Part 3 (1/2)
There was a goodly pile of money in front of the Mexican. The stakes were doubling fast, the two evidently meant business, and when the dice rolled again they were playing alone and a little knot of men was watching.
”You shall see,” chuckled the dried-up little man from Moosejaw.
Ernestine Dumont was whispering in Kootanie George's ear. From the mesh bag at her wrist she took something, offering it to him eagerly.
George stared at her and then shook his head.
”Keep it,” he muttered. ”I don't need it.”
He didn't look at the hand which was being dealt him but left his table and went across the room to where Drennen and Ramon Garcia were sitting, carrying with him the money he had had before him. As he went he thrust his big hand down into his pocket and as he slumped heavily into a chair opposite Drennen he brought out another canvas bag. It too struck heavily against the table top. Drennen did not look at him.
Garcia smiled and nodded brightly, and in turn, dropped to the table his purse, heavy like the others and giving forth the musical metallic c.h.i.n.k.
”Ah! But this is pretty!” murmured Pere Marquette, glad at once to see peace and a game which would interest his guests. ”Jules, bring more wine, plenty. Make the fires up, big.”
”How big are you bettin' 'em?” Kootanie George demanded as he emptied his canvas bag and piled several hundred dollars in neat yellow stacks.
Garcia lifted his shoulders, showed his fine white teeth pleasantly and looked to Drennen.
”As big as you like,” retorted Drennen crisply. And then, lifting his voice a little, ”Marquette!”
”Oui, m'sieu.” Marquette came quickly to the table.
”I want some money . . . for this.”
Then Drennen spilled the contents of his bag upon the table and for a moment every man who saw sat or stood riveted to his place, absolutely without motion. Then a gasp went up, a gasp of wonder, while here and there a quick spurt of blood in the face or a brilliant gleam of the eye told of quickened heart beats and the grip of that excitement which man never lived who could fight down altogether. Drennen had turned out upon the table top a veritable cascade of nuggets.
”Gold!”
The word sped about the room, whispered, booming loudly, creating a sudden tense eagerness. Men shoved at one another, craning necks, to peer at the thing which Drennen so coolly had disclosed. Gold!
Nuggets that were, in the parlance of the camp, ”rotten” with gold.
Drennen two weeks ago had left the Settlement with his last cent gone in a meagre grub stake; now he was back and he had made a strike. A strike such as no man here had ever dropped his pick into in all of the ragged years of adventuresome search; a strike which could not be a week's walk from MacLeod's, a strike which might mean millions to the first few who would stake out claims.
Pere Marquette stared and muttered strange, awestruck French oaths and made no move to unclasp his hands, lifted before him in an att.i.tude incongruously like that of prayer. Kootanie George, whom men called rich and who owned a claim for which two companies were contending, stared and a little pallor crept into his cheeks. Ramon Garcia broke off in the midst of his little song softly whispering, ”_Jesus Maria_.”
No-luck Drennen had found gold!
”Well?” demanded Drennen savagely, swinging about upon Marquette, who was bending tremulously over him. ”Didn't you hear me?”
”_Mais oui, m'sieu_,” Marquette said hastily, his tongue running back and forth between his lips. ”But, m'sieu, I have not so much money in the house.”
The men who had surged about the table dropped back silently and began speaking in half whispers, each man after a moment seeking for his ”pardner.” One of them upon such a quest carried the word across the street to the warehouse and the dance came to an end in noisy confusion. . . . To-night the Settlement was filled to overflowing; to-morrow it would be deserted.
”Give me what you've got,” Drennen commanded, his hand lying very still by the heap of dull-gleaming rock. ”Bring the scales here.”
The scales were brought, and after a mixture of guessing and weighing, Drennen pushed two of the nuggets across the table to Marquette and accepted minted gold amounting to six hundred dollars.
”The rest, m'sieu?” offered Marquette. ”Shall I put it in the safe for you?”
”No, thanks,” said Drennen drily, as he put the remainder into his pocket. ”I prefer to bank for myself.” The brief words, the insult of the glance which went with them, whipped a flush into the old man's cheeks. He offered no remark, however, and went back with his scales to the counter where he was surrounded by men who wanted the ”feel” of the nuggets in their palms.