FORfour days theSanta Mariafelt blindly through the white fields, drifting north with the spring tide that sets through Behring Strait, till, on the morning of the fifth, open water showed to the east. Creeping through, she broke out into the last stage of the long race, amid the cheers of her weary passengers; and the dull jar of her engines made welcome music to the girl in the deck state-room.
Soon they picked up a mountainous coast which rose steadily into majestic, barren ranges, still white with the melting snows; and at ten in the evening under a golden sunset, amid screaming whistles, they anchored in the roadstead of Nome. Before the rumble of her chains had ceased or the echo from the fleet’s salute had died from the shoreward hills, the ship was surrounded by a swarm of tiny craft clamoring about her iron sides, while an officer in cap and gilt climbed the bridge and greeted Captain Stephens. Tugs with trailing lighters circled discreetly about, awaiting the completion of certain formalities. These over, the uniformed gentleman dropped back into his skiff and rowed away.
“A clean bill of health, captain,” he shouted, saluting the commander.
“Thank ye, sir,” roared the sailor, and with that the row-boats swarmed inward pirate-like, boarding the steamer from all quarters.
As the master turned, he looked down from his bridge to the deck below, full into the face of Dextry, who had been an intent witness of the meeting. With unbending dignity, Captain Stephens let his left eyelid droop slowly, while a boyish grin spread widely over his face. Simultaneously, orders rang sharp and fast from the bridge, the crew broke into feverish life, the creak of booms and the clank of donkey-hoists arose.
“We’re here, Miss Stowaway,” said Glenister, entering the girl’s cabin. “The inspector passed us and it’s time for you to see the magic city. Come, it’s a wonderful sight.”
This was the first time they had been alone since the scene on the after-deck, for, besides ignoring Glenister, she had managed that he should not even see her except in Dextry’s presence. Although he had ever since been courteous and considerate, she felt the leaping emotions that were hidden within him and longed to leave the ship, to fly from the spell of his personality. Thoughts of him made her writhe, and yet when he was near she could not hate him as she willed—he overpowered her, he would not be hated, he paid no heed to her slights. This very quality reminded her how willingly and unquestioningly he had fought off the sailors from theOhioat a word from her. She knew he would do so again, and more, and it is hard to be bitter to one who would lay down his life for you, even though he has offended—particularly when he has the magnetism that sweeps you away from your moorings.
“There’s no danger of being seen,” he continued.“The crowd’s crazy, and, besides, we’ll go ashore right away. You must be mad with the confinement—it’s on my nerves, too.”
As they stepped outside, the door of an adjacent cabin opened, framing an angular, sharp-featured woman, who, catching sight of the girl emerging from Glenister’s state-room, paused with shrewdly narrowed eyes, flashing quick, malicious glances from one to the other. They came later to remember with regret this chance encounter, for it was fraught with grave results for them both.
“Good-evening, Mr. Glenister,” the lady said with acid cordiality.
“Howdy, Mrs. Champian?” He moved away.
She followed a step, staring at Helen.
“Are you going ashore to-night or wait for morning?”
“Don’t know yet, I’m sure.” Then aside to the girl he muttered, “Shake her, she’s spying on us.”
“Who is she?” asked Miss Chester, a moment later.
“Her husband manages one of the big companies. She’s an old cat.”
Gaining her first view of the land, the girl cried out, sharply. They rode on an oily sea, tinted like burnished copper, while on all sides, amid the faint rattle and rumble of machinery, scores of ships were belching cargoes out upon living swarms of scows, tugs, stern-wheelers, and dories. Here and there Eskimo oomiaks, fat, walrus-hide boats, slid about like huge, many-legged water-bugs. An endless, ant-like stream of tenders, piled high with freight, plied to and from the shore. A mile distant lay the city, stretched like a white ribbon between the gold of the ocean sand andthe dun of the moss-covered tundra. It was like no other in the world. At first glance it seemed all made of new white canvas. In a week its population had swelled from three to thirty thousand. It now wandered in a slender, sinuous line along the coast for miles, because only the beach afforded dry camping ground. Mounting to the bank behind, one sank knee-deep in moss and water, and, treading twice in the same tracks, found a bog of oozing, icy mud. Therefore, as the town doubled daily in size, it grew endwise like a string of dominoes, till the shore from Cape Nome to Penny River was a long reach of white, glinting in the low rays of the arctic sunset like foamy breakers on a tropic island.
“That’s Anvil Creek up yonder,” said Glenister. “There’s where the Midas lies. See!” He indicated a gap in the buttress of mountains rolling back from the coast. “It’s the greatest creek in the world. You’ll see gold by the mule-load, and hillocks of nuggets. Oh, I’m glad to get back.Thisis life. That stretch of beach is full of gold. These hills are seamed with quartz. The bed-rock of that creek is yellow. There’s gold, gold, gold, everywhere—more than ever was in old Solomon’s mines—and there’s mystery and peril and things unknown.”
“Let us make haste,” said the girl. “I have something I must do to-night. After that, I can learn to know these things.”
Securing a small boat, they were rowed ashore, the partners plying their ferryman with eager questions. Having arrived five days before, he was exploding with information and volunteered the fruits of his ripe experience till Dextry stated that they were “sourdoughs”themselves, and owned the Midas, whereupon Miss Chester marvelled at the awe which sat upon the man and the wondering stare with which he devoured the partners, to her own utter exclusion.
“Sufferin’ cats! Look at the freight!” ejaculated Dextry. “If a storm come up it would bust the community!”
The beach they neared was walled and crowded to the high-tide mark with ramparts of merchandise, while every incoming craft deposited its quota upon whatever vacant foot was close at hand, till bales, boxes, boilers, and baggage of all kinds were confusedly intermixed in the narrow space. Singing longshoremen trundled burdens from the lighters and piled them on the heap, while yelling, cursing crowds fought over it all, selecting, sorting, loading.
There was no room for more, yet hourly they added to the mass. Teams splashed through the lapping surf or stuck in the deep sand between hillocks of goods. All was noise, profanity, congestion, and feverish hurry. This burning haste rang in the voice of the multitude, showed in its violence of gesture and redness of face, permeated the atmosphere with a magnetic, electrifying energy.
“It’s somethin’ fierce ashore,” said the oarsman. “I been up fer three days an’ nights steady—there ain’t no room, nor time, nor darkness to sleep in. Ham an’ eggs is a dollar an’ a half, an’ whiskey’s four bits a throw.” He wailed the last, sadly, as a complaint unspeakable.
“Any trouble doin’?” inquired the old man.
“Youknowit!” the other cried, colloquially. “There was a massacree in the Northern last night.”
“Gamblin’ row?”
“Yep. Tin-horn called ‘Missou’ done it.”
“Sho!” said Dextry. “I know him. He’s a bad actor.” All three men nodded sagely, and the girl wished for further light, but they volunteered no explanation.
