I
It was thirty minutes before a June sundown at the post, and the first
call had sounded for parade. Over in the barracks the two companies
and the single troop lounged a moment longer, then laid their police
literature down, and lifted their stocking feet from the beds to get
ready. In the officers' quarters the captain rose regretfully from
after-dinner digestion, and the three lieutenants sought their helmets
with a sigh. Lieutenant Balwin had been dining an unconventional and
impressive guest at the mess, and he now interrupted the anecdote which
the guest was achieving with frontier deliberation.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “I'll have to hear the rest about
the half-breed when I get back.”
“There ain't no more--yet. He got my cash with his private poker deck
that onced, and I'm fixing for to get his'n.”
Second call sounded; the lines filed out and formed, the sergeant of
the guard and two privates took their station by the flag, and when
battalion was formed the commanding officer, towering steeple-stiff
beneath his plumes, received the adjutant's salute, ordered him to his
post, and began drill. At all this the unconventional guest looked on
comfortably from Lieutenant Balwin's porch.
“I doubt if I could put up with that there discipline all the week,” he
mused. “Carry--arms! Present--Arms! I guess that's all I know of it.”
The winking white line of gloves stirred his approval. “Pretty good
that. Gosh, see the sun on them bayonets!”
The last note of retreat merged in the sonorous gun, and the flag
shining in the light of evening slid down and rested upon the earth.
The blue ranks marched to a single bugle--the post was short of men and
officers--and the captain, with the released lieutenants, again sought
digestion and cigars. Balwin returned to his guest, and together they
watched the day forsake the plain. Presently the guest rose to take his
leave. He looked old enough to be the father of the young officer, but
he was a civilian, and the military man proceeded to give him excellent
advice.
“Now don't get into trouble, Cutler.”
The slouch-shouldered scout rolled his quid gently, and smiled at his
superior with indulgent regard.
“See here, Cutler, you have a highly unoccupied look about you this
evening. I've been studying the customs of this population, and I've
noted a fact or two.”
“Let 'em loose on me, sir.”
“Fact one: When any male inhabitant of Fort Laramie has a few spare
moments, he hunts up a game of cards.”
“Well, sir, you've called the turn on me.”
“Fact two: At Fort Laramie a game of cards frequently ends in
discussion.”
“Fact three: Mr. Calvin, in them discussions Jarvis Cutler has the last
word. You put that in your census report alongside the other two.”
“Well, Cutler, if somebody's gun should happen to beat yours in an
argument, I should have to hunt another wagon-master.”
“I'll not forget that. When was you expecting to pull out north?”
“Whenever the other companies get here. May be three days--may be three
weeks.”
“Then I will have plenty time for a game to-night.”
With this slight dig of his civilian independence into the lieutenant's
military ribs, the scout walked away, his long, lugubrious frockcoat
(worn in honor of the mess) occasionally flapping open in the breeze,
and giving a view of a belt richly fluted with cartridges, and the ivory
handle of a pistol looking out of its holster. He got on his horse,
crossed the flat, and struck out for the cabin of his sociable friends,
Loomis and Kelley, on the hill. The open door and a light inside showed
the company, and Cutler gave a grunt, for sitting on the table was the
half-breed, the winner of his unavenged dollars. He rode slower, in
order to think, and arriving at the corral below the cabin, tied his
horse to the stump of a cottonwood. A few steps towards the door, and he
wheeled on a sudden thought, and under cover of the night did a crafty
something which to the pony was altogether unaccountable. He unloosed
both front and rear cinch of his saddle, so they hung entirely free in
wide bands beneath the pony's belly. He tested their slackness with his
hand several times, stopping instantly when the more and more surprised
pony turned his head to see what new thing in his experience might be
going on, and, seeing, gave a delicate bounce with his hind-quarters.
“Never you mind, Duster,” muttered the scout. “Did you ever see a
skunk-trap? Oughts is for mush-rats, and number ones is mostly used
for 'coons and 'possums, and I guess they'd do for a skunk. But you and
we'll call this here trap a number two, Duster, for the skunk I'm after
is a big one. All you've to do is to act natural.”
Cutler took the rope off the stump by which Duster had been tied
securely, wound and strapped it to the tilted saddle, and instead of
this former tether, made a weak knot in the reins, and tossed them over
the stump. He entered the cabin with a countenance sweeter than honey.
“Good-evening, boys,” he said. “Why, Toussaint, how do you do?”
The hand of Toussaint had made a slight, a very slight, movement towards
his hip, but at sight of Cutler's mellow smile resumed its clasp upon
his knee.
“Golly, but you're gay-like this evening,” said Kelley.
“Blamed if I knowed he could look so frisky,” added Loomis.
“Sporting his onced-a-year coat,” Kelley pursued. “That ain't for our
benefit, Joole.”
“No, we're not that high in society.” Both these cheerful waifs had
drifted from the Atlantic coast westward.
Cutler looked from them to his costume, and then amiably surveyed the
half-breed.
“Well, boys, I'm in big luck, I am. How's yourn nowadays, Toussaint?”
