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THE STORY OF THE FOSS 
 RIVER RANCH 
 
The Story of the 
 Foss River Ranch 
 
 A Tale of the Northwest 
 By RIDGWELL CULLUM 
 
 f| 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "The I<aw Breakers," "The Way of the Strong," 
 ' 'The Watchers of the Plains." Etc. 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 
 Publishers New York 
 
 Published by Arrangement with THE PAGE COMPANY 
 
Copyright, 1903, 
 BY THE PAGE COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Published August, 1963 
 
TO MY WIFE 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I THE POLO CLUB BALL 1 
 
 II THE BLIZZARD: ITS CONSEQUENCES 12 
 
 III A BIG GAME OP POKER 24 
 
 IV Ax THE Foss RIVER RANCH 32 
 
 V THE " STRAY " BEYOND THE MUSKEG 45 
 
 VI "WAYS THAT ARE DARK" 56 
 
 VII ACROSS THE GREAT MUSKEG 64 
 
 VIII TOLD IN BAD MAN'S HOLLOW 76 
 
 IX LABLACHE'S " COUP " 88 
 
 X "AUNT" MARGARET REFLECTS 96 
 
 XI THE CAMPAIGN OPENS 110 
 
 XII LABLACHE FORCES THE FIGHT 120 
 
 XIII THE FIRST CHECK 128 
 
 XIV THE HUE AND CRY 138 
 
 XV AMONG THE HALF-BREEDS 150 
 
 XVI GAUTIER CAUSES DISSENSION 163 
 
 XVII THE NIGHT OF THE PUSKY 176 
 
 XVIII THE PUSKY 188 
 
 XIX LABLACHE'S MIDNIGHT VISITOR 200 
 
 XX A NIGHT OF TERROR 210 
 
 XXI HORROCKS LEARNS THE SECRET OF THE MUSKEG . . 219 
 
 vii 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGI 
 
 XXII THE DAY AFTER 230 
 
 XXIII THE PAW OF THE CAT 243 
 
 XXIV " POKER" JOHN ACCEPTS 253 
 
 XXV UNCLE AND NIECE 261 
 
 XXVI IN WHICH MATTERS REACH A CLIMAX 270 
 
 XXVII THE LAST GAMBLE 279 
 
 XXVIII SETTLING THE RECKONING 287 
 
 XXIX THE MAW OF THE MUSKEG . 297 
 
THE STORY OF 
 THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE POLO CLUB BALL 
 
 IT was a brilliant gathering brilliant in every sense of 
 the word. The hall was a great effort of the decorator's 
 art; the people were faultlessly dressed; the faces were 
 strong, handsome fair or dark complexioned as the case 
 might be; those present represented the wealth and fashion 
 of the Western Canadian ranching world. Intellectually, 
 too, there was no more fault to find here than is usual in a 
 ballroom in the West End of London. 
 
 It was the annual ball of the Polo Club, and that was a 
 social function of the first water in the eyes of the Calford 
 world. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Abbot, it is a matter which is quite 
 out of my province," said John Allandale, in answer to 
 a remark from his companion. He was leaning over the 
 cushioned back of the Chesterfield upon which an old lady 
 was seated, and gazing smilingly over at a group of young 
 people standing at the opposite end of the room. " Jacky 
 is one of those young ladies whose strength of character 
 carries her beyond the control of mere man. Yes, I know 
 what you would say," as Mrs. Abbot glanced up into his 
 face with a look of mildly-expressed wonder; " it is true I 
 am her uncle and guardian, but, nevertheless, I should no 
 more dream of interfering with her what shall we say? 
 
 i 
 
2 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 love affairs, than suggest her incapacity to * boss * a * round 
 up ' worked by a crowd of Mexican greasers." 
 
 " Then all I can say is that your niece is a very un- 
 fortunate girl," replied the old lady, acidly. " How old is 
 she?" 
 
 " Twenty-two." 
 
 John Allandale, or " Poker " John as he was more 
 familiarly called by all who knew him, was still looking 
 over at the group, but an expression had suddenly crept 
 into has eyes -which might, in a less robust-looking man, 
 have been taken for disquiet even fear. His companion's 
 -words Had brought home to him a partial realization of a 
 responsibility which was his. 
 
 " Twenty-two," she repeated, " and not a relative living 
 except a good-hearted but thoroughly irresponsible uncle. 
 That child is to be pitied, John." 
 
 The old man sighed. He took no umbrage at his com- 
 panion's brusquely-expressed estimation of himself. He 
 was still watching the group at the other end of the room. 
 His face was clouded, and a keen observer might have 
 detected a curious twitching of his bronzed right cheek, just 
 beneath the eye. His eyes followed the movement of a 
 beautiful girl surrounded by a cluster of men, immaculately 
 dressed, bronzed and, for the most part, wholesome- 
 looking. She was dark, almost Eastern in her type of 
 features. Her hair was black with the blackness of the 
 raven's wing, and coiled in an ample knot low upon her 
 neck. Her features, although Eastern, had scarcely the 
 regularity one expects in such a type, whilst her eyes 
 quashed without mercy any idea of such extraction for her 
 nationality. They were gray, deeply ringed at the pupil 
 with black. They were keen eyes fathomless in their sug- 
 gestion of strength eyes which might easily mask a world 
 of good or evil. 
 
 The music began, and the girl passed from amidst her 
 group of admirers upon the arm of a tall, fair man, and was 
 soon lost in the midst of the throng of dancers. 
 
THE POLO CLUB BALL 3 
 
 "Who is that she is dancing with now?" asked Mrs. 
 Abbot, presently. " I didn't see her go off; I was watching 
 Mr. Lablache standing alone and disconsolate over there 
 against the door. He looks as if some one had done him 
 some terrible injury. See how he is glaring at the danc- 
 ers." 
 
 " Jacky is dancing with * Lord ' Bill. Yes, you are right, 
 Lablache does not look very amiable. I think this would 
 be a good opportunity to suggest a little gamble in the 
 smoking-room. " 
 
 "Nothing of the sort," snapped Mrs. Abbot, with the 
 assurance of an old friend. " I haven't half finished talk- 
 ing to you yet. It is a most extraordinary thing that all 
 you people of the prairie love to call each other by nick- 
 names. Why should the Hon. William Bunning-Ford be 
 dubbed * Lord ' Bill, and why should that sweet niece of 
 yours, who is the possessor of such a charming name as 
 Joaquina, be hailed by every man within one hundred miles 
 of Calford as ' Jacky ' ? I think it is both absurd and 
 vulgar." 
 
 "Possibly you are right, my dear lady. But you can 
 never alter the ways of the prairie. You might just as well 
 try to stem the stream of our Foss River in early spring as 
 try to make the prairie man call people by their legitimate 
 names. For instance, do you ever hear me spoken of by 
 any other name than * Poker ' John? " 
 
 Mrs. Abbot looked up sharply. A malicious twinkle was 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " There is reason in your sobriquet, John. A man who 
 spends his substance and time in playing that fascinating 
 but degrading game called ' Draw Poker J deserves no better 
 title." 
 
 John Allandale made a " clucking " sound with his 
 tongue. It was his way of expressing irritation. Then he 
 stood erect, and glanced round the room in search of some 
 one. He was a tall, well-built man and carried his fifty 
 odd years fairly well, in spite of his gray hair and the bald 
 
4 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 patch at the crown of his head. Thirty years of a rancher's 
 life had in no way lessened the easy carriage and dis- 
 tinguished bearing acquired during his upbringing. John 
 Allandale's face and figure were redolent of the free life of 
 the prairie. And although, possibly, his fifty-five years 
 might have lain more easily upon him he was a man of com- 
 manding appearance and one not to be passed unnoticed. 
 
 Mrs. Abbot was the wife of the doctor of the Foss River 
 Settlement and had known John Allandale from the first 
 day he had taken up his abode on the land which after- 
 wards became known as the Foss River Ranch until now, 
 when he was acknowledged to be a power in the stock- 
 raising world. She was a woman of sound, practical, 
 common sense; he was a man of action rather than a 
 thinker; she was a woman whose moral guide was an 
 invincible sense of duty; he was a man whose sense of 
 responsibility and duty was entirely governed by an un- 
 reliable inclination. Moreover, he was obstinate without 
 being possessed of great strength of will. They were char- 
 acters utterly opposed to one another, and yet they were the 
 greatest of friends. 
 
 The music had ceased again and once more the walls 
 were lined with heated dancers, breathing hard and fanning 
 themselves. Suddenly John Allandale saw a face he was 
 looking for. Murmuring an excuse to Mrs. Abbot, he strode 
 across the room, just as his niece, leaning upon the arm 
 of the Hon. Bunning-Ford, approached where he had been 
 standing. 
 
 Mrs. Abbot glanced admiringly up into Jacky's face. 
 
 " A successful evening, Joaquina ? " she interrogated 
 kindly. 
 
 "Lovely, Aunt Margaret, thanks." She always called 
 the doctor's wife " Aunt" 
 
 Mrs. Abbot nodded. 
 
 " I believe you have danced every dance. You must be 
 tired, child. Come and sit down." 
 
 Jacky was intensely fond of this old lady and looked 
 
THE POLO CLUB BALL 5 
 
 upon her almost as a mother. Her affection was recipro- 
 cated. The girl seated herself and "Lord" Bill stood over 
 her, fan in hand. 
 
 " Say, auntie," exclaimed Jacky, " I've made up my mind 
 to dance every dance on the program. And I guess I sha'n't 
 waste time on feeding." 
 
 The girl's beautiful face was aglow with excitement 
 Mrs. Abbot's face indicated horrified amazement. 
 
 " My dear child, don't don't talk like that. It is really 
 dreadful." 
 
 " Lord " Bill smiled. 
 
 " I'm so sorry, auntie, I forgot," the girl replied, with 
 an irresistible smile. " I never can get away from the 
 prairie. Do you know, this evening old Lablache made me 
 mad, and my hand went round to my hip to get a grip on 
 my six-shooter, and I was quite disappointed to feel nothing 
 but smooth silk to my touch. I'm not fit for town life, I 
 guess. I'm a prairie girl; you can bet your life on it, and 
 nothing will civilize me. Billy, do stop wagging that 
 fan." 
 
 " Lord " Bill smiled a slow, twinkling smile and desisted. 
 He was a tall, slight man, with a faint stoop at the shoul- 
 ders. He looked worthy of his title. 
 
 " It is no use trying to treat Jacky to a becoming ap- 
 preciation of social requirements," he said, addressing him- 
 self with a sort of weary deliberation to Mrs. Abbot. " I 
 suggested an ice just now. She said she got plenty on 
 the ranch at this time of year," and he shrugged his shoul- 
 ders and laughed pleasantly. 
 
 " Well, of course. What does one want ices for? " asked 
 the girl, disdainfully. " I came here to dance. But, auntie, 
 dear, where has uncle gone? He dashed off as if he were 
 afraid of us when we came up." 
 
 " I think he has set his mind on a game at poker, dear, 
 and" 
 
 " And that means he has gone in search of that detestable 
 man, Lablache," Jacky put in sharply. 
 
6 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Her beautiful face flushed with anger as she spoke. But 
 withal there was a look of anxiety in her eyes. 
 
 "If he must play cards I wish he would play with some 
 one else," she pursued. 
 
 " Lord " Bill glanced round the room. He saw that 
 Lablache had disappeared. 
 
 "Well, you see, Lablache has taken a lot of money out 
 of all of us. Naturally we wish to get it back," he said 
 quietly, as if in defense of her uncle's doings. 
 
 "Yes, I know. And- do you?" The girl's tone was 
 cutting. 
 
 " Lord " Bill shrugged. Then, 
 
 " As yet I have not had that pleasure." 
 
 " And if I know anything of Lablache you never will," 
 put in Mrs. Abbot, curtly. " He is not given to parting 
 easily. The qualification most necessary amongst gentlemen 
 in the days of our grandfathers was keen gambling. You 
 and John, had you lived in those days, might have aspired 
 to thrones." 
 
 " Yes or taken to the road. You remember, even then, 
 it was necessary to be a ' gentleman ' of the road." 
 
 " Lord " Bill laughed in his lazy fashion. His keen gray 
 eyes were half veiled with eyelids which seemed too weary 
 to lift themselves. He was a handsome man, but his 
 general air of weariness belied the somewhat eagle cast of 
 countenance which was his. Mrs. Abbot, watching him, 
 thought that the deplorable lassitude which he always 
 exhibited masked a very different nature. Jacky possibly 
 had her own estimation of the man. Whatever it was, 
 her friendship for him was not to be doubted, and, on his 
 part, he never attempted to disguise his admiration of 
 her. 
 
 A woman is often a much keener observer of men than ?he 
 is given credit for. A man is frequently disposed to judge 
 another man by his mental talents and his peculiarities of 
 temper or blatant self-advertisement. A woman's first 
 thought is for that vague, but comprehensive trait " manli- 
 
THE POLO CLUB BALL 7 
 
 ness." She drives straight home for the peg upon which 
 to hang her judgment. That is why in feminine regard 
 the bookworm goes to the wall to make room for the 
 athlete. Possibly Jacky and Mrs. Abbot had probed 
 beneath " Lord " Bill's superficial weariness and discov- 
 ered there a nature worthy of their regard. They were 
 both, in their several ways, fond of this scion of a noble 
 house. 
 
 "It is all very well for you good people to sit there and 
 lecture or, at least, say ' things/ " " Lord " Bill went on. 
 " A man must have excitement. Life becomes a burden to 
 the man who lives the humdrum existence of ranch life. 
 For the first few years it is all very well. He can find a 
 certain excitement in learning the business. The ' round- 
 ups ' and branding and re-branding of cattle, these things 
 are fascinating for a time. Breaking the wild and woolly 
 broncho is thrilling and he needs no other tonic; but when 
 one has gone through all this and he finds that no Broncho 
 or, for that matter, any other horse ever foaled cannot 
 be ridden, it loses its charm and becomes boring. On the 
 prairie there are only two things left for him to do drink 
 or gamble. The first is impossible. It is low, degrading. 
 Besides it only appeals to certain senses, and does not give 
 one that * hair-curling ' thrill which makes life tolerable. 
 Consequently the wily pasteboard is brought forth and 
 we live again." 
 
 " Stuff," remarked Mrs. Abbot, uncompromisingly. 
 
 " Bill, you make me laugh," exclaimed Jacky, smiling up 
 into his face. " Your arguments are so characteristic of 
 you. I believe it is nothing but sheer indolence that makes 
 you sit down night after night and hand over your dollars 
 to that that Lablache. How much have you lost to him 
 this week?" 
 
 " Lord " Bill glanced quizzically down at the girl. 
 
 " I have purchased seven evenings' excitement at a fairly 
 reasonable price." 
 
 "Which means?" 
 
8 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 The girl leant forward and in her eyes was a look of 
 anxiety. She meant to have the truth. 
 
 " I have enjoyed myself." 
 
 "But the price?" 
 
 "Ah here comes your partner for the next dance," 
 " Lord " Bill went on, still smiling. " The band has struck 
 up." 
 
 At that moment a broad-shouldered man, with a com- 
 plexion speaking loudly of the prairie, came up to claim the 
 girl. 
 
 " Hallo, Pickles," said Bill, quietly turning upon the new- 
 comer and ignoring Jacky's question. " Thought you said 
 you weren't coming in to-night ? " 
 
 "Neither was I," the man addressed as "Pickles" re- 
 torted, " but Miss Jacky promised me two dances," he went 
 on, in strong Irish brogue; "that settled it. How d'ye do, 
 Mrs. Abbot? Come along, Miss Jacky, we're losing half 
 our dance." 
 
 The girl took the proffered arm and was about to move 
 off. She turned and spoke to " Lord " Bill over her shoul- 
 der. 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 Bill shrugged his shoulders in a deprecating fashion. The 
 same gentle smile hovered round his sleepy eyes. 
 
 " Three thousand dollars." 
 
 Jacky glided off into the already dancing throng. 
 
 For a moment the Hon. Bunning-Ford and Mrs. Abbot 
 watched the girl as she glided in and out amongst the 
 dancers, then, with a sigh, the old lady turned to her com- 
 panion. Her kindly wrinkled old face wore a sad expres- 
 sion and a half tender look was in her eyes as they rested 
 upon the man's face. When she spoke, however, her tone 
 was purely conversational. 
 
 " Are you not going to dance ? " 
 
 " No," abstractedly. " I think I've had enough." 
 
