With an ostentatious flourish Mr. "Lucky" Broad placed a crisp
ten-dollar bill in an eager palm outstretched across his folding-table.
"The gentleman wins and the gambler loses!" Mr. Broad proclaimed to the
world. "The eye is quicker than the hand, and the dealer's moans is
music to the stranger's ear." With practised touch he rearranged the
three worn walnut-shells which constituted his stock in trade. Beneath
one of them he deftly concealed a pellet about the size of a five-grain
allopathic pill. It was the erratic behavior of this tiny ball, its
mysterious comings and goings, that had summoned Mr. Broad's audience
and now held its observant interest. This audience, composed of roughly
dressed men, listened attentively to the seductive monologue which
accompanied the dealer's deft manipulations, and was greatly
entertained thereby. "Three tiny tepees in a row and a little black
medicine-man inside." The speaker's voice was high-pitched and it
carried like a "thirtythirty." "You see him walk in, you open the door,
and--you double your money. Awfully simple! Simpully awful! What? As I
live! The gentleman wins ten more--ten silver-tongued song-birds, ten
messengers of mirth--the price of a hard day's toil. Take it, sir, and
may it make a better and a stronger man of you. Times are good and I
spend my money free. I made it packin' grub to Linderman, four bits a
pound, but--easy come, easy go. Now then, who's next? You've seen me
work. I couldn't baffle a sore-eyed Siwash with snow-glasses."
Lucky Broad's three-legged table stood among some stumps beside the
muddy roadway which did service as the main street of Dyea and along
which flowed an irregular stream of pedestrians; incidental to his
practised manipulation of the polished walnut-shells he maintained an
unceasing chatter of the sort above set down. Now his voice was loud
and challenging, now it was apologetic, always it stimulated curiosity.
One moment he was jubilant and gay, again he was contrite and
querulous. Occasionally he burst forth into plaintive
self-denunciations.
Fixing a hypnotic gaze upon a bland, blue-eyed bystander who had just
joined the charmed circle, he murmured, invitingly: "Better try your
luck, Olaf. It's Danish dice--three chances to win and one to lose."
The object of his address shook his head. "Aye ant Danish, Aye ban
Norvegen," said he.
"Danish dice or Norwegian poker, they're both the same. I'll deal you a
free hand and it won't cost you a cent. Fix your baby blues on the
little ball and watch me close. Don't let me deceive you. Now then,
which hut hides the grain?"
Noting a half-dozen pairs of eyes upon him, the Norseman became
conscious that he was a center of interest. He grinned half-heartedly
and, after a brief hesitation, thrust forth a clumsy paw, lifted a
shell, and exposed the object of general curiosity.
"You guessed it!" There was commendation, there was pleased surprise,
in Mr. Broad's tone. "You can't fool a foreigner, can you, boys? My,
my! Ain't it lucky for me that we played for fun? But you got to give
me another chance, Lars; I'll fool you yet. In walks the little pill
once more, I make the magic pass, and you follow me attentively,
knowing in your heart of hearts that I'm a slick un. Now then, shoot,
Kid; you can't miss me!"
The onlookers stirred with interest; with eager fingers the artless
Norwegian fumbled in his pocket. At the last moment, however, he
thought better of his impulse, grunted once, then turned his back to
the table and walked away.
"Missed him!" murmured the dealer, with no display of feeling; then to
the group around him he announced, shamelessly: "You got to lead those
birds; they fly fast."
One of Mr. Broad's boosters, he who had twice won for the Norseman's
benefit, carelessly returned his winnings. "Sure!" he agreed. "They got
a head like a turtle, them Swedes."
Mr. Broad carefully smoothed out the two bills and reverently laid them
to rest in his bank-roll. "Yes, and they got bony mouths. You got to
set your hook or it won't hold."
"Slow pickin's," yawned an honest miner with a pack upon his back.
