousness, he began to hum a song. as he worked his song grew louder, until its words were audible to the girl in the next tent. "oh, la voix du beau nord qui m'appelle, pour benir avec lui le jour, et desormais toute peine cruelle fuira devant mon chant d'amour. d'amour, d'amour." ("oh, the voice of the north is a-calling me, to join in the praise of the day, so whatever the fate that's befalling me, i'll sing every sorrow away. away, away.") the yukon stove was red-hot now, and rouletta kirby's tent was warm. she seated herself before a homely little dresser fashioned from two candle-boxes, and began to arrange her hair. curiously she examined the comb and brush. they were, or had been, 'poleon's; so was the pocket-mirror hanging by a safety-pin to the canvas wall above. rouletta recalled with a smile the flourish of pride with which he had presented to her this ludicrous bureau and its fittings. was there ever such a fellow as this doret? was there ever a heart so big, so kind? a stranger, it seemed to the girl that she had known him always. there had been days--days interminable--when he had seemed to be some dream figure; an indistinct, unreal being at once familiar and unfamiliar, friendly and forbidding; then other days during which he had gradually assumed substance and actuality and during which she had come to know him. following her return to sanity, rouletta had experienced periods of uncertainty and of terror, then hours of embarrassment the mere memory of which caused her to shrink and to hide her head. those were times of which, even yet, she could not bear to think. hers had been a slow recovery and a painful, nay a tragic, awakening, but, as she had gained the strength and the ability to understand and to suffer, 'poleon, with a tact and a thoughtfulness unexpected in one of his sort, had dropped the character of nurse and assumed the role of friend and protector. that had been rouletta's most difficult ordeal, the most trying time for both of them, in fact; not one man in ten thousand could have carried off such an awkward situation at a cost so low to a woman's feelings. it was, of course, the very awkwardness of that situation, together with 'poleon's calm, courageous method of facing it, that had given his patient the strength to meet him half-way and that had made her convalescence anything less than a torture. and the manner in which he had allowed her to learn all the truth about herself--bit by bit as her resistance grew--his sympathy, his repression, his support! he had to know just how far to go; he had spared her every possible heartache, he had never permitted her to suffer a moment of trepidation as to herself. no. her first conscious feeling, now that she recalled it, had been one of implicit, unreasoning faith in him. that confidence had increased with every hour; dismay, despair, the wish to die had given place to resignation, then to hope, and now to a brave self-confidence. rouletta knew that her deliverance had been miraculous and that this man, this total stranger, out of the goodness of his heart, had given her back her life. she never ceased pondering over it. she was now sitting motionless, comb and brush in hand, when 'poleon came into the tent for a second time and aroused her from her abstraction. she hastily completed her toilette, and was sitting curled up on her bed when the aroma of boiling coffee and the sound of frying steak brought her to her feet. with a noisy clatter she enthusiastically arranged the breakfast dishes. "how wonderful it is to have an appetite in the morning!" said she; then: "this is the last time you're going to cook. you may chop the wood and build the fires, but i shall attend to the rest. i'm quite able." "bien!" the pilot smiled his agreement. "everybody mus' work to be happy--even dose dog. wat you t'ink? dey loaf so long dey begin fight, jus' lak' people." he chuckled. "pretty queeck we hitch her up de sled an' go fly to dyea. you goin' henjoy dat, ma soeur. mebbe we meet dose cheechako' comin' in an' dey holler: 'hallo, frenchy! how's t'ing' in dawson?' an' we say: 'pouf! we don' care 'bout dawson; we goin' home.'" "home!" rouletta paused momentarily in her task. "sure! now--voila! breakfas' she's serve in de baggage-car." with a flourish he poured the coffee, saying, "let's see if you so hongry lak you pretend, or if i'm goin' keep you in bed some more." rouletta's appetite was all--yes, more--than she had declared it to be. the liberality with which she helped herself to oatmeal, her lavish use of the sugar--spoon, and her determined attack upon the can of "carnation" satisfied any lingering doubts in doret's mind. her predatory interest in the appetizing contents of the frying-pan--she eyed it with the greedy hopefulness of a healthy urchin--also was eloquent of a complete recovery and brought a thrill of pride to her benefactor. "gosh! i mak' bad nurse for hospital," he grinned. "you eat him out of house an' lot." he finished his meal, then looked on until rouletta leaned back with regretful satisfaction; thereupon he broke out: "wal, i got more s'prise for you." "you--you can't surprise a toad, and--i feel just like one. isn't food good?" now rouletta had learned much about this big woodsman's peculiarities; among other things she had discovered that he took extravagant delight in his so-called "s'prises." they were many and varied, now a titbit to tempt her palate, or again a native doll which needed a complete outfit of moccasins, cap, and parka, and which he insisted he had met on the trail, very numb from the cold; again a pair of rabbit-fur sleeping-socks for herself. that crude dresser, which he had completed without her suspecting him, was another. always he was making or doing something to amuse or to occupy her attention, and, although his gifts were poor, sometimes absurdly simple, he had, nevertheless, the power of investing them with importance. being vitally interested in all things, big or little, he stimulated others to share in that interest. life was an enjoyable game, inanimate objects talked to him, every enterprise was tinted imaginary colors, and he delighted in pretense--welcome traits to rouletta, whose childhood had been starved. "what is my new s'prise?" she queried. but, without answering, 'poleon rose and left the tent; he was back a moment later with a bundle in his hands. this bundle he unrolled, displaying a fine fur parka, the hood of which was fringed with a deep fox-tail facing, the skirt and sleeves of an elaborate checker-board pattern of multicolored skins. gay squirrel-tail streamers depended from its shoulders as further ornamentation. altogether it was a splendid specimen of indian needlework and rouletta gasped with delight. "how wonderful!" she cried. "is--it for me?" the pilot nodded. "sure t'ing. de purtiest one ever i see. but look!" he called her attention to a beaver cap, a pair of beaded moose-hide mittens, and a pair of small fur boots that went with the larger garments--altogether a complete outfit for winter travel. "i buy him from dose hinjun hunter. put him on, queeck." rouletta slipped into the parka; she donned cap and mittens; and 'poleon was in raptures. "by golly! dat's beautiful!" he declared. "now you' fix for sure. no matter how col' she come, your li'l toes goin' be warm, you don' froze your nose--" "you're good and true--and--" rouletta faltered, then added, fervently, "i shall always thank god for knowing you." now above all things doret dreaded his "sister's" serious moods or any expression of her gratitude; he waved her words aside with an airy gesture and began in a hearty tone: "we don't stop dis place no longer. to-morrow we start for dyea. wat you t'ink of dat, eh? pretty queeck you be home." when his hearer displayed no great animation at the prospect he exclaimed, in perplexity: "you fonny gal. ain't you care?" "i have no home," she gravely told him. "but your people--dey goin' be glad for see you?" "i have no people, either. you see, we lived a queer life, father and i. i was all he had, outside of poor danny royal, and he--was all i had. home was where we happened to be. he sold everything to come north; he cut all ties and risked everything on a single throw. that was his way, our way--all or nothing. i've been thinking lately; i've asked myself what he would have wished me to do, and--i've made up my mind." "so?" 'poleon was puzzled. "i'm not going 'outside.' i'm going to dawson. 'be a thoroughbred. don't weaken.' that's what he always said. sam kirby followed the frontier and he made his money there. well, i'm his girl, his blood is in me. i'm going through." 'poleon's brow was furrowed in deep thought; it cleared slowly. "dawson she's bad city, but you're brave li'l gal and--badness is here," he tapped his chest with a huge forefinger. "so long de heart she's pure, not'in' goin' touch you." he nodded in better agreement with rouletta's decision. "mebbe so you're right. for me, i'm glad, very glad, for i t'ink my bird is goin' spread her wing' an' fly away south lak all de res', but now--bien! i'm satisfy! we go to dawson." "your work is here," the girl protested. "i can't take you away from it." "fonny t'ing 'bout work," 'poleon said, with a grin. "plenty tam i try to run away from him, but always he catch up wit' me." "you're a poor man. i can't let you sacrifice too much." "poor?" the pilot opened his eyes in amazement. "mon dieu! i'm reech feller. anybody is reech so long he's well an' happy. mebbe i sell my claim." "your claim? have you a claim? at dawson?" the man nodded indifferently. "i stake him las' winter. he's pretty claim to look at--plenty snow, nice tree for cabin, dry wood, everyt'ing but gold. mebbe i sell him for beeg price." "why doesn't it have any gold?" rouletta was genuinely curious. "why? biccause i stake him," 'poleon laughed heartily. "dose claim i stake dey never has so much gold you can see wit' your eye. not one, an' i stake t'ousan'. me, i hear dose man talk 'bout million dollar; i'm drinkin' heavy so i t'ink i be millionaire, too. but bimeby i'm sober ag'in an' my money she's gone. i'm res'less feller; i don' stop long no place." "what makes you think it's a poor claim?" 'poleon shrugged. "all my claim is poor. me, i'm onlucky. mebbe so i don' care enough for bein' reech. w'at i'll do wit' pile of money, eh? drink him up? gamble? dat's fun for while. every spring i sell my fur an' have beeg tam; two weeks i'm drunk, but--dat's plenty. any feller dat's drunk more 'n two weeks is bum. no!" he shook his head and exposed his white teeth in a flashing smile. "i'm cut off for poor man. i mak' beeg soccess of dat." rouletta studied the speaker silently for a moment. "i know." she nodded her complete understanding of his type. "well, i'm not going to let you do that any more." "i don' hurt nobody," he protested. "i sing plenty song an' fight li'l bit. a man mus' got some fun." "won't you promise--for my sake?" 'poleon gave in after some hesitation; reluctantly he agreed. "eh bien! mos' anyt'ing i promise for you, ma soeur. but--she's goin' be mighty poor trip for me. s'pose mebbe i forget dose promise?" "i sha'n't let you. i've seen too much drinking--gambling. i'll hold you to your pledge." again the man smiled; there was a light of warm affection in his eyes. "by gar! it's nice t'ing to have sister w'at care for you. when we goin' start for dawson, eh?" "to-morrow." chapter xix every new and prosperous mining-camp has an arabian nights atmosphere, characteristic, peculiar, indescribable. especially noticeable was this atmosphere in the early arctic camps, made up as they were of men who knew little about mining, rather less about frontier ways, and next to nothing about the country in which they found themselves. these men had built fabulous hopes, they dwelt in illusion, they put faith in the thinnest of shadows. now the most practical miner is not a conservative person; he is erratic, credulous, and extravagant; reasonless optimism is at once his blessing and his curse. nevertheless, the "old-timers" of the yukon were moderate indeed as compared with the adventurous holiday-seekers who swarmed in upon their tracks. being none too well balanced themselves, it was only natural that the exuberance of these new arrivals should prove infectious and that a sort of general auto-intoxication should result. that is precisely what happened at dawson. men lost all caution, all common sense; they lived in a land of rosy imaginings; hard-bought lessons of experience were forgotten; reality disappeared; fancy took wing and left fact behind; expectations were capitalized and no exaggeration was too wild to challenge acceptance. it became a city of frenzy. it was all very fine for an ardent youth like pierce phillips; it set him ablaze, stirring a fever in his blood. having won thus far, he made the natural mistake of believing that the race was his; so he wasted little time in the town, but very soon took to the hills, there to make his fortune and be done with it. here came his awakening. away from the delirium of the camp, in contact with cold reality, he began to learn something of the serious, practical business of gold-mining. before he had been long on the creeks he found that it was no child's play to wrest treasure from the frozen bosom of a hostile wilderness, and that, no matter how rich or how plentiful the treasure, mother earth guarded her secrets jealously. he began to realize that the obstacles he had so blithely overcome in getting to the klondike were as nothing to those in the way of his further success. of a sudden his triumphal progress slowed down and he came to a pause; he began to mark time. there was work in plenty to be had, but, like most of the new-comers, he was not satisfied to take fixed wages. they seemed paltry indeed compared with the drunken figures that were on every lip. in the presence of the uncertain he could not content himself with a sure thing. nevertheless, he was soon forced to the necessity of resorting to it, for through the fog of his misapprehensions, beneath the obscurity of his ignorance, he began to discover the true outline of things and to understand that his ideas were impractical. to begin with, every foot of ground in the proven districts was taken, and even when he pushed out far afield he found that the whole country was plastered with locations: rivers, creeks and tributaries, benches and hillsides, had been staked. for many miles in every direction blazed trees and pencil notices greeted him--he found them in places where it seemed no foot but his had ever trod. in dawson the gold commissioner's office was besieged by daily crowds of claimants; it would have taken years of work on the part of a hundred thousand men to even prospect the ground already recorded on the books. back and forth phillips came and went, he made trips with pack and hand-sled, he slept out in spruce forests, in prospectors' tents, in new cabins the sweaty green logs of which were still dripping, and when he had finished he was poorer by a good many dollars and richer only in the possession of a few recorder's receipts, the value of which he had already begun to doubt. disappointed he was, but not discouraged. it was all too new and exciting for that. every visit to bonanza or el dorado inspired him. it would have inspired a wooden man. for miles those valleys were smoky from the sinking fires, and their clean white carpets were spotted with piles of raw red dirt. by day they echoed to blows of axes, the crash of falling trees, the plaint of windlasses, the cries of freighters; by night they became vast caldrons filled with flickering fires; tremendous vats, the vapors from which were illuminated by hidden furnaces. one would have thought that here gold was being made, not sought--that this was a region of volcanic hot springs where every fissure and vent-hole spouted steam. it was a strange, a marvelous sight; it stirred the imagination to know that underfoot, locked in the flinty depths of the frozen gravel, was wealth unmeasured and unearned, rich hoards of yellow gold that yesterday were ownerless. a month of stampeding dulled the keen edge of pierce's enthusiasm, so he took a breathing-spell in which to get his bearings. the yukon had closed and the human flotsam and jetsam it had borne thither was settling. pierce could feel a metamorphic agency at work in the town; already new habits of life were crystallizing among its citizens; and beneath its whirlpool surface new forms were in the making. it alarmed him to realize that as yet his own affairs were in suspense, and he argued, with all the hot impatience of youth, that it was high time he came to rest. opportunities were on every side of him, but he knew not where or how to lay hold of them to his best advantage. more than ever he felt himself to be the toy of circumstance, more than ever he feared the fallibility of his judgment and the consequences of a mistake. he was in a mood both dissatisfied and irresolute when he encountered his two trail friends, tom linton and jerry quirk. pierce had seen them last at linderman, engaged in prosecuting a stampeders' divorce; he was surprised to find them reunited. "i never dreamed you'd get through," he told them, when greetings had passed. "did you come in one boat or in two?" jerry grinned. "we sawed up that outlaw four times. we'd have split her end to end finally, only we run out of pitch to cork her up." "that boat was about worn out with our bickerings," tom declared. "she ain't over half the length she was--all the rest is sawdust. if the nail-holes in her was laid end to end they'd reach to forty mile. we were the last outfit in, as it was, and we'd of missed a landing if a feller hadn't run out on the shore ice and roped us. first town i ever entered on the end of a lariat. hope i don't leave it the same way." "guess who drug us in," jerry urged. "i've no idea," said pierce. "big lars anderson." "big lars of el dorado?" "he's the party. he was just drunk enough to risk breakin' through. when he found who we was--well, he gave us the town; he made us a present of dawson and all points north, together with the lands, premises, privileges, and hereditaments appurtenant thereto. i still got a kind of a hangover headache and have to take soda after my meals." "lars was a sheepman when we knew him," tom explained. "jerry and i purloined him from some prominent cow-gentlemen who had him all decorated up ready to hang, and he hasn't forgotten it. he got everybody full the night we landed, and wound up by buying all the fresh eggs in camp. forty dozen. we had 'em fried. he's a prince with his money." "he owns more property than anybody," said pierce. "right! and he gave us a 'lay.'" phillips' eyes opened. "a lay? on el dorado?" he queried, in frank amazement. "no. hunker. he says it's a good creek. we're lookin' for a pardner." "what kind of a partner?" it was linton who answered. "well, some nice, easy-going, hard-working young feller. jerry and i are pretty old to wind a windlass, but we can work underground where it's warm." "'easy-goin',' that's the word," jerry nodded. "tom and me get along with each other like an order of buckwheat cakes, but we're set in our ways and we don't want anybody to come between us." "how would i do?" pierce inquired, with a smile. tom answered promptly. "if your name was put to a vote i know one of us that wouldn't blackball you." "sure!" cried his partner. "the ballot-box would look like a settin' of pigeon eggs. think it over and let us know. we're leavin' to-morrow." a lease on hunker creek sounded good to phillips. big lars anderson had been one of the first arrivals from circle city; already he was rated a millionaire, for luck had smiled upon him; his name was one to conjure with. pierce was about to accept the offer made when jerry said: "who d'you s'pose got the lay below ours? that feller mccaskey and his brother." "mccaskey!" "he's an old pal of anderson's." "does big lars know he's a thief?" jerry shrugged. "lars ain't the kind that listens to scandal and we ain't the kind that carries it." pierce meditated briefly; then he said, slowly, "if your lay turns out good so will mccaskey's." his frown deepened. "well, if there's a law of compensation, if there's such a thing as retributive justice--you have a bad piece of ground." "but there ain't any such thing," tom quickly asserted. "anyhow, it don't work in mining-camps. if it did the saloons would be reading-rooms and the gamblers would take in washing. look at the lucky men in this camp--bums, most of 'em. george carmack was a squaw-man, and he made the strike." pierce felt no fear of joe mccaskey, only dislike and a desire to avoid further contact with him. the prospect of a long winter in close proximity to a proven scoundrel was repugnant. balanced against this was the magic of big lars' name. it was a problem; again indecision rose to trouble him. "i'll think it over," he said, finally. farther down the street phillips' attention was arrested by an announcement of the opening of the rialto saloon and theater, miller & best, proprietors. challenged by the name of his former employer and drawn by the sounds of merriment from within, pierce entered. he had seen little of laure since his arrival; he had all but banished her from his thoughts, in fact; but he determined now to look her up. the rialto was the newest and the most pretentious of dawson's amusement palaces. it comprised a drinking-place with a spacious gambling-room adjoining. in the rear of the latter was the theater, a huge log annex especially designed as the home of bacchus and terpsichore. the front room was crowded; through an archway leading to the gambling-hall came the noise of many voices, and over all the strains of an orchestra at the rear. ben miller, a famous sporting character, was busy weighing gold dust at the massive scales near the door when pierce entered. the theater, too, was packed. here a second bar was doing a thriving business, and every chair on the floor, every box in the balcony overhanging three sides of it, was occupied. waiters were scurrying up and down the wide stairway; the general hubbub was punctuated by the sound of exploding corks as the klondike spendthrifts advertised their prosperity in a hilarious contest of prodigality. all dawson had turned out for the opening, and pierce recognized several of the el dorado kings, among them big lars anderson. these new-born magnates were as thriftless as locusts, and in the midst of their bacchanalian revels pierce felt very poor, very obscure. here was the roisterous spirit of the northland at full play; it irked the young man intensely to feel that he could afford no part in it. laure was not long in discovering him. she sped to him with the swiftness of a swallow; breathlessly she inquired: "where have you been so long? why didn't you let me know you were back?" "i just got in. i've been everywhere." he smiled down at her, and she clutched the lapel of his coat, then drew him out of the crowd. "i dropped in to see how you were getting along." "well, what do you think of the place?" "why, it looks as if you'd all get rich in a night." "and you? have you done anything for yourself?" pierce shook his head; in a few words he recounted his goings and his comings, his efforts and his failures. laure followed the recital with swift, birdlike nods of understanding; her dark ayes were warm with sympathy. "you're going at it the wrong way," she asserted when he had finished. "you have brains; make them work. look at best, look at miller, his new partner; they know better than to mine. mining is a fool's game. play a sure thing, pierce. stay here in town and live like a human being; here's where the money will be made." "do you think i want to go flying over hill and dale, like a tumbleweed? i haven't had warm feet in a week and i weep salt tears when i see a bed. but i'm no croesus; i've got to hustle. i think i've landed something finally." he told of tom and jerry's offer, but failed to impress his listener. "if you go out to hunker creek i'll scarcely ever see you," said she. "that's the first objection. i've nearly died these last three weeks. but there are other objections. you couldn't get along with those old men. why, they can't get along with each other! then there's joe mccaskey to think of. why run into trouble?" "i've thought of all that. but big lars is on the crest of his wave; he has the midas touch; everything he lays his hands on turns to gold. he believes in hunker--" "i'll find out if he does," laure said, quickly. "he's drinking. he'll tell me anything. wait!" with a flashing smile she was off. she returned with an air of triumph. "you'll learn to listen to me," she declared. "he says hunker is low grade. that's why he lets lays on it instead of working it himself. lars is a fox." "he said that?" "the best there is in it is wages. those were his very words. would you put up with linton and quirk and the two mccaskeys for wages? of course not. i've something better fixed up for you." without explaining, she led pierce to the bar, where morris best was standing. best was genuinely glad to see his former employee; he warmly shook pierce's hand. "i've got 'em going, haven't i?" he chuckled. laure broke out, imperiously: "loosen up. morris, and let's all have a drink on the house. you can afford it." "sure!" with a happy grin the proprietor ordered a quart bottle of wine. "i can afford more than that for a friend. we put it over, didn't we, kid?" he linked arms with pierce and leaned upon him. "oy! such trouble we had with these girls, eh? but we got 'em here, and now i got dawson going. i'll be one of these rockyfeller magnets, believe me." pierce had not tasted liquor since his last farewell to laure. three weeks of hard work in the open air had effected a chemical change in his make-up, a purification of his tissues, and as a result best's liquor mounted quickly to his head and warmed his blood. when he had emptied his glass laure saw that it was promptly refilled. "so you've cut out the stampeding," morris continued. "good! you've got sense. let the rough-necks do it. this here front street is the best pay-streak in the klondike and it won't pinch out. why? because every miner empties his poke into it." the speaker nodded, and leaned more intimately against phillips. "they bring in their bonanza dust and their el dorado nuggets and salt our sluices. that's the system. it's simpler as falling down a log. what?" "come to the good news," laure urged. "this little woman hates you, don't she?" best winked. "just like she hates her right eye. you got her going, kid. well, you can start work to-morrow." "start work? where?" pierce was bewildered. "miller's looking for a gold-weigher. we'll put you out in the saloon proper." "'saloon proper'?" pierce shook his head in good-natured refusal. "i dare say it's the fault of my bringing-up, but--i don't think there's any such thing. i'm an outdoor person. i'm one of the rough-necks who salts your sluice-boxes. i think i'd better stick to the hills. it's mighty nice of you, though, and i'm much obliged." "are you going to take that other offer?" laure inquired. when pierce hesitated she laid hold of his other arm. "i won't let you go," she cried. "i want you here--" "nonsense!" he protested. "i can't do anything for you. i have nothing--" "have i ever asked you for anything?" she blazed at him. "i can take care of myself, but--i want you. i sha'n't let you go." "better think it over," best declared. "we need a good man." "yes!" laure clung to pierce's hand. "don't be in a hurry. anyhow, stay and dance with me while we talk about it. we've never had a dance together. please!" the proprietor of the theater was in a genial mood. "stick around," he seconded. "your credit is good and it won't worry me none if you never take up your tabs. laure has got the right idea; play 'em safe and sure, and let the other feller do the work. now we'll have another bottle." the three of them were still standing at the bar when the curtain fell on the last vaudeville act and the audience swarmed out into the gambling-room of the main saloon. hastily, noisily, the chairs were removed from the dance floor, then the orchestra began a spirited two-step and a raucous-voiced caller broke into loud exhortations. in a twinkling the room had refilled, this time with whirling couples. laure raised her arms, she swayed forward into pierce's embrace, and they melted into the throng. the girl could dance; she seemed to float in cadence with the music; she became one with her partner and answered his every impulse. never before had she seemed so utterly and so completely to embody the spirit of pleasure; she was ardent, alive, she pulsated with enjoyment; her breath was warm, her dark, fragrant hair brushed phillips' cheek; her olive face was slightly flushed; and her eyes, uplifted to his, were glowing. they voiced adoration, abandon, surrender. the music ended with a crash; a shout, a storm of applause followed; then the dancers swarmed to the bar, bearing pierce and his companion with them. laure was panting. she clung fiercely, jealously, to phillips' arm. "dance with me again. again! i never knew what it was--" she trembled with a vibrant ecstasy. drinks were set before them. the girl spurned hers, but absent-mindedly pocketed the pasteboard check that went with it. while yet pierce's throat was warm from the spirits there began the opening measures of a languorous waltz and the crowd swept into motion again. there was no refusing the invitation of that music. later in the evening phillips found tom and jerry; his color was deeper than usual, his eyes were unnaturally bright. "i'm obliged to you," he told them, "but i've taken a job as weigher with miller & best. good luck, and--i hope you strike it rich." when he had gone tom shook his head. his face was clouded with regret and, too, with a vague expression of surprise. "too bad," he said. "i didn't think he was that kind." "sure!" jerry agreed. "i thought he'd make good." chapter xx morris best's new partner was a square gambler, so called. people there were who sneered at this description and considered it a contradiction as absurd as a square circle or an elliptical cube. an elementary knowledge of the principles of geometry and of the retail liquor business proved the non-existence of such a thing as a straight crook, so they maintained. but be that as it may, ben miller certainly differed from the usual run of sporting-men, and he professed peculiar ideas regarding the conduct of his trade. those ideas were almost puritanical in their nature. proprietorship of recreation centers similar to the rialto had bred in mr. miller a profound distrust of women as a sex and of his own ability successfully to deal with them; in consequence, he refused to tolerate their presence in his immediate vicinity. that they were valuable, nay, necessary, ingredients in the success of an enterprise such as the present one he well knew--miller was, above all, a business man--but in making his deal with best he had insisted positively that none of the latter's song-birds were ever to enter the front saloon. that room, miller maintained, was to be his own, and he proposed to exercise dominion over it. as for the gambling-hall, that of necessity was neutral territory and he reluctantly consented to permit the girls to patronize it so long as they behaved themselves. for his part, he yielded all responsibility over the theater, and what went on therein, to best. he agreed to stay out of it. this division of power worked admirably, and miller's prohibitions were scrupulously observed. he was angered, therefore, when, one morning, his rule was broken. at the moment he was engaged in weighing, checking up, and sacking his previous night's receipts, he looked up with a frown when a woman's--a girl's--voice interrupted him. "are you ben miller?" the trespasser inquired. miller nodded shortly. he could be colder than a frog when he chose. "i'm looking for work," explained the visitor. "you got the wrong door," he told her. "you want the dance-hall. we don't allow women in here." "so i understand." miller's frown deepened. "well, then, beat it! saloons are masculine gender and--" "i'm not a dance-hall girl, i'm a dealer," the other broke in. "you're a--what?" ben's jaw dropped; he stared curiously at the speaker. she was pretty, very pretty, in a still, dignified way; she had a fine, intelligent face and she possessed a poise, a carriage, that challenged attention. "a dealer? what the deuce can you deal?" he managed to ask. "anything--the bank, the wheel, the tub, the cage--" disapproval returned to the man's countenance; there was an admonitory sternness to his voice when he said: "it ain't very nice to see a kid like you in a place like this. i don't know where you learned that wise talk, but--cut it out. go home and behave yourself, sister. if you're broke, i'll stake you; so'll anybody, for that matter." his visitor stirred impatiently. "let's stick to business. i don't want a loan. i'm a dealer and i want work." morris best bustled out of the adjoining room at the moment, and, noting a feminine figure in this forbidden territory, he exclaimed: "hey, miss! theater's in the rear." miller summoned him with a backward jerk of his head. "morris, this kid's looking for a job--as dealer," said he. "dealer?" best halted abruptly. "that's funny." "what is funny about it?" demanded the girl. "my father was a gambler. i'm rouletta kirby." "are you sam kirby's girl?" miller inquired. when rouletta nodded he removed his hat, then he extended his hand. "shake," said he. "now i've got you. you've had a hard time, haven't you? we heard about sam and we thought you was dead. step in here and set down." he motioned to the tiny little office which was curtained off from general view. rouletta declined with a smile. "i really want work as a dealer. that's the only thing i can do well. i came here first because you have a good reputation." "kirby's kid don't have to deal nothing. she's good for any kind of a stake on his name." "dad would be glad to hear that. he was a--great man. he ran straight." rouletta's eyes had become misty at miller's indirect tribute to her father; nevertheless, she summoned a smile and went on: "he never borrowed, and neither will i. if you can't put me to work i'll try somewhere else." "how did you get down from white horse?" miller inquired, curiously. "'poleon doret brought me." "i know doret. he's aces." "can you really deal?" best broke in. "come. i'll prove that i can." rouletta started for the gambling-room and the two men followed. best spoke to his partner in a low voice: "say, ben, if she can make a half-way bluff at it she'll be a big card. think of the play she'll get." but miller was dubious. "she's nothing but a kid," he protested. "a dealer has got to have experience, and, besides, she ain't the kind that belongs in a dump. somebody'd get fresh and--i'd have to bust him." there was little activity around the tables al this hour of the day; the occupants of the gambling-room were, for the most part, house employees who were waiting for business to begin. the majority of these employees were gathered about the faro layout, where the cards were being run in a perfunctory manner to an accompaniment of gossip and reminiscence. the sight of ben miller in company with a girl evoked some wonder. this wonder increased to amazement when miller ordered the dealer out of his seat; it became open-mouthed when the girl took his place, then broke a new deck of cards, deftly shuffled them, and slipped them into the box. at this procedure the languid lookout, who had been comfortably resting upon his spine, uncurled his legs, hoisted himself into an attitude of attention, and leaned forward with a startled expression upon his face. the gamblers crowded closer, exchanging expectant glances; ben miller and morris best helped themselves to chips and began to play. these were queer doings; the case-hardened onlookers prepared to enjoy a mildly entertaining treat. soon grins began to appear; the men murmured, they nudged one another, they slapped one another on the back, for what they saw astonished and delighted them. the girl dealt swiftly, surely; she handled the paraphernalia of the faro-table with the careless familiarity of long practice; but stranger still, she maintained a poise, a certain reserve and feminine dignity which were totally incongruous. when, during a pause, she absent-mindedly shuffled a stack of chips, the mocha kid permitted his feelings to get the better of him. "hang me for a horse-thief!" he snickered. "will you look at that?" now the mocha kid was a ribald character, profanity was a part of him, and blasphemy embellished his casual speech. the mildness of his exclamation showed that he was deeply moved. he continued in the same admiring undertone: "i seen a dame once that could deal a bank, but she couldn't pay and take. this