 " Then come and sit by me and help to cheer an old 
 woman up." 
 
THE POLO CLUB BALL 9 
 
 " Lord " Bill smiled as he seated himself upon the 
 lounge. 
 
 " I don't think there is much necessity for my cheering 
 influence, Aunt Margaret. Amongst your many other 
 charming qualities cheerfulness is not the least. Doesn't 
 Jacky look lovely to-night? " 
 
 " To-night ? always." 
 
 " Yes, of course but Jacky always seems to surpass 
 herself under excitement. One would scarcely expect it, 
 knowing her as we do. But she is as wildly delighted with 
 dancing as any miss fresh from school." 
 
 " And why not ? It is little pleasure that comes into her 
 life. An orphan barely twenty-two with the entire 
 responsibility of her uncle's ranch upon her shoulders. Liv- 
 ing in a very hornet's nest of blacklegs and and " 
 
 " Gamblers," put in the man, quietly. 
 
 " Yes," Aunt Margaret went on defiantly, " gamblers. 
 With the certain knowledge that the home she struggles 
 for, through no fault of her own, is passing into the hands 
 of a man she hates and despises " 
 
 " And who by the way is in love with her." " Lord " 
 Bill's mouth was curiously pursed. 
 
 " What pleasure can she have ? " exclaimed Mrs. Abbot, 
 vehemently. " Sometimes, much as I am attached to John, 
 I feel as if I should like to .to bang him! " 
 
 " Poor old John ! " Bill's bantering tone nettled the old 
 lady, but she said no more. Her anger against those she 
 loved could not last long. 
 
 " * Poker ' John loves his niece," the man went on, as his 
 companion remained silent. " There is nothing in the world 
 he would not do for her, if it lay within his power." 
 
 " Then let him leave poker alone. His gambling is break- 
 ing her heart." 
 
 The angry light was again in the old lady's eyes. Her 
 companion did not answer for a moment. His lips had 
 assumed that curious pursing. When he spoke it was with 
 great decision. 
 
10 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " Impossible, my dear lady utterly impossible. Can 
 the Foss River help freezing in winter? Can Jacky help 
 talking prairie slang? Can Lablache help grubbing for 
 money? Can you help caring for all of our worthless selves 
 who belong to the Foss River Settlement? Nothing 
 can alter these things. John would play poker on the 
 lid of his own coffin, while the undertakers were wind- 
 ing his shroud about him if they'd lend him a pack of 
 cards." 
 
 " I believe you encourage him in it," said the old lady, 
 mollified, but still sticking to her guns. " There is little to 
 choose between you." 
 
 The man shrugged his indolent shoulders. This dear 
 old lady's loyalty to Jacky, and, for that matter, to all her 
 friends, pleased while it amused him. 
 
 "Maybe." Then abruptly, "Let's talk of something 
 else." 
 
 At that moment an elderly man was seen edging his way 
 through the dancers. He came directly over to Mrs. Ab- 
 bot. 
 
 " It's getting late, Margaret," he said, pausing before her. 
 " I am told it is rather gusty outside. The weather 
 prophets think we may have a blizzard on us before morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " I shouldn't be at all surprised," put in the Hon. Bun- 
 ning-Ford. " The sun-dogs have been showing for the last 
 two days. I'll see what Jacky says, and then hunt out old 
 John." 
 
 " Yes, for goodness* sake don't let us get caught in a 
 blizzard," exclaimed Mrs. Abbot, fearfully. " If there is 
 one thing I'm afraid of it is one of those terrible storms. 
 We have thirty-five miles to go." 
 
 The new-comer, Dr. Abbot, smiled at his wife's terrified 
 look, but, as he turned to urge Bill to hurry, there was a 
 slightly anxious look on his face. 
 
 " Hurry up, old man. I'll go and see about our sleigh." 
 Then in an undertone, " You can exaggerate a little to per- 
 
THE POLO CLUB BALL 11 
 
 suade them, for the storm is coming on and we must get 
 away at once." 
 
 A moment or two later " Lord " Bill and Jacky were 
 making their way to the smoking-room. On the stairs they 
 met " Poker " John. He was returning to the ball-room. 
 
 " We were just coming to look for you, uncle," exclaimed 
 Jacky. " They tell us it is blowing outside." 
 
 " Just what I was coming to tell you, my dear. We must 
 be going. Where are the doctor and Aunt Margaret? " 
 
 "Getting ready," said Bill, quietly. "Have a good 
 game?" 
 
 The old man smiled. His bronzed face indicated ex- 
 treme satisfaction. 
 
 "Not half bad, boy not half bad. Relieved Lablache 
 of five hundred dollars in the last jackpot. Held four 
 deuces. He opened with full on aces." 
 
 " Poker " John seemed to have forgotten the past heavy 
 losses, and spoke gleefully of the paltry five hundred he had 
 just scooped in. 
 
 The girl looked relieved, and even the undemonstrative 
 " Lord " Bill allowed a scarcely audible sigh to escape him. 
 Jacky returned at once to the exigencies of the moment. 
 
 " Then, uncle, dear, let us hurry up. I guess none of us 
 want to be caught in a blizzard. Say, Bill, take me to the 
 cloak-room, right away." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 THE BLIZZARD: ITS CONSEQUENCES 
 
 ON the whole, Canada can boast of one of the most per- 
 fect health-giving climates in the world, despite the two 
 extremes of heat and cold of which it is composed. But 
 even so the Canadian climate is cursed by an evil which 
 every now and again breaks loose from the bonds which 
 fetter it, and rages from east to west, carrying death and 
 destruction in its wake. I speak of the terrible the raging 
 Blizzard! 
 
 To appreciate the panic-like haste with which the Foss 
 River Settlement party left the ballroom, one must have 
 lived a winter in the west of Canada. The reader who sits 
 snugly by his or her fireside, and who has never experienced 
 a Canadian winter, can have no conception of one of those 
 dread storms, the very name of which had drawn words of 
 terror from one who had lived the greater part of her life in 
 the eastern shadow of the Rockies. Hers was no timid, 
 womanly fear for ordinary inclemency of weather, but a 
 deep-rooted dread of a life-and-death struggle in a merciless 
 storm, than which, in no part of the world, can there be 
 found a more fearful. Whence it comes and why, 
 surely no one may say. A meteorological expert may 
 endeavor to account for it, but his argument is uncon- 
 vincing and gains no credence from the dweller on the 
 prairies. And why? Because the storm does not come 
 from above neither does it come from a specified direc- 
 tion. And only in the winter does such a wind blow. The 
 wind buffets from every direction at once. No snow falls 
 from above and yet a blinding gray wall of snow, swept 
 up from the white-clothed ground, encompasses the dazed 
 traveller. His arm outstretched in daylight and he cannot 
 
 12 
 
THE BLIZZARD: ITS CONSEQUENCES 13 
 
 see the tips of his heavy fur mitts. Bitter cold, a hundred 
 times intensified by the merciless force of the wind, and he 
 is lost and freezing slowly freezing to death. 
 
 As the sleigh dashed through the outskirts of Calford, on 
 its way to the south, there was not much doubt in the 
 minds of any of its occupants as to the prospects of the 
 storm. The gusty, patchy wind, the sudden sweeps of 
 hissing, cutting snow, as it slithered up in a gray dust in 
 the moonlight, and lashed, with stinging force, into their 
 faces, was a sure herald of the coming " blizzard." 
 
 Bunning-Ford and Jacky occupied the front seat of the 
 sleigh. The former was driving the spanking team of blacks 
 of which old " Poker " John was justly proud. The sleigh 
 was open, as in Canada all such sleighs are. Mrs. Abbot 
 and the doctor sat in a seat with their backs to Jacky and 
 her companion, and old John Allandale faced the wind in 
 the back seat, alone. Thirty-five miles the horses had to 
 cover before the storm thoroughly established itself, and 
 " Lord " Bill was not a slow driver. 
 
 The figures of the travellers were hardly distinguishable 
 so enwrapped were they in beaver caps, buffalo coats and 
 robes. Jacky, as she sat silently beside her companion, 
 might have been taken for an inanimate bundle of furs, so 
 lost was she within the ample folds of her buffalo. But 
 for the occasional turn of her head, as she measured with 
 her eyes the rising of the storm, she gave no sign of life. 
 
 " Lord " Bill seemed indifferent. His eyes were fixed 
 upon the road ahead and his hands, encased in fur mitts, 
 were on the " lines " with a tenacious grip. The horses 
 needed no urging. They were high-mettled and cold. The 
 gushing quiver of their nostrils, as they drank in the crisp, 
 night air, had a comforting sound for the occupants of the 
 sleigh. Weather permitting, those beautiful " blacks " 
 would do the distance in under three hours. 
 
 The sleigh bells jangled musically in response to the high 
 steps of the horses as they sped over the hard, snow-covered 
 trail. They were climbing the long slope which was to 
 
14 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 take them out of the valley wherein was Calford situate. 
 Presently Jack's face appeared from amidst the folds of the 
 muffler which kept her storm collar fast round her neck and 
 ears. 
 
 " It's gaming on us, Billy." 
 
 " Yes, I know." 
 
 He understood her remark. He knew she referred to the 
 storm. His lips were curiously pursed. A knack he had 
 when stirred out of himself. 
 
 " We shan't do it." 
 
 The girl spoke with conviction. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Guess we'd better hit the trail for Norton's. Soldier 
 Joe'll be glad to welcome us." 
 
 " Lord " Bill did not answer. He merely chirruped at 
 the horses. The willing beasts increased their pace and 
 the sleigh sped along with that intoxicating smoothness only 
 to be felt when travelling with double " bobs " on a perfect 
 trail. 
 
 The gray wind of the approaching blizzard was becoming 
 fiercer. The moon was already enveloped in a dense haze. 
 The snow was driving like fine sand in the faces of the 
 travellers. 
 
 " I think we'll give it an hour, Bill. After that I guess 
 it'll be too thick," pursued the girl. " What d'you think, 
 can we make Norton's in that time it's a good sixteen 
 miles?" 
 
 " I'll put 'em at it," was her companion's curt response. 
 
 Neither spoke for a minute. Then "Lord" Bill bent 
 his head suddenly forward. The night was getting blacker 
 and it was with difficulty that he could keep his eyes from 
 blinking under the lash of the whipping snow. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Jacky, ever on the alert with the 
 instinct of the prairie. 
 
 " Some one just ahead of us. The track is badly broken 
 in places. Sit tight, I'm going to touch 'em up." 
 
 He flicked the whip over the horses' backs, and, a mo- 
 
THE BLIZZARD: ITS CONSEQUENCES 15 
 
 ment later, the sleigh was flying along at a dangerous pace. 
 The horses had broken into a gallop. 
 
 " Lord " Bill seemed to liven up under the influence of 
 speed. The wind was howling now, and conversation was 
 impossible, except in short, jerky sentences. They were 
 on the high level of the prairie and were getting the full 
 benefit of the open sweep of country. 
 
 "Cold?" Bill almost shouted. 
 
 " No," came the quiet response. 
 
 " Straight, down-hill trail. I'm going to let 'em have 
 their heads." 
 
 Both of these people knew every inch of the road they 
 were travelling. There was no fear in their hearts. 
 
 " Put 'em along, then." 
 
 The horses raced along. The deadly gray wind had 
 obscured all light. The lights of the sleigh alone showed 
 the tracks. It was a wild night and every moment it seemed 
 to become worse. Suddenly the man spoke again. 
 
 " I wish we hadn't got the others with us, Jacky." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because I could put 'em along faster, as it is " His 
 sentence remained unfinished, the sleigh bumped and lifted 
 on to one runner. It was within an ace of overturning. 
 There was no need to finish his sentence. 
 
 " Yes, I understand, Bill. Don't take too many chances. 
 Ease 'em up some. They're not as young as we are 
 not the horses. The others." 
 
 " Lord " Bill laughed. Jacky was so cool. The word 
 fear was not in her vocabulary. This sort of a journey was 
 nothing new to her. She had experienced it all before. 
 Possibly, however, her total lack of fear was due to her 
 knowledge of the man who, to use her own way of express- 
 ing things, " was at the business end of the lines." " Lord " 
 Bill was at once the finest and the most fearless teamster 
 for miles around. Under the cloak of indolent indifference 
 he concealed a spirit of fearlessness and even recklessness 
 which few accredited to him. 
 
16 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 For some time the two remained silent. The minutes 
 sped rapidly and half an hour passed. All about was pitch 
 black now. The wind was tearing and shrieking from every 
 direction at once. The sleigh seemed to be the center of 
 its attack. The blinding clouds of snow, as they swept up 
 from the ground, were becoming denser and denser and 
 offered a fierce resistance to the racing horses. Another few 
 minutes and the two people on the front seat knew that 
 progress would be impossible. As it was, " Lord " Bill 
 was driving more by instinct than by what he could see. 
 the trail was obscured, as were all landmarks. He could 
 no longer see the horses' heads. 
 
 " We've passed the school-house," said Jacky, at last. 
 
 " Yes, I know." 
 
 A strange knowledge or instinct is that of the prairie man 
 or woman. Neither had seen the school-house or anything 
 to indicate it. And yet they knew they had passed it. 
 
 " Half a mile to Trout Creek. Two miles to Norton's. 
 Can you do it, Bill?" 
 
 Quietly as the words were spoken, there was a world of 
 meaning in the question. To lose their way now would be 
 worse, infinitely, than to lose oneself in one of the sandy 
 deserts of Africa. Death was in that biting wind and in 
 the blinding snow. Once lost, and, in two or three hours, 
 all would be over. 
 
 " Yes," came the monosyllabic reply. " Lord " Bill's lips 
 were pursed tightly. Every now and then he dashed the 
 snow and breath icicles from his eyelashes. The horses 
 were almost hidden from his view. 
 
 They were descending a steep gradient and they now 
 knew that they were upon Trout Creek. At the creek Bill 
 pulled up. It was the first stop since leaving Calford. 
 Jacky and he jumped down. Each knew what the other 
 was about to do without speaking. Jacky, reins in hand, 
 went round the horses; "Lord" Bill was searching for the 
 trail which turned off from the main road up the creek to 
 Norton's. Presently he came back. 
 
THE BLIZZARD: ITS CONSEQUENCES 17 
 
 "Animals all right?" 
 
 " Fit as fiddles," the girl replied. 
 
 " Right jump up ! " 
 
 There was no assisting this girl to her seat. No " by 
 your leave " or European politeness. Simply the word of 
 one man who knows his business to another. Both were 
 on their " native heath." 
 
 Bill checked the horses' impetuosity and walked them 
 slowly until he came to the turning. Once on the right road, 
 however, he let them have their heads. 
 
 " It's all right, Jacky," as the horses bounded forward. 
 
 A few minutes later the sleigh drew up at Norton's, but 
 so dark was it and so dense the snow fog, that only those 
 two keen watchers on the front seat were able to discern 
 the outline of the house. 
 
 " Poker " John and the doctor assisted the old lady to 
 alight whilst Jacky and " Lord " Bill unhitched the horses. 
 In spite of the cold the sweat was pouring from the animals' 
 sides. In answer to a violent summons on the storm door 
 a light appeared in the window and " soldier " Joe Norton 
 opened the door. 
 
 For an instant he stood in the doorway peering doubt- 
 fully out into the storm. A goodly picture he made as he 
 stood lantern in hand, his rugged old face gazing inquir- 
 ingly at his visitors. 
 
 "Hurry up, Joe, let us in," exclaimed Allandale. " We 
 are nearly frozen to death." 
 
 " Why, bless my soul ! bless my soul ! Come in ! 
 Come in! " the old man exclaimed hastily as he recognized 
 John Allendale's voice. " You out, and on a night like 
 this. Bless my soul ! Come in ! Down, Husky, down ! " 
 to a bob-tail sheep-dog which bounded forward and barked 
 savagely. 
 
 "Hold on, Joe," said "Poker" John. "Let the ladies 
 go in, we must see to the horses." 
 
 " It's all right, uncle," said Jacky, " we've unhitched 'em. 
 Bill's taken 'em right away to the stables." 
 
18 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 The whole party passed into Joe Norton's sitting-room, 
 where the old farmer at once set about kindling, with the 
 aid of some coal-oil, a fire in the great box-stove. While his 
 host was busy John took the lantern and went to " Lord " 
 Bill's assistance in the stables. 
 
 The stove lighted, Joe Norton turned to his guests. 
 
