Riders of the Silences | Page 9

If the people in the houses that he passed had known they would have
started up from their chairs and taken rifle and horse and chased after
him on the trail. But how could they tell from the passing of those
ringing hoofs that Pierre, the novice, was dead, and Red Pierre was
born?
So they drowsed on about their comfortable fires, and Pierre drew rein
with a jerk before the largest of Morgantown's saloons. He had to set
his teeth before he could summon the resolution to throw open the door.
It was done; he stepped inside, and stood blinking in the sudden rush of
light against his face.
It was all bewildering at first; the radiance, the blue tangle of smoke,
the storm of voices. For Muldoon's was packed from door to door.
Coins rang in a steady chorus along the bar, and the crowd waited three

and four deep.
Someone was singing a rollicking song of the range at one end of the
bar, and a chorus of four bellowed a profane parody at the other end.
The ears of Pierre le Rouge tingled hotly, and partly to escape the
uproar he worked his way to the quieter room at the back of the saloon.
It was almost as crowded as the bar, but here no one spoke except for
an occasional growl. Sudden speaking, and a loud voice, indeed, was
hardly safe. Someone cursed at his ill-luck as Pierre entered, and a
dozen hands reached for six-guns. In such a place one had to be
prepared.
Pierre remembered with quick dismay that he was not armed. All his
life the straight black gown had been weapon enough to make all men
give way before him. Now he carried no borrowed strength upon his
shoulders.
Automatically he slipped his fingers under the breast of his shirt until
their tips touched the cold metal of the cross. That gave him stronger
courage. The joy of the adventure made his blood warm again as he
drew out his one coin and looked for a place to start his venture.
So he approached the nearest table. On the surface of it were marked
six squares with chalk, and each with its appropriate number. The man
who ran the game stood behind the table and shook three dice. The
numbers which turned up paid the gambler. The numbers which failed
to show paid the owner of the game.
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.

CHAPTER 5
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