A NEW DEAL OF THE CARDS
For the two performances following there occurred an enforced shift of
actors, owing to Mr. Mooney's being somewhat indisposed; and Winston,
aided by considerable prompting from the others, succeeded in getting
through his lines, conscious of much good-natured guying out in front,
and not altogether insensible to Miss Norvell's efforts not to appear
amused. This experience left him in no pleasanter frame of mind, while
a wish to throw over the whole thing returned with renewed temptation.
Why not? What was he continuing to make such a fool of himself for,
anyhow? He was assuredly old enough to be done with chasing after
will-o'-the-wisps; and besides, there was his constant liability to
meet some old acquaintance who would blow the whole confounded story
through the Denver clubs. The thought of the probable sarcasm of his
fellows made him wince. Moreover, he was himself ashamed of his
actions. This actress was nothing to him; he thoroughly convinced
himself of that important fact at least twenty times a day. She was a
delightful companion, bright, witty, full of captivating character,
attractively winsome, to be sure, yet it was manifestly impossible for
him ever to consider her in any more serious way. This became
sufficiently clear to his reasoning, yet, at the same time, he could
never quite break free. She seldom appeared to him twice the
same--proving as changeable as the winds, her very nature seeming to
vary with a suddenness which never permitted his complete escape from
her fascinations, but left him to surmise how she would greet him next.
Frank or distant, filled with unrestrained gayety or dignified by
womanly reserve, smiling or grave, the changeable vagaries of Miss
Norvell were utterly beyond his guessing, while back of all these
outward manifestations of tantalizing personality, there continually
lurked a depth of hidden womanhood, which as constantly baffled his
efforts at fathoming. It piqued him to realize his own helplessness,
to comprehend how completely this girl turned aside his most daring
efforts at uncovering the true trend of her heart and life. She
refused to be read, wearing her various masks with a cool defiance
which apparently bespoke utter indifference to his good opinion, while
constantly affording him brief, tantalizing glimpses into half-revealed
depths that caused his heart to throb with anticipation never entirely
realized.
It did not once occur to his mind that such artifices might be directed
as much toward herself as him; he lacked the conceit which could have
convinced him that they merely marked a secret struggle for mastery, a
desperate effort to crush an inclination to surrender before the
temptation of the moment. It was a battle for deliverance being fought
silently behind a mask of smiles, an exchange of sparkling commonplace;
yet ever beneath this surface play she was breathing a fervent prayer
that he would go away of his own volition and leave her free. Far more
clearly than he, the woman recognized the utter impossibility of any
serious purpose between them, and she fought his advances with every
weapon in her armory, her very soul trembling behind the happy smiling
of her lips. It was bravely attempted, and yet those dull weapons of
defence served merely to increase his interest, to awaken his passion,
and thus bind him more strongly to her. Safe once again from general
observation, he returned to the obscurity of the wings and to the
routine handling of trunks and scenery, feeling totally unable to
permit her to pass entirely out of his life. Within her own room she
dampened her pillow with tears of regret and remorse, yet finally she
sank to sleep strangely happy because he lingered. It was the way of a
woman; it was no less the way of a man.
It was thus that the "Heart of the World" players came to fulfil their
engagement at San Juan upon a Saturday night. This was the liveliest
camp in all that mountain region, a frantic, feverish, mushroom city of
tents and shacks, sprawling frame business blocks, and a few ugly brick
abominations, perched above the golden rocks of the Vila Valley,
bounded on one side by the towering cliffs, on the other by the
pitiless desert. In those days San Juan recognized no material
distinction between midnight and noon-day. All was glitter, glow,
life, excitement along the streets; the gloomy overhanging mountains
were pouring untold wealth into her lap, while vice and crime,
ostentation and lawlessness, held high carnival along the crowded,
straggling byways. The exultant residents existed to-day in utter
carelessness of the morrow, their one dominant thought gold, their sole
acknowledged purpose those carnal pleasures to be purchased with it.
