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As deep as the sea
by
Rawley had trusted to the inspiration of the moment; he had had no clearly defined plan; he had believed that he could frighten the old man, and by force of will bend him to his purposes. It had all been more difficult than he had expected. He kept cool, imperturbable, and determined, however. He knew that what the old quack said was true–the West might shake with scandal concerning a few who, no doubt, in remorse and secret fear, had more than paid the penalty of their offences. But he thought of Di Welldon and of her criminal brother, and every nerve, every faculty, was screwed to its utmost limit of endurance and capacity.
Suddenly the old man gave a new turn to the event. He got up and, rummaging in an old box, drew out a dice-box. Rattling the dice, he threw them out on the table before him, a strange, excited look crossing his face.
“Play for it,” he said, in a harsh, croaking voice. “Play for the two thousand. Win it, if you can. You want it bad. I want to keep it bad. It’s nice to have; it makes a man feel warm–money does. I’d sleep in ten-dollar bills, I’d have my clothes made of them, if I could; I’d have my house papered with them; I’d eat ’em. Oh, I know, I know about you–and her–Diana Welldon! You’ve sworn off gambling, and you’ve kept your pledge for near a year. Well, it’s twenty years since I gambled–twenty years. I gambled with these then.” He shook the dice in the box. “I gambled everything I had away–more than two thousand dollars–more than two thousand dollars.” He laughed a raw, mirthless laugh. “Well, you’re the greatest gambler in the West. So was I–in the East. It pulverized me at last, when I’d nothing left–and drink, drink, drink. I gave up both one night and came out West. I started doctoring here. I’ve got money, plenty of money–medicine, mines, land got it for me. I’ve been lucky. Now you come to bluff me–me! You don’t know old Busby.” He spat on the floor. “I’m not to be bluffed. I know too much. Before they could lynch me I’d talk. But to play you, the greatest gambler in the West, for two thousand dollars–yes, I’d like the sting of it again. Twos, fours, double-sixes–the gentleman’s game!” He rattled the dice and threw them with a flourish out on the table, his evil face lighting up. “Come! You can’t have something for nothing!” he growled.
As he spoke, a change came over Rawley’s face. It lost its cool imperturbability, it grew paler, the veins on the fine forehead stood out, a new, flaring light came into the eyes. The old gambler’s spirit was alive. But even as it rose, sweeping him into that area of fiery abstraction where every nerve is strung to a fine tension and the surrounding world disappears, he saw the face of Diana Welldon, he remembered her words to him not an hour before, and the issue of the conflict, other considerations apart, was without doubt. But there was her brother and his certain fate if the two thousand dollars were not paid in by midnight. He was desperate. It was in reality for Diana’s sake. He approached the table, and his old calm returned.
“I have no money to play with,” he said, quietly.
With a gasp of satisfaction, the old man fumbled in the inside of his coat and drew out layers of ten, fifty, and hundred dollar bills. It was lined with them. He passed a pile over to Rawley–two thousand dollars. He placed a similar pile before himself.
As Rawley laid his hand on the bills, the thought rushed through his mind, “You have it–keep it!” but he put it away from him. With a gentleman he might have done it, with this man before him it was impossible. He must take his chances; and it was the only chance in which he had hope now, unless he appealed for humanity’s sake, for the girl’s sake, and told the real truth. It might avail. Well, that would be the last resort.