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  CHAPTER IV

  THE FLAT-GAME MAN

  The noises of the tented town swelled in picturesque chorus as Dr.Slavens walked toward them, rising and trailing off into the night untilthey wore themselves out in the echoless plain.

  He heard the far-away roll and rumble of voices coming from thegambling-tents; the high-tenor invitation of the barkers outsidequestionable shows; the bawl of street-gamblers, who had all manner ofdevices, from ring-pitching to shell-games on folding tables, which theycould pick up in a twinkling and run away with when their dupes began tothreaten and rough them up; the clear soprano of the singer, who worelong skirts and sang chaste songs, in the vaudeville tent down by thestation.

  And above all, mingled with all--always, everywhere--the brattle ofcornet and trombone, the whang of piano, the wail of violin, the tinkleof the noble harp, an aristocrat in base company, weeping its owndownfall.

  All of the flaring scene appeared to the doctor to be extremelyartificial. It was a stage set for the allurement of the unsophisticated,who saw in this strained and overdone imitation of the old West theromance of their expectations. If they hadn't found it there thousands ofthem would have been disappointed, perhaps disillusioned with ahealthful jolt. All the reality about it was its viciousness, and thatwas unquestionable.

  It looked as if gambling crooks from everywhere had collected atComanche, and as if the most openly and notoriously crooked of them allwas the bony, dry-faced man with a white spot over the sight of his lefteye, who conducted a dice-game in the front part of the chiefamusement-place of the town. This was a combination variety theater andsaloon, where free "living pictures" were posed for the entertainment ofthose who drank beer at the tables at twenty-five cents a glass.

  Of the living pictures there were three, all of them in green garments,which hung loosely upon flaccid thighs. Sometimes they posed alone, asrepresentations of more or less clothed statuary; sometimes theygrouped, with feet thrust out, heads thrown back, arms lifted in stiffpostures, as gladiators, martyrs, and spring songs. Always, whetherliving or dead, they were most sad and tattered, famished and leanpictures, and their efforts were received with small applause. They weretoo thin to be very wicked; so it appeared, at least.

  Dr. Slavens stopped in the wide-spreading door of this place to watchthe shifting life within. Near him sat a young Comanche Indian, his hairdone up in two braids, which he wore over his shoulders in front. He hadan eagle feather in his hat and a new red handkerchief around his neck,and he looked as wistful as a young Indian ever did outside a poem or apicture-film. He was the unwelcome guest, whom no one might treat, towhom no one might sell.

  That was one of the first things strangers in Comanche learned: one mustnot give an Indian a drink of liquor, no matter how thirsty he looked.And, although there was not a saloon-keeper in the place who would haveconsidered a moment before stooping to rob a dead man, there was not onewho would have sold an Indian a bottle of beer. Such is the fear, if notrespect, that brave old Uncle Sam is able to inspire.

  But brave old Sam had left the bars down between his wards and thegamblers' tables. It is so everywhere. The Indian may not drink, but hemay play "army game" and all the others where crooked dice, crookedcards, and crooked men are to be found. Perhaps, thought the doctor, theyoung man with the eagle feather--which did not make him at allinvisible, whatever his own faith in its virtues might have been--hadplayed his money on the one-eyed man's game, and was hanging around tosee whether retributive justice, in the form of some more fortunateplayer, would, in the end, clean the old rascal out.

  The one-eyed man was assisted by a large gang of cappers, a gang whichappeared to be in the employ of the gamblers' trust of Comanche. Thedoctor had seen them night after night first at one game, then atanother, betting with freedom and carelessness which were the envy ofthe suckers packed forty deep around them. At the one-eyed man's gamejust then they were coming and going in a variety which gave a color ofgenuine patronage. That was an admirable arrangement, doubtless due tothe one-eyed man's sagacity, which the doctor had noted the nightbefore. For the game had its fascination for him, not because the fireof it was in his veins, but because it was such an out-and-out skin gamethat it was marvelous how fools enough could be found, even in agathering like that, to keep it going.

