I
Cinnebar was filled with those who took chances. The tenderfoot staked
his claim on the chance of selling it again. The prospector toiled in
his overland tunnel on the chance of cracking the apex of a vein. The
small companies sank shafts on the chance of touching pay ore, the big
companies tunneled deep and drifted wide in the hope of cutting several
veins. The merchants built in the belief that the camp was a permanent
town, and the gamblers took chances of losing money if their game was
honest, and put their lives at hazard if they cheated.
Only the saloon-keepers took no chances whatever. They played the safe
game. They rejoiced in a certainty, for if the miners had good luck they
drank to celebrate it, and if they had bad luck they drank to forget
it--and so the liquor-dealers prospered.
Tall Ed Kelley, on his long trip across "the big flat," as he called the
valley between the Continental Divide and the Cascade Range, stopped at
Cinnebar to see what was going on. In less than three days he sold his
horse and saddle and took a chance on a leased mine. At the end of a
year he was half owner in a tunnel that was yielding a fair grade of ore
and promised to pay, but he was not content. A year in one place was a
long time for him, and he was already meditating a sale of his interest
in order that he might take up the line of his march toward the
Northwest, when a curious experience came to him.
One night as he drifted into the Palace saloon he felt impelled to take
a chance with "the white marble." That is to say, he sat in at the
roulette-table and began to play small stakes.
The man who rolled the marble was young and good-looking. Kelley had
seen him before and liked him. Perhaps this was the reason he played
roulette instead of faro. At any rate, he played, losing steadily at
first--then, suddenly, the ball began to fall his way, and before the
clock pointed to ten he had several hundred dollars in winnings.
"This is my night," he said, on meeting the eyes of the young dealer.
"Don't crowd a winning horse," retorted the man at the wheel; and Kelley
caught something in his look which checked his play and led him to quit
the game. In that glance the gambler had conveyed a friendly warning,
although he said, as Kelley was going away: "Be a sport. Give the wheel
another show. See me to-morrow."
Kelley went away with a distinct feeling of friendliness toward the
youngster, whose appearance was quite unlike the ordinary gambler. He
seemed not merely bored, but disgusted with his trade, and Kelley said
to himself: "That lad has a story to tell. He's no ordinary robber."
The next afternoon he met the youth on the street. "Much obliged for
your tip last night. The game looked all right to me."
"It _was_ all right," replied the gambler. "I didn't mean that it was
crooked. But I hate to see a good man lose his money as you were sure to
do."
"I thought you meant the wheel was 'fixed.'"
"Oh no. It's straight. I call a fair game. But I knew your run of luck
couldn't last and"--he hesitated a little--"I'd kinda taken a fancy to
you."
"Well, that's funny, too," replied Kelley. "I went over to play your
machine because I kind of cottoned to you. I reckon we're due to be
friends. My name's Kelley--Tall Ed the boys call me."
"Mine is Morse--Fred Morse. I came out here with a grub-stake, lost it,
and, being out of a job, fell into rolling the marble for a living. What
are you--a miner?"
"I make a bluff at mining a leased claim up here, but I'll admit I'm
nothing but a wandering cow-puncher--a kind of mounted hobo. I have an
itch to keep moving. I've been here a year and I'm crazy to straddle a
horse and ride off into the West. I know the South and East pretty
well--so the open country for me is off there where the sun goes down."
His voice had a touch of poetry in it, and the other man, though he felt
the bigness of the view, said:
"I never was on a horse in my life, and I don't like roughing it. But I
like you and I wish you'd let me see something of you. Where are you
living?"
"Mostly up at my mine--but I have a room down here at the Boston House.
I pick up my meals anywhere."
The young man's voice grew hesitant. "Would you consider taking me in as
a side partner? I'm lonesome where I am."
Kelley was touched by the gambler's tone. "No harm trying," he said,
with a smile. "We couldn't do more than kill each other. But I warn you
I'm likely any day to buy an old cayuse and pull out. I'm subject to
fits like that."
"All right--I'll take the chance. I'm used to taking chances."