gal can size up a stack with her eyes shut!" nothing could have more deeply intrigued the attention of these men than the sight of a modest, quiet, well-behaved young woman exhibiting all the technic of a finished faro-dealer. it was contrary to their experience, to their ideas of fitness. mastery of the gaming-table requires years of practice to acquire, and not one of these professionals but was as proud of his own dexterity as a fine pianist; to behold a mere girl possessed of all the knacks and tricks and mannerisms of the craft excited their keenest risibilities. in order the more thoroughly to test her skill several of them bought stacks of chips and began to play in earnest; they played their bets open, they coppered, they split, they strung them, and at the finish they called the turn. rouletta paid and took; she measured stacks of counters with unerring facility, she overlooked no bets. she ran out the cards, upset the box, and began to reshuffle the cards. "well, i'm a son of a gun!" declared the lookout. he doubled up in breathless merriment, he rocked back and forth in his chair, he stamped his feet. a shout of laughter issued from the others. ben miller closed the cases with a crash. "you'll do," he announced. "if there's anything you don't know i can't teach it to you." then to the bystanders he said: "this is sam kirby's girl. she wants work, and if i thought you coyotes knew how to treat a lady i'd put her on." "say!" the mocha kid scowled darkly at his employer. "what kinda guys do you take us for? what makes you think we don't know--" he was interrupted by an angry outburst, by a chorus of resentful protests, the indignant tone of which seemed to satisfy miller. the latter shrugged his shoulders and rose. rouletta stirred as if to follow suit, but eager hands stayed her, eager voices urged her to remain. "run 'em again, miss," begged tommy ryan, the roulette-dealer. mr. ryan was a pale-faced person whose addiction to harmful drugs was notorious; his extreme pallor and his nervous lack of repose had gained for him the title of "snowbird." tommy's hollow eyes were glowing, his colorless lips were parted in an engaging smile. "please run 'em once more. i 'ain't had so much fun since my wife eloped with a drummer in el paso." rouletta agreed readily enough, and her admiring audience crowded closer. their interest was magnetic, their absorption and their amusement were communicated to some new-comers who had dropped in. before the girl had dealt half the cards these bona-fide customers had found seats around the table and were likewise playing. they, too, enjoyed the novel experience, and the vehemence with which they insisted that rouletta retain her office proved beyond question the success of miller's experiment. it was not yet midday, nevertheless the news spread quickly that a girl was dealing bank at the rialto, and soon other curious visitors arrived. among them was big lars anderson. lars did not often gamble, but when he did he made a considerable business of it and the sporting fraternity took him seriously. anything in the nature of an innovation tickled the big magnate immensely, and to evidence his interest in this one he purchased a stack of chips. ere long he had lost several hundred dollars. he sent for miller, finally, and made a good-natured complaint that the game was too slow for him. "shall i raise the limit?" the proprietor asked of rouletta. the girl shrugged indifferently, whereupon the mocha kid and the snowbird embraced each other and exchanged admiring profanities in smothered tones. big lars stubbornly backed his luck, but the bank continued to win, and meanwhile new arrivals dropped in. two, three hours the play went on, by which time all dawson knew that a big game was running and that a girl was in the dealer's chair. few of the visitors got close enough to verify the intelligence without receiving a sotto voce warning that rough talk was taboo--miller's ungodly clan saw to that--and on the whole the warning was respected. only once was it disregarded; then a heavy loser breathed a thoughtless oath. disapproval was marked, punishment was condign; the lookout leisurely descended from his eyrie and floored the offender with a blow from his fist. when the resulting disturbance had quieted down the defender of decorum announced with inflexible firmness, but with a total lack of heat: "gents, this is a sort of gospel game, and it's got a certain tone which we're going to maintain. the limit is off, except on cussing, but it's mighty low on that. them of you that are indisposed to swallow your cud of regrets will have it knocked out of you." "good!" shouted big lars. he pounded the table with the flat of his huge palm. "by jingo! i'll make that unanimous. if anybody has to cuss let him take ten paces to the rear and cuss the stove." it was well along in the afternoon when rouletta kirby pushed back her chair and rose. she was very white; she passed an uncertain hand over her face, then groped blindly at the table for support. at these signs of distress a chorus of alarm arose. "it's nothing," she smiled. '"i'm just--hungry. i've been pretty ill and i'm not very strong yet." lars anderson was dumfounded, appalled. "hungry? my god!" to his companions he shouted: "d'you hear that, boys? she's starved out!" the boys had heard; already they had begun to scramble. some ran for the lunch-counter in the adjoining room, others dashed out to the nearest restaurants. the snowbird so far forgot his responsibilities as to abandon the roulette-wheel and leave its bank-roll unguarded while he scurried to the bar and demanded a drink, a tray of assorted drinks, fit for a fainting lady. he came flying back, yelling, "gangway!" and, scattering the crowd ahead of him, he offered brandy, whisky, creme de menthe, hootch, absinthe and bitters to rouletta, all of which she declined. he was still arguing the medicinal value of these beverages when the swinging doors from the street burst open and in rushed the mocha kid, a pie in each hand. other eatables and drinkables appeared as by magic, the faro-table was soon spread with the fruits of a half-dozen hasty and hysterical forays. rouletta stared at the apprehensive faces about her, and what she read therein caused her lips to quiver and her voice to break when she tried to express her thanks. "gosh! don't cry!" begged the mocha kid. with a counterfeit assumption of juvenile hilarity he exclaimed: "oh, look at the pretty pies! they got little christmas-trees on their lids, 'ain't they? um-yum! rich and juicy! i stuck up the baker and stole his whole stock, but i slipped and spilled 'em f. o. b.--flat on the boardwalk." rouletta laughed. "let's end the game and all have lunch," she suggested, and her invitation was accepted. big lars spoke up with his mouth full of pastry: "we don't allow anybody to go hungry in this camp," said he. "we're all your friends, miss, and if there's anything you want and can't afford, charge it to me." rouletta stopped to speak with miller, on her way out. "do i get the position?" she inquired. "say! you know you get it!" he told her. "you go on at eight and come off at midnight." "what is the pay?" "i pay my dealers an ounce a shift, but--you can write your own ticket. how is two ounces?" "i'll take regular wages," rouletta smiled. miller nodded his approval of this attitude; then his face clouded. "i've been wondering how you're going to protect your bank-roll. things won't always be like they were to-day. i s'pose i'll have to put a man on--" "i'll protect it," the girl asserted. "agnes and i will do that." the proprietor was interested. "agnes? holy moses! is there two of you? have you got a sister? who's agnes?" "she's an old friend of my father's." miller shrugged. "bring her along if you want to," he said, doubtfully, "but those old dames are trouble-makers." "yes, agnes is all of that, but"--rouletta's eyes were dancing--"she minds her own business and she'll guard the bank-roll." lucky broad and kid bridges had found employment at the rialto soon after it opened. as they passed the gold-scales on their way to work pierce phillips halted them. "i've some good news for you, lucky," he announced. "you've lost your job." "who, me?" broad was incredulous. "miller has hired a new faro-dealer, and you don't go on until midnight." briefly pierce retold the story that had come to his ears when he reported for duty that evening. broad and bridges listened without comment, but they exchanged glances. they put their heads together and began a low-pitched conversation. they were still murmuring when rouletta appeared, in company with 'poleon doret. 'poleon's face lighted at sight of the two gamblers. he strode forward, crying: "hallo! i'm glad for see you some more." to the girl he said: "you 'member dese feller'. dey he'p save you in de rapids." rouletta impulsively extended her hands. "of course! could i forget?" she saw pierce phillips behind the scales and nodded to him. "why, we're all here, aren't we? i'm so glad. everywhere i go i meet friends." lucky and the kid inquired respectfully regarding her health, her journey down the river, her reasons for being here; then when they had drawn her aside the former interrupted her flow of explanations to say: "listen, letty. we got just one real question to ask and we'd like a straight answer. have you got any kick against this frenchman?" "any kick of any kind?" queried bridges. "we're your friends; you can tip us off." the sudden change in the tone of their voices caused the girl to start and to stare at them. she saw that both men were in sober earnest; the reason behind their solicitude she apprehended. she laid a hand upon the arm of each. her eyes were very bright when she began: "'poleon told me how you came to his tent that morning after--you know, and he told me what you said. well, it wasn't necessary. he's the dearest thing that ever lived!" "why'd he put you to work in a place like this?" bridges roughly demanded. "he didn't. he begged me not to try it. he offered me all he has--his last dollar. he--" swiftly, earnestly, rouletta told how the big woodsman had cared for her; how tenderly, faithfully, he had nursed her back to health and strength; how he had cast all his plans to the winds in order to bring her down the river. "he's the best, the kindest, the most generous man i ever knew," she concluded. "his heart is clean and--his soul is full of music." "'sta bueno!" cried lucky broad, in genuine relief. "we had a hunch he was right, but--you can't always trust those asiatic races." ben miller appeared and warmly greeted his new employee. "rested up, eh? well, it's going to be a big night. where's agnes--the other one? has she got cold feet?" "no, just a cold nose. here she is." from a small bag on her arm rouletta drew sam kirby's six-shooter. "agnes was my father's friend. nobody ever ran out on her." miller blinked, he uttered a feeble exclamation, then he burst into a mighty laugh. he was still shaking, his face was purple, there were tears of mirth in his eyes, when he followed broad, bridges, and rouletta into the gambling-room. there were several players at the faro-table when the girl took her place. removing her gloves, she stowed them away in her bag. from this bag she extracted the heavy colt's revolver, then opened the drawer before her and laid it inside. she breathed upon her fingers, rubbing the circulation back into them, and began to shuffle the cards. slipping them into the box, the girl settled herself in her chair and looked up into a circle of grinning faces. before her level gaze eyes that had been focused queerly upon her fell. the case-keeper's lips were twitching, but he bit down upon them. gravely he said: "well, boys, let's go!" chapter xxi in taking charge of a sick girl, a helpless, hopeless stranger, 'poleon doret had assumed a responsibility far greater than he had anticipated, and that responsibility had grown heavier every day. having, at last, successfully discharged it, he breathed freely, his first relaxation in a long time; he rejoiced in the consciousness of a difficult duty well performed. so far as he could see there was nothing at all extraordinary, nothing in the least improper, about rouletta's engagement at the rialto. any suggestion of impropriety, in fact, would have greatly surprised him, for saloons and gambling-halls filled a recognized place in the every-day social life of the northland. customs were free, standards were liberal in the early days; no one, 'poleon least of all, would have dreamed that they were destined to change in a night. had he been told that soon the country would be dry, and gambling-games and dance-halls be prohibited by law, he would have considered the idea too utterly fantastic for belief; the mere contemplation of such a dreary prospect would have proved extremely dispiriting. he--and the other pioneers of his kind--would have been tempted immediately to pack up and move on to some freer locality where a man could retain his personal liberty and pursue his happiness in a manner as noisy, as intemperate, and as undignified as suited his individual taste. in justice to the saloons, be it said, they were more than mere drinking-places; they were the pivots about which revolved the business life of the north country. they were meeting-places, social centers, marts of trade; looked upon as evidences of enterprise and general prosperity, they were considered desirable assets to any community. everybody patronized them; the men who ran them were, on the whole, as reputable as the men engaged in other pursuits. no particular stigma attached either to the places themselves or to the people connected with them. these gold-camps had a very simple code. work of any sort was praiseworthy and honorable, idleness or unproductivity was reprehensible. mining, storekeeping, liquor-selling, gambling, steamboating, all were occupations which men followed as necessity or convenience prompted. a citizen gained repute by the manner in which he deported himself, not by reason of the nature of the commodity in which he dealt. such, at least, was the attitude of the "old-timers." rouletta's instant success, the fact that she had fallen among friends, delighted a woodsman like 'poleon, and, now that he was his own master again, he straightway surrendered himself to the selfish enjoyment of his surroundings. his nature and his training prescribed the limits of those pleasures; they were quite as simple as his everyday habits of life; he danced, he gambled, and he drank. to-night he did all three, in the reverse order. to him dawson was a dream city; its lights were dazzling, its music heavenly, its games of chance enticing, and its liquor was the finest, the smoothest, the most inspiriting his tongue had ever tested. old friends were everywhere, and new ones, too, for that matter. among them were alluring women who smiled and sparkled. each place 'poleon entered was the home of carnival. by midnight he was gloriously drunk. ere daylight came he had sung himself hoarse, he had danced two holes in his moccasins, and had conducted three fist-fights to a satisfactory if not a successful conclusion. it had been a celebration that was to live in his memory. he strode blindly off to bed, shouting his complete satisfaction with himself and with the world, retired without undressing, and then sang himself to sleep, regardless of the protests of the other lodgers. "say! that frenchman is a riot," kid bridges declared while he and lucky broad were at breakfast. "he's old general rough-houser, and he set an altogether new mark in disorderly conduct last night. letty 'most cried about it." "yeah? those yokels are all alike--one drink and they declare a dividend." lucky was only mildly concerned. "i s'pose the vultures picked him clean." "nothin' like it," bridges shook his head. "he gnawed 'em naked, then done a war-dance with their feathers in his hat. he left 'em bruised an' bleedin'." for a time the two friends ate in silence, then broad mused, aloud: "letty 'most cried, eh? say, i wonder what she really thinks of him?" "i don't know. miller told me she was all broke up, and i was goin' to take her home and see if i could fathom her true feelin's, but--phillips beat me to it." "phillips! he'll have to throw out the life-line if laure gets onto that. she'll take to letty just like a lone timber-wolf." "looks like she'd been kiddin' us, don't it? she calls him her 'brother' and he says she's his masseur--you heard him, didn't you?" there was another pause. "what's a masseur, anyhow?" "a masseur," said mr. broad, "is one of those women in a barber-shop that fixes your fingernails. yes, i heard him, and i'm here to say that i didn't like the sound of it. i don't yet. he may mean all right, but--them foreigners have got queer ideas about their women. letty's a swell kid and she's got a swell job. what's more, she's got a wise gang riding herd on her. it's just like she was in a church--no danger, no annoyance, nothing. if doret figures to start a barber-shop with her for his masseur, why, we'll have to lay him low with one of his own razors." mr. bridges nodded his complete approval of this suggestion. "right-o! i'll bust a mirror with him myself. them barber-shops is no place for good girls." broad and bridges pondered the matter during the day, and that evening they confided their apprehensions to their fellow-workers. the other rialto employees agreed that things did not look right, and after a consultation it was decided to keep a watch upon the girl. this was done. prompted by their pride in her, and a genuinely unselfish interest in her future, the boys made guarded attempts to discover the true state of her feelings for the french canadian, but they learned little. every indirect inquiry was met with a tribute to 'poleon's character so frank, so extravagant, as to completely baffle them. some of the investigators declared that rouletta was madly in love with him; others were equally positive that this extreme frankness in itself proved that she was not. all agreed, however, that 'poleon was not in love with her--he was altogether too enthusiastic over her growing popularity for a lover. had the gamblers been thoroughly assured of her desires in the matter, doubtless they would have made some desperate effort to marry 'poleon to her, regardless of his wishes-they were men who believed in direct action--but under the circumstances they could only watch and wait until the uncertainty was cleared up. meanwhile, as 'poleon continued his celebration, rouletta grew more and more miserable; at last he sobered up--sufficiently to realize he was hurting her. he was frankly puzzled at this; he met her reproaches with careless good-nature, brushing aside the remonstrances of lucky broad and his fellows by declaring that he was having the time of his life, and arguing that he injured nobody. in the end the girl prevailed upon him to stop drinking, and then bound him to further sobriety by means of a sacred pledge. when, perhaps a week later, he disappeared into the hills rouletta and her corps of self-appointed guardians breathed easier. but the boys did not relax their watchfulness; rouletta was their charge and they took good care of her. none of the rialto's patrons, for instance, was permitted to follow up his first acquaintance with "the lady dealer." some member of the clan was always on hand to frown down such an attempt. broad or bridges usually brought her to work and took her home, the snowbird and the mocha kid made it a practice to take her to supper, and when she received invitations from other sources one or the other of them firmly declined, in her name, and treated the would-be host with such malevolent suspicion that the invitation was never repeated. far from taking offense at this espionage, rouletta rather enjoyed it; she grew to like these ruffians, and that liking became mutual. soon most of them took her into their confidence with a completeness that threatened to embarrass her, as, for instance, when they discussed in her hearing incidents in their colorful lives that the mounted police would have given much to know. the mocha kid, in particular, was addicted to reminiscence of an incriminating sort, and he totally ignored rouletta's protests at sharing the secrets of his guilty past. as for the snowbird, he was fond of telling her fairy-stories. they were queer fairy-stories, all beginning in the same way: "once upon a time there was a beautiful princess and her name was rouletta." all the familiar characters figured in these narratives, the wicked witch, the cruel king, the handsome prince; there were other characters, too, such as the wise guy, the farmer's son, the boob detective, the tough mary ann and the stony-hearted jailer. the snowbird possessed a fertile fancy but it ran in crooked channels; although he launched his stories according to grimm, he sailed them through seas of crime, of violence, and of bloodshed too realistic to be the product of pure imagination. the adventures of the beautiful princess rouletta were blood-curdling in the extreme, and the doings of her criminal associates were unmistakably autobiographic. naturally rouletta never felt free to repeat these stories, but it was not long before she began to look forward with avid interest to her nightly entertainment. inasmuch as pierce phillips went off shift at the same time as did rouletta, they met frequently, and more than once he acted as her escort. he offered such a marked contrast to the other employees of the rialto, his treatment of her was at such total variance with theirs, that he interested her in an altogether different way. his was an engaging personality, but just why she grew so fond of him she could not tell; he was neither especially witty and accomplished nor did he lay himself out to be unusually agreeable. he was quiet and reserved; nevertheless, he had the knack of making friends quickly. rouletta had known men like broad and bridges and the mocha kid all her life, but pierce was of a type quite new and diverting. she speculated considerably regarding him. their acquaintance, while interesting, had not progressed much beyond that point when rouletta experienced a disagreeable shock. she had strolled into the theater one evening and was watching the performance when laure accosted her. as rouletta had not come into close contact with any of the dance-hall crowd, she was surprised at the tone this girl assumed. "hello! looking for new conquests?" laure began. miss kirby shook her head in vague denial, but the speaker eyed her with open hostility and there was an unmistakable sneer behind her next words: "what's the matter? have you trimmed all the leading citizens?" "i've finished my work, if that's what you mean." "now you're going to try your hand at box-rustling, eh?" rouletta's expression altered; she regarded her inquisitor more intently. "you know i'm not," said she. "what are you driving at?" "well, why don't you? are you too good?" "yes." the visitor spoke coldly. she turned away, but laure stepped close and cried, in a low, angry voice: "oh no, you're not! you've fooled the men, but you can't fool us girls. i've got your number. i know your game." "my game? then why don't you take a shift in the gambling-room? why work in here?" "you understand me," the other persisted. "too good for the dance-hall, eh? too good to associate with us girls; too good to live like us! you stop at the courteau house, the respectable hotel! bah! miller fell for you, but--you'd better let well enough alone." "that's precisely what i do. if there were a better hotel than the courteau house i'd stop there. but there isn't. now, then, suppose you tell me what really ails you." laure's dusky eyes were blazing, her voice was hoarse when she answered: "all right. i'll tell you. i want you to mind your own business. yes, and i'm going to see that you do. you can't go home alone, can you? afraid of the dark, i suppose, or afraid some man will speak to you. my goodness! the airs you put on--you! sam kirby's girl, the daughter of a gambler, a--" "leave my father out of this!" there was something of sam kirby's force in this sharp command, something of his cold, forbidding anger in his daughter's face. "he's my religion, so you'd better lay off of him. speak out. where did i tread on your toes?" "well, you tread on them every time you stop at the gold-scales, if you want to know. i have a religion, too, and it's locked up in the cashier's cage." there was a pause; the girls appraised each other with mutual dislike. "you mean mr. phillips?" "i do. see that you call him 'mister,' and learn to walk home alone." "don't order me. i can't take orders." laure was beside herself at this defiance. she grew blind with rage, so much so that she did not notice phillips himself; he had approached within hearing distance. "you've got the boss; he's crazy about you, but pierce is mine--" "what's that?" it was phillips who spoke. "what are you saying about me?" both girls started. laure turned upon him furiously. "i'm serving notice on this faro-dealer, that's all. but it goes for you, too--" phillips' eyes opened, his face whitened with an emotion neither girl had before seen. to rouletta he said, quietly: "the other boys are busy, so i came to take you home." laure cried, wildly, hysterically: "don't do it! i warn you!" "are you ready to go?" "all ready," rouletta agreed. together they left the theater. nothing was said as the two trod the snow-banked streets; not until they halted at the door of the courteau house did rouletta speak; then she said: "i wouldn't have let you do this, only--i have! a temper." "so have i," pierce said, shortly. "it's humiliating to own up." "i was wrong. i have no right to hurt that girl's feelings." "right?" he laughed angrily. "she had no right to make a scene." "why not? she's fighting for her own, isn't she? she's honest about it, at least." noting pierce's expression of surprise, rouletta went on: "you expect me to be shocked, but i'm not, for i've known the truth in a general way. you think i'm going to preach. well, i'm not going to do that, either. i've lived a queer life; i've seen women like laure--in fact, i was raised among them--and nothing they do surprises me very much. but i've learned a good many lessons around saloons and gambling-places. one is this: never cheat. father taught me that. he gave everybody a square deal, including himself. it's a good thing to think about--a square deal all around, even to yourself." "that sounds like an allopathic sermon of some sort," said pierce, "but i can't see just how it applies to me. however, i'll think it over. you're a brick, miss kirby, and i'm sorry if you had an unpleasant moment." he took rouletta's hand and held it while he stared at her with a frank, contemplative gaze. "you're an unusual person, and you're about the nicest girl i've met. i want you to like me." as he walked back down-town pierce pondered rouletta's words, "a square deal all around, even to yourself." they were a trifle puzzling. whom had he cheated? surely not laure. from the very first he had protested his lack of serious interest in her, and their subsequent relations were entirely the result of her unceasing efforts to appropriate him to herself. he had resisted, she had persisted. nor could he see that he had cheated--in other words, injured--himself. this was a liberal country; its code was free and it took little account of a man's private conduct. nobody seriously blamed him for his affair with laure; he had lost no standing by reason of it. it was only a part of the big adventure, a passing phase of his development, an experience such as came to every man. since it had left no mark upon him, and had not seriously affected laure, the score was even. he dismissed rouletta's words as of little consequence. in order, however, to prevent any further unpleasant scenes he determined to put laure in her place, once for all. rouletta went to her room, vaguely disturbed at her own emotions. she could still feel the touch of phillips' hand, she could still feel his gaze fixed earnestly, meditatively, upon hers, and she was amazed to discover the importance he had assumed in her thoughts. importance, that was the word. he was a very real, a very interesting, person, and there was some inexplicable attraction about him that offset his faults and his failings, however grave. for one thing, he was not an automaton, like the other men; he was a living, breathing problem, and he absorbed rouletta's attention. she was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall, when the countess courteau knocked at her door and entered. the women had become good friends; frequently the elder one stopped to gossip. the countess flung herself into a chair, rolled and lit a cigarette, then said: "well, i see you and agnes saved the bankroll again." rouletta nodded. "agnes is an awful bluff. i never load her. but of course nobody knows that." "you're a queer youngster. i've never known a girl quite like you. everybody is talking about you." "indeed? not the nice people?" "nice people?" the countess lifted her brows. "you mean those at the barracks and up on the hill? yes, they're talking about you, too." "i can imagine what they say." rouletta drew her brows together in a frown. "no doubt they think i'm just like the dance-hall girls. i've seen a few of them--at a distance. they avoid me as if i had measles." "naturally. do you care?" "certainly i care. i'd like to be one of them, not a--a specimen. wouldn't you?" "um-m, perhaps. i dare say i could be one of them if it weren't for courteau. people forget things quickly in a new country." "why did you take him back? i'm sure you don't care for him." "not in the least. he's the sort of man you can't love or hate; he's a nine-spot. just the same, he protects me and--i can't help being sorry for him." rouletta smiled. "fancy you needing protection and him giving--" "you don't understand. he protects me from myself. i mean it. i'm as unruly as the average woman and i make a fool of myself on the slightest provocation. henri is a loafer, a good-for-nothing, to be sure, but, nevertheless, i have resumed his support. it was easier than refusing it. i help broken miners. i feed hungry dogs. why shouldn't i clothe and feed a helpless husband? it's a perfectly feminine, illogical thing to do." "other people don't share your opinion of him. he can be very agreeable, very charming, when he tries." "of course. that's his stock in trade; that's his excuse for being. women are crazy about him, as you probably know, but--give me a man the men like." there was a pause. "so you don't enjoy the thing you're doing?" "i hate it! i hate the whole atmosphere--the whole underworld. it's-unhealthy, stifling." "what has happened?" slowly, hesitatingly, rouletta told of her encounter with laure. the countess listened silently. "it was an unpleasant shock," the girl concluded, "for it brought me back to my surroundings. it lifted the curtain and showed me what's really going on. it's a pity pierce phillips is entangled with that creature, for he's a nice chap and he's got it in him to do big things. but it wasn't much use my trying to tell him that he was cheating himself. i don't think he understood. i feel almost--well, motherly toward him." hilda nodded gravely. "of course you do. he has it." "has it? what?" "the call--the appeal--the same thing that lets henri get by." "oh, he's nothing like the count!" rouletta protested, quickly. the elder woman did not argue the point. "pierce has more character than henri, but a man can lose even that in a gambling-house. i was very fond of him--fonder than i knew. yes, it's a fact. i'm jealous of laure, jealous of you--" "jealous? of me? you're joking!" "of course. don't take me seriously. nevertheless, i mean it." the countess smiled queerly and rose to her feet. "it's improper for a married woman to joke about such things, even a woman married to a no-good count, isn't it? and it's foolish, too. well, i'm going to do something even more foolish--i'm going to give you some advice. cut out that young man. he hasn't found himself yet; he's running wild. he's light in ballast and he's rudderless. if he straightens out he'll make some woman very happy; otherwise--he'll create a good deal of havoc. believe me, i know what i'm talking about, for i collided with henri and--look at the result!" chapter xxii pierce phillips possessed the average young american's capacities for good or evil. had he fallen among healthy surroundings upon his arrival at dawson, in all probability he would have experienced a healthy growth. but, blown by the winds of chance, he took root where he dropped--in the low grounds. since he possessed the youthful power of quick and vigorous adaptation, he assumed a color to match his environment. of necessity this alteration was gradual; nevertheless, it was real; without knowing it he suffered a steady deterioration of moral fiber and a progressive change in ideals. his new life was easy; hours at the rialto were short and the pay was high. inasmuch as the place was a playground where cares were forgotten, there was a wholly artificial atmosphere of gaiety and improvidence about it. when patrons won at the gambling-games, they promptly squandered their winnings at the bar and in the theater; when they lost, they cheerfully ignored their ill-fortune. even the gamblers themselves shared this recklessness, this prodigality; they made much money; nevertheless, they were usually broke. most of them drank quite as freely as did the customers. this was not a temperance country. although alcohol was not considered a food, it was none the less regarded as a prime essential of comfort and well-being. it was inevitable, therefore, that pierce phillips, a youth in his growing age, should adopt a good deal the same habits, as well as the same spirit and outlook, as the people with whom he came in daily contact. vice is erroneously considered hideous; it is supposed to have a visage so repulsive that the simplest stranger will shudder at sight of it and turn of his own accord to more attractive virtue. if that were only true! more often than not it is the former that wears a smile and masquerades in agreeable forms, while the latter repels. this is true of the complex life of the city, where a man has landmarks and guide-posts of conduct to go by, and it is equally true of the less complicated life of the far frontier where he must blaze his own trail. along with the strength and vigor and independence derived from the great outdoors, there comes also a freedom of individual conduct, an impatience at irksome restraints, that frequently offsets any benefits that accrue from such an environment. so it was in pierce's case. he realized, subconsciously, that he was changing, had changed; on the whole, he was glad of it. it filled him with contemptuous amusement, for instance, to look back upon his old puritanical ideas. they seemed now very narrow, very immature, very impractical, and he was gratified at his broader vision. the most significant alteration, however, entirely escaped his notice. that alteration was one of outlook rather than of inlook. bit by bit he had come to regard the general crowd--the miners, merchants, townspeople--as outsiders, and him self as an insider--one of the wise, clever, ease-loving class which subsisted without toil and for whom a freer code of morals existed. those outsiders were stupid, hard-working; they were somehow inferior. he and his kind were of a higher, more advanced order of intelligence; moreover, they were bound together by the ties of a common purpose and understanding and therefore enjoyed privileges denied their less efficient brethren. if jackals were able to reason, doubtless they would justify their existence and prove their superiority to the common herd by some such fatuous argument. pierce's complacency received its first jolt when he discovered that he had lost caste in the eyes of the better sort of people--people such as he had been accustomed to associate with at home. this discovery came as the result of a chance meeting with a stranger, and, but for it, he probably would have remained unaware of the truth, for his newly made friends had treated him with consideration and nothing had occurred to disturb his complacency. he had acquired a speaking acquaintance with many of the best citizens, including the mounted police and even the higher dominion officials, all of whom came to the rialto. these men professed a genuine liking for him, and, inasmuch as his time was pretty full and there was plenty of amusement close at hand, he had never stopped to think that the side of dawson life which he saw was merely the under side--that a real social community was forming, with real homes on the back streets, where already women of the better sort were living. oblivious of these facts, it never occurred to pierce to