  The living pictures had just passed off the stage, and it was theone-eyed man's inning. He rattled his dice in the box, throwing hisquick glance over the crowd, which seemed reluctant to quit thebeer-tables for his board. Art was the subject which the gambler took upas he poured out his dice and left them lying on the board. He seemed soabsorbed in art for the moment that he did not see a few small betswhich were laid down. He leaned over confidentially and talked into theeyes of the crowd.

  "Art, gentlemen, is a fine thing for the human race," said he. "You havejust saw an elegant exhibition of art, and who is there in this crowdthat don't feel a better man for what he saw?"

  He looked around, as if inviting a challenge. None came. He resumed:

  "Art in all its branches is a elegant fine thing, gentlemen. It raises aman up, and it elevates him, and it makes him feel like a millionaire.If I only had a dime, as the man said, I'd spend it for a box ofcigareets just to git the chromo-card. That's what I think of art,gentlemen, and that's how crazy I am over it.

  "Now, if anybody here wants to bet me I ain't got two eyes, I ain't agoin' to take him up, for I know I ain't, gentlemen, and I've knowed itfor thirty years. But if anybody wants to bet me I can't throwtwenty-seven----"

  This was the one-eyed man's game. He stood inside the curve of acrescent-shaped table, which struck him almost under the arms, his backto the wall of the tent. Players could surround him, almost; still,nobody could get behind him. In that direction there always was a wayout. He stood there offering odds of five to one to anybody who wantedto bet him that he couldn't himself, with his own hand and his own dice,throw twenty-seven. Any other number coming out of the box, the one-eyedman lost.

  Examine the dice, gents; examine the box. If any gent had any doubts atall about the dice being straight, all he had to do was to examine them.There they lay, gents, honestly and openly on the table before theone-eyed man, his bony hand hovering over them caressingly.

  Gents examined them freely. Nearly every player who put moneydown--secure in that egotistical valuation of one's own shrewdness whichis the sure-thing-man's bank and goldmine and mint--rolled the dice,weighed them, eyed them sharply. Then they bet against the one-eyedman--and lost.

  That is, they lost if he wanted them to lose. There were victims wholooked promising for a fat sacrifice who had to be tolled and primed andled on gently up to the block. At the right time the one-eyed mantrimmed them, and he trimmed them down to the short bones.

  His little boost for art finished--for the living pictures were art inwhich he had a proprietary interest, and he could afford to talk for itonce in a while--the one-eyed man cast his glance over his table and sawthe small bets. By some singular fortune all of the bettors won. Theypocketed their winnings with grins as they pushed out among thegathering crowd.

  Men began to pack thickly around the gambler's crescent table, craningover shoulders to see what was going on. He was making a great Wild-Westshow of money, with a large revolver lying beside it at his elbow.Seeing that the young man who had carried June Reed off to the dance sointrepidly had made his way forward and was betting on the game, Dr.Slavens pushed up to the table and stood near.

  The young fellow did not bear himself with the air of a capper, butrather with that of one who had licked a little poison and was drunk onthe taste. He had won two small bets, and he was out for more.

  There were no chips, no counters except cash. Of that the young manappeared to have plenty. He held a cheerful little wad of it in hishand, so that no time might be lost in taking advantage of the greatopportunity to beat a man at his own game.

  The display of so much money on both sides held the crowd in silentcharm. The young man was the o
nly player, although the one-eyed manurged others to come on and share the fortunes of his sweating patron,whose face was afire with the excitement of easy money, and whose reasonhad evaporated under the heat.

  "At every roll of the dice my young friend adds to his pile," said thegambler. "He's got a head, gents, and he knows how to use it. Look at'im, gents, gittin' richer at every roll of the dice! You might as wellhave a share in all this here money and wealth, and you would be sharin'it if you had the nerve of my young friend."

  The one-eyed man turned the dice out and lost again. There was a littlemovement of the crowd, a little audible intaking of breath, a littlecrowding forward, like that of cattle massed in a pen.

