The U. P. Trail by Zane Grey (historical books to read TXT) 📗

glanced from Neale to the gambler as if he suspected them. Gamblers often worked in pairs.

“I just came to Benton,” added Neale, reading the man’s thought. “I never saw the gentleman in black before.”

“What th’ hell!” rumbled Mull, grabbing up his cards.

Fresno leered.

The gambler leaned back and his swift white hands flashed. Neale believed he had a derringer up each sleeve. A wrong word now would precipitate a fight.

“Excuse me,” said Neale, hastily. “I don’t want to make trouble. I just said I never saw this gentleman before.”

“Nor I him,” returned the gambler, courteously. “My name is Place Hough and my word is not doubted.”

Neale had heard of this famous Mississippi River gambler. So, evidently, had the other three players. The game proceeded, and when it came to Hough’s deal Mull bet hard and lost all. His big, hairy hands shook. He looked at Fresno and the other fellow, but not at Hough.

“I’m broke,” he said, gruffly, and got up from the bench.

He strode past Hough, and behind him; then as if suddenly, instinctively, answering to fury, he whipped out a gun.

Neale, just as instinctively, grasped the rising hand.

“Hold on, there!” he called. “Would you shoot a man in the back?”

And Neale, whose grip was powerful, caused the other to drop the gun. Neale kicked it aside. Fresno got up.

“Whar’s your head, Mull?” he growled. “Git out of this!”

Attention had been attracted to Mull. Some one picked up the gun. The sallow-faced man rose, holding out his hand for it. Hough did not even turn around.

“I was goin’ to hold him up,” said Mull. He glared fiercely at Neale, wrenched his hand free, and with his comrades disappeared in the crowd.

The gambler rose and shook down his sleeves. The action convinced Neale that he had held a little gun in each hand. “I saw him draw,” he said. “You saved his life!... Nevertheless, I appreciate your action. My name is Place Hough. Will you drink with me?”

“Sure.... My name is Neale.”

They approached the bar and drank together.

“A railroad man, I take it?” asked Hough.

“I was. I’m foot-loose now.”

A fleeting smile crossed the gambler’s face. “Benton is bad enough, without you being foot-loose.”

“All these camps are tough,” replied Neale.

“I was in North Platte, Kearney, Cheyenne, and Medicine Bow during their rise,” said Hough. “They were tough. But they were not Benton. And the next camp west, which will be the last—it will be Roaring Hell. What will be its name?”

“Why is Benton worse?” inquired Neale.

“The big work is well under way now, with a tremendous push from behind. There are three men for every man’s work. That lays off two men each day. Drunk or dead. The place is wild—far off. There’s gold—hundreds of thousands of dollars in gold dumped off the trains. Benton has had one payday. That day was the sight of my life!... Then... there are women.”

“I saw a few in the dance-hall,” replied Neale.

“Then you haven’t looked in at Stanton’s?”

“Who’s he?”

“Stanton is not a man,” replied Hough.

Neale glanced inquiringly over his glass.

“Beauty Stanton, they call her,” went on Hough. “I saw her in New Orleans years ago when she was a very young woman—notorious then. She had the beauty and she led the life... did Beauty Stanton.”

Neale made no comment, and Hough, turning to pay for the drinks, was accosted by several men. They wanted to play poker.

“Gentlemen, I hate to take your money,” he said. “But I never refuse to sit in a game. Neale, will you join us?”

They found a table just vacated. Neale took two of the three strangers to be prosperous merchants or ranchers from the Missouri country. The third was a gambler by profession. Neale found himself in unusually sharp company. He did not have a great deal of money. So in order to keep clear-headed he did not drink. And he began to win, not by reason of excellent judgment, but because he was lucky. He had good cards all the time, and part of the time very strong ones. It struck him presently that these remarkable hands came during Hough’s deal, and he wondered if the gambler was deliberately manipulating the cards to his advantage. At any rate, he won hundreds of dollars.

“Mr. Neale, do you always hold such cards?” asked one of the men.

“Why, sure,” replied Neale. He could not help being excited and elated.

“Well, he can’t be beat,” said the other.

“Lucky at cards, unlucky in love,” remarked the third of the trio. “I pass.”

Hough was looking straight at Neale when this last remark was made. And Neale suddenly lost his smile, his flush. The gambler dropped his glance.

“Play the game and don’t get personal in your remarks,” he said. “This is poker.”

Neale continued to win, but his excitement did not return, nor his elation. A random word from a strange man had power to sting him. Unlucky in love! Alas! What was luck, gold—anything to him any more!

By the time the game was ended Neale felt a friendly interest in Hough that was difficult to define or explain; and the conviction gained upon him that the gambler had deliberately dealt him those remarkable cards.

“Let’s see,” said Hough, consulting his watch. “Twelve o’clock! Stanton’s will be humming. We’ll go in.”

Neale did not want to show his reluctance, yet he did hot know just what to say. After all, he was drifting. So he went.

It seemed that all the visitors who had been in the gambling-hall had gravitated to this other dance-hall. The entrance appeared to be through a hotel. At least Neale saw the hotel sign. The building was not made of canvas, but painted wood in sections, like the scenes of a stage. Men were coming and going; the hum of music and gaiety came from the rear; there were rugs, pictures, chairs; this place, whatever its nature, made pretensions. Neale did not see any bar.

They entered a big room full of people, apparently doing nothing. From the opposite side, where the dance-hall opened, came a hum that seemed at once music and discordance, gaiety and wildness, with a strange, carrying undertone raw and violent.

Hough led Neale across the room to where he could look into the dance-hall.