Gold, Gold, in Cariboo! A Story of Adventure in British Columbia

by Clive Phillipps-Wolley

  CHAPTER III.

  A LITTLE GAME OF POKER.

  "Well, Ned, how do our fellow-passengers strike you? This is a prettyhard crowd, isn't it?" asked Chance, as his eyes wandered over the mobof men of every nationality, who were jostling one another on board thesteamer _Umatilla_, ten minutes after she had left Victoria for NewWestminster.

  "Yes, they look pretty tough, most of them," assented Corbett; "but athree-weeks' beard, a patch in the seat of your pants, and a coat ofsun-tan, will bring you down to the same level, Steve. Civilized manreverts naturally to barbarism as soon as he escapes from the tailor andthe hair-dresser."

  "That's what, sonny! And I believe the only difference between a whiteman and a siwash, is that one has had more sun and less soap than theother."

  "Oh, hang it, no! I draw the line there," cried Corbett. "But look,there go the gamblers already;" and Ned pointed to a little group whichhad gathered together aft, the leading spirit amongst them appearing tobe a dark, overdressed person, who was inviting everybody at the top ofhis voice to "Chip in and take a drink."

  "They don't mean to lose much time, do they?" remarked Chance. "And, bythe way, do you see that the 'mammoth hustler,' our own colonel, isamong them?"

  "And seems to know every rascal in the gang," muttered Corbett.

  "Come and look on, Ned, and don't growl. You don't expect a real-estateagent to be a saint, do you?" remonstrated Chance.

  "Not I. I don't care a cent for cards. You go if you like. I'll justloaf and look at the scenery."

  "As you please. I don't take much stock in scenery unless I have paintedit myself, and even that sours on me sometimes;" and with this frank andquaintly expressed confession, Steve Chance turned and pushed his waythrough the crowd to a place behind Cruickshank, who welcomed himeffusively, and introduced him to his friends.

  Ned saw the artist gulp down what looked like a doctor's prescription,and light up a huge black cigar, and then turning his back upon thenoisy expectorating crowd, he leant upon the bulwarks and forgot allabout it.

  Before his eyes stretched a vast field of blue water; blue water withouta ripple upon it, save such as the steamer made, or the diving "cultus"duck, which the boat almost ran down, before the bird woke and saw itsdanger. Here and there on this blue field were groups of islands, woodedto the water's edge, and inhabited only by the breeding ducks and a fewdeer. As yet no one owned these islands, and, except for an occasionalfishing Indian, no one had ever set foot on most of them. Everythingspoke of rest and dreamful ease. What birds there were, were silent andasleep, rocked only in their slumbers by the swell from the passingboat, or else following in her wake on gliding wings which scarcelyseemed to stir. There was no wind to fret the sea, or stir an idle sail.Nature was asleep in the spring sunlight, her calm contrasting strangelywith the noise, and passion, and unrest on board the tiny boat which waspuffing and churning its way through the still waters of the straits.

  As for Ned, his ears were as deaf to the oaths and noise behind him ashis eyes were blind to the calm beauty beneath them. His eyes were wideopen, but his mind was not looking through them. As a matter of fact NedCorbett, the real Ned Corbett, was just then day-dreaming somewhere onthe banks of the Severn.

  "Can you spare me a light, sir?"

  This was the first sound that broke in upon his dreams, and Ned feltinstinctively in his waistcoat pocket, and handed the intruder thematches which he found there.

  "Thank you. I was fairly clemmed for a smoke."

  "_Clemmed_" for a smoke! It was odd, but the dialect was the dialect ofNed's dream still, and as he looked at the speaker, a broad burlyfellow, who evidently had made up his mind to have a chat, a pouch oftobacco was thrust out to him with the words: "Won't you take a fillyourself. It's pretty good baccy, and it ought to be. I had it sent tome all the way from the Wyle Cop."

  "The Wyle Cop!" ejaculated Ned. "I thought there was only one Wyle Cop.Where do you come from, then?"

  The stranger's face broadened into an honest grin.