  The suckers never did seem to get it through their heads, thought thedoctor as he beheld their dumb excitement with growing contempt, thatthe one-eyed man switched the dice on them just as often as hepleased between the table and the box, by a trick which was his oneaccomplishment and sole capital. Without that deftness of hand theone-eyed man might have remained a bartender, and a very sloppy andindifferent one at that; but with it he was the king-pin of thegamblers' trust in Comanche, and his graft was the best in the town.

  "There it goes, gents!" he said, shaking his long, hound-shaped headwith doleful expression of face. "The tide of luck's turned ag'in' me.You can see that as plain as water in a pan, but they ain't one of yougot the nerve to step up and help my young friend trim me.

  "You fellers know what you make me think of? Well, you make me think ofa lot of little boys with ten cents to spend on Fourth of July. Youstand around with your fingers in your mouth, afraid you'll seesomethin' you like better if you let loose of your little old dime, andyou hang on to it till the fun's all over and the ice-cream's all gone.

  "But my young friend here--Now, now!" he remonstrated as the highlyexcited young man took up his winnings, added them to the money which heheld in reserve in his left hand, and placed the whole amount upon thetable. "Now you're a comin' it purty strong! Go easy, young feller, andgive a old man with only one eye and a game leg a chance. But you won'tdo it; I can see that in the cast of your eye; you're bound to clean meout at one smack; that's what you're bound to do."

  The one-eyed man shook the dicebox very carefully, as if mixing somerare prescription. Then he stopped shaking and held his hand over themouth of the box, as if he expected the cubes might jump up and join inhis ruination while his head was turned.

  "Now, look-a here!" said he, addressing them generally. "I've traveledthis wide world over ever since I was a tender child, as the man said,and I never seen a chance like this to skin a feller slide by withoutmore'n one lone man havin' sense enough and nerve enough to git in onit.

  "Do I see any more of your money, gents, before I roll the dice? Do Isee any more of your money of the ream and dominion of Uncle Sam, withthe eagle a spreadin' his legs, with his toes full of arrers, and hismouth wide open a hollerin' de-fiance and destruction ag'in' hisinnimies on land and sea, wheresomever they may be, as the feller said?

  "Do I see any more of your money, gents? Do I git sight of any more?Lowest bet's one dollar, gents, and you might as well git in on thefinish and let the old man go up with a whoop. I'm game, gents; I go thelimit. Do I see any more of your money? Do I see any more?"

  He did. He saw considerably more than he had seen at one time since heopened the game in Comanche. He seemed greatly affected by the sight,shaking his head with solemnity and casting his eye around withreproach.

  "That's right! That's right!" said he. "Sock it to a old feller whenyou've got him down! That's the way of this cold world. Well, all I askof you, gents"--he paused in his request to shake the box again, holdingit poised for the throw--"is this: When you clean me I ask you to stakeme, between you, to twenty-seven dollars. Twenty-seven's my luckynumber; I was borned on the 27th day of Jannewarry, and I always bet ontwenty-seven."

  He poured the dice upon the table, reaching for his pile of bills andgold as if to cash in on the winnings as he set the box down, even whilethe dice were rolling and settling. But at that point the one-eyed manstayed his hand, bending over the dice as if he could not believe hiseye.

  "Well, bust me!" said he, sighing as if honestly disappointed in thethrow. "M' luck's turned! Dang me, fellers, if I didn't win!"

  Without enthusiasm, still shaking his head sadly, he drew the winningsover the table, sorting the bills, shuffling them into neat heaps,adding them to his enticing pile, which lay heaped upon a green cloth athis hand.

  "I don't know why I stick to this game, gents," said he, "for it's allag'in' me. I don't win once in nine hundred times. This here's moremoney than I've took in at any one time since I come to Comanche, andit's more'n I ever expect to take in ag'in if I stay here forty-nineyears.

  "But it's in m' blood to bet on twenty-seven. I can't help it, boys.It'll be the ruination of me ag'in, like it's ruined me many a timebefore; but I got to roll 'em! I got to roll 'em! And if anybody wantsto git in, let him put his money down!"