Leaving the skiff, they plunged into turmoil. Dodging through the tangle, they came out into fenced lots where tents stood wall to wall and every inch was occupied. Here and there was a vacant spot guarded jealously by its owner, who gazed sourly upon all men with the forbidding eye of suspicion. Finding an eddy in the confusion, the men stopped.
“Where do you want to go?” they asked Miss Chester.
There was no longer in Glenister’s glance that freedom with which he had come to regard the women of the North. He had come to realize dully that here was a girl driven by some strong purpose into a position repellent to her. In a man of his type, her independence awoke only admiration and her coldness served but to inflame him the more. Delicacy, in Glenister, was lost in a remarkable singleness of purpose. He could laugh at her loathing, smile under her abuse, and remain utterly ignorant that anything more than his action in seizing her that night lay at the bottom of her dislike. He did not dream that he possessed characteristics abhorrent to her; and he felt a keen reluctance at parting.
She extended both hands.
“I can never thank you enough for what you have done—you two; but I shall try. Good-bye!”
Dextry gazed doubtfully at his own hand, rough andgnarly, then taking hers as he would have handled a robin’s egg, waggled it limply.
“We ain’t goin’ to turn you adrift this-a-way. Whatever your destination is, we’ll see you to it.”
“I can find my friends,” she assured him.
“This is the wrong latitude in which to dispute a lady, but knowin’ this camp from soup to nuts, as I do, I su’gests a male escort.”
“Very well! I wish to find Mr. Struve, of Dunham & Struve, lawyers.”
“I’ll take you to their offices,” said Glenister. “You see to the baggage, Dex. Meet me at the Second Class in half an hour and we’ll run out to the Midas.” They pushed through the tangle of tents, past piles of lumber, and emerged upon the main thoroughfare, which ran parallel to the shore.
Nome consisted of one narrow street, twisted between solid rows of canvas and half-erected frame buildings, its every other door that of a saloon. There were fair-looking blocks which aspired to the dizzy height of three stories, some sheathed in corrugated iron, others gleaming and galvanized. Lawyers’ signs, doctors’, surveyors’, were in the upper windows. The street was thronged with men from every land—Helen Chester heard more dialects than she could count. Laplanders in quaint, three-cornered, padded caps idled past. Men with the tan of the tropics rubbed elbows with yellow-haired Norsemen, and near her a carefully groomed Frenchman with riding-breeches and monocle was in pantomime with a skin-clad Eskimo. To her left was the sparkling sea, alive with ships of every class. To her right towered timberless mountains, unpeopled, unexplored, forbidding, and desolate—their hollowsinlaid with snow. On one hand were the life and the world she knew; on the other, silence, mystery, possible adventure.
The roadway where she stood was a crush of sundry vehicles from bicycles to dog-hauled water-carts, and on all sides men were laboring busily, the echo of hammers mingling with the cries of teamsters and the tinkle of music within the saloons.
“And this is midnight!” exclaimed Helen, breathlessly. “Do they ever rest?”
“There isn’t time—this is a gold stampede. You haven’t caught the spirit of it yet.”
They climbed the stairs in a huge, iron-sheeted building to the office of Dunham & Struve, and in answer to their knock, a red-faced, white-haired, tousled man, in shirt-sleeves and stocking-feet, opened the door.
“What d’ye wan’?” he bawled, his legs wavering uncertainly. His eyes were heavy and bloodshot, his lips loose, and his whole person exhaled alcoholic fumes like a gust from a still-house. Hanging to the knob, he strove vainly to solve the mystery of his suspenders—hiccoughing intermittently.
“Humph! Been drunk ever since I left?” questioned Glenister.
“Somebody mus’ have tol’ you,” the lawyer replied. There was neither curiosity, recognition, nor resentment in his voice. In fact, his head drooped so that he paid no attention to the girl, who had shrunk back at sight of him. He was a young man, with marks of brilliancy showing through the dissipation betrayed by his silvery hair and coarsened features.
“Oh, I don’t know what to do,” lamented the girl.
“Anybody else here besides you?” asked her escort of the lawyer.
“No. I’m runnin’ the law business unassisted. Don’t need any help. Dunham’s in Wash’n’ton, D. C, the lan’ of the home, the free of the brave. What can I do for you?”
He made to cross the threshold hospitably, but tripped, plunged forward, and would have rolled down the stairs had not Glenister gathered him up and borne him back into the office, where he tossed him upon a bed in a rear room.
“Now what, Miss Chester?” asked the young man, returning.
“Isn’t that dreadful?” she shuddered. “Oh, and I must see him to-night!” She stamped impatiently. “I must see him alone.”
“No, you mustn’t,” said Glenister, with equal decision. “In the first place, he wouldn’t know what you were talking about, and in the second place—I know Struve. He’s too drunk to talk business and too sober to—well, to see you alone.”
“But Imustsee him,” she insisted. “It’s what brought me here. You don’t understand.”
“I understand more than he could. He’s in no condition to act on any important matter. You come around to-morrow when he’s sober.”
“It means so much,” breathed the girl. “The beast!”
Glenister noted that she had not wrung her hands nor even hinted at tears, though plainly her disappointment and anxiety were consuming her.
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to wait, but I don’t know where to go—some hotel, I suppose.”
“There aren’t any. They’re building two, but to-night you couldn’t hire a room in Nome for money. I was about to say ‘love or money.’ Have you no other friends here—no women? Then you must let me find a place for you. I have a friend whose wife will take you in.”
She rebelled at this. Was she never to have done with this man’s favors? She thought of returning to the ship, but dismissed that. She undertook to decline his aid, but he was half-way down the stairs and paid no attention to her beginning—so she followed him.
It was then that Helen Chester witnessed her first tragedy of the frontier, and through it came to know better the man whom she disliked and with whom she had been thrown so fatefully. Already she had thrilled at the spell of this country, but she had not learned that strength and license carry blood and violence as corollaries.
Emerging from the doorway at the foot of the stairs, they drifted slowly along the walk, watching the crowd. Besides the universal tension, there were laughter and hope and exhilaration in the faces. The enthusiasm of this boyish multitude warmed one. The girl wished to get into this spirit—to be one of them. Then suddenly from the babble at their elbows came a discordant note, not long nor loud, only a few words, penetrating and harsh with the metallic quality lent by passion.
Helen glanced over her shoulder to find that the smiles of the throng were gone and that its eyes were bent on some scene in the street, with an eager interest she had never seen mirrored before. Simultaneously Glenister spoke:
“Come away from here.”
With the quickened eye of experience he foresaw trouble and tried to drag her on, but she shook off his grasp impatiently, and, turning, gazed absorbed at the spectacle which unfolded itself before her. Although not comprehending the play of events, she felt vaguely the quick approach of some crisis, yet was unprepared for the swiftness with which it came.