“Pretty good sometime. Sometime heap hell.” The voice of the half-breed
came as near heartiness as its singularly false quality would allow, and
as he smiled he watched Cutler with the inside of his eyes.
The scout watched nobody and nothing with great care, looked about him
pleasantly, inquired for the whiskey, threw aside hat and gloves, sat
down, leaning the chair back against the wall, and talked with artful
candor. “Them sprigs of lieutenants down there,” said he, “they're a
surprising lot for learning virtue to a man. You take Balwin. Why, he
ain't been out of the Academy only two years, and he's been telling me
how card-playing ain't good for you. And what do you suppose he's been
and offered Jarvis Cutler for a job? I'm to be wagon-master.” He
paused, and the half-breed's attention to his next words increased.
“Wagon-master, and good pay, too. Clean up to the Black Hills; and the
troops'll move soon as ever them reinforcements come. Drinks on it,
boys! Set 'em up, Joole Loomis. My contract's sealed with some of Uncle
Sam's cash, and I'm going to play it right here. Hello! Somebody coming
to join us? He's in a hurry.”
There was a sound of lashing straps and hoofs beating the ground, and
Cutler looked out of the door. As he had calculated, the saddle had
gradually turned with Duster's movements and set the pony bucking.
“Stampeded!” said the scout, and swore the proper amount called for by
such circumstances. “Some o' you boys help me stop the durned fool.”
Loomis and Kelley ran. Duster had jerked the prepared reins from the
cottonwood, and was lurching down a small dry gulch, with the saddle
bouncing between his belly and the stones.
Cutler cast a backward eye at the cabin where Toussaint had stayed
behind alone. “Head him off below, boys, and I'll head him off above,”
the scout sang out. He left his companions, and quickly circled round
behind the cabin, stumbling once heavily, and hurrying on, anxious lest
the noise had reached the lurking half-breed. But the ivory-handled
pistol, jostled from its holster, lay unheeded among the stones where he
had stumbled. He advanced over the rough ground, came close to the logs,
and craftily peered in at the small window in the back of the cabin. It
was evident that he had not been heard. The sinister figure within still
sat on the table, but was crouched, listening like an animal to the
shouts that were coming from a safe distance down in the gulch. Cutler,
outside of the window, could not see the face of Toussaint, but he saw
one long brown hand sliding up and down the man's leg, and its movement
put him in mind of the tail of a cat. The hand stopped to pull out a
pistol, into which fresh cartridges were slipped. Cutler had already
done this same thing after dismounting, and he now felt confident that
his weapon needed no further examination. He did not put his hand to his
holster. The figure rose from the table, and crossed the room to a set
of shelves in front of which hung a little yellow curtain. Behind it
were cups, cans, bottles, a pistol, counters, red, white, and blue, and
two fresh packs of cards, blue and pink, side by side. Seeing these,
Toussaint drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and unwrapped two further
packs, both blue; and at this Cutler's intent face grew into plain shape
close to the window, but receded again into uncertain dimness. From down
in the gulch came shouts that the runaway horse was captured. Toussaint
listened, ran to the door, and quickly returning, put the blue pack
from the shelf into his pocket, leaving in exchange one of his own. He
hesitated about altering the position of the cards on the shelf, but
Kelley and Loomis were unobservant young men, and the half-breed placed
the pink cards on top of his blue ones. The little yellow curtain again
hung innocently over the shelves, and Toussaint, pouring himself a drink
of whiskey, faced round, and for the first time saw the window that had
been behind his back. He was at it in an instant, wrenching its rusty
pin, that did not give, but stuck motionless in the wood. Cursing,
he turned and hurried out of the door and round the cabin. No one was
there. Some hundred yards away the noiseless Cutler crawled farther
among the thickets that filled the head of the gulch. Toussaint whipped
out a match, and had it against his trousers to strike and look if there
were footprints, when second thoughts warned him this might be seen, and
was not worth risking suspicion over, since so many feet came and went
by this cabin. He told himself no one could have been there to see him,
and slowly returned inside, with a mind that fell a hair's breadth short
of conviction.
The boys, coming up with the horse, met Cutler, who listened to how
Duster had stood still as soon as he had kicked free of his saddle,
making no objection to being caught. They suggested that he would not
have broken loose had he been tied with a rope; and hearing this, Cutler
bit off a piece of tobacco, and told them they were quite right: a
horse should never be tied by his bridle. For a savory moment the scout
cuddled his secret, and turned it over like the tobacco lump under his
tongue. Then he explained, and received serenely the amazement of Loomis
and Kelley.
“When you kids have travelled this Western country awhile you'll keep
your cards locked,” said he. “He's going to let us win first. You'll
see, he'll play a poor game with the pink deck. Then, if we don't call
for fresh cards, why, he'll call for 'em himself. But, just for the fun
of the thing, if any of us loses steady, why, we'll call. Then, when he
gets hold of his strippers, watch out. When he makes his big play, and
is stretchin' for to rake the counters in, you grab 'em, Joole; for by
then I'll have my gun on him, and if he makes any trouble we'll feed him
to the coyotes. I expect that must have been it, boys,” he continued, in
a new tone, as they came within possible ear-shot of the half-breed in
the cabin. “A coyote come around him where he was tied. The fool horse
has seen enough of 'em to git used to 'em, you'd think, but he don't.
