The Story of the Foss River Ranch Part 40

The angry light was again in the rancher's bloodshot eyes.

"Why? Because she will marry me if you choose. She can't refuse--she dare not."

"Then, by G.o.d, I'll refuse for her--"

He paused disconcertedly in his wrath. Lablache's cold eyes fixed him with their icy stare.

"Very well, John," said Lablache, with a contemptuous shrug. "You know the inevitable result of such a hasty decision. It means ruin to you--beggary to that poor child." His teeth snapped viciously. Then he smiled with his mouth. "I can only put your de--refusal down to utter, unworthy selfishness."

"Not selfishness, Lablache--not that. I would sacrifice everything in the world for that child--"

"Except your own pleasure--your own personal comforts. Bah, man!" with scathing contempt, "your object must be plain to the veriest fool. You do not wish to lose her. You fear to lose your best servant lest in consequence you find the work of the ranch thrust upon your own hands.

You would have no time to indulge your love of play. You would no longer be able to spend three parts of your time in 'old man' Smith's filthy bar. Your conduct is laudable, John--it is worthy of you."

Lablache had expected another outburst of anger, but John only leered in response to the other's contempt. Drunk as he was, the rancher saw the absurdity of the attack.

"Piffle!" he exclaimed. "Now see, when Jacky comes in you shall hear what she has to say."

"Poker" John smiled with satisfaction at his own 'cuteness. He felt that he had outwitted the astute usurer. His simplicity, however, was of an infantile order.

"That would be useless." Lablache did not want to be confronted with Jacky. "My mind is quite made up. The Calford Trust will begin proceedings at once, unless--"

"Unless I give my consent."

The satisfaction had suddenly died out of John Allandale's face. Even in his maudlin condition he understood the relentless purpose which backed the money-lender's proposal. To his credit be it said that he was thinking only of Jacky--the one being who was dearer to him than all else in the world. For himself he had no thought--he did not care what happened. But he longed to save his niece from the threatened catastrophe. His seared old face worked in his distress. Lablache beheld the sign, and knew that he was weakening.

"Why force me to extremities, John?" he said presently. "If you would only be reasonable, I feel sure you would have no matter for regret.

Now, suppose I went a step further."

"No--no," weakly. There followed a pause. John Allandale avoided the other's eyes. To the old man the silence of the room became intolerable.

He opened his lips to speak. Then he closed them--only to open them again. "But--but what step do you propose? Is--is it honest?"

"Perfectly." Lablache was smiling in that indulgent manner he knew so well how to a.s.sume. "And it might appeal to you. Pressure is a thing I hate. Now--suppose we leave the matter to--to chance."

"Chance?" The rancher questioned the other doubtfully.

"Yes--why not?" The money-lender's smile broadened and he leaned forward to impress his hearer the more surely. "A little game--a game of poker, eh?"

John Allandale shook his head. He failed to grasp the other's meaning.

"I don't understand," he said, struggling with the liquor which fogged his dull brain.

"No, of course you don't," easily. "Now listen to me and I'll tell you what I mean." The money-lender spoke as though addressing a wayward child. "The stakes shall be my terms against your influence with Jacky.

If you win you keep your girl, and I cancel your mortgages; if I win I marry your girl under the conditions I have already offered. It's wholly an arrangement for your benefit. All I can possibly gain is your girl.

Whichever way the game goes I must pay. Saints alive--but what an old fool I am!" He laughed constrainedly. "For the sake of a pretty face I'm going to give you everything--but there," seriously, "I'd do more to win that sweet child for my wife. What d'you say, John?"

There could be no doubt that Lablache meant what he said, only he might have put it differently. Had he said that there was nothing at which he would stop to secure Jacky, it would have been more in keeping with the facts, He meant to marry the girl. His bilious eyes watered. There was a sensual look in them. His heavy lips parted and closed with a sucking smack as though expressing appreciation of a tasty morsel.

John remained silent, but into his eyes had leapt a gleam which told of the l.u.s.t of gaming aroused. His look--his whole face spoke for him.

Lablache had primed his hook with an irresistible bait. He knew his man.

