Chapter XIV: "joker and Deuces Wild"

When Toppy went back to the shop that evening he found old Campbell cooking the evening meal with only his right hand in use, the left being wrapped in a neat bandage.

"That's what comes of leaving me without a helper," grumbled the Scot as Toppy looked enquiringly at the injured hand. "I maun have ye back, lad; I will not be knocking my hands to pieces doing two men's work to please any man. And yet--" he cocked his head on one side and looked fondly at the bandage--"I dunno but what 'twas worth it. I'm an auld man, and it's long sin' I had a pretty lass make fuss over me."

"What?" snapped Toppy.

"Oh, go on with ye, lad," teased Scotty, holding the bandage up for his admiration. "Can not you see that I'm by nature a fav'rite with the ladies? Yon lass in the office sewed this bandage on my old meat hook.

"'Does it hurt, Mr. Campbell?' says she. 'Not as much as something that's heavy on my mind, lass,' says I. 'What's that?' she says. 'Mr. Reivers and you, lass,' says I; and I told her as well as an old man can tell a lass who's little more than a child just what the Snow-Burner is. 'I can't believe it,' says she. 'He's a gentleman.' 'More's the pity,' I says. 'That's what makes him dangerous.' 'Were you not afraid of him at first?' says I. 'Yes,' she says. 'Tell me honest, as you would your own father,' says I, 'are you not afraid of him now?'

"With that she gave me a look like a little fawn that has smelled the wolf circling 'round it, but she will not answer. 'He can't be what you say he is,' she says, trembling. 'Lass,' says I, 'a week ago you would never have believed it possible that you'd ever wish aught to do with him. Now you walk with him and talk with him, and smile when he does.' And I told her of Tilly.

"'It's not so,' says she. 'It can't be so. Mr. Reivers is a gentleman, not a brute. He's too strong and fine,' says she, 'for such conduct.' And the bandage being done, I was dismissed with a toss of the head. Aye, aye, lad; but 'twas fine to have her little fingers sewing away around my old hand. Yon's a fine, sweet lass; but I fear me Reivers has set his will to win her."

Toppy made no reply. Campbell's words aroused only one emotion in him--a fresh flare of anger against Reivers. For it was Reivers, and his strength and dominance, that was responsible. Toppy already was sorry for the swift judgment that he had passed on the girl on Sunday, and for the rudeness which, in his anger, he had displayed toward her. He knew now the power that lay in Reivers' will, the calm, compelling fire that lurked in his eyes.

Men quailed before those eyes and did their bidding. And a girl, a little girl who must naturally feel grateful toward him for her position, could hardly be expected to resist the Snow-Burner's undeniable fascinations. Why should she? Reivers was everything that women were drawn to in men--kinglike in his power of mind and body, striking in appearance, successful in whatever he sought to do.

It was inevitable that the girl should fall under his spell, but the thought of it sent a chill up Toppy's spine as from the thought of something monstrous. He raged inwardly as he remembered how clearly the girl had let him see his own insignificance in her estimation compared with Reivers. She had refused to believe Campbell; Toppy knew that she would refuse to listen to him if he tried to warn her against Reivers.

The fashion in which he slammed the supper-dishes on the table brought a protest from Scotty.

"Dinna be so strong with the dishes, lad; they're not iron," said he.

"You 'tend to your cooking," growled Toppy. "I'll set this table."

Campbell paused with a spoon in midair and gaped at him in astonishment. He opened his mouth to speak, but the black scowl on Toppy's brow checked his tongue. Silently he turned to his cooking. He had seen that he was no longer boss in the room behind the shop.

After supper Campbell brought forth a deck of cards and began to play solitaire. Toppy threw himself upon his bunk and lay in the darkness with his troublesome thoughts. An unmistakable step outside the door brought him to his feet, for he had an instinctive dislike to meeting Reivers save face to face and standing up. Reivers came in without speaking and shut the door behind him. He stood with his hand on the knob and looked over at Toppy and shook his head.

"Treplin, how could you disappoint me so?" he asked mockingly. "After I had reposed such confidence in you, too! I'm sorely disappointed in you. I never looked for you to be a victim of the teachings of weak men and I find--ye gods! I find that you're a humanitarian!"

