the burden Fate had inflicted upon her. And it said something for the big hearts of this prairie folk, that, in the large majority at least, the memory of their charity left them with the departure of the doctor to complete his race with Nature at the far extremity of the village.
The saloon settled down to its evening’s entertainment as though nothing unusual had happened. The majority gathered into various games of “draw,” for which the great room was half filled with small tables. The few that resisted the seductive charms of the national card game continued to support the bar. Of these, Smallbones only remained long enough to air his spleen at the doctor’s expense. But even he found it incumbent upon him to modify his tone. For one thing he received an unmerciful baiting from his companions, and besides, he knew, if he allowed his tongue to riot too far, how easy it would be for his denunciation to reach the strenuous doctor’s ears. Gay and Wilkes left shortly after the trust magnate, and soon Abe Horsley was forced to seek a fresh gossip. He found one in Will Henderson, as soon as Peter Blunt had moved away to watch the games at the tables. Will’s mood at the moment suited the lay-preacher. He wanted to drink, and Abe was possessed of a chronic thirst.
So, with the exception of these two, Silas Rocket, ever rapacious for custom, was left free to see that the games did not detract from the men’s drinking powers. He had an eye like a hawk for possible custom. Wherever there was a big pot just won his rasping voice was always at the elbow of the winner, with his monotonous “Any drinks, gents?” If a table was slow to require his services he never left it alone. He drove the men at it to drink in self-defense. It was a skilful display–though not as uncommon as one might think, even in the best restaurants in a big metropolis.
So the night wore on. Every man drank. They drank when they won. They drank when they lost. In the former case it was out of the buoyancy of their spirits, in the latter because they wished to elevate them. Whatever excuse they required they found, and when difficulty in that direction arose, there was always Silas Rocket on hand to coax them.
Jim, huddled away in a corner behind the great stove used for heating the place in winter, was busy with his game. He had shown no recognition of Will Henderson’s coming. He had probably seen him, because, though hidden from it himself, he had a full view of the bar, and any time he looked up, his eyes must have encountered the two figures now left alone beside it.
He was drinking, and drinking hard. He was also losing. The cards were running consistently against him. But then, he was always an unlucky player. He rarely protested against it, for in reality he had little interest in the play, and to-night less than usual. He played because it saved him thinking or talking, and he wanted to sit there and drink until Silas turned them out. Then he intended returning to the ranch. He meant to have one night’s forgetfulness, at least, even if he had to stupefy his senses in bad whiskey.
Abe and Will had reached the confidential stage. They were full of friendliness for each other, and ready to fall on each other’s necks. For some time Will had desired an opportunity to open his heart to this man. He would have opened it to anybody. His Celtic temperament was a fire of enthusiasm. He felt that all the world was his, and he wanted to open his arms and embrace it. But so far Abe had given him little opportunity. His own voice pleased the lay-preacher, and he had orated on every subject from politics to street-paving, giving his companion little chance for anything but monosyllabic comments. But finally Will’s chance came. Abe had abruptly questioned the propriety of permitting marriage in their village, where the burden of keeping the offspring of the union was likely to fall upon the public shoulders. Will plunged into the midst of the man’s oratory, and would not be denied.
“Marriage,” he said, “is not for regulation by law. No one has the right,” he declared, with an emphatic thump on the bar, “to dictate to the individual on the subject.” He went on at high pressure in a heated crescendo for some moments, denouncing any interference by public bodies. Then of a sudden he laid a hand on Abe’s shoulder and abruptly dropped his voice to a confidential whisper. His eyes were smiling and shining with the feelings which stirred him. Everything was forgotten except the fact of his engagement to Eve. Jim was obscured from his mental vision by the uplifting spirit vapors which supported his thoughts. Eve, and Eve alone, was in his mind, that–and the fact that she was to be–his.
“Listen to me, Abe,” he said, a little thickly. “All this talk of yours don’t hold water–no, nor spirit either,” he laughed. “Say, I’m goin’ to get married, and so I know.”
Quite how he knew didn’t seem clear; but he paused for the impression. Abe whistled interestedly and edged nearer, turning his ear so as not to miss what the youngster had to say.
“Who?” he demanded.
“A-ah!” Will prolonged the exclamation knowingly, and waited for the man to guess.
“You wus allus sweet on Eve Marsham–you and Jim Thorpe.”
Will suddenly ceased to smile. He drank his whiskey at a gulp and banged his glass on the counter.
“By G–!” he exclaimed harshly, while Abe wondered at his changed tone. “Yes, it’s Eve–Eve Marsham; and I’m going to marry her–not Jim. D’you git that? By heaven!–yes. Here, Rocket–!” He lurched round on the bar. “Here, you old Sky-Rocket, get drinks, quick! For everybody! I’ll pay! See, here’s the wad,” and he slammed a thick roll of bills on the counter. “I’ve got money, sure, and I’m–hic–goin’ to burn it. Boys,” he cried, swinging about and facing the tables, supporting himself against the bar, “you’ll drink with me. Si–Silas here’ll take your orders, an’ serve you. You, too, Abe, ole pal.”
Jim looked up from his cards the moment Will addressed the room, and now he watched him swaying against the bar. The light in his dark eyes was peculiar. He seemed to be speculating, and his thoughts were uneasy. Will yawned drunkenly. Peter Blunt, from across the room, was watching Jim, and moved abruptly clear of the tables, but not ostentatiously so.
Will’s eyes watched Silas passing round the drinks. He was smiling in the futile manner of a drunken man, and his fingers were clutching nervously at the moulded edge of the bar. Rocket came back and handed him and Abe their whiskey. The former promptly clutched his glass and raised it aloft, spilling the neat spirit as he did so. Then, with drunken solemnity, he called for order.
“Boys,” he cried, “you’ll–you’ll drink a to–toast. Sure you will. Every one of you’ll drink it. My fu–sher wife, Eve–Eve Marsham. Jim Th–Thorpe thought he’d best–me, but–”
A table was suddenly sent flying in the crowd. A man’s figure leaped out from behind the stove and rushed up to the speaker. It was Jim Thorpe. His eyes were blazing, and a demon of fury glared out upon the drunken man.
“Another word, and I’ll shoot you like a dog! You liar! You thieving–!”
But his sentence was never completed. Peter Blunt stood between them, one of his great hands gripping Jim’s arm like a vice.
“Shut up!” he cried, in a hoarse whisper. “You’ll have the whole story all over the village.”
But the mischief was done. Everybody present was on their feet agog with excitement, and came gathering round to see the only possible finish to the scene, as they understood it. But, quick as lightning, Peter took in the situation. Flinging Jim aside as though he were a baby, he hugged the drunken Will Henderson in his two great arms, and carried him bodily out of the saloon.
The men looked after him wondering. Then some one laughed. It was an odd, dissatisfied laugh, but it had the effect of relieving the tension. And one by one they turned back to Jim, who was standing moodily leaning on the bar; his right hand was still resting on the gun on his hip.
There was a moment of suspense. Then Jim’s hand left the gun, and he straightened himself up. He tried to smile, but the attempt was a failure.
“I’m sorry for upsetting your game, boys,” he said stupidly.
Then Rocket came effectively to the rescue.
“Gents,” he cried, “you’ll all honor me by drinkin’ with the house.”
CHAPTER