Title:  The Winds of Chance

Author:  Rex Beach

Release Date:  February, 2004 [EBook #5062] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on April 12, 2002]

Edition:  10

Language:  English

Character set encoding:  ASCII

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THE WINDS OF CHANCE

By Rex beach

Author of “The silver Horde” “The spoilers” “The iron trail” Etc.

CHAPTER I

With an ostentatious flourish Mr.  “Lucky” Broad placed a crisp ten-dollar bill in an eager palm outstretched across his folding-table.

“The gentleman wins and the gambler loses!” Mr. Broad proclaimed to the world.  “The eye is quicker than the hand, and the dealer’s moans is music to the stranger’s ear.”  With practised touch he rearranged the three worn walnut-shells which constituted his stock in trade.  Beneath one of them he deftly concealed a pellet about the size of a five-grain allopathic pill.  It was the erratic behavior of this tiny ball, its mysterious comings and goings, that had summoned Mr. Broad’s audience and now held its observant interest.  This audience, composed of roughly dressed men, listened attentively to the seductive monologue which accompanied the dealer’s deft manipulations, and was greatly entertained thereby.  “Three tiny tepees in a row and a little black medicine-man inside.”  The speaker’s voice was high-pitched and it carried like a “thirtythirty.”  “You see him walk in, you open the door, and—­ you double your money.  Awfully simple!  Simpully awful!  What?  As I live!  The gentleman wins ten more—­ten silver-tongued song-birds, ten messengers of mirth—­the price of a hard day’s toil.  Take it, sir, and may it make a better and a stronger man of you.  Times are good and I spend my money free.  I made it packin’ grub to Linderman, four bits a pound, but—­easy come, easy go.  Now then, who’s next?  You’ve seen me work.  I couldn’t baffle a sore-eyed Siwash with snow-glasses.”

Lucky Broad’s three-legged table stood among some stumps beside the muddy roadway which did service as the main street of Dyea and along which flowed an irregular stream of pedestrians; incidental to his practised manipulation of the polished walnut-shells he maintained an unceasing chatter of the sort above set down.  Now his voice was loud and challenging, now it was apologetic, always it stimulated curiosity.  One moment he was jubilant and gay, again he was contrite and querulous.  Occasionally he burst forth into plaintive self-denunciations.