“Yes, suh, I done it,” Pap assured him, draining his glass of liquor as he talked. “I didn’t bet none. I jes’ sold tips. But I shore had bad luck wid dat money at de las’.”
“Whut happened?” Skeeter inquired with great interest.
“You remember dat Sugar Sibley you wus wid? Well, suh, dat gal jes’ nachelly hoodooed me outen eve’y dollar I had on me, excusin’ dis one poor, lonesome nickel. She said she wus skeart I would git in bad comp’ny an’ lose it!”
“My Gawd, Pap!” Skeeter exclaimed, springing to his feet. “Whyn’t you tell me dat terr’ble news sooner?”
Pap did not answer. His head fell forward on his chest; his hands hung limply at his sides; he breathed stertorously, with his mouth open.
Skeeter ransacked Curtain’s pockets.
They still sagged from the weight of the coins they had contained, but now—they assayed only one five-cent piece!
Hitch Diamond, admitted into the Hen-Scratch saloon through the rear door early the next morning, was horrified to see the unconscious form of Pap Curtain lying on a pallet in the corner of the room.
“Whut’s come to pass wid Pap?” he inquired.