The Argosy, September 1915 — page 222: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

436 over his shoulders. Both beard and hair were as white as the new-fallen snow. On the soiled floor in front of him was a rudely constructed roulette- wheel. Innumerable little squat gold- pokes were piled around his knees and a similar but smaller pile was stacked on the opposite side of the table. He never looked up at their entrance, but kept on playing the game. “How much you bet this time, Meester Devil; eh? How much you bet ? “ Ah-h! “Yow! “T get you yet! more! Bet more!” Reaching over, he piled all the gold- pokes belonging to his invisible adver- sary on one of the numbers and spun the little wooden ball. With clenched hands and a diabolical leer on his face he watched it eagerly— awfully—as it bumped its way around the wheel and finally settled in one of the niches. Then: “All mine! All—all!”’ Two tousand? All right! You vin! Ach, Himmel! I get you yet! Bet he shrieked. bottom drawer of his desk, re- moved a quart bottle of whisky, and took a long drink. He jammed back the cork with the palm of his hand and replaced the bottle, while his tongue sought the drops that clung to his mustache. It was not the first time _ the bottle had made the trip from the i Wer Governor pulled open the THE ARGOSY. Stretching forth his arms he gath- ered all the little pokes under him with one sweep, breathed once, but that so deeply that at its conclusion his body was stretched to its limit, quivered slightly—and was still. Shorty stepped forw ard and, kneel- ing, turned over the body and looked long at the emaciated features, then rose up with a scared look on his face. “It’s Ben Levi, Bill,” he whispered hoarsely. Bill stooped, picked up the body tremblingly, and placed ‘it on the rude bunk. “Say, Shorty! He's just a skinful of bones! I don’t believe he weighs eighty pounds!” ‘““He must sure have struck it rich,” gasped Shorty. Bill picked up one of the sacks. As he balanced it in his hand a moment a puzzled expression gradually crept into his face. He whipped out his hunting- knife, ripped the poke open, and dis- closed—a handful of common creek- sand! Tom &. Elrod drawer to his lips and back again dur- ing the day. As a result he was somewhat be- fuddled. He was not intoxicated; no one could have sworn ina court of law that he was drunk. But at the same time he was not in a condition to give any matter that calm, dispassionate consideration which the chief execu- EOPMIC LOOKS (E@)