Attracted by the group at the table, he had dropped out of the
procession in the street and had paused long enough to win a bet or
two. Now he straightened himself and stretched his arms. "These Michael
Strogoffs is hep to the old stuff, Lucky. I'm thinking of joining the
big rush. They say this Klondike is some rich."
Inasmuch as there were no strangers in sight at the moment, the
proprietor of the deadfall gave up barking; he daintily folded and tore
in half a cigarette paper, out of which he fashioned a thin smoke for
himself. It was that well-earned moment of repose, that welcome recess
from the day's toil. Mr. Broad inhaled deeply, then he turned his eyes
upon the former speaker.
"You've been thinking again, have you?" He frowned darkly. With a note
of warning in his voice he declared: "You ain't strong enough for such
heavy work, Kid. That's why I've got you packing hay."
The object of this sarcasm hitched his shoulders and the movement
showed that his burden was indeed no more than a cunning counterfeit, a
bundle of hay rolled inside a tarpaulin.
"Oh, I got a head and I've been doing some heavy thinking with it," the
Kid retorted. "This here Dawson is going to be a good town. I'm getting
readied up to join the parade."
"Are you, now?" the shell-man mocked. "I s'pose you got it all framed
with the Canucks to let you through? I s'pose the chief of police knows
you and likes you, eh? You and him is cousins, or something?"
"Coppers is all alike; there's always a way to square 'em--"
"Lay off that 'squaring' stuff," cautioned a renegade crook, disguised
by a suit of mackinaws and a week's growth of beard into the likeness
of a stampeder. "A thousand bucks and a ton of grub, that's what the
sign says, and that's what it means. They wouldn't let you over the
Line with nine hundred and ninety-nine fifty."
"Right!" agreed a third capper. "It's a closed season on broken stiffs.
You can't monkey with the Mounted Police. When they put over an edict
it lays there till it freezes. They'll make you show your 'openers' at
the Boundary. Gee! If I had 'em I wouldn't bother to go 'inside.'
What's a guy want with more than a thousand dollars and a ton of grub,
anyhow?"
"All the same, I'm about set to hit the trail," stubbornly maintained
the man with the alfalfa pack. "I ain't broke. When you boys get to
Dawson, just ask for Kid Bridges' saloon and I'll open wine. These
woollys can have their mines; me for a hootch-mill on Main Street."
Lucky addressed his bevy of boosters. "Have I nursed a serpent in my
breast, or has the Kid met a banker's son? Gimme room, boys. I'm going
to shuffle the shells for him and let him double his money. Keep your
eye on the magic pea, Mr. Bridges. Three tiny tepees in a row--" There
was a general laugh as Broad began to shift the walnut-shells, but Kid
Bridges retorted, contemptuously:
"That's the trouble with all you wiseacres. You get a dollar ahead and
you fall for another man's game. I never knew a faro-dealer that
wouldn't shoot craps. No, I haven't met no banker's son and I ain't
likely to in this place. These pilgrims have sewed their money in their
underclothes, and they sleep with their eyes open. Seems like they'd go
blind, but they don't. These ain't Rubes, Lucky; they're city folks.
They've seen three-ringed circuses and three-shell games, and all that
farmer stuff. They've been 'gypped,' and it's an old story to 'em."
"You're dead right," Broad acknowledged. "That's why it's good. D'you
know the best town in America for the shells? Little old New York. If
the cops would let me set up at the corner of Broad and Wall, I'd own
the Stock Exchange in a week. Madison and State is another good stand;
so's Market and Kearney, or Pioneer Square, down by the totem pole. New
York, Chicago, 'Frisco, Seattle, they're all hick towns. For every city
guy that's been stung by a bee there's a hundred that still thinks
honey comes from a fruit. This rush is just starting, and the bigger it
grows the better we'll do. Say, Kid, if you mush over to Tagish with
that load of timothy on your spine, the police will put you on the
wood-pile for the winter."