wonder why these men did not ask him to their cabins or why he did not meet their families. he had long since become a night-hawk, mainly through a growing fondness for gambling, and he had arrived at the point where daylight impressed him as an artificial and unsatisfactory method of illumination. recently, too, he had been drinking more than was good for him, and he awoke finally to the unwelcome realization that he was badly in need of fresh air and outdoor exercise. after numerous half-hearted attempts, he arose one day about noon; then, having eaten a tasteless breakfast and strengthened his languid determination by a stiff glass of "hootch," he strolled out of town, taking he first random trail that offered itself. it was a wood trail, leading nowhere in particular, a fact which precisely suited his resentful mood. his blood moved sluggishly, he was short of breath, the cold was bitter. before long he decided that walking was a profitless and stultifying occupation, a pastime for idiots and solitaire-players; nevertheless, he continued in the hope of deriving some benefit, however indirect or remote. it was a still afternoon. a silvery brightness beyond the mountain crests far to the southward showed where the low winter sun was sweeping past on its flat arc. the sky to the north was empty, colorless. there had been no wind for some time, and now the firs sagged beneath burdens of white; even the bare birch branches carried evenly balanced inch-deep layers of snow. underfoot, the earth was smothered in a feathery shroud as light, as clean as the purest swan's-down, and into it pierce's moccasins sank to the ankles. he walked as silently as a ghost. through this queer, breathless hush the sounds of chopping, of distant voices, of an occasional dog barking followed him as he went deeper into the woods. time was when merely to be out in the forest on such a day would have pleased him, but gone entirely was that pleasure, and in its place there came now an irritation at the physical discomfort it entailed. he soon began to perspire freely, too freely; nevertheless, there was no glow to his body; he could think only of easy-chairs and warm stoves. he wondered what ailed him. nothing could be more abhorrent than this, he told himself. health was a valuable thing, no doubt, and he agreed that no price was too high to pay for it--no price, perhaps, except dull, uninteresting exercise of this sort. he was upon the point of turning back when the trail suddenly broke out into a natural clearing and he saw something which challenged his attention. to the left of the path rose a steep bank, and beyond that the bare, sloping mountain-side. in the shelter of the bank the snow had drifted deep, but, oddly enough, its placid surface was churned up, as if from an explosion or some desperate conflict that had been lately waged. it had been tossed up and thrown down. what caused him to stare was the fact that no footprints were discernible--nothing except queer, wavering parallel streaks that led downward from the snowy turmoil to the level ground below. they resembled the tracks of some oddly fashioned sled. pierce halted, and with bent head was studying the phenomenon, when close above him he heard the rush of a swiftly approaching body; he looked up just in time to behold an apparition utterly unexpected, utterly astounding. swooping directly down upon him with incredible velocity was what seemed at first glance to be a bird-woman, a valkyr out of the pages of norse mythology. wingless she was, yet she came like the wind, and at the very instant pierce raised his eyes she took the air almost over his head--quite as if he had startled her into an upward flight. upon her feet was a pair of long, norwegian skees, and upon these she had scudded down the mountain-side; where the bank dropped away she had leaped, and now, like a meteor, she soared into space. this amazing creature was clad in a blue-and-white toboggan suit, short skirt, sweater jacket, and knitted cap. as she hung outlined against the wintry sky pierce caught a snap-shot glimpse of a fair, flushed, youthful face set in a ludicrous expression of open-mouthed dismay at sight of him. he heard, too, a high-pitched cry, half of warning, half of fright; the next instant there was a mighty upheaval of snow, an explosion of feathery white, as the human projectile landed, then a blur of blue-and-white stripes as it went rolling down the declivity. "good lord!" pierce cried, aghast; then he sped after the apparition. only for the evidence of that undignified tumble, he would have doubted the reality of this flying venus and considered her some creature of his imagination. there she lay, however, a thing of flesh and blood, bruised, broken, helpless; apprehensively he pictured himself staggering back to town with her in his arms. he halted, speechless, when the girl sat up, shook the snow out of her hair, gingerly felt one elbow, then the other, and finally burst into a peal of ringing laughter. the face she lifted to his, now that it wore a normal expression, was wholly charming; it was, in fact, about the freshest, the cleanest, the healthiest and the frankest countenance he had ever looked into. "glory be!" he stammered. "i thought you were--completely spoiled." "i'm badly twisted," the girl managed to gasp, "but i guess i'm all here. oh! what a bump!" "you scared me. i never dreamed--i didn't hear a thing until-- well, i looked up and there you were. the sky was full of you. gee! i thought i'd lost my mind. are you quite sure you're all right?" "oh, i'll be black and blue again, but i'm used to that. that's the funniest one i've had, the very funniest. why don't you laugh?" "i'm--too rattled, i suppose. i'm not accustomed to flying girls. never had them rain down on me out of the heavens." the girl's face grew sober. "you're entirely to blame," she cried, angrily. "i was getting it beautifully until you showed up. you popped right out of the ground. what are you doing in the queen's park, anyhow? you've no business at the royal sports." "i didn't mean to trespass." "i think i'll call the guards." "call the court physician and make sure--" "pshaw! i'm not hurt." ignoring his extended hand, she scrambled to her feet and brushed herself again. evidently the queenly anger was short-lived, for she was beaming again, and in a tone that was boyishly intimate she explained: "i'd made three dandy jumps and was going higher each time, but the sight of you upset me. think of being upset by a perfectly strange man. shows lack of social training, doesn't it? it's a wonder i didn't break a skee." pierce glanced apprehensively at the bluff overhead. "hadn't we better move out of the way?" he inquired. "if the royal family comes dropping in, we'll be ironed out like a couple of handkerchiefs. i don't want to feel the divine right of the king, or his left, either." "there isn't any king-nor any royal family. i'm just the queen of pretend." "you're skee-jumping, alone? is that what you mean?" the girl nodded. "isn't that a dangerous way to amuse self? i thought skees were--tricky." "have you ever ridden them?" the girl inquired, quickly. "never." "you don't know what fun is. here--" the speaker stooped and detached her feet from the straps. "just have a go at it." pierce protested, but she insisted in a business-like way. "they're long ones--too long for me. they'll just suit you." "really, i don't care to--" "oh yes, you do. you must." "you'll be sorry," pierce solemnly warned her. "when my feet glance off and leave me sticking up in the snow to starve, you'll--say! i can think of a lot of things i want to do, but i don't seem to find skee-jumping on the list." "you needn't jump right away." determination was in the girl's tone; there was a dancing light of malice in her eyes. "you can practise a bit. remember, you laughed at me." "nothing of the sort. i was amazed, not amused. i thought i'd flushed a very magnificent pheasant with blue-and-white stripes, and i was afraid it was going to fly away before i got a good look at it. now, then--" he slowly finished buckling the runners to his feet and looked up interrogatively. "what are your majesty's orders?" "walk around. slide down the hill." "what on?" the girl smothered a laugh and waved him away. she looked on while he set off with more or less caution. when he managed to maintain an upright position despite the antics of his skees her face expressed genuine disappointment. "it's not so hard as i thought it would be," he soon announced, triumphantly. "a little awkward at first, but--" he cast an eye up at the bank. "you never know what you can do until you try." "you've been skeeing before," she accused him, reproachfully. "never." "then you pick it up wonderfully. try a jump." her mocking invitation spurred him to make the effort, so he removed the skees and waded a short distance up the hill. when he had secured his feet in position for a second time he called down: "i'm going to let go and trust to providence. look out." "the same to you," she cried. "you're wonderful, but--men can do anything, can't they?" there was nothing graceful, nothing of the free abandon of the practised skee-runner in pierce's attitude; he crouched apelike, with his muscles set to maintain an equilibrium, and this much he succeeded in doing--until he reached the jumping, off place. at that point, however, gravity, which he had successfully defied, wreaked vengeance upon him; it suddenly reached forth and made him its vindictive toy. he pawed, he fought, he appeared to be climbing an invisible rope. with a mighty flop he landed flat upon his back, uttering a loud and dismayed grunt as his breath left him. when he had dug himself out he found that the girl, too, was breathless. she was rocking in silent ecstasy, she hugged herself gleefully, and there were tears in her eyes. "i'm--so--sorry!" she exclaimed, in a thin, small voice. "did you--trip over something?" the young man grinned. "not at all. i was afraid of a sprained ankle, so i hit on my head. we meet on common ground, as it were." once again he climbed the grade, once again he skidded downward, once again he went sprawling. nor were his subsequent attempts more successful. after a final ignominious failure he sat where he had fetched up and ruefully took stock of the damage he had done himself. seriously he announced: "i was mistaken. women are entitled to vote--they're entitled to anything. i've learned something else, too--mr. newton's interesting little theory is all wrong; falling bodies travel sixteen miles, not sixteen feet, the first second." the girl demanded her skees, and, without rising, pierce surrendered them; then he looked on admiringly while she attached them to her feet and went zigzagging up the hill to a point much higher than the one from which he had dared to venture. she made a very pretty picture, he acknowledged, for she was vivid with youth and color. she was lithe and strong and confident, too; she was vibrant with the healthy vigor of the out-of-doors. she descended with a terrific rush, and this time she took the air with grace and certainty. she cleared a very respectable distance and ricocheted safely down the landing-slope. pierce applauded her with enthusiasm. "beautiful! my sincere congratulations, o bounding fawn!" "that's the best i've done," she crowed. "you put me on my mettle. now you try it again." pierce did try again; he tried manfully, but with a humiliating lack of success. he was puffing and blowing, his face was wet with perspiration, he had lost all count of time, when his companion finally announced it was time for her to be going. "you're not very fit, are you?" said she. pierce colored uncomfortably. "not very," he confessed. he was relieved when she did not ask the reason for his lack of fitness. just why he experienced such relief he hardly knew, but suddenly he felt no great pride in himself nor in the life that had brought him to such a state of flabbiness. nor did he care to have this girl know who or what he was. plainly she was one of those "nice people" at whom laure and the other denizens of the rialto were wont to sneer with open contempt; probably that was why he had never chanced to meet her. he felt cheated because they had not met, for she was the sort of girl he had known at home, the sort who believed in things and in whom he believed. despite all his recently acquired wisdom, in this short hour she had made him over into a boy again, and somehow or other the experience was agreeable. never had he seen a girl so cool, so candid, so refreshingly unconscious and unaffected as this one. she was as limpid as a pool of glacier water; her placidity, he imagined, had never been stirred, and in that fact lay much of her fascination. with her skees slung over her shoulder, the girl strode along beside phillips, talking freely on various topics, but with no disposition to chatter. her mind was alert, inquisitive, and yet she had that thoughtful gravity of youth, wisdom coming to life. that pierce had made a good impression upon her she implied at parting by voicing a sincere hope that they would meet again very soon. "perhaps i'll see you at the next dance," she suggested. "dance!" the word struck pierce unpleasantly. "saturday night, at the barracks." "i'd love to come," he declared. "do. they're loads of fun. all the nice people go." with a nod and a smile she was gone, leaving him to realize that he did not even know her name. well, that was of no moment; dawson was a small place, and--saturday was not far off. he had heard about those official parties at the barracks and he made up his mind to secure an invitation sufficiently formal to permit him to attend the very next one. his opportunity came that night when one of the younger mounted police officers paused to exchange greetings with him. lieutenant rock was a familiar figure on the streets of dawson and on the trails near by, a tall, upstanding canadian with a record for unfailing good humor and relentless efficiency. he nodded at pierce's casual reference to the coming dance at headquarters. "great sport," said he. "it's about the only chance we fellows have to play." when no invitation to share in the treat was forthcoming pierce told of meeting a most attractive girl that afternoon, and, having obtained his hearer's interest, he described the youthful goddess of the snows with more than necessary enthusiasm. he became aware of a peculiar expression upon rock's face. "yes. i know her well," the latter said, quietly. "d'you mean to say she invited you to the ball?" "it wasn't exactly an invitation--" "oh! i see. well"--rock shook his head positively--"there's nothing doing, old man. it isn't your kind of a party. understand?" "i--don't understand," pierce confessed in genuine surprise. the officer eyed him with a cool, disconcerting directness. "we draw the lines pretty close--have to in a camp like this. no offense, i trust." with a smile and a careless wave of the hand he moved on, leaving pierce to stare after him until he was swallowed up by the crowd in the gambling-room. a blow in the face would not have amazed pierce phillips more, nor would it have more greatly angered him. so, he was ostracized! these men who treated him with such apparent good-fellowship really despised him; in their eyes he was a renegade; they considered him unfit to know their women. it was incredible! this was the first deliberate slight the young man had ever received. his face burned, his pride withered under it; he would have bitten out his tongue rather than subject himself to such a rebuff. who was rock? how dared he? rock knew the girl, oh yes! but he refused to mention her name--as if that name would be sullied by his, pierce's, use of it. that hurt most of all; that was the bitterest pill. society! caste! on the arctic circle! it was to laugh! but phillips could not laugh. he could more easily have cried, or cursed, or raved; even to pretend to laugh off such an affront was impossible. it required no more than this show of opposition to fan the embers of his flickering desire into full flame, and, now that he was forbidden to meet that flying goddess, it seemed to him that he must do so at whatever cost. he'd go to that dance, he decided, in spite of rock; he'd go unbidden; he'd force his way in if needs be. this sudden ardor died, however, as quickly as it had been born, leaving him cold with apprehension. what would happen if he took the bit in his teeth? rock knew about laure--those detestable redcoats knew pretty much everything that went on beneath the surface of dawson life--and if pierce ran counter to the fellow's warning he would probably speak out. rock was just that sort. his methods were direct and forceful. what then? pierce cringed inwardly at the contemplation. that snow-girl was so clean, so decent, so radically different from all that laure stood for, that he shrank from associating them together even in his thoughts. well, he was paying the fiddler, and the price was high. even here on the fringe of the frontier society exacted penalty for the breach of its conventions. pierce's rebellion at this discovery, his resentment at the whole situation, prevented him from properly taking the lesson to heart. the issue was clouded, too, by a wholly natural effort at self-justification. the more he tried this latter, however, the angrier he became and the more humiliating seemed his situation. he was in no mood to calmly withstand another shock, especially when that shock was administered by joe mccaskey, of all persons; nevertheless, it came close upon the heels of rock's insult. pierce had not seen either brother since their departure for hunker creek, therefore joe's black visage leering through the window of the cashier's cage was an unwelcome surprise. "hello, phillips! how are you making it?" the man inquired. "all right." despite this gruffness, joe's grin widened. there was nothing of pleasure at the meeting, nor of friendliness behind it, however. on the contrary, it masked both malice and triumph, as was plain when he asked: "did you hear about our strike?" "what strike?" "why, it's all over town! frank and i hit pay in our first shaft--three feet of twenty-cent dirt." "really?" pierce could not restrain a movement of surprise. joe nodded and chuckled, meanwhile keeping his malignant gaze focused upon the younger man's face. "it's big. we came to town to buy grub and a dog-team and to hire a crew of hands. we've got credit at the a. c. company up to fifty thousand dollars." there was a brief pause which pierce broke by inquiring, as casually as he could: "did tom and jerry have any luck?" "sure thing! they've hit it, the same as us. you tossed off a home-stake, kid. don't believe it, eh? well, here's the proof-coarse gold from hunker." with an ostentatious flourish the speaker flung down a half-filled poke, together with a bar check. "cash me in, and don't let any of it stick to your fingers." pierce was impelled to hurl the gold sack at joe's head, but he restrained himself. his hands were shaky, however, and when he untied the thongs he was mortified at spilling some of the precious yellow particles. mortification changed to anger when the owner cried, sharply: "hey! got cashier's ague, have you? just cut out the sleight-of-hand!" pierce smothered a retort; silently he brushed the dust back into the blower and set the weights upon his scales. but mccaskey ran on with an insulting attempt at banter: "i'm onto you short-weighers. take your bit out of the drunks; i'm sober." when pierce had retied the sack and returned it he looked up and into joe's face. his own was white, his eyes were blazing. "don't pull any more comedy here," he said, quietly. "that short-weight joke doesn't go at the rialto." "oh, it don't? joke!" mccaskey snorted. "i s'pose it's a joke to spill dust--when you can't get away with it. well, i've spotted a lot of crooked cashiers in this town." "no doubt. it takes a thief to catch a thief." mccaskey started. his sneer vanished. "thief! say--" he blustered, angrily. "d'you mean--" the clash, brief as it had been, had excited attention. noting the fact that an audience was gathering, the speaker lowered his voice and, thrusting his black, scowling countenance closer to the cage opening, he said: "you needn't remind me of anything. i've got a good memory. damn' good!" after a moment he turned his back and moved away. when pierce went off shift he looked up lars anderson and received confirmation of the hunker strike. lars was in a boisterous mood and eager to share his triumph. "i knew that was a rich piece of ground," he chuckled, "and i knew i was handing those boys a good thing. but a fellow owes something to his friends, doesn't he?" "i thought you said it was low grade?" "low grade!" big lars threw back his head and laughed loudly. "i never said nothing of the kind. me knock my own ground? why, i'd have banked my life on hunker!" here was luck, pierce told himself. a fortune had been handed him on a silver platter, and he had shoved it aside. he was sick with regret; he was furious with himself for his lack of wisdom; he hated laure for the deception she had practised upon him. the waste he had made of this opportunity bred in him a feeling of desperation. toward the close of the show laure found him braced against the bar; the face he turned upon her was cold, repellent. when she urged him to take her to supper he shook his head. "what's the matter?" she inquired. "big lars never told you hunker was low grade," he declared. the girl flushed; she tossed her dark head defiantly. "well, what of it?" "simply this--tom and jerry and the mccaskeys have struck rich pay." "indeed?" "you lied to me." laure's lips parted slowly in a smile. "what did you expect? what would any girl do?" she laid a caressing hand upon his arm. "i don't care how much they make or how poor you are--" pierce disengaged her grasp. "i care!" he cried, roughly. "i've lost my big chance. they've made their piles and i'm--well, look at me." "you blame me?" he stared at her for a moment. "what's the difference whether i blame you or myself? i'm through. i've been through for some time, but--this is curtain." "pierce!" impatiently he flung her off and strode out of the theater. laure was staring blindly after him when joe mccaskey spoke to her. "have a dance?" he inquired. she undertook to answer, but her lips refused to frame any words; silently she shook her head. "what's the idea? a lovers' quarrel?" mccaskey eyed her curiously, then he chuckled mirthlessly. "you can come clean with me. i don't like him any better than you do." "mind your own business," stormed the girl in a sudden fury. "that's what i'm doing, and minding it good. i've got a lot of business--with that rat." joe's sinister black eyes held laure's in spite of her effort to avoid them; it was plain that he wished to say more, but hesitated. "maybe it would pay us to get acquainted," he finally suggested. "frank and me and the count are having a bottle of wine upstairs. better join us." "i will," said laure, after a moment. together they mounted the stairs to the gallery above. chapter xxiii "wal, w'at i tol' you?" 'poleon doret exclaimed, cheerfully. "me, i'm cut off for poor man. if one dose el dorado millionaire' give me his pay-dump, all de gold disappear biffore i get him in de sluice-box. some people is born jonah." despite this melancholy announcement 'poleon was far from depressed. on the contrary, he beamed like a boy and his eyes were sparkling with the joy of again beholding his "sister." he had returned from the hills late this evening and now he had come to fetch rouletta from her work. this was his first opportunity for a word with her alone. the girl was not unmoved by his tale of blighted expectations; she refused, nevertheless, to accept it as conclusive. "nonsense!" she said, briskly. "you know very well you haven't prospected your claim for what it's worth. you haven't had time." "i don' got to prospec' him," 'poleon asserted. "dat's good t'ing 'bout dat claim. some swede fellers above me cross-cut de whole dam' creek an' don' fin' so much as one color. sapre! dat's fonny creek. she 'ain't got no gravel." the speaker threw back his head and laughed heartily. "it's fac'! i'scover de only creek on all de yukon wit'out gravel. muck! twenty feet of solid frozen muck! it's lucky i stake on soch bum place, eh? s'pose all winter i dig an' don' fin' 'im out?" for a moment rouletta remained silent; then she said, wearily: "everything is all wrong, all upside down, isn't it? the mccaskeys struck pay; so did tom and jerry. but you--why, in all your years in this country you've never found anything. where's the justice--" "no, no! i fin' somet'ing more better as dem feller. i fin' a sister; i fin' you. by gar! i don't trade you for t'ousan' pay-streak!" lowering his voice, 'poleon said, earnestly, "i don' know how much i love you, ma soeur, until i go 'way and t'ink 'bout it." rouletta smiled mistily and touched the big fellow's hand, whereupon he continued: "all dese year i look in de mos' likely spot for gold, an' don' fin' him. wal, i mak' change. i don' look in no more creek-bottom; i'm goin' hit de high spot!" reproachfully the girl exclaimed, "you promised me to cut that out." with a grin the woodsman reassured her: "no, no! i mean i'm goin' dig on top de mountains." "not--really? why, 'poleon, gold is heavy! it sinks. it's deep down in the creek-beds." "it sink, sure 'nough," he nodded, "but where it sink from, eh? i don' lak livin' in low place, anyhow--you don' see not'in'. me, i mus' have good view." "what are you driving at?" "i tell you: long tam ago i know old miner. he's forever talk 'bout high bars, old reever-bed, an' soch t'ing. we call him 'high bar.' he mak' fonny story 'bout reever dat used to was on top de mountain. by golly! i laugh at him! but w'at you t'ink? i'm crossin' dose hill 'bove el dorado an' i see place where dose miner is shoot dry timber down into de gulch. dose log have dug up de snow an' i fin'--what?" impressively the speaker whispered one word, "gravel!" much to his disappointment, rouletta remained impassive in the face of this startling announcement. vaguely she inquired: "what of it? there's gravel everywhere. what you want is gold--" "mon dieu!" 'poleon lifted his hands in despair. "you're worse as cheechako. where gravel is dere you fin' gold, ain't you?" "why--not always." with a shrug the woodsman agreed. "of course, not always, but--" "on top of a hill?" "de tip top." "how perfectly absurd! how could gold run uphill?" "i don' know," the other confessed. "but, for dat matter, how she run downhill? she 'ain't got no legs. i s'pose de book hexplain it somehow. wal! i stake two claim--one for you, one for me. it's dandy place for cabin! you look forty mile from dat spot. mak' you feel jus' lak bird on top of high tree. dere's plenty dry wood, too, an' down below is de forks--nice town wit' saloon an' eatin'-place. you can hear de choppin' an' de win'lass creakin' and smell de smoke. it's fine place for singin' songs up dere." "'poleon!" rouletta tried to look her sternest. "you're a great, overgrown boy. you can't stick to anything. you're merely lonesome and you want to get in where the people are." "lonesome! don' i live lak bear when i'm trappin'? some winter i don' see nobody in de least." "probably i made a mistake in bringing you down here to dawson," the girl continued, meditatively. "you were doing well up the river, and you were happy. here you spend your money; you gamble, you drink--the town is spoiling you just as it is spoiling the others." "um-m! mebbe so," the man confessed. "never i felt lak i do lately. if i don' come in town to-day i swell up an' bus'. i'm full of t'ing' i can't say." "go to work somewhere." "for wages? me?" doret shook his head positively. "i try him once--cookin' for gang of rough-neck'--but i mak' joke an' i'm fire'. dem feller kick 'bout my grub an' it mak' me mad, so one day i sharpen all de table-knife. i put keen edge on dem--lak razor." the speaker showed his white teeth in a flashing smile. "dat's meanes' trick ever i play. sapre! dem feller cut deir mouth so fast dey mos' die of bleedin'. no, i ain't hired man for nobody. i mus' be free." "very well," rouletta sighed, resignedly, "i won't scold you, for--i'm too glad to see you." affectionately she squeezed his arm, whereupon he beamed again in the frankest delight. "now, then, we'll have supper and you can take me home." the rialto was crowded with its usual midnight throng; there was the hubbub of loud voices and the ebb and flow of laughter. from midway of the gambling-hall rose the noisy exhortations of some amateur gamester who was breathing upon his dice and pleading earnestly, feelingly, with "little joe"; from the theater issued the strains of a sentimental ballad. as rouletta and her companion edged their way toward the lunch-counter in the next room they were intercepted by the snowbird, whose nightly labors had also ended. "all aboard for the big eats," the latter announced. "mocha's buttoned up in a stud game where he dassen't turn his head to spit. he's good for all night, but i'm on the job." "i'm having supper with 'poleon," rouletta told him. the snowbird paused in dismay. "say! you can't run out on a pal," he protested. "you got to o.k. my vittles or they won't harmonize." "but 'poleon has just come in from the creeks and we've a lot to talk about." "won't it keep? i never seen talk spoil overnight." when rouletta smilingly shook her head mr. ryan dangled a tempting bait before her. "i got a swell fairy-story for you. i bet you'd eat it up. it's like this: once upon a time there was a beautiful princess named rouletta and she lived in an old castle all covered with ivy. it was smothered up in them vines till you'd vamp right by and never see it. along came a busted prince who had been spendin' his vacation and some perfectly good ten-dollar bills in the next county that you could scarcely tell from the real thing. he was takin' it afoot, on account of the jailer's daughter, who had slipped him a file along with his laundry, but she hadn't thought to put in any lunch. see? well, it's a story of how this here hungry prince et the greens off of the castle and discovered the sleepin' princess. it's a knockout. i bet you'd like it." "i'm sure i would," rouletta agreed. "save it for to-morrow night." the snowbird was reluctant in yielding; he eyed 'poleon darkly, and there was both resentment and suspicion in his somber glance when he finally turned away. not until rouletta and her companion were perched upon their high stools at the oilclothcovered lunch-counter did the latter speak; then he inquired, with a frown: "tell me, is any dese feller mak' love on you, ma soeur?" "why, no! they're perfectly splendid, like you. why the terrible black look?" "gamblers! sure-t'ing guys! boosters! bah! better dey lef you alone, dat's all. you're nice gal; too nice for dem feller." rouletta smiled mirthlessly; there was an expression in her eyes that the woodsman had never seen. "'too nice!' that's almost funny when you think about it. what sort of men would make love to me, if not gamblers, fellows like ryan?" 'poleon breathed an exclamation of astonishment at this assertion. "wat you sayin'?" he cried. "if dat loafer mak' fresh talk wit' you i--pull him in two piece wit' dese fingers. dere's plenty good man. i--you--" he paused uncertainly; then his tone changed to one of appeal. "you won't marry wit' nobody, eh? promise me dat." "that's an easy promise, under the circumstances." "bien! i never t'ink 'bout you gettin' married. by gosh! dat's fierce t'ing, for sure! wat i'll do if--" 'poleon shook his massive shoulders as if to rid himself of such unwelcome speculations. "no danger!" rouletta's crooked smile did not go unnoticed. 'poleon studied her face intently; then he inquired: "wat ail' you, li'l sister?" "why--nothing." "oh yes! i got eye lak fox. you seeck?" "the idea!" miss kirby pulled herself together, but there was such genuine concern in her companion's face that her chin quivered. she felt the need of saying something diverting; then abruptly she turned away. 'poleon's big hand closed over hers; in a voice too low for any but her ears he said: "somet'ing is kill de song in your heart, ma petite. i give my life for mak' you happy. sometam you care for tell me, mebbe i can he'p li'l bit." the girl suddenly bowed her head; her struggling tears overflowed reluctantly; in a weary, heartsick murmur she confessed: "i'm the most miserable girl in the world. i'm so--unhappy." some instinct of delicacy prompted the woodsman to refrain from speaking. in the same listless monotone rouletta continued: "i've always been a lucky gambler, but--the cards have turned against me. i've been playing my own stakes and i've lost." "you been playing de bank?" he queried, in some bewilderment. "no, a gambler never plays his own game. he always bucks the other fellow's. i've been playing--hearts." 'poleon's grasp upon her hand tightened. "i see," he said. "wal, bad luck is boun' to change." in rouletta's eyes, when she looked up, was a vision of some glory far beyond the woodsman's sight. her lips had parted, her tears had dried. "i wonder--" she breathed. "father's luck always turned. 'don't weaken; be a thoroughbred!' that's what he used to tell me. he'd be ashamed of me now, wouldn't he? i've told you my troubles, 'poleon, because you're all i have left. forgive me, please, big brother." "forgive? mon dieu!" said he. their midnight meal was set out; to them it was tasteless, and neither one made more than a silent pretense of eating it. they were absorbed in their own thoughts when the sound of high voices, a commotion of some sort at the front of the saloon, attracted their attention. rouletta's ears were the first to catch it; she turned, then uttered a breathless exclamation. the next instant she had slid down from her perch and was hurrying away. 