 " Bless me, and to think of you, Mrs. Abbot, and Miss 
 Jacky, too. I must fetch the o'd 'ooman. Hi, Molly, 
 Molly, bestir yourself, old girl. Come on down, an' help 
 the ladies. They've come for shelter out o' the blizzard 
 good luck to it." 
 
 " Oh, no, don't disturb her, Joe," exclaimed Mrs. Abbot; 
 " it's really too bad, at this unearthly hour. Besides, we 
 shall be quite comfortable here by the stove." 
 
 "No doubt no doubt," said the old man, cheerfully, 
 " but that's not my way not my way. Any of you froze," 
 he went on ungrammatically, " 'cause if so, out you go and 
 thaw it out in the snow." 
 
 " I guess there's no one frozen," said Jacky, smiling into 
 the old man's face. "We're too old birds for that. Ah, 
 here's Mrs. Norton." 
 
 Another warm greeting and the two ladies were hustled 
 off to the only spare bedroom the Nortons boasted. By 
 this time "Lord" Bill and "Poker" John had returned 
 from the stables. While the ladies were removing their 
 furs, which were sodden with the melting snow, the farmer's 
 wife was preparing a rough but ample meal of warm prov- 
 ender in the kitchen. Such is hospitality in the Far North- 
 West. 
 
 When the supper was prepared the travellers sat down to 
 the substantial fare. None were hungry be it remem- 
 bered that it was three o'clock in the morning but each 
 felt that some pretense in that direction must be made, or 
 the kindly couple would think their welcome was insuf- 
 ficient. 
 
 " An' what made you venture on the trail on such a 
 night? " asked old Norton, as he poured out a joram of 
 
THE BLIZZARD: ITS CONSEQUENCES 19 
 
 hot whiskey for each of the men. "A moral cert, you 
 wouldn't strike Foss River in such a storm." 
 
 " We thought it would have held off longer," said Dr. 
 Abbot. " It was no use getting cooped up in town for two 
 or three days. You know what these blizzards are. You 
 may have to do with us yourself during the next forty-eight 
 hours." 
 
 " It's too sharp to last, Doc," put in Jacky, as she helped 
 herself to some soup. Her face was glowing after her ex- 
 posure to the elements. She looked very beautiful and not 
 one whit worse for the drive. 
 
 " Sharp enough sharp enough," murmured old Norton, 
 as if for something to say. 
 
 " Sharp enough to bring some one else to your hospita- 
 ble abode, Joe," interrupted " Lord " Bill, quietly; " I hear 
 sleigh bells. The wind's howling, but their tone is famil- 
 iar." 
 
 They were all listening now. "Poker" John was the 
 first to speak. 
 
 "It's" and he paused. 
 
 Before he could complete his sentence Jacky filled up the 
 missing words. 
 
 "Lablache for a dollar." 
 
 There was a moment's silence in that rough homely little 
 kitchen. The expression of the faces of those around the 
 board indexed a general thought. 
 
 Lablache, if it were he, would not receive the cordial 
 welcome which had been meted out to the others. Norton 
 broke the silence. 
 
 "Dang it! That's what I ses, dang it! You'll pardon 
 me, ladies, but my feelings get the better of me at times. 
 I don't like him. Lablache I hates him," and he strode 
 out of the room, his old face aflame with annoyance, to 
 discharge the hospitable duties of the prairie. 
 
 As the door closed behind him Dr. Abbot laughed con- 
 strainedly. 
 
 " Lablache doesn't seem popular here." 
 
20 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 No one answered his remark. Then " Poker " John 
 looked over at the other men. 
 
 " We must go and help to put his horses away." 
 
 There was no suggestion in his words, merely a statement 
 of plain facts. " Lord " Bill nodded and the three men rose 
 and went to the door. 
 
 As they disappeared Jacky turned to Mrs. Norton and 
 Aunt Margaret. 
 
 " If that's Lablache I'm off to bed." 
 
 Her tone was one of uncompromising decision. Mrs. 
 Abbot was less assured. 
 
 " Do you think it polite wise? " 
 
 " Come along, aunt. Never mind about politeness or 
 wisdom. What do you say, Mrs. Norton ? " 
 
 " As you like, Miss Jacky. I must stay up, or " 
 
 " Yes the men can entertain him." 
 
 Just then Lablache's voice was heard outside. It was a 
 peculiar, guttural, gasping voice. Aunt Margaret looked 
 doubtfully from Jacky to Mrs. Norton. The latter nodded 
 smilingly. Then following Jacky's lead she passed up the 
 staircase which led from the kitchen to the rooms above. 
 A moment later the door opened and Lablache and the other 
 men entered. 
 
 " They've gone to bed," said Mrs. Norton, in answer to 
 " Poker " John's look of inquiry. 
 
 " Tired, no doubt," put in Lablache, drily. 
 
 " And not without reason, I guess," retorted " Poker " 
 John, sharply. He had not failed to note the other's tone. 
 
 Lablache laughed quietly, but his keen, restless eyes shot 
 an unpleasant glance at the speaker from beneath their heavy 
 lids. 
 
 He was a burly man. In bulk he was of much the same 
 proportions as old John Allendale. But while John was 
 big with the weight of muscle and frame, Lablache was 
 flabby with fat. In face he was the antithesis of the other. 
 Whilst " Poker " John was the picture of florid tanning - 
 while his face, although perhaps a trifle weak in its lower 
 
THE BLIZZARD: ITS CONSEQUENCES 21 
 
 formation, was bold, honest, and redounding with kindly 
 nature, Lablache's was bilious-looking and heavy with 
 obesity. Whatever character was there, it was lost in the 
 heavy folds of flesh with which it was wreathed. His jowl 
 was ponderous, and his little mouth was tightly compressed, 
 while his deep-sunken, bilious eyes peered from beween 
 heavy, lashless lids. 
 
 Such was Verner Lablache, the wealthiest man of the 
 Foss River Settlement. He owned a large store in the place, 
 selling farming machinery to the settlers and ranchers about. 
 His business was always done on credit, for which he 
 charged exorbitant rates of interest, accepting only first 
 mortgages upon crops and stock as security. Besides this 
 he represented several of the Calford private banks, which 
 many people said were really owned by him, and there was 
 no one more ready to lend money on the best of security 
 and the highest rate of interest than he. Should the bor- 
 rower fail to pay, he was always suavely ready to renew the 
 loan at increased interest provided the security was sound. 
 And, in the end, every ounce of his pound of flesh, plus not 
 less than fifty per cent, interest, would come back to him. 
 After Verner Lablache had done with him, the unfortunate 
 rancher who borrowed generally disappeared from the 
 neighborhood. Sometimes this man's victims were never 
 heard of again. Sometimes they were discovered doing the 
 " chores " round some obscure farmer's house. Anyway, 
 ranch, crops, stock everything the man ever had would 
 have passed into the hands of the money-lender, Lablache. 
 
 Hard-headed dealer money-grubber as Lablache 
 was, he had a weakness. To look at him to know him 
 no one would have thought it, but he had. And at least two 
 of those present were aware of his secret. He was in love 
 with Jacky. That is to say, he coveted her desired her. 
 When Lablache desired anything in that little world of his, 
 he generally secured it to himself, but, in this matter, he 
 had hitherto been thwarted. His desire had increased pro- 
 portionately. He was annoyed to think that Jacky had re- 
 
22 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 tired at his coming. He was in no way blind to the reason of 
 her sudden departure, but beyond his first remark he was 
 not the man to advertise his chagrin. He could afford to 
 wait. 
 
 "You'll take a bite o' supper, Mr. Lablache?" said old 
 Norton, in a tone of inquiry. 
 
 " Supper? no, thanks, Norton. But if you've a drop of 
 something hot I can do with that." 
 
 " We've gener'ly got somethin' o' that about," replied the 
 old man. " Whiskey or rum? " 
 
 " W T hisky, man, whisky. I've got liver enough already 
 without touching rum." Then he turned to " Poker " John. 
 
 " It's a devilish night, John, devilish. I started before 
 you. Thought I could make the river in time. I was com- 
 pletely lost on the other side of the creek. I fancy the 
 storm worked up from that direction." 
 
 He lumped into a chair close beside the stove. The others 
 had already seated themselves. 
 
 " We didn't chance it. Bill drove us straight here," said 
 " Poker " John. 
 
 " Guess Bill knew something he generally does," as an 
 afterthought. 
 
 " I know a blizzard when I see it," said Bunning-Ford, 
 indifferently. 
 
 Lablache sipped his whisky. A silence fell on that 
 gathering of refugees. Mrs. Norton had cleared the supper 
 things. 
 
 "Well, if you gents'll excuse me I'll go back to bed. 
 Old Joe'll look after you," she said abruptly. "Good- 
 night to you all." 
 
 She disappeared up the staircase. The men remained 
 silent for a moment or two. They were getting drowsy. 
 Suddenly Lablache set his glass down and looked at his 
 watch. 
 
 " Four o'clock, gentlemen. I suppose, Joe, there are no 
 beds for us." The old farmer shook his head. " What say, 
 John Doc a little game until breakfast ? " 
 
THE BLIZZARD: ITS CONSEQUENCES 23 
 
 John Allendale's face lit up. His sobriquet was no idle 
 one. He lived for poker he loved it. And Lablache 
 knew it. Old John turned to the others. His right cheek 
 twitched as he waited the decision. " Doc " Abbot smiled 
 approval; "Lord" Bill shrugged indifferently. The old 
 gambler rose to his feet. 
 
 " That's all right, then. The kitchen table is good enough 
 for us. Come along, gentlemen." 
 
 " I'll slide off to bed, I guess," said Norton, thankful to 
 escape a night's vigil. " Good-night, gentlemen." 
 
 Then the remaining four sat down to play. 
 
 The far-reaching consequences of that game were 
 undreamt of by the players, except, perhaps, by Lablache. 
 His story of the reason of his return to Norton's farm was 
 only partially true. He had returned in the hopes of this 
 meeting; he had anticipated this game. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 A BIG GAME OF POKER 
 
 " WHAT about cards ? " said Lablache, as the four men sat 
 down to the table. 
 
 " Doc will oblige, no doubt," Bunning-Ford replied 
 quietly. " He generally carries the ' pernicious paste- 
 boards ' about with him." 
 
 " The man who travels in the West without them," said 
 Dr. Abbot, producing a couple of new packs from his pocket, 
 " either does not know his country or is a victim of super- 
 stition." 
 
 No one seemed inclined to refuse the doctor's statement, 
 or enter into a discussion upon the matter. Instead, each 
 drew out a small memorandum block and pencil : a sure 
 indication of a " big game." 
 
 "Limit? " asked the doctor. 
 
 Lablache shrugged his shoulders, affectionately shuffling 
 the cards the while. He kept his eyes averted. 
 
 " What do the others say? " 
 
 There was a challenge in Lablache's tone. Bunning- 
 Ford flushed slightly at the cheek-bones. That peculiar 
 pursing was at his lips. 
 
 " Anything goes with me. The higher the game the 
 greater the excitement," he said, shooting a keen glance at 
 the pasty face of the money-lender. 
 
 Old John was irritated. His ruddy face gleamed in the 
 light of the lamp. The nervous twitching of the cheek in- 
 dicated his frame of mind. Lablache smiled to himself 
 behind the wood expression of his face. 
 
 "Twenty dollars call for fifty. Limit the bet to three 
 
 24 
 
A BIG GAME OF POKER 25 
 
 thousand dollars. Is that big enough for you, Lablache? 
 Let us have a regulation * ante.' No * straddling/ >! 
 
 There was a moment's silence. " Poker " John had pro- 
 posed the biggest game they had yet played. He would 
 have suggested no limit, but this he knew would be all in 
 favor of Lablache, whose resources were vast. 
 
 John glanced over from the money-lender to the doctor. 
 The doctor and Bunning-Ford were the most to be con- 
 sidered. Their resources were very limited. The old man 
 knew that the doctor was one of those careful players who 
 was not likely to allow himself to suffer by the height of 
 the stakes. There was no bluffing the doctor. " Lord " 
 Bill was able to take care of himself. 
 
 " That's good enough for me," said Bunning-Ford. " Let 
 it go at that" 
 
 Outwardly Lablache was indifferent; inwardly he ex- 
 perienced a sense of supreme satisfaction at the height of 
 the stakes. 
 
 The four men relapsed into silence as they cut for the 
 deal. It was an education in the game to observe each man 
 as he, metaphorically speaking, donned his mask of im- 
 passive reserve. As the game progressed any one of those 
 four men might have been a graven image as far as the 
 expression of countenance went. No word was spoken 
 beyond " Raise you so and so " " See you that." So keen, 
 so ardent was the game that the stake might have been one 
 of life and death. No money passed. Just slips of paper; 
 and yet any one of those fragments represented a small 
 fortune. 
 
 The first few hands resulted in but desultory betting. 
 Sums of money changed hands but there was very little in 
 it. Lablache was the principal loser. Three " pots " in 
 succession were taken by John Allandale, but their aggre- 
 gate did not amount to half the limit. A little luck fell 
 to Bunning-Ford. He once raised Lablache to the limit. 
 The money-lender " saw " him and lost. Bill promptly 
 scooped in three thousand dollars. The doctor was 
 
26 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 cautious. He had lost and won nothing. Then a change 
 came over the game. To use a card-player's expression, the 
 cards were beginning to " run." 
 
 "Lord" Bill dealt Lablache was upon his right and 
 next to him the doctor. 
 
 The money-lender picked up his cards, and partially 
 opening them glanced keenly at the index numerals. His 
 stolid face remained unchanged. The doctor glanced at his 
 and " came in." " Poker " John " came in." The dealer 
 remained out. The doctor drew two cards; " Poker " John, 
 one; Lablache drew one. The veteran rancher held four 
 nines. "Lord" Bill gathered up the " deadwood," and, 
 propping his face upon his hands, watched the betting. 
 
 It was the doctor's bet; he cautiously dropped out. He 
 had an inkling of the way things were going. " Poker " 
 John opened the ball with five hundred dollars. He had 
 a good thing and he did not want to frighten his opponent 
 by a plunge. He would leave it to Lablache to start raising. 
 The money-lender raised him one thousand. Old John 
 sniffed with the appreciation of an old war-horse at the 
 scent of battle. The nervous, twitching cheek remained 
 unmoved. The old gambler in him rose uppermost. 
 
 He leisurely saw the thousand, and raised another five 
 hundred. Lablache allowed his fishy eyes to flash in the 
 direction of his opponent. A moment after he raised 
 another thousand. The gamble was becoming interesting. 
 The two onlookers were consumed with the lust of play. 
 They forgot that in the result they would not be partici- 
 pants. Old John's face lost something of its impassivity 
 as he in turn raised to the limit. Lablache eased his great 
 body in his chair. His little mouth was very tightly 
 clenched. His breathing, at times stertorous, was like the 
 breathing of an asthmatical pig. He saw, and again raised 
 to the limit. There was now over twelve thousand dollars 
 in the pool. 
 
 It was old John's turn. The doctor and " Lord " Bill 
 waited anxiously. The old rancher was reputed very 
 
A BIG GAME OF POKER 27 
 
 wealthy. They felt assured that he would not back down 
 after having gone so far. In their hearts they both wished 
 to see him relieve Lablache of a lot of money. 
 
 They need have had no fears. Whatever his faults 
 " Poker " John was a " dead game sport." He dashed a slip 
 of paper into the pool. The keen eyes watching read " four 
 thousand dollars " scrawled upon it. He had again raised to 
 the limit. It was now Lablache's turn to accept or refuse the 
 challenge. The onlookers were not so sure of the money- 
 lender. Would he accept or not? 
 
 A curious thought was in the mind of that monument of 
 flesh. He knew for certain that he held the winning cards. 
 How he knew it would be impossible to say. And yet he 
 hesitated. Perhaps he knew the limits of John Allendale's 
 resources, perhaps he felt, for the present, there was sufficient 
 in the pool; perhaps, even, he had ulterior motives. What- 
 ever the cause, as he passed a slip of paper into the pool 
 merely seeing his opponent, his face gave no outward sign 
 of what was passing in the brain behind it. 
 
 Old John laid down his hand. 
 
 " Four nines," he said quietly. 
 
 "Not good enough," retorted Lablache; "four kings." 
 And he spread his cards out upon the table before him and 
 swept up the pile of papers which represented his win. 
 
 A sigh, as of relief to pent-up feelings, escaped the two 
 men who had watched the gamble. Old John said not a 
 word and his face betrayed no thought or regret that might 
 have been in his mind at the loss of such a large amount of 
 money. He merely glanced over at the money-lender. 
 
