The Winds of Chance Part 48

"All aboard for the big eats," the latter announced. "Mocha's b.u.t.toned up in a stud game where he da.s.sen'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 s...o...b..rd 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 s...o...b..rd 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 a.s.sertion.

"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' n.o.body, eh? Promise me dat."

"That's an easy promise, under the circ.u.mstances."

"Bien! I never t'ink 'bout you gettin' married. By gos.h.!.+ dat's fierce t'ing, for sure! Wat I'll do if--" 'Poleon shook his ma.s.sive 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 pet.i.te. 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 a.s.sembled near the cas.h.i.+er'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. d.a.m.nation! 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 n.o.body 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 a.s.sisted 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 cas.h.i.+er's cage, and pa.s.sed 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.