Her eyes had leaped to the figures of two men in the street from whom the rest had separated like oil from water. One was slim and well dressed; the other bulky, mackinawed, and lowering of feature. It was the smaller who spoke, and for a moment she misjudged his bloodshot eyes and swaying carriage to be the result of alcohol, until she saw that he was racked with fury.
“Make good, I tell you, quick! Give me that bill of sale, you ——.”
The unkempt man swung on his heel with a growl and walked away, his course leading him towards Glenister and the girl. With two strides he was abreast of them; then, detecting the flashing movement of the other, he whirled like a wild animal. His voice had the snarl of a beast in it.
“Ye had to have it, didn’t ye? Well, there!”
The actions of both men were quick as light, yet to the girl’s taut senses they seemed theatrical and deliberate. Into her mind was seared forever the memory of that second, as though the shutter of a camera had snapped, impressing upon her brain the scene, sharp, clear-cut, and vivid. The shaggy back of the large man almost brushing her, the rage-drunken, white-shirted man in the derby hat, the crowd sweeping backward like rushes before a blast, men with arms flexedand feet raised in flight, the glaring yellow sign of the “Gold Belt Dance Hall” across the way—these were stamped upon her retina, and then she was jerked violently backward, two strong arms crushed her down upon her knees against the wall, and she was smothered in the arms of Roy Glenister.
“My God! Don’t move! We’re in line!”
He crouched over her, his cheek against her hair, his weight forcing her down into the smallest compass, his arms about her, his body forming a living shield against the flying bullets. Over them the big man stood, and the sustained roar of his gun was deafening. In an instant they heard the thud and felt the jar of lead in the thin boards against which they huddled. Again the report echoed above their heads, and they saw the slender man in the street drop his weapon and spin half round as though hit with some heavy hand. He uttered a cry and, stooping for his gun, plunged forward, burying his face in the sand.
The man by Glenister’s side shouted curses thickly, and walked towards his prostrate enemy, firing at every step. The wounded man rolled to his side, and, raising himself on his elbow, shot twice, so rapidly that the reports blended—but without checking his antagonist’s approach. Four more times the relentless assailant fired deliberately, his last missile sent as he stood over the body which twitched and shuddered at his feet, its garments muddy and smeared. Then he turned and retraced his steps. Back within arm’s-length of the two who pressed against the building he came, and as he went by they saw his coarse and sullen features drawn and working pallidly, while the breath whistled through his teeth. He held his course to the door they had justquitted, then as he turned he coughed bestially, spitting out a mouthful of blood. His knees wavered. He vanished within the portals and, in the sickly silence that fell, they heard his hob-nailed boots clumping slowly up the stairs.
Noise awoke and rioted down the thoroughfare. Men rushed forth from every quarter, and the ghastly object in the dirt was hidden by a seething mass of miners.
Glenister raised the girl, but her head rolled limply, and she would have slipped to her knees again had he not placed his arm about her waist. Her eyes were staring and horror-filled.
“Don’t be frightened,” said he, smiling at her reassuringly; but his own lips shook and the sweat stood out like dew on him; for they had both been close to death. There came a surge and swirl through the crowd, and Dextry swooped upon them like a hawk.
“Be ye hurt? Holy Mackinaw! When I see ’em blaze away I yells at ye fit to bust my throat. I shore thought you was gone. Although I can’t say but this killin’ was a sight for sore eyes—so neat an’ genteel—still, as a rule, in these street brawls it’s the innocuous bystander that has flowers sent around to his house afterwards.”
“Look at this,” said Glenister. Breast-high in the wall against which they had crouched, not three feet apart, were bullet holes.
“Them’s the first two he unhitched,” Dextry remarked, jerking his head towards the object in the street. “Must have been a new gun an’ pulled hard—throwed him to the right. See!”
Even to the girl it was patent that, had she not beensnatched as she was, the bullet would have found her.
“Come away quick,” she panted, and they led her into a near-by store, where she sank upon a seat and trembled until Dextry brought her a glass of whiskey.
“Here, Miss,” he said. “Pretty tough go for a ‘cheechako.’ I’m afraid you ain’t gettin’ enamoured of this here country a whole lot.”
For half an hour he talked to her, in his whimsical way, of foreign things, till she was quieted. Then the partners arose to go. Although Glenister had arranged for her to stop with the wife of the merchant for the rest of the night, she would not.
“I can’t go to bed. Please don’t leave me! I’m too nervous. I’ll gomadif you do. The strain of the last week has been too much for me. If I sleep I’ll see the faces of those men again.”
Dextry talked with his companion, then made a purchase which he laid at the lady’s feet.
“Here’s a pair of half-grown gum boots. You put ’em on an’ come with us. We’ll take your mind off of things complete. An’ as fer sweet dreams, when you get back you’ll make the slumbers of the just seem as restless as a riot, or the antics of a mountain-goat which nimbly leaps from crag to crag, and—well, that’s restless enough. Come on!”
As the sun slanted up out of Behring Sea, they marched back towards the hills, their feet ankle-deep in the soft fresh moss, while the air tasted like a cool draught and a myriad of earthy odors rose up and encircled them. Snipe and reed birds were noisy in the hollows and from the misty tundra lakes came the honking of brant. After their weary weeks on shipboard,the dewy freshness livened them magically, cleansing from their memories the recent tragedy, so that the girl became herself again.
“Where are we going?” she asked, at the end of an hour, pausing for breath.
“Why, to the Midas, of course,” they said; and one of them vowed recklessly, as he drank in the beauty of her clear eyes and the grace of her slender, panting form, that he would gladly give his share of all its riches to undo what he had done one night on theSanta Maria.
INthe lives of countries there are crises where, for a breath, destinies lie in the laps of the gods and are jumbled, heads or tails. Thus are marked distinctive cycles like the seven ages of a man, and though, perhaps, they are too subtle to be perceived at the time, yet, having swung past the shadowy milestones, the epochs disclose themselves.
Such a period in the progress of the Far Northwest was the nineteenth day of July, although to those concerned in the building of this new empire the day appealed only as the date of the coming of the law. All Nome gathered on the sands as lighters brought ashore Judge Stillman and his following. It was held fitting that theSenatorshould be the ship to safeguard the dignity of the first court and to introduce Justice into this land of the wild.
The interest awakened by His Honor was augmented by the fact that he was met on the beach by a charming girl, who flung herself upon him with evident delight.
“That’s his niece,” said some one. “She came up on the first boat—name’s Chester—swell looker, eh?”
Another new-comer attracted even more notice than the limb of the law; a gigantic, well-groomed man,with keen, close-set eyes, and that indefinable easy movement and polished bearing that come from confidence, health, and travel. Unlike the others, he did not dally on the beach nor display much interest in his surroundings; but, with purposeful frown strode through the press, up into the heart of the city. His companion was Struve’s partner, Dunham, a middle-aged, pompous man. They went directly to the offices of Dunham & Struve, where they found the white-haired junior partner.
