His luck had been too strong that night, and now only
two men faced him, and both of them lost persistently.
They were “bucking” the dice with savage
stubbornness.
Pierre edged closer, shut his eyes, and deposited
his coin. When he looked again he saw that he
had wagered on the five.
The dice clattered across the table and were swept
up by the hand of the man behind the table before
Pierre could note them. Sick at heart, he began
to turn away, as he saw that hand reach out and gather
in the coins of the other two bettors. It went
out a third time and laid another fifty-cent piece
upon his. The heart of Pierre bounded up to his
throat.
Again the dice rolled, and this time he saw distinctly
two fives turn up. Two dollars in silver were
dropped upon his, and still he let the money lie.
Again, again, and again the dice rolled. And now
there were pieces of gold among the silver that covered
the square of the five. The other two looked
askance at him, and the owner of the game growled:
“Gimme room for the coins, stranger, will you?”
Pierre picked up his winnings. In his left hand
he held them, and the coins brimmed his cupped palm.
With the free hand he placed his new wagers.
But he lost now.
“I cannot win forever,” thought Pierre,
and redoubled his bets in an effort to regain the
lost ground.
Still his little fortune dwindled, till the sweat
came out on his forehead and the blood that had flushed
his face ran back and left him pale with dread.
And at last there remained only one gold piece.
He hesitated, holding it poised for the wager, while
the owner of the game rattled the dice loudly and
looked up at the coin with hungry eyes.
Once more Pierre closed his eyes and laid his wager,
while his empty left hand slipped again inside his
shirt and touched the metal of the cross, and once
more when he opened his eyes the hand of the gambler
was going out to lay a second coin over his.
“It is the cross!” thought Pierre.
“It is the cross which brings me luck.”
The dice rattled out. He won. Again, and
still he won. The gambler wiped his forehead
and looked up anxiously. For these were wagers
in gold, and the doubling stakes were running high.
About Pierre a crowd had grown—a dozen
cattlemen who watched the growing heap of gold with
silent fascination. Then they began to make wagers
of their own, and there were faint whispers of wrath
and astonishment as the dice clicked out and each
time the winnings of Pierre doubled.
Suddenly the dealer stopped and held up his left hand
as a warning. With his right, very slowly, inch
by inch lest anyone should suspect him of a gunplay,
he drew out a heavy forty-five and laid it on the
table with the belt of cartridges. “Three
years she’s been on my hip through thick and
thin, stranger. Three years she’s shot close
an’ true. There ain’t a butt in the
world that hugs your hand tighter. There ain’t
a cylinder that spins easier. Shoot? Lad,
even a kid like you could be a killer with that six-gun.
What will you lay ag’in’ it?”