  The young man seemed a little dazed by the quick change of the gambler'sluck, but his reason had no voice to speak against the clamor of hisdesires. He produced more money, bills of large denomination, andcounted out a thousand dollars, defiantly flourishing every bill. Hewhacked the pile down on the table with a foolishly arrogant thump ofhis fist.

  "I'm with you to the finish," he said, his boyish face bright with thedestructive fire of chance. "Roll 'em out!"

  Other players crowded forward, believing perhaps that the queer freak offortune which had turned the gambler's luck would not hold. In a fewminutes there was more money on the table than the one-eyed man hadstood before in many a day.

  Sorry for the foolish young man, and moved by the sacrifice which he sawin preparation, Dr. Slavens pressed against the table, trying to flashthe youth a warning with his eyes. But the physician could not get alook into the young man's flushed face; his eyes were on the stake.

  The one-eyed man was gabbing again, running out a continual stream ofcheap and pointless talk, and offering the dice as usual for inspection.Some looked at the cubes, among the number the young man, who weighedthem in his palm and rolled them on the table several times. Doubtlessthey were as straight as dice ever were made. This test satisfied therest. The one-eyed man swept the cubes into his hand and, still talking,held that long, bony member hovering over the mouth of the box.

  At that moment Dr. Slavens, lurching as if shoved violently from behind,set his shoulder against the table and pushed it, hard and suddenly,against the one-eyed man's chest, all but throwing him backward againstthe wall of the tent. The gambler's elbows flew up in his struggle tokeep to his feet, and the hand that hovered over the dicebox dropped thedice upon the board.

  Instantly a shout went up; instantly half a hundred hands clawed at thetable to retrieve their stakes. For the one-eyed man had dropped notfive dice, but ten.

  He waited for no further developments. The tent-wall parted behind himas he dived through into the outer darkness, taking with him his formerwinnings and his "bank," which had been cunningly arranged on the greencloth for no other purpose; his revolver and his dice, leaving nothingbut the box behind.

  The young man gathered up his stake with nervous hands and turned hisflushed face to the doctor, smiling foolishly.

  "Thank you, old man," he said. "Oh, yes! I know you now," he added,offering his hand with great warmth. "You were with her people at thedance."

  "Of course," smiled the doctor. "How much did you lose?"

  "Say, I ought to have a nurse!" said the young man abjectly. "If youhadn't heaved that table into the old devil's ribs just then he'd 'a'skinned me right! Oh, about six hundred, I guess; but in ten minutesmore he'd 'a' cleaned me out. Walker's my name," he confided; "JoeWalker. I'm from Cheyenne."

  Dr. Slavens introduced himself.

  "And I'm from Missouri," said he.

  Joe Walker chuckled a little.

  "Yes; the old man's from there, too," said he, with the warmth of oner
elative claiming kinship with another from far-away parts; "from aplace called Saint Joe. Did you ever hear of it?"

  "I've heard of it," the doctor admitted, smiling to himself over theingenuous unfolding of the victim whom he had snatched from thesacrifice.

  "They don't only have to show you fellers from Missouri," pursuedWalker; "but you show _them_! That's the old man's way, from theboot-heels up."

  They were walking away from the gambling-tent, taking the middle of theroad, as was the custom in Comanche after dark, sinking instep deep indust at every step.

  "What are you doing with all that money in a place like this?" thedoctor questioned.

  "Well, it's this way," explained Walker with boyish confidence. "The oldman's going to set me up in a sheep-ranch between here and Casper. We'vegot a ranch bargained for with six miles of river-front, he sent me overhere with five thousand dollars to cinch the business before the fellerchanged his mind."

  "Why didn't you bring a draft?" the doctor wondered.

  "Some of these sheepmen wouldn't take government bonds. Nothing butplain cash goes with them."

  "Oh, I didn't think you had any particular use for even that, the wayyou're slinging it around!" said the doctor, with no attempt to hide thefeeling he held for any such recklessness.

