CHAPTER XXIX
One of his first acts in town was to negotiate a note at the bank forseveral thousand dollars. This was necessary because he had little cashand would not have much until spring, when he would sell lambs and shearhis sheep. He not only needed money for himself, but his mother andsister, after many lean years, were eager to spend.
He drove out to see Catalina, and found her big with child and utterlyindifferent to him, which piqued him slightly and relieved him a greatdeal. She had heard nothing about her father, and Ramon sent Cortez out toDomingo Canyon to see what had become of the old man. Cortez reported theplace deserted. Ramon made inquiry in town and learned that Archulera hadbeen seen there in his absence, very much dressed-up and very drunk,followed by a crowd of young Mexicans who were evidently parasites on hisnewly-acquired wealth. Then he had disappeared, and some thought he hadgone to Denver. It was evident that his five thousand dollars had provedaltogether too much for him.
Ramon now hung out a shingle, announcing himself as an attorney-at-law. Ofcourse, no business came to him. The right way to get a practice wouldhave been to go back to the office of Green or some other establishedlawyer for several years. But Ramon had no idea of doing anything sotiresome and so relatively humiliating. The idea of running errands forGreen again was repugnant to him.
He went every morning to his office and for a while he took a certainamount of satisfaction in merely sitting there, reading the local papers,smoking a cigar, now and then taking down one of his text books andreading a little. But study as such had absolutely no appeal to him. Hemight have dug at the dry case books to good purpose if he had been drivenby need, but as it was he would begin to yawn in ten or fifteen minutes,and then would put the book away. He went home to a noonday dinner ratherearly and came back in the afternoon, feeling sleepy and bored. Now theoffice, and indeed the whole town, seemed a dreary place to him. At thisseason of the year there were often high winds which mantled the town in ayellow cloud of sand, and rattled at every loose shutter and door withfutile dreary persistence. Ramon would wander about the office for alittle while with his hands in his pockets and stare out the window,feeling depressed, thoughts of his disappointment coming back to himbitterly. Then he would take his hat and go out and look for some one toplay pool with him. Often he took an afternoon off and went hunting, notalone as formerly he had done, but with as large a party as he couldgather. They would drive out into the sand hills and _mesas_ twenty orthirty miles from town, where the native quail and rabbits were stillabundant as automobiles had just begun to invade their haunts. When theyfound a covey of quail the sport would be fast and furious, with half adozen guns going at once and birds rising and falling in all directions.Ramon keenly enjoyed the hot excitement and dramatic quality of this.
At night he was usually to be found at the White Camel Pool Hall where thelocal sporting element foregathered and made its plans for the evening.Sometimes a party would be formed to "go down the line," as a visit to thered light district was called. Sometimes the rowdy dance halls of Old Townwere invaded. On Saturday nights the dance at the country club always drewa considerable attendance. There was also a "dancing class" conducted byan estimable and needy spinster named Grimes, who held assembly dancesonce in two weeks in a little hall which had been built by the Woman'sClub. This event always drew a large and very mixed crowd, including someof the "best people" and others who were considered not so good. Usuallytwo or three different sets were represented at these gatherings, eachtending to keep to itself. But there was also a tendency for the sets tooverlap. Thus a couple of very pretty German girls, who were the daughtersof a local saloon keeper, always appeared accompanied by young men oftheir own circle with whom they danced almost exclusively at first. Butyoung men of the first families could not resist their charms, and theysoon were among the most popular girls on the floor. This was deplored bythe young women of more secure social position, who were wont to remarkthat the crowd was deteriorating frightfully. Some of these same superiorvirgins found it necessary for politeness to dance with Joe Bartello, theson of an Italian saloon owner, and a very handsome and nimble-footedyouth. In a word, this was a place of social hazard and adventure, andthat was more than half its charm. It finally became so crowded thatdancing was almost impossible.
The back room at the White Camel, where poker games were nightly inprogress, also afforded Ramon frequent diversion. He played in the "big"game now, where the stakes and limits were high, and was one of the mostdaring and dangerous of its patrons. He had more money back of him thanmost of the men who played there, and he also had more courage. If hestarted a bluff he carried it through to the end, which was always bitterfor some one. He had been known to stand pat on a pair and scare every oneelse out of the game by the resolute confidence of his betting. Hisplunges, of course, sometimes cost him heavily, but for a long time he wasa moderate winner. His limitations as a poker player were finallydemonstrated to him by one Fitzhugh Chesterman, a man with one lung.
