She had
believed that always, but never as now, in the clearness of this
beautiful spiritual insight. Behind her belief was something
unfathomable and great. Not the movement of progress as typified by
those men who had dreamed of the railroad, nor the spirit of the
unconquerable engineers as typified by Neale, nor the wildness of
wild youth like Larry King, nor the heroic labor and simplicity and
sacrifice of common men, nor the inconceivable passion of these
gamblers for gold, nor the mystery hidden in the mad laughter of
these fallen women, strange and sad on the night wind--not any of
these things nor all of them, wonderful and incalculable as they
were, loomed so great as the spirit that upheld Allie Lee.
When she raised her head again the gambling scene had changed. Only
three men played--Hough, Durade, and another. And even as Allie
looked this third player threw his cards into the deck and with
silent gesture rose from the table to take a position with the other
black-garbed gamblers standing behind Hough. The blackness of their
attire contrasted strongly with the whiteness of their faces. They
had lost gold, which fact meant little to them. But there was
something big and significant in their presence behind Hough.
Gamblers leagued against a crooked gambling-hell! Durade had lost a
fortune, yet not all his fortune.
Pages:
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413