There; that'll hold him. I guess he'll have to pull the world along with
him if he starts to run again.”
The lamp was placed on the window-shelf, and the four took seats, Cutler
to the left of Toussaint, with Kelley opposite. The pink cards fell
harmless, and for a while the game was a dull one to see. Holding a pair
of kings, Cutler won a little from Toussaint, who remarked that luck
must go with the money of Uncle Sam. After a few hands, the half-breed
began to bet with ostentatious folly, and, losing to one man and
another, was joked upon the falling off of his game. In an hour's time
his blue chips had been twice reinforced, and twice melted from the neat
often-counted pile in which he arranged them; moreover, he had lost a
horse from his string down on Chug Water.
“Lend me ten dollar,” he said to Cutler. “You rich man now.”
In the next few deals Kelley became poor. “I'm sick of this luck,” said
he.
“Then change it, why don't you? Let's have a new deck.” And Loomis rose.
“Joole, you always are for something new,” said Cutler. “Now I'm doing
pretty well with these pink cards. But I'm no hog. Fetch on your fresh
ones.”
The eyes of the half-breed swerved to the yellow curtain. He was by
a French trapper from Canada out of a Sioux squaw, one of Red Cloud's
sisters, and his heart beat hot with the evil of two races, and none of
their good. He was at this moment irrationally angry with the men who
had won from him through his own devices, and malice undisguised shone
in his lean flat face. At sight of the blue cards falling in the first
deal, silence came over the company, and from the distant parade-ground
the bugle sounded the melancholy strain of taps. Faint, far, solemn,
melodious, the music travelled unhindered across the empty night.
“Them men are being checked off in their bunks now,” said Cutler.
“What you bet this game?” demanded Toussaint.
“I've heard 'em play that same music over a soldier's grave,” said
Kelley.
“You goin' to bet?” Toussaint repeated.
Cutler pushed forward the two necessary white chips. No one's hand was
high, and Loomis made a slight winning. The deal went its round several
times, and once, when it was Toussaint's, Cutler suspected that special
cards had been thrown to him by the half-breed as an experiment. He
therefore played the gull to a nicety, betting gently upon his three
kings; but when he stepped out boldly and bet the limit, it was not
Toussaint but Kelley who held the higher hand, winning with three aces.
Why the coup should be held off longer puzzled the scout, unless it was
that Toussaint was carefully testing the edges of his marked cards to
see if he controlled them to a certainty. So Cutler played on calmly.
Presently two aces came to him in Toussaint's deal, and he wondered how
many more would be in his three-card draw. Very pretty! One only, and he
lost to Loomis, who had drawn three, and held four kings. The hands
were getting higher, they said. The game had “something to it now.” But
Toussaint grumbled, for his luck was bad all this year, he said. Cutler
had now made sure that the aces and kings went where the half-breed
wished, and could be slid undetected from the top or the middle or the
bottom of the pack; but he had no test yet how far down the scale the
marking went. At Toussaint's next deal Cutler judged the time had come,
and at the second round of betting he knew it. The three white men
played their parts, raising each other without pause, and again there
was total silence in the cabin. Every face bent to the table, watching
the turn repeat its circle with obstinate increase, until new chips and
more new chips had been brought to keep on with, and the heap in the
middle had mounted high in the hundreds, while in front of Toussaint
lay his knife and a match-box--pledges of two more horses which he had
staked. He had drawn three cards, while the others took two, except
Cutler, who had a pair of kings again, and drawing three, picked up two
more. Kelley dropped out, remarking he had bet more than his hand was
worth, which was true, and Loomis followed him. Their persistence had
surprised Toussaint a little. He had not given every one suspicious
hands: Cutler's four kings were enough. He bet once more, was raised by
the scout, called, and threw down his four aces.
“That beats me,” said Cutler, quietly, and his hand moved under his
frock-coat, as the half-breed, eyeing the central pile of counters in
triumph, closed his fingers over it. They were dashed off by Kelley, who
looked expectantly across at Cutler, and seeing the scout's face wither
into sudden old age, cried out, “For God's sake, Jarvis, where's your
gun?” Kelley sprang for the yellow curtain, and reeled backward at the
shot of Toussaint. His arm thrashed along the window-sill as he fell,
sweeping over the lamp, and flaring channels of oil ran over his body
and spread on the ground. But these could no longer hurt him. The
half-breed had leaped outside the cabin, enraged that Cutler should have
got out during the moment he had been dealing with Kelley. The scout was
groping for his ivory-handled pistol off in the darkness. He found
it, and hurried to the little window at a second shot he heard inside.
Loomis, beating the rising flame away, had seized the pistol from the
shelf, and aimlessly fired into the night at Toussaint. He fired again,
running to the door from the scorching heat. Cutler got round the house
to save him if he could, and saw the half-breed's weapon flash, and the
body pitch out across the threshold. Toussaint, gaining his horse, shot
three times and missed Cutler, whom he could not clearly see; and he
heard the scout's bullets sing past him as his horse bore him rushing
away.