There was something very business-like about these two men when they played cards. And possibly it was only natural. The quiet way in which they played implied the deadly earnestness of their game. Their surroundings, too, were impressive when associated with the secrecy of their doings.
Each man meant to win, and in both were all the baser passions fully aroused. Neither would spare the other, each would do his utmost. Lablache was sure. John was consumed with a deadly nervousness. But John Allandale at cards was the soul of honor. Lablache was confident in his superior manipulation—not play—of cards. He knew that, bar accidents, he must win. The mystery of being able to deal himself "three of a kind" and even better was no mystery to him. He preferred his usual method—the method of "reflection," as he called it; but in the game he was now playing such a method would be useless for obvious reasons. First of all, knowing his opponent's cards would only be of advantage where betting was to ensue. Now he needed the clumsier, if more sure, method of dealing himself a hand. And he did not hesitate to adopt it.
"Poker" John dealt The pot was not opened. Lablache again dealt. Still the hand passed without the pot being opened. The next time John dealt Lablache opened the pot and was promptly beaten. He drew to two queens and missed. John drew to a pair of sevens and got a third. The game was one all. After this Lablache won three pots in succession and the game stood four—one, in favor of the money-lender.
The old rancher's face more than indicated the state of the game. His features were gray and drawn. Already he saw his girl married to the man opposite to him. For an instant his weakness led him to think of refusing to play further—to defy Lablache and bid him do his worst. Then he remembered that the girl herself had insisted that he must see the game through—besides, he might yet win. He forced his thoughts to the coming hand. He was to deal.
The deal, as far as he was concerned, was successful, His spirits rose.
Four—two.
Lablache took up the cards to deal. John was watching as though his life depended upon what he saw. Lablache's clumsy shuffle annoyed him. The lashless eyes of the money-lender were bent upon the cards, but he had no difficulty in observing the old man's attention. This unusual attention he set down to a natural excitement. He had not the smallest idea that the old man suspected him. He passed the cards to be cut. The rancher cut them carelessly. He had a natural cut. The pack was nearly halved. Lablache had prepared for this.
The hand was dealt, and the money-lender won with three aces, all of which he had drawn in a five-card draw. He had discarded a pair of nines to make the heavy draw. It was clumsy, but he had been forced to it. The position of the aces in the pack he had known, and—well, he meant to win.
Five—two.
The clumsiness of that deal was too palpable. Old John suspected, but held his tongue. His anger rose, and the drawn face flushed with the suddenness of lightning. He was in a dangerous mood. Lablache saw the flush, and a sudden fear gripped his heart. He passed the cards to the other, and then, involuntarily, his hand dropped into the right-hand pocket of his coat. It came in contact with his revolver—and stayed there.