By this and this only did Reivers indicate that he had knowledge of how Toppy had protected his men.

Toppy looked steadily across the room at him, a grim smile on his lips.

"Did Bill Sheedy call me that?" he asked drily. "Shame on him if he did; I didn't make him slip me the Torta boys' money as a present."

Reivers' laugh rang instantly through the room.

"So you've won Bill's confidences already, have you?" he said without the slightest trace of shame or discomfiture. "Dear old Bill! He actually seemed to be under the impression that he had a title to that money--until I suggested otherwise. I ask you, Treplin, as a man with a trained if not an efficient mind, is Bill Sheedy a proper man to possess the title to ninety-eight dollars?"

He swung across the room, laughing heartily, and reached into the cupboard for Scotty's whiskey. As he did so his eyes fell upon the cards which Scotty was placing upon the table, and for the first time Toppy saw in his eyes the gleam of a human weakness. Reivers stood, paused, for an instant, his eyes feasting upon the cards. It was only an instant, but it was enough to whisper to Toppy the secret of the Snow-Burner's passion for play. And Toppy exulted at this chance discovery of the vulnerable joint in Reivers' armour; for Toppy--alas for his misspent youth!--was a master-warrior when a deck of cards was the field of battle.

"It's none of my funeral, Reivers," he said carelessly, strolling over to the table where Campbell went on playing, apparently oblivious to the conversation. "I don't know anything about Sheedy. Of course, if you're serious, the Torta boys are the only ones in camp who've got any right to the money."

Reivers stopped short in the act of pouring himself a drink. Campbell, with his back toward Reivers, paused with a card in his hand. Toppy yawned and dropped into a chair from which he could watch Campbell's game.

"But that's none of my business," he said as if dropping the subject. "There's a chance for your black queen, Scotty."

Reivers poured himself his tumbler full of Scotch whiskey, drew up a third chair to the table and sat down across from Toppy. The latter apparently was absorbed in watching Campbell's solitaire. Reivers took a long, contented sip of his fiery tipple and smiled pleasantly.

"You turned loose an idea there, Treplin," he said. "But can you make your premise stand argument? Are you sure that the Torta boys are the ones who have a right to that ninety-eight dollars? On what grounds do you give them the exclusive title to the money?"

"It's theirs. Bill stole it from them. You said he did. That's all I know about it," said Toppy, scarcely raising his eyes from the cards.

"Why do you say it was theirs, Treplin?" persisted Reivers smilingly. "Merely because they had it in their possession! Isn't that so? You don't know how they came by it, but because they had it in their possession you speak of it as theirs. Very well. Bill Sheedy took it away from them. It was in his possession, so, following your line of logic, it was his--for a short while.

"I took it from Bill. It's in my possession now. Therefore, if your premise is sound, the money is mine. Why, Treplin, I'm really obliged to you for furnishing me such a clear title to my loot. It was--ah--beginning to trouble my conscience." He laughed suddenly, punctuating his laughter with a blow of his fist on the table.

"All rot, Treplin; all silly sophistry which weak men have built up to protect themselves from the strong! The infernal lie that because a man is in possession of a certain thing it is his to the exclusion of the rest of the world! Property-rights! I'll tell you the truth--why this money is mine, why I'm the one who has the real title to it. I was able to take it, and I am able to keep it. There's the natural law of property-rights, Treplin. What do you say to that?"

"Fine!" laughed Toppy, throwing up his hands in surrender. "You bowl me over, Reivers. The money is yours; and--" he glanced at the cards "--and if you and I should play a little game of poker, joker and deuces wild, and I should take it away from you, it would be mine; and there you are."

The words had slipped out of him, apparently without any aim; but Toppy saw by the sudden glance which Reivers dropped to the cards that the gambling-hunger in the Snow-Burner had been awakened.

"Joker and deuces wild," he repeated as if fascinated. "Yes, that ought to help make a two-handed game fast."

