“The three of us headquarter here when we’re in town,” Bart explained. “I’ll plant these two tens in a dresser drawer.”
He opened the drawer in question and Carver, standing just to his right, found himself gazing down upon a scrap of black cloth from which two eyeholes stared blankly back at him. Lassiter placed the two gold pieces beneath the old newspaper with which the drawer was carpeted, closing it without comment, and they returned to the street and sought the wheel in the Gilded Eagle. For a time fortune smiled on them. Then a reverse tide set in. At the end of an hour each one shoved a stiff bet upon the board. There was the usual brief hush as the ball neared the end of its spin.
“The even losses to the odd and the red defeats the black,” the croupier chanted. “The middle column pays the gambler and the others pay the house. Place your bets for another turn.” He twisted the wheel and snapped the ivory marble in the reverse direction. “The little ivory ball—she spins! the flitting pill of fortune. Off again on the giddy whirl.”
He glanced expectantly at the two chief players but they had explored their pockets and failed to invoice sufficient resources with which to purchase a white chip between the two of them.
“Odd how rapid a man can shed it if he sets out to exert himself,” Carver commented.
Lassiter grinned and turned suddenly toward the door. It occurred to Carver that the youth was starting forth to retrieve that twenty-dollar reserve which was cached in the dresser drawer.
“Don’t you,” he admonished; but Lassiter had passed out the door.
Carver made a move to follow but met Carl Mattison, town marshal, coming in.
“You recollect that extra saddle,” Carver greeted without parley. “The one you was admiring, with all those silver trappings. If you still admire it fifty dollars’ worth——”
“Sold,” said the marshal and counted out the money. “Send it round to my room above the Boston Store.”