"See," he went on, as the other remained silent, "this is the way we can arrange it. We will play 'Jackpots' only. The best seven out of thirteen. It will be a pretty game, in which, from an outsider's point of view, I alone can be the loser. If I win I shall consider myself amply repaid. If I lose--well," with an expressive movement of the hands, "I will take my chance--as a sportsman should. I love your niece, John, and will risk everything to win her. Now, think of it. It will be the sweetest, prettiest gamble. And, too, think of the stake. A fortune, John--a fortune for you. And for me a bare possibility of realizing my hopes."

The old gambler's last vestige of honor struggled to make itself apparent in a negative movement of the head. But the movement would not come. His thoughts were of the game, and ere yet the last words of the money-lender had ceased to sound, he was captured. The satanic cunning of the proposal was lost upon his sodden intellect. It was a contemptible, pitiable piece of chicanery with which Lablache sought to trap the old man into giving his consent and a.s.sistance. The money-lender had no intention of losing the game. He knew he must win.

He was merely resorting to this means because he knew the gambling spirit of the rancher. He knew that "Poker" John's obstinacy was proof against any direct attack; that no persuasion would induce the consent he desired. The method of a boxer pounding the body of an opponent whom he knows to be afflicted with some organic weakness of the heart is no more cowardly than was Lablache's proposal.

The rancher still remained silent. Lablache moved in his chair; one of his great fat hands rested for a moment on John's coat sleeve.

"Now, old friend," he said, with a hoa.r.s.e, whistling breath. "Shall you play--play the game? It will be a grand finale to the many--er--comfortable games we have played together. Well? Thirteen 'Jackpots,' John--yes?"

"And--and if I consented--mind, I only say 'if.'" The rancher's face twitched nervously.

"You would stand to win a fortune--and also one for your niece."

"Yes--yes. I might win. My luck may turn."

"It must--you cannot always lose."

"Quite right--I must win soon. It is a great offer--a splendid stake."

"It is."

"Yes--yes, Lablache, I will play. G.o.d, man! I will play you!"

Beads of sweat stood on John Allandale's forehead as he literally hurled his acceptance at his companion. He accepted in the manner of one who knows he is setting at defiance all honesty and right, urged to such a course by an all-mastering pa.s.sion, which he is incapable of resisting.

Strange was the nature of this man. He knew himself as it is given to few weak men to know themselves. He knew that he wished to do this thing. He knew, also, that he was doing wrong. Moreover he knew that he wished to stand by Jacky and be true to his great affection for her. He was under the influence of potent spirit, and yet his thoughts and judgment were clear upon the subject. His mania had possessed him and he would play from choice; and all the while he could hear the voice of conscience rating him. He would have preferred to play now, but then he remembered the quant.i.ty of spirit he had consumed. He must take no chances. When he played Lablache he must be sober. The delay of one night, however, he knew would bring him agonies of remorse, therefore he would settle everything now so that in the throes of conscience he could not refuse to play. He feared delay. He feared the vacillation which the solitary hours of the night might bring to him. He leant forward and thickly urged the money-lender.

"When shall it be? Quick, man, let us have no delay. The time, Lablache--the time and place."

Lablache wheezed unctuously.

"That's the spirit I like, John," he said, fingering his watch-chain with his fat hands. "To business. The place--er--yes." A moment's thought whilst the rancher waited with impatience. "Ah, I know. That implement shed on your fifty-acre pasture. Excellent. There is a living room in it. You used to keep a man there. It is disused now. It will suit us admirably. We can use that room. And the time--"

"To-morrow, Lablache. It must be to-morrow. I could not wait longer,"

broke in the other, in a voice husky with eagerness and liquor. "After dark, when no one can see us going out to the shed. No one must know, Lablache, mind--no one. Jacky will not dream of what we are doing."

"Very well. To-morrow, then. At eleven o'clock at night, John. And as you say in the meantime--mum."

Lablache was pleased with the rancher's suggestion. It quite fell in with his own ideas. Everything must be done quickly now. He must get away from Foss River without delay.

"Yes--yes. Mum's the word." "Poker" John indicated his approval with an upward leer as Lablache rose from his chair, and a grotesque pursing of his lips and his forefinger at the side of his nose. Then he, too, struggled to his feet, and, with unsteady hand, poured out two stiff "horns" of whisky.

He held one out to the money-lender and took the other himself.

"I drink to the game," he said haltingly. "May--fortune come my way."

Lablache nodded comprehensively and slowly raised his gla.s.s.