  "What part do I come from? Surely you ought to guess. Dunno yo' know aShropshire mon, when yo' sees un?" he added, dropping into his nativedialect, and holding out to Corbett a hand too broad to get a good gripof, and as hard as gun-metal.

  Ned took the proffered hand eagerly. The sound of the home dialectstirred every chord in his heart.

  "How did you know I was Shropshire?" he asked, laughing.

  "How did I know? Well, I heard your friend call you Corbett, and thatand your yellow head and blue eyes were enough for me. But say," hecontinued, resuming the Yankee twang which he had acquired in many awestern mining camp, "if that young man over there is any account toyou, you'd better go and see after him. They'll skin him clean inanother half hour unless he owns the Bank of England."

  Corbett's eyes involuntarily followed those of his newly-found friend,and he started as they rested upon Steve Chance, who now sat nervouslychewing at the end of an unlit cigar in the middle of the poker players.

  "Your friend ain't a bad player, but he ain't old enough for thatcrowd," remarked Roberts; and so saying he pushed a way for himself andhis brother Salopian through the crowd to the back of Chance's chair.

  Except for the addition of Chance, and another youngish man who appearedto be at least half-drunk, the party of poker players was the same whichsat down to play when the _Umatilla_ left the Victoria wharf.

  Cruickshank faced Chance, and the same noisy dark fellow, who had beenanxious to assuage everyone's thirst in the morning, appeared to bestill ready to stand drinks and cigars. But the little crowd was quieterthan it had been in the morning. The players had settled down tobusiness.

  "How deuced like Cruickshank that fellow is!" whispered Corbett toRoberts.

  "Which?" answered his friend. "There are two Cruickshanks playing--Danand Bub."

  "But is the colonel any relation to the other?"

  "I do not know which you call the colonel: never heard him called bythat name before; but that's Bub" (pointing to the ringleader of theparty), "and that's Dan" (pointing to the colonel). "Some say they arebrothers, some say they are cousins. Anyway, I know _one_ is ascoundrel."

  "The deuce you do. Which of them?" But his inquiries were cut short andhis attention diverted by the action of a new-comer, who just thenpushed past him with a curt, "'Scuse _me_, sir."

  "Let him through," whispered Roberts. "I tipped him the wink, and if youlet him alone he'll fix them."

  Ned was mystified, but did as he was bid. Indeed it was too late toattempt to do otherwise, for the last-joined in that little crowd, awithered gray man, whose features looked as if they had been hardened bya hundred years of rough usage, had quietly forced his way to the frontuntil he had reached a seat at Steve Chance's elbow. It was noticeablethat though the crowd was by no means tolerant of others who tried tousurp a front place amongst them, it gave way by common consent to thenew-comer, who was moreover specially honoured with a nod and a smilefrom each of the Cruickshanks.

  Steve only seemed inclined to resent the old man's familiarity, and forany effect it had he might as well have hidden his resentment.

  "Pretty new to this coast, ain't you, sir?" remarked Mr. Rampike, afterhe had watched the game in silence for some minutes.

  "Yes, I've only been out from the East a year," replied Steve shortly,as he examined his hand.

  "Bin losing quite a bit, haven't you?" persisted his tormentor. Stevegrowled out that he _had_ lost "some," and turned his back on oldRampike with an emphatic rudeness which would have silenced most men.

  "'Scuse me, sir, one moment," remarked Rampike utterly unabashed, andhalf rising to inspect Steve's hand over his shoulder.

  A glance seemed to satisfy him.

  "Who cut those cards?" he sung out.

  "Dan Cruickshank," answered a voice from the crowd.

  "Who dole those cards?" he persisted.

  "Bub Cruickshank," replied the voice.

  "Then, young man, you pass;" and without stirring a muscl
e of his facehe coolly took from the astounded Steve four queens, and threw them uponthe table.

  For a moment Steve sat open-mouthed, utterly astounded by his adviser'simpudence, and when he tried to rise and give vent to his feelings,Corbett's heavy hand was on his shoulder and kept him down.

