Читать книгу Port O' Gold - Louis J. Stellman - Страница 11

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The stranger took his way toward the waterfront and into "Jack the Sailor's." Cooper, who had earned this nickname, stood behind a counter of rough boards polishing its top with a much soiled towel. He hailed the newcomer eagerly. "Hello, Alvin Potts! What brought you here? And how is all at Monterey?"

"All's well enough," said Potts, concisely. He glanced about. Several crude structures, scarcely deserving the name of tables, were centers of interest for rings of rough and ill-assorted men. There were loud-voiced, bearded fellows from the whaler's crew. In tarpaulins and caps pulled low upon their brows; swarthy Russians with oily, brutish faces and slow movements--relics of the abandoned colony at Fort Ross; suave, soft-spoken Spaniards in broad-brimmed hats, braided short coats and laced trousers tucked into shining boots; vaqueros with colored handkerchiefs about their heads and sashes around their middles. A few Americans were sprinkled here and there. Usually one player at each table was of the sleek and graceful type, which marks the gambler. And usually he was the winner. Now and then a man threw down his cards, pushed a little pile of money to the center of the table and shuffled out. Cooper passed between them, serving tall, black bottles from which men poured their potions according to impulse; they did not drink in unison. Each player snatched a liquid stimulus when the need arose. And one whose shaky nerves required many of these spurs was young Benito.

Potts observed the pale face and the hectic, burning eyes with a frowning disapproval. Presently he drew John Cooper to one side.

"He's no business here, that lad … you know it, Jack," Potts said, accusingly. The saloon keeper threw wide his arms in a significant gesture.

"He won't stay away … I've told him half a dozen times. No one can reason with that headstrong fool."

"Who's that he's playing with?" asked Potts. "I mean the dark one with a scar."

An impressive and outstanding figure was the man Potts designated. Stocky, sinister of eye and with a mouth whose half-sardonic smile drew the lips a little out of line, he combed his thick black hair now and then with delicate, long-fingered hands. They had a deftness and a lightning energy, those fingers with their perfectly groomed nails, which boded little good to his opponents. He sat back calmly in strange contrast to the feverish uncontrol of other players. Now and then he flashed a swift glance round the circle of his fellow players. Before him was a heap of gold and silver. They watched him deal with the uncanny skill of a conjurer before Jack Cooper answered.

"That's Aleck McTurpin from Australia. Thought you knew him."

"One of the Sydney coves?"

"Not quite so loud," the other cautioned hastily. "They call him that--behind his back. But who's to tell? I'd like to get the lad out of his clutches well enough."

"Think I'll watch the game," Potts said, and sauntered to the table. He laid a friendly hand on Windham's shoulder. Benito's pile of coin was nearly gone. McTurpin dealt. It was a jack-pot, evidently, for a heavy stake of gold and silver was upon the center of the board. Benito's hand shook as he raised his cards. He reached forth and refilled his glass, gulping the contents avidly.

"Dos cartos," he replied in Spanish to the dealer's inquiry. Potts glanced at the three cards which Benito had retained. Each was a king.

The young man eyed his first draw with a slight frown and seemed to hesitate before he lifted up the second. Then a little sucking gasp came from his throat.

"Senor," he began as McTurpin eyed him curiously, "I have little left to wager. Luck has been my enemy of late. Yet," he smiled a trembling little smile, "I hold certain cards which give me confidence. I should like to play a big stake--once, before I leave--"

"How big?" asked McTurpin, coldly, but his eye was eager.

The Spanish-American faced him straightly. "As big as you like, amigo … if you will accept my note."

McTurpin's teeth shut with a click. "What security, young fellow?" he demanded.

"My ranch," replied Benito. "It is worth, they say, ten thousand of your dollars."

McTurpin covered his cards with his hands. "You want to lay me this ranch against--what?"

"Five thousand dollars--that is fair enough," Benito answered. He was trembling with excitement. McTurpin watched him hawk-like, seeming to consider. "Bring us ink and paper, Jack," he called to Cooper, and when the latter had complied, he wrote some half a dozen lines upon a sheet.

"Sign that. Get two witnesses … you, Jack, and this fellow here," he indicated Potts imperiously. He laid his cards face down upon the table and extracted deftly from some inner pocket a thick roll of greenbacks. Slowly, almost meticulously, he counted them before the gaping tableful of players. Fifty hundred-dollar bills.

"American greenbacks," he spoke crisply. "A side bet with our friend, the Senor Windham." He shoved the money toward the center of the table, slightly apart from the rest.

Benito waveringly picked up the pen. It shook in his unsteady fingers. "Wait," Potts pleaded. But the young man brooked no intervention. With a flourish he affixed his signature. McTurpin picked up the pen as Benito dropped it. "Put your name on as a witness," he demanded of the host. "Jack the Sailor" shook his head. "I've no part in this," he said, and turned his back upon them. "Nor I," Potts answered to a similar invitation.

McTurpin took the paper. "Well, it doesn't matter. You've all seen him sign it: You … and you … and you." His finger pointed to a trio of the nearest players, and their nods sufficed him, evidently. He weighted the contract with a gold-piece from his own plethoric pile.

"Show down! Show down!" cried the others. Triumphantly Benito laid five cards upon the table. Four of them were kings. A little cry of satisfaction arose, for sympathy was with the younger player. McTurpin sat unmoved. Then he threw an ace upon the table. Followed it with a second. Then a third. And, amid wondering murmurs, a fourth.

He reached out his hand for the stakes. Benito sat quite still. The victorious light had gone out of his eyes, but not a muscle moved. One might have thought him paralyzed or turned to stone by his misfortune. McTurpin's hand closed almost stealthily upon the paper. There was a smile of cool and calculating satisfaction on his thin lips as he drew the stake toward him.

Then with an electrifying suddenness, Benito sprang upon him. "Cheat!" he screamed. "You fleeced me like a robber. I knew. I understood it when you looked at me like that."

Quick as McTurpin was in parrying attack--for he had frequent need of such defense--the onslaught of Benito found him unprepared. He went over backward, the young man's fingers on his throat. From the overturned table money rattled to the floor and rolled into distant corners. Hastily the non-combatants sought a refuge from expected bullets. But no pistol barked. McTurpin's strength far overmatched that of the other. Instantly he was on his feet. Benito's second rush was countered by a blow upon the jaw. The boy fell heavily.

McTurpin smoothed his ruffled plumage and picked up the scattered coins. "Take the young idiot home," he said across his shoulder, as he strode out. "Pour a little whisky down his throat. He isn't hurt."