 " Your deal, Lablache," he said quietly. 
 
 Lablache took the cards and a fresh deal went round. 
 Now the game became one-sided. With that one large pull 
 the money-lender's luck seemed to have set in. Seemingly 
 he could do no wrong. If he drew to " three of a kind," 
 he invariably filled; if to a "pair," he generally secured a 
 third; once, indeed, he drew to jack, queen, king of a suit 
 and completed a " royal flush." His luck was phenomenal. 
 
28 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 The other men's luck seemed "dead out." Bunning-Ford 
 and the doctor could get no hands at all, and thus they were 
 saved heavy losses. Occasionally, even, the doctor raked 
 in a few " antes." But John Allandale could do nothing 
 right He was always drawing tolerable cards just good 
 enough to lose with. Until, by the time daylight came, he 
 had lost so heavily that his two friends were eagerly seeking 
 an excuse to break up the game. 
 
 At last " Lord " Bill effected this purpose, but at consider- 
 able loss to himself. He had a fairly good hand, but not, 
 as he knew, sufficiently good to win with. Lablache and 
 he were left in. The money-lender had in one plunge raised 
 the bet to the " limit." Bill knew that he ought to drop out, 
 but, instead of so doing, he saw his opponent. He lost the 
 "pot." 
 
 " Thank you, gentlemen," he said, quietly rising from the 
 table, "my losses are sufficient for one night. I have 
 finished. It is daylight and the storm is * letting up ' some- 
 what." 
 
 He turned as he spoke, and, glancing at the staircase, saw 
 Jacky standing at the top of it. How long she had been 
 standing there he did not know. He felt certain, although 
 she gave no sign, that she had heard what he had just said. 
 
 " Poker " John saw her too. 
 
 " Why, Jacky, what means this early rising? " said the old 
 man kindly. " Too tired last night to sleep? " 
 
 " No, uncle. Guess I slept all right. The wind's drop- 
 ping fast. I take it it'll be blowing great guns again before 
 long. This is our chance to make the ranch." She had 
 been an observer of the finish of the game. She had heard 
 Bill's remarks on his loss, and yet not by a single word did 
 she betray her knowledge. Inwardly she railed at herself 
 for having gone to bed. She wondered how it had fared 
 with her uncle. 
 
 Bunning-Ford left the room. Somehow he felt that he 
 must get away from the steady gaze of those gray eyes. 
 He knew how Jacky dreaded, for her uncle's sake, the game 
 
A BIG GAME OF POKER 29 
 
 they had just been playing. He wondered, as he went to 
 test the weather, what she would have thought had she 
 known the stakes, or the extent of her uncle's losses. He 
 hoped she was not aware of these facts. 
 
 " You look tired, Uncle John," said the girl, solicitously, 
 as she came down the stairs. She purposely ignored 
 Lablache. " Have you had no sleep? " 
 
 " Poker " John laughed a little uneasily. 
 
 " Sleep, child ? We old birds of the prairie can do with 
 very little of that. It's only pretty faces that want sleep, 
 and I'm thinking you ought still to be in your bed." 
 
 " Miss Jacky is ever on the alert to take advantage of the 
 elements," put in Lablache, heavily. " She seems to under- 
 stand these things better than any of us." 
 
 The girl was forced to notice the money-lender. She did 
 so reluctantly, however. 
 
 " So you, too, sought shelter from the storm beneath old 
 man Norton's hospitable roof. You are dead right, Mr. 
 Lablache; we who live on the prairie need to be ever on the 
 alert. One never knows what each hour may bring forth." 
 
 The girl was still in her ball-dress. Lablache's fishy eyes 
 noticed her charming appearance. The strong, beautiful 
 face sent a thrill of delight over him as he watched it the 
 delicate rounded shoulders made him suck in his heavy 
 breath like one who anticipates a delicate dish. Jacky 
 turned from him in plainly-expressed disgust. 
 
 Her uncle was watching her with a gaze half uneasy and 
 wholly tender. She was the delight of his old age, the center 
 of all his affections, this motherless child of his dead brother. 
 His cheek twitched painfully as he thought of the huge 
 amount of his losings to Lablache. He shivered percep- 
 tibly as he rose from his seat and went over to the cooking 
 stove. 
 
 " I believe you people have let the stove out," the girl ex- 
 claimed, as she noted her uncle's movement. She had no 
 intention of mentioning the game they had been playing. 
 She feared to hear the facts. Instinct told her that her 
 
30 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 uncle had lost again. " Yes, I declare you have," as she 
 knelt before the grate and raked away at the ashes. 
 
 Suddenly she turned to the money-lender. 
 
 " Here, you, fetch me some wood and coal-oil. Men 
 can never be trusted. " 
 
 Jacky was no respecter of persons. When she ordered 
 there were few men on the prairie who would refuse to obey. 
 Lablache heaved his great bulk from before the table and 
 got on to his feet. His bilious eyes were struggling to 
 smile. The effect was horrible. Then he moved across 
 the room to where a stack of kindling stood. 
 
 " Hurry up. I guess if we depended much on you we'd 
 freeze." 
 
 And Lablache, the hardest, most unscrupulous man for 
 miles around, endeavored to obey with the alacrity of any 
 sheep-dog. 
 
 In spite of himself John Allendale could not refrain 
 from smiling at the grotesque picture the monumental 
 Lablache made as he lumbered towards the stack of kind- 
 ling. 
 
 When " Lord " Bill returned Lablache was bending over 
 the stove beside the girl. 
 
 " I've thrown the harness on the horses watered and 
 fed 'em," he said, taking in the situation at a glance. " Say, 
 Doc," turning to Abbott, " better rouse your good lady." 
 
 " She'll be down in a tick," said Jacky, over her shoulder. 
 " Here, doctor, you might get a kettle of water and Bill, 
 see if you can find some bacon or stuff. And you, uncle, 
 came and sit by the stove you're cold." 
 
 Strange is the power and fascination of woman. A look 
 a glance a simple word and we men hasten to minister 
 to her requirements. Half an hour ago and all these men 
 were playing for fortunes dealing in thousands of dollars 
 on the turn of a card, the passion for besting his neighbor 
 uppermost in each man's mind. Now they were humbly 
 doing one girl's bidding with a zest unsurpassed by the de- 
 votion to their recent gamble. 
 
A BIG GAME OF POKER 31 
 
 She treated them indiscriminately. Old or young, there 
 was no difference. Bunning-Ford she liked Dr. Abbot 
 she liked Lablache she hated and despised, still she 
 allotted them their tasks with perfect impartiality. Only her 
 old uncle she treated differently. That dear, degenerate old 
 man she loved with an affection which knew no bounds. 
 He was her all in the world. Whatever his sins what- 
 ever his faults, she loved him. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 AT THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 SPRING is already upon the prairie. The fur coat has 
 already been exchanged for the pea-jacket. No longer is 
 the fur cap crushed down upon the head and drawn over 
 the ears until little more than the oval of the face is ex- 
 posed to the elements; it is still worn occasionally, but now 
 it rests upon the head with the jaunty cant of an ordinary 
 headgear. 
 
 The rough coated broncho no longer stands " tucked up " 
 with the cold, with its hind-quarters towards the wind. 
 Now he stands grazing on the patches of grass which the 
 melting snow has placed at his disposal. The cattle, too, 
 hurry to and fro as each day extends their field of fodder. 
 When spring sets in in the great North-West it is with no 
 show of reluctance that grim winter yields its claims and 
 makes way for its gracious and all-conquering foe. Spring 
 is upon everything with all the characteristic suddenness of 
 the Canadian climate. A week a little seven days and 
 where all before had been cheerless wastes of snow and ice, 
 we have the promise of summer with us. The snow dis- 
 appears as with the sweep of a " chinook " in winter. The 
 brown, saturated grass is tinged with the bright emerald hue 
 of new-born pasture. The bared trees don that yellowish 
 tinge which tells of breaking leaves. Rivers begin to flow. 
 Their icy coatings, melting in the growing warmth of the 
 sun, quickly returning once more to their natural element. 
 
 With the advent of spring comes a rush of duties to those 
 whose interest are centered in the breeding of cattle. The 
 Foss River Settlement is already teeming with life. For 
 the settlement is the center of the great spring " round-up." 
 
 32 
 
AT THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 33 
 
 Here are assembling the " cow-punchers " from all the out- 
 lying ranches, gathering under the command of a captain 
 (generally a man elected for his vast experience on the 
 prairie) and making their preparations to scour the prairie 
 east and west, north and south, to the very limits of the far- 
 reaching plains which spread their rolling pastures at the 
 eastern base of the Rockies. Every head of cattle which is 
 found will be brought into the Foss River Settlement and 
 thence will be distributed to its lawful owners. This is but 
 the beginning of the work, for the task of branding calves 
 and re-branding cattle whose brands have become obscured 
 during the long winter months is a process of no small mag- 
 nitude for those who number their stocks by tens of thou- 
 sands. 
 
 At John Allendale's ranch all is orderly bustle. There 
 is no confusion. Under Jacky's administration the work 
 goes on with a simple directness which would astonish the 
 uninitiated. There are the corrals to repair and to be put 
 in order. Sheds and out-buildings to be whitewashed. 
 Branding apparatus to be set in working order, fencing to 
 be repaired, preparations for seeding to commence; a thou- 
 sand and one things to be seen to; and all of which must be 
 finished before the first " bands " of cattle are rounded up 
 into the settlement. 
 
 It is nearly a month since we saw this daughter of the 
 prairie garbed in the latest mode, attending the Polo Ball 
 at Calford, and widely different is her appearance now from 
 what it was at the time of our introduction to her. 
 
 She is returning from an inspection of the wire fencing 
 of the home pastures. She is riding her favorite horse, 
 Nigger, up the gentle slope which leads to her uncle's house. 
 There is nothing of the woman of fashion about her now 
 and, perhaps, it is a matter not to be regretted. 
 
 She sits her horse with the easy grace of a childhood's 
 experience. Her habit, if such it can be called, is a 
 " dungaree " skirt of a hardly recognizable blue, so washed 
 out is it, surmounted by a beautifully beaded buckskin shirt. 
 
34 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Loosely encircling her waist, and resting upon her hips, 
 is a cartridge belt, upon which is slung the holster of a 
 heavy revolver, a weapon without which she never moves 
 abroad. Her head is crowned by a Stetson hat, secured in 
 true prairie fashion by a strap which passes under her hair 
 at the back, while her beautiful hair itself falls in heavy 
 ringlets over her shoulders, and waves untrammelled in the 
 fresh spring breeze as her somewhat unruly charger gallops 
 up the hill towards the ranch. 
 
 The great black horse was heading for the stable. Jacky 
 leant over to one side and swung him sharply towards the 
 house. At the veranda she pulled him up short High 
 mettled, headstrong as the animal was, he knew his mistress. 
 Tricks which he would often attempt to practice upon other 
 people were useless here doubtless she had taught him 
 that such was the case. 
 
 The girl sprang, unaided, to the ground and hitched her 
 picket rope to a tying-post. For a moment she stood on 
 the great veranda which ran down the whole length of the 
 house front. It was a one-storied, bungalow-shaped house, 
 built with a high pitch to the roof and entirely constructed 
 of the finest red pine-wood. Six French windows opened 
 on to the veranda. The outlook was westerly, and, con- 
 trary to the usual custom, the ranch buildings were not over- 
 looked by it. The corrals and stables were in the back- 
 ground. 
 
 She was about to turn in at one of the windows when 
 she suddenly observed Nigger's ears cocked, and his head 
 turned away towards the shimmering peaks of the distant 
 mountains. The movement fixed her attention instantly. 
 It was the instinct of one who lives in a country where the 
 eyes and ears of a horse are often keener and more far-reach- 
 ing than those of its human masters. The horse was gazing 
 with statuesque fixedness across a waste of partially-melted 
 snow. A stretch of ten miles lay flat and smooth as a bil- 
 liard-table at the foot of the rise upon which the house was 
 built. And far out across this the beast was gazing. 
 
AT THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 35 
 
 Jacky shaded her eyes with her hand and followed the 
 direction of the horse's gaze. For a moment or two she 
 saw nothing but the dazzling glare of the snow in the bright 
 spring sunlight. Then her eyes became accustomed to the 
 brilliancy, and far in the distance, she beheld an animal 
 peacefully moving along from patch to patch of bare grass, 
 evidently in search of fodder. 
 
 " A horse," she muttered, under her breath. " Whose? " 
 
 She could find no answer to her monosyllabic inquiry. 
 She realized at once that to whomsoever it belonged its 
 owner would never recover it, for it was grazing on the far 
 side of the great " Muskeg," that mighty bottomless mire 
 which extends for forty miles north and south and whose 
 narrowest breadth is a span of ten miles. She was looking 
 across it now, and innocent enough that level plain of terror 
 appeared at that moment. And yet it was the curse of the 
 ranching district, for, annually, hundreds of cattle met an 
 untimely death in its cruel, absorbing bosom. 
 
 She turned away for the purpose of fetching a pair of 
 field-glasses. She was anxious to indentify the horse. She 
 passed along the veranda towards the furthest window. It 
 was the window of her uncle's office. Just as she was near- 
 ing it she heard the sound of voices coming from within. 
 She paused, and an ominous pucker drew her brows together. 
 Her beautiful dark face clouded. She had no wish to play 
 the part of an eavesdropper, but she had recognized the 
 voices of her uncle and Lablache. She had also heard the 
 mention of her own name. What woman, or, for that mat- 
 ter, man, can refrain, from listening when they hear two peo- 
 ple talking about them. The window was open; Jacky 
 paused and listened. 
 
 Lablache's thick voice lolled heavily upon the brisk air. 
 
 " She is a good girl. But don't you think you are con- 
 sidering her future from a rather selfish point of view, 
 John?" 
 
 " Selfish? " The old man laughed in his hearty manner 
 "Maybe you're right, though. I never thought of that. 
 
36 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 You see I'm getting old now. I can't get around like I 
 used to. Bless me, she's two-an'-twenty. Three-and- 
 twenty years since my brother Dick God rest his soul ! 
 married that half-breed girl, Josie. Yes, I guess you're 
 right, she's bound to marry soon." 
 
 Jacky smiled a curious dark smile. Something told her 
 why Lablache and her uncle were discussing her future. 
 
 " Why, of course she is," said Lablache, " and when that 
 happy event is accomplished I hope it will not be with any 
 improvident harum-scarum man like like " 
 
 " The Hon. Bunning-Ford I suppose you would say, 
 eh?" 
 
 There was a somewhat sharp tone in the old man's voice 
 which Jacky was not slow to detect. 
 
 " Well," went on Lablache, with one of those deep whist- 
 ling breaths which made him so like an ancient pug, " since 
 you mention him, for want of a better specimen of improvi- 
 dence, his name will do." 
 
 "So I thought so I thought," laughed the old man. 
 But his words rang strangely. " Most people think," he 
 went on, " that when I die Jacky will be rich. But she 
 won't." 
 
 " No," replied Lablache, emphatically. 
 
 There was a world of meaning in his tone. 
 
 " However, I guess we can let her hunt around for her- 
 self when she wants a husband. Jacky's a girl with a head. 
 A sight better head than I've got on my old shoulders. 
 When she chooses a husband, and comes and tells me of it, 
 she shall have my blessing and anything else I have to give. 
 I'm not going to interfere with that girl's matrimonial af- 
 fairs, sir, not for any one. That child, bless her heart, is 
 like my own child to me. If she wants the moon, and there's 
 nothing else to stop her having it but my consent, why, I 
 guess that moon's as good as fenced in with triple-barbed 
 wire an* registered in her name in the Government Land 
 Office." 
 
 " And in the meantime you are going to make that same 
 
AT THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 37 
 
 child work for her daily bread like any 'hired man/ and 
 keep company with any scoun " 
 
 "Hi, stop there, Lablache! Stop there," thundered 
 " Poker " John, and Jacky heard a thud as of a fist falling 
 upon the table. " You've taken the unwarrantable liberty 
 of poking your nose into my affairs, and, because of our old 
 acquaintance, I have allowed it But now let me tell you 
 
 this is no d d business of yours. There's no make with 
 
 Jacky. What she does, she does of her own accord." 
 
 At that moment the girl in question walked abruptly in 
 from the veranda. She had heard enough. 
 
 " Ah, uncle," she said, smiling tenderly up into the old 
 man's face, " talking of me, I guess. You shouted my 
 name just as I was coming along. Say, I want the field- 
 glasses. Where are they ?" 
 