“Mighty glad to meet you, Mr. McNamara,” said Struve. “Your name is a household word in my part of the country. My people were mixed up in Dakota politics somewhat, so I’ve always had a great admiration for you and I’m glad you’ve come to Alaska. This is a big country and we need big men.”
“Did you have any trouble?” Dunham inquired when the three had adjourned to a private room.
“Trouble,” said Struve, ruefully; “well, I wonder if I did. Miss Chester brought me your instructions O. K. and I got busy right off. But, tell me this—how did you get the girl to act as messenger?”
“There was no one else to send,” answered McNamara. “Dunham intended sailing on the first boat, but he was detained in Washington with me, and the Judge had to wait for us at Seattle. We were afraid to trust a stranger for fear he might get curious and examine the papers. That would have meant—” He moved his hand eloquently.
Struve nodded. “I see. Does she know what was in the documents?”
“Decidedly not. Women and business don’t mix. I hope you didn’t tell her anything.”
“No; I haven’t had a chance. She seemed to take a dislike to me for some reason. I haven’t seen her since the day after she got here.”
“The Judge told her it had something to do with preparing the way for his court,” said Dunham, “and that if the papers were not delivered before he arrived it might cause a lot of trouble—litigation, riots, bloodshed, and all that. He filled her up on generalities till the girl was frightened to death and thought the safety of her uncle and the whole country depended on her.”
“Well,” continued Struve, “it’s dead easy to hire men to jump claims and it’s dead easy to buy their rights afterwards, particularly when they know they haven’t got any—but what course do you follow when owners go gunning for you?”
McNamara laughed.
“Who did that?”
“A benevolent, silver-haired old Texan pirate by the name of Dextry. He’s one half owner in the Midas and the other half mountain-lion; as peaceable, you’d imagine, as a benediction, but with the temperament of a Geronimo. I sent Galloway out to relocate the claim, and he got his notices up in the night when they were asleep, but at 6A.M.he came flying back to my room and nearly hammered the door down. I’ve seen fright in varied forms and phases, but he had them all, with some added starters.
“ ‘Hide me out, quick!’ he panted.
“ ‘What’s up?’ I asked.
“ ‘I’ve stirred up a breakfast of grizzly bear, small-pox, and sudden death and it don’t set well on my stummick. Let me in.’
“I had to keep him hidden three days, for thisgentle-mannered old cannibal roamed the streets with a cannon in his hand, breathing fire and pestilence.”
“Anybody else act up?” queried Dunham.
“No; all the rest are Swedes and they haven’t got the nerve to fight. They couldn’t lick a spoon if they tried. These other men are different, though. There are two of them, the old one and a young fellow. I’m a little afraid to mix it up with them, and if their claim wasn’t the best in the district, I’d say let it alone.”
“I’ll attend to that,” said McNamara.
Struve resumed:
“Yes, gentlemen, I’ve been working pretty hard and also pretty much in the dark so far. I’m groping for light. When Miss Chester brought in the papers I got busy instanter. I clouded the title to the richest placers in the region, but I’m blamed if I quite see the use of it. We’d be thrown out of any court in the land if we took them to law. What’s the game—blackmail?”
“Humph!” ejaculated McNamara. “What do you take me for?”
“Well, it does seem small for Alec McNamara, but I can’t see what else you’re up to.”
“Within a week I’ll be running every good mine in the Nome district.”
McNamara’s voice was calm but decisive, his glance keen and alert, while about him clung such a breath of power and confidence that it compelled belief even in the face of this astounding speech.
In spite of himself, Wilton Struve, lawyer, rake, and gentlemanly adventurer, felt his heart leap at what the other’s daring implied. The proposition was utterlypast belief, and yet, looking into the man’s purposeful eyes, he believed.
“That’s big—awful big—toobig,” the younger man murmured. “Why, man, it means you’ll handle fifty thousand dollars a day!”
Dunham shifted his feet in the silence and licked his dry lips.
“Of course it’s big, but Mr. McNamara’s the biggest man that ever came to Alaska,” he said.
“And I’ve got the biggest scheme that ever came north, backed by the biggest men in Washington,” continued the politician. “Look here!” He displayed a type-written sheet bearing parallel lists of names and figures. Struve gasped incredulously.
“Those are my stockholders and that is their share in the venture. Oh, yes; we’re incorporated—under the laws of Arizona—secret, of course; it would never do for the names to get out. I’m showing you this only because I want you to be satisfied who’s behind me.”
“Lord! I’m satisfied,” said Struve, laughing nervously. “Dunham was with you when you figured the scheme out and he met some of your friends in Washington and New York. If he says it’s all right, that settles it. But say, suppose anything went wrong with the company and it leaked out who those stockholders are?”
“There’s no danger. I have the books where they will be burned at the first sign. We’d have had our own land laws passed but for Sturtevant of Nevada, damn him. He blocked us in the Senate. However, my plan is this.” He rapidly outlined his proposition to the listeners, while a light of admiration grew and shone in the reckless face of Struve.
“By heavens! you’re a wonder!” he cried, at the close, “and I’m with you body and soul. It’s dangerous—that’s why I like it.”
“Dangerous?” McNamara shrugged his shoulders. “Bah! Where is the danger? We’ve got the law—or rather, wearethe law. Now, let’s get to work.”
It seemed that the Boss of North Dakota was no sluggard. He discarded coat and waistcoat and tackled the documents which Struve laid before him, going through them like a whirlwind. Gradually he infected the others with his energy, and soon behind the locked doors of Dunham & Struve there were only haste and fever and plot and intrigue.
As Helen Chester led the Judge towards the flamboyant, three-storied hotel she prattled to him light-heartedly. The fascination of a new land already held her fast, and now she felt, in addition, security and relief. Glenister saw them from a distance and strode forward to greet them.
He beheld a man of perhaps threescore years, benign of aspect save for the eyes, which were neither clear nor steady, but had the trick of looking past one. Glenister thought the mouth, too, rather weak and vacillating; but the clean-shaven face was dignified by learning and acumen and was wrinkled in pleasant fashion.
“My niece has just told me of your service to her,” the old gentleman began. “I am happy to know you, sir.”
“Besides being a brave knight and assisting ladies in distress, Mr. Glenister is a very great and wonderful man,” Helen explained, lightly. “He owns the Midas.”
“Indeed!” said the old man, his shifting eyes now resting full on the other with a flash of unmistakable interest. “I hear that is a wonderful mine. Have you begun work yet?”
“No. We’ll commence sluicing day after to-morrow. It has been a late spring. The snow in the gulch was deep and the ground thaws slowly. We’ve been building houses and doing dead work, but we’ve got our men on the ground, waiting.”