While Mr. Lucky Broad and his business associates were thus busied in
discussing the latest decree of the Northwest Mounted Police, other
townsmen of theirs were similarly engaged. Details of this
proclamation--the most arbitrary of any, hitherto--had just arrived
from the International Boundary, and had caused a halt, an eddy, in the
stream of gold-seekers which flowed inland toward the Chilkoot Pass. A
human tide was setting northward from the States, a tide which swelled
and quickened daily as the news of George Carmack's discovery spread
across the world, but at Healy & Wilson's log-store, where the notice
above referred to had been posted, the stream slowed. A crowd of
new-comers from the barges and steamers in the roadstead had assembled
there, and now gave voice to hoarse indignation and bitter resentment.
Late arrivals from Skagway, farther down the coast, brought word of
similar scenes at that point and a similar feeling of dismay; they
reported a similar increase in the general excitement, too. There, as
here, a tent city was springing up, the wooded hills were awakening to
echoes of unaccustomed life, a thrill and a stir were running through
the wilderness and the odor of spruce fires was growing heavier with
every ship that came.
Pierce Phillips emerged from the trading-post and, drawn by the force
of gravitation, joined the largest and the most excited group of
Argonauts. He was still somewhat dazed by his perusal of that Police
edict; the blow to his hopes was still too stunning, his disappointment
was still too keen, to permit of clear thought.
"A ton of provisions and a thousand dollars!" he repeated, blankly.
Why, that was absurd, out of all possible reason! It would bar the way
to fully half this rushing army; it would turn men back at the very
threshold of the golden North. Nevertheless, there stood the notice in
black and white, a clear and unequivocal warning from the Canadian
authorities, evidently designed to forestall famine on the foodless
Yukon. From the loud arguments round about him Phillips gathered that
opinion on the justice of the measure was about evenly divided; those
fortunate men who had come well provided commended it heartily, those
less fortunate fellows who were sailing close-hauled were equally noisy
in their denunciation of it. The latter could see in this precautionary
ruling nothing except the exercise of a tyrannical power aimed at their
ruin, and in consequence they voiced threats, and promises of violence
the which Phillips put down as mere resentful mouthings of no actual
significance. As for himself, he had never possessed anything like a
thousand dollars at one time, therefore the problem of acquiring such a
prodigious sum in the immediate future presented appalling
difficulties. He had come north to get rich, only to find that it was
necessary to be rich in order to get north. A fine situation, truly! A
ton of provisions would cost at least five hundred dollars and the
expense of transporting it across summer swamps and tundras, then up
and over that mysterious and forbidding Chilkoot of which he had heard
so much, would bring the total capital required up to impossible
proportions. The prospect was indeed dismaying. Phillips had been
ashore less than an hour, but already he had gained some faint idea of
the country that lay ahead of him; already he had noted the almost
absolute lack of transportation; already he had learned the price of
packers, and as a result he found himself at an impasse.
One thousand dollars and two hundred pounds! It was enough to dash high
hopes. And yet, strangely enough, Phillips was not discouraged. He was
rather surprised at his own rebound after the first shock; his
reasonless optimism vaguely amazed him, until, in contemplating the
matter, he discovered that his thoughts were running somewhat after
this fashion:
"They told me I couldn't make it; they said something was sure to
happen. Well, it has. I'm up against it--hard. Most fellows would quit
and go home, but I sha'n't. I'm going to win out, somehow, for this is
the real thing. This is Life, Adventure. It will be wonderful to look
back and say: 'I did it. Nothing stopped me. I landed at Dyea with one
hundred and thirty-five dollars, but look at me now!'"
Thoughts such as these were in his mind, and their resolute nature must
have been reflected in his face, for a voice aroused him from his
meditations.
"It don't seem to faze you much, partner. I s'pose you came heeled?"
Phillips looked up and into a sullen, angry face.
"It nearly kills me," he smiled. "I'm the worst-heeled man in the
crowd."
"Well, it's a darned outrage. A ton of grub? Why, have you seen the
trail? Take a look; it's a man-killer, and the rate is forty cents a
pound to Linderman. It'll go to fifty now--maybe a dollar--and there
aren't enough packers to handle half the stuff."
