Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 2 — page 107: what you’re looking at

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

PRIDE OF TYSON. ‘That belonged to Kennedy now, and he had promised Rona to take it from the big man. How he would get it, whether by force of gun or hand, he did not know. Above all, he continually remembered the heavy hand which had struck him across the face. After that there was no doubt as to his destination: he headed straight for the gaming-house of big Kennedy. Not that he knew exactly what he would do in the place. Certainly he could not gamble. Even if he had had money to stake, his oath to Garth kept him from using the proceeds. But in the house he would find Kennedy, and Kennedy meant trouble, and trouble to-night would be like meat and drink. The gambling-house was run with a shameless openness, like the other palaces of chance in La Blanca; the only attempt to conceal its location was the establish- ment of a dozen easy entrances and exits. In this manner Kennedy avoided having a continual stream of patrons passing in and out at any one point. His house was like @ sponge with many pores through which to draw the wealth of the town; once in- side, a single pressure squeezed them oy of coin. The place had been originally a stable of some pretensions, and the stalls were still clearly marked around the sides of the open court. On these four sides were the booths where the card games went on; but the freer space of the open court was turned aver to the roulette-wheel and dice, so that the crowds could circulate as freely as possible. There is need of circulation sound the roulette-wheel. No one comes to the gaming-house intending to play that mis- tress of misfortune; but every one stands for a moment, in passing, and listens to the hum of the spinning wheel and marks the dizzy swirl of the colors. : He stands, he watches, he presses nearer to note how the unfortunates lose their money. And coming closer in this fashion, he cannot fail to note how the wheel comes to a drawling stop. It seems strange that the wheel should be so perfectly balanced and lubricated that it will pause at random. 239 It seems certain that it must stop more’ often at a definite point on the circle. The - newcomer watches and notes. Behold! Once, twice, thrice in a half- dozen whirls the wheel stops on the black and on the eight. A system! A dollar to try it out—it is cheap. He lays the coin. He wins. He lays again on a single number, most daring of all chances, and behold! the pointer rests on the eight. For every dollar he has wagered thirty-six pour into the hand of the gambler. An hour later he leaves with downward head. He has emptied his pockets and pawned his watch for a tithe of its value. And still the wheel hums and spins behind him. Next pay-day he will return and ex- act vengeance. Luck cannot stay always against him! ; Under the arch of the entrance Tyson stood and watched the scene. A motley crowd: white and brown, engineer and foreman and humble peon, they rubbed shoulders in this place. A swirling haze of cigarette smoke that mounted in lazy drifts disappeared, and above it was the blue-black of the sky with the golden stars burning their way down, lower and lower. A strange setting for the game, but in spite of the setting all was familiar to Tyson. No matter for the faces and the complex- ions; the eyes were the same the world over—narrowed, bright with hunger. He knew that fat man in the white suit at the poker-table yonder as well as if he had played against him. The large upper lip -was pendulous, uncertain, and the china- blue eyes rolled wildly here and there now and again. He was winning heavily, Ty- son knew. But he would lose it all before the evening was over. Opposite sat a smiling youth who tossed his cards on the table with a flick of dis- dain. Tyson could almost tell to a dollar how much he had lost, and what sort of a letter he would write to his father ex- plaining the loss. He was a young engi- neer, no doubt. At the same table was a Mexican with a face pouched by unutterable weariness. The eyes of Tyson flashed as he recognized metal worthy of his sword. Automatically he reached into his pocket; But the wallet cCoOmicloooks (©