'poleon strode after her; he was at her back when she paused on the outskirts of a group which had assembled near the cashier's cage. pierce phillips had left his post behind the scales; he, count courteau, and ben miller, the proprietor, were arguing hotly. rock, the police lieutenant, was listening to first one then another. the count was deeply intoxicated; nevertheless, he managed to carry himself with something of an air, and at the moment he was making himself heard with considerable vehemence. "i have been drinking, to be sure," he acknowledged, "but am i drunk? no. damnation! there is the evidence." in his hand he was holding a small gold-sack, and this he shook defiantly under the officer's nose. "do you call that eight hundred dollars? i ask you. weigh it! weigh it!" rock took the little leather bag in his fingers; then he agreed. "it's a lot short of eight hundred, for a fact, but--" in a strong voice phillips cried: "i don't know what he had. that's all there was in the sack when he paid his check." the count lurched forward, his face purple with indignation. "for shame!" he cried. "you thought i was blind. you thought i was like these other--cattle. but i know to a dollar--" he turned to the crowd. "here! i will prove what i say. mccaskey, bear me out." with a show of some reluctance frank, the younger and the smaller of the two brothers, nodded to the police lieutenant. "he's giving you the straight goods. he had eight hundred and something on him, when he went up to the cage." rock eyed the speaker sharply. "how do you know?" said he. "joe and i was with him for the last hour and a half. ain't that right, joe?" joe verified this statement. "understand, this ain't any of our doings. we don't want to mix up in it, but the count had a thousand dollars, that much i'll swear to. he lost about a hundred and forty up the street and he bought two rounds of drinks afterward. i ain't quick at figures--" pierce uttered a threatening cry. he moved toward the speaker, but rock laid a hand on his arm and in a tone of authority exclaimed: "none of that, phillips. i'll do all the fighting." ben miller, who likewise had bestirred himself to forestall violence, now spoke up. "i'm not boosting for the house," said he, "but i want more proof than this kind of chatter. pierce has been weighing here since last fall, and nobody ever saw him go south with a color. if he split this poke he must have the stuff on him. let rock search you, pierce." phillips agreed readily enough to this suggestion, and assisted the officer's search of his pockets, a procedure which yielded nothing. "dat boy's no t'ief," 'poleon whispered to rouletta. "m'sieu' le comte has been frisk' by somebody." the girl did not answer. she was intently watching the little drama before her. during the search miller forced his way out of the ring of spectators, unlocked the gate of the cashier's cage, and passed inside. "we keep our takin's in one pile, and i'll lay a little eight to five that they'll balance up with the checks to a pennyweight," said he. "just wait till i add up the figgers and weigh--" he paused; he stooped; then he rose with something he had picked up from the floor beneath his feet. "what have you got, ben?" it was rock speaking. "dam' if i know! there it is." the proprietor shoved a clean, new moose-skin gold-sack through the wicket. rock examined the bag, then he lifted an inquiring gaze to pierce phillips. there was a general craning of necks, a shifting of feet, a rustle of whispers. "ah!" mockingly exclaimed courteau. "i was dreaming, eh? to be sure!" he laughed disagreeably. "is this 'house' money?" inquired the redcoat. miller shook his head in some bewilderment. "we don't keep two kitties. i'll weigh it and see if it adds up with the count's--" "oh, it will add up!" phillips declared, his face even whiter than before. "it's a plant, so of course it will add up." defiantly he met the glances that were fixed upon him. as his eyes roved over the faces turned upon him he became conscious for the first tune of 'poleon's and rouletta's presence, also that laure had somehow appeared upon the scene. the latter was watching him with a peculiar expression of hostility frozen upon her features; her dark eyes were glowing, she was sneering faintly. of all the bystanders, perhaps the two mccaskeys seemed the least inclined to take part in the affair. both brothers, in fact, appeared desirous of effacing themselves as effectively as possible. but courteau's indignation grew, and in a burst of excitement he disclaimed the guilt implied in pierce's words. "so! you plead innocence! you imply that i robbed myself, eh? well, how did i place the gold yonder? i ask you? am i a magician?" he waved his arms wildly, then in a tone of malevolence he cried: "this is not the first time you have been accused of theft. i have heard that story about sheep camp." "sheep camp, yes!" phillips' eyes ignored the speaker; his gaze flew to joe mccaskey's face and to him he directed his next words: "the whole thing is plain enough to me. you tried something like this once before, joe, and failed. i suppose your back is well enough now for the rest of those forty lashes. well, you'll get 'em--" the count came promptly to the rescue of his friend. "ho! again you lay your guilt upon others. those miners at sheep camp let you off easy. well, a pretty woman can do much with a miners' meeting, but here there will be no devoted lady to the rescue--no skirt to hide behind, for--" courteau got no further. ignoring rock's previous admonition, pierce knocked the fellow down with a swift, clean blow. he would have followed up his attack only for the lieutenant, who grappled with him. "here! do you want me to put you in irons?" courteau raised himself with difficulty; he groped for the bar and supported himself dizzily thereon, snarling from the pain. with his free hand he felt his cheek where pierce's knuckles had found lodgment; then, as a fuller realization of the indignity his privileged person had suffered came home to him, he burst into a torrent of frenzied abuse. "shut up!" the officer growled, unsympathetically. "i know as much about that trial at sheep camp as you do, and if phillips hadn't floored you i would. that's how you stand with me. you, too!" he shot at the mccaskeys. "let me warn you if this is a frame-up you'll all go on the woodpile for the winter. d'you hear me? of course, if you want to press this charge i'll make the arrest, but i'll just take you three fellows along so you can do some swearing before the colonel, where it'll go on the records." "arrest? but certainly!" screamed the count. "the fellow is a thief, a pig. he struck me. me! you saw him. i--" "sure, i saw him!" the officer grinned. "i was afraid he'd miss you. stop yelling and come along." with a nod that included the mccaskeys as well as the titled speaker he linked arms with pierce phillips and led the way out into the night. "w'at fool biznesse!" doret indignantly exclaimed. "dat boy is hones' as church." he looked down at the sound of rouletta's voice; then he started. the girl's face was strained and white and miserable; her hands were clasped over her bosom; she was staring horrified at the door through which phillips had been taken. she swayed as if about to fall. 'poleon half dragged, half carried her out into the street; with his arm about her waist he helped her toward her hotel. the walk was a silent one, for rouletta was in a state bordering upon collapse; gradually she regained control of herself and stumbled along beside him. "they're three to one," she said, finally. "oh, 'poleon! they'll swear it on him. the police are strict; they'll give him five years. i heard the colonel say so." "dere's been good deal of short-weighin', but--" doret shook his head. "nobody goin' believe courteau. and mccaskey is dam' t'ief." "if--only i--could help him. you'll go to him, 'poleon, won't you? promise." silently the canadian assented. they had reached the door of the hotel before he spoke again; then he said slowly, quietly: "you been playin' 'hearts' wit' him, ma soeur? you--you love him? yes?" "oh--yes!" the confession came in a miserable gasp. "bien! i never s'pect biff ore. wal, dat's all right." "the police are swift and merciless," rouletta persisted, fearfully. "they hate the front street crowd; they'd like to make an example." "go in your li'l bed an' sleep," he told her, gently. "dis t'ing is comin' out all right. 'poleon fix it, sure; he's dandy fixer." for some time after the door had closed upon rouletta the big fellow stood with bent head, staring at the snow beneath his feet. the cheer, the sympathy, had left his face; the smile had vanished from his lips; his features were set and stony. with an effort he shook himself, then, murmured: "poor li'l bird! wal, i s'pose now i got to bus' dat jail!" chapter xxiv although 'poleon had spoken with confidence, he found, upon arriving at police headquarters, that the situation was by no means as simple as it had appeared, and that something more than a mere word regarding phillips' character would be required to offset the very definite accusation against him. courteau, he learned, had pressed his charge with vigor, and although the two mccaskeys had maintained their outward show of reluctance at being dragged into the affair, they had, nevertheless, substantiated his statements with a thoroughness and a detail that hinted more than a little at vindictiveness. pierce, of course, had denied his guilt, but his total inability to explain how the gold-dust in dispute came to be concealed in the cashier's cage, to which no one but he had access, had left the police no alternative except to hold him. by the time 'poleon arrived pierce had been locked up for the night. drawing rock aside, doret put in an earnest plea for his young friend. the lieutenant answered him with some impatience: "i admit it looks fishy, but what is there to do? the colonel likes pierce, as we all do, but--he had no choice." "it's dirty frame-up." "i imagine he believes so. and yet--how the deuce did that sack get where it was? i was standing alongside the mccaskeys when courteau went up to pay his check, and i'm sure they had no part in it." "m'sieu' le comte is sore," 'poleon asserted. "me, i savvy plenty. wal, how we goin' get dat boy from out of jail, eh? by gar! i bet i don' sleep none if i'm lock up." "get bail for him." 'poleon was frankly puzzled at this suggestion, but when its nature had been explained his face lit up. "ho! dat's nice arrangements, for sure. come! i fix it now." "have you got enough money?" "i got 'bout t'irty dollar, but dat ain't mak' no differ. i go to workin' somewhere. me, i'm good for anyt'ing." "that won't do," rock smiled. "you don't understand." laboriously he made more plain the mysteries of court procedure, whereupon his hearer expressed the frankest astonishment. "sacre!" the latter exclaimed. "what for you say two, free t'ousan' dollar? courteau 'ain't lose but six hundred, an' he's got it back. no! i'm t'inkin' you policemans is got good sense, but i lak better a miners' meetin'. us 'sour-dough' mak' better law as dem feller at ottawa." "morris best was willing to go his bail," rock informed him, "but miller wouldn't allow it. ben is sore at having the rialto implicated--there's been so much short-weighing going on. understand?" 'poleon wagged his head in bewilderment. "i don' savvy dis new kin' of law you feller is bring in de country. s'pose i say, 'm'sieu' jodge, i know dis boy long tam; he don' steal dat gold.' de jodge he say, 'doret, how much money you got? t'ousand dollar?' i say, 'sure! i got 'bout t'ousand dollar.' den he tell me, 'wal, dat ain't 'nough. mebbe so you better gimme two t'ousan' dollar biffore i b'lieve you.' bien! i go down-town an' win 'noder t'ousan' on de high card, or mebbe so i stick up some feller, den i come back and m'sieu' le jodge he say: 'dat's fine! now we let phillips go home. he don' steal not'in'.' wat i t'ink of dem proceedin's? eh? i t'ink de jodge is dam' grafter!" rock laughed heartily. "don't let colonel cavendish hear you," he cautioned. "seriously now, he'd let pierce go if he could; he told me so. he'll undoubtedly allow him the freedom of the barracks, so he'll really be on parole until his trial." "trial? you goin' try him again?" the woodsman could make little of the affair. "if you try him two tam, dose crook is mak' t'ief of pierce for sure. one trial is plenty. i s'pose mebbe i better kill dem feller off an' settle dis t'ing." "don't talk like that," rock told him. "i'm not saying they don't need killing, but--nobody gets away with that stuff nowadays." "no?" 'poleon was interested and a trifle defiant. "for why? you never catch me, m'sieu'. nobody is able for doin' dat. i'm good traveler." rock eyed the stalwart speaker meditatively. "i'd hate to take your trail, that's a fact, but i'd have to do it. however, that would be a poor way to help pierce. if he's really innocent, courteau will have a hard job to convict him. i suggest that you let matters rest as they are for a day or so. we'll treat the kid all right." on the way to her room rouletta met the countess courteau, and in a few words made known the facts of pierce's arrest. the elder woman listened in astonishment. "arrested? for theft? absurd! who made the charge?" "count courteau." "courteau? where did he get a thousand dollars?" the speaker's face was set in an expression of utter incredulity. "i don't know. it's all too wretched, too terrible--" rouletta's voice broke; she hid her face in her hands. for a moment there was silence; then the elder woman exclaimed, harshly, peremptorily: "tell me everything. quick! there's a reason why i must know all about it." drawing rouletta into her room, she forced her into a chair, then stood over her while the latter repeated the story in greater detail. "so! that's it!" the countess cried, at last. "the mccaskeys backed him up. of course! and he referred to sheep camp--to me. he's the sort to do a thing like that. god! what a dog!" after a time she went on: "i'm sorry pierce struck him; he'll never get over that and it will make it harder--much harder." "you think it can be straightened out?" rouletta's face was strained; her eyes searched the former speaker's face eagerly. "it's got to be straightened out. it would be monstrous to allow--" the countess shook her head, then, with a mirthless smile, exclaimed: "but what a situation! henri, of all persons! it's pleasant for me, isn't it? well, somebody planted that poke--probably one of the mccaskeys. they'd like to railroad the boy. joe is as vindictive as an indian and he blames pierce and me for his brother's death." in desperation rouletta cried: "i'll pay the count back his money--i'll double it." "his money?" sneered the woman. "he hasn't a cent, except what i give him. that was mccaskey's dust." she stared at the apprehensive figure crouched upon the edge of the chair, and slowly her expression softened. in a gentler tone she said, "i see you didn't take my advice; you didn't heed my warning." "who ever heeds a warning like yours?" "does pierce know that you--feel this way about him?" rouletta sighed wearily. "i didn't know myself, although i more than half suspected. i didn't permit myself to think, it made me so unhappy." "it ought to satisfy me somewhat to learn that he doesn't care for you, but--somehow it doesn't. he didn't care for me, either. but i cared for him. i love him now, just as you love him--better, probably. oh, why conceal it? i've spent a good many black hours thinking about it and trying to fight it. mind you, it wasn't his fault; it was just fate. there are some fellows who go smiling and singing along through life--clean, decent fellows, too--attending to their own affairs in a perfectly proper manner, but leaving a trail of havoc behind them. it isn't so true of women--they're usually flirts--their smiles don't last and the echo of their songs dies out. he's perfectly impossible for me. i wouldn't marry him if i were free and if he asked me. but that has nothing whatever to do with the case." "i had no idea!" rouletta said. "i suppose there's no hope for me, either. i'm not his kind. he's told me about his life, his people. i wouldn't fit in." "it isn't that--people are adaptable, they make themselves fit, for a while at least--it's a question of identities. as much a matter of family histories as anything else. you're his antithesis in every respect and--like should mate with like. now then, about this other trouble. i must work in my own way, and i see but one. i'll have to pay high, but--" the speaker lifted her shoulders as if a cold wind had chilled her. "i've paid high, up to date, and i suppose i shall to the end. meanwhile, if you can get him out of jail, do so by all means. i can't. i daren't even try." when, at a late hour, count henri courteau entered the establishment that bore his name he was both surprised and angered to find his wife still awake. the guests of the hotel were asleep, the place was quiet, but the countess was reading in an easy-chair beside the office stove. she was in negligee, her feet were resting upon the stove fender. she turned her head to say: "well, henri, you look better than i thought you would." the count passed a caressing hand over his swollen cheek and his discolored left eye. "you heard about the fight, eh?" he inquired, thickly. "yes--if you'd call it that." courteau grimaced, but there was a ring of triumph and of satisfaction in his voice when he cried: "well, what do you think of that fellow? it was like him, wasn't it, after i had caught him red-handed?" "to punch you? quite like him," agreed the woman. "pig! to strike a defenseless man. without warning, too. it shows his breeding. and now"--the speaker sneered openly--"i suppose you will bail him out." "indeed! why should i?" "oh, don't pretend innocence!" the count stormed. "don't act so unconcerned. what's your game, anyhow? whatever it is, that fellow will cut cord-wood for the rest of the winter where the whole of dawson can see him and say, 'behold the lover of the countess courteau!'" "there's some mistake. he isn't a thief." "no?" the husband swayed a few steps closer, his face working disagreeably. "already it is proved. he is exposed, ruined. bah! he made of me a laughing-stock. well, he shall suffer! a born thief, that's what he is. what have you to say?" "why--nothing. i hoped it was a mistake, that's all." "you hoped! to be sure!" sneered the speaker. "well, what are you going to do about it?" when his wife said nothing the man muttered, in some astonishment: "i didn't expect you to take it so quietly. i was prepared for a scene. what ails you?" hilda laid down her book. she turned to face her accuser. "why should i make a scene?" she asked. "i've had nothing to do with phillips since we parted company at white horse. i've scarcely spoken to him, and you know it." "you don't deny there was something between you?" the woman shrugged non-committally, her lips parted in a faint, cheerless smile. "i deny nothing. i admit nothing." although courteau's brain was fogged, he experienced a growing surprise at the self-possession with which his wife had taken this blow which he had aimed as much at her as at pierce phillips; he studied her intently, a mingling of suspicion, of anger, and of admiration in his uncertain gaze. he saw, for one thing, that his effort to reach her had failed and that she remained completely the mistress of herself. she reclined at ease in her comfortable chair, quite unstirred by his derision, his jubilation. he became aware, also, of the fact that she presented an extremely attractive picture, for the soft white fur of the loose robe she wore exposed an alluring glimpse of snowy throat and bosom; one wide sleeve had fallen back, showing a smoothly rounded arm; her silken ankles, lifted to the cozy warmth of the stove, were small and trim; her feet were shod in neat high-heeled slippers. the count admired neatly shod ladies. "you're a very smart-looking woman," he cried, with some reluctance. "you're beautiful, hilda. i don't blame the young fool for falling. but you're too old, too wise--" hilda nodded. "you've said it. too old and too wise. if i'd been as young and as silly as when i met you--who knows? he's a handsome boy." again the husband's anger blazed up. "but i'm not young and silly," his wife interrupted. "just the same, you played me a rotten trick," the count exploded. "and i don't forget. as for him"--he swore savagely--"he'll learn that it's not safe to humiliate me, to rob me of any woman--wife or mistress. you've never told me the half; i've had to guess. but i'm patient, i know how to wait and to use my eyes and my ears. then to strike me! perdition! i'll follow this through, never fear." "how did you get a thousand dollars, henri?" the wife inquired, curiously. courteau's gaze shifted. "what difference? i won it on a turn at the north star; it was given to me; i found it. anyhow, i had it. it was a good night for me; yes, a very good night. i had my revenge and i showed my friends that i'm a man to be reckoned with." in a tone unexpectedly humble the woman said: "i had no idea you cared very much what i did or how i carried on. after all, it was your own fault." "mine?" the count laughed in derision and astonishment. "exactly! if you had taken the trouble to show me that you cared--well, things might have been different. however--" the countess rose, and with another change of voice and manner said: "come along. let's do something for your eye." the count stared at her in bewilderment, then he turned away, crying: "bah! i want no help." at the door he paused to jeer once more. "pierce phillips! a common thief, a despicable creature who robs the very man he had most deeply injured. i've exposed him to the law and to public scorn. sleep on that, my dear. dream on it." with a chuckle he traced an uncertain course to the stairs, mounted them to his room, and slammed his door behind him. he had undressed and flung himself into bed, but he had not yet fallen asleep when the door reopened and his wife entered, bearing in her hand a steaming pitcher of hot water. this she deposited; into it she dipped a folded towel. "i'm sorry you're disfigured, henri," she told him, quietly. despite his surly protests, she bathed and soothed his swollen features until he dropped asleep, after which she stole out and down to her room on the floor below. there, however, she paused, staring back up the empty stairway, a look of deepest loathing upon her face. slowly, carefully, she wiped her hands as if they were unclean; her lips curled into a mirthless smile; then she passed into her chamber and turned the key behind her. rock had spoken truly in assuring 'poleon that pierce phillips' lot would be made as easy for him as possible. that is what happened. no one at the barracks appeared to take much stock in courteau's charge, and even colonel cavendish, the commandant, took the trouble to send for him early the next morning and to ask for the whole story in detail. when pierce had given it the officer nodded. "it looks very much like a spite case. i couldn't imagine your doing such a thing, my boy." "it is a spite case, nothing else." "courteau is a rotter, and your affair with his wife explains his animosity." "it wasn't exactly an 'affair,' sir." pierce colored slightly as he went on to explain. "you see, i was perfectly honest. i didn't know there was a count, and when i learned there was i up stakes and ended it. she was the first woman who ever--well, sir, i admired her tremendously. she--impressed me wonderfully." "no doubt," the colonel smiled. "she's an impressive person. are you still fond of her?" "not in the same way." "what about this girl laure?" this time pierce flushed uncomfortably. "i've no excuses to offer there, sir--no explanations. we--just drifted together. it was a long trip and the yukon does that sort of thing. force of circumstance as much as anything, i presume. i've been trying to break away, but--" he shrugged. "you've been a pretty foolish lad." pierce remained silent at this accusation, and the colonel went on: "however, i didn't bring you here to lecture you. the royal mounted have other things to think about than young wasters who throw themselves away. after all, it's a free-and-easy country and if you want to play ducks and drakes it's your own business. i merely want you to realize that you've put yourself in a bad light and that you don't come into court with clean hands." "i understand. i put in a wakeful night thinking about it. it's the first time in a long while that i've done any serious thinking." "well, don't be discouraged. a little thinking will benefit you. now then, i'm going to put rock at work on your case, and meanwhile you may have the liberty of the barracks. you're a gentleman, and i trust you to act as one." pierce was only too grateful for this courtesy, and to realize that he retained the respect of this middle-aged, soldierly officer, whom he had long admired, filled him with deep relief. he gave his promise readily enough. later in the day broad and bridges came in to see him, and their indignation at the outrage, their positive assertion that it was nothing less than a deliberate conspiracy, and so considered among the front street resorts, immensely cheered him. "you remember the holler i let up when them sheep-campers wanted to hang mccaskey?" broad inquired. "it was my mistake. his ear and a hemp knot would go together like rheumatism and liniment." bridges agreed. "funny, us three bein' tillicums, ain't it?" he mused. "especially after the way we dredged you. we didn't need your loose change, but--there it was, so we took it." "you'd of done better if you'd turned on the hollow of your foot that day and romped right back to the old farm," broad asserted. "you'd never of doubled up with the mccaskeys and you'd still be the blushing yokel you was." "yes, you're a different kid, now." both gamblers, it seemed, were in the melancholy mood for moralizing. "why, we was talkin' to rouletta about you this morning. she's all bereaved up over this thing; she sent us here to cheer you. you was clean as an apple, then--and easier to pick--now you're just a common bar-fly, the same as us. laure done it. she's the baby vampire that made a bum of you." "you're not very flattering." phillips smiled faintly. "oh, i'm sort of repeatin' what letty said. she put me to thinkin'. she's quite a noisy little missionary when she gets started." "missionary!" broad exclaimed, in disdain. "i don't like the word. them birds is about useful as a hip pocket in an undershirt. why, missionaries don't do no real, lasting good outside of indian villages! us sure-thing guys are the best missionaries that ever struck this country. look at the good we done around dyea and skagway. them gospel-bringers never touched it. we met the suckers on the edge of the frozen north and we turned 'em back by the score. them three walnut husks done more good than the ten commandments. yes, sir, a set of cheatin' tools will save more strayed lambs than a ship-load of testaments." "letty figgers that somebody tossed that goldsack over the top of the cage after you follered the count out." "impossible," pierce declared. "i got an idea." it was broad speaking again. "the mere contemplation of physical violence unmans that frog. he'd about as soon have a beatin' as have a leg cut off with a case-knife. s'pose me and the kid lure him to some lonely spot--some good yellin'-place--and set upon him with a coupla pick-handles. we'll make him confess or we'll maim and meller him till he backs out through his bootlegs. what d'you say?" pierce shook his head. "something must be done, but i doubt if that's it. it's tough to be--disgraced, to have a thing like this hanging over you. i wouldn't mind it half so much if i were up for murder or arson or any man's-sized crime. anything except stealing!" "a mere matter of choice," the former speaker lightly declared. "we got boys around the rialto that has tried 'em all. they don't notice no particular difference." for some time the three friends discussed the situation, then, when his visitors rose to go, pierce accompanied them to the limits of the barracks premises and there stood looking after them, realizing with a fresh pang that he was a prisoner. it was an unfortunate predicament, he reflected, and quite as unpleasant as the one which had brought him into conflict with the angry men of sheep camp. that had been an experience fraught with peril, but his present plight was little better, it seemed to him, for already he felt the weight of the dominion over him, already he fancied himself enmeshed in a discouraging tangle of red tape. there was no adventurous thrill to this affair, nothing but an odious feeling of shame and disgrace which he could not shake off. he was staring morosely at the ground between his feet when he heard a voice that caused him to start. there, facing him with a light of pleasure in her blue eyes, was the girl of the skees. "hello!" said she. she extended her hand, and her mitten closed over pierce's fingers with a firm clasp. "i'm awfully glad to see you again, mr--" she hesitated, then with a smile confessed, "do you know, you're my only pupil and yet i've never heard your name." "phillips," said he. "you don't deserve to be remembered at all, for you didn't come to the dance. and after you had promised, too." "i couldn't come," he assured her, truthfully enough. "i looked for you. i was quite hurt when you failed to appear. then i thought perhaps you expected something more formal than a mere verbal invitation, and in that way i managed to save my vanity. if i'd known who you were or how to find you i'd have had my father send you a note. if it wasn't that, i'm glad. well, there's another dance this week and i'll expect you." "i--i'm not dancing," he stammered. "not at the barracks, anyhow." the girl was puzzled; therefore pierce summoned his courage and explained, with as brave an attempt at lightness as he could afford: "you see before you a victim of unhappy circumstance, a person to be shunned. i'm worse than a case of smallpox. i don't think you should be seen talking to me." "what are you driving at?" "i'm getting up the spiritual momentum necessary to tell you that i'm a thief! truly. anyhow, three choice gentlemen are so sure of it that they went to the trouble of perjuring themselves and having me arrested--" "arrested? you?" "exactly. and the evidence is very strong. i almost think i must be guilty." "are you?" pierce shook his head. "of course you're not. i remember, now--something father said at breakfast, but i paid no attention. you fought with that good-looking french count, didn't you?" "thank you for reminding me of the one cheerful feature connected with the entire affair. yes, i raised my hand to him in anger--and let it fall, but lieutenant rock spoiled the whole party." "tell me everything, please." pierce was more than willing to oblige, and he began his recital at the time of his first meeting with joe mccaskey on the beach at dyea. while he talked the girl listened with that peculiar open-eyed meditative gravity he had noted upon their former meeting. when he had finished she cried, breathlessly: "why, it's as exciting as a book!" "you think so? i don't. if i were only a clever book character i'd execute some dramatic coup and confound my enemies--book people always do. but my mind is a blank, my ingenuity is at a complete standstill. i feel perfectly foolish and impotent. to save me, i can't understand how that gold got where it was, for the cashier's cage is made of wire and the door has a spring-lock. i heard it snap back of me when i followed the count outside. i had an insane idea that his nose would stretch if i pulled it and i believe yet it would. well, i've spent one night in the dungeon and i'm not cut out to enjoy that mode of life. all i can think about is the prisoner of chillon and the man in the iron mask and other distressing instances of the law's injustice. i feel as if i'd grown a gray beard in the last twelve hours. do i look much older than when we met?" the girl shook her head. "it's tremendously dramatic. think what a story it will make when it's over and when you look back on it." "do you feel that way, too?" pierce inquired, curiously. "as if everything is an adventure? i used to. i used to stand outside of myself and look on, but now--i'm on the inside, looking out. i suppose it's the effect of the gray beard. experience comes fast in this country. to one thing i've made up my mind, however; when i get out of this scrape, if i ever do, i'm going away up into the hills where the wind can blow me clean, and stay there." "it's a perfect shame!" the girl said, indignantly. "i shall tell father to fix it. he fixes everything i ask him to. he's wonderful, as you probably know." "inasmuch as i haven't the faintest idea who he is--" "why, he's colonel cavendish! i'm josephine cavendish. i thought everybody knew me." pierce could not restrain a start of surprise. very humbly he inquired: "now that you understand who i am and what i'm charged with, do you want to--know me; be friends with me?" "we are friends," miss cavendish warmly declared. "that's not something that may happen; it has happened. i'm peculiar about such matters; i have my own way of looking at them. and now that we're friends we're going to be friends throughout and i'm going to help you. come along and meet mother." "i--don't know how far my parole extends," pierce ventured, doubtfully. "nonsense! there's only one authority around here. father thinks he's it, but he isn't. i am. you're my prisoner now. give me your word you won't try to escape--" "escape!" pierce smiled broadly. "i don't much care if i never get out. prisons aren't half as bad as they're pictured." "then come!" chapter xxv "you really must do something for this boy pierce phillips." mrs. cavendish spoke with decision. the newspaper which the colonel was reading was barely six weeks old, therefore he was deeply engrossed in it, and he looked up somewhat absentmindedly. "yes, yes. of course, my dear," he murmured. "what does he want now?" "why, he wants his liberty! he wants this absurd charge against him dismissed! it's a shame to hold a boy of his character, his breeding, on the mere word of a man like count courteau." colonel cavendish smiled quizzically. "you, too, eh?" said he. "what do you mean by that?" "why, you're the fourth woman who has appealed to me since his arrest. i dare say i'll hear from others. i never saw a fellow who had the female vote so solidly behind him. i'm beginning to regard him as a sort of domestic menace." "you surely don't believe him guilty?" when her husband refused to commit himself mrs. cavendish exclaimed, "rubbish!" "first josephine came to me," the colonel observed. "she was deeply indignant and considerably disappointed in me as a man and a father when i refused to quash the entire proceedings and apologize, on behalf of the dominion government, for the injury to the lad's feelings. she was actually peeved. what ails her i don't know. then the countess courteau dropped in, and so did that 'lady dealer' from the rialto. now you take up his defense." the speaker paused thoughtfully for an instant. "it's bad enough to have the fellow hanging around our quarters at all hours, but josephine actually suggested that we have him dine with us!" "i know. she spoke of it to me. but he isn't 'hanging around at all hours.' josephine is interested in his case, just as i am, because--" "my dear! he's a weigher in a saloon, a gambling-house employee. d'you think it wise to raise such a dust about him? i like the boy myself--can't help liking him--but you understand what he's been doing? he's been cutting up; going the pace. i never knew you to countenance a fellow--" "i never saw a boy toward whom i felt so--motherly," mrs. cavendish said, with some irrelevance. "i don't like wild young men any better than you do, but--he isn't a thief, of that i'm sure." "look here." colonel cavendish laid down his paper, and there was more gravity than usual in his tone. "i haven't told you everything, but it's evidently time i did. phillips was mixed up with bad associates, the very worst in town--" "so he told me." "he couldn't have told you what i'm about to. he had a most unfortunate affair with a dance-hall girl--one that reflects no credit upon him. he was on the straight path to ruin and going at a gallop, drinking, gambling--everything." "all the more reason for trying to save him. remember, you were pretty wild yourself." "wait! i don't say he's guilty of this charge; i want to believe him innocent--i'd like to help prove it. for that very reason it occurred to me that laure--she's the dance-hall girl--might throw some light on the matter, so i put rock to work on her. well, his report wasn't pleasant. the girl talked, but what she said didn't help phillips. she confessed that he'd been stealing right along and giving her the money." mrs. cavendish was shocked, incredulous. after a moment, however, she shook her head positively and exclaimed, "i don't believe a word of it." "she's going to swear to it." "her oath would be no better than her word--" "good lord!" the colonel cried, testily. "has this young imp completely hypnotized you women? the kirby girl is frightened to death, and the countess--well, she told me herself that her husband's jealousy was at the bottom of the whole thing. laure, in spite of what she said to rock, is behaving like a mad person. i dropped in at the rialto this evening and she asked me what was the worst pierce could expect. i made it strong, purposely, and i thought she'd faint. no, it's a nasty affair, all through. and, by jove! to cap the climax, you and josephine take part in it! i flatter myself that i'm democratic, but--have him here to dine! gad! that's playing democracy pretty strong." "it isn't fair to imply that he's nothing more than a ladies' man. they're detestable. the men like phillips, too." "true," cavendish admitted. "he has the god-given faculty of making friends, and for that alone i can forgive him almost anything. it's a wonderful faculty--better than being born lucky or rich or handsome. i'm fond of him, but i've favored him all i can. if i thought josephine were seriously interested in him--well, i wouldn't feel so friendly." the speaker laughed shortly, "no. the man who claims that girl's attention must be clean through and through. he must stand the acid test." when his wife silently approved this sentiment the colonel picked up his paper and resumed his reading. pierce's friends were indeed uniformly indignant, and without exception they maintained their faith in his innocence; most of them, in fact, actually applied themselves to the task of clearing him of courteau's charge. but of the latter the one who applied herself the most thoughtfully, the most seriously, was the countess courteau. having reasoned that she herself was indirectly responsible for his plight, she set about aiding him in a thoroughly feminine and indirect manner. it was an unpleasant undertaking; she took it up with intense abhorrence; it required her utmost determination to carry it on. her plan had formed itself immediately she had learned what had happened; her meeting with the count that evening and her unexpected solicitude, her unbidden attention to his injury, were a part of it. as time went on she assumed an air that amazed the man. she meekly accepted his reproaches, she submitted to his abuse; cautiously, patiently she paved the way to a reconciliation. it was by no means easy, for she and henri had long lived in what was little better than a state of open hostility, and she had been at no pains to conceal the utter disregard and contempt she felt for him. he, of course, had resented it; her change of demeanor now awoke his suspicion. he was a vain