"POKER" JOHN ACCEPTS
"Ah!"
There was a tone of drunken suspicion about the exclamation which was
not lost on Lablache.
"If you were suddenly called upon to meet your liabilities to me, John,"
said the money-lender, smiling, "how would it fix you?"
"It would mean ruin," replied John, hoarsely.
Lablache cleared his throat and snorted. Then he smiled benignly upon
his old companion.
"That's just what I thought. Well, you're not going to be ruined--by me.
I'm going to burn the mortgages and settle with the Calford Trust and
Loan Co. myself--"
The rancher feared to trust his ears.
"That is if you are willing to do something for me."
In his eager hope John Allandale had leant forward so as not to miss a
word the other said. Now, however, he threw himself back in his chair.
Some suspicion was in his mind. It might have been intuition. He knew
Lablache well. He laughed cynically.
"That's more like you," he said roughly.
"One moment," said the money-lender; the smile vanished from his lips.
"Fair play's good medicine. We'll wipe out your debts if you'll tell
your niece that you want her to marry me."
"I'll--I'll--"
"Hold on, John," with upraised hand, as the old man purpled with rage
and started to shout.
"I'll see you damned first!" The rancher had lurched on to his feet and
his fist came down with a crash upon the corner of the table. Lablache
remained unmoved.
"Tut tut, man; now listen to me." The old man towered unsteadily over
him. "I can't understand your antipathy to me as a husband for your
niece. Give your consent--she'll do it for you--and, on my wedding day,
I burn those mortgages and I'll settle 100,000 dollars upon Jacky.
Besides this I'll put 200,000 dollars into your ranch to develop it, and
only ask ten per cent, of the profits. Can I speak fairer? That girl of
yours is a good girl, John; too good to kick about the prairie. I'll
make her a good husband. She shall do as she pleases, live where she
likes. You can always be with us if you choose. It's no use being riled,
John, I'm making an honest proposition."
The rancher calmed. In the face of such a generous proposal he could not
insult Lablache. He was determined, however. It was strange, perhaps,
that any suggestion for his influence to be used in his niece's choice
of a husband should have such a violent effect upon him. But "Poker"
John was a curious mixture of weakness and honor. He loved his niece
with a doting affection. She was the apple of his eye. To him the
thought of personal benefit at the cost of her happiness was a
sacrilege. Lablache understood this. He knew that on this point the
rancher's feelings amounted to little short of mania. And yet he
persisted. John's nature was purely obstinate, and obstinacy is
weakness. The money-lender knew that obstinacy could be broken down by
steady determination. However, time, with him, was now everything. He
must clinch the deal with as little delay as possible if he would escape
from Foss River and the ruinous attacks of Retief. This thought was ever
present with him and urged him to press the old man hard. If John
Allandale would not be reasonable, he, Lablache, must force an
acceptance of his terms from him.
The rancher was mollified. His dulled brain suddenly saw a loop-hole of
escape.
"I guess you mean well enough, Lablache. But say, ask the child
yourself."
The other shook his massive head.
"I have--she has refused."
"Then why in thunder do you come to me?"
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 God, 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 assume. "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 lust 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 assistance. 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 hoarse, 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. God, 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 passion, 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 quantity 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 glass.
"Fortune is yours anyhow. Therefore I trust that I win the game."
The two men silently drank. After which Lablache turned to go. He paused
at the French window and plunged his hand into his coat pocket.
The night was dark outside, and again he became a prey to his moral
terror of the half-breed raider. He drew out his revolver and opened the
chamber. The weapon was loaded. Then he turned to old John who was
staring at him.
"It's risky for me to move about at night, John. I fear Retief has not
done with me yet. Good-night," and he passed out on to the veranda.
Lablache was the victim of a foreboding. It is a custom to laugh at
forebodings and set them down to the vagaries of a disordered stomach.
We laugh too at superstition. Yet how often do we find that the
portentous significance of these things is actually realized in fact.
Lablache dreaded Retief.
What would the next twenty-four hours bring forth?