Chesterman was about twenty-six years old and had come from Richmond,Virginia, about two years before, with most of one lung gone and the otherrapidly going. He was a tall, thin blond youth with the sensitive,handsome face which so often marks the rare survivor of the old southernaristocracy. He was totally lacking in the traditional southernsentimentality. His eye had a cold twinkle of courage that even theimminent prospect of death could not quench, and his thin shapely lipsnearly always wore a smile slightly twisted by irony. He establishedhimself at the state university, which had almost a hundred students andboasted a dormitory where living was very cheap. Chesterman sat beforethis dormitory twelve to fourteen hours a day, even in relatively coldweather. He made a living by coaching students in mathematics and Greek.He never raised his voice, he seldom laughed, he never lost his temper.With his unwavering ironical smile, as though he appreciated the keenhumour of taking so much trouble over such an insignificant thing as ahuman life, he husbanded his energy and fought for health. He took all thetreatments the local sanatoria afforded, but he avoided carefully all thecolonies and other gatherings of the tubercular. When his lung began toheal, as it did after about a year, and his strength to increase, heenlarged his earnings by playing poker. He won for the simple reason thathe took no more chances than he had to. He systematically capitalizedevery bit of recklessness, stupidity and desperation in his opponents.
When Ramon first encountered him, the game soon simmered down to astruggle between the two. Never were the qualities of two races morestrikingly contrasted. Ramon bluffed and plunged. Chesterman was cautionitself, playing out antes in niggardly fashion until he had a hand whichput the law of probabilities strongly on his side. Ramon was full ofdaring, intuition, imagination, bidding always for the favour of thefates, throwing logic to the winds. He was not above moving his seat orputting on his hat to change his luck. Chesterman smiled at these things.He was cold courage battling for a purpose and praying to no deities butCause and Effect. Ramon thought he was playing for money, but he wasreally playing for the sake of his own emotions, revelling alike in hopeand despair, triumph and victory, flushed and bright-eyed. Chestermanstifled every emotion, discounted every hope, said as little as possible,never relaxed his faint twisted smile.
Ramon made some spectacular winnings, but Chesterman wore him down assurely as a slow hound wears down a deer despite its astounding bursts ofspeed. Ramon was sure to lose in the long run because he was always pilingup odds against himself by the long chances he took, while his bluffsseldom deceived his cool and courageous opponent. The finish came at oneo'clock in the morning. Chesterman was pale with exhaustion, but otherwiseunchanged. Ramon was hoarse and flushed, chewing a cigar to bits. He helda full house and determined to back it to the limit. Chesterman met him,bet for bet, raising every time. Ramon knew that he must be beaten. Heknew that Chesterman would not raise him unless he had a very strong hand.But he was beaten anyway. At the bottom of his consciousness, he knew thathe had met
a better man. He wanted to end the contest on this hand. WhenChesterman showed four kings, Ramon fell back in his chair, weak anddisgusted. The other players, most of whom had long been out of the game,got up and said good night one by one. Only the two were left, Ramonplunged in gloomy reaction, Chesterman coolly counting his money, puttingit away.
"I seem to have made quite a killing," he remarked, "how much did youlose?"
"O, I don't know {~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} about five hundred. Hell, what's five hundred to me {~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} Idon't give a damn {~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} I'm rich.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~}"
Chesterman glanced at him keenly.
"Well," he remarked, "I'm glad you feel that way about it, because I sureneed the money."
He got up and walked away with the short careful steps of a man whocherishes every ounce of his energy.
Ramon was disgusted with himself. Chesterman had made him feel like aweakling and a child. He had thought himself a lion in this game, and hehad found out that he was an easily-shorn lamb. He could not afford tolose five hundred dollars either. He was not really a rich man. He wenthome feeling deeply depressed and discouraged. Vaguely he realized that inChesterman he had encountered the spirit which he felt against himeverywhere--a cool, calculating, unmerciful spirit of single purpose,against which the play and flow of his emotional and imaginative naturewas as ineffectual as mercury against the point of a knife.
The Blood of the Conquerors Page 31