Everything was primitive, the animal yet in full control, the drinking,
laughing, fighting animal, filled with passion and blood-lust,
worshipping bodily strength, and governed by the ideals of a frontier
society wherein the real law hung dangling at the hip. Saloons,
gambling halls, dance halls, and brothels flaunted themselves
shamelessly upon every hand; the streets exhibited one continual riot,
while all higher life was seemingly rendered inactive by inordinate
grasping after wealth, and reckless squandering of it on appetite and
vice; over all, as if blazoned across the blue sky, appeared the
ever-recurring motto of careless humanity, "Eat, drink, and be merry,
for to-morrow ye die." Hardly a week before a short railroad spur had
been constructed up the narrow, rock-guarded valley from Bolton
Junction, eighteen miles to the northward, and over those uneven rails
the "Heart of the World" troupe of adventurous strollers arrived at San
Juan, to find lodgment in that ramshackle pile of boards known locally
as the "Occidental Hotel."
The San Juan Opera House, better known as the Gayety, was in truth
merely an adjunct to the Poodle-Dog Saloon, the side-doors from the
main floor opening directly into the inviting bar-room, while those in
the gallery afforded an equally easy egress into the spacious gambling
apartments directly above. It was a monstrous ugly building,
constructed entirely of wood most hastily prepared; the stage was
utilized both night and day for continuous variety entertainments of
the kind naturally demanded by the motley gathering. These, however,
were occasionally suspended to make room for some adventurous
travelling company to appear in the legitimate drama, but at the close
of every evening performance the main floor was promptly cleared, the
rows of chairs pushed hastily back from the centre, and the space thus
vacated utilized for a general dance, which invariably continued until
dawn.
When the drop-curtain slowly rose that Saturday evening fully three
thousand people crowded the hall, eager for any fresh excitement; and
ready enough either to taunt or applaud a performer, as the whim moved
them. Bearded miners conspicuous in red shirts; cattlemen wearing wide
sombreros and hairy "chaps"; swarthy Mexicans lazily puffing the
inseparable cigarette; gamblers attired in immaculate linen, together
with numerous women gaudy of cheek and attire, composed a frontier
audience full of possibilities. The result might easily prove good or
evil, according to the prevailing temper, but fortunately the "Heart of
the World" quickly caught the men's fancy, the laughter ringing loud in
appreciation of Mr. Lane's ardent buffoonery, while the motley crowd
sat in surprised silence evincing respect, as Miss Norvell drove home
to their minds the lesson of a woman's sorrow and struggle against
temptation. It was well worth while looking out across the oil-lamp
footlights upon those hard-faced, bearded men, those gaudily attired
women, thus held and controlled by perfectly depleted emotion, the vast
audience so silent that the click of the wheel, the rattle of ivory
chips in the rooms beyond, became plainly audible. There was
inspiration in it likewise, and never before did Beth Norvell more
clearly exhibit her native power, her spark of real genius.
Winston found little to do in his department that night, either on or
off the stage, as the company expected to spend Sunday in the place.
Consequently, he was only slightly behind the other members of the
troupe in attaining the hotel at the conclusion of the evening's
performance. Indeed, he was earlier than many, for most of the male
members had promptly adjourned to the convenient bar-room, with
whatsoever small sums of money they could wring from out the reluctant
palm of Albrecht. Winston chanced to pause for a moment at the cigar
stand to exchange a pleasant good-night word with the seemingly genial
clerk.
"You one of the actors?" questioned the latter, exhibiting some slight
interest.
The young man nodded indifferently, not feeling unduly proud of the
distinction.
"Sorry I couldn't have been there," the other went on cordially. "The
boys tell me you gave 'em a mighty fine show, but I 'm here to bet that
some of your people wish they 'd steered clear of San Juan."
"How's that?"
"Why, that fat fellow--what's his name?--oh, yes, Albrecht--the sheriff
was in here hunting him with some papers he had to serve, and it would
have made you laugh just to see that duck climb out when I met him
yonder on the street a few minutes ago, and gave him the highball.
Guest of the house, you know, and we did n't want him pinched in here;
besides, we understood he carried the scads for the rest of your bunch,
and we naturally wanted our share. The sheriff's out tryin' to find
him now; but Lord! the fellow 's safe enough out of the county by this
time, if he skipped the way I advised him he 'd better. There was an
extra ore train goin' down to Bolton to-night, and he just had time to
catch it on the run."
The dramatic situation slowly dawned on Winston while the clerk was
speaking.