  Meanwhile an angry growl rose from the gamblers, but it was drowned atonce in the laugh of the crowd, as without a sign of feeling of anykind, or a single comment, old Rampike slowly pulled from a pocket underhis coat-tails an old, strangely-fashioned six-shooter, which he beganto overhaul in the casual distrait manner of one who takes a mildinterest in some weapon of a remote antiquity.

  One by one, as the old hard-fist played with his ugly toy, those whoobjected to his intervention found that they had business elsewhere, sothat when at last he let down the hammer, and replaced his "gun" underhis coat-tails, Steve and the two Shropshiremen alone remained near him.Glancing round for a moment, the old man came as near smiling as a mancould with features such as his, and then recovering himself he turnedto Steve and remarked:

  "This ain't no concern of mine, mister, but my pardner there, Roberts, Iguess he takes some stock in you and he called me, so you'll 'scuse myinterfering, but ef you should happen to play agen with Californiabilks, you mout sometimes go your pile on a poor hand, but pass fouraces, quicker nor lightning, if Bub Cruickshank deals 'em," with whichpiece of advice the old man retired again into his shell, becoming, asfar as one could judge, an absolutely silent machine for the chewing oftobacco.

  Chance, now that he had had time to pull himself together, would gladlyhave had a talk with his ally; but old Rampike would have none of him,and Corbett, in obedience to a sign from Roberts, put his arm throughhis friend's and carried him off to another part of the ship.

  "Let the old man alone," remarked Roberts, "talking isn't in his line.That is my share of the business. I sing and he fiddles."

  "All right, as you please; but I say, Mr. Roberts," said Chance, "whatin thunder did your partner mean by making me throw down four queens?"

  "Mean! why, that Bub Cruickshank had four kings or better. You don'tsuppose that those chaps are here for their health, do you?"

  "Here for their health?"

  "Well, you don't suppose that they have come all the way to BritishColumbia to play poker on the square?"

  "Then who are the Cruickshanks?" demanded Chance.

  "That is more than I know. Bub Cruickshank is just about as low-down agambler as there is on the coast; not a chap who pays up and standsdrinks when he is bust, like the count and that lot."

  "And is the colonel his brother?"

  "Some say he is, some say he isn't. But I never knew him regularly onthe gambling racket before, though he won a pile of money up at WilliamsCreek last fall.

  "Then you have been in Cariboo," Corbett remarked.

  "In Cariboo? Rather! I was there when Williams Creek was found, and forall that had to sing my way out with a splinter in my hand, and not anickel in my pocket."

  "How do you mean 'sing your way out?'"

  "I mean just what I say. My hand went back on me and swelled, so that Icouldn't work, and I just had to sing for my grub as I went along. OldRampike had a fiddle and used to play, and I used to make up the songsand sing 'em. Perhaps you've heard the 'Old pack mule.' It's a greatfavourite at the mines:

  "Ted staked and lost the usual way, But his loss he took quite cool; He was near the mines, and he'd start next day Riding on his old pack mule."

  "Riding, riding, riding on his old pack mule," sang Chance.

  "Oh, you know it, do you? Seems to me it suits your case pretty well.Well, _I_ made that;" and so saying the poet protruded his portly bosomthree inches further into space, with the air of one who had done wellby his fellow-men and knew it.

  "Are you coming up to Cariboo this spring?" asked Corbett.

  "No, we haven't dust enough to pay our way so far, more's the pity."

  "Why not come with us? I'll find the dollars if you'll lend a hand withour pack-train," suggested Corbett.

  "Well, I don't know, perhaps I might do worse; and as to that, if youare taking a pack-train along I daresay I could pretty nearly earn mygrub packing. But I must talk it over with Rampike."

  "All right, do you fix it your own way," put in Chance; "but mind, ifyou feel at all like coming, there need be no difficulty about thedollars either for you or your partner. I am pretty heavily in your debtanyway."

  "Not a bit of it. Those bilks owe us something perhaps, and if they geta chance they won't forget to pay their score. But I guess they'llhardly care to tackle Rampike, or me either for the matter of that;" andwhistling merrily his favourite tune, "Riding, riding, riding on the oldpack mule," the Cariboo poet went below for refreshment.