The Tale of Timber Town

The Prospector had fared but little better. What with the money he had staked, and side bets on individual throws, his pile of money had been reduced to half.

“There ain’t nothin’ mean about me,” he said, “but I’d be obliged if some gen’leman would shout.”

Dolphin touched the bell, and said, “I was beginning to feel that way myself.”

A very undersized young man, who had plastered his black hair carefully and limped with one leg, appeared, and said in a very shrill voice, “Yes, gentlemen.”

“Who are you?” asked Dolphin.

“I’m the actin’-barman,” replied the young man, twirling the japanned tray in his hands, and drawing himself up to his full height.

“I should call you the blanky rouseabout,” said Dolphin. “We want the bar-maid.”

“Miss Quintal says she ain’t comin’,” said the important youth. “To tell the truth, she’s a bit huffed with the ’ole lot of yer. What’s your orders, gents?”

He had hardly got the words out of his mouth, when Young William rushed him from the room and along the passage.

Dolphin rang the bell, but no one came to the door till Young William himself reappeared.

“I guess we won’t have no more trouble with that lot,” said he. “I jammed ’im inter a cupboard under the stairs, along with the brooms an’ dustpans. ’Ere’s the key. I’ll take your orders meself, gentlemen.”

“Where’s the lovely bar-maid?” asked Dolphin.

“She’s that took up with a gent that’s got a cast in his eye and a red mustache,” replied William, “that she’s got no time fer this crowd. What’s yours, Garstang? Look slippy. Don’t keep me all night.”

The men named their liquors, and Young William, taking three shillings from Dolphin, returned to the bar.

He was rather a long time away, and when he reappeared Carnac remarked, “You’ve been deuced slow over it – you’ll have to be sharper than that, if you want to be waiter in a hotel, my Sweet William.”

“You’re all very small potatoes in this room, you’re no class – you’re not in it with wall-eyed blokes. Here’s yer drinks.”

He went round the table, and carefully placed each individual’s glass at his elbow; and the game continued.

The pool fell to Carnac, and all Tresco’s money was gone.

“Here’s luck,” said the Prospector, lifting his glass to Dolphin; and when he had drunk he put his stake in the middle of the table.

Carnac rattled the dice-box. “Hello!” he said. “Kitty is short by five pounds. Who’s the defaulter?”

“Me, I’m afraid, gentlemen,” said Tresco. “I’m cleaned out. ’Case of stone-broke.”

“What’s this?” exclaimed the digger. “You ain’t got a stiver left? Well, there ain’t nothing mean about me – here y’are.” He roughly divided his money, and pushed one-half across the table to Tresco.

“Hear, hear!” cried Carnac, clapping his hands.

“’Ere, ’ere!” echoed Sweet William. “Very ’an’some, most magnanimous.”

Benjamin reached out his hand for the money, and in so doing overturned his glass, which broke into shivers on the floor.

“Good liquor spilt,” he remarked as he counted the money and drew another IOU for the amount loaned, which was sixty-seven pounds.

The play proceeded. “Here’s to you,” said Dolphin, as he drank to Tresco. “Better luck – you deserve it.”

The digger was filled with the gambler’s fever. His eyes were wild, his face was hot; he drained his glass at a draught, and drummed the table with his fingers.

“Neck or nothin’, Tresco,” he said. “Make it ten pound a corner, and let’s blanky well bust or win. Win, I say – double the stakes, and see if that’ll change our luck.”

“Anything to oblige you, gentlemen,” said Carnac. “Let it be ten pounds, and you can withdraw as soon as you win your money back. It’s a free country: you can have one throw, two, or any number you please. But don’t say you were coerced, if you lose.”

Tresco answered by putting his ten pounds in the pool.

The situation seemed to amuse Young William. He stood behind the goldsmith’s chair, holding his sides to suppress his laughter, and making pantomimic signs to Garstang, who looked on with stolid composure and an evil smile.

The players made their throws, and Carnac won the pool.

“Never mind,” cried the Prospector, with strong expletives. “There’s my stake – let me have another shy. Game to the finish.” He rose to his feet, threw his money down on the table with a bang, reeled as he stood, and sat down heavily.

And so the game went on. No luck came to Tresco, and but a few pounds remained in front of him. “One more Kitty, and that finishes me,” he said, as he placed his stake in the pool.

As usual, he lost.

“Here’s seven pounds left,” he cried. “Even money all round, and sudden death on a single throw.”

The final pool was made up. The digger threw first – a paltry seven. Dolphin followed with five. It was Tresco’s turn to play next, and he threw eleven.

Carnac dallied long with the dice. He was about to throw, when the Prospector rose from his seat and, swaying, caught at the suave gambler’s arm for support. With a rattle the dice-box fell. Carnac uttered an oath. Before the players three dice lay upon the table.

Tresco swore deep and loud, and in a moment had fastened both his hands upon the cheat’s throat. Carnac struggled, the table with all its money fell with a crash, but the sinister Garstang made a swift movement, and before Tresco’s face there glittered the barrel of a revolver.

“Drop him,” said Garstang hoarsely. “Loose hold, or you’re dead.”

The goldsmith dropped his man, but Garstang still covered him with his weapon.

“Stow the loot, William,” said Dolphin, suiting the action to the word; and while the two trusty comrades filled their pockets with gold and bank-notes, Carnac slunk from the room. With a heavy lurch the digger tumbled up against the wall, and then fell heavily to the floor.

“Don’t give so much as a squeak,” said Garstang to the goldsmith, “or you’ll lie beside your mate, only much sounder.”

Dolphin and Young William, laden with booty, now retired with all speed, and Garstang, still covering his man, walked slowly backward to the door. He made a sudden step and was gone; the door shut with a bang; the key turned in the lock, and Benjamin Tresco was left alone with the insensible form of Bill the Prospector.

“Hocussed, by Heaven!” cried the goldsmith. “Fleeced and drugged in one evening.”

CHAPTER XI

The Temptation of the Devil

The atmosphere of the little room at the back of Tresco’s shop was redolent of frying chops. The goldsmith was cooking his breakfast.

As he sneezed and coughed, and watered at the eyes, he muttered, “This is the time of all others that I feel the lack of Betsy Jane or a loving wife.”