The Plow-Woman Part 19

When two hours or more had gone by, the storekeeper grew impatient. He walked back and halted in the inky shadow of the wall down which Nick Matthews had tobogganed. From there, he pointed to a shaft of light that was falling upon the north side of the second shanty in the street.

It was from an uncurtained, south opening in the first.

"You see that?" asked Lounsbury. "Well, I'm going over there to look in.

How do we know he hasn't given us the slip, someway?"

"Let's be careful," said the lieutenant. "A proper amount of caution isn't cowardice. If you're seen, the whole pack'll set on you."

"I _will_ be careful, but I'm not going to----"

"That's all very nice, only you must consider the stripe of man you're dealing with----"

"I can roll a gun, Fraser."

"But, Jupiter! This chap isn't going to fight you in the open. He'll use Indian tactics--fact is, he was raised among 'em."

"_What's that?_" asked Lounsbury.

"Raised among 'em, I said--with the Sioux."

"Speaks the tongue, then?" For some reason, the storekeeper seemed strangely agitated.

"Why, yes."

At that, Lounsbury was off, making straight for the entrance of the building they had been watching.

Fraser went tearing after, and not far from the door managed to stop him.

"For Heaven's sake!" he gasped. "What's struck you?"

"Fraser," said Lounsbury, "did you hear that the Colonel wanted an interpreter?"

"Why--why--great Scott!"

"Exactly--great Scott!" The storekeeper set off again.

"Hold on." Fraser caught his arm. "Your scheme's all right, but you can't impress the man. He's got to go of his own accord."

"Hm! that's so."

"What you suppose he'll say if you rush in there and ask him to please go away on this long trip and leave your friends serenely in possession of the land?"

"I wouldn't say 'please'--but you're right. Let's take a look through that window."

Fraser a.s.sented. Shoulder to shoulder, they tiptoed forward and, keeping out of the shaft of light, viewed the scene within.

It was a busy one, and well bore out the inviting legend of the s.h.i.+ngle sign. Along the plank bar, "the troopers" were thickly ranged, smacking their lips in "delight" over greasy gla.s.ses. Beyond them was a squint-eyed man who trotted untiringly to and fro, mixing and pouring.

Nearer was the stove, its angular barrel and widespread legs giving it the appearance of some horrid, fire-belching animal.

An unbroken circle of men surrounded it, hats on, rawhide-bottomed chairs tilted back to an easy slant. From their pipes and cigars smoke rose steadily and hung, a blue mist, against the sloping rafters of the roof.

There was little talking in the circle. Two or three were asleep, their heads sagging on their necks with maudlin looseness. The others spoke infrequently, but often let down their chairs while they spat in the sand-box under the stove, or screwed about in the direction of the gaming-table. Among these was Old Michael. He sat nearest the door, a checkerboard balanced on his knees, his black stub pipe in its toothy vise. And when he was not feeding the stove's flaming maw with broken boxes, barrel-staves and green wood, his blowzy countenance was suspended over the pasteboards he was thumbing in a game of solitaire.

The two outside went under the shaft of light and peeped into the rear of the room. There was Matthews, one of five at a square table. A cigar-box partly filled with coin and chips was before him. In front of the other players were other chip-piles. About the five, hanging over them, almost pressing upon them, were a number of troopers. Two or three were idle onlookers. But the majority were following with excited interest every turn of the cards.

"Wretches being plucked of their good six months' pay," whispered Fraser.

"Looks like they're in for all night," Lounsbury returned.

But the officer was pinching him. "s.h.!.+ See there!"

A half-drunken trooper was interrupting the game. He had reeled forward to the table, and seemed to be addressing himself to Matthews, who, as he answered, glanced up indifferently. The trooper continued, emphasising his words by raising a clenched fist and striking the board a blow.

The chip-piles toppled. He turned to those about, gesticulating. A few surrounded him, evidently bent on leading him toward the door. Others appeared to be continuing the dispute with Matthews. But as the disturber was pushed out, they gradually subsided.

"I've got an idea," announced the storekeeper. And he disappeared around a corner.

When he returned he was leading the trooper and talking low to him. All three retired to the shadow of the wall.

Here there was a colloquy. First, Lounsbury held forth; next, the trooper, protestingly. When the lieutenant broke in, two phrases were frequently repeated--"to the guard-house," and "won't if you will."

At last the three went back to the window.

"Remember," cautioned the storekeeper, "we don't want all these shebangs stirred up."

"Needn't worry," said Fraser. "Just listen to that rumpus down street."

The disjointed music of a wheezy accordion was rending the night. With it sounded the regular stamp of feet.

Now, the trooper rounded the corner. A moment and, through the window, Lounsbury and the officer saw him enter the door.

He slipped down to a seat beside Old Michael. There he stayed for a while. Whenever a brother trooper looked his way, he called him up by the crooking of a finger and whispered to him. Before long a knot of men had again surrounded him. But this time their attention was all for the table at the rear of the room.

There the game was going on. Matthews' chip-pile showed where the winnings were gravitating. In the dim light there was a strained look on the faces of the players.

Deal after deal pa.s.sed. Finally, one of the five, having no more disks before him, pushed back his chair and got up.

As he stood, dazed and dismayed, the trooper who had been ejected appeared at his side, clapped him upon the back and spoke. At their elbows was the knot that had gathered at the stove.

The next moment the trooper turned to the table and s.n.a.t.c.hed the pack of cards from Matthews' hand. He held up one, pointing at its back; snapped it down; pointed at a second, then scattered the pack in the air.

Lounsbury and Fraser whipped round the corner and in through the door.

An uproar greeted them--"Cheat!" "Clean him out!"

"Do him like Soggy did!" Before them was a jostle of blue backs. Across these, on the farther side of the plank bar, they saw Matthews, facing the crowd. His left hand held the cigar-box against his chest, his right was up and empty.

"Hold on, boys!" It was Lounsbury.