“I am greatly interested. Won’t you walk with us to the hotel? I want to hear more about these wonderful placers.”
“Well, theyaregreat placers,” said the miner, as the three walked on together; “nobody knowshowgreat because we’ve only scratched at them yet. In the first place the ground is so shallow and the gold is so easy to get, that if nature didn’t safeguard us in the winter we’d never dare leave our claims for fear of ‘snipers.’ They’d run in and rob us.”
“How much will the Anvil Creek mines produce this summer?” asked the Judge.
“It’s hard to tell, sir; but we expect to average five thousand a day from the Midas alone, and there are other claims just as good.”
“Your title is all clear, I dare say, eh?”
“Absolutely, except for one jumper, and we don’t take him seriously. A fellow named Galloway relocated us one night last month, but he didn’t allege any grounds for doing so, and we could never find trace of him. If we had, our title would be as clean as snow again.” He said the last with a peculiar inflection.
“You wouldn’t use violence, I trust?”
“Sure! Why not? It has worked all right heretofore.”
“But, my dear sir, those days are gone. The law is here and it is the duty of every one to abide by it.”
“Well, perhaps it is; but in this country we consider a man’s mine as sacred as his family. We didn’t know what a lock and key were in the early times and we didn’t have any troubles except famine and hardship. It’s different now, though. Why, there have been more claims jumped around here this spring than in the whole length and history of the Yukon.”
They had reached the hotel, and Glenister paused, turning to the girl as the Judge entered. When she started to follow, he detained her.
“I came down from the hills on purpose to see you. It has been a long week—”
“Don’t talk that way,” she interrupted, coldly. “I don’t care to hear it.”
“See here—what makes you shut me out and wrap yourself up in your haughtiness? I’m sorry for what I did that night—I’ve told you so repeatedly. I’ve wrung my soul for that act till there’s nothing left but repentance.”
“It is not that,” she said, slowly. “I have been thinking it over during the past month, and now that I have gained an insight into this life I see that it wasn’t an unnatural thing for you to do. It’s terrible to think of, but it’s true. I don’t mean that it was pardonable,” she continued, quickly, “for it wasn’t, and I hate you when I think about it, but I suppose I put myself into a position to invite such actions. No; I’m sufficiently broad-minded not to blame you unreasonably, and I think I could like you in spite of it, just for what youhave done for me; but that isn’t all. There is something deeper. You saved my life and I’m grateful, but you frighten me, always. It is the cruelty in your strength, it is something away back in you—lustful, and ferocious, and wild, and crouching.”
He smiled wryly.
“It is my local color, maybe—absorbed from this country. I’ll try to change, though, if you want me to. I’ll let them rope and throw and brand me. I’ll take on the graces of civilization and put away revenge and ambition and all the rest of it, if it will make you like me any better. Why, I’ll even promise not to violate the person of our claim-jumper if I catch him; and Heaven knowsthatmeans that Samson has parted with his locks.”
“I think I could like you if you did,” she said, “but you can’t do it. You are a savage.”
There are no clubs nor marts where men foregather for business in the North—nothing but the saloon, and this is all and more than a club. Here men congregate to drink, to gamble, and to traffic.
It was late in the evening when Glenister entered the Northern and passed idly down the row of games, pausing at the crap-table, where he rolled the dice when his turn came. Moving to the roulette-wheel, he lost a stack of whites, but at the faro “lay-out” his luck was better, and he won a gold coin on the “high-card.” Whereupon he promptly ordered a round of drinks for the men grouped about him, a formality always precedent to overtures of general friendship.
As he paused, glass in hand, his eyes were drawn to a man who stood close by, talking earnestly. The aspectof the stranger challenged notice, for he stood high above his companions with a peculiar grace of attitude in place of the awkwardness common in men of great stature. Among those who were listening intently to the man’s carefully modulated tones, Glenister recognized Mexico Mullins, the ex-gambler who had given Dextry the warning at Unalaska. As he further studied the listening group, a drunken man staggered uncertainly through the wide doors of the saloon and, gaining sight of the tall stranger, blinked, then approached him, speaking with a loud voice:
“Well, if ’tain’t ole Alec McNamara! How do, ye ole pirate!”
McNamara nodded and turned his back coolly upon the new-comer.
“Don’t turn your dorsal fin to me; I wan’ to talk to ye.”
McNamara continued his calm discourse till he received a vicious whack on the shoulder; then he turned for a moment to interrupt his assailant’s garrulous profanity:
“Don’t bother me. I am engaged.”
“Ye won’ talk to me, eh? Well, I’m goin’ to talk toyou, see? I guess you’d listen if I told these people all I know about you. Turn around here.”
His voice was menacing and attracted general notice. Observing this, McNamara addressed him, his words dropping clear, concise, and cold:
“Don’t talk to me. You are a drunken nuisance. Go away before something happens to you.”
Again he turned away, but the drunken man seized and whirled him about, repeating his abuse, encouraged by this apparent patience.
“Your pardon for an instant, gentlemen.” McNamara laid a large white and manicured hand upon the flannel sleeve of the miner and gently escorted him through the entrance to the sidewalk, while the crowd smiled.
As they cleared the threshold, however, he clenched his fist without a word and, raising it, struck the sot fully and cruelly upon the jaw. His victim fell silently, the back of his head striking the boards with a hollow thump; then, without even observing how he lay, McNamara re-entered the saloon and took up his conversation where he had been interrupted. His voice was as evenly regulated as his movements, betraying not a sign of anger, excitement, or bravado. He lit a cigarette, extracted a note-book, and jotted down certain memoranda supplied him by Mexico Mullins.
All this time the body lay across the threshold without a sign of life. The buzz of the roulette-wheel was resumed and the crap-dealer began his monotonous routine. Every eye was fixed on the nonchalant man at the bar, but the unconscious creature outside the threshold lay unheeded, for in these men’s code it behooves the most humane to practise a certain aloofness in the matter of private brawls.
Having completed his notes, McNamara shook hands gravely with his companions and strode out through the door, past the bulk that sprawled across his path, and, without pause or glance, disappeared.
A dozen willing, though unsympathetic, hands laid the drunkard on the roulette-table, where the bartender poured pitcher upon pitcher of water over him.
“He ain’t hurt none to speak of,” said a bystander; then added, with enthusiasm:
“But say! There’s amanin this here camp!”
“Who’syour new shift boss?” Glenister inquired of his partner, a few days later, indicating a man in the cut below, busied in setting a line of sluices.
“That’s old ‘Slapjack’ Simms, friend of mine from up Dawson way.”
Glenister laughed immoderately, for the object was unusually tall and loose-jointed, and wore a soiled suit of yellow mackinaw. He had laid off his coat, and now the baggy, bilious trousers hung precariously from his angular shoulders by suspenders of alarming frailty. His legs were lost in gum boots, also loose and cavernous, and his entire costume looked relaxed and flapping, so that he gave the impression of being able to shake himself out of his raiment, and to rise like a burlesque Aphrodite. His face was overgrown with a grizzled tangle that looked as though it had been trimmed with button-hole scissors, while above the brush heap grandly soared a shiny, dome-like head.
