Wolf Breed | Page 9

unwilling to wait until the trails were
open enough for a man to travel off the beaten route. For another thing
one never sought Dave Drennen where other men drew together as they
had congregated now. If under that hard exterior he felt any of the
emotions which other men feel, if he had his joys and his griefs, he
chose to experience them alone. Consequently the mere fact of his
appearance here now brought a flicker of curious interest with it.
Unless he had a quarrel with some man in the Frenchman's house, what
had brought him?
"M'sieu," Père Marquette was saying the worn phrase, "you do me an'
Mamma Jeanne the honour! You are welcome, m'sieu!"
With the usual phrase came the customary offering. Drennen caught the

glass from Marquette's hand and drank swiftly. The glass he set on the
counter, putting down a coin with it.
"There's your money, old man," he said shortly. "Give me my change."
"But, m'sieu," smiled Père Marquette, pushing the money back toward
his latest guest, "one does not pay to-night! It is fifty year . . ."
"I pay my way wherever I go," cut in Drennen curtly. "Will you give
me my change?"
Marquette lifted his two hands helplessly. Never had a man paid for
drink upon such an occasion, and this was the fiftieth! And yet never
before had Drennen come, and there must be no trouble to-night. With
a little sigh the old man took up the money, fumbled in his pockets and
laid down the change. Drennen took it up without a word and without
counting and strode through the room to the table where Ramon Garcia
sat, the one table where men were throwing dice. He drew up a chair
and sat down, his hat brought forward over his eyes.
When the last man to throw had rattled and rolled the dice across the
table top the cup sat at Drennen's right hand. He took it up, asking no
question, saw what the bet was which they were making, put his own
money in front of him and threw. He was in the game. And no man
living in MacLeod's Settlement had ever known Dave Drennen to sit
into any sort of game until now.
"Tiens!" whispered a dried up little fellow who had come down the
river from Moosejaw during the afternoon. "There shall be fon, mes
enfants! One day I see heem play la roulette in the place of Antoine
Duart'. There shall be fon, mes enfants! Sacré nom de dieu," and he
rubbed his hands in the keenness of his anticipation, "he play like me
when I am yo'ng."
CHAPTER IV
THE LUCK OF NO-LUCK DRENNEN

Drennen's entrance into the game, informal as it had been, elicited no
comment from the other players. He had made his little stack of silver
in front of him, coins of the States. There was other American money
staked, jingling fraternally against pieces struck in the Canadian mint.
Even a few pesos had found their way from Garcia's pockets and were
accepted without challenge.
For fifteen minutes the game was quiet and slow enough. Then at a
smiling suggestion from the Mexican the original bet was doubled. It
was poker dice now, having begun as razzle dazzle. There were no
horses since horses delayed matters. Beside Drennen and Garcia there
were five other men playing. The Mexican when he suggested doubled
stakes was losing. Then his fortunes began to mend. The man across
the table from him, cleaned out of his few dollars, got up and went to
watch the game of solo. Quite steadily for a little Garcia won. He sang
his fragments of love songs and between throws made eyes at Ernestine
Dumont. Drennen frowned at him, both for his singing and for his love
making. Garcia continued to win and to sing.
Drennen lost as steadily as Garcia won. "No-luck" his nickname
was--"No-luck" the goddess at his elbow to-night. Without speaking,
when the dice cup came around to him, he doubled the already doubled
stakes. One other man, shaking his head, silently drew out of the game.
The others accepted the challenge as it had been given, in silence.
Garcia, with every air of confidence, turned out the high throw and
fingered his winnings smilingly. Drennen's hand sought his pocket.
"Double again?" he asked bluntly, his hard grey eyes upon the
Mexican.
Ramon Garcia laughed.
"As you will, señor," he said lightly. And under his breath, musically,
his eyes going to the nook by the fireplace, "Dios! It is sweet to be
young and to love!"
Drennen's hand brought from his pocket a canvas bag heavy with gold.
There was a goodly pile of money in front of the Mexican. The stakes

were doubling fast, the two