"Things are worse at Skagway," another man volunteered. "I came up
yesterday, and they're losing a hundred head of horses a day--bogging
'em down and breaking their legs. You can walk on dead carcasses from
the Porcupine to the Summit."
A third stranger, evidently one of the well-provided few, laughed
carelessly. "If you boys can't stand the strain you'd better stay where
you are," said he. "Grub's sky-high in Dawson, and mighty short. I knew
what I was up against, so I came prepared. Better go home and try it
next summer."
The first speaker, he of the sullen visage, turned his back, muttering,
resentfully: "Another wise guy! They make me sick! I've a notion to go
through anyhow."
"Don't try that," cautioned the man from Skagway. "If you got past the
Police they'd follow you to hell but what they'd bring you back. They
ain't like our police."
Still meditating his plight, Pierce Phillips edged out of the crowd and
walked slowly down the street. It was not a street at all, except by
courtesy, for it was no more than an open waterfront faced by a few log
buildings and a meandering line of new white tents. Tents were going up
everywhere and all of them bore painful evidence of their newness. So
did the clothes of their owners for that matter--men's garments still
bore their price-tags. The beach was crowded with piles of merchandise
over which there was much wrangling, barges plying regularly back and
forth from the anchored ships added hourly to the confusion. As outfits
were dumped upon the sand their owners assembled them and bore them
away to their temporary camp sites. In this occupation every man faced
his own responsibilities single-handed, for there were neither drays
nor carts nor vehicles of any sort.
As Phillips looked on at the disorder along the water's edge, as he
stared up the fir-flanked Dyea valley, whither a steady stream of
traffic flowed, he began to feel a fretful eagerness to join in it, to
be up and going. 'Way yonder through those hills towered the Chilkoot,
and beyond that was the mighty river rushing toward Dawson City, toward
Life and Adventure, for that was what the gold-fields signified to
Phillips. Yes, Life! Adventure! He had set out to seek them, to taste
the flavor of the world, and there it lay--his world, at least--just
out of reach. A fierce impatience, a hot resentment at that senseless
restriction which chained him in his tracks, ran through the boy. What
right had any one to stop him here at the very door, when just inside
great things were happening? Past that white-and-purple barrier which
he could see against the sky a new land lay, a radiant land of promise,
of mystery, and of fascination; Pierce vowed that he would not, could
not, wait. Fortunes would reward the first arrivals; how, then, could
he permit these other men to precede him? The world was a good
place--it would not let a person starve.
To the young and the foot-free Adventure lurks just over the hill; Life
opens from the crest of the very next divide. It matters not that we
never quite come up with either, that we never quite attain the summit
whence our promises are realized; the ever-present expectation, the
eager straining forward, is the breath of youth. It was that breath
which Phillips now felt in his nostrils. It was pungent, salty.
He noted a group of people gathered about some center of attraction
whence issued a high-pitched intonation.
"Oh, look at the cute little pea! Klondike croquet, the packer's
pastime. Who'll risk a dollar to win a dollar? It's a healthy sport.
It's good for young and old--a cheeild can understand it. Three Eskimo
igloos and an educated pill!"
"A shell-game!" Pierce Phillips halted in his tracks and stared
incredulously, then he smiled. "A shell-game, running wide open on the
main street of the town!" This WAS the frontier, the very edge of
things. With an odd sense of unreality he felt the world turn back ten
years. He had seen shell-games at circuses and fairgrounds when he was
much younger, but he supposed they had long since been abandoned in
favor of more ingenious and less discreditable methods of robbery.
Evidently, however, there were some gulls left, for this device
appeared to be well patronized. Still doubting the evidence of his
ears, he joined the group.
"The gentleman wins and the gambler loses!" droned the dealer as he
paid a bet. "Now then, we're off for another journey. Who'll ride with
me this time?"
Phillips was amazed that any one could be so simple-minded as to
squander his money upon such a notoriously unprofitable form of
entertainment. Nevertheless, men were playing, and they did not seem to
suspect that the persons whom the dealer occasionally paid were his
confederates.