 Then she turned on Lablache as if she had only just 
 become aware of his presence. 
 
 " What, Mr. Lablache, you here ? And so early, too. 
 Guess this isn't like you. How is your store that temple 
 of wealth and high interest to get on without you ? How 
 are the ' improvident ' ' harum-scarums ' to live if you are 
 not present to minister to their wants upon the best of 
 security? " Without waiting for a reply the girl picked up 
 the glasses she was in search of and darted out, leaving 
 Lablache glaring his bilious-eyed rage after her. 
 
 " Poker " John stood for a moment a picture of blank 
 surprise; then he burst into a loud guffaw at the dis- 
 comfited money-lender. Jacky heard the laugh and smiled. 
 Then she passed out of earshot and concentrated her at- 
 tention upon the distant speck of animal life. 
 
 The girl stood for some moments surveying the creature 
 as it moved leisurely along, its nose well down amongst the 
 roots of the tawny grass, seeking out the tender green shoots 
 of the new-born pasture. Then she closed her glasses and 
 her thoughts wandered to other matters. 
 
 The gorgeous landscape was, for a moment, utterly lost 
 upon her. The snowy peaks of the Rockies, stretching far 
 
38 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 as the eye could see away to the north and south, like some 
 giant fortification set up to defend the rolling pastures of 
 the prairies from the ceaseless attack of the stormy Pacific 
 Ocean, were far from her thoughts. Her eyes, it is true, 
 were resting on the level flat of the muskeg, beyond the 
 grove of slender pines which lined the approach to the 
 house, but she was not thinking of that. No, recollection 
 was struggling back through two years of a busy life, to 
 a time when, for a brief space, she had watched over the 
 welfare of another than her uncle, when the dark native 
 blood which flowed plentifully in her veins had asserted 
 itself, and a nature which was hers had refused to remain 
 buried beneath a superficial European training. She was 
 thinking of a man who had formed a secret part of her life 
 for a few short years, when she had allowed her heart to 
 dictate a course for her actions which no other motive but 
 that of love could have brought about. She was thinking 
 of Peter Retief, a pretty scoundrel, a renowned " bad man," 
 a man of wild and reckless daring. He had been the terror 
 of the countryside. A cattle-thief who feared neither man 
 nor devil; a man who for twelve months and more had 
 carried his life in his hands, the sworn enemy of law and 
 order, but who, in his worst moments, had never been 
 known to injure a poor man or a woman. The wild blood 
 of the half-breed that was in her had been stirred, as only 
 a woman's blood can be, by his reckless dealings, his 
 courage, effrontery, and withal his wondrous kindliness of 
 disposition. She was thinking of this man now, this man 
 whom she knew to be numbered amongst the countless vic- 
 tims of that dreadful mire. And what had conjured this 
 thought ? A horse a horse peacefully grazing far out 
 across the mire in the direction of the distant hills which 
 she knew had once been this desperado's home. 
 
 Her train of recollection suddenly became broken, and 
 a sigh escaped her as the sound of her uncle's voice fell 
 upon her ears. She did not move, however, for she knew 
 that Lablache was with him, and this man she hated with 
 
AT THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 39 
 
 the fiery hatred only to be found in the half-breeds of any 
 native race. 
 
 " I'm sorry, John, we can't agree on the point," Lablache 
 was saying in his wheezy voice, as the two men stood at 
 the other end of the veranda, " but I'm quite determined 
 upon the matter myself. The land intersects mine and cuts 
 me clean off from the railway siding, and I am forced to 
 take my cattle a circle of nearly fifteen miles to ship them. 
 If he would only be reasonable and allow a passage I would 
 say nothing. I will force him to sell." 
 
 " If you can," put in the rancher. " I reckon you've got 
 chilled steel to deal with when you endeavor to ' force ' 
 old Joe Norton to sell the finest wheat land in the coun- 
 try." 
 
 At this point in the conversation three men came round 
 from the back of the house. They were " cow " hands be- 
 longing to the ranch. They approached Jacky with the 
 easy assurance of men who were as much companions as 
 servants of their mistress. All three, however, touched their 
 wide-brimmed hats in unmistakable respect. They were 
 clad in buckskin shirts and leather " chaps," and each had 
 his revolver upon his hip. The girl lost the rest of the con- 
 versation between her uncle and Lablache, for her attention 
 was turned to the men. 
 
 " Well ? " she asked shortly, as the men stood before her. 
 
 One of the men, a tall, lank specimen of the dark-skinned 
 prairie half-breed, acted as spokesman. 
 
 He ejected a squirt of tobacco juice from his great, dirty 
 mouth before he spoke. Then with a curious backward 
 jerk of the head he blurted out a stream of Western 
 jargon. 
 
 " Say, missie," he exclaimed in a high-pitched nasal 
 voice, " it ain't no use in talking ye kent put no tenderfoot 
 t' boss the round-up. There's them all-fired Donoghue lot 
 jest sent right in t' say, 'cause, I s'pose, they reckon as 
 they're the high muck-i-muck o' this location, that that 
 tarnation Sim Lory, thar head man, is to cap' the round-up. 
 
40 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Why, he ain't cast a blamed foot on the prairie sence he's 
 been hyar. An' I'll swear he don't know the horn o' his 
 saddle from a monkey stick. Et ain't right, missie, an' us 
 fellers t' work under him an' all." 
 
 His address came to an abrupt end, and he gave emphasis 
 to his words by a prolonged expectoration. Jacky, her eyes 
 sparkling with anger, was quick to reply. 
 
 " Look you here, Silas, just go right off and throw your 
 saddle on your pony " 
 
 " Guess it's right thar, missie," the man interrupted. 
 
 " Then sling off as fast as your plug can lay foot to the 
 ground, and give John Allandale's compliments to Jim 
 Donoghue and say, if they don't send a capable man, since 
 they've been appointed to find the * captain/ he'll complain 
 to the Association and insist on the penalty being enforced. 
 What, do they take us for a lot of * gophers ' ? Sim Lory, 
 indeed; why, he's not fit to prise weeds with a two tine hay 
 fork." 
 
 The men went off hurriedly. Their mistress's swift 
 methods of dealing with matters pleased them. Silas was 
 more than pleased to be able to get a " slant " (to use his 
 own expression) at his old enemy, Sim Lory. As the men 
 departed " Poker " John came and stood beside his niece. 
 
 "What's that about Sim Lory, Jacky?" 
 
 " They've sent him to run this ' round-up.' >: 
 
 " And ? " 
 
 " Oh, I just told them it wouldn't do," indifferently. 
 
 Old John smiled. 
 
 "In those words?" 
 
 " Well, no, uncle," the girl said with a responsive smile. 
 " But they needed a ' jinning ' up. I sent the message in 
 your name." 
 
 The old man shook his head, but his indulgent smile re- 
 mained. 
 
 " You'll be getting me into serious trouble with that im- 
 petuosity of yours, Jacky," he said absently. " But there 
 I daresay you know best." 
 
AT THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 41 
 
 His words were characteristic of him. He left the en- 
 tire control of the ranch to this girl of two-and-twenty, rely- 
 ing implicitly upon her judgment in all things. It was a 
 strange thing to do, for he was still a vigorous man. To 
 look at him was to make oneself wonder at the reason. 
 But the girl accepted the responsibility without question. 
 There was a subtle sympathy between uncle and niece. 
 Sometimes Jacky would gaze up into his handsome old face 
 and something in the twitching cheek, the curiously-shaped 
 mouth, hidden beneath the gray mustache, would cause 
 her to turn away with a sigh, and, with stimulated resolu- 
 tion, hurl herself into the arduous labors of managing the 
 ranch. What she read in that dear, honest face she loved 
 so well she kept locked in her own secret heart, and never, 
 by word or act, did she allow herself to betray it. She was 
 absolute mistress of the Foss River Ranch and she knew 
 it. Old " Poker " John, like the morphine " fiend," merely 
 continued to keep up his reputation and the more fully 
 deserve his sobriquet. His mind, his character, his whole 
 being was being slowly but surely absorbed in the lust of 
 gambling. 
 
 The girl laid her hand upon the old man's arm. 
 
 "Uncle what was Lablache talking to you about? I 
 mean when I came for the field-glasses." 
 
 " Poker " John was gazing abstractedly into the dense 
 growth of pines which fringed the house. He pulled 
 himself together, but his eyes had in them a far-away 
 look. 
 
 " Many things," he replied evasively. 
 
 " Yes, I know, dear, but," bending her face while she 
 removed one of her buckskin gauntlets from her hand, 
 " I mean about me. You two were discussing me, I 
 know." 
 
 She turned her keen gray eyes upon her relative as she 
 finished speaking. The old man turned away. He felt 
 that those eyes were reading his very soul. They made him 
 uncomfortable. 
 
42 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " Oh, he said I ought not to let you associate with certain 
 people." 
 
 "Why?" The sharp question came with the directness 
 of a pistol-shot. 
 
 " Well, he seemed to think that you might think of marry- 
 ing." 
 
 "Ah, and" 
 
 "He seemed to fancy that you, being impetuous, might 
 make a mistake and fall " 
 
 " In love with the wrong man. Yes, I understand; and 
 from his point of view, if ever I do marry it will undoubtedly 
 be the wrong man." 
 
 And the girl finished up with a mirthless laugh. 
 
 They stood for some moments in silence. They were 
 both thinking. The noise from the corrals behind the house 
 reached them. The steady drip, drip of the water from the 
 melting snow upon the roof of the house sounded loudly as 
 it fell on the sodden ground beneath. 
 
 " Uncle, did it ever strike you that that greasy money- 
 lender wants to marry me himself ? " 
 
 The question startled John Allandale more than any- 
 thing else could have done. He turned sharply round and 
 faced his niece. 
 
 "Marry you, Jacky? " he repeated. "I never thought 
 of it." 
 
 " It isn't to be supposed that you would have done so." 
 
 There was the faintest tinge of bitterness in the girl's 
 answer. 
 
 " And do you really think that he wants to marry 
 you?" 
 
 " I don't know quite. Perhaps I am wrong, uncle, and 
 my imagination has run away with me. Yes, I sometimes 
 think he wants to marry me." 
 
 They both relapsed into silence. Then her uncle spoke 
 again. 
 
 " Jacky, what you have just said has made something 
 plain to me which I could not understand before. He 
 
AT THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 43 
 
 came and gave me unsolicited, mind " a little eagerly, 
 " a detailed account of "Running-Ford's circumstances, 
 and" 
 
 " Endeavored to bully you into sending him about his 
 business. Poor old Bill! And what was his account of 
 him?" 
 
 The girl's eyes were glowing with quickly-roused passion, 
 but she kept them turned from her uncle's face. 
 
 " He told me that the boy had heavy mortgages on his 
 land and stock. He told me that if he were to realize 
 to-morrow there would be little or nothing for himself. 
 Everything would go to some firm in Calford. In short, 
 that he has gambled his ranch away." 
 
 "And he told this to you, uncle, dear." Then the girl 
 paused and looked far out across the great muskeg. In her 
 abrupt fashion she turned again to the old man. " Uncle," 
 she went on, "tell me truly, do you owe anything to La- 
 blache? Has he any hold upon you? " 
 
 There was a world of anxiety in her voice as she spoke. 
 John Allandale tried to follow her thought before he an- 
 swered. He seemed to grasp something of her meaning, 
 for in a moment his eyes took on an expression of pain. 
 Then his words came slowly, as from one who is not sure 
 of what he is saying. 
 
 " I owe him some money yes but " 
 
 "Poker?" 
 
 The question was jerked viciously from the girl's lips. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Jacky turned slowly away until her eyes rested upon the 
 distant, grazing horse. A strange restlessness seemed to be 
 upon her. She was fidgeting with the gauntlet which she 
 had just removed. Then slowly her right hand passed 
 round to her hip, where it rested upon the butt of her re- 
 volver. There was a tight drawnness about her lips and her 
 keen gray eyes looked as though gazing into space. 
 
 "How much?" she said at last, breaking the heavy 
 silence which had followed upon her uncle's admission. 
 
44 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Then before he could answer she went on deliberately: " But 
 there I guess it don't cut any figure. Lablache shall be 
 paid, and I take it his bill of interest won't amount to more 
 than we can pay if we're put to it. Poor old Bill! " 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE "STRAY" BEYOND THE MUSKEG 
 
 THE Foss River Settlement nestles in one of those shallow 
 hollows scarcely a valley and which yet must be desig- 
 nated by such a term in which the Canadian North- West 
 abounds. 
 
 We are speaking now of the wilder and less-inhabited 
 parts of the great country, where grain-growing is only 
 incidental, and the prevailing industry is stock-raising. 
 Where the land gradually rises towards the maze-like foot- 
 hills before the mighty crags of the Rockies themselves be 
 reached. A part where yet is to be heard of the romantic 
 crimes of the cattle-raiders; a part to where civilization has 
 already turned its face, but where civilizaton has yet to 
 mature. In such a country is situate the Foss River Set- 
 tlement. 
 
 The settlement itself is like dozens of others of its kind. 
 There is the school-house, standing by itself, apart from 
 other buildings, as if in proud distinction for its classic 
 vocation. There is the church, or rather chapel, where every 
 denomination holds its services. A saloon, where four per 
 cent, beer and prohibition whiskey of the worst description 
 is openly sold over the bar; where you can buy poker 
 " chips " to any amount, and can sit down and play from 
 daylight till dark, from dark to daylight. A blacksmith and 
 wheelwright; a baker; a carpenter; a doctor who is also a 
 druggist; a store where one can buy every article of dry 
 goods at exorbitant prices and on credit; and then, besides 
 all this, well beyond the township limit there is a half- 
 breed settlement, a place which even to this day is a neces- 
 
 45 
 
46 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 sary evil and a constant thorn in the side of that smart, 
 efficient force the North- West Mounted Police. 
 
 Lablache's store stands in the center of the settlement, 
 facing on to the market-place the latter a vague, unde- 
 fined space of waste ground on which vendors of produce 
 are wont to draw up their wagons. The store is a massive 
 building of great extent Its proportions rise superior to its 
 surroundings, as if to indicate in a measure its owner's 
 worldly status in the district It is built entirely of stone, 
 and roofed with slate the only building of such construc- 
 tion in the settlement 
 
 A wonderful center of business is Lablache's store the 
 chief one for a radius of fifty miles. Nearly the whole 
 building is given up to the stocking of goods, and only at 
 the back of the building is to be found a small office ^ r hich 
 answers the multifarious purposes of office, parlor, di. ring- 
 room, smoking-room in short, every necessity of its owner, 
 except bedroom, which occupies a mere recess partitioned 
 off by thin matchwood boarding. 
 
 Wealthy as Lablache was known to be he spent little or 
 no money upon himself beyond just sufficient to purchase 
 the bare necessities of life. He had few requirements which 
 could not be satisfied under the headings of tobacco and 
 food both of which he indulged himself freely. The 
 saloon provided the latter, and as for the former, trade price 
 was best suited to his inclinations, and so he drew upon his 
 stock. He was a curious man, was Verner Lablache a 
 man who understood the golden value of silence. He never 
 even spoke of his nationality. Foss River was content to 
 call him curious some people preferred other words to 
 express their opinion. 
 
 Lablache had known John Allandale for years. Who, in 
 Foss River, had he not known for years? Lablache would 
 have liked to call old John his friend, but somehow 
 " Poker " John had never responded to the money-lender's 
 advances. Lablache showed no resentment. If he cared 
 at all he was careful to keep his feelings hidden. One thing 
 
THE " STRAY " BEYOND THE MUSKEG 47 
 
 is certain, however, he allowed himself to think long and 
 often of old John and his household. Often, when in the 
 deepest stress of his far-reaching work, he would heave his 
 great bulk back in his chair and allow those fishy, lashless, 
 sphinx-like eyes of his to gaze out of his window in the 
 direction of the Foss River Ranch. His window faced in 
 the direction of John's house, which was plainly visible on 
 the slope which bounded the southern side of the settle- 
 ment. 
 
 And so it came about a few days later, in one of these 
 digressions of thought, that the money-lender, gazing out 
 towards the ranch, beheld a horseman riding slowly up to 
 the veranda of the Allandale's house. There was nothing 
 uncommon in the incident, but the sight riveted his atten- 
 tion, and an evil light came into his usually expressionless 
 eyes. He recognized the horseman as the Hon. Bunning- 
 Ford. 
 