and shallow person, however; his conceit was thoroughly latin, and hilda's perseverance was in a way rewarded. slowly, grudgingly he gave ground before her subtle advances--they were, in fact, less advances on her part than opportunities for him--he experienced a feeling of triumph and began to assume a masterful air that was indeed trying to one of her disposition. before his friends he boasted that his energetic defense of his honor had worked a marvel in his home; in her presence he made bold to take on a swagger and an authority hitherto unknown. hilda stood it, with what cost no one could possibly understand. in some manner she managed to convey the idea that he dominated her and that she cringed spiritually before him. she permitted him occasionally to surprise a look of bewilderment, almost of fright, in her eyes, and this tickled the man immensely. with a fatuous complacency, thoroughly typical, he told himself that she feared and respected him--was actually falling in love with him all over again. when he felt the impulse to scout this idea he went to his mirror and examined himself critically, why not? he asked himself. he was very pleasing. women had always been wax in his hands; he had a personality, an air, an irresistible something that had won him many conquests. it seemed not unlikely that hilda had been shocked into a new and keener realization of his many admirable qualities and was ready to make up, if, or when, he graciously chose to permit her. on the very evening that colonel cavendish and his wife were discussing pierce phillips' affair, courteau, feeling in a particularly jubilant mood, decided to put the matter to a test; therefore he surprised his wife by walking into her room unannounced. "my dear," he began, "it's high time we had a talk." "indeed!" said she. "what about?" "about you, about me, about our affairs. are we husband and wife or are we not? i ask you." with a queer flicker of her eyelids she answered: "why--of course. you have appeared to forget it sometimes, but--" "no reproaches, please. the past is gone. neither of us is without blame. you've had your fling, too, but i've shown you that i'm made of stern stuff and will tolerate no further foolishness. i am a different courteau than you ever knew. i've had my rebirth. now then, our present mode of life is not pleasing to me, for i'm a fellow of spirit. think of me--in the attitude of a dependent!" "i share generously with you. i give you money--" "the very point," he broke in, excitedly. "you give; i accept. you direct; i obey. it must end now, at once. i cannot play the accompaniment while you sing. either i close my eyes to your folly and forgive, utterly--either we become man and wife again and i assume leadership--or i make different plans for the future." "just what do you propose, henri?" the fellow shrugged. "i offer you a reconciliation; that, to begin with. you've had your lesson and i flatter myself that you see me in a new light. the brave can afford to be generous. i--well, i've always had a feeling for you; i've never been blind to your attractions, my dear. lately i've even experienced something of the--er--the old spell. understand me? it's a fact.' i'm actually taken with you, hilda; i have the fire of an impetuous lover." courteau's eyes gleamed; there was an unusual warmth to his gaze and a vibrance to his tone. he curled his mustache, he swelled his chest, he laughed lightly but deeply. "what do you say, eh? i'm not altogether displeasing. no? you see something in me to admire? i thrill you? confess." the wife lowered her eyes. "you have some power--" she murmured. "power! precisely." the count nodded and there was a growing vivacity and sparkle to him. "that is my quality--a power to charm, a power to achieve, a power to triumph. well, i choose now to win you again for myself. it is my whim. to rekindle a love which one has lost is a test of any man's power, n'est-ce pas? you are fond of me. i see it. am i not right, my sweet?" he laid his soft white hands upon his wife's shoulders and bent an ardent gaze upon her. hilda faced him with an odd smile; her cheeks were white, her ice-blue eyes were very wide and bright and they held a curious expression. "come! a kiss!" he persisted. "oho! you tremble, you shrink like a maiden. i, too, am exhilarated, but--" with a chuckle he folded her in his embrace and she did not resist. after a moment he resumed: "this is quite too amusing. i wish my friends to see and to understand. put on your prettiest dress--" "what for?" "we are going down-town. we shall celebrate our reunion--we shall drink to it publicly. all dawson shall take note. they have said, 'courteau is a loafer, a ne'er-do-well, and he permits another to win his wife away from him.' i propose to show them." "you mean you propose to show me off. is that it? another conquest, eh?" "have it as you will. i--" "i won't go," hilda cried, furiously. she freed herself from his arms. "you know i won't go. you'd like to parade me in the places you frequent--saloons, dance-halls, gambling-houses. the idea!" "you won't? tut, tut! what is this?" courteau cried, angrily. "rebellious so soon? is this recent change of demeanor assumed? have you been fooling me?" "what change?" the woman parried. "i don't know--" "oh yes, you do! for the first time in years you have treated me as a husband should be treated; half-measures will no longer satisfy me. we have arrived at the show-up. are you a miserable delilah or--" "please don't ask me to go out with you, henri," the woman pleaded, in genuine distress, now that she saw he was in earnest. "to be paraded like an animal on a chain! think of my feelings." "indeed! think of mine," he cried. "this is my hour, my triumph; i propose to make it complete. now that i carefully consider it, i will put you to the test. you've had a fine time; if you pay a price for it, whose fault is that? no! one must be cruel to be kind." "cruel! kind!" hilda sneered. "it merely pleases you to humiliate me." "very well!" blazed the count. "if it pleases me, so be it. that is my attitude now and henceforth--my will is to be law. come! your prettiest dress and your prettiest smile, for we celebrate. yes, and money, too; i'm as poverty-ridden as usual. we will treat my friends, we will gamble here and there, we will watch the shows to an accompaniment of popping corks so that every one shall see us and say: 'yonder is courteau and his wife. they have made up and she adores him like a mistress. parbleu! the man has a way with women, eh!' it shall be a great night for me." "are you really serious?" courteau stamped his felt-shod foot. "anger me no more." hilda's face was colorless, her eyes were still glowing with that peculiar light of defiance, of desperation, of curiosity; nevertheless, she turned away and began to dress herself. courteau was not disappointed. his appearance in the river-front resorts, accompanied by his wife, created a sensation indeed. and hilda's bearing, under the circumstances, added to his gratification, for, now that the die was cast, she surrendered completely, she clung to him as if feeling a new dependence, and this filled his cup to overflowing. it was an outrageous thing to do; no one save a courteau would have thought of subjecting the woman who bore his name to such a humiliation. but he was a perverse individual; his mind ran in crooked courses; he took a bizarre delight in the unusual, and morality of the common sort he knew not. to smirch her, even a little bit, to subject her to seeming disgrace, not only taught her a lesson, but also united them more closely, so he told himself. that he had the ability to compel her to do anything against her will immensely tickled his vanity, for her stubborn independence had always been a trial to him. he knew that her social status was not of the highest; nevertheless, her reputation was far better than his, and among all except the newest arrivals in dawson she bore a splendid name. to be, himself, the cause of blackening that name, in order to match his own, gratified his feelings of resentment. all in all, it was a night of nights for him and he was at no pains to conceal his satisfaction. from one place to another he led her, taking malicious enjoyment from the distress he caused. courteau was not loud nor blatant; nevertheless, his triumphant demeanor, his proprietary air, fairly shouted the fact that he had tamed this woman and was exhibiting her against her inclinations. at every bar he forced her to drink with him and with his friends; he even called up barroom loafers whom he did not know and introduced them with an elaborate flourish. the money he spent was hers, of course, but he squandered it royally, leaving a trail of empty champagne-bottles behind. champagne, at this time, sold for twenty dollars a quart and, although hilda saw her earnings melting away with appalling rapidity, she offered no protest. together they flung their chips broadcast upon the gambling-tables, and their winnings, which were few, went to buy more popularity with the satellites who trailed them. as time passed and hilda continued to meet the test, her husband's satisfaction gained a keener edge. he beamed, he strutted, he twisted his mustache to needle-points. she was a thoroughbred, that he assured himself. but, after all, why shouldn't she do this for him? the women with whom he was accustomed to associate would not have counted such an evening as this a sacrifice, and, even had they so considered it, he was in the habit of exacting sacrifices from women. they liked it; it proved their devotion. her subjugation was made complete when he led her into a box at the rialto theater and insisted upon the two mccaskeys joining them. the brothers at first declined, but by this time courteau's determination carried all before it. joe halted him outside the box door, however, to inquire into the meaning of the affair. "it means this," the count informed him. "i have effected a complete reconciliation with my adorable wife. women are all alike--they fear the iron, they kiss the hand that smites them. i have made her my obedient slave, mon ami. that's what it means." "it don't look good to me," joe said, morosely. "she's got an ace buried somewhere." "eh? what are you trying to say?" "i've got a hunch she's salving you, count. she's stuck on phillips, like i told you, and she's trying to get a peek at your hole card." it was characteristic of courteau that he should take instant offense at this reflection upon his sagacity, this doubt of his ability as a charmer. "you insult my intelligence," he cried, stiffly, "and, above all, i possess intelligence. you--do not. no. you are coarse, you are gross. i am full of sentiment--" "rats!" mccaskey growled. "i get that way myself sometimes. sentiment like yours costs twenty dollars a quart. but this ain't the time for a spree; we got business on our hands." the count eyed his friend with a frown. "it is a personal affair and concerns our business not in the least. i am a revengeful person; i have pride and i exact payment from those who wound it. i brought my wife here as a punishment and i propose to make her drink with you. your company is not agreeable at any time, my friend, and she does you an honor--" "cut out that tony talk," joe said, roughly. "you're a broken-hipped stiff and you're trying to grab her bank-roll. don't you s'pose i'm on? my company was all right until you got your hand in the hotel cash-drawer; now i'm coarse. maybe she's on the square--she fell for you once--but i bet she's working you. make sure of this, my high and mighty nobleman"--for emphasis the speaker laid a heavy hand upon the count's shoulder and thrust his disagreeable face closer--"that you keep your mouth shut. savvy? don't let her sweat you--" the admonitory words ended abruptly, for the door of the box reopened and joe found the countess courteau facing him. for an instant their glances met and in her eyes the man saw an expression uncomfortably reminiscent of that day at sheep camp when she had turned public wrath upon his brother jim's head. but the look was fleeting; she turned it upon her husband, and the count, with an apology for his delay, entered the box, dragging mccaskey with him. frank, it appeared, shared his brother's suspicions; the two exchanged glances as joe entered; then when the little party had adjusted itself to the cramped quarters they watched the countess curiously, hoping to analyze her true intent. but in this they were unsuccessful. she treated both of them with a cool, impartial formality, quite natural under the circumstances, but in no other way did she appear conscious of that clash on the chilkoot trail. it was not a pleasant situation at best, and joe especially was ill at ease, but courteau continued his spendthrift role, keeping the waiters busy, and under the influence of his potations the elder mccaskey soon regained some of his natural sang-froid. all three men drank liberally, and by the time the lower floor had been cleared for dancing they were in a hilarious mood. they laughed loudly, they shouted greetings across to other patrons of the place, they flung corks at the whirling couples below. meanwhile, they forced the woman to imbibe with them. joe, in spite of his returning confidence, kept such close watch of her that she could not spill her glass into the bucket, except rarely. hilda hated alcohol and its effect; she was not accustomed to drinking. as she felt her intoxication mounting she became fearful that the very medium upon which she had counted for success would prove to be her undoing. desperately she battled to retain her wits. more than once, with a reckless defiance utterly foreign to her preconceived plans, she was upon the point of hurling the bubbling contents of her glass into the flushed faces about her and telling these men how completely she was shamming, but she managed to resist the temptation. that she felt such an impulse at all made her fearful of committing some action equally rash, of dropping some word that would prove fatal. it was a hideous ordeal. she realized that already the cloak of decency, of respectability, which she had been at such pains to preserve during these difficult years, was gone, lost for good and all. she had made herself a lady godiva; by this night of conspicuous revelry she had undone everything. not only had she condoned the sins and the shortcomings of her dissolute husband, but also she had put herself on a level with him and with the fallen women of the town--his customary associates. courteau had done this to her. it had been his proposal. she could have throttled him where he sat. the long night dragged on interminably. like leeches the two mccaskeys clung to their prodigal host, and not until the early hours of morning, when the count had become sodden, sullen, stupefied, and when they were in a condition little better, did they permit him to leave them. how hilda got him home she scarcely knew, for she, too, had all but lost command of her senses. there were moments when she fought unavailingly against a mental numbness, a stupor that rolled upward and suffused her like a cloud of noxious vapors, leaving her knees weak, her hands clumsy, her vision blurred; again waves of deathly illness surged over her. under and through it all, however, her subconscious will to conquer remained firm. over and over she told herself: "i'll have the truth and then--i'll make him pay." courteau followed his wife into her room, and there his maudlin manner changed. he roused himself and smiled at her fatuously; into his eyes flamed a desire, into his cheeks came a deeper flush. he pawed at her caressingly; he voiced thick, passionate protestations. hilda had expected nothing less; it was for this that she had bled her flesh and crucified her spirit these many hours. "you're--wonderful woman," the man mumbled as he swayed with her in his arms. "got all the old charm and more. game, too!" he laughed foolishly, then in drunken gravity asserted: "well, i'm the man, the stronger vessel. to turn hate into love, that--" "you've taken your price. you've had your hour," she told him. her head was thrown back, her eyes were closed, her teeth were clenched as if in a final struggle for self-restraint. courteau pressed his lips to hers; then in a sudden frenzy he crushed her closer and fell to kissing her cheeks, her neck, her throat. he mistook her shudder of abhorrence for a thrill responsive to his passion, and hiccoughed: "you're mine again, all mine, and--i'm mad about you. i'm aflame. this is like the night of our marriage, what?" "are you satisfied, now that you've made me suffer? do you still imagine i care for that foolish boy?" "phillips? bah! a noisy swine." again the count chuckled, but this time his merriment ran away with him until he shook and until tears came to his eyes. without reason hilda joined in his laughter. together they stood rocking, giggling, snickering, as if at some excruciating jest. "he--he tried to steal you--from me. from me. imagine it! then he struck me. well, where is he now, eh?" "i never dreamed that you cared enough for me to--do what you did. to risk so much." "risk?" hilda nodded, and her loose straw-gold hair brushed courteau's cheek. "don't pretend any longer. i knew from the start. but you were jealous. when a woman loses the power to excite jealousy it's a sign she's growing old and ugly and losing her fire. she can face anything except that." "fire!" henri exclaimed. "parbleu! don't i know you to be a volcano?" "how did you manage the affair--that fellow's ruin? it frightens me to realize that you can accomplish such things." the count pushed his wife away. "what are you talking about?" he demanded. "oh, very well! carry it out if you wish," she said, with a careless shrug. "but you're not fooling me in the least. on the contrary, i admire your spirit. now then, i'm thirsty. and you are, too." with a smile she evaded his outstretched arms and left the room. she was back in a moment with a bottle and two glasses. the latter she filled; her own she raised with a gesture, and courteau blindly followed suit. in spite of his deep intoxication the man still retained the embers of suspicion, and when she spoke of pierce phillips they began to glow and threatened to burst into flame. cunningly, persistently she played upon him, however. she enticed, she coquetted, she cajoled; she maddened him with her advances; she teased him with her repulses; she drugged him with her smiles, her fragrant charms. time and again he was upon the point of surrender, but caught himself in time. she won at last. she dragged the story from him, bit by bit, playing upon his vanity, until he gabbled boastfully and took a crapulent delight in repeating the details. it was a tale distorted and confused, but the truth was there. she made an excuse to leave him, finally, and remained out of the room for a long time. when she returned it was to find him sprawled across her bed and fast asleep. for a moment she held dizzily to the bedpost and stared down at him. her mask had slipped now, her face was distorted with loathing, and so deep were her feelings that she could not bear to touch him, even to cover him over. leaving him spread-eagled as he was, she staggered out of his unclean presence. hilda was deathly sick; objects were gyrating before her eyes; she felt a hideous nightmare sensation of unreality, and was filled with an intense contempt, a tragic disgust for herself. pausing at the foot of the stairs, she strove to gather herself together; then slowly, passionately she cursed the name of pierce phillips. chapter xxvi tom linton and jerry quirk toiled slowly up the trail toward their cabin. both men were bundled thickly in clothing, both bewhiskered visages bore grotesque breath-masks of ice; even their eyebrows were hoary with frost. the partners were very tired. pausing in the chip-littered space before their door, they gazed down the trail to a mound of gravel which stood out raw and red against the universal whiteness. this mound was in the form of a truncated cone and on its level top was a windlass and a pole bucket track. from beneath the windlass issued a cloud of smoke which mounted in billows, as if breathed forth from a concealed chimney--smoke from the smothered drift fires laid against the frozen face of pay dirt forty feet below the surface. evidently this fire was burning to suit the partners; after watching it a moment, tom took a buck-saw and fell stiffly to work upon a dry spruce log which lay on the saw-buck; jerry spat on his mittens and began to split the blocks as they fell. darkness was close at hand, but both men were so fagged that they found it impossible to hurry. neither did they speak. patiently, silently they sawed and chopped, then carried the wood into the chilly cabin; while one lit the lamp and went for a sack of ice, the other kindled a fire. these tasks accomplished, by mutual consent, but still without exchanging a word, they approached the table. from the window-sill tom took a coin and balanced it upon his thumb and forefinger; then, in answer to his bleak, inquiring glance, jerry nodded and he snapped the piece into the air. while it was still spinning jerry barked, sharply: "tails!" both gray heads bent and near-sightedly examined the coin. "tails she is," tom announced. he replaced the silver piece, crossed the room to his bunk, seated himself upon it, and remained there while jerry, with a sudden access of cheerfulness, hustled to the stove, warmed himself, and then began culinary preparations. these preparations were simple, but precise; also they were deliberate. jerry cut one slice of ham, he measured out just enough coffee for one person, he opened one can of corn, and he mixed a half-pan of biscuits. tom watched him from beneath a frown, meanwhile tugging moodily at the icicles which still clung to his lips. his corner of the cabin was cold, hence it was a painful process. when he had disposed of the last lump and when he could no longer restrain his irritation, he broke out: "of course you had to make bread, didn't you? just because you know i'm starving." "it come tails, didn't it?" jerry inquired, with aggravating pleasantness. "it ain't my fault you're starving, and you got all night to cook what you want--after i'm done. _i_ don't care if you bake a layer cake and freeze ice-cream. you can put your front feet in the trough and champ your swill; you can root and waller in it, for all of me. _i_ won't hurry you, not in the least." "it's come tails every time lately," grumbled the former speaker. jerry giggled. "i always was right lucky, except in pickin' pardners," he declared. in a cracked and tuneless voice he began humming a roundelay, evidently intended to express gaiety and contentment. unable longer to withstand his gnawing hunger, tom secured for himself a large round hardtack, and with this he tried to ward off the pangs of starvation. but he had small success with the endeavor, for his teeth were poor. he flung the thing of adamant aside, finally, and cried, testily: "my god! ain't it bad enough to eat a phonograph record without having to listen to the damn' machine? shut up, will you? you've got the indecentest singing voice i ever heard." "say!" jerry looked up belligerently. "you don't have to listen to my singin'. there's plenty of room outside--all the room from here south to seattle. and you don't have to gum that pilot-bread if your teeth is loose. you can boil yourself a pot of mush--when your turn comes. you got a free hand. as for me, i eat anything i want to and i sing anything i want to whenever i want to, and i'd like to see anybody stop me. we don't have to toss up for turns at singin'." more loudly he raised his high-pitched voice; ostentatiously he rattled his dishes. tom settled back in exasperated silence, but as time wore on and his hungry nostrils were assailed with the warm, tantalizing odor of frying ham fat he fidgeted nervously. having prepared a meal to his liking, jerry set the table with a single plate, cup, and saucer, then seated himself with a luxurious grunt. he ate slowly; he rolled every mouthful with relish; he fletcherized it with calculated deliberation; he paused betweentimes to blow loudly upon his coffee and to smack his lips--sounds that in themselves were a provocation and an insult to his listener. when he had cleaned up his interminable repast and was finishing the last scrap, tom rose and made for the stove. jerry watched him, paralyzed in mid-motion, until his partner's hand was outstretched, then he suddenly shouted: "get away from there!" tom started. "what for?" he queried, a light of rebellion flaring into his eyes. "ain't you through with your supper? you been at it long enough." "you see me eatin', don't you? after i get fed up and my teeth picked i got all my dishes to wash." "that wasn't our arrangement." "it was so." "you'll eat all night," tom complained, almost tearfully. "you'll set there and gorge till you bust." "that's my privilege. i don't aim to swaller my grub whole. i'm shy a few teeth and some of the balance don't meet, so i can't consume vittles like i was a pulp-mill. i didn't start this row--" "who did?" "now ain't that a fool question?" jerry leaned back comfortably and began an elaborate vacuum-cleaning process of what teeth he retained. "who starts all our rows, if i don't? no. i'm as easy-going as a greased eel, and 'most anybody can get along with me, but, tread on my tail and i swop ends, pronto. that's me. i go my own even way, but i live up to my bargains and i see to it that others do the same. you get the hell away from that stove!" tom abandoned his purpose, and with the resignation of a martyr returned to teeter upon the edge of his bunk. he remained there, glum, malevolent, watchful, until his cabin-mate had leisurely cleared the table, washed and put away his dishes; then with a sigh of fat repletion, unmistakably intended as a provocation, the tormentor lit his pipe and stretched himself luxuriously upon his bed. even then tom made no move. he merely glowered at the recumbent figure. jerry blew a cloud of smoke, then waved a generous gesture. "now then, fly at it, mr. linton," he said, sweetly. "i've et my fill; i've had an ample sufficiency; i'm through and in for the night." "oh no, you ain't! you get up and wash that skillet." mr. quirk started guiltily. "hustle your creaking joints and scrub it out." "pshaw! i only fried a slice--" "scrub it!" linton ordered. this command jerry obeyed, although it necessitated heating more water, a procedure which, of course, he maliciously prolonged. "waited till i was all spread out, didn't you," he sneered, as he stooped over the wood-box. "that's like you. some people are so small-calibered they'd rattle around in a gnat's bladder like a mustard seed in a bass drum." "i'm particular who i eat after," tom said, "so be sure you scrub it clean." "thought you'd spoil my smoke. well, i can smoke standin' on my head and enjoy it." there was a silence, broken only by the sound of jerry's labors. at last he spoke: "once again i repeat what i told you yesterday. i took the words out of your own mouth. you said the woman was a hellion--" "i never did. even if i had i wouldn't allow a comparative stranger to apply such an epithet to a member of my family." "you did say it. and she ain't a member of your family." tom's jaws snapped. "if patience is a virtue," he declared, in quivering anger, "i'll slide into heaven on skids. assassination ought not to be a crime; it's warranted, like abating a nuisance; it ain't even a misdemeanor--sometimes. she was a noble woman--" "hellion! i got it on the authority of her own husband--you!" tom rose and stamped over to the stove; he slammed its door and clattered the coffee-pot to drown this hateful persistence. having had the last word, as usual, jerry retreated in satisfaction to his bed and stretched his aching frame upon it. the dingy cabin was fragrant with the odor of cooking food for a second time that evening when the sound of voices and a knock at the door brought both old men to their feet. before they could answer, the door flew open and in and out of the frosty evening came rouletta kirby and 'poleon doret. the girl's cheeks were rosy, her eyes were sparkling; she warmly greeted first one partner, then the other. pausing, she sniffed the air hungrily. "goody!" she cried. "we're just in time. and we're as hungry as bears." "dis gal 'ain't never got 'nough to eat since she's seeck in w'ite 'orse," 'poleon laughed. "for las' hour she's been sayin': 'hurry! hurry! we goin' be late.' i 'mos' keel dem dog." linton's seamed face softened; it cracked into a smile of genuine pleasure; there was real hospitality and welcome in his voice when he said: "you're in luck, for sure. lay off your things and pull up to the fire. it won't take a jiffy to parlay the ham and coffee--one calls three, as they say. no need to ask if you're well; you're prettier than ever, and some folks would call that impossible." jerry nodded in vigorous agreement. "you're as sweet as a bunch of jessamine, letty. why, you're like a breath of spring! what brought you out to see us, anyhow?" "dat's long story," 'poleon answered. "sapre! we got plenty talkin' to do. letty she's goin' he'p you mak' de supper now, an' i fix dem dog. we goin' camp wit' you all night. golly! we have beeg tam." the new-comers had indeed introduced a breath of new, clean air. of a sudden the cabin had brightened, it was vitalized, it was filled with a magic purpose and good humor. rouletta flung aside her furs and bustled into the supper preparations. soon the meal was ready. the first pause in her chatter came when she set the table for four and when jerry protested that he had already dined. the girl paused, plate in hand. "then we were late and you didn't tell us," she pouted, reproachfully. "no. i got through early, but tom--he was held up in the traffic. you see, i don't eat much, anyhow. i just nibble around and take a cold snack where i can get it." "and you let him!" rouletta turned to chide the other partner. "he'll come down sick, tom and you'll have to nurse him again. if you boys won't learn to keep regular meal hours i'll have to come out and run your house for you. shall i? speak up. what am i offered?" now this was the most insidious flattery. "boys" indeed! jerry chuckled, tom looked up from the stove and his smoke-blue eyes were twinkling. "i can't offer you more 'n a half-interest in the 'lay.' that's all i own." "is dis claim so reech lak people say?" 'poleon inquired. "dey're tellin' me you goin' mak' hondred t'ousan' dollar." "we're just breastin' out--cross-cuttin' the streak, but--looky." jerry removed a baking-powder can from the window-shelf and out of it he poured a considerable amount of coarse gold which the visitors examined with intense interest. "them's our pannin's." "how splendid!" rouletta cried. "i been clamorin' to hire some men and take life easy. i say put on a gang and h'ist it out, but"--jerry shot a glance at his partner--"people tell me i'm vi'lent an' headstrong. they say, 'prove it up.'" linton interrupted by loudly exclaiming, "come and get it, strangers, or i'll throw it out and wash the skillet." supper was welcome, but, despite the diners' preoccupation with it, despite tom's and jerry's effort to conceal the fact of their estrangement, it became evident that something was amiss. rouletta finally sat back and, with an accusing glance, demanded to know what was the matter. the old men met her eyes with an assumption of blank astonishment. "'fess up," she persisted. "have you boys been quarreling again?" "who? us? why, not exactly--" "we sort of had words, mebbe." "what about?" there was an awkward, an ominous silence. "that," mr. linton said, in a harsh and firm voice, "is something i can't discuss. it's a personal matter." "it ain't personal with me," jerry announced, carelessly. "we was talkin' about tom's married life and i happened to say--" "don't!" linton's cry of warning held a threat. "don't spill your indecencies in the presence of this child or--i'll hang the frying-pan around your neck. the truth is," he told letty, "there's no use trying to live with a horn' toad. i've done my best. i've let him defame me to my face and degrade me before strangers, but he remains hostyle to every impulse in my being; he picks and pesters and poisons me a thousand times a day. and snore! my god! you ought to hear him at night." strangely enough, mr. quirk did not react to this passionate outburst. on the contrary, he bore it with indications of a deep and genuine satisfaction. "he's workin' up steam to propose another divorce," said the object of tom's tirade. "that i am. divorce is the word," linton growled. "whoop-ee!" jerry uttered a high-pitched shout. "i been waitin' for that. i wanted him to say it. now i'm free as air and twice as light. you heard him propose it, didn't you?" "wat you goin' do 'bout dis lay?" toleon inquired. "split her," yelled jerry. "dis cabin, too?" "sure. slam a partition right through her." "we won't slam no partition anywhere," tom declared. "think i'm going to lay awake every night listening to distant bugles? no. we'll pull her apart, limb from limb, and divvy the logs. it's a pest-house, anyhow. i'll burn my share." tom's positive refusal even to permit mention of the cause of the quarrel rendered efforts at a reconciliation difficult; 'poleon's and rouletta's attempts at badinage, therefore, were weak failures, and their conversation met with only the barest politeness. now that the truth had escaped, neither partner could bring himself to a serious consideration of anything except his own injuries. they exchanged evil glances, they came into direct verbal contact only seldom, and when they did it was to clash as flint upon steel. no statement of the one was sufficiently conservative, sufficiently broad, to escape a sneer and an immediate refutation from the other. evidently the rift was deep and was widening rapidly. of course the facts were revealed eventually--rouletta had a way of winning confidences, a subtle, sweet persuasiveness--they had to do with the former mrs. linton, that shadowy female figure which had fallen athwart tom's early life. it seemed that jerry had referred to her as a "hellion." now the injured husband himself had often applied even more disparaging terms to the lady in question, therefore the visitors were puzzled at his show of rabid resentment; the most they could make out of it was that he claimed the right of disparagement as a personal and exclusive privilege, and considered detraction out of the lips of another a trespass upon his intimate private affairs, an aspersion and an insult. the wife of a man's bosom, he averred, was sacred; any creature who breathed disrespect of her into the ears of her husband was lower than a hole in the ground and lacked the first qualifications of a friend, a gentleman, or a citizen. jerry, on the other hand, would not look at the matter in this light. tom had called the woman a "hellion," therefore he was privileged to do the same, and any denial of that privilege was an iniquitous encroachment upon his sacred rights. those rights he proposed to safeguard, to fight for if necessary. he would shed his last drop of blood in their defense. no cantankerous old grouch could refuse him free speech and get away with it. "you're not really mad at each other," rouletta told them. "ain't we?" they hoarsely chorused. she shook her head. "you need a change, that's all. as a matter of fact, your devotion to each other is about the most beautiful, the most touching, thing i know. you'd lay down your lives for each other; you're like man and wife, and well you know it." "who? us?" jerry was aghast. "which one of us is the woman? i been insulted by experts, but none of 'em ever called me 'mrs. linton.' she was a tough customer, a regular hellion--" "he's off again!" tom growled. "me lay down my life for a squawking parrot! he'll repeat that pet word for the rest of time if i don't wring his neck." "mebbe so you lak hear 'bout some other feller's trouble," 'poleon broke in, diplomatically. "wal, ma soeur she's come to you for help, queeck." both old men became instantly alert. "you in trouble?" tom demanded of the girl. "who's been hurting you, i'd like to know?" jerry, too, leaned forward, and into his widening eyes came a stormy look. "sure! has one of them crawlin' worms got fresh with you, letty? say--!" he reached up and removed his six-shooter from its nail over his bed. rouletta set them upon the right track. swiftly but earnestly she recited the nature and the circumstances of the misfortune that had overtaken pierce phillips, and of the fruitless efforts his friends were making in his behalf. she concluded by asking her hearers to go his bail. "why, sure!" linton exclaimed, with manifest relief. "that's easy. i'll go it, if they'll take me." "there you