Daughter of the Sun | Page 6

cried out in huge enjoyment. "We're getting a
run for our money, Mexico. Shall I shake next?"
"Follow your hand," said Ruiz Rios briefly.
That which followed next would have appeared unbelievable to any
who have not over and over watched the inexplicable happenings of a

gaming table. Kendric made his second throw and lifted his eyebrows
quizzically at the result. He had turned out the deuce, the lowest
number possible. A little eagerly, while men began to mutter in their
excitement, Rios snatched up cup and die and threw. Once already he
had counted ten thousand as good as won; now he made the same
mistake. For the incredible happened and he, too, showed a deuce,
making a second tie.
Ruiz cursed his disgust and hurled the box down. Kendric burst into
booming laughter.
"A game for men to talk about, friend Rios!" he said. And at the
moment he came near feeling a kindly feeling for a man whom he hated
most cordially and with high reason. "Follow your hand."
Rios received the box from a hand offering it and made his third throw
swiftly. The six again.
"Where we began, señor," he said, grown again impassive.
Kendric was all impatient eagerness to make his throw, looking like a
boy chafing at a moment's restraint against his anticipated pleasures.
"A six to beat," he said.
And beat it he did, with the odds all against him. He turned up the ace
and won ten thousand dollars.
In the brief hush which came before the shouts and jabberings of many
voices, Ruiz Rios's companion pulled him sharply by the arm,
whispering quickly. But this time Rios shook his head.
"I am through," he said bluntly. "Another time, maybe."
But the fever, to which he had so eagerly surrendered, was just gripping
Kendric. That he was playing for big stakes was the thing that counted.
That he had won meant less to him than it would have meant to any
other man in the room or any other man who had ever been in the room

or any other man who would ever come into the room. He saw that
Ruiz was through. But, as his dancing eyes sped around among other
faces, he marked the twinkling lights of covetousness in Fat Ortega's rat
eyes and he knew that, long ago, Ortega himself had played for any
stake. Beside Ortega there was another man present who might be
inclined to accept a hazard, Tony Muñoz, who conducted the rival
gambling house across the street and who was Ortega's much despised
son-in-law. Long ago Ortega and Tony had quarreled and when Tony
had run away with Eloisa, Ortega's pretty daughter, men said it was as
much to spite the old man as for love of the girl's snapping eyes. Tony
might play, if Ortega refused.
"One throw for the whole thing, Ortega?" challenged Kendric. "You
and me."
"Have I twenty thousand pesos in my pocket?" jeered Ortega. "You
make me the big gringo bluff."
"Bluff? Call it then, man. That's what a bluff is for. And you don't need
the money in the pocket. This house is yours; your cellars are always
full of expensive liquors; there is money in your till and something in
your safe yet, I'll bet my hat. Put up the whole thing against my wad
and I'll shake you for it."
Plainly Ortega was tempted. And why not? There lay on the green table,
winking up alluringly at him, twenty thousand dollars. His, if simply a
little cube with numbers on it turned in proper fashion. Twenty
thousand dollars! He licked his fat pendulous lips. And, to further
tempt him, he estimated that his entire holding here, bar fixtures, tables,
wines and cash, were worth not above fifteen thousand. But then, this
was all that he had in the world and though he craved further gains until
the craving was acute like a pain, still he clung avidly to the power and
the prestige and the luxury that were his as owner of la Casa Grande. In
brief, he was too much the moral coward to be such a gambler as
Kendric called for.
"No," he snapped angrily.

"Look," said Kendric, smiling. He shook the die and threw it, inverting
the cup over it so that it was hidden. "I do not know what I have thrown,
Ortega, and you do not know. I will bet you five thousand dollars even
money that it is a six or better."
Here were odds and Ortega jerked up his head. Five thousand to bet----
"No," he said again. "No. I don't play. You have devil's luck."
With a flourish Jim lifted the cup to see what he had thrown. Again his
utterly mirthful laughter boomed out. It was the deuce, the