"Do you mean to tell me Albrecht has actually skipped out?" he
questioned, anxiously. "Did he leave any money?"
"Sure; he paid your folks' board till Monday. You bet I looked after
that."
"Board till Monday!" and Winston totally forgot himself. "That is n't
salary, man; there is something infernally dirty about this whole deal.
Why, he took in over three thousand dollars to-night, and he's got all
of that, and at least a week's receipts besides--the infernal cur! Was
he alone?"
"Tall fellow with clipped black moustache, and bald head."
"Lane; I expected as much; they're birds of a feather. When can they
get out of the Junction?"
"Well, the first train scheduled goes east at four o'clock, but it 's
generally late."
Winston walked twice across the floor, alternately swearing and
thinking.
"Is there any way I could get there before that time?" he questioned,
finally, his square jaw setting firm.
"Well, I reckon you might, by goin' hossback across the old trail, but
you 'd need to have a guide in the dark, and you 'd find it a hell of a
hard ride."
The young engineer stood a moment staring out of the window into the
night. The street was well illumined by the numerous saloon lights,
and he could perceive scattering flakes of snow in the air, blown about
by the gusty wind. He no longer felt the slightest doubt regarding
Albrecht's desertion, and a wave of indignation swept over him. He did
not greatly care himself regarding the small amount of money due for
his services, but it was a dirty, contemptible trick, and he resented
being so easily made the victim of such a scheme. Suddenly he wondered
how this unexpected occurrence might affect the others. With one of
them alone in mind he strode back to the counter, his teeth clinched
savagely.
"What is the number of Miss Norvell's room?"
"Fifty-four--first door to the right of the stairs."
He took the steep flight of steps at a run, caught a glimpse of dimly
reflected light shining through the closed transom, and rapped sharply.
There was a hurried movement within, and her voice spoke.
"What is wanted?"
"I am Mr. Winston, and I must speak with you at once."
His tone was sufficiently low and earnest to make her realize instantly
some grave emergency. Without hesitation the door was held open, and
she stood before him in the faint light of the single lamp, wearing a
fleecy white wrapper, her dark hair partially disarranged, her eyes
seeking his own in bewilderment.
"What is it?"
"Are you aware that both Albrecht and Lane have skipped out?"
"Why, no," her cheeks suddenly paling, her fingers clasping the edge of
the door. "Do you mean they have deserted us here to--to take care of
ourselves?"
He nodded. "Yes, that's about it. What I came to ask was, does that
fellow owe you any money?"
For an instant she hesitated, as if in lingering distrust of his exact
purpose, her lips parted, her face still plainly picturing the shock of
discovery.
"What difference can that possibly make now? Why do you require to
know?"
"Because I half believe you have been left penniless. Albrecht has not
even spoken about any pay to me since I joined the company; and when I
learned he had deliberately left us stalled here, my first thought was
of your unpleasant situation if my suspicions proved true."
"If they were, what is there you can do?"
"The hotel clerk says it is possible to reach the Junction on horseback
before any trains leave there on the main line. I propose to make him
disgorge, but I must know first exactly how things stand. Have you any
money?"
She stood gazing at him, her anger, shame, all forgotten in the
fascination of Winston's determined face. For the first time she
thoroughly comprehended the cool, compelling power of this man, and it
mastered her completely. She felt no longer the slightest doubt of
what he purposed doing, and her woman heart swelled responsively to his
masculine strength.
"I--I have n't got a dollar," she confessed simply, her lashes drooping
over her lowered eyes.
"What does that fellow owe you?"
"Two hundred and sixty dollars; he has merely dribbled out what little
I have been actually compelled to ask for."
A moment he remained standing there, breathing hard. Once she ventured
to glance up inquiringly, only to catch his stern eyes, and as
instantly lower her own.
"All right, Miss Norvell," he said finally, the words seeming fairly to
explode from between his lips. "I understand the situation now, and
you are to remain here until I come back. I 'll get your money, don't
fear, if I have to trail him clear to Denver, but I 'll take what
little the miserable thief owes me out of his hide."
The next moment he was down below in the office rapidly preparing for
action, and Miss Norvell, leaning far out across the banister, listened
to his quick, nervous words of instruction with an odd thrill of pride
that left her cheeks crimson.