“Has he always been bald?”
“Naw! He ain’t bald at all. He shaves his nob. In the early days he wore a long flowin’ mane which was inhabited by crickets, tree-toads, and such fauna. It got to be a hobby with him finally, so that he growed superstitious about goin’ uncurried, and would backinto a corner with both guns drawed if a barber came near him. But once Hank—that’s his real name—undertook to fry some slapjacks, and in givin’ the skillet a heave, the dough lit among his forest primeval, jest back of his ears, soft side down. Hank polluted the gulch with langwidge which no man had ought to keep in himself without it was fumigated. Disreppitableness oozed out through him like sweat through an ice-pitcher, an’ since then he’s been known as Slapjack Simms, an’ has kept his head shingled smooth as a gun bar’l. He’s a good miner, though; ain’t none better—an’ square as a die.”
Sluicing had begun on the Midas. Long sinuous lengths of canvas hose wound down the creek bottom from the dam, like gigantic serpents, while the roll of gravel through the flumes mingled musically with the rush of waters, the tinkle of tools, and the song of steel on rock. There were four “strings” of boxes abreast, and the heaving line of shovellers ate rapidly into the creek bed, while teams with scrapers splashed through the tail races in an atmosphere of softened profanity. In the big white tents which sat back from the bluffs, fifty men of the night shift were asleep; for there is no respite here—no night, no Sunday, no halt, during the hundred days in which the Northland lends herself to pillage.
The mine lay cradled between wonderful, mossy, willow-mottled mountains, while above and below the gulch was dotted with tents and huts, and everywhere, from basin to hill crest, men dug and blasted, punily, patiently, while their tracks grew daily plainer over the face of this inscrutable wilderness.
A great contentment filled the two partners as theylooked on this scene. To wrest from reluctant earth her richest treasures, to add to the wealth of the world, to create—here was satisfaction.
“We ain’t robbin’ no widders an’ orphans doin’ it, neither,” Dextry suddenly remarked, expressing his partner’s feelings closely. They looked at each other and smiled with that rare understanding that exceeds words.
Descending into the cut, the old man filled a gold-pan with dirt taken from under the feet of the workers, and washed it in a puddle, while the other watched his dexterous whirling motions. When he had finished, they poked the stream of yellow grains into a pile, then, with heads together, guessed its weight, laughing again delightedly, in perfect harmony and contentment.
“I’ve been waitin’ a turrible time fer this day,” said the elder. “I’ve suffered the plagues of prospectin’ from the Mexicos to the Circle, an’ yet I don’t begretch it none, now that I’ve struck pay.”
While they spoke, two miners struggled with a bowlder they had unearthed, and having scraped and washed it carefully, staggered back to place it on the cleaned bed-rock behind. One of them slipped, and it crashed against a brace which held the sluices in place. These boxes stand more than a man’s height above the bed-rock, resting on supporting posts and running full of water. Should a sluice fall, the rushing stream carries out the gold which has lodged in the riffles and floods the bed-rock, raising havoc. Too late the partners saw the string of boxes sway and bend at the joint. Then, before they could reach the threatened spot to support it, Slapjack Simms, with a shriek, plunged flapping down into the cut and seized the flume.His great height stood him in good stead now, for where the joint had opened, water poured forth in a cataract. He dived under the breach unhesitatingly and, stooping, lifted the line as near to its former level as possible, holding the entire burden upon his naked pate. He gesticulated wildly for help, while over him poured the deluge of icy, muddy water. It entered his gaping waistband, bulging out his yellow trousers till they were fat and full and the seams were bursting, while his yawning boot-tops became as boiling springs. Meanwhile he chattered forth profanity in such volume that the ear ached under it as must have ached the heroic Slapjack under the chill of the melting snow. He was relieved quickly, however, and emerged triumphant, though blue and puckered, his wilderness of whiskers streaming like limber stalactites, his boots loosely “squishing,” while oaths still poured from him in such profusion that Dextry whispered:
“Ain’t he a ring-tailed wonder? It’s plumb solemn an’ reverent the way he makes them untamed cuss-words sit up an’ beg. It’s a privilege to be present. That’s agift, that is.”
“You’d better get some dry clothes,” they suggested, and Slapjack proceeded a few paces towards the tents, hobbling as though treading on pounded glass.
“Ow—w!” he yelled. “These blasted boots is full of gravel.”
He seated himself and tugged at his foot till the boot came away with a sucking sound, then, instead of emptying the accumulation at random, he poured the contents into Dextry’s empty gold-pan, rinsing it out carefully. The other boot he emptied likewise. They held a surprising amount of sediment, becausethe stream that had emerged from the crack in the sluices had carried with it pebbles, sand, and all the concentration of the riffles at this point. Standing directly beneath the cataract, most of it had dived fairly into his inviting waistband, following down the lines of least resistance into his boot-legs and boiling out at the knees.
“Wash that,” he said. “You’re apt to get a prospect.”
With artful passes Dextry settled it in the pan bottom and washed away the gravel, leaving a yellow, glittering pile which raised a yell from the men who had lingered curiously.
“He pans forty dollars to the boot-leg,” one shouted.
“How much do you run to the foot, Slapjack?”
“He’s a reg’lar free-milling ledge.”
“No, he ain’t—he’s too thin. He’s nothing but a stringer, but he’ll pay to work.”
The old miner grinned toothlessly.
“Gentlemen, there ain’t no better way to save fine gold than with undercurrents an’ blanket riffles. I’ll have to wash these garments of mine an’ clean up the soapsuds ’cause there’s a hundred dollars in gold-dust clingin’ to my person this minute.” He went dripping up the bank, while the men returned to their work singing.
After lunch Dextry saddled his bronco.
“I’m goin’ to town for a pair of gold-scales, but I’ll be back by supper, then we’ll clean up between shifts. She’d ought to give us a thousand ounces, the way that ground prospects.” He loped down the gulch, while his partner returned to the pit, the flashing shovelblades, and the rumbling undertone of the big workings that so fascinated him.
It was perhaps four o’clock when he was aroused from his labors by a shout from the bunk-tent, where a group of horsemen had clustered. As Glenister drew near, he saw among them Wilton Struve, the lawyer, and the big, well-dressed tenderfoot of the Northern—McNamara—the man of the heavy hand. Struve straightway engaged him.
“Say, Glenister, we’ve come out to see about the title to this claim.”
“What about it?”
“Well, it was relocated about a month ago.” He paused.
“Yes. What of that?”
“Galloway has commenced suit.”