 Lablache swung round on his revolving chair, and, in 
 doing so, kicked over a paper-basket. The rapidity of his 
 movement was hardly to be expected in one of his bulk. 
 His thin eyebrows drew together in an ugly frown. 
 
 "What does he want?" he muttered, under his heavy 
 breath. 
 
 He hazarded no answer to his own question. It was 
 answered for him. He saw the figure of a woman step 
 out on to the veranda. 
 
 The money-lender rose swiftly to his feet and took a pair 
 of field-glasses from their case. Adjusting them he gazed 
 long and earnestly at the house on the hill. 
 
 Jacky was talking to " Lord " Bill. She was habited in 
 her dungaree skirt and buckskin bodice. Presently Bill 
 dismounted and passed into the house. 
 
 Lablache shut his glasses with a snap and turned away 
 from the window. For some time he stood gazing straight 
 before him and a swift torrent of thought flowed through 
 his active brain. Then, with the directness of one whose 
 mind is made up, he went over to a small safe which stood 
 
48 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 in a corner of the room. From this he took an account 
 book. The cover bore the legend "Private." He laid it 
 upon the table, and, for some moments, bent over it as he 
 scanned its pages. 
 
 He paused at an account headed John Allendale. The 
 figures of this account were very large, totalling into six 
 figures. The balance against the rancher was enormous. 
 Lablache gave a satisfied grunt as he turned over to another 
 account. 
 
 "Safe safe enough. Safe as the Day of Doom," he said 
 slowly. His mouth worked with a cruel smile. 
 
 He paused at the account of Bunning-Ford. 
 
 " Twenty thousand dollars um," the look of satisfac- 
 tion was changed. He looked less pleased, but none the 
 less cruel. " Not enough let me see. His place is worth 
 fifty thousand dollars. Stock another thirty thousand. I 
 hold thirty-five thousand on first mortgage for the Calford 
 Trust and Loan Co." He smiled significantly. " This bill 
 of sale for twenty thousand is in my own name. Total, 
 fifty-five thousand. Sell him up and there would still be a 
 margin. No, not yet, my friend." 
 
 He closed the book and put it away. Then he walked 
 to the window. Bunning-Ford's horse was still standing 
 outside the house. 
 
 " He must be dealt with soon," he muttered. 
 
 And in those words was concentrated a world of hate and 
 cruel purpose. 
 
 Who shall say of what a man's disposition is composed? 
 Who shall penetrate those complex feelings which go to 
 make a man what his secret consciousness knows himself 
 to be? Not even the man himself can tell the why and 
 wherefore of his passions and motives. It is a matter be- 
 yond the human ken. It is a matter which neither science 
 nor learning can tell us of. Verner Lablache was possessed 
 of all that prosperity could give him. He was wealthy 
 beyond the dreams of avarice, and no pleasure which money 
 could buy was beyond his reach. He knew, only too well, 
 
THE " STRAY " BEYOND THE MUSKEG 49 
 
 that when the moment came, and he wished it, he could set 
 out for any of the great centers of fashion and society, and 
 there purchase for himself a wife who would fulfill the 
 requirements of the most fastidious. In his own arrogant 
 mind he went further, and protested that he could choose 
 whom he would and she would be his. But this method 
 he set aside as too simple, and, instead, had decided to 
 select for his wife a girl whom he had watched grow up 
 to womanhood from the first day that she had opened her 
 great, wondering eyes upon the world. And thus far he 
 had been thwarted. All his wealth went for nothing. The 
 whim of this girl he had chosen was more powerful in this 
 matter than was gold the gold he loved. But Lablache 
 was not the man to sit down and admit of defeat; he meant 
 to marry Joaquina Allandale willy-nilly. Love was impos- 
 sible to such a man as he. He had conceived an absorbing 
 passion for her, it is true, but love as it is generally 
 understood no. He was not a young man the victim 
 of a passion, fierce but transient. He was matured in all 
 respects in mind and body. His passion was lasting, if 
 impure, and he meant to take to himself the girl-wife. 
 Nothing should stand in his way. 
 
 He turned back to his desk, but not to work. 
 
 In the meantime the object of his forcible attentions was 
 holding an interesting tete-a-tete with the man against whom 
 he fostered an evil purpose. 
 
 Jacky was seated at a table in the pleasant sitting-room 
 of her uncle's house. Spread out before her were several 
 open stock books, from which she was endeavoring to es- 
 timate the probable number of " beeves " which the early 
 spring would produce. This was a task which she always 
 liked to do herself before the round-up was complete, so as 
 the easier to sort the animals into their various pastures 
 when they should come in. Her visitor was standing with 
 his back to the stove, in typical Canadian fashion. He was 
 clad in a pair of well-worn chaps drawn over a pair of 
 moleskin trousers, and wore a gray tweed coat and waistcoat 
 
50 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 over a soft cotton shirt, of the " collar attached " type. As 
 he stood there the stoop of his shoulders was very pro- 
 nounced. His fair hair was carefully brushed, and although 
 his face was slightly weather-stained, still, it was quite easy 
 to imagine the distinguished figure he would be, clad in all 
 the solemn pomp of broadcloth and the silk glaze of fash- 
 ionable society in the neighborhood of Bond Street 
 
 The girl was not looking at her books. She was look- 
 ing up and smiling at a remark her companion had just 
 made. 
 
 " And so your friend, Pat Nabob, is going up into the 
 mountains after gold. Does he know anything about 
 prospecting ? " 
 
 " I think so he's had some experience." 
 
 Jacky became serious. She rose and turned to the 
 window, which commanded a perfect view of the distant 
 peaks of the Rockies, towering high above the broad, level 
 expanse of the great muskeg. With her back still turned 
 to him she fired an abrupt question. 
 
 " Say, Bill, guess * Pickles ' has some other reason for 
 this mad scheme. What is it? You can't tell me he's 
 going just for love of the adventure of the thing. Now, 
 let's hear the truth." 
 
 Unobserved by the girl, her companion shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " If you want his reason you'd better ask him, Jacky. I 
 can only surmise." 
 
 " So can I." Jacky turned sharply. " I'll tell you why 
 he's going, Bill, and you can bet your last cent I'm right. 
 Lablache is at the bottom of it. He's at the bottom of 
 everything that causes people to leave Foss River. He's a 
 blood-sucker." 
 
 Bunning-Ford nodded. He was rarely expansive. 
 Moreover, he knew he could add nothing to what the girl 
 had said. She expressed his sentiments fully. There was 
 a pause. Jacky was keenly eyeing the tall thin figure at 
 the stove. 
 
THE " STRAY " BEYOND THE MUSKEG 51 
 
 "Why did you come to tell me of this?" she asked at 
 last. 
 
 " Thought you'd like to know. You like * Pickles. 1 " 
 
 " Yes Bill, you are thinking of going with him." 
 
 Her companion laughed uneasily. This girl was very 
 keen. 
 
 " I didn't say so." 
 
 "No, but still you are thinking of doing so. See here, 
 Bill, tell me all about it" 
 
 Bill coughed. Then he turned, and stooping, shook the 
 ashes from the stove and opened the damper. 
 
 " Beastly cold in here," he remarked inconsequently. 
 
 "Yes but, out with it." 
 
 Bill stood up and turned his indolent eyes upon his in- 
 terrogator. 
 
 " I wasn't thinking of going to the mountains." 
 
 "Where then?" 
 
 "To the Yukon." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 In spite of herself the girl could not help the ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 " Why ? " she went on a moment later. 
 
 "Well, if you must have it, I shan't be able to last out 
 this summer unless a stroke of luck falls to my share." 
 
 "Financially?" 
 
 " Financially." 
 
 "Lablache?" 
 
 "Lablache and the Calford Trust Co." 
 
 "The same thing," with conviction. 
 
 "Exactly the same thing." 
 
 "And you stand?" 
 
 " If I meet the interest on my mortgages it will take away 
 every head of fat cattle I can scrape together, and then I 
 cannot pay Lablache other debts which fall due in two 
 weeks' time." He quietly drew out his tobacco-pouch and 
 rolled a cigarette. He seemed quite indifferent to his diffi- 
 culties. " If I realize on the ranch now there'll be some- 
 
52 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 thing left for me. If I go on, by the end of the summer 
 there won't be." 
 
 " I suppose you mean that you will be deeper in debt." 
 
 He smiled in his own peculiarly lazy fashion as he held a 
 lighted match to his cigarette. 
 
 " Just so. I shall owe Lablache more," he said, between 
 spasmodic draws at his tobacco. 
 
 " Lablache has wonderful luck at cards." 
 
 "Yes," shortly. 
 
 Jacky returned to the table and sat down. She turned 
 the pages of a stock book idly. She was thinking and the 
 expression of her dark, determined little face indicated the 
 unpleasant nature of her thoughts. Presently she looked 
 up and encountered the steady gaze of her companion. 
 They were great friends these two. In that glance each 
 read in the other's mind something of a mutual thought. 
 Jacky, with womanly readiness, put part of it into words. 
 
 " No one ever seems to win against him, Bill. Guess he 
 makes a steady income out of poker." 
 
 The man nodded and gulped down a deep inhalation 
 from his cigarette. 
 
 " Wonderful luck," the girl went on. 
 
 " Some people call it * luck/ " put in Bill, quietly, but 
 with a curious purse of the lips. 
 
 " What do you call it? " sharply. 
 
 Bunning-Ford refused to commit himself. He contented 
 himself with blowing the ash from his cigarette and cross- 
 ing over to the window, where he stood looking out. He 
 had come there that afternoon with a half-formed intention 
 of telling this girl something which every girl must hope to 
 hear sooner or later in her life. He had come there with 
 the intention of ending, one way or the other, a friendship 
 camaraderie whatever you please to call it, by telling 
 this hardy girl of the prairie the old, old story over again. 
 He loved this woman with an intensity that very few would 
 have credited him with. Who could associate lazy, good- 
 natured, careless " Lord " Bill with serious love ? Certainly 
 
THE " STRAY " BEYOND THE MUSKEG 53 
 
 not his friends. And yet such was the case, and for that 
 reason had he come. The affairs of Pat Nabob were but a 
 subterfuge. And now he found it impossible to pronounce 
 the words he had so carefully thought out. Jacky was not 
 the woman to approach easily with sentiment, she was so 
 "deucedly practical." So Bill said to himself. It was 
 useless to speculate upon her feelings. This girl never 
 allowed anything approaching sentiment to appear upon 
 the surface. She knew better than to do so. She had the 
 grave responsibility of her uncle's ranch upon her shoulders, 
 therefore all men must be kept at arm's length. She was 
 in every sense a woman, passionate, loyal, loving. But in 
 addition nature had endowed her with a spirit which rose 
 superior to feminine attributes and feelings. The blood in 
 her veins her life on the prairie her tender care and 
 solicitude for her uncle, of whose failings and weaknesses 
 she was painfully aware, had caused her to put from her all 
 thoughts of love and marriage. Her life must be devoted 
 to him, and while he lived she was determined that no 
 thought of self should interfere with her self-imposed duty. 
 
 At last " Lord " Bill broke the silence which had fallen 
 upon the room after the girl's unanswered question. His 
 remark seemed irrevelant and inconsequent. 
 
 " There's a horse on the other side of the muskeg. 
 Who's is it? " 
 
 Jacky was at his side in an instant. So suddenly had 
 she bounded from the table, that her companion turned, 
 with that lazy glance of his, and looked keenly at her. He 
 failed to understand her excitement. She had snatched up 
 a pair of field-glasses and had already leveled them at the 
 distant object. 
 
 She looked long and earnestly across the miry waste. 
 Then she turned to her companion with a strange look in 
 her beautiful gray eyes. 
 
 " Bill, I've seen that horse before. Four days ago. I've 
 looked for it ever since, but couldn't see it. I'm going to 
 round it up." 
 
54 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 "Eh? How?" 
 
 Bill was looking out across the muskeg again. 
 
 " Guess I'm going right across there this evening," the 
 girl said quietly. 
 
 "Across the muskeg?" Her companion was roused out 
 of himself. His usually lazy gray eyes were gleaming 
 brightly. " Impossible! " 
 
 " Not at all, Bill," she replied, with an easy smile. " I 
 know the path." 
 
 " But I (bought there was only one man who ever knew 
 that mythical path, and he is dead." 
 
 " Quite right, Bill only one man." 
 
 "Then the old stories " 
 
 There was a peculiar expression on the man's face. The 
 girl interrupted him with a gay laugh. 
 
 " Bother the * old stories.' I'm going across there this 
 evening after tea coming ? " 
 
 Bunning-Ford looked across at the clock the hands 
 pointed to half-past one. He was silent for a minute. 
 Then he said, 
 
 "I'll be with you at four if if you'll tell me all 
 about" 
 
 "Peter Retief yes, I'll tell you as we go, Bill. What 
 are you going to do until then? " 
 
 " I'm going down to the saloon to meet * Pickles/ your pet 
 aversion, Pedro Mancha, and we're going to find a fourth." 
 
 "Ah, poker?" 
 
 " Yes, poker." 
 
 " I'm sorry, Bill. But be here at four sharp and I'll tell 
 you all about it. See here, boy, * mum's ' the word." 
 
 The craving of the Hon. Bunning-Ford's life was excite- 
 ment His temperament bordered on the lethargic. He 
 felt that unless he could obtain excitement life was utterly 
 unbearable. He had sought it all over the world before he 
 had adopted the life of a rancher. Here in the West of 
 Canada he had found something of what he sought. There 
 was the big game shooting in the mountains, and the pursuit 
 
THE " STRAY " BEYOND THE MUSKEG 55 
 
 of the " grizzly " is the most wildly enthralling chase in the 
 world. There was the taming and " breaking " of the wild 
 and furious " broncho " the most exemplary " bucking " 
 horse in the world. There was the " round-up " and hand- 
 ling of cattle which never failed to give unlimited excite- 
 ment. And then, at all times, was the inevitable poker, that 
 king of all excitements among card games. The West of 
 Canada had pleased " Lord " Bill as did no other country, 
 and so he had invested the remains of his younger son's por- 
 tion in stock. 
 
 He had asked for excitement and Canada had responded 
 generously. Bill had found more than excitement, he had 
 found love; and had found a wealth of real friendship rarely 
 equaled in the busy cities of civilization. 
 
 In the midst of all these things which, seeking, he had 
 found, came this suggestion from a girl. The muskeg 
 the cruel, relentless muskeg, that mire, dreaded and 
 shunned by white men and natives alike. It could be 
 crossed by a secret path. The thought pleased him. And 
 none knew of this path except a man who was dead and 
 this girl he loved. There was a strange excitement in the 
 thought of such a journey. 
 
 " Lord " Bill, ignoring his stirrup, vaulted into his saddle, 
 and, as he swung his horse round and headed towards the 
 settlement, he wondered what the day would bring forth. 
 
 " Confound the cards," he muttered, as he rode away. 
 
 And it was the first time in his life that he had reluct- 
 antly contemplated a gamble. 
 
 Had he only known it, a turning-point in his life was 
 rapidly approaching a turning-point which would lead to 
 events which, if told as about to occur in the nineteenth 
 century, would surely bring down derision upon the head of 
 the teller. And yet would the derided one have right on 
 his side. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 IT was less than a quarter of a mile from the Allendales' 
 house to the saloon a den of reeking atmosphere and 
 fouler spirits. 
 
 The saloon at Foss River was no better and no worse 
 than hundreds of others in the North-West at the time of 
 which we write. It was a fairly large wooden building 
 standing at the opposite end of the open space which 
 answered the purpose of a market-place, and facing 
 Lablache's store. Inside, it was gloomy, and the air in- 
 variably reeked of stale tobacco and drink. The bar was 
 large, and at one end stood a piano kept for the purpose of 
 " sing-songs " nightly occurrences when the execrable 
 whisky had done its work. Passing through the bar one 
 finds a large dining-room on one side of a passage, and, 
 on the other, a number of smaller rooms devoted to the use 
 of those who wished to play poker. 
 
 It was towards this place that the Hon. Bunning-Ford 
 was riding in the leisurely manner of one to whom time is 
 no object. 
 
 His thoughts were far from matters pertaining to his 
 destination, and he would gladly have welcomed anything 
 which could have interfered with his projected game. For 
 the moment poker had lost its charm. 
 
