Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [160]
‘Can we go in and watch?’ Beth asked. While barely an hour passed without her thinking about Sam, her popularity at the Monte Carlo and the constant excitement and gaiety in the town had lifted her spirits. She liked Wilbur and felt safe in his company, and as Theo and Jack never got back to the tent until at least seven in the morning, she saw no reason why she shouldn’t have a bit of fun too.
‘As it’s a big game they’ll have someone on the door stopping common folks getting in. But you ain’t common folks, so I guess I can use my powers of persuasion.’ Wilbur grinned.
He took her arm firmly and pushed his way through the people around the door of the saloon who were trying to peer through the door and windows to see the action inside.
‘You’ll let the Klondike Gypsy in, won’t you?’ he said to the burly man barring the way. ‘She’s got a mind to see the high-rollers, and maybe she’ll return the favour by playing for you one night.’
The way the big man beamed down at her made Beth realize that she’d already established a name for herself in town and it made her feel good.
‘You’re welcome in the Golden Horse Shoe, Miss Gypsy,’ he said. ‘But don’t you go distracting the game with your pretty face, or your fiddle.’
Despite the bright light on the street, inside the saloon it was gloomy and impossible to see anything, for men stood packed shoulder to shoulder, intently watching something at the back of the place. But Wilbur took Beth’s arm and led her over to the side of the room where the crowd was thinner.
He left her there to go and buy them both a drink. Beth couldn’t see the players beyond the thick wall of male shoulders, but she could sense by the tension in the room that something out of the ordinary was going on.
‘Is Mack winning?’ she whispered to a tall man she’d found herself beside.
‘He was, but he’s lost the last couple of games,’ he whispered back. ‘I reckon it might be one of the nights he throws his claim in fer a stake.’
Wilbur had told her that Mack had built his reputation as a high-roller by going right to the edge, prepared to gamble everything he had. It was said he lost half a million dollars one night, but turned up again the following evening and won it all back.
‘Who’s he playing with?’ she whispered.
‘The Swede, Dangle and a guy I ain’t seen before,’ the whisper came back.
People gave everyone nicknames in Dawson; it appeared to be a way of showing their acceptance of them. But as Beth hadn’t met either the Swede or Dangle, she felt she must take a look at them, so she moved along to where there was a pillar holding up the roof, wriggled round it and elbowed the men there out of the way.
She gasped when she finally saw the players, for one of them was Theo.
Above the table was an ornate oil lamp which created a circle of golden light in the otherwise dark room. Just beyond this circle and behind Theo she could make out Jack standing against the wall watching the game, and she could see from his stance that he was very nervous.
The three men Theo was playing with were typical Sourdoughs, bearded, with untidy hair, rough clothes and weatherbeaten faces. Clean-shaven Theo in his smart clothes and polished boots looked incongruous, even though he wasn’t much younger than the others. He’d had some good wins since they got to Dawson, but she was fairly certain he hadn’t won anything like enough to be playing for such high stakes as this.
‘Which one is Mack Dundridge?’ she whispered to the man next to her.
‘The gingery-haired fella,’ he replied. ‘No one can beat him at poker, and he’ll stay until he’s wiped out the others.’
Beth slunk further back so Theo wouldn’t spot her, and watched him for just a moment or two longer. He looked so casual and relaxed, almost lounging in his chair, the light above accentuating his high cheekbones. But she had enough knowledge of poker to know it was based on bluff, so he could well be as nervous as Jack.
The tension in the