FullReads

The cowboy was a board-whacker. Each time that he held superior cards he whanged them, one by one, with exceeding force, down upon the improvised table, and took the tricks with a glowing air of prowess and pride
that sent thrills of indignation into the hearts of his opponents. A game with a board-whacker in it is sure to become intense. The countenances of the Easterner and the Swede were miserable whenever the cowboy thundered down his aces and kings, while Johnnie, his eyes gleaming with joy, chuckled and chuckled.

Because of the absorbing play none considered the strange ways of the Swede. They paid strict heed to the game. Finally, during a lull caused by a new deal, the Swede suddenly addressed Johnnie: “I suppose there have been a good many men killed in this room.”The jaws of the others dropped and they looked at him.

“What in hell are you talking about?” said Johnnie.

The Swede laughed again his blatant laugh, full of a kind of false courage and defiance.”Oh, you know what I mean all right,” he answered.

“I’m a liar if I do!” Johnnie protested. The card was halted, and the men stared at the Swede. Johnnie evidently felt that as the son of the proprietor he should make a direct inquiry.”Now, what might you be drivin’ at, mister?” he asked. The Swede winked at him. It was a wink full of cunning. His fingers shook on the edge of the board.”Oh, maybe you think I have been to nowheres. Maybe you think I’m a tenderfoot?”

“I don’t know nothin’ about you,” answered Johnnie, “and I don’t give a damn where you’ve been. All I got to say is that I don’t know what you’re driving at. There hain’t never been nobody killed in this room.”

The cowboy, who had been steadily gazing at the Swede, then spoke.”What’s wrong with you, mister?”

Apparently it seemed to the Swede that he was formidably menaced. He shivered and turned white near the corners of his mouth. He sent an appealing glance in the direction of the little Easterner. During these moments he did not forget to wear his air of advanced pot-valor.”They say they don’t know what I mean,” he remarked mockingly to the Easterner.

The latter answered after prolonged and cautious reflection.”I don’t understand you,” he said, impassively.

The Swede made a movement then which announced that he thought he had encountered treachery from the only quarter where he had expected sympathy if not help.”Oh, I see you are all against me. I see — “

The cowboy was in a state of deep stupefaction.”Say,” he cried, as he tumbled the deck violently down upon the board.”Say, what are you gittin’ at, hey?”

The Swede sprang up with the celerity of a man escaping from a snake on the floor.”I don’t want to fight!” he shouted.”I don’t want to fight!”

The cowboy stretched his long legs indolently and deliberately. His hands were in his pockets. He spat into the sawdust box.”Well, who the hell thought you did?” he inquired.

The Swede backed rapidly toward a corner of the room. His hands were out protectingly in front of his chest, but he was making an obvious struggle to control his fright.”Gentlemen,” he quavered, “I suppose I am going to be killed before I can leave this house!I suppose I am going to be killed before I can leave this house.”In his eyes was the dying swan look. Through the windows could be seen the snow turning blue in the shadow of dusk. The wind tore at the house and some loose thing beat regularly against the clap-boards like a spirit tapping.

A door opened, and Scully himself entered. He paused in surprise as he noted the tragic attitude of the Swede. Then he said: “What’s the matter here?”

The Swede answered him swiftly and eagerly: “These men are going to kill me.”

“Kill you!” ejaculated Scully.”Kill you!What are you talkin’?”

The Swede made the gesture of a martyr.