are, hoggin' the curtain, as usual," jerry protested. "i'll go his bail myself. i got him in trouble at sheep camp. i owe him--" "i've known the boy longer than you have. besides, i'm a family man; i know the anguish of a parent's heart--" "lay off that 'family' stuff," howled mr. quirk. "you know it riles me. i could of had as much of a family as you had if i'd wanted to. you'd think it give you some sort of privilege. why, ever since we set up with letty you've assumed a fatherly air even to her, and you act like i was a plumb outsider. you remind me of a hen--settin' on every loose door-knob you find." "if you'd lay off the 'family' subject we'd get along better." once again the fray was on; it raged intermittently throughout the evening; it did not die out until bedtime put an end to it. rouletta and her three companions were late in reaching town on the following day, for they awakened to find a storm raging, and in consequence the trails were heavy. out of this white smother they plodded just as the lights of dawson were beginning to gleam. leaving the men at the barracks, the girl proceeded to her hotel. she had changed out of her trail clothes and was upon the point of hurrying down-town to her work when she encountered hilda courteau. "where in the world have you been?" the latter inquired. "nowhere, in the world," rouletta smiled. "i've been quite out of it." then she told of her and 'poleon's trip to the mines and of their success. "pierce will be at liberty inside of an hour," she declared. "well, i've--learned the truth." rouletta started; eagerly she clutched at the elder woman. "what? you mean--?" "yes. i wrung it out of courteau. he confessed." "it was a frame-up--a plot? oh, my dear--!" "exactly. but don't get hysterical. i'm the one to do that. what a night, what a day i've put in!" the speaker shuddered, and rouletta noticed for the first time how pale, how ill she looked. "then pierce is free already? he's out--?" "not yet. i'll tell you everything if you'll promise not to breathe a word, not to interfere until henri has a chance to square himself. i--think i've earned the right to demand that much. i told you the whole thing was counterfeit--was the work of joe mccaskey. i couldn't believe henri was up to such villainy. he's dissolute, weak, vain--anything you choose--but he's not voluntarily criminal. well, i went to work on him. i pretended to--" the countess again shivered with disgust. "oh, you saw what i was doing. i hated myself, but there was no choice. things came to a climax last night. i don't like to talk about it--think about it--but you're bound to hear. i consented to go out with him. he dragged me through the dance-halls and the saloons--made me drink with him, publicly, and with the scum of the town." noting the expression on her hearer's face, the countess laughed shortly, mirthlessly. "shocking, wasn't it? low, indecent, wretched? that's what everybody is saying. dawson is humming with it. god! how he humiliated me! but i loosened his tongue. i got most of the details--not all, but enough. it was late, almost daylight, before i succeeded. he slept all day, stupefied, and so did i, when i wasn't too ill. "he remembered something about it, he had some shadowy recollection of talking too much. when he woke up he sent for me. then we had it. he denied everything, of course. he lied and he twisted, but i'm the stronger--always have been. i beat him down, as usual. i could have felt sorry for the poor wretch only for what he had put me through. he went out not long ago." "where to? tell me--" "to the police--to colonel cavendish. i gave him the chance to make a clean breast of everything and save his hide, if possible. if he weakens i'll take the bit in my teeth." rouletta stood motionless for a moment; then in deep emotion she exclaimed: "i'm so glad! and yet it must have been a terrible sacrifice. i think i understand how you must loathe yourself. it was a very generous thing to do, however. not many women could have risen to it." "i--hope he doesn't make me tell. i haven't much pride left, but--i'd like to save what remains, for you can imagine what cavendish will think. a wife betraying her husband for her--for another man! what a story for those women on the hill!" impulsively rouletta bent forward and kissed the speaker. "colonel cavendish will understand. he's a man of honor. but, after all, when a woman really--cares, there's a satisfaction, a compensation, in sacrifice, no matter how great." hilda courteau's eyes were misty, their dark-fringed lids trembled wearily shut. "yes," she nodded, "i suppose so. bitter and sweet! when a woman of my sort, my age and experience, lets herself really care, she tastes both. all i can hope is that pierce never learns what he made me pay for loving him. he wouldn't understand--yet." she opened her eyes again and met the earnest gaze bent upon her. "i dare say you think i feel the same toward him as you do, that i want him, that i'm hungry for him. well, i'm not. i'm 'way past that. i've been through fire, and fire purifies. now run along, child. i'm sure everything will come out right." the earlier snowfall had diminished when rouletta stepped out into the night, but a gusty, boisterous wind had risen and this filled the air with blinding clouds of fine, hard particles, whirled up from the streets, and the girl was forced to wade through newly formed drifts that rose over the sidewalks, in places nearly to her knees. the wind flapped her garments and cut her bare cheeks like a knife; when she pushed her way into the rialto and stamped the snow from her feet her face was wet with tears; but they were frost tears. she dried them quickly and with a song in her heart she hurried back to the lunch-counter and climbed upon her favorite stool. there it was that doret and his two elderly companions found her. "well, we sprung him," tom announced. "all we done was sign on the dotted line," jerry explained. "but, say, if that boy hops out of town he'll cost us a lot of money." "how's he going to hop out?" tom demanded. "that's the hell of this country--there's no getting away." jerry snorted derisively. "no gettin' away? what are you talkin' about? ain't the boundary within ninety miles? 'ain't plenty of people made get-aways? all they need is a dog-team and a few hours' start of the police." "everyt'ing's all fix'," 'poleon told his sister. "i had talk wit' pierce. he ain't comin' back here no more." "not coming back?" the girl exclaimed. doret met her startled gaze. "not in dis kin' of place. he's cut 'em out for good. i mak' him promise." "a touch of jail ain't a bad thing for a harum-scarum kid," tom volunteered, as he finished giving his supper order. "it's a cold compress--takes down the fever--" "nothing of the sort," jerry asserted. "jails is a total waste of time. i don't believe in 'em. you think this boy's tamed, do you? well, i talked with him, an' all i got to say is this: keep courteau away from him or there's one count you'll lose count of. the boy's got pizen in him, an' i don't blame him none. if i was him i'd make that frog hop. you hear me." 'poleon met rouletta's worried glance with a reassuring smile. "i been t'inkin' 'bout dat, too. w'at you say i go pardners wit' him, eh? i got dog-team an' fine claim on hilltop. s'pose i geeve him half-interes' to go wit' me?" "will you?" eagerly queried the girl. "already i spoke it to him. he say mebbe so, but firs' he's got li'l biznesse here." "of course! his case. but that will be cleared up. mark what i say. yes"--rouletta nodded happily--"take him with you, 'poleon--out where things are clean and healthy and where he can get a new start. oh, you make me very happy!" the woodsman laid a big hand gently over hers. in a low voice he murmured: "dat's all i want, ma soeur--to mak' you happy. if dat claim is wort' million dollar' it ain't too much to pay, but--i'm scare' she's 'noder bum." the song was still sounding in rouletta's heart when she sat down at the faro-table, and all through the evening it seemed to her that the revelry round about was but an echo of her gladness. pierce was free, his name was clean. probably ere this the whole truth was known to the mounted police and by to-morrow it would be made public. moreover, he and 'poleon were to be partners. that generous woodsman, because of his affection for her, proposed to take the young fellow into his heart and make a man of him. that was like him--always giving much and taking little. well, she was 'poleon's sister. who could tell what might result from this new union of interests? of course, there was no pay out there on that mountain-crest, but hard work, honest poverty, an end of these demoralizing surroundings were bound to affect pierce only for the better. rouletta blessed the name of hilda courteau, who had made this possible, and of 'poleon doret, too--'poleon of the great heart, who loved her so sincerely, so unselfishly. he never failed her; he was a brother, truly--the best, the cheeriest, the most loyal in the world. rouletta was amazed to realize what a part in her life the french canadian had played. his sincere affection was about the biggest thing that had come to her, so it seemed. occupied with such comforting thoughts, rouletta failed to note that the evening had passed more quickly than usual and that it was after midnight. when she did realize that fact, she wondered what could have detained lucky broad. promptness was a habit with him; he and bridges usually reported at least a half-hour ahead of time. she caught sight of the pair, finally, through the wide archway, and saw that they were surrounded by an excited crowd, a crowd that grew swiftly as some whisper, some intelligence, spread with electric rapidity through the barroom. yielding to a premonition that something was amiss, rouletta asked the lookout to relieve her, and, rising, she hurried into the other hall. even before she had come within sound of lucky's voice the cause of the general excitement was made known to her. it came in the form of an exclamation, a word or two snatched out of the air. "courteau!" "dead!" "shot--back street--body just found!" fiercely rouletta fought her way through the press, an unvoiced question trembling upon her lips. broad turned at her first touch. "tough, ain't it?" said he. "me and the kid stumbled right over him--kicked him out of the snow. we thought he'd been froze." "we never dreamed he'd been shot till we got him clean down to the drug-store," bridges supplemented. "shot in the back, too." questions were flying back and forth now. profiting by the confusion, rouletta dragged broad aside and queried, breathlessly: "was he dead--quite dead--?" "oh, sure!" "who--shot him?" the question came with difficulty. lucky stared at his interrogator queerly, then he shrugged. "quien sabe? nobody seen or heard the shooting. he'd been croaked a long while when we found him." for a moment the two eyed each other silently. "do you think--?" rouletta turned her white face toward the cashier's cage. "more 'n likely. he was bitter--he made a lot of cracks around the barracks. the first thing the police said when we notified 'em was, 'where's phillips?' we didn't know the boy was out until that very minute or--we'd 'a' done different. we'd 'a' left the count in the drift and run phillips down and framed an alibi. think of us, his pals, turnin' up the evidence!" lucky breathed an oath. "oh, why--?" moaned the girl. "he--it was so useless. everything was all right. perhaps--after all, he didn't do it." "you know him as well as i do. i'm hoping he had better sense, but--he's got a temper. he was always talking about the disgrace." "has he gone? can't you help him? he might make the boundary--" broad shook his head. "no use. it's too late for that. if he's still here me 'n' the kid will do our best to swear him out of it." rouletta swayed, she groped blindly at the bar rail for support, whereupon her companion cried in a low voice: "here! brace up, or you'll tip it all off! if he stands pat, how they going to prove anything? the count's been dead for hours. he was all drifted--" broad was interrupted by the mocha kid, who entered out of the night at that instant with the announcement: "well, they got him! rock found him, and he denies it, but they've got him at the barracks, puttin' him through the third degree. i don't mind sayin' that frenchman needed croakin', bad, and they'd ought to give phillips a vote of thanks and a bronx tablet." mocha's words added to rouletta's terror, for it showed that other minds ran as did hers. already, it seemed to her, pierce phillips had been adjudged guilty. through the murk of fright, of apprehension in which her thoughts were racing there came a name--'poleon doret. here was deep trouble, grave peril, a threat to her newfound happiness. 'poleon, her brother, would know what to do, for his head was clear, his judgment was unerring. he never failed her. blindly she ran for her wraps, hurriedly she flung them on, then plunged out into the night. as she scurried through the street, panic-stricken, beset, one man's name was in her thoughts, but another's was upon her lips. over and over she kept repeating: "'poleon! oh,'poleon!" chapter xxvii the news of count courteau's death traveled fast. 'poleon doret was not long in hearing of it, and of course he went at once in search of rouletta. by the time he found her the girl's momentary panic had been succeeded by a quite unnatural self-possession; her perturbation had changed to an intense but governable agitation, and her mind was working with a clarity and a rapidity more than normal. this power of rising to an emergency she had doubtless inherited from her father. "one-armed" kirby had been a man of resource, and, so long as he remained sober, he had never lost his head. swiftly the girl told of the instant suspicion that had attached to phillips and of his prompt apprehension. "who done dat shootin' if he don't?" doret inquired, quickly. "joe mccaskey--or frank," rouletta answered with positiveness. 'poleon started. through the gloom he stared incredulously at the speaker. "i'm sure of it, now that i've had time to think," the girl declared. "that's why i ran for you. now listen! i promised not to tell this, but--i must. courteau confessed to his wife that he and the mccaskeys trumped up that charge against pierce. they paid courteau well for his part--or they promised to--and he perjured himself, as did they. hilda got the truth out of him while he was drunk. of course he denied it later, but she broke him down, and this evening, just before we got home, he promised to go to colonel cavendish and make a clean breast of everything. he went out for that purpose, but--evidently he lacked courage to go through with it. otherwise how did he come to be on the back streets? the mccaskeys live somewhere back yonder, don't they?" "sure!" 'poleon meditated, briefly. "mebbe so you're right," he said, finally. "i know i'm right," rouletta cried. "the first thing to do is find them. where are they?" "i don' see 'em no place." "then we must tell the colonel to look them up." but doret's brows remained puckered in thought. "wait!" he exclaimed. "i got idea of my own. if dem feller kill courteau dey ain't nowheres roun' here. dey beat it, firs' t'ing." "to hunker? perhaps--" "no. for de boun'ry." 'poleon slapped his thigh in sudden enlightenment. "by golly! dat's why i don' see 'em no place. you stay here. i mak' sure." he turned and strode away, but rouletta followed at his heels. "i'm going, too," she stoutly asserted. "don't argue. i'll bet ten to one we find their cabin empty." together they made their way rapidly out of the brightly illuminated portion of the town and into the maze of blank warehouses and snow-banked cabins which lay behind. at this hour of the night few lamps were burning even in private residences, and, inasmuch as these back streets were unlighted, the travelers had to feel their way. the wind was diminishing, but even yet the air was thick with flying flakes, and new drifts seriously impeded progress. wading knee-deep in places, stumbling in and out of cuts where the late snow had been removed, clambering over treacherous slopes where other snows lay hard packed and slippery, the two pursued their course. 'poleon came to a pause at length in the shelter of a pole provision-cache and indistinctly took his bearings. silently he pointed to the premises and vigorously nodded his head; then he craned his neck for a view of the stove-pipe overhead. neither sparks nor smoke nor heat was rising from it. after a cautious journey of exploration he returned to rouletta and spoke aloud: "dey gone. sled, dogs, ever't'ing gone." he pushed open the cache door, and a moment later there came the sound of rending wood as he shouldered his way into the dark cabin, regardless of lock and bar. rouletta was close behind him when he struck a match and held it to a candle which he discovered fixed in its own wax beside the window. curiously the interlopers surveyed the unfamiliar premises. rouletta spoke first, with suppressed excitement: "you were right. and they left in a hurry, too." "sure. beddin' gone, an'--dey got plenty beddin' on hunker. here dey mak' grub-pack, see?" 'poleon ran his finger through a white dust of flour which lay thick upon the table. striding to the stove, he laid his hand upon it; he lifted the lid and felt of the ashes within. "dey lef 'bout five hour' ago. wal, dat's beeg start. i guess mebbe dey safe enough." "don't say that," rouletta implored. "rock can overtake them. he's a famous traveler." "i dunno. dey got good team--" "he must catch them! why, he has ninety miles to do it in! he must, 'poleon, he must! of course this is evidence, but it isn't proof. remember, pierce talked wildly. people are prejudiced against him and--you know the police. they act on suspicion, and circumstances are certainly strong. poor boy! if these men get away--who knows what may happen to him? i tell you his very life may be in danger, for the law is an awful thing. i--i've always been afraid of it. so was father, to his dying day. we must send rock flying. yes, and without a moment's delay." "you still got deep feelin' for dat feller?" 'poleon inquired, gravely. the quick look of anguish, the frank nod of assent that he received, were enough. "bien!" he said, slowly. "i mak' satisfy, dat's all. i never see you so scare' as dis." "you know how i feel," rouletta said; then, more curiously: "why do you need to make sure? do you think i've changed--?" she hesitated for an instant; there came a faint pucker of apprehension between her brows; into her eyes crept a look of wonder which changed to astonishment, then to incredulity, fright. "oh--h!" she exclaimed. she raised a faltering hand to her lips as if to stay a further betrayal of the knowledge that had suddenly come to her. "oh, 'poleon, my dear! my brother!" the man smiled painfully as he met her shocked gaze. "i'm fonny feller, ma saeur; always dream-in' de mos' foolish t'ing. don' pay no'tention." "i am--i always will be that--your sister. have i made you unhappy?" vigorously he shook his head; his face slowly cleared. "no, no. in dis life one t'ing is give me happiness--one t'ing alone--an' dat is bring you joy. now come. de grass growin' on our feet." together and in silence they hurried back as they had come; then, on the plea that he could make better time alone, 'poleon left his companion and headed for the barracks. rouletta let him go without protest; her heart was heavier than lead; she could find no words whatever. a new tragedy, it seemed, had risen to face her, for she realized now that she had hurt the man who loved her best of all. that certainty filled her with such regret, such a feeling of guilt, that she could not bear to think of it. a very poignant sense of pain troubled her as she turned into the rialto, and as a consequence the lively clatter of the place grated upon her sensibilities; she felt a miserable, sick desire to shut her ears to this sound of laughter which was like ribald applause for the death-blow she had dealt. yes, she had dealt a death-blow, and to one most dear. but how could she have known? how could she have foreseen such a wretched complication as this? who would have dreamed that gay, careless, laughing 'poleon doret was like other men? rouletta felt the desire to bend her head and release those scalding tears that trembled on her lashes. lieutenant rock was preparing for bed when 'poleon, after some little difficulty, forced his way in upon him. the officer listened to his caller's recital, and even before it was finished he had begun to dress himself in his trail clothes. "courteau confessed, eh? and the mccaskeys have disappeared--taken french leave. say! that changes the look of things, for a fact. of course they may have merely gone back to hunker--" "in de middle of snow-storm? dis tam de night? no. dey makin' run for de line an' it's goin' tak' fas' team for pull 'em down." "well, i've got the best dogs in town." rock's caller smiled. "m'sieu', dey goin' travel some if dey keep in sight of me." "you?" rock straightened himself. "will you go along? jove! i'd like that!" he cried, heartily. "i've heard you own a lively bunch of mutts." "i give you tas'e of injun travel. better you dress light an' buckle up dat belt, for i got reason to fin' out who keel courteau. i ain't goin' sleep no more till i know." the officer smiled as he declared: "that suits me exactly. we may not catch them, but--they'll know they've been in a race before they thumb their noses at us from across the boundary. now see how fast you can harness up." it was considerably after midnight when 'poleon swung his dog-team into the lighted space in front of the rialto; nevertheless, many people were about, for dawson was a city of sleep-haters. the sight of a racing-team equipped for a flying trip at this hour of the night evoked instant interest and speculation, pointing, as it did, to a new gold discovery and a stampede. stampedes were frequent, they never failed to create a sensation, therefore the woodsman was soon the center of an inquisitive crowd. not until he had fully explained the nature of his business was suspicion allayed; then his word that joe and frank mccaskey had fled for the boundary ran up and down the street and caused even greater excitement. rouletta came hurrying forth with the others, and to her 'poleon made known his intention of accompanying the fleet-footed rock. "nobody is able to catch dem feller but him an' me," he explained. "dey got too long start." "you think they may get across?" she queried, apprehensively. "five, six hour, dat's beeg edge. but me--" the speaker shrugged. "forty mile, circle, fort yukon, rampart, it mak' no differ. i get 'em some place, if i go plumb to st. michael's. when i get goin' fas' it tak' me long tam for run down." rouletta's eyes opened. "but, 'poleon--you can't! there's the boundary. you're not an officer; you have no warrant." "dem t'ing is dam' nuisance," he declared. "i don' savvy dis law biznesse. you say get 'em. bien! i do it." rouletta stared curiously, wonderingly into the big fellow's face; she was about to put her thoughts into words when a shout arose from the crowd as the police team streamed into view. down the street it came at a great pace, flashing through shadows and past glaring lighted fronts, snatching the light hickory sled along behind as if it were a thing of paper. rock balanced himself upon the runner heels until, with a shout, he put his weight upon the sharp-toothed sled brake and came to a pause near 'poleon. the rival teams plunged into their collars and set up a pandemonium of yelping, but willing hands held them from flying at one another's throats. meanwhile, saloon doors were opening, the street was filling; dance-hall girls, white-aproned bartenders, bleary-eyed pedestrians, night-owls--all the queerly assorted devotees of dawson's vivid and roisterous nocturnal life hastened thither; even the second-story windows framed heads, for this clamor put slumber to flight without delay. the wind was no longer strong, and already a clearing sky was evidenced by an occasional winking star; nevertheless, it was bitterly cold and those who were not heavily clad were forced to stamp their feet and to whip their arms in order to keep their blood in motion. nothing is more exciting, more ominous, than a man-hunt; doubly portentous was this one, the hasty preparations for which went forward in the dead of night. dawson had seen the start of more than one race for the boundary and had awaited the outcome with breathless interest. most of the fugitives overtaken had walked back into town, spent, famished, frost-blackened, but there were some who had returned on their backs, wrapped in robe or canvas and offering mute testimony to the speedy and relentless efficiency of the men from the barracks. of that small picked corps lieutenant rock was by long odds the favorite. now, therefore, he was the center of attention, and wagers were laid that he would catch his men, however rapidly they traveled, however great their start. only a few old-timers--"sour-doughs" from the distant reaches of the yukon--knew 'poleon doret, but those few drew close to him and gave the lieutenant little notice. this french canadian they regarded as the most tireless traveler in all the north; about him, therefore, they assembled, and to him they addressed their questions and offered their advice. the dogs were inspired, now, with the full intoxication of the chase; they strained forward fretfully, their gray plumes waving, their tongues lolling, their staccato chorus adding to the general disturbance. when the word came to go, they leaped into their harness, and with a musical jingle of bells they swept down toward the river; over the steep bank they poured, and were gone. a shout of encouragement followed rock as he was snapped into the blackness, then noisily the crowd bolted for the warm interiors behind them. rouletta was slow in leaving; for some time she stood harkening to the swift diminuendo of those tinkling sleigh-bells, staring into the night as if to fix in her mind's eye the picture of what she had last seen, the picture of a mighty man riding the rail of a plunging basket sled. in spite of the biting cold he was stripped down; a thin drill parka sufficed to break the temper of the wind, light fur boots were upon his feet, the cheek pieces of his otter cap were tied above his crown. he had turned to wave at her and to shout a word of encouragement just before he vanished. that was like him, she told herself--eager to spare her even the pain of undue apprehension. the shock of her discovery of an hour ago was still too fresh in rouletta's memory; it was still too new and too agitating to permit of orderly thought, yet there it stood, stark and dismaying. this woodsman loved her, no longer as a sister, but as the one woman of his choice. as yet she could not reconcile herself to such a state of affairs; her attempts to do so filled her with mixed emotions. poor 'poleon! why had this come to him? rouletta's throat swelled; tears not of the wind or the cold stood in her eyes once again; an aching tenderness and pity welled up from her heart. she became conscious finally that her body was growing numb, so she bestirred herself. she had taken but a step or two, however, when some movement in the shadows close at hand arrested her. peering into the gloom, she discovered a figure. it was laure. the girl wore some sort of wrap, evidently snatched at random, but under it she was clad in her dance-hall finery, and she, too, was all but frozen. rouletta was about to move on, when the other addressed her through teeth that clicked like castanets. "i got here--late. is it true? have they--gone after joe and frank?" "yes." "what happened? i--i haven't heard. don't they think--pierce did it?" "you know he didn't do it," rouletta cried. "neither did he steal courteau's money." "what do you mean, 'i know'?" laure's voice was harsh, imperative. she clutched at the other girl; then, as rouletta hesitated, she regained control of herself and ran on, in a tone bitterly resentful: "oh, you'd like to get him out of it--save him for yourself--wouldn't you? but you can't. you can't have him. i won't let you. my god! letty, he's the only thing i ever cared for! i never had even a dog or a cat or a canary of my own. think a little bit of me." almost dazed by this mingled accusation and appeal, rouletta at length responded by a question, "then why haven't you done something to clear him?" laure drew her flimsy wrap closer; she was shaking wretchedly. when she spoke her words were spilled from her lips as if by the tremors of her body. "i could help. i would, but--you sha'n't have him. nobody shall! i'd rather see him dead. i'd--no, no! i don't know what i'm saying. i'd sooner die than hurt him. i'd do my bit, only--mccaskey'd kill me. say. will rock get him, d'you think? i hear he gets his man every time. but joe's different; he's not the ordinary kind; he's got the devil in him. frank--he's a dog, but joe'll fight. he'll kill--at the drop of the hat. so will rock, i suppose. maybe he'll kill them both, eh? or maybe they'll kill him and get away. i don't care which way it goes--" "don't talk like that!" rouletta exclaimed. "i mean it," laure ran on, crazily. "yes, joe'd kill anybody that stood in his way or doublecrossed him. i guess i know. why, he told me so himself! and courteau knew it, perfectly well--the poor fool!--but look at him now. he got his, didn't he?" rouletta laid a cold hand upon the shivering, distracted creature before her. sternly she said: "i believe you know who committed that murder. you act as if you did." "i'm a g-good guesser, but--i can keep my mouth shut. i know when i'm well off. that's more than the count knew." "and you probably know something about his robbery, too. i mean that gold-sack--" laure cast off the hand that rested upon her; she looked up quickly. "if i did, d'you think i'd tell you? well, hardly. but i don't. i don't know anything, except that--pierce is a thief. he stole and gave me the money. he did that regularly, and that's more than he'd do for you. you may as well know the truth. cavendish knows it. you think he's too good for me, don't you? well, he isn't. and you're no better than i am, either, for that matter. you've got a nerve to put on airs. god! how i hate you and your superior ways." "never mind me. i want to know who killed count courteau." "all right. wait till rock comes back and ask him. he thinks he'll find out, but--we'll see. joe mccaskey'll be over the line and away, thank heaven! if anything happens and they should overtake him--well, he'll fight. he'll never come in alive, never." turning, the speaker stumbled toward the lights of the saloon, and as she went rouletta heard her mutter again: "he'll never come in alive, never. thank god for that!" chapter xxviii from dawson city the yukon flows in a northwesterly direction toward the international boundary, and although the camp is scarcely more than fifty miles due east of american territory, by the river it is ninety. since the yukon is the main artery of travel, both winter and summer--there being no roads or trails--it behooved those malefactors who fled the wrath of the northwest mounted police to obtain a liberal start, for ninety miles of dead flat going is no easy run and the police teams were fleet of foot. time was when evil-doers had undertaken to escape up-river, or to lose themselves in the hills to the northward, but this was a desperate adventure at best and had issued in such uniform disaster as to discourage its practice. the police had won the reputation of never leaving a trail, and, in consequence, none but madmen longer risked anything except a dash for american soil, and even then only with a substantial margin of time in their favor. but the winter winds are moody, the temper of the arctic is uncertain, hence luck played a large part in these enterprises. both rock and doret were sufficiently familiar with the hazards and the disappointments of travel at this time of year to feel extremely doubtful of overhauling the two mccaskeys, and so they were by no means sanguine of success as they drove headlong into the night. both teams were loaded light; neither driver carried stove, tent, or camp duffle. sleeping-bags, a little cooked food for themselves, a bundle of dried fish for the dogs, that was the limit the pursuers had allowed themselves. given good weather, nothing more was needed. in case of a storm, a sudden blizzard, and a drop in temperature, this lack of equipment was apt to prove fatal, but neither traveler permitted himself to think about such things. burdened thus lightly, the sleds rode high and the malamutes romped along with them. when the late dawn finally came it found them far on their way. that wind, following the snowfall of the day before, had been a happy circumstance, for in many places it had blown the trail clean, so that daylight showed it winding away into the distance like a thread laid down at random. here and there, of course, it was hidden; under the lee of bluffs or of wooded bends, for instance, it was drifted deep, completely obliterated, in fact, and in such places even a seasoned musher would have floundered aimlessly, trying to hold it. but 'poleon doret possessed a sixth sense, it appeared, and his lead dog, too, had unusual sagacity. rock, from his position in the rear, marveled at the accuracy with which the woodsman's sled followed the narrow, hard-packed ridge concealed beneath the soft, new covering. undoubtedly the fellow knew his business and the officer congratulated himself upon bringing him along. they had been under way for five or six hours when the tardy daylight came, but even thereafter doret continued to run with his hand upon his sled. seldom did he ride, and then only for a moment or two when the going was best. for the most part he maintained a steady, swinging trot that kept pace with the pattering feet ahead of him and caused the miles rapidly to drop behind. through drifts knee-deep, through long, soft stretches he held to that unfaltering stride; occasionally he turned his head and flashed a smile or waved his hand at the man behind. along about ten o'clock he halted his team where a dead spruce overhung the river-bank. by the time rock had pulled in behind him he had clambered up the bank, ax in hand, and was making the chips fly. he sent the dry top crashing down, then explained: "dem dogs go better for l'il rest. we boil de kettle, eh?" rock wiped the sweat from his face. "you're certainly hitting it off, old man. we've made good time, but i haven't seen any tracks. have you?" "we see 'em bimeby." "kind of a joke if they hadn't come, after all--if they'd really gone out to hunker. gee! the laugh would be on us." "dey come dis way," 'poleon stoutly maintained. soon a blaze was going; then, while the ice in the blackened tea-bucket was melting, the drivers sliced a slab of bacon into small cubes and fed it sparingly to their animals, after which they carefully examined the dogs' feet and cleaned them of ice and snow pellets. the tea was gulped, the hardtack swallowed, and the travelers were under way again almost before their sweaty bodies had begun to chill. on they hurried, mile after mile, sweeping past bends, eagerly, hopefully scanning every empty tangent that opened up ahead of them. they made fast time indeed, but the immensity of the desolation through which they passed, the tremendous scale upon which this country had been molded, made their progress seem slower than an ant-crawl. eventually 'poleon shouted something and pointed to the trail underfoot. rock fancied he could detect the faint, fresh markings of sled runners, but into them he could not read much significance. it was an encouragement, to be sure, but, nevertheless, he still had doubts, and those doubts were not dispelled until doret again halted his team, this time beside the cold embers of a fire. fresh chips were scattered under the bank, charred fagots had embedded themselves in the ice and were frozen fast, but 'poleon interpreted the various signs without difficulty. "here dey mak' breakfas'--'bout daylight," said he. "dey go slower as us." "but they're going pretty fast, for all that. we'll never get them this side of forty mile." "you don' spec' it, do you? dey got beeg scare, dem feller. dey runnin' so fas' dey can." forty mile, so called because the river of that name enters the yukon forty miles above the boundary, was a considerable camp prior to the dawson boom, but thereafter it had languished, and this winter it was all but deserted. so, too, was cudahy, the rival trading-post a half-mile below. it was on the bars of this stream that the earliest pioneers had first found gold. here at its mouth, during the famine days before the steamboats came, they had cached their supplies; here