The whole manner of the man seemed for the moment changed. For the first time since Toppy had met him he seemed to be seriously interested. Previously, when he played with the lives and bodies of men or devilled their minds with his wiles, his interest had never been deeper than that of a man who plays to keep himself from being bored. He was the master in all such affairs; they could furnish him at their best but an idle sort of interest. But not even the Snow-Burner was master of the inscrutable laws of Chance. Nor was he master of himself when cards were flipping before his eyes. Toppy had guessed right; Reivers had a weakness, and it was to be "card-crazy."

"Get over there on that other table with your solitaire, Campbell!" he ordered. He reached into Campbell's liquor-cabinet and drew out a fresh pack of cards, which he tossed to Toppy. "You started something, Mr. Humanitarian," he continued, clearing the table. "Open the deck and cut for deal. Then show me what you've got to stack up against this ninety-eight dollars." And he slapped a wad of crumpled bills on the table.

Toppy nonchalantly reached into his pockets. Then he grinned. The two twenty-dollar bills which he had paid the agent back in Rail Head for the privilege of hiring out to Hell Camp were all the money he had with him. He was broke. He debated with himself a moment, then unhooked his costly watch from the chain and pushed it across to Reivers.

"You can sell that for five hundred--if you win it," he said. "I'll play it even against your ninety-eight bucks. Give me forty-nine to start with. If you win them give me forty-nine more, and the watch is yours. Right?"

"Right," said Reivers, keeping the watch and dividing his roll with Toppy. "Dollar jack-pots, table-stakes. Deal 'em up."

Toppy lost ten dollars on the first hand almost before he realised that the game had begun. He called Reivers' bet and had three fours and nothing else in his hand. Reivers had two of the wild deuces and a king. Toppy shook his head, like a pugilist clearing his wits after a knockdown. Why had he called? He knew his three fours weren't good. His card-sense had told him so. He had called against his judgment. Why?

Suddenly, like something tangible pressing against his brain, he felt Reivers' will thrusting itself against his. Then he knew. That was why he had called. Reivers had willed that he do so, and, catching him off his guard, had had his way.

"Good work!" said Toppy, passing the cards. He was himself again; his wits had cleared. He allowed Reivers to take the next three pots in succession without a bet. Reivers looked at him puzzled. The fourth pot Toppy opened for five dollars and Reivers promptly raised him ten. After the draw Toppy bet a dollar, and Reivers again raised it to ten more. Toppy called. Reivers, caught bluffing without a single pair, stared as Toppy laid down his hand and revealed nothing but his original openers, a pair of aces. A frown passed over Reivers' face. He peered sharply at Toppy from beneath his overhanging brows, but Toppy was raking in the pot as casually as if such play with a pair of aces was part of his system.

"Good work!" said Reivers, and gathered the cards to him with a jerk.

Half a dozen hands later, on Reivers' deal, Toppy picked up his hand and saw four kings.

"I'll pass," said he.

"I open for five," said Reivers.

"Take the money," laughed Toppy carelessly throwing his hand into the discard. For an instant Reivers' eyes searched him with a look of surprise. The glance was sufficient to tell Toppy that what he had suspected was true.

"So he's dealing 'em as he wants 'em!" thought Toppy. "All right. He's brought it on himself."

An hour later Reivers arose from the table with a smile. The money had changed hands. Toppy was snapping his watch back on its chain, and stuffing the bills into his pocket.

"Your money now, Treplin," laughed Reivers. "Until somebody takes it away from you."

But there was a new note in his laughter. He had been beaten, and his irritation showed in his laughter and in the manner in which, after he had taken another big drink of whiskey, he paused in the doorway as he made to leave.

"Great luck, Treplin; great luck with cards you have!" he said laughingly. "Too bad your luck ends there, isn't it? What's that paraphrase of the old saw? 'Lucky with cards, unlucky with women.' Good night, Treplin."

He went out, laughing as a man laughs when he has a joke on the other fellow.

"What did he mean by that?" asked Campbell, puzzled.

"I don't know," said Toppy. But he knew now that Tilly had told Reivers of his talk with Miss Pearson the first evening in camp, and that Reivers had saved it up against him.