 This man was at no time given to vacillation. All his 
 methods were, as a rule, very direct. Underneath his easy 
 nonchalance he was of a very decided nature. His thin 
 face at times could suddenly become very keen. His true 
 character was hidden by the cultivated lazy expression of 
 his eyes. Bunning-Ford was one of those men who are at 
 
 56 
 
"WAYS THAT ARE DARK" 57 
 
 their best in emergency. At all other times life was a 
 thing which it was impossible for him to take seriously. 
 He valued money as little as he valued anything in the 
 world. Poker he looked upon as a means to an end. He 
 had no religious principles, but firmly believed in doing as 
 he would be done by. Honesty and truth he loved, because 
 to him they were clean. It mattered nothing to him what 
 his surroundings might be, for, though living in them, he 
 was not of them. He would as soon sit down to play cards 
 with three known murderers as play in the best club in Lon- 
 don, and he would treat them honestly and expect the same 
 in return but a loaded revolver would be slung upon his 
 hip and the holster would be open and handy. 
 
 As he neared the saloon he recognized the figures of two 
 men walking in the direction of the saloon. They were 
 the doctor and John Allendale. He rode towards them. 
 
 " Hallo, Bill, whither bound ? " said the old rancher, as 
 the younger man came up. " Going to join us in the parlor 
 of Smith's fragrant hostelry? The spider is already there 
 weaving the web in which he hopes to ensnare us." 
 
 Bunning-Ford shook his head. 
 
 "Who's the spider Lablache?" 
 
 " Yes, we're going to play. It's the first time for some 
 days. Guess we've all been too busy with the round-up. 
 Won't you really join us? " 
 
 " Can't. I've promised Mancha and ' Pickles ' revenge 
 for a game we played the other night, when I happened to 
 relieve them of a few dollars." 
 
 " Sensible man Lablache is too consistent," put in the 
 doctor, quietly. 
 
 " Nonsense," said " Poker " John, optimistically. 
 "You're always carping about the man's luck. We must 
 break it soon." 
 
 " Yes, we've suggested that before." 
 
 Bill spoke with meaning and finished up with a purse of 
 the lips. 
 
 They were near the saloon. 
 
58 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " How long are you going to play? " he went on quietly. 
 
 "Right through the evening," replied "Poker" John, 
 with keen satisfaction. "And you?" 
 
 " Only until four o'clock. I am going to take tea up at 
 your place." 
 
 The old man offered no comment and Bill dismounted 
 and tied the horse to a post, and the three men entered the 
 stuffy bar. The room was half full of people. They were 
 mostly cow-boys or men connected with the various ranches 
 about the neighborhood. Words of greeting hailed the 
 new-comers on all sides, but old John, who led the way, 
 took little or no notice of those whom he recognized. The 
 lust of gambling was upon him, and, as a dipsomaniac 
 craves for drink, so he was longing to feel the smooth surface 
 of pasteboard between his fingers. While Bunning-Ford 
 stopped to exchange a word with some of those he met, the 
 other two men went straight up to the bar. Smith himself, 
 a grizzled old man, with a tobacco-stained gray moustache 
 and beard, and the possessor of a pair of narrow, wicked- 
 looking eyes, was serving out whisky to a couple of worse- 
 looking half-breeds. It was noticeable that every man 
 present wore at his waist either a revolver or a long sheath 
 knife. Even the proprietor was fully armed. The half- 
 breeds wore knives. 
 
 " Poker " John was apparently a man of distinction here. 
 Possibly the knowledge that he played a big game elicited 
 for hun a sort of indifferent respect. Anyway, the half- 
 breeds moved to allow him to approach the bar. 
 
 "Lablache here? " asked the rancher, eagerly. 
 
 " He is," replied Mr. Smith, in a drawling voice, as 
 he pushed the two whiskies across to the waiting half- 
 breeds. " Been here half an hour. Jest pass right through, 
 mister. Maybe you'll find him located in number two." 
 
 There was no doubt that John B. Smith hailed from 
 America. Although the Canadian is not devoid of the 
 American accent there is not much doubt of nationality 
 when one hears the real thing. 
 
" WAYS THAT ARE DARK " 59 
 
 " Good; come on, Doc. No, thanks, Smith," as the man 
 behind the bar reached towards a bottle with a white seal. 
 " We'll have something later on. Number two on the right, 
 I think you said." 
 
 The two men passed on into the back part of the premises. 
 
 "Guess dollars'll be flyin' 'fore the night's out," said 
 Smith, addressing any who cared to listen, and indicating 
 " Poker " John with a jerk of the head in the direction of 
 the door through which the two men had just passed. 
 " Make the banks hum when they raise the * bid.' Guess 
 ther' ain't many o' ther' likes roun' these parts. Rye or 
 Scotch?" to "Lord" Bill and three other men who came 
 up at that moment. Mancha and " Pickles " were with 
 him, and a fourth player the deposed captain of the 
 " round-up," Sim Lory. 
 
 " Scotch, you old heathen, of course," replied Bill, with 
 a tolerant laugh. " You don't expect us to drink fire-water. 
 If you kept decent Rye it would be different. We're going 
 to have a flutter. Any room? " 
 
 " Number two, I guess. Chock-a-block in the others. 
 Tolerable run on poker these times. All the round-up hands 
 been gettin' advances, I take it. Say when." 
 
 The four men said " when " in due course, and each 
 watered his own whisky. The proprietor went on, with a 
 quick twinkle of his beady eyes, 
 
 "Ther's Mr. Allendale an' Lablache and company in num- 
 ber two. Nobody else, I guess. I've a notion you'll find 
 plenty of room. Chips, no? All right; goin' to play a 
 tidy game? Good! " 
 
 The four men, having swallowed their drink, followed in 
 the footsteps of the others. 
 
 There was something very brisk and business-like about 
 this gambling-hell. Early settlers doubtless remember in 
 the days of " prohibition," when four per cent, beer was 
 supposed to be the only beverage of the country, and before 
 rigid legislation, backed by the armed force of the North- 
 West Mounted Police, swept these frightful pollutions from 
 
60 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 the fair face of the prairie, how they thrived on the encour- 
 agement of gambling and the sale of contraband spirits. 
 The West is a cleaner country now, thanks to the untiring 
 efforts of the police. 
 
 In number two " Poker " John and his companions were 
 already getting to work when Bill and his friends entered. 
 Beyond a casual remark they seemed to take little notice of 
 each other. One and all were eager to begin the play. 
 
 A deep silence quickly fell upon the room. It was the 
 silence of suppressed excitement. A silence only broken by 
 monosyllabic and almost whispered betting and " raising " 
 as the games proceeded. An hour passed thus. At the 
 table where Labloche and John Allendale were playing the 
 usual luck prevailed. The money-lender seemed unable to 
 do wrong, and at the other table Bunning-Ford was faring 
 correspondingly badly. Pedro Mancha, the Mexican, a man 
 of obscure past and who lived no one quite knew how, but 
 who always appeared to find the necessary to gamble with, 
 was the favored one of dame Fortune. Already he had 
 heaped before him a pile of " bills " and I. O. U.'s most of 
 which bore " Lord " Bill's signature. Looking on at either 
 table, no one from outward signs could have said which way 
 the luck was going. Only the scribblings of the pencils 
 upon the memo, pads and the gradual accumulation of the 
 precious slips of paper before Lablache at one table and the 
 wild-eyed, dark-skinned Mexican at the other, told the story 
 of the ruin which was surely being accomplished. 
 
 At length, with a loser's privilege, Bunning-Ford, after 
 glancing at his watch, rose from the table. His lean face 
 was in no way disturbed. He seemed quite indifferent to 
 his losses. 
 
 " I'll quit you, Pedro," he said, smiling lazily down at 
 the Mexican. " You're a bit too hot for me to-day." 
 
 The dark-skinned man smiled a vague, non-committing 
 smile and displayed a double row of immaculate teeth. 
 
 " Good. You shall have your revenge. Doubtless you 
 would like some of these papers back/' he said, as he swept 
 
" WAYS THAT ARE DARK " 61 
 
 them leisurely into his pocket-book, and then sugar-bagging 
 a cigarette paper he poured a few grains of granulated to- 
 bacco into it. 
 
 " Yes, I daresay I shall relieve you of some later on," 
 replied Bill, quietly. Then he turned to the other table 
 and stood watching the play. 
 
 He glanced anxiously at the bare table in front of the 
 old rancher. Even Dr. Abbot was well stocked with slips 
 of paper. Then his gaze fell upon the money-lender, be- 
 hind whose huge back he was standing. 
 
 He moved slightly to one side. It is an unwritten law 
 amongst poker players, in a public place in the west of the 
 American continent, that no onlooker should stand im- 
 mediately behind any player. He moved to Lablache's 
 right. The money-lender was dealing. "Lord" Bill lit 
 a cigarette. 
 
 The cards were dealt round. Then the draw. Then 
 Lablache laid the pack down. Bunning-Ford had noted 
 these things mechanically. Then something caught his 
 attention. It was his very indifference which caused his 
 sudden attention. Had he been following the game with 
 his usual keenness he would only have been thinking of the 
 betting. 
 
 Lablache was writing upon his memo, pad, which was a 
 gorgeous effort in silver mounting. One of those oblong 
 blocks with a broad band of burnished silver at the binding 
 of the perforated leaves. He knew that this was the pad 
 the money-lender always used; anyway, it was similar in 
 all respects to his usual memorandum pads. 
 
 How it was his attention had become fixed upon that pad 
 he could not have told, but now an inspiration came to him. 
 His face remained unchanged in its expression, but those 
 lazy eyes of his gleamed wickedly as he leisurely puffed at 
 his cigarette. 
 
 The bet went round. Lablache raised and raised again. 
 Eventually the rancher " saw " him. The other took the 
 pool. No word was spoken, but " Lord " Bill gritted his 
 
62 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 teeth and viciously pitched his cigarette to the other end of 
 the room. 
 
 During the next two deals he allowed his attention to 
 wander. Lablache dropped out one hand, and, in the next, 
 he merely " filled " his " ante " and allowed the doctor to 
 take in the pool. John Allendale's face was serious. The 
 nervous twitching of the cheek was still, but the drawn lines 
 around his mouth were in no way hidden by his gray mus- 
 tache, nor did the eager light which burned luridly in his 
 eyes for one moment deceive the onlooker as to the anxiety 
 of mind which his features masked. 
 
 Now it was Lablache's deal. " Lord " Bill concentrated 
 his attention upon the dealer. The money-lender was left- 
 handed. He held the pack in his right, and, in dealing, 
 he was slow and slightly clumsy. The object of Bunning- 
 Ford's attention quickly became apparent. Each card as 
 it left the pack was passed over the burnished silver of the 
 dealer's memorandum pad. It was smartly done, and 
 Lablache was assisted by the fact that the piece of metal 
 was inclined towards him. There was no necessity to look 
 down deliberately to see the reflection of each card as it 
 passed on its way to its recipient, a glance just the glance 
 necessary when dealing cards and the money-lender, by a 
 slight effort of memory, knew every hand that was out. 
 Lablache was cheating. 
 
 To say that " Lord " Bill was astonished would be wrong. 
 He was not. He had long suspected it. The steady run 
 of luck which Lablache had persisted in was too phenomenal. 
 It was enough to set the densest thinking. Now everything 
 was plain. Standing where he was, Bill had almost been 
 able to read the index numerals himself. He gave no sign 
 of his discovery. Apparently the matter was of no con- 
 sequence to him, for he merely lit a fresh cigarette and 
 walked towards the door. He turned as he was about to 
 pass out. 
 
 " What time shall I tell Jacky to expect you home, 
 John ? " he said quietly, addressing the old rancher. 
 
" WAYS THAT ARE DARK " 63 
 
 Lablache looked up with a swift, malevolent glance, but 
 he said nothing. Old John turned a drawn face to the 
 speaker. 
 
 " Supper, I guess," he said in a thick voice, husky from 
 long silence. " And tell Smith to send me in a bottle of 
 ' white seal ' and some glasses." 
 
 "Right you are." Then "Lord" Bill passed out. 
 " Poker without whisky is bad," he muttered as he made 
 his way back to the bar, " but poker and whisky together 
 can only be the beginning of the end. We'll see. Poor 
 old John!" 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 ACROSS THE GREAT MUSKEG 
 
 IT was on the stroke of four o'clock when Bunning-Ford 
 left the saloon. He had said that he would be at the ranch 
 at four, and usually he liked to be punctual. He was late 
 now, however, and made no effort to make up time. Instead, 
 he allowed his horse to walk leisurely in the direction of the 
 Allandales' house. He wanted time to think before he again 
 met Jacky. 
 
 He was confronted by a problem which taxed all his wit. 
 It was perhaps a fortunate thing that his was not a hasty 
 temperament. He well knew the usual method of dealing 
 with men who cheated at cards in those Western wilds. 
 Each man carried his own law in his holster. He had 
 realized instantly that Lablache was not a case for the us- 
 ual treatment. Pistol law would have defeated its own 
 ends. Such means would not recover the terrible losses of 
 " Poker " John, neither would he recover thereby his own 
 lost property. No, he congratulated himself upon the re- 
 straint he had exercised when he had checked his natural 
 impulse to expose the money-lender. Now, however, the 
 case looked more complicated, and, for the moment, he could 
 see no possible means of solving the difficulty. Lablache 
 must be made to disgorge but how ? John Allendale must 
 be stopped playing and further contributing to Lablache's 
 ill-gotten gains. Again but how? 
 
 Bill was roused out of his usual apathetic indifference. 
 The moment had arrived when he must set aside the old 
 indolent carelessness. He was stirred to the core. A duty 
 had been suddenly forced upon him. A duty to himself 
 and also a duty to those he loved. Lablache had con- 
 
 64 
 
ACROSS THE GREAT MUSKEG 65 
 
 sistently robbed him, and also the uncle of the girl he 
 loved. Now, how to restore that property and prevent the 
 villain's further depredations? 
 
 Again and again he asked himself the question as he 
 allowed his horse to mouche, with slovenly step, over the 
 sodden prairie; but no answer presented itself. His thin, 
 eagle face was puckered with perplexity. The sleepy eyes 
 gleamed vengefully from between his half-closed eyelids as 
 he gazed across the sunlit prairie. His aquiline nose, always 
 bearing a resemblance to an eagle's beak, was rendered even 
 more like that aristocratic proboscis by reason of the down- 
 drawn tip, consequent upon the odd pursing of his tightly- 
 compressed lips. For the moment " Lord " Bill was at a 
 loss. And, oddly enough, he began to wonder if, after all, 
 silence had been his best course. 
 
 He was still struggling in the direst perplexity when he 
 drew up at the veranda of the ranch. Dismounting, he 
 hitched his picket rope to the tying-post and entered the 
 sitting-room by the open French window. Tea was set 
 upon the table and Jacky was seated before the 
 stove. 
 
 " Late, Bill, late ! Guess that ' plug ' of yours is a rapid 
 beast, judging by the pace you came up the hill." 
 
 For the moment Bunn ing-Ford's face had resumed its 
 wonted air of lazy good-nature. 
 
 " Glad you took the trouble to watch for me, Jacky," he 
 retorted quickly, with an attempt at his usual lightness of 
 manner. " I appreciate the honor." 
 
 " Nothing of the sort. I was looking for uncle. The 
 mail brought a letter from Calford. Dawson, the cattle 
 buyer of the Western Railway Company, wants to see 
 him. The Home Government are buying largely. He is 
 commissioned to purchase 30,000 head of prime beeves. 
 Come along, tea's ready." 
 
 Bill seated himself at the table and Jacky poured out the 
 tea. She was dressed for the saddle. 
 
 "Where is Dawson now? " asked Bill. 
 
66 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " Calford. Guess he'll wait right there for uncle." 
 
 Suddenly a look of relief passed across the man's face. 
 
 " This is Wednesday. At six o'clock the mail-cart goes 
 back to town. Send some one down to the saloon at once, 
 and John will be able to go in to-night." 
 
 As Bill spoke his eyes encountered a direct and steady 
 glance from the girl. There was much meaning in that 
 mute exchange. For answer Jacky rose and rang a bell 
 sharply. 
 
 " Send a hand down to the settlement to find my uncle. 
 Ask him to come up at once. There is an important letter 
 awaiting him," she said, to the old servant who answered 
 the summons. 
 
 "Bill, what's up?" she went on, when the retainer had 
 departed. 
 
 "Lots. Look here, Jacky, we mustn't be long over tea. 
 We must both be out of the house when your uncle returns. 
 He may not want to go into town to-night. Anyway, I 
 don't want to give him the chance of asking any questions 
 until we have had a long talk. He's losing to Lablache 
 again." 
 