The operator maintained an incessant monologue. At the moment of
Pierce's arrival he was directing it at an ox-eyed individual,
evidently selected to be the next victim. The fellow was stupid,
nevertheless he exercised some caution at first. He won a few dollars,
then he lost a few, but, alas! the gambling fever mounted in him and
greed finally overcame his hesitation. With an eager gesture he chose a
shell and Phillips felt a glow of satisfaction at the realization that
the man had once more guessed aright. Drawing forth a wallet, the
fellow laid it on the table.
"I'll bet the lump," he cried.
The dealer hesitated. "How much you got in that alligator valise?"
"Two hundred dollars."
"Two hundred berries on one bush!" The proprietor of the game was
incredulous. "Boys, he aims to leave me cleaner than a snow-bird."
Seizing the walnut-shell between his thumb and forefinger, he turned it
over, but instead of exposing the elusive pellet he managed, by an
almost imperceptible forward movement, to roll it out from under its
hiding-place and to conceal it between his third and fourth fingers.
The stranger was surprised, dumfounded, at sight of the empty shell. He
looked on open-mouthed while his wallet was looted of its contents.
"Every now and then I win a little one," the gambler announced as he
politely returned the bill-case to its owner. He lifted another shell,
and by some sleight-of-hand managed to replace the pellet upon the
table, then gravely flipped a five-dollar gold piece to one of his
boosters.
Phillips's eyes were quick; from where he stood he had detected the
maneuver and it left him hot with indignation. He felt impelled to tell
the victim how he had been robbed, but thought better of the impulse
and assured himself that this was none of his affair. For perhaps ten
minutes he looked on while the sheep-shearing proceeded.
After a time there came a lull and the dealer raised his voice to
entice new patrons. Meanwhile, he paused to roll a cigarette the size
of a wheat straw. While thus engaged there sounded the hoarse blast of
a steamer's whistle in the offing and he turned his head. Profiting by
this instant of inattention a hand reached across the table and lifted
one of the walnut-shells. There was nothing under it.
"Five bucks on this one!" A soiled bill was placed beside one of the
two remaining shells, the empty one.
Thus far Phillips had followed the pea unerringly, therefore he was
amazed at the new better's mistake.
The dealer turned back to his layout and winked at the bystanders,
saying, "Brother, I'll bet you ten more that you've made a bad bet."
His offer was accepted. Simultaneously Phillips was seized with an
intense desire to beat this sharper at his own game; impulsively he
laid a protecting palm over the shell beneath which he knew the little
sphere to lie.
"I'll pick this one," he heard himself say.
"Better let me deal you a new hand," the gambler suggested.
"Nothing of the sort," a man at Phillips' shoulder broke in. "Hang on
to that shell, kid. You're right and I'm going down for the size of his
bankroll." The speaker was evidently a miner, for he carried a bulky
pack upon his shoulders. He placed a heavy palm over the back of
Phillips' hand, then extracted from the depths of his overalls a fat
roll of paper money.
The size of this wager, together with the determination of its owner,
appeared briefly to nonplus the dealer. He voiced a protest, but the
miner forcibly overbore it:
"Say, I eat up this shell stuff!" he declared. "It's my meat, and I've
trimmed every tinhorn that ever came to my town. There's three hundred
dollars; you cover it, and you cover this boy's bet, too." The fellow
winked reassuringly at Phillips. "You heard him say the sky was his
limit, didn't you? Well, let's see how high the sky is in these parts!"
There was a movement in the crowd, whereupon the speaker cried,
warningly: "Boosters, stand back! Don't try to give us the elbow, or
I'll close up this game!" To Pierce he murmured, confidentially: "We've
got him right. Don't let anybody edge you out." He put more weight upon
Phillips' hand and forced the young man closer to the table.
Pierce had no intention of surrendering his place, and now the
satisfaction of triumphing over these crooks excited him. He continued
to cover the walnut-shell while with his free hand he drew his own
money from his pocket. He saw that the owner of the game was suffering
extreme discomfort at this checkmate, and he enjoyed the situation.
