The Winds of Chance | Page 6

his limit, didn't you? Well, let's see how high the sky is in these parts!"
There was a movement in the crowd, whereupon the speaker cried,
warningly: "Boosters, stand back! Don't try to give us the elbow, or I'll
close up this game!" To Pierce he murmured, confidentially: "We've
got him right. Don't let anybody edge you out." He put more weight
upon Phillips' hand and forced the young man closer to the table.
Pierce had no intention of surrendering his place, and now the
satisfaction of triumphing over these crooks excited him. He continued
to cover the walnut-shell while with his free hand he drew his own
money from his pocket. He saw that the owner of the game was
suffering extreme discomfort at this checkmate, and he enjoyed the
situation.
"I watched you trim that farmer a few minutes ago," Phillips'
companion chuckled. "Now I'm going to make you put up or shut up.
There's my three hundred. I can use it when it grows to six."
"How much are you betting?" the dealer inquired of Phillips.
Pierce had intended merely to risk a dollar or two, but now there came
to him a thrilling thought. That notice at Healy
"Business appears to be picking up," murmured the proprietor of the
game.
Phillips' neighbor continued to hold the boy's hand in a vicelike grip.
Now he leaned forward, saying:
"Look here! Are you going to cover our coin or am I going to smoke

you up?"
"The groans of the gambler is sweet music in their ears!" The dealer
shrugged reluctantly and counted out four hundred and thirty-five
dollars, which he separated into two piles.
A certain shame at his action swept over Phillips when he felt his
companion's grasp relax and heard him say, "Turn her over, kid."
This was diamond cut diamond, of course; nevertheless, it was a
low-down trick and--
Pierce Phillips started, he examined the interior of the walnut- shell in
bewilderment, for he had lifted it only to find it quite empty.
"Every now and then I win a little one," the dealer intoned, gravely
pocketing his winnings. "It only goes to show you that the hand--"
"Damnation!" exploded the man at Phillips' side. "Trimmed for three
hundred, or I'm a goat!"
As Pierce walked away some one fell into step with him; it was the
sullen, black-browed individual he had seen at the trading-post.
"So they took you for a hundred and thirty-five, eh? You must be
rolling in coin," the man observed.
Even yet Pierce was more than a little dazed. "Do you know," said he,
"I was sure I had the right shell."
"Why, of course you had the right one." The stranger laughed shortly.
"They laid it up for you on purpose, then Kid Bridges worked a shift
when he held your hand. You can't beat 'em."
Pierce halted. "Was he--was THAT fellow with the pack a booster?"
"Certainly. They're all boosters. The Kid carries enough hay on his
back to feed a team. It's his bed. I've been here a week and I know 'em."
The speaker stared in surprise at Phillips, who had broken into a hearty

laugh. "Look here! A little hundred and thirty-five must be chicken
feed to you. If you've got any more to toss away, toss it in my
direction."
"That's what makes it so funny. You see, I haven't any more. That was
my last dollar. Well, it serves me right. Now I can start from scratch
and win on my own speed."
The dark-browed man studied Phillips curiously. "You're certain'y
game," he announced. "I s'pose now you'll be wanting to sell some of
your outfit. That's why I've been hanging around that game. I've picked
up quite a bit of stuff that way, but I'm still short a few things and I'll
buy--"
"I haven't a pound of grub. I came up second-class."
"Huh! Then you'll go back steerage."
"Oh no, I won't! I'm going on to Dawson." There was a momentary
silence. "You say you've been here a week? Put me up for the
night--until I get a job. Will you?"
The black-eyed man hesitated, then he grinned. "You've got your nerve,
but--I'm blamed if I don't like it," said he. "My brother Jim is cooking
supper now. Suppose we go over to the tent and ask him."
CHAPTER II
The headwaters of the Dyea River spring from a giant's punch-bowl.
Three miles above timber-line the valley bottom widens out into a
flinty field strewn with boulders which in ages past have lost their
footing on the steep hills forming the sides of the cup. Between these
boulders a thin carpet of moss is spread, but the slopes themselves are
quite naked; they are seamed and cracked and weather-beaten, their
surfaces are