For an instant, it seemed to Houston as though the glorious sunlight had suddenly turned to blackness, a blackness in which the scrap of paper gleamed white before him, its red spots glowing like spots of flame. He seemed again to see Morgan as he looked when parting from him the previous evening; the haggard face, with its hollow eyes and faint, pathetic smile, and as he recalled his words in reply to his own repeated offers of money, there seemed a new meaning in them; “Maybe I’ll call on you for it to-morrow if I don’t have luck to-night.”
But Houston realized there was no time to waste, and in a few moments he was mounted on a powerful gray horse, on his way to the Y, notwithstanding Van Dorn’s protests on account of the intense heat, having requested the latter to explain his absence at the house. Just as he was about to start, Bull-dog begged to be allowed to ride with him, to which Houston consented, and lifting the little fellow up, seated him in front of himself. Very little was said, for the horse seemed to understand what was expected of him, and sped like the wind down the narrow canyon road, but Houston’s hand rested kindly on Bull-dog’s shoulder, steadying the slender frame, and, at the same time, warming the heart of the forlorn little waif, to whom even the touch of kindness was something exceedingly rare.
Houston’s mind was occupied with thoughts of the terrible scene he was rapidly approaching, as well as with memories of his last interview with Morgan on the preceding night. At last, having crossed a ravine, the horse slackened his pace, as he climbed the steep ascent on the other side, and Houston, almost unconsciously, spoke his thoughts aloud.
“Poor Morgan!” he said, with a heavy sigh, “poor fellow! If I could only have saved him from this! God knows I would have given him any amount of money to have prevented this.”
“’Twouldn’t ha’ been no use, sir,” Bull-dog broke in quickly, eager to console Houston, “’twouldn’t ha’ been no use to have give ’im money, ’cause, ye see, them fellers that he played with would ha’ got it all.”
“Who were they?” inquired Houston.
“Oh, there was Faro Dick and Slicky Sam, and a lot of ’em; Morgan wasn’t no match for fellers like them, they was all too swift fer him.”
“How do you know?”
“Oh, I seen ’em playin’ lots o’ times, and they’re all reg’lar sharpers, ’n Morgan, he’d got reckless, ’n he didn’t stan’ no show against ’em.”
Houston looked down wonderingly and pityingly upon the little fellow, young in years, but who knew so much of the dark side of life, but nothing more was said, as, having reached the top of the hill, the station was close at hand.