"I watched you trim that farmer a few minutes ago," Phillips' companion
chuckled. "Now I'm going to make you put up or shut up. There's my
three hundred. I can use it when it grows to six."
"How much are you betting?" the dealer inquired of Phillips.
Pierce had intended merely to risk a dollar or two, but now there came
to him a thrilling thought. That notice at Healy & Wilson's store
flashed into his mind. "One thousand dollars and a ton of food," the
sign had read. Well, why not bet and bet heavy? he asked himself. Here
was a chance to double his scanty capital at the expense of a rogue. To
beat a barefaced chater at his own game surely could not be considered
cheating; in this instance it was mere retribution.
He had no time to analyze the right or the wrong of his reasoning--at
best the question would bear debate. Granting that it wasn't exactly
honest, what did such nice considerations weigh when balanced against
the stern necessities of this hour? A stranger endeavored to shove him
away from the table and this clinched his decision. He'd make them play
fair. With a sweep of his free arm. Phillips sent the fellow staggering
back and then placed his entire roll of bills on the table in front of
the dealer.
"There's mine," he said, shortly. "One hundred and thirty-five dollars.
I don't have to count it, for I know it by heart."
"Business appears to be picking up," murmured the proprietor of the
game.
Phillips' neighbor continued to hold the boy's hand in a vicelike grip.
Now he leaned forward, saying:
"Look here! Are you going to cover our coin or am I going to smoke you
up?"
"The groans of the gambler is sweet music in their ears!" The dealer
shrugged reluctantly and counted out four hundred and thirty-five
dollars, which he separated into two piles.
A certain shame at his action swept over Phillips when he felt his
companion's grasp relax and heard him say, "Turn her over, kid."
This was diamond cut diamond, of course; nevertheless, it was a
low-down trick and--
Pierce Phillips started, he examined the interior of the walnut-shell
in bewilderment, for he had lifted it only to find it quite empty.
"Every now and then I win a little one," the dealer intoned, gravely
pocketing his winnings. "It only goes to show you that the hand--"
"Damnation!" exploded the man at Phillips' side. "Trimmed for three
hundred, or I'm a goat!"
As Pierce walked away some one fell into step with him; it was the
sullen, black-browed individual he had seen at the trading-post.
"So they took you for a hundred and thirty-five, eh? You must be
rolling in coin," the man observed.
Even yet Pierce was more than a little dazed. "Do you know," said he,
"I was sure I had the right shell."
"Why, of course you had the right one." The stranger laughed shortly.
"They laid it up for you on purpose, then Kid Bridges worked a shift
when he held your hand. You can't beat 'em."
Pierce halted. "Was he--was THAT fellow with the pack a booster?"
"Certainly. They're all boosters. The Kid carries enough hay on his
back to feed a team. It's his bed. I've been here a week and I know
'em." The speaker stared in surprise at Phillips, who had broken into a
hearty laugh. "Look here! A little hundred and thirty-five must be
chicken feed to you. If you've got any more to toss away, toss it in my
direction."
"That's what makes it so funny. You see, I haven't any more. That was
my last dollar. Well, it serves me right. Now I can start from scratch
and win on my own speed."
The dark-browed man studied Phillips curiously. "You're certain'y
game," he announced. "I s'pose now you'll be wanting to sell some of
your outfit. That's why I've been hanging around that game. I've picked
up quite a bit of stuff that way, but I'm still short a few things and
I'll buy--"
"I haven't a pound of grub. I came up second-class."
"Huh! Then you'll go back steerage."
"Oh no, I won't! I'm going on to Dawson." There was a momentary
silence. "You say you've been here a week? Put me up for the
night--until I get a job. Will you?"
The black-eyed man hesitated, then he grinned. "You've got your nerve,
but--I'm blamed if I don't like it," said he. "My brother Jim is
cooking supper now. Suppose we go over to the tent and ask him."