“The ground belongs to Dextry and me. We discovered it, we opened it up, we’ve complied with the law, and we’re going to hold it.” Glenister spoke with such conviction and heat as to nonplus Struve, but McNamara, who had sat his horse silently until now, answered:
“Certainly, sir; if your title is good you will be protected, but the law has arrived in Alaska and we’ve got to let it take its course. There’s no need of violence—none whatever—but, briefly, the situation is this: Mr. Galloway has commenced action against you; the court has enjoined you from working and has appointed me as receiver to operate the mine until the suit is settled. It’s an extraordinary procedure, of course, but the conditions are extraordinary in this country. The season is so short that it would be unjust to the rightful owner if the claim lay idle all summer—so, to avoid that, I’vebeen put in charge, with instructions to operate it and preserve the proceeds subject to the court’s order. Mr. Voorhees here is the United States Marshal. He will serve the papers.”
Glenister threw up his hand in a gesture of restraint.
“Hold on! Do you mean to tell me that any court would recognize such a claim as Galloway’s?”
“The law recognizes everything. If his grounds are no good, so much the better for you.”
“You can’t put in a receiver without notice to us. Why, good Lord! we never heard of a suit being commenced. We’ve never even been served with a summons and we haven’t had a chance to argue in our own defence.”
“I have just said that this is a remarkable state of affairs and unusual action had to be taken,” McNamara replied, but the young miner grew excited.
“Look here—this gold won’t get away. It’s safe in the ground. We’ll knock off work and let the claim lie idle till the thing is settled. You can’t really expect us to surrender possession of our mine on the mere allegation of some unknown man. That’s ridiculous. We won’t do it. Why, you’ll have to let us argue our case, at least, before you try to put us off.”
Voorhees shook his head. “We’ll have to follow instructions. The thing for you to do is to appear before the court to-morrow and have the receiver dismissed. If your title is as good as you say it is, you won’t have any trouble.”
“You’re not the only ones to suffer,” added McNamara. “We’ve taken possession of all the mines below here.” He nodded down the gulch. “I’m an officer of the court and under bond—”
“How much?”
“Five thousand dollars for each claim.”
“What! Why, heavens, man, the poorest of these mines is producing that much every day!”
While he spoke, Glenister was rapidly debating what course to follow.
“The place to argue this thing is before Judge Stillman,” said Struve—but with little notion of the conflict going on within Glenister. The youth yearned to fight—not with words nor quibbles nor legal phrases, but with steel and blows. And he felt that the impulse was as righteous as it was natural, for he knew this process was unjust, an outrage. Mexico Mullins’s warning recurred to him. And yet—. He shifted slowly as he talked till his back was to the door of the big tent. They were watching him carefully, for all their apparent languor and looseness in saddle; then as he started to leap within and rally his henchmen, his mind went back to the words of Judge Stillman and his niece. Surely that old man was on the square. He couldn’t be otherwise with her beside him, believing in him; and a suspicion of deeper plots behind these actions was groundless. So far, all was legal, he supposed, with his scant knowledge of law; though the methods seemed unreasonable. The men might be doing what they thought to be right. Why be the first to resist? The men on the mines below had not done so. The title to this ground was capable of such easy proof that he and Dex need have no uneasiness. Courts do not rob honest people nowadays, he argued, and moreover, perhaps the girl’s words were true, perhaps shewouldthink more of him if he gave up the old fighting ways for her sake. Certainly armed resistance to her uncle’s first edictwould not please her. She had said he was too violent, so he would show her he could lay his savagery aside. She might smile on him approvingly, and that was Worth taking a chance for—anyway it would mean but a few days’ delay in the mine’s run. As he reasoned he heard a low voice speaking within the open door. It was Slapjack Simms.
“Step aside, lad. I’ve got the big uncovered.”
Glenister saw the men on horseback snatch at their holsters, and, just in time, leaped at his foreman, for the old man had moved out into the open, a Winchester at shoulder, his cheek cuddling the stock, his eyes cold and narrow. The young man flung the barrel up and wrenched the weapon from his hands.
“None of that, Hank!” he cried, sharply. “I’ll say when to shoot.” He turned to look into the muzzles of guns held in the hands of every horseman—every horseman save one, for Alec McNamara sat unmoved, his handsome features, nonchalant and amused, nodding approval. It was at him that Hank’s weapon had been levelled.
“This is bad enough at the best. Don’t let’s make it any worse,” said he.
Slapjack inhaled deeply, spat with disgust, and looked over his boss incredulously.
“Well, of all the different kinds of damn fools,” he snorted, “you are the kindest.” He marched past the marshal and his deputies down to the cut, put on his coat, and vanished down the trail towards town, not deigning a backward glance either at the mine or at the man unfit to fight for.
LATEin July it grows dark as midnight approaches, so that the many lights from doorway and window seem less garish and strange than they do a month earlier. In the Northern there was good business doing. The new bar fixtures, which had cost a king’s ransom, or represented the one night’s losings of a Klondike millionaire, shone rich, dark, and enticing, while the cut glass sparkled with iridescent hues, reflecting, in a measure, the prismatic moods, the dancing spirits of the crowd that crushed past, halting at the gambling games, or patronizing the theatre in the rear. The old bar furniture, brought down by dog team from “Up River,” was established at the rear extremity of the long building, just inside the entrance to the dance-hall, where patrons of the drama might, with a modicum of delay and inconvenience, quaff as deeply of the beaker as of the ballet.
Now, however, the show had closed, the hall had been cleared of chairs and canvas, exposing a glassy, tempting surface, and the orchestra had moved to the stage. They played a rollicking, blood-stirring two-step, while the floor swam with dancers.
At certain intervals the musicians worked feverishly up to a crashing crescendo, supported by the voices ofthe dancers, until all joined at the top note in a yell, while the drummer fired a .44 Colt into a box of wet sawdust beside his chair—all in time, all in the swinging spirit of the tune.
The men, who were mostly young, danced like college boys, while the women, who were all young and good dancers, floated through the measures with the ease of rose-leaves on a summer stream. Faces were flushed, eyes were bright, and but rarely a voice sounded that was not glad. Most of the noise came from the men, and although one caught, here and there, a hint of haggard lines about the girlish faces, and glimpsed occasional eyes that did not smile, yet as a whole the scene was one of genuine enjoyment.
Suddenly the music ceased and the couples crowded to the bar. The women took harmless drinks; the men, mostly whiskey. Rarely was the choice of potations criticised, though occasionally some ruddy eschewer of sobriety insisted that his lady “take the same,” avowing that “hootch,” having been demonstrated beneficial in his case, was good for her also. Invariably the lady accepted without dispute, and invariably the man failed to note her glance at the bartender, or the silent substitution by that capable person of ginger-ale for whiskey or of plain water for gin. In turn, the mixers collected one dollar from each man, flipping to the girl a metal percentage-check which she added to her store. In the curtained boxes overhead, men bought bottles with foil about the corks, and then subterfuge on the lady’s part was idle, but, on the other hand, she was able to pocket for each bottle a check redeemable at five dollars.
