The Story of the Foss River Ranch Part 28

"Ah, John, better late than never," he exclaimed gutturally. "Come in and have a smoke."

"Yes, I thought I'd just come right down and--see if you'd got any news."

"None--none, old friend. Nothing at all. Horrocks is a fool, I'm thinking. Take that chair," pointing to the basket chair. "You're not looking up to the mark. Have a nip of Glenlivet."

He pa.s.sed the white-labeled bottle over to his companion, and watched the rancher curiously as he shakily helped himself to a liberal "four fingers." "Poker" John was rapidly breaking up. Lablache fully realized this.

"No news--no news," murmured John, as he smacked his lips over his "tot"

of whisky. "It's bad, man, very bad. We're not safe in this place whilst that man's about. Dear, dear, dear."

The senility of the rancher was painfully apparent. Doubtless it was the result of his recent libations and excesses. The money-lender was quite aware that John had not come to him to discuss the "hustler." He had come to suggest a game of cards, but for reasons of his own the former wished to postpone the request. He had not expected that "Poker" John would have come this evening; therefore, certain plans of his were not to have been put into execution until the following day. Now, however, it was different. John's coming, and his condition, offered him a chance which was too good to be missed, and Lablache was never a man to miss opportunities.

CHAPTER XVII

THE NIGHT OF THE PUSKY

Presently the old man drew himself up a little. The spirit had a bracing effect upon him. The dull leering eyes a.s.sumed a momentary brightness, and he almost grew cheerful. The change was not lost upon Lablache. It was a veritable game of the cat and the mouse.

"This is the first time your stock has been touched," said John, meaninglessly. His thoughts were running upon the game of cards he had promised himself. An unaccountable lack of something like moral courage prevented him talking of it. Possibly it was the iron influence of his companion which forbade the suggestion of cards. "Poker" John was inwardly chafing at his own weakness.

"Yes," responded the other, "I have not been touched before." Then, suddenly, he leant forward, and, for the moment, the money-lender's face lit up with something akin to kindliness. It was an unusual sight, and one not to be relied upon. "How many years is it, John, that we have struggled side by side in this benighted land?"

The rancher looked at the other, then his eyes dropped. He scarcely comprehended. He was startled at the expression of that leathery, puffed face. He shifted uneasily with the curious weakly restlessness of a shattered nerve.

"More years, I guess, than I care to think of," he murmured at last.

"Yes, yes, you're right, John--quite right. It doesn't do to look back too far. We're getting on. But we're not old men yet. We're rich, John, rich in land and experience. No, not so old. We can still give the youngsters points, John. Ha, ha!"

Lablache laughed hollowly at his own pleasantry. His companion joined in the laugh, but without mirth. Poker--he could think of nothing but poker. The money-lender insinuatingly pushed the whisky bottle closer to the senile rancher. Almost unconsciously the old man helped himself.

"I wonder what it would be like living a private, idle life?" Lablache went on, as though speaking to himself. Then directly to his companion, "Do you know, old friend, I'm seriously thinking of selling out all my interests and retiring. I've worked very hard--very hard. I'm getting tired of it all. Sometimes I feel that rest would be good. I have ama.s.sed a very large fortune, John--as you know."

The confidences of the money-lender were so unusual that "Poker" John, in a dazed way, mildly wondered. The whisky had roused him a good deal now, and he felt that it was good to talk like this. He felt that the money-lender was a good fellow, and much better than he had thought. He even experienced compunction for the opinions which, at times, he had expressed of this old companion. Drink plays strange pranks with one's better judgment at times. Lablache noted the effect of his words carefully.

"Yes," said John, "you have worked hard--we have both worked hard. Our lives have not been altogether without pleasure. The occasional game of cards we have had together has always helped to relieve monotony, eh, Lablache? Yes--yes. No one can say we have not earned rest. But there--yes, you have been more fortunate than I. I could not retire."

Lablache raised his spa.r.s.e eyebrows. Then he helped himself to some whisky and pushed the bottle over to the other. When John had again replenished his gla.s.s the money-lender solemnly raised his and waved it towards the gray-headed old man. John responded unsteadily.

"How!"

"How!" replied the rancher.

Both men drank the old Indian toast. Simple honesty was in one heart, while duplicity and low cunning filled the other.

"You could not retire?" said Lablache, when they had set their empty gla.s.ses upon the desk.

"No--no," answered the other, shaking his head with ludicrous mournfulness, "not retire; I have responsibilities--debts. You should know. I must pay them off. I must leave Jacky provided for."

"Yes, of course. You must pay them off. Jacky should be your first consideration."

Lablache pursed his sensual lips. His expression was one of deep concern. Then he apparently fell into a reverie, during which John was wondering how best to propose the longed-for game of cards. The other roused himself before the desired means suggested itself to the old gambler. And his efforts were cut short abruptly.

"Jacky ought to marry," Lablache said without preamble. "One never knows what may happen. A good husband--a man with money and business capacity, would be a great help to you, and would a.s.sure her future."

Lablache had touched upon the one strong point which remained in John Allandale's character. His love for Jacky rivaled his pa.s.sion for poker, and in its pure honesty was perhaps nearly as strong as that feverish zest. The gambler suddenly became electrified into a different being.

The signs of decay--the atmosphere of drink, as it were, fell from him in the flashing of a second, and the old vigorous rancher, like the last dying flame of a fire, shot up into being.

"Jacky shall marry when she chooses, and whatever man she prefers. I will never profit by that dear child's matrimonial affairs," he said simply.

Lablache bit his lips. He had been slightly premature. He acquiesced with a heavy nod of the head and poured himself out some more whisky.

The example was natural and his companion followed it.

"You are quite right, John. I merely spoke from a worldly point of view. But your decision affects me closely."

The other looked curiously at the money-lender, who thus found himself forced to proceed. Hitherto he had chosen his own gait. Now he felt himself being drawn. The process was new to him, but it suited his purpose.

"How?"

Lablache sighed. It was like the breathing of an adipose pig.

"I have known that niece of yours, John, ever since she came into this world. I have watched her grow. I understand her nature as well as you do yourself. She is a clever, bright, winsome girl. But she needs the guiding hand of a good husband."

"Just so. You are right. I am too old to take proper care of her. When she chooses she shall marry."

John's tone was decisive. His words were non-committing and open to no argument. Lablache went on.

"Supposing now a rich man, a very rich man, proposed marriage for her.

Presuming he was a man against whom there was no doubtful record--who, from a worldly point of view, there could be no objection to--should you object to him as a husband for Jacky?"

The rancher was still unsuspecting.

"What I have stated should answer your question. If Jacky were willing I should have no objection."

"Supposing," the money-lender went on, "she were unwilling, but was content to abide by your decision. What then?"

There was a pa.s.sing gleam of angry protest in the rancher's eyes as he answered.

"What I have said still holds good," he retorted a little hotly. "I will not influence the child."

"I am sorry. I wish to marry your girl."

There was an impressive silence after this announcement. "Poker" John stared in blank wonderment at his companion. The expectation of such a contingency could not have been farther from his thought. Lablache--to many his niece--it was preposterous--ludicrous. He would not take it seriously--he could not. It was a joke--and not a nice one.

He laughed--and in his laugh there was a ring of anger.