“Draw poker,” replied the leader, giving his black mustache a satisfied twist. He jerked his head in the direction of the chips. “Win all, take all,” he added.
Jim lowered his eyes again. He was not more than a boy, this outlaw, and he had formed a strong attachment for the black horse. And because he had come to understand Pat and to appreciate him, he hated to think of the horse’s serving under this bloodless man opposite. Pat’s life under this man would be a life of misery. It was so with all of Johnson’s horses. Either they died early, or else, as in the case of the little gray, their spirits sank under his cruelty to an ebb so low that nothing short of another horse, and one obviously capable of rendering successful protection, roused them to an interest in their own welfare. This was why the little gray, he recalled, had approached the black the first night after reaching the shack. Evidently she had recognized in him an able protector, should he care to protect her, against the brutality of her master. And so to play a game of cards, or anything else, with a view to losing possession–
“I don’t hear you saying!” cut in the cold voice of the other upon his thoughts. “Ain’t the stakes right?”
Jim looked up. “I guess so,” he said. “I’m tryin’ to figure–percentages and the like.”
Again he relapsed into thought. He feared this man as he feared a snake. For Johnson had a grip on him in many ways, and in ways unpleasant to recall. So he knew that to refuse meant a volley of invectives that would end in his losing the horse anyway, losing him by force, and a later treatment of the animal, through sheer spite, the brutality of which he did not like to contemplate. So he did not reply; he did not dare to say yes or no. Either way, the horse was gone. For Johnson was clever with the cards, fiendishly clever, and when playing recognized no law save crookedness.
“Jim,” burst out Johnson, controlling himself evidently with effort, “I want to ask you something. I want you to tell me something. I want you to tell me who it was grubstaked you that winter you needed grubstaking mighty bad. I want you to tell me who it was got you out of that scrape over in Lincoln County two years ago. I want you to tell me who it was took care of you last winter–under mighty trying circumstances, too–and put you in the way of easy money this spring! But you needn’t tell me,” he suddenly concluded, picking up the cards savagely. “I know who it was without your telling me, and you know who it was without my telling you. And now what’s the returns? When I give you a chance to come back a little–in a dead-square, open game of cards–you crawl into your shell and act like I’d asked you to step on the gallows.”
Jim permitted himself a quiet smile. “I don’t think I’m playing the hog, exactly,” he rejoined, evenly. “I guess maybe I’m thinking of the horse as much as anything. And not so much of him, either, maybe, as of you, the way you handle horses if they don’t dance a two-step when you want a two-step. In about a week, Johnson,” he continued, mildly, “you’d have that horse jabbed full of holes with them Mexican rowels of yours! He wouldn’t stand for that kind of affection, or I’m no judge of horseflesh. He ain’t used to it; he ain’t that kind of a horse–your kind! You ought to see that yourself. You don’t want no spirited horse like him, because either you’d kill him or he’d kill you. I can see it, if you can’t!”
“We’ll now cut for deal,” interposed Johnson, grimly.
“Take myself,” went on the other, half smiling “why I like the idea of keeping him. I used to kill cats and rob nests and stone dogs when I was a kid; but later I learned different. I didn’t kill cats and rob nests after that; dogs I got to petting whenever I’d meet one. I got acquainted with animals that way. Made the acquaintance from both angles–seeing how they acted under torture, then learning how they acted under kindness. I know animals, Johnson,” he added, quietly. “And an animal to me is an animal and something more. A horse, for instance. I see more in a horse than just an easy way of getting around. But that ain’t you. You’re like a man I once knowed that kept a dog just because the dog was a good hunter. If I couldn’t see more in a dog than just what he’s fit for, I’d quit the sport.”
“Now we’ll cut for deal.”