they had brewed their hootch in the fall and held high carnival to celebrate their good luck or to drown their ill-fortune. rock and his companion pulled up the bank and in among the windowless cabins during the afternoon; they had halted their dogs before the mounted police station, only to find the building locked and cold. the few faithful forty-milers who came out to exchange greetings explained that both occupants of the barracks had gone down-river to succor some sick indians. rock was disgusted, but his next question elicited information that cheered him. yes, a pair of strangers had just passed through, one of them an active, heavy-set fellow, the other a tall, dark, sinister man with black eyes and a stormy demeanor. they had come fast and they had tarried only long enough to feed their dogs and to make some inquiries. upon learning that the local police were on the main river somewhere below, they had held a consultation and then had headed up the forty mile. "up forty mile?" rock cried, in surprise. "are you sure?" "we seen 'em go," his informant declared. "that's what made us think there was something wrong. that's why we been on the lookout for you. we figgered they was on the dodge and hard pressed, but we couldn't do nothing about it. you see, it's only about twenty-three miles to the line up forty mile. down the yukon it's forty. they been gone 'most two hours, now." "what do you want 'em for?" another bystander inquired. "murder," rock exclaimed, shortly; then he heaved his sled into motion once more, for 'poleon had started his team and was making off through the town. down into the bed of the smaller stream the pursuers made their way and up this they turned. again they urged their dogs into a run. it took some effort to maintain a galloping pace now, for the teams were tiring, and after some mental calculations rock shook his head doubtfully. of course, his quarry was at a disadvantage, there being two men to one sled, but--twenty-three miles, with a two-hour start! it was altogether too great a handicap. the lieutenant had figured on that last forty miles, the last five or ten, in fact, but this change of direction had upset all his plans and his estimates. evidently the mccaskeys cared not how nor where they crossed the line, so long as they crossed it quickly and got canadian territory behind them. barring accident, therefore, which was extremely unlikely, rock told himself regretfully that they were as good as gone. two hours! it was too much. on the other hand, he and 'poleon now had a fresh trail to follow, while the fleeing brothers had unbroken snow ahead of them, and that meant that they must take turns ahead of their dogs. then, too, fifty miles over drifted trails at this season of the year was a heavy day's work, and the mccaskeys must be very tired by now, for neither was in the best of condition. in the spring, when the snows were wet and sled runners ran as if upon grease, such a journey would have been no great effort, but in this temperature the steel shoes creaked and a man's muscles did not work freely. men had been known to play out unexpectedly. after all, there was a possibility of pulling them down, and as long as there was that possibility the mounted policeman refused to quit. rock assured himself that this flight had established one thing, at least, and that was pierce phillips' innocence of the courteau killing. the murderers were here; there could be no doubt of it. their frantic haste confessed their guilt. friendship for the boy, pride in his own reputation, the memory of that ovation he had received upon leaving, gave the officer new strength and determination, so he shut his teeth and spurred his rebellious limbs into swifter action. there was no longer any opportunity of riding the sled, even where the trail was hard, for some of the police dogs were limping and loafing in their collars. this was indeed a race, a marathon, a twenty-three-mile test of courage and endurance, and victory would go to him who could call into fullest response his last uttermost ounce of reserve power. doret had promised that he would show his trail-mate how to travel, and that promise he had made good; all day he had held the lead, and without assistance from the lash. even now his dogs, while not fresh, were far from exhausted. as for the man himself, rock began to feel a conviction that the fellow could go on at this rate eternally. luck finally seemed to break in favor of the pursuers; accident appeared to work in their behalf. the day was done, night was again upon them, when doret sent back a cry of warning, and, leaping upon his sled, turned his leader at right angles toward the bank. his companion understood the meaning of that move, but the police team was less responsive to command, and before rock could swing them he felt his feet sink into soft slush. "dam' overflow!" doret panted when the two teams were safely out upon the bank. "you wet your feet, eh?" apprehensively the officer felt of his moccasins; they were wet to the touch, but as yet no moisture had penetrated his socks. "you yelled in the nick of time," he declared, as he dried his soles in the loose snow. "dem feller got in it ankle-deep. i bet we fin' camp-fire soon." this prediction came true. as the travelers rounded the next bluff they smelled the odor of burning spruce and came upon a trampled bed of boughs beside which some embers were still smoldering. "jove! that gives us a chance, doesn't it?" rock panted. his companion smiled. "we goin' start travel now, for sure. dey can't be more 'n a mile or two ahead." down upon the river-bed the teams rushed. with biting lash and sharp commands the drivers urged them into a swifter run. rock was forcing his dogs now; he made the smoke fly from their hides when they lagged. he vowed that he would not permit this french canadian to outdistance him. he swore a good deal at his malamutes; he cursed himself as a weakling, a quitter; anger at his fatigue ran through him. the travelers were up among the hills by now. occasionally they passed a deserted cabin, home of some early gold-digger. valleys dark with night opened up to right and to left as the forty mile wound higher, deeper into the maze of rounded domes: the boundary was close at hand. the hillsides hid their feet in black thickets of spruce, but their slopes were thinly timbered, their crests were nearly bare, and the white snow gave off a dim radiance that made traveling possible even after the twilight had deepened. by and by it grew lighter and the north horizon took on a rosy flush that spread into a tremendous flare. the night was still, clear, crackly; it was surcharged with some static force, and so calm was the air, so deathlike the hush, that the empty valley rang like a bell. that mysterious illumination in the north grew more and more impressive; great ribbons, long pathways of quivering light, unrolled themselves and streamed across the sky; they flamed and flickered, they writhed and melted, disappearing, reappearing, rising, falling. it was as if the lid had been lifted from some stupendous caldron and the heavens reflected the radiance from its white-hot contents. mighty fingers, like the beams of polar search-lights, groped through the voids overhead; tumbling waves of color rushed up and dashed themselves away into space; the whole arch of the night was lit as from a world in flames. red, yellow, orange, violet, ultra-violet--the tints merged with one another bewilderingly and the snows threw back their flicker until coarse print would have been readable. against that war of clashing colors the mountain-crests stood out in silhouette and the fringe of lonely wind-twisted trunks high up on their saddles were etched in blackest ink. it was a weird, an unearthly effect; it was exciting, too. as always when the aurora is in full play, the onlookers marveled that such a tremendous exhibition of energy could continue in such silence. that was the oddest, the most impressive feature of all, for the crash of avalanches, the rumble of thunder, the diapason of a hundred niagaras, should have accompanied such appalling phenomena. it seemed odd indeed that the whine of sled runners, the scuff of moccasins, the panting of dogs, should be the only audible sounds. there were other overflows underfoot now, but the cold had frozen them and the going was getting constantly better. the snow was thin and in places the sleds slewed sidewise and the dogs ran on slack traces across long stretches of bare glare ice. it was while negotiating such a place as this that rock paid the price of his earlier carelessness. doret's dry moose-skin soles had a sure grip, hence he never hesitated, but the lieutenant's moccasins were like a pair of tin shoes now and, without warning, he lost his footing. he was running swiftly at the moment; he strove to save himself, to twist in midair, but he failed. 'poleon heard a cry of pain and dismay, so he halted his team and came striding back. rock raised himself, then took a step, but faltered and clung helplessly to the handlebars. he began to curse furiously; he undertook to estimate the extent of his injury, then explained: "my foot doubled under me and i came down on it like a ton of bricks. by heavens! i believe something broke!" 'poleon was solicitous. he blamed himself, too. "it's dem wet moccasin'. i should have stop' an' mak' you change," said he. "we can't stop," rock groaned. "i'll be all right as soon as--" the words ended in another explosive oath as he again put his weight upon the injured member. blasphemy poured from his lips as repeatedly he tried to force his foot to carry him. he cursed himself for a clumsy, blundering ass; he shouted at his dogs; he sent his sled forward and lurched along behind it, half supporting himself, until 'poleon finally halted him. "it's no good mak' bad t'ing worse, m'sieu'," the woodsman declared. "you bus' him for sure, an' it's no use goin' furder. s'pose mebbe we boil de kettle, eh?" "and let them get away clean? when we had 'em? they can't be a mile ahead. let 'em slip between our fingers?" raved the officer. "i can't. i won't--" "we mak' li'l fire an' look him over dat foot. me, i t'ink you don' walk no more for two, free week'." "you go! i'll deputize you! get 'em, doret, quick! you can do it! i'll wait! go ahead!" the other nodded. "sure, i can get 'em! i never have no doubt 'bout dat in de least, but it's better we fix you comfor'ble." "they'll be across, i tell you--over the line--" "i came pas' dat place more 'n once or twice"--the french canadian grinned--"an' i never seen it no line." he forced his companion to lower himself upon the sled, then swung it toward the river-bank, calling upon his own lead dog to follow. up and into the shelter of the spruce he drove the police team; quickly he felled dry wood and kindled a fire. this took but a few moments, but rock was wet with sweat and in consequence he was shivering wretchedly; his teeth were chattering even before the blaze had taken hold. 'poleon continued to work with what speed he could, and in a surprisingly short time he had built a snug wickiup and filled it with boughs. this done, he unhitched and fed both teams, spread rock's sleeping-bag under the shelter, and set a pail of snow to melt. by the light of the fire he examined the latter's injury, but could make little of it, for already it was badly swollen and every manipulation caused its owner extreme pain. there were no remedies available; there was not even a vessel of sufficient size in which to bathe the foot; hence 'poleon contented himself by bandaging it and helping his trail-mate into bed. not since leaving dawson had either man tasted hot food, but their hunger was as nothing to their thirst. even in this length of time their bodies had shrunk, withered, inside their clothing, and for perhaps an hour they took turns greedily draining the pail of its tepid contents. under intense cold the human body consumes itself at a rapid rate. once it has burned itself out it preys upon those deep-hidden forces which nature holds in reserve, and the process of recuperation waits upon a restoration of a normal balance of moisture. both men were weighed down by an aching, nightmare fatigue, and as they sat gulping hot water, absorbing heat from within and without, their muscles set and they felt as if their limbs had turned to stone. but, once the first mad craving for drink had been assuaged, they fried bacon and made tea. like wolves they fell upon the salt meat; they dipped the hot grease up in their spoons and swallowed it with relish; they crunched their hardtack and washed the powdery mouthfuls down with copious draughts from the blackened pail. when the tea was gone they brewed another scalding bucketful. rock lay back, finally, but the movement caused him to bare his teeth in agony. at 'poleon's quick inquiry he shook his head. "i'm all right," he declared. "good for the night. you can pull out any time you want to." "dere's plenty tam." 'poleon lit his pipe and reached again for the tea-bucket. "better go before you stiffen up." "i go bimeby--sooner i get li'l drinkin' done." "they'll fight," rock announced, after a silence of perhaps five minutes. "i feel pretty rotten, playing out like this." "you done firs' rate," the woodsman told him. "if i come alone i catch 'em ten mile below, but--li'l tam, more less, don' mak' no differ." "i believe you would have got 'em," the officer acknowledged. after a time he persisted: "they'll put up a battle, doret. you'll need to be careful." 'poleon was squatted indian fashion over the blaze; he was staring fixedly into the flames, and an aboriginal reticence had settled upon him. after a long time he answered: "mebbe so i keel de beeg feller. i dunno. so long one is lef' i mak' him clear dat boy phillips." "decent of you to take a chance like that for pierce," rock resumed. "it's different with me; i have to do it. just the same, i wouldn't care to follow those fellows over the boundary. i don't think you'd better try it." in spite of his suffering, the lieutenant fell into a doze; whether he slept ten minutes or an hour he never knew, but he awoke, groaning, to find the big woodsman still bulked over the campfire, still smoking, still sipping tea. rock ate and drank some more; again he slept. for a second time his pain roused him, and once more he marveled to discover 'poleon occupied as before. it seemed to him that the fellow would never satisfy himself. eventually, however, the latter arose and made preparations to leave. the northern lights had flickered out now; the empty sky was sprinkled with a million stars which glittered like scintillating frost jewels frozen into the dome of heaven; there were no sounds whatever to break the deathlike silence of the night, for the arctic wastes are all but lifeless. there were no bird-calls, no sounds of insects, not even the whisper of running water, for the river was locked deep beneath its icy armor. "you got 'nough wood to las' long tam," 'poleon declared. "if i don' come back, dem forty mile police is sure to pick you up." "i can go in alone if i have to," the injured man declared. "au revoir and good luck." 'poleon made no attempt to hurry his tired team; for several miles he plodded along behind them, guiding them to right or left by a low-spoken word. years before, he had rocked on the bars of this stream; therefore its landmarks were familiar to him, and in spite of the darkness he readily identified them. in time he made out the monuments marking the international boundary, and a short distance beyond that point he unhitched his dogs, then took a carbine from his sled and slipped it full of shells. next he removed his lash rope, coiled it, and placed it in his pocket, after which he resumed his journey alone. occasionally he dimly glimpsed deserted cabins, habitations built by the gold-diggers of other days. carefully he followed the all but indistinguishable sled tracks ahead of him until they swerved abruptly in toward the bank. here he paused, pulled a mitten, and, moistening a finger, held it up to test the wind. what movement there was to the air seemed to satisfy him, for, step by step, he mounted the steep slope until his head finally rose over its crest. against the skyline he now made out a small clearing; straining his eyes, he could see the black square of a cabin wall. no light shone from it, therefore he argued that his men had supped and were asleep. he had assumed that they would not, could not, go far beyond the boundary; he had purposely allowed them sufficient time in which to overcome the first agony of fatigue and to fall asleep. he wondered apprehensively where they had put their dogs, and if by any evil chance the mccaskey team included an "outside" dog of the watchful, barking variety. gingerly he stepped out, and found that the snow underfoot gave off only the faintest whisper. like a shadow he stole closer to the hut, keeping the imperceptible night breeze in his face. so noiseless was his approach that the tired dogs, snugly curled each in its own deep bed of snow, did not hear him--your malamutes that are broken to harness are bad watch-dogs at best. not until he had melted into the gloom beneath the wide overhang above the cabin door did the first disturbance come. then something started into life and the silence was broken. 'poleon saw that a canvas sled-cover had been used to curtain the door opening, and during the instant following the alarm he brushed the tarpaulin aside and stepped into the pitch-black interior. it had been a swift maneuver, the result of a lightning-like decision, and not so reckless as it appeared. he stood now with his back to the rough log wall, every muscle in his body taut, his ears strained for some sound, some challenge. he had been prepared for a shot out of the darkness, but nothing came. his lungs were filling with the first deep breath of relief when a sleepy voice spoke: "that you, frank?" 'poleon remained fixed in his tracks. "frank!" there was a moment's pause, then, "frank!" followed a rustle as of a body turning, then a startled mumble in answer. "was that you?" joe mccaskey's voice again demanded. "me? what--?" "was you outside?" "outside?" "i heard the dogs rowing. they're stirring now. hear 'em? i'll swear i saw that fly drop--" mccaskey's words died out and again the interior of the cabin became soundless. "who's there?" the former speaker suddenly barked. when another moment had dragged by, a sulphur match was struck. for a second or two it shed a sickly blue radiance sufficient only to silhouette a pair of hands cupped over it; then, as the flame ignited the tiny shaft, it burst into a yellow glow and sent the shadows of the cabin leaping. joe mccaskey uttered a cry, a scream. the flame was crushed in his palms and again the cabin was ink black. it remained as silent as before except for a dry rattling of breath in the elder brother's throat. "wha--what'd you--see?" the younger one gasped. both men were now fully awake, but, disregarding the question, joe cried, wildly: "who are you? what d'you want?" and then, when no answer came: "christ! say something." 'poleon could hear the wretch moisten his dry lips; he could picture both men sitting bolt upright in their sleeping-bags; he could feel the terror that was creeping over them. "who'd you see?" frank whispered again. "s-something big! right there! by god! something's in here!" joe's tone was firmer now; nevertheless, fright still held him motionless, paralyzed. he was staring with blind eyes into the velvet blackness, and his flesh was rippling with a superstitious horror of that formless creature he had glimpsed. what was it that had walked in out of the night and now crouched ready to spring? nothing human, nothing natural, that was sure. similar thoughts raced madly through his brother's brain, and the latter let forth a thin wail--almost a sob. the sound set joe into motion. swiftly but clumsily he fumbled through the dry grass with which his bunk was filled. he uttered a throaty curse, for he had laid his revolver by his side, right where his hand would fall upon it. where was the thing--? joe's body turned rigid, his shaking fingers grew stiff and useless, when out of the darkness came a sigh--faint but unmistakable; whence it issued neither brother could tell. with another shriek frank fell back and burrowed into his sleeping-bag. chapter xxix rouletta kirby spent an anxious and a thoughtful night. the more she dwelt upon laure's peculiar behavior the more it roused her suspicions and the more she felt justified in seeking an interview with colonel cavendish. she rose early, therefore, and went to police headquarters. two people were in the office when she entered, one a redcoat, evidently acting in some clerical capacity; the other a girl whom rouletta had never seen. the colonel was engaged, so rouletta was told, and she sat down to wait. with furtive curiosity she began to study this other young woman. it was plain that the latter was a privileged person, for she made herself perfectly at home and appeared to be not in the least chilled by the official formality of her surroundings. she wandered restlessly about the room, humming a tune under her breath; she readjusted the window-curtains to her liking; she idly thumbed the books upon the shelves; finally she perched herself upon the table in the midst of the documents upon which the officer was engaged, and began a low-voiced conversation with him. rouletta was not a little impressed by this stranger. she had never seen a finer, healthier, cleaner-cut girl. here for once was a "nice" woman of the town who did not stare at her with open and offensive curiosity. she was not surprised when she overheard the police officer address her as "miss cavendish." no wonder this girl had poise and breeding--the cavendishes were the best people in the community. with a jealous pang the caller reflected that the colonel's daughter was very much what she herself would like to be, very much her ideal, so far as she could judge. when, eventually, the commandant himself emerged from his sanctum, he paused for a moment at his daughter's side; then he approached rouletta. very briefly the latter made known the reason of her presence, and the colonel nodded. "you did quite right in coming here," he declared, "and i'm sure this dance-hall girl knows more than she has told. in fact, i was on the point of sending for her. please wait until she arrives. perhaps we can straighten out this whole unpleasant affair informally. i'll need phillips, too. meanwhile, there's a friend of yours inside." stepping to the inner door, he spoke to some one, and an instant later the countess courteau came forth. rouletta had not seen the countess alone since early the previous evening. she went swiftly to her now and placed an arm about her shoulders. hilda responded to this mark of sympathy with a weary smile. "well, i had to go through with it to the bitter end," she said, in a low voice. "henri didn't spare me even that." rouletta pressed her closer, murmuring: "colonel cavendish is a fine man--i'm sure he understands. you've undergone a dreadful ordeal, but--it's nearly over. he's sending for laure now. she can tell a good deal, if she will." "about the theft, yes. but what about the--murder? joe mccaskey did it. there's no doubt about that. henri weakened, after i gave him his chance. he got to drinking, i hear, and evidently he conceived the notion of telling those men. he may have gone to warn them, to appeal to them. i don't know. then they must have quarreled. it's all clear enough when you understand the inside facts. without knowing them, it was natural to suspect pierce, so--i did what i had to do. i doubt if laure knows anything about this part of the affair." the two women were still talking when laure entered, in company with the mounted police officer who had been sent to fetch her. at sight of them she halted; a sudden pallor came into her cheeks; she cast a glance of alarm about her as if seeking retreat; but colonel cavendish grimly invited her to follow him, and stepped into his private office. the new-comer faltered; then with a defiant toss of her head and with lips curled in disdain she obeyed; the door closed behind her. rouletta and the countess courteau fell silent now. they found nothing to talk about, and in spite of themselves they strained their ears for some sound from the other room. even miss cavendish seemed vaguely to feel the suspense, for she finally took her stand beside a frost-rimed window and engaged herself in tracing patterns thereon with the tip of her finger. an occasional stormy murmur of voices, deadened by the thick log partition, indicated that laure and her inquisitor were not getting on well together. suddenly the girl at the window started; her apathy vanished; her expression of boredom gave place to one of such lively anticipation as to draw the attention of the two other women. a magic change came over her; she became suddenly animated, alive, atingle in every nerve; her eyes sparkled and a new color flooded her cheeks. the alteration interested her observers; they were mystified as to its cause until a quick step sounded in the entry and the door opened to admit pierce phillips. it was natural that he should first see miss cavendish, and that he should greet her before recognizing the other occupants of the room. it was natural, too, that he should be a trifle nonplussed at finding hilda here; nevertheless, he managed to cover his lack of ease. not so, however, when, a moment later, the door to colonel cavendish's office opened and laure, of all persons, appeared therein. quickly pierce inferred the reason for his summons, but, happily for him, he was spared further embarrassment. cavendish called to him, took him by the hand in the friendliest manner, and again disappeared into his retreat, drawing the young man with him. brief as had been the interruption, both hilda and rouletta had gathered much from it; their inference was borne out when laure paused before them and in a voice subdued by the very force of her agitation exclaimed: "well, i hope you're satisfied! i got it, and got it good." her face was livid, her dark eyes were blazing wrathfully. she outthrust a shaking hand and unclenched her fingers, displaying therein a crumpled sheet of pink paper, a printed official form, the telltale tint of which indicated its fateful character. both of her hearers were familiar with the so-called "pink tickets" of the mounted police; every one in the northwest territory, in fact, knew what they were--deportation orders. but in a tone hoarse and suppressed laure read, "'--leave by the first safe conveyance!' that's what it says--the first safe conveyance. i suppose you'd like it better if it were a blue ticket and i had to leave in twenty-four hours. you put it over, but i won't forget. i'll get even with you." "we had nothing to do with that," the countess declared, quietly. "i'm sorry you take it so hard, but--it serves you right." "who wouldn't take it hard? to be expelled, fired out like a thief, a--" the girl's voice broke; then she pulled herself together and uttered a quavering, artificial laugh. she tossed her head again, with an obvious attempt at defiance. "oh, it takes more than a pink ticket to down me! anyhow, i'm sick of this place, sick of the people. i hate them." with a vicious fling of her shoulders she swept on to a seat as far from them as possible and sank into it. so the girl had confessed, hilda reflected. she was glad, for pierce's sake, that this miserable complication was in process of clearing up and that he would be finally and completely exonerated; she was glad, too, that her efforts in his behalf, her humiliation, had borne fruit. he would never know how high he had made her pay, but that was all right. she felt very gently toward him at this moment, and experienced a certain wistful desire that he might understand how unselfish had been her part. it might make a difference; probably it would. things now were not as they had been. she was a free woman. this thought obtruded itself insistently into the midst of her meditations. yes, courteau was gone; there was no reason now why she could not look any man honestly in the eye. of course, there was the same disparity in years between her and pierce which she had recognized from the beginning, but, after all, was that necessarily fatal? he had loved her genuinely enough at one time. hilda recalled that windy night on the shores of linderman when the whimper of a rising storm came out of the darkness, when the tree-tops tossed their branches to the sky, and when her own soul had broken its fetters and defied restraint. she thrilled at memory of those strong young arms about her, those hot lips pressing hers. that was a moment to remember always. and those dreamy, magic days that had followed, the more delightful, the more unreal because she had deliberately drugged her conscience. then that night at white horse! he had told her bitterly, broken-heartedly, that he could never forget. perhaps even yet--with an effort hilda courteau roused herself. never forget? why, he had forgotten the very next day, as was quite natural. no, she was a foolish sentimentalist, and he--well, he was just one whom fate had cast for a lover's role, one destined to excite affection in women, good and bad. some day he would find his mate and--hilda believed she loved him well enough to rejoice in his happiness when it came. there spoke the maternal instinct which phillips had the knack of rousing; for want of something better, she determined she would cherish that. meanwhile laure sat in her corner, her head bowed, her very soul in revolt. she was tasting failure, disappointment, balked desire, and it was like gall in her mouth. she could have cried out aloud in her rage. she hated these other women whom she blamed for her undoing; she hated cavendish, pierce phillips, herself. "it serves me right," she told herself, furiously. "i deserve the pink ticket for making a fool of myself. yes, a fool! what has pierce ever done for me? nothing. and i--?" before her mind's eye came a vision of the opportunities she had let slip, the chances she had ignored. she knew full well that she could have had the pick of many men--the new-made millionaires of dawson--but instead she had chosen him. and why? merely because he had a way, a smile, a warm and pleasing personality--some magnetic appeal too intangible to identify. it was like her to make the wrong choice--she always did. she had come north with but one desire, one determination--namely, to make money, to reap to the full her share of this free harvest. she had given up the life she liked, the people she knew, the comforts she craved, for that and for nothing else, and what a mess she had made of the venture! other girls not half so smart, not half so pretty as she, had feathered their nests right here before her eyes, while she was wasting her time. they had kept their heads, and they would go out in the spring, first class, with good clothes and a bank-roll in the purser's safe. some of them were married and respectable. "never again!" she whispered to herself. "the next one will pay." chagrin at the treatment she had suffered filled her with a poisonous hatred of all mankind, and soundlessly she cursed phillips as the cause of her present plight. such thoughts as these ran tumbling through the girl's mind; her rage and her resentment were real enough; nevertheless, through this overtone there ran another note; a small voice was speaking in the midst of all her tumult--a small voice which she refused to listen to. "what i ever saw in him i don't know," she sneered, goading herself to further bitterness and stiffening her courage. "i never really cared for him; i'm too wise for that. i don't care for him now. i detest the poor, simple-minded fool. i--hate him." so she fought with herself, drowning the persistent piping of that other voice. then her eyes dropped to that fatal paper in her lap and suddenly venom fled from her. she wondered if cavendish would tell pierce that he had given her the pink ticket. probably not. the mounted police were usually close-mouthed about such things, and yet--laure crushed the paper into a crumpled ball and furtively hid it in the pocket of her coat; then she raised wild, apprehensive eyes to the door. if only she dared slip out now, before pierce reappeared, before he had a chance to see her. it seemed as if she could not bear to have him know, but--cavendish had ordered her to wait. "my god!" the girl whispered. "i'll die, if he knows! i'll die!" she began to tremble wretchedly and to wring her hands; she could not remove her gaze from the door. this waiting-room at the barracks had housed people of divers and many sorts during its brief history; it had harbored strained faces, it had been the scene of strong emotional conflicts, but never, perhaps, had its narrow walls encompassed emotions in wider contrast than those experienced by the four silent women who waited there at this moment. one object of interest dominated the thoughts of each of them. these thoughts were similar in nature and sprang from the same starting-point. curiously enough, however, they took channels as wide apart as the poles. josephine cavendish had heard just enough about the incidents of the previous night to awaken her apprehensions and to stir her feeling of loyalty to the depths. the suggestion that pierce phillips was in the slightest degree responsible for the death of count courteau had roused her indignation and her fighting-blood. unable to endure the suspense of idle waiting, she had sought relief by assuming a sort of sentinel post where she could watch developments. it was something to be close to his affairs. it was next to being close to him; hence the reason of her presence and her insistence upon remaining. in her mind there had never been the slightest question of pierce's innocence; any doubt of it, expressed or implied, awoke in her a sharp and bitter antagonism quite remarkable; no bird could have flown quicker to the aid of her chick, no wolf mother could have bristled more ferociously at threat to her cub, than did this serene, inexperienced girl-woman at hint of peril to pierce phillips. and yet, on the surface, at least, she and pierce were only friends. he had never voiced a word of love to her. but--of what use are words when hearts are full and when confession lurks in every glance, every gesture; when every commonplace is thrilling and significant? in her eyes no disgrace whatever attached to him as a result of the notoriety he had suffered. on the contrary, she considered him a martyr, a hero, the object of a deep conspiracy, and his wrongs smarted her. he was, in short, a romantic figure. moreover, she had recently begun to believe that this entire situation was contrived purely for the purpose of bringing them together, of acquainting them with each other, and of testing the strength of their mutual regard. these other women, whom she saw to-day for the first time, she considered merely extra figures in the drama of which she and pierce played the leads--witnesses in the case deserving no attention. she would be grateful to them, of course, if they succeeded in helping him, but, at best, they were minor characters, supers in the cast. once pierce himself strode into the scene, she forgot them entirely. what a picture her lover made, she reflected; how he filled her eye! what importance he possessed! surely the world must see and feel how dominant, how splendid he was. it must recognize how impossible it would be for him to do wrong. the mere sight of him had set her to vibrating, and now inspired in her a certain reckless abandon; guilty or innocent, he was her mate and she would have followed him at a word. but--he was innocent; it was her part to wait here as patiently as she could until the fact was proved and until he could ask that question which forever trembled between them. such thoughts as these were impossible to conceal; they were mirrored upon the face of the colonel's daughter as she stood raptly gazing at the door through which pierce phillips had disappeared. her lips were parted; the shadow of the smile his coming had evoked still lingered upon them; her soul was in her shining eyes. unknown to her, at least one of the other women present had read her sudden emotions and now watched her curiously, with an intent and growing astonishment. rouletta kirby had been as quick as the countess to correctly interpret laure's chagrin, and she, too, had experienced a tremendous relief. oddly enough, however, she had felt no such fierce and jealous exultation as she had anticipated; there had been no selfish thrill such as she had expected. what ailed her? she wondered. while groping for an answer, her attention had been challenged by the expression upon miss cavendish's face, and vaguely she began to