  "Looked that way," admitted Walker thoughtfully. "But I've got to meetthat sheepman here at the bank in the morning, where he can havesomebody that he's got confidence in feel of the money and tell him it'sgenuine, and I'll have to put up some kind of a stall to cover the moneyI lost. Guess I can get away with it, somehow. Cripes! I sweat needlesevery time I think of what'd 'a' happened to me if you hadn't showed ussuckers that one-eyed feller's hand!"

  "Well, the important thing now, it seems to me, is to hang on to what'sleft till you meet that rancher."

  "Don't you worry!" rejoined Walker warmly. "I'm going to sit on the edgeof that little old bunk all night with my six-shooter in one hand andthat money in the other! And any time in future that you see me bettin'on any man's game, you send for the fool-killer, will you?"

  "Yes, if I happen to be around," promised the doctor.

  "I ought to know 'em; I was raised right here in Wyoming among 'em,"said Walker. "I thought that feller was square, or maybe off a little,because he talked so much. He was the first talkin' gambler I evermet."

  "Talk is his trick," Slavens enlightened him. "That was old HunShanklin, the flat-game man. I've looked him up since I got here. Heplays suckers, and nothing _but_ suckers. No gambler ever bets on HunShanklin's game. He talks to keep their eyes on his face while heswitches the dice."

  Walker was gravely silent a little while, like a man who has justarrived at the proper appreciation of some grave danger which he hasescaped.

  "I've heard of Hun Shanklin a long time, but I never saw him before," hesaid. "He's killed several men in his time. Do you suppose he knows youshoved his table, or does he think somebody back of you pushed youagainst it?"

  "I don't suppose he needs anybody to tell him how it happened," repliedthe doctor a little crabbedly.

  "Of course I've got my own notion of it, old feller," prattled Walker;"but they were purty thick around there just then, and shovin' a gooddeal. I hope he thinks it happened that way. But I know nobody shovedyou, and I'm much obliged."

  "Oh, forget it!" snapped Slavens, thinking of the six hundred dollarswhich had flown out of the young fellow's hand so lightly. Once he couldhave bought a very good used automobile for four hundred.

  "But don't you suppose--" Walker lowered his voice to a whisper, lookingcautiously around in the dark as he spoke--"that you stand a chance tohear from Hun Shanklin again?"

  "Maybe," answered Slavens shortly. "Well, here's where I turn off. I'mstopping at the Metropole down here."

  "Say!"

  Walker caught his arm appealingly.

  "Between you and me I don't like the looks of that dump where I've got abed. You've been here longer than I have; do you know of any place wherea man with all this blamed money burnin' his hide might pull throughtill morning with it if he happened to slip a cog and go to sleep?"

  "There's a spare cot in our tent," said the doctor, "and you're welcometo it if you feel that you can trust yourself in our company. We messtogether in a sort of communistic fashion."

  Walker was profuse in his gratitude.

  "I'll feel easy among decent people!" he declared. "I'm mostly decentmyself, and my family's one of the best in this state. Don't you size meup by what you saw me do tonight, will you?"

  "The best of us slip up once in a while," Slavens said.

  Walker had some business of clearing his throat. And then:

  "Are you--that is--is _she_, related to you?"

  "Oh, no," laughed the doctor. "I'm sorry she isn't."

  "She's a peach; don't you think so?"

  "Undoubtedly," admitted the doctor. "Well, here we are--at home."

  They stood outside a little while, their faces turned toward the town.It was quieting down now. Here and there a voice was raised in drunkensong or drunken yelp; here and there a pistol-shot marked the locationof some silly fellow who believed that he was living and experiencingall the recklessness of the untamed West. Now and then the dry, shrilllaughter of a woman sounded, without lightness, without mirth, as if itcame from the lips of one who long, long ago, in the fever of pain anddespair, had wept her heart empty of its tears. Now and again, also, awailing cornet lifted its lone voice, dying away dimly like adisappearing light.

  "The wolves are satisfied for one night; they've stopped howling," thedoctor said.