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<h3>Chapter Seventy.</h3> <h4>An unexpected Termination.</h4> The red button remained in the bag. It was a singular circumstance that it should be the last; but such strange circumstances will sometimes occur. It belonged to Le Gros. The lottery was over; the Frenchman had forfeited life. It seemed idle for him to draw the button out; and yet, to the astonishment of the spectators, he proceeded to do so. “Sacré!” he exclaimed, “the luck’s been against me. Eh bien!” he added, with a sangfroid that caused some surprise, “I suppose I must make a die of it. Let me see the accursed thing that’s going to condemn me!” As he said this, he held up the bag in his left hand,—at the same time plunging his right into its dark interior. For some seconds he appeared, to grope about, as if he had some difficulty in finding the button. While fumbling in this fashion he let go the mouth of the wallet, which he had been holding in his left hand,—adroitly transferring his hold to its bottom. This was done apparently for the purpose of getting the button into a corner,—in order that he might lay hold of it with his fingers. For some moments the bag rested upon his left forearm, while he continued his hunt after the little piece of horn. He appeared successful at length; and drew forth his right hand, with the fingers closed over the palm, as if containing something,—of course the dread symbol of death. Stirred by a kind of curiosity, his comrades pressed mechanically around, and stood watching his movements. For an instant he kept his fist closed, holding it on high to that all might see it: and then, slowly extending his fingers, he exhibited his spread palm before their eyes. It held the button that he had drawn forth from the bag; but, to the astonishment of all, it was a black one, and not the red token that had been expected! There were but two men who did not partake of this surprise. One was Le Gros himself,—though, to all appearance, he was the most astonished individual of the party,—the other was the man who, some minutes before, might have been observed standing by his side, and stealthily transferring something from his own fingers to those of the Frenchman. This unexpected termination of the lottery led to a scene of terrific excitement. Several seized hold of the bag,—jerking it out of the hand of him who had hitherto been holding it. It was at once turned inside out; when the red button fell upon the planking of the raft. Most of the men were furious, and loudly declared that they had been cheated,—some offering conjectures as to how the cheat had been accomplished. The confederate of Le Gros—backed by the ruffian himself—suggested that there might have been no deception about the matter, but only a mistake made in the number of buttons originally thrown into the bag. “Like enough,—damned like enough!”—urged Le Gros’s sharping partner; “there’s been a button too many put into the bag,—twenty-seven instead of twenty-six. That’s how it’s come about. Well, as we all helped at the counting of ’em, therefore it’s nobody’s fault in particular. We’ll have to draw again, and the next time we can be more careful.” As no one appeared able to contradict this hypothesis, it passed off, with a number, as the correct one. Most of the men, however, felt sure that a trick had been played; and the trick itself could be easily conjectured. Some one of the drawers had procured a button similar to those inside the bag; and holding this button, had simply inserted his hand, and drawn it out again. Out of twenty-six draws it would have been impossible to fix upon the individual who had been guilty of the cheat, though there were not a few who permitted their suspicions to fall on Le Gros himself. There had been observed something peculiar in his mode of manipulation. He had inserted his hand into the wallet with the fist closed; and had drawn it out in similar fashion. This, with one or two other circumstances, looked suspicious enough; but it was remembered that some others had done the same; and as there was not enough of evidence to bring home the infamous act to its perpetrator, no one appeared either able or willing to risk making the accusation. Yes, there was one who had not yet declared himself; nor did he do so until some time had elapsed after the final and disappointing draw made by the master of the ceremonies. This man was Larry O’Gorman. While the rest of the crew had been listening to the arguments of the Frenchman’s confederate,—and one by one signifying their acquiescence,—the Irishman stood apart, apparently busied in some profound mental calculation. When at length all seemed to have consented to a second casting of lots, he roused himself from his reverie; and, stepping hastily into their midst, cried out in a determined manner, “No— “No, yez don’t,” continued he, “no more drawin’, my jewels, till we’ve had a betther undherstandin’ ov this little matther. That there’s been chatin’ yez are all agreed; only yez can’t identify the chate. Maybe I can say somethin’ to point out the dirty spalpeen as hasn’t the courage nor the dacency to take his chance along wid the rest ov us.” This unexpected interpolation at once drew the eyes of all parties upon the speaker; for all were alike interested in the revelation which O’Gorman was threatening to make. Whoever had played foul,—if it could only be proved against him,—would be regarded as the man who ought to have drawn the red button; and would be treated as if he had done so. This was tacitly understood; even before the suggestion of such a course had passed the lips of anyone. Those who were innocent were of course desirous of discovering the “black sheep,”—in order to escape the danger of a second drawing,—and, as these comprehended almost the entire crew, it was natural that an attentive ear should be given to the statement which the Irishman proposed to lay before them. All stood gazing upon him with expectant eyes. In those of Le Gros and his confederate there was a different expression. The look of the Frenchman was more especially remarkable. His jaws had fallen; his lips were white and bloodless; his eyes glared fiend-like out of their sunken sockets; while the whole cast of his features was that of a man threatened with some fearful and infamous fate, which he feels himself unable to avert. <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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