comprehend the truth. breathlessly now she watched the girl; slowly conviction grew into certainty. so! that was why the colonel's daughter was here. that was why, at sound of a certain step, she had become glorified. that was why pierce had been blind to her own and hilda's presence in the room. it would be untrue to say that rouletta was not shocked by this discovery. it came like a thunderclap, and its very unexpectedness jolted her mind out of the ruts it had been following these many days. but, astonishing to relate, it caused her no anguish. after the first moment or two of dizzy bewilderment had passed she found that her whole being was galvanized into new life and that the eyes of her soul were opened to a new light. with understanding came a peculiar emotional let-down, a sudden, welcome relaxation--almost a sensation of relief. rouletta asked herself, over and over, what could be the matter with her; why she felt no twinge, no jealousy; why the sight of that eager, breathless girl with the rapturous face failed to cause her a heartache. she was amazed at herself. it could not be that she no longer cared for pierce, that she had mistaken her feelings toward him. no, he was what he had always been--her ideal--the finest, the most lovable, the dearest creature she had ever met; just the sort of fellow she had always longed to know, the kind any girl would crave for lover, friend, brother. she felt very tender toward him. she was not greatly surprised that the nicest girl in dawson had recognized his charm and had surrendered to it. well, he deserved the nicest girl in the world. rouletta was startled at the direction her thoughts were taking. did she love pierce phillips as she had believed she did, or had she merely fallen in love with his good qualities? certainly he had never been dearer to her than he was at this moment, and yet--rouletta abandoned the problem of self-analysis and allowed her bubbling relief at the turn events had taken to remain a mystery for the time being. the door to the commandant's office opened without warning. pierce stood framed in it. his head was up, his shoulders were back, his countenance was alight; with confident tread he entered the big room and crossed it directly to the girl who stood waiting beside the table. he held out his two hands to her and with a flash of her clear blue eyes she placed hers in his. gladness, trust, blind faith, and adoration were in her face. she murmured something which rouletta did not hear, for at that instant colonel cavendish appeared with the curt announcement: "that is all, ladies. you needn't remain longer." blindly, confusedly, rouletta rose and fumbled with her wraps. she saw the colonel go to laure and speak with her in a stiff, formal way. she saw pierce and josephine turn away hand in hand, their heads close together--he had not even glanced in her direction; then cavendish was speaking to her directly. at first she did not understand him, but finally made out that he was telling her that everything had been cleared up, including even the mystery of count courteau's gold-sack. "laure confessed that she got a duplicate key to the cashier's cage," she heard the colonel say. "got it from pierce. it was she who put the evidence in there during the confusion. pretty ingenious, i call it, and pretty spiteful." "did she--have anything to say about the--the murder?" rouletta inquired. "no. but the countess has that figured out right, i'm sure. we'll have the proof when rock brings back his prisoners." as rouletta moved toward the door pierce stopped her. there was a ring in his voice as he said: "rouletta, i want you to meet miss cavendish. i want the two nicest girls in the world to know each other. josephine, this is miss kirby, of whom i've said so much." then without reason he laughed joyously, and so did the colonel's daughter. the latter took rouletta's hand in a warm and friendly clasp. her smiling lips were tremulous. engagingly, shyly, she said: "pierce has told me how splendid you've been to him, and i'm sure you're as happy as we are, but--things always come out right if we wish for them hard enough. don't you think so?" the countess courteau was walking slowly when rouletta overtook her a block or so down the street. she looked up as the younger woman joined her. "well," she said, "i presume you saw. not a look, not a thought for any one but her--that other girl." "yes, i saw." there was a pause, then: "she's wonderful. i think i'm very glad." "glad?" hilda raised her brows; she glanced curiously at the speaker. "if i had a brother i'd want him to love a girl like that." "but--you have no brother, outside of 'poleon doret." hilda was more than ever amazed when her companion laughed softly, contentedly. "i know, but if i had one, i'd want him to be like--pierce. i--my dear, something has changed in me, oh, surprisingly! i scarcely know what it is, but--i'm walking on air and my eyes are open for the first time. and you? we've been honest with each other--how do you feel?" "i?" the countess smiled wistfully. "why--it doesn't matter how i feel! the boy has found himself, and nothing else is of the least importance." chapter xxx joe mccaskey was not a coward, neither was he a superstitious man, but he had imagination. the steady strain of his and frank's long flight, the certainty of pursuit close behind, had frayed his nerve and rendered him jumpy. for a man in his condition to be awakened out of a trancelike sleep by an intruder at once invisible, dumb; to feel the presence of that mysterious visitor and actually to see him--it--bulked dim and formless among the darting shadows cast by a blazing match--was a test indeed. it was too much for joe. as for frank, he had actually seen nothing, heard nothing except his brother's voice, and then--that sigh. for that very reason his terror was, if anything, even greater than his brother's. during what seemed an age there was no sound except the stertorous breathing of the mccaskeys themselves and the stir of the dogs outside. the pale square of the single window, over which a bleached-out cotton flour-sack had been tacked, let in only enough light to intensify the gloom. within the cabin was a blackness thick, tangible, oppressive; the brothers stared into it with bulging eyes and listened with ear-drums strained to the point of rupture. oddly enough, this utter silence augmented their agitation. unable finally to smother the evidence of his steadily growing fright, frank uttered a half-audible moan. joe in the next bunk put it down as a new and threatening phenomenon. what sort of thing was it that sighed and moaned thus? as evidence of the direction joe's mind was taking, he wondered if these sounds could be the complaint of courteau's unshriven spirit. it was a shocking thought, but involuntarily he gasped the dead man's name. a guilty conscience is a proven coward-maker; so, too, is a quick, imaginative mind. it took only a moment or two to convince joe that this nocturnal interloper was not a creature of flesh and blood, but some enormous, unmentionable, creeping thing come out of the other world--out of the cold earth--to visit punishment upon him for his crime. he could hear it stirring, finally, now here, now there; he could make out the rustle of its grave-clothes. there is no doubt that the cabin was full of half-distinguishable sounds--so is any warm habitation--but to joe's panicky imagination the nature of these particular sounds indicated that they could not come from any normal, living being. there was, for instance, a slow, asthmatic wheezing, like the breath of a sorely wounded man; a stretching and straining as of a body racked with mortal agony; even a faint bubbling choke like a death-rattle heard in an adjoining chamber. these and others as horribly suggestive. joe's wild agitation distorted all of them, no matter whether they came from his brother frank, from the poorly seasoned pole rafters overhead, or from the sleepy dogs outside, and 'poleon doret, with a grim internal chuckle, took advantage of the fact. when finally the elder mccaskey heard his own name whispered, the last shred of self-control left to him was whipped away; his wits went skittering, and for a second time he groped with frantic, twitching fingers for his revolver. he raised it and, with a yell, fired at random into the blackness, meanwhile covering his eyes with his left arm for fear of beholding in the sulphurous flash that bloodless, fleshless menace, whatever it might be. somehow he managed to get out of bed and to place his back against the wall, and there he cowered until he heard his brother's body threshing about the floor. as a matter of fact, that shot had sent frank sprawling from his bunk, and he was striving to kick off the hampering folds of his sleeping-bag, nothing more; but the thumping of his knees and elbows bore a dreadful significance to the terrified listener. evidently the thing had closed in--had grappled with frank. its hands, damp with death sweat, even now were groping for him, joe. the thought was unbearable. blindly the elder brother thrust his revolver at full length in front of him and pulled the trigger; frank shrieked, but again and again joe fired, and when the last cartridge was spent he continued to snap the weapon. he desisted only when he heard a voice, faint, but hoarse with agony, crying: "o god! you've shot me, joe! you've shot me!" then and not until then, did a sort of sanity come to the wretch. the revolver slipped from his fingers; he felt his bones dissolving into water; a horror ten times greater than he had previously suffered fell upon him. he tried to speak, to throw off this hideous nightmare, but his voice came only as a dry, reedy whisper. frank was still now; he did not respond to his brother's incoherencies except with a deep groaning that momentarily became more alarming. "i--i--didn't--christ! i didn't shoot you ... frank! ... answer me! say something. ..." even yet the dread of that hobgoblin presence lay like ice upon the elder brother; he feared to move lest he encounter it, lest he touch it and it enfold him; but when frank's twitching body became still he fell to his knees and went groping forward on all-fours in search of it. death was here now. he had slain his brother and there was no light! joe began to sob and to chatter in a maudlin hysteria of fright and apprehension. he succeeded in finding frank by the sound of his breathing, and he was pawing at him and wildly calling his name when at his back a match was struck. the sound, the flare, brought a scream from his throat. he cringed and cowered; the pallid face he raised was slack-jawed, his gaze was that of a crazy man. slowly, very slowly his dementia left him. his eyes were still distended, to be sure, but into them sanity, recognition, began to creep. he stared dazedly about him, and at last he managed to speak doret's name. "wh-what you doing--here?" he breathed. "me? i come to tak' you back." joe shook his head weakly. "you can't. we're across--safe." his eyes dropped to the prostrate body beside which he knelt, and a new thought swiftly flooded his vacant mind. "look! you--now i understand. you did it! you shot him. i never--by god!" the fellow's insane vehemence, the panting eagerness with which he undertook to absolve himself from the hideous results of his deed, argued that he loved his brother. he rose slowly to his feet, his countenance flaming, his gaze fixed in an arresting expression of mingled rage and horror upon the woodsman's face. "you did it, damn you! shot him, in the dark, asleep! now you want me ... take me back, eh? you can't do it. i'm safe ... safe ... !" 'poleon uttered a grunt. he leaned his carbine against the wall behind him, and from his pocket he drew a thin cotton sled-rope. with this in his hand he advanced upon the slayer. mccaskey retreated. weakly at first he fought off his captor; then, as fear overwhelmed him, he became possessed of a phrenetic energy and struggled with the strength of two men. he struck, he bit, he clawed, he kicked. it was like the battle of a man with a beast--ferocious, merciless--while it lasted. they rocked about the cabin, heedless of the wounded man; the stove came crashing down and they trampled the pipe under their feet. but mccaskey collapsed as suddenly as he had flown to action. when 'poleon trussed him up he had neither strength nor spirit either for resistance or for resentment. he was as spineless as a wet sack. with anguished eyes he watched his captor lift frank into a bunk and then proceed to do what remained to be done. bleak of face, lifeless of voice, hopeless of expression, he answered the questions put to him and made no feeblest effort at concealment. he was, in fact, no longer capable of any resistance, mental or physical. frank died as the first ashen streaks of dawn came through the window and lit the sickly face of the brother who had slain him. there was no longer need of the rope; in fact, joe implored his captor with such earnestness not to leave him alone that 'poleon untied his hands, feeling sure that he was impotent. joe followed him outside, and stood near by while he harnessed the dogs; he accompanied every step the woodsman took--wild horses could not have dragged him away in his present frame of mind--and finally, when they set out back toward the canadian line, he shambled along ahead of the team with head down and eyes averted from the gruesome bundle that lay in the sled. his punishment had overtaken him and he was unequal to it. dawson was in ferment, for the news of another "strike" had come in and a stampede was under way. discoveries of gold, or rumors of them, had been common. the camp had thrilled to many arabian nights tales, but this one was quite the most sensational of all. so amazing, so unbelievable was it, in truth, that those who had been too often fooled laughed at it and declared it impossible on its face. some woodcutters on the hills above el dorado had been getting out dry timber for the drift fires, so ran the report, and in shooting the tree-trunks down into the valley they had discovered a deposit of wash gravel. one of them, possessed of the prospector's instinct, had gophered a capful of the gravel from off the rim where the plunging tree-trunks had dug through the snow and exposed the outcropping bedrock, and, to satisfy his curiosity, had taken it down to camp for a test. he had thawed and panned it; to his amazement, he had discovered that it carried an astonishing value in gold--coarse, rough gold--exactly like that in the creek pay-streak, except with less signs of abrasion and erosion. rumor placed the contents of that first prospect at ten dollars. ten cents would have meant the riches of aladdin, but--ten dollars! no wonder the wiseacres shook their heads. ten dollars to the pan, on a hilltop! absurd! how did metal of that specific gravity get up there? how could there be wash gravel on the crest of a mountain? there was no sense to such a proposition. but such old california placer miners as chanced to hear of it lost no time in hitting the trail. they were familiar with high bars, prehistoric riverbeds, and they went as fast as their old legs would carry them. more faith was put in the story when it became known that the diggings were being deserted and that the men of el dorado and bonanza were quitting their jobs, actually leaving their thawed drifts to freeze while they scattered over the domes and saddles round about, staking claims. that settled matters, so far as dawson was concerned; men who had dogs hitched them up, those who had none rolled their packs; soon the trail up the klondike was black and the recorder's office prepared for riotous activity. those who had set out thus late met excited travelers hastening townward, and from them obtained confirmation. yes, the story was true, more than true! the half had not been told as yet. gold lay under the grass roots where anybody could see it; it was more plentiful than in the creeks--this was the richest thing ever known. "frenchman's hill," the discovery had been named, but all the ground for miles round about had been already staked and now men were going even further afield. it was well to hurry. a frenzy took possession of the hearers, and they pressed on more rapidly. this was like the rush of the autumn previous, from dyea to the chilkoot, only here dogs flew under snapping lashes; pedestrians, when shouldered aside, abandoned their burdens and sacrificed all to speed. at the forks the new arrivals scattered up over the hills, and that night road-houses, cabins, tents, were crowded; men slept on chairs, on floors; they stood around open fires. dawson awoke, on the second morning, to behold a long queue of fur-clad miners waiting outside the gold commissioner's office; the town took on an electric liveliness. this signified big things; it gave permanence; it meant that dawson was to be the world's first placer camp. business picked up, the saloons became thronged, on every corner knots of gossiping men assembled. there began a considerable speculation in claims on frenchman's hill; merchants planned larger stocks for the next season; the price of town lots doubled. late that afternoon through the streets ran a cry that took every foot-free man hurrying to the river-front. "rock was coming!" in a jiffy the vantage-points were crowded. sure enough, far down the yukon two teams were approaching; with the smoke of dawson in their nostrils they were coming on the run, and soon the more keen-eyed spectators announced that they could make out 'poleon doret. the lieutenant himself, however, was not in evidence. instantly speculation became rife. here was a sensation indeed, and when the second runner was identified beyond question as joe mccaskey, excitement doubled. where was rock? where was the other fugitive? what, in the name of all that was unexpected, had occurred? a shout of relief issued from the crowd when the teams drew in under the bank and rock sat up, waving a mittened hand; the shout was quickly hushed as the lookers-on saw what sort of burden joe mccaskey was driving. up into the main street came the cavalcade. the crowd fell in alongside and ran with it to the barracks, clamoring for details, pouring questions upon the returning travelers. joe mccaskey, of course, was speechless, this ordeal proving, as a matter of fact, scarcely less trying than that other one at sheep camp when he had run the gauntlet. as for rock and the french canadian, neither had much to say, and as a result sensational stories soon spread through the resorts. the mounted policeman had got his men, as usual, but only after a desperate affray in which frank mccaskey had fallen and the officer himself had been wounded--so ran the first account. those who had gone as far as the barracks returned with a fanciful tale of a siege in the snow and of rock's single-handed conquest of the two fugitives. these conflicting reports were confusing and served to set the town so completely agog that it awaited fuller details with the most feverish impatience. one thing only was certain--the lieutenant had again made himself a hero; he had put a new feather in his cap. men lifted glasses to him and to the force. such efficiency as this commanded their deepest respect and admiration. pierce phillips, of course, was the most eager member of that welcoming throng. at the earliest moment he bore 'poleon away to his cabin, and there, when the last morbid curiosity-seeker had been shaken off and the dogs had been attended to, he heard the story. "you don' got no more worry," 'poleon told him, with a smile. "joe keel' de count." "he confessed? really?" "rouletta figger' it out jus' right. by golly! dat's de smartes' gal!" "she is indeed. but frank? what happened? how did you manage--?" 'poleon hesitated. there was a reason why he did not wish the details of that affair on the upper forty mile to become public. joe mccaskey was beginning to talk loudly about his outraged rights, his citizenship, international law, and such incomprehensible things--but stronger by far than any fear of consequences to himself, remote at best, 'poleon felt a desire to help his friend, the police lieutenant. rock was deeply humiliated at his weak failure in living up to his reputation; he felt that he had cut a very sorry figure indeed; and, although he had undertaken to conceal that feeling from 'poleon, the latter had read him like a book and had secretly made up his mind to give full credit to the officer, eliminating himself as much as possible. there was no reason why the actual facts should be made public, so far as he could see, and, once an artfully colored account of the exploit had gained currency, rock could not well contradict it. he might, undoubtedly would, make a truthful report to his superiors, but 'poleon determined that in the eyes of the hero-worshiping people of dawson the fellow should still remain a hero and stand for one hundred per cent. efficiency. that was quite as it should be. it was not difficult to distort the story enough to reverse the roles he and the officer had played, and, when he had finished, pierce was loud in his praise of the mounted policeman. "well, things happened here, too," the youth declared. succinctly he told the story of laure's delayed confession proving that he had been the victim of a deliberate conspiracy. "believe me, i'm glad it has all come out so well," he said. "people didn't actually accuse me, but i was conscious of their suspicion, their doubt. i had talked too much. then, too, there was that beastly rumor about the countess and me. it was fierce! appearances were strong. i'd--have gone on the stampede, only i didn't have the heart. you've heard about that, of course? the new strike?" when 'poleon shook his head the young man's eyes kindled. "why, man," he broke out, "the town's crazy! dippy! it's the biggest thing ever! frenchman's hill, it's called. get that? frenchman's hill!" "some french feller mak' lucky strike, eh?" 'poleon was not greatly interested. "where de place is? who dis frenchman?" "it's a high bar somewhere above el dorado--a mountain of pay gravel--an old river-bed or something. they say it's where all the gold came from, the mother lode. you can see it right at the grass roots--" 'poleon started and his mouth opened; then he shook his head. "by gar! dat's fonny! i seen gravel up dere, but me--i'm onlucky. never i quite get not'in'; always i'm close by when 'noder feller mak' strike." pierce still managed to control himself enough to explain: "they were shooting dead timber down into the gulch and they wore the snow off where the rim cropped out. it happened to be staked ground right there." pierce's excitement, the odd light in his dancing eyes, bore to 'poleon a significance. "some frenchman had taken it up, so they called it frenchman's hill." doret's blank, confounded stare caused the speaker finally to blurt out: "good heavens! man, wake up! i'm trying to break the news gently that you're a millionaire--the frenchman of frenchman's hill. i don't want you to faint. first time in history a miner ever left his claim and another fellow came along--" doret uttered a feeble cry and rose to his feet. "ma soeur!" he exclaimed. "she's got claim up dere--i stake it for her. for me, i don' care if i lose mine--plenty tam i come jus' so close as dis; but if dem feller jump her groun'--" "wait, wait! there's no question of anything like that. nobody has jumped your claim, or hers, either. the law wouldn't let 'em. i wonder if she knows--why, she can't know! i left her not two hours ago--" "she don' know?" pierce shook his head. "she doesn't dream. i wish i'd known. i'd have loved to tell her." 'poleon doret gazed fixedly, curiously at the speaker. he nodded his head. a peculiar, set, hopeless look crept into his eyes; his broad shoulders sagged wearily. he had traveled far and swiftly on this young man's affairs; he had slept but little; and now a great fatigue mastered him. oddly enough, too, that fierce, consuming desire to see rouletta which had hourly gnawed at him was gone; all at once he felt that she was quite the last person he wished to face. this weakness, this smallness of spirit, was only temporary, he assured himself; it would soon pass, and then he would find the strength to go to her with his customary smile, his mask in place. now, however, he was empty, cheerless, frightened by the portent of this new thing. it could have but one significance--it meant that he would lose his "sister," that she would have no further need of him. well, that was all right. it was something like this that he had worked for. why cherish a mean envy of this happy boy? why permit a narrow selfishness to mar this supreme moment? doret was not a grudging giver; he straightened himself finally, and into his tired eyes there came the gleam that phillips had been waiting for. "bien!" he breathed. "my li'l bird goin' wear de plumage she deserve. she's goin' be reech an' happy all her life. by golly! dat's nice, for fac'. i feel lak gettin' drunk." "she'd never stand for that." "i spec' you tol' her you an' me is pardners on dis frenchman' hill, eh? an' she's glad 'bout dat--" "oh, see here!" pierce's tone changed abruptly. "of course i didn't tell her. that's cold; it's off. d'you think i'd permit--" the boy choked and stammered. "d'you imagine for a minute that i'd let you go through with a proposition like that? i understand why you made it--to get me away from the life i've been leading. it was bully of you, but--well, hardly. i'm not that sort. no, i've laid off the old stuff, absolutely--straightened out. i've lived ten years in the last ten days. wait and see. 'poleon, i'm the happiest, the most deliriously happy man you ever saw. i only want one thing. that's work and lots of it--the harder the better, so long as it's honest and self-respecting. what d'you think of that?" "w'at i t'ink?" the woodsman said, warmly. "i t'ink dat's de bes' news of all. mon ami, you got reecher pay-streak in you as frenchman' hill, if only you work 'im hard. but you need pardner to get 'im out." he winked meaningly. "i guess mebbe you fin' dat pardner, eh?" pierce flushed; he nodded vigorously and laughed in the purest, frankest joy. "you're a good guesser. a partner--life partner! i--she--oh, my lord! i'm overflowing! i'm--funny thing, i've never said a word to her; she doesn't know--" "ho, ho!" cried the elder man. "oh, she does know, of course. if she didn't i wouldn't feel as i do, but we've never actually mentioned it. i've got to prove myself, understand? it came to me of a sudden, struck me all in a heap, i can tell you. i saw what a fool i'd made of myself. what a damnable thing chance is, anyhow! it makes you, breaks you; carries you along and leaves you stranded finally, then sweeps you on again. fortunately, she's big enough to understand and make allowances. if she weren't, i'd die. i wouldn't want to live and not make good. it's ecstasy and it's--pain. i'm frightened, too, at my own unworthiness--" abruptly the speaker's voice ceased and he bowed his head. 'poleon wet his dry lips and essayed to speak, but he could find nothing to say. of course rouletta was big enough to understand and make allowance for any human shortcomings. she was the sanest, the most liberal, the most charitable of girls. and it was true, too, that love came unbidden. he had learned that, to his cost. it was pretty hard to stand quietly and lend a sympathetic ear to this lucky devil; it took an effort to maintain a smile, to keep a friendly gaze fixed upon phillips' face. the big fellow was growing weary of forever fighting himself. it would be a relief to get away and to yield to his misery. but with a lover's fatuous absorption in his own affairs pierce resumed: "i've been thinking lately how i came to this country looking for life, the big adventure. everything that happened, good or bad, was part of a stage play. i've been two people in one--the fellow who did things and the fellow who looked on and applauded--actor and audience. it was tremendously interesting in an unreal sort of way, and i jotted everything down mentally. i was stocking up with experience. understand? well, the whole thing has suddenly become very different. i'm not in the gallery now, not in the theater at all, not acting. and i thank god for it. i don't imagine that i make myself plain in the least--" evidently he had not; evidently, too, his auditor's mind had strayed slightly, for the latter said: "i s'pose you t'inkin' all at once 'bout gettin'--marry, eh?" phillips paled; he uttered a panicky denial. "not yet! oh no--! that is, i've thought about it a good deal--can't think of anything else--but it's too early yet. i'm in no position; i must make good first." "for why it's too early? mebbe dis gal goin' tak' lot of fun in he'p you mak' good." "i wonder--" "sure t'ing. all women is lak dat. you goin' t'ink of her after dis, not yourse'f. she's got money--" "oh yes. that makes it hard, still--" "wal, you ain't broke, my frien', not wit' half interes' in discovery on frenchman' hill." "once and for all," pierce protested, in extreme agitation, "i tell you i won't take it. my lord! that's generous! you're a princely fellow, doret, but--the most you can give me is a job. work? yes, i'll eat that up." "all right. we talk 'bout dat 'noder tam. now, mebbe so she lak hear de lates' news from you. dere's plenty for tellin' her--'bout joe mccaskey an' all de res'. you can spoke now, lak hones' man. sapre! don' you s'pose she's waitin' to hear you say you love her? an' how you goin' mak' big success? by gar! i keeck you out dis cabin if you keep her waitin' some more!" with a cry, half of trepidation, half of exultance, phillips crushed his cap upon his head. "i--i've a notion to. i can almost say it; anyhow, i can say enough so she'll understand. gad! i will! i just needed you to stiffen me up." fiercely he wrung the woodsman's hand, and, forgetful of all else but his new determination, moved toward the door. "thanks for all you've done for me, old man, and all you've offered to do." "frenchman' hill is nice place for two nestin' doves--fine place for sing an' be happy," the other reminded him. in a choking voice pierce exclaimed: "you're a prince, doret, and i won't forget! a prince!" he was gone; the cabin door had slammed shut with a crash. 'poleon sank to a seat and with a long sigh bowed his head. it was over; he had done his bit. for a long while he remained there inert, his patient, haggard face bent, his eyes fixed upon the floor. he felt very old, very much used up, and the labor of thinking was unbearable. when the fire had died and a chill had crept into the room he roused himself to note that it had grown dark. manifestly, this would not do; there was the problem of living still to face. sooner or later this very evening he must go to rouletta and pretend to a joyousness he could never again know. that meant more smiles, more effort; it would take all he had in him to carry it off, and, meanwhile, the more he let his mind dwell upon her the more unbearable became his thoughts. this solitude was playing tricks with him. enough of it! he must get out into the lights; he must hear voices and regain the mastery of himself through contact with sane people. perhaps in the saloons, the restaurants, he could absorb enough laughter to make safe the mockery he purposed; perhaps it would enable him to stamp a grin upon his features. but his impulse was futile; in spite of himself he shrank from people and hid himself unobtrusively in a corner of the first place he entered. he was hurt, wounded, sick to death; he longed to creep away somewhere and be alone with his pain. in order that he might the sooner be free to do so, he rose finally and slunk out upon the street. it would soon be time for rouletta to go to work. he would get it over with. cap in hand, his heart beating heavily at the prospect of merely seeing her, he came on noiseless soles to her door. he could hear her stirring inside, so he took a deep breath and rapped softly. she uttered a cry when she saw him standing there; then a sudden pallor crept into her cheeks, a queer constraint enveloped her. nevertheless, she put both her hands in his and drew him across the threshold. she said something which neither of them understood. 'poleon's ears were roaring, but after a few moments he discovered that she was gently chiding him. where had he been? why had he delayed so long, knowing all the time that she was dying to see him and to hear his story? he could not understand her embarrassment, her shyness, the fact that she seemed hurt. "wal, i'm tucker' out wit' travelin'," he declared. "dat's hardes' trip ever i mak'. you hear 'bout 'im, eh?--'bout how mccaskey tell de truth?" rouletta nodded, with a curious little smile upon her lips. "yes. i heard all about it, the first thing--how rock ran down those fellows--everything. the town was ringing with his name inside of an hour. of course, i went to the barracks, finally, looking for you. i'm just back. i saw the lieutenant and--he told me the true story." 'poleon stirred uncomfortably. "he swore at you roundly and said he'd take it out of your skin as soon as he was able--giving him the credit. he told me it was you who did it all--how you followed those men over the line, alone, after he played out; how joe mccaskey killed his own brother in trying to kill you. but the whole thing is public now. i heard it as i came back. you're quite a famous character in dawson to-night, 'poleon dear, what with this and with frenchman's hill." "ho! dat frenchman' hill," the man broke out, hurriedly. "it's beeg s'prise for us, eh? pierce told you 'bout dat?" "pierce?" the girl shook her head vaguely. "you 'member i stake two claim', one for you, one for me. by golly! ma soeur, you're millionaire." "i remembered, of course," rouletta said, faintly. "i--" she closed her eyes. "i couldn't believe it, however. at first i didn't understand where the strike had been made; then i couldn't credit it. i thought i was dreaming--" "you dream as much as you can," 'poleon said, warmly. "dey all come true now. what? everyt'ing come out nice, eh?" rouletta opened her eyes. they were shining; so, too, was her face. "yes, my dream has come true--that is, my biggest, finest dream. i'm--the happiest girl in the world, 'poleon." "ma soeur!" the man cried brokenly and with a depth of feeling that even rouletta could not fathom. "i give my life to hear you say dose word', to see dat light in your eye. no price too high for dat." a silence, throbbing, intense, fell between them, rouletta felt her heart-beats swaying her. she opened her lips, but no sound issued. the figure before her was growing misty and she had to wink the tears back into place. "'ma soeur!'" she echoed, faintly. "i love to hear you say that, dear. it has grown to be a caress, a--kiss, when you say it. but i've something to tell you--" "i know." "something you don't know and would never guess. i've found another brother." when he stared at her in open bewilderment she repeated: "yes, another brother. i took him for something altogether different, but--" she laughed happily. "what do you think of a girl who doesn't know her own mind? who lets the one man, the real man, go away? she doesn't deserve much, does she?" "ma soeur! ma soeur!" the big fellow cried, hoarsely. he had fallen all atremble now; he could have believed himself demented only for something in rouletta's face. "you mean--him? wat's dis you sayin'?" "i mean him--you. who else could i mean? he doesn't care for me, but for another, and i'm--oh, so glad!" "mon dieu!" 'poleon gasped. "for why you look at me lak dat? don'--don'--!" his cry was one of pain, of reproach; he closed his eyes the while he strove to still his working features. he opened them with a snap when a small, warm, tremulous hand closed over his. "you wouldn't mind if he called me his sister, if--if you called me--something else, would you, dear?" "oh, ma soeur!" he whispered. "i'm poor, ignorant feller. i ain't no good. but you--de bes' man in all de worl' would love you." "he does, but he won't say so," rouletta declared. "come, must i say it for him?" one last protest the fellow voiced. "me, i'm rough-neck man. i scarcely read an' write. but you--" "i'm a gambler's daughter, nothing more--a bold and forward creature. but i'm done with dealing. i'm tired of the game and henceforth i'm going to be the 'lookout'--your 'lookout,' dear." with a choking little laugh the girl drew nearer, and, lifting his hands, she crept inside his arms. then as life, vigor, fire succeeded his paralysis, she swayed closer, until her breast was against his. with a wordless, hungry cry of ecstasy, so keen that it was akin to agony, 'poleon doret enfolded her in his great embrace. "don' spoke no more," he implored her. "i'll be wakin' up too soon." they stood so for a long time before she raised her dewy lips to his. the end