A stranger, straight from the East, would have remarkedfirst upon the good music, next upon the good looks of the women, and then upon the shabby clothes of the men—for some of them were in “mukluk,” others in sweaters with huge initials and winged emblems, and all were collarless.
Outside in the main gambling-room there were but few women. Men crowded in dense masses about the faro lay-out, the wheel, craps, the Klondike game, pangingi, and the card-tables. They talked of business, of home, of women, bought and sold mines, and bartered all things from hams to honor. The groomed and clean, the unkempt and filthy jostled shoulder to shoulder, equally affected by the license of the gold-fields and the exhilaration of the New. The mystery of the North had touched them all. The glad, bright wine of adventure filled their veins, and they spoke mightily of things they had resolved to do, or recounted with simple diffidence the strange stories of their accomplishment.
The “Bronco Kid,” familiar from Atlin to Nome as the best “bank” dealer on the Yukon, worked the shift from eight till two. He was a slender man of thirty, dexterous in movement, slow to smile, soft of voice, and known as a living flame among women. He had dealt the biggest games of the early days, and had no enemies. Yet, though many called him friend, they wondered inwardly.
It was a strong play the Kid had to-night, for Swede Sam, of Dawson, ventured many stacks of yellow chips, and he was a quick, aggressive gambler. A Jew sat at the king end with ten neatly creased one-thousand-dollar bills before him, together with piles of smaller currency. He adventured viciously and without system,while outsiders to the number of four or five cut in sporadically with small bets. The game was difficult to follow; consequently the lookout, from his raised dais, was leaning forward, chin in hand, while the group was hedged about by eager on-lookers.
Faro is a closed book to most people, for its intricacies are confusing. Lucky is he who has never persevered in solving its mysteries nor speculated upon the “systems” of beating it. From those who have learned it, the game demands practice, dexterity, and coolness. The dealer must run the cards, watch the many shifting bets, handle the neatly piled checks, figure, lightning-like, the profits and losses. It was his unerring, clock like regularity in this that had won the Kid his reputation. This night his powers were taxed. He dealt silently, scowlingly, his long white fingers nervously caressing the cards.
This preoccupation prevented his noticing the rustle and stir of a new-comer who had crowded up behind him, until he caught the wondering glances of those in front and saw that the Israelite was staring past him, his money forgotten, his eyes beady and sharp, his ratlike teeth showing in a grin of admiration. Swede Sam glared from under his unkempt shock and felt uncertainly towards the open collar of his flannel shirt where a kerchief should have been. The men who were standing gazed at the new-comer, some with surprise, others with a half smile of recognition.
Bronco glanced quickly over his shoulder, and as he did so the breath caught in his throat—but for only an instant. A girl stood so close beside him that the lace of her gown brushed his sleeve. He was shuffling at the moment and dropped a card, then nodded to her,speaking quietly, as he stooped to regain the pasteboard:
“Howdy, Cherry?”
She did not answer—only continued to look at the “lay-out.” “What a woman!” he thought. She was not too tall, with smoothly rounded bust and hips, and long waist, all well displayed by her perfectly fitting garments. Her face was oval, the mouth rather large, the eyes of dark, dark-blue, prominently outlined under thin, silken lids. Her dull-gold hair was combed low over the ears, and her smile showed rows of sparkling teeth before it dived into twin dimples. Strangest of all, it was an innocent face, the face and smile of a school-girl.
The Kid finished his shuffling awkwardly and slid the cards into the box. Then the woman spoke:
“Let me have your place, Bronco.”
The men gasped, the Jew snickered, the lookout straightened in his chair.
“Better not. It’s a hard game,” said the Kid, but her voice was imperious as she commanded him:
“Hurry up. Give me your place.”
Bronco arose, whereupon she settled in his chair, tucked in her skirts, removed her gloves, and twisted into place the diamonds on her hands.
“What the devil’s this?” said the lookout, roughly. “Are you drunk, Bronco? Get out of that chair, miss.”
She turned to him slowly. The innocence had fled from her features and the big eyes flashed warningly. A change had coarsened her like a puff of air on a still pool. Then, while she stared at him, her lids drooped dangerously and her lip curled.
“Throw him out, Bronco,” she said, and her tones held the hardness of a mistress to her slave.
“That’s all right,” the Kid reassured the lookout. “She’s a better dealer than I am. This is Cherry Malotte.”
Without noticing the stares this evoked, the girl commenced. Her hands, beautifully soft and white, flashed over the board. She dealt rapidly, unfalteringly, with the finish of one bred to the cards, handling chips and coppers with the peculiar mannerisms that spring from long practice. It was seen that she never looked at her check-rack, but, when a bet required paying, picked up a stack without turning her head; and they saw further that she never reached twice, nor took a large pile and sized it up against its mate, removing the extra disks, as is the custom. When she stretched forth her hand she grasped the right number unerringly. This is considered the acme of professional finish, and the Bronco Kid smiled delightedly as he saw the wonder spread from the lookout to the spectators and heard the speech of the men who stood on chairs and tables for sight of the woman dealer.
For twenty minutes she continued, until the place became congested, and never once did the lookout detect an error.
While she was busy, Glenister entered the front-door and pushed his way back towards the theatre. He was worried and distrait, his manner perturbed and unnatural. Silently and without apparent notice he passed friends who greeted him.
“What ails Glenister to-night?” asked a by-stander. “He acts funny.”
“Ain’t you heard? Why, the Midas has been jumped. He’s in a bad way—all broke up.”
The girl suddenly ceased without finishing the deck, and arose.
“Don’t stop,” said the Kid, while a murmur of dismay came from the spectators. She only shook her head and drew on her gloves with a show of ennui.
Gliding through the crowd, she threaded about aimlessly, the recipient of many stares though but few greetings, speaking with no one, a certain dignity serving her as a barrier even here. She stopped a waiter and questioned him.
“He’s up-stairs in a gallery box.”
“Alone?”
“Yes’m. Anyhow, he was a minute ago, unless some of the rustlers has broke in on him.”
A moment later Glenister, watching the scene below, was aroused from his gloomy absorption by the click of the box door and the rustle of silken skirts.
“Go out, please,” he said, without turning. “I don’t want company.” Hearing no answer, he began again, “I came here to be alone”—but there he ceased, for the girl had come forward and laid her two hot hands upon his cheeks.
“Boy,” she breathed—and he arose swiftly.
“Cherry! When did you come?”
“Oh,daysago,” she said, impatiently, “from Dawson. They told me you had struck it. I stood it as long as I could—then I came to you. Now, tell me about yourself. Let me see you first, quick!”
She pulled him towards the light and gazed upward, devouring him hungrily with her great, languorous eyes.