 " Ah ! I don't want anything to eat. Whenever you are 
 ready, Bill, I am." 
 
 Bunning-Ford drank his tea and rose from the table. 
 The girl followed his example. 
 
 There was something very strong and resolute in the 
 brisk, ready- for-emergency ways of this girl. There was 
 nothing of the ultra-feminine dependence and weakness 
 of her sex about her. And yet her hardiness detracted in 
 no way from her womanly charm; rather was that complex 
 abstract enhanced by her wonderful self-reliance. There 
 are those who decry independence in women, but surely 
 only such must come from those whose nature is largely 
 composed of hectoring selfishness. There was a resolute 
 set of the mouth as Jacky sent word to the stables to have 
 her horse brought round. She asked no questions of her 
 companion, as, waiting for compliance with her orders, she 
 
ACROSS THE GREAT MUSKEG 67 
 
 drew on her stout buckskin gauntlets. She understood this 
 man well enough to be aware that his suggestion was based 
 upon necessity. " Lord " Bill rarely interfered with any- 
 thing or anybody, but when such an occasion arose his words 
 carried a deal of weight with those who knew him. 
 
 A few minutes later and they were both riding slowly 
 down the avenue of pines leading from the house. The 
 direction in which they were moving was away from the 
 settlement, down towards where the great level flat of the 
 muskeg began. At the end of the avenue they turned 
 directly to the southeast, leaving the township behind 
 them. The prairie was soft and springy. There was still a 
 keen touch of winter in the fresh spring air. The afternoon 
 sun was shining coldly athwart the direction of their route. 
 
 Jacky led the way, and, as they drew clear of the bush, 
 and the house and settlement were hidden from view be- 
 hind them, she urged her horse into a good swinging lope. 
 Thus they progressed in silence. The far-reaching deadly 
 mire on their right, looking innocent enough in the shadow 
 of the snow-clad peaks beyond, the ranch well behind them 
 in the hollow of the Foss River Valley, whilst, on their left, 
 the mighty prairie rolled away upwards to the higher level of 
 the surrounding country. 
 
 In this way they covered nearly a mile, then the girl 
 drew up beside a small clump of weedy bush. 
 
 " Are you ready for the plunge, Bill ? " she asked, as her 
 companion drew up beside her. "The path's not more 
 than four feet wide. Does your * plug ' shy any? " 
 
 "He's all right. You lead right on. Where you can 
 travel I've a notion I'm not likely to funk. But I don't see 
 the path." 
 
 " I guess you don't. Never did nature keep her secret 
 better than in the setting out of this one road across her 
 woeful man-trap. You can't see the path, but I guess it's an 
 open book to me, and its pages ain't Hebrew either. Say, 
 Bill, there's been many a good prairie man looking for this 
 path, but" with a slight accent of exultation "they've 
 
68 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 never found it. Come on. Old Nigger knows it; many 
 a time has he trodden its soft and shaking surface. Good 
 old horse! " and she patted the black neck of her charger 
 as she turned his head towards the distant hills and urged 
 him forward with a " chirrup." 
 
 Far across the muskeg the distant peaks of the mountain 
 range glistened in the afternoon sun like diamond-studded 
 sugar loaves. So high were the clouds that every portion 
 of the mighty summits was clearly outlined. The great 
 ramparts of the prairie are a magnificent sight on a clear 
 day. Flat and smooth as any billiard-table stretched this 
 silent, mysterious muskeg, already green and fair to the eye, 
 an alluring pasture to the unwary. An experienced eye 
 might have judged it too green too alluring. Could a 
 more perfect trap be devised by evil human ingenuity than 
 this? Think for one instant of a bottomless pit of liquid 
 soil, absorbing in its peculiar density. Think of all the 
 horrors of a quicksand, which, embracing, sucks down into 
 its cruel bosom the despairing victim of its insatiable 
 greed. Think of a thin, solid crust, spread like icing upon 
 a cake and concealing the soft, spongy matter beneath, 
 covering every portion of the cruel plain; a crust which 
 yields a crop of luxurious, enticing grass of the most perfect 
 emerald hue; a crust firm in itself and dry looking, and 
 yet not strong enough to bear the weight of a good-sized 
 terrier. And what imagination can possibly conceive a 
 more cruel more perfect trap for man or beast? Woe to 
 the creature which trusts its weight upon that treacherous 
 crust. For one fleeting instant it will sway beneath the 
 tread, then, in the flash of a thought, it will break, and once 
 the surface gives no human power can save the victim. 
 Down, down into the depths must the poor wretch be plunged, 
 with scarce time to offer a prayer to God for the poor soul 
 which so swiftly passes to its doom. Such is the muskeg; 
 and surely more terrible is it than is that horror of the navi- 
 gator the quicksands. 
 
 The girl led the way without as much as a passing thought 
 
ACROSS THE GREAT MUSKEG 69 
 
 for the dangers which surrounded her. Truly had her com- 
 panion said " I don't see the path," for no path was to be 
 seen. But Jacky had learned her lesson well and learned 
 it from one who read the prairie as the Bedouin reads the 
 desert. The path was there and with a wondrous assurance 
 she followed its course. 
 
 The travelers moved silently along. No word was spoken ; 
 each was wrapped in thought. Now and again a stray 
 prairie chicken would fly up from their path with a whirr, 
 and speed across the mire, calling to its mate as it went. 
 The drowsy chirrup of frogs went on unceasingly around, 
 and already the ubiquitous mosquito was on the prowl for 
 human gore. 
 
 The upstanding horses now walked with down-drooped 
 heads, with sniffing noses low towards the ground, ears 
 cocked, and with alert, careful tread, as if fully alive to the 
 danger of their perilous road. The silence of that ride 
 teemed with a thrill of danger. Half an hour passed and 
 then the girl gathered up her reins and urged her willing 
 horse into a canter. 
 
 " Come on, Bill, the path is more solid now, and wider. 
 The worst part is on the far side," she called back over 
 her shoulder. 
 
 Her companion followed her unquestioningly. 
 
 The sun was already clipping towards the distant peaks and 
 already a shadowy haze was rising upon the eastern prairie. 
 The chill of winter grew keener as the sun slowly sank. 
 
 Two-thirds of the journey were covered and Jacky, hold- 
 ing up a warning hand, drew up her horse. Her com- 
 panion came to a stand beside her. 
 
 " The path divides in three here," said the girl, glancing 
 keenly down at the fresh green grass. " Two of the branches 
 are blind and end abruptly further on. Guess we must 
 avoid 'em," she went on shortly, " unless we are anxious to 
 punctuate our earthly career. This is the one we must take," 
 turning her horse to the left path. " Keep your eye peeled 
 and stick to Nigger's footprints." 
 
70 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 The man did as he was bid, marvelling the while at the 
 strange knowledge of his companion. He had no fear; he 
 only wondered. The trim, graceful figure on the horse 
 ahead of him occupied all his thoughts. He watched her 
 as, with quiet assurance she guided her horse. He had 
 known Jacky for years. He had watched her grow to 
 womanhood, but although her up-bringing must of necessity 
 have taught her an independence and courage given to few 
 women, he had never dreamt of the strength of the sturdy 
 nature she was now displaying. Again his thoughts went 
 to the tales of the gossips of the settlement, and the strange 
 figure of the daring cattle-thief loomed up over his mental 
 horizon. He rode, and as he rode he wondered. The end 
 of this journey would be a fitting place for the explanations 
 which must take place between them. 
 
 At length the shaking path came to an end and the mire 
 was crossed. A signal from the girl brought her companion 
 to her side. 
 
 " We have crossed it," she said, glancing up at the sun, 
 and indicating the muskeg with a backward jerk of her 
 head. " Now for the horse." 
 
 "What about your promise to tell me about Peter 
 Retief?" 
 
 " Guess being the narrator you must let me take my 
 time." 
 
 She smiled up into her companion's eagle face. 
 
 " The horse is a mile or so further up towards the foot- 
 hills. Come along." 
 
 They galloped side by side over the moist, springy grass 
 moist with the recently-melted snow. " Lord " Bill was 
 content to wait her pleasure. Suddenly the man brought his 
 horse up with a severe " yank." 
 
 " What's up? " The girl's beautiful eyes were fixed upon 
 the ground with a peculiar instinct. Bill pointed to the 
 ground on the side furthest from his companion. 
 
 "Look!" 
 
 Jacky gazed at the spot indicated. 
 
ACROSS THE GREAT MUSKEG 71 
 
 " The tracks of the horse," she said sharply. 
 
 She was on the ground in an instant and inspecting the 
 hoof-prints eagerly, with that careful study acquired by 
 experience. 
 
 " Well ? " said the other, as she turned back to her horse. 
 
 " Recent." Then in an impressive tone which her com- 
 panion failed to understand, " That horse has been shod. 
 The shoes are off all except a tiny bit on his off fore. 
 We must track it." 
 
 They now separated and rode keeping the hoof-prints 
 between them. The marks were quite fresh and so plain 
 in the soft ground that they were able to ride at a good 
 pace. The clear-cut indentations led away from the mire 
 up the gently-sloping ground. Suddenly they struck upon 
 a path thai was little more than a cattle-track, and instantly 
 became mingled with other hoof -marks, older and going 
 both ways. Hitherto the girl had ridden with her eyes 
 closely watching the tracks, but now she suddenly raised her 
 sweet, weather-tanned face to her companion, and, with a 
 light of the wildest excitement in her eyes, she pointed along 
 the path and set her horse at a gallop. 
 
 " Come on! I know," she cried, " right on into the hills." 
 
 Bill followed willingly enough, but he failed to under- 
 stand his companion's excitement. After all they were 
 merely bent upon " roping " a stray horse. The girl galloped 
 on at breakneck speed; the heavy black ringlets of hair 
 were swept like an outspread fan from under the broad 
 brim of her Stetson hat, her buckskin bodice ballooning in 
 the wind as rider and horse charged along, utterly indifferent 
 to the nature of the country they were traveling indifferent 
 to everything except the mad pursuit of an unseen quarry. 
 Now they were on the summit of some eminence whence 
 they could see for miles the confusion of hills, like innumer- 
 able bee-hives set close together upon an endless plain; now 
 down, tearing through a deep hollow, and racing towards 
 another abrupt ascent. With every hill passed the country 
 became less green and more and more rugged. " Lord " 
 
72 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Bill struggled hard to keep the girl in view as she raced on 
 on through the labyrinth of seemingly endless hillocks. 
 But at last he drew up on the summit of a high cone-like 
 rise and realized that he had lost her. 
 
 For a moment he gazed around with that peculiar, all- 
 observing keenness which is given to those whose lives are 
 spent in countries where human habitation is sparse where 
 the work of man is lost in the immensity of Nature's effort. 
 He could see no sign of the girl. And yet he knew she 
 could not be far away. His instincts told him to search 
 for her horse tracks. He was sure she had passed that way. 
 While yet he was thinking, she suddenly reappeared over 
 the brow of a further hill. She halted at the summit, and, 
 seeing him, waved a summons. Her gesticulations were ex- 
 cited and he hastened to obey. Down into the intervening 
 valley his horse plunged with headlong recklessness. At the 
 bottom there was a hard, beaten track. Almost unconsciously 
 he allowed his beast to adopt it. It wound round and up- 
 wards, at the base of the hill on which Jacky was waiting 
 for him. He passed the bend, then, with a desperate, back- 
 ward heave of the body, he " yanked " his horse short up, 
 throwing the eager animal on to its haunches. 
 
 He had pulled up on what, at first appeared to be the 
 brink of a precipice, and what in reality was a declivity, 
 down which only the slow and sure foot of a steer or broncho 
 might safely tread. He sat aghast at his narrow escape. 
 Then, turning at the sound of a voice behind him, he found 
 that Jacky had come down from the hill above. 
 
 " See, Bill," she cried, as she drew abreast of his hard- 
 breathing horse, " there he is ! Down there, peacefully 1 
 grazing." 
 
 Her excitement was intense, and the hand with which 
 she pointed shook like an aspen. Her agitation was in- 
 comprehensible to the man. He looked down. Hitherto 
 he had seen little beyond the brink at which he had come 
 to such a sudden stand. But now, as he gazed down, he 
 beheld a deep dark-shadowed valley, far-reaching and 
 
ACROSS THE GREAT MUSKEG 73 
 
 sombre. From their present position its full extent was 
 beyond the range of vision, but sufficient was to be seen to 
 realize that here was one of those vast hiding-places only 
 to be found in lands where Nature's fanciful mood has 
 induced the mighty upheaval of the world's greatest moun- 
 tain ranges. On the far side of the deep, sombre vale a 
 towering craig rose wall-like, sheer up, overshadowing the 
 soft, green pasture deep down at the bottom of the yawning 
 gulch. Dense patches of dark, relentless pinewoods lined 
 its base, and, over all, in spite of the broad daylight, a 
 peculiar shadow, as of evening, added mystery to the haunt- 
 ing view. 
 
 It was some seconds before the man was able to dis- 
 tinguish the tiny object which had roused the girl to such 
 unaccountable excitement When he did, however, he 
 beheld a golden chestnut horse quietly grazing as it made 
 its way leisurely towards the ribbon-like stream which flowed 
 in the bosom of the mysterious valley. " Lord " Bill's voice 
 was quite emotionless when he spoke. 
 
 "Ah, a chestnut! " he said quietly. "Well, our quest is 
 vain. He is beyond our reach." 
 
 For a moment the girl looked at him in indignant surprise. 
 Then her mood changed and she nearly laughed outright. 
 She had forgotten that this man as yet knew nothing of 
 what had all along been in her thoughts. As yet he knew 
 nothing of the secret of this hollow. To her it meant a 
 world of recollection a world of stirring adventure and 
 awful hazard. When first she had seen that horse, grazing 
 within sight of her uncle's house, her interest had been 
 aroused suspicions had been sent teeming through her 
 brain. Her thoughts had flown to the man whom she had 
 once known, and who was now dead. She had believed his 
 horse had died with him. And now the strange apparition 
 had yielded up its secret. The beast had been traced to the 
 old, familiar haunt, and what had been only suspicion had 
 suddenly become a startling reality. 
 
 " Ah, I forgot," she replied, " you don't understand. 
 
74 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 That is Golden Eagle. Can't you see, he has the fragments 
 of his saddle still tied round his body. To think of it 
 and after two years." 
 
 Her companion still seemed dense. 
 
 "Golden Eagle?" he repeated questioningly. "Golden 
 Eagle ? " The name seemed familiar but he failed to com- 
 prehend. 
 
 " Yes, yes," the girl broke out impatiently. " Golden 
 Eagle Peter Retief 's horse. The grandest beast that ever 
 stepped the prairie. See, he is keeping watch over his 
 master's old hiding-place faithful faithful to the 
 memory of the dead." 
 
 "And this is is the haunt of Peter Retief," Bill ex- 
 claimed, his interest centering chiefly upon the yawning 
 valley before him. 
 
 " Yes follow me closely, and we'll get right along down. 
 Say, Bill, we must round up that animal." 
 
 For a fleeting space the man looked dubious, then, with 
 lips pursed, and a quiet look of resolution in his sleepy eyes, 
 he followed in his companion's wake. The grandeur 
 the solitude the mystery and associations, conveyed by 
 the girl's words, of the place were upon him. These things 
 had set him thinking. 
 
 The tortuous course of that perilous descent occupied their 
 full attention, but, at length, they reached the valley in 
 safety. Now, indeed, was a wonderful scene disclosed. 
 Far as the eye could reach the great hollow extended. Deep 
 and narrow; deep in the heart of the hills which towered 
 upon either side to heights, for the most part, inaccessible, 
 precipitous. It was a wondrous gulch, hidden and unsus- 
 pected in the foothills, and protected by those amazing wilds, 
 in which the ignorant or unwary must infallibly be lost. 
 It was a perfect pasture, a perfect hiding-place, watered 
 by a broad running stream; sheltered from all cold and 
 storm. No wonder then that the celebrated outlaw, Peter 
 Retief, had chosen it for his haunt and the harborage of his 
 ill-gotten stock. 
 
ACROSS THE GREAT MUSKEG 75 
 
 With characteristic method the two set about " roping " 
 the magnificent crested horse they had come to capture. 
 They soon found that he was wild timid as a hare. Their 
 task looked as though it would be one of some diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 At first Golden Eagle raced recklessly from point to point. 
 And so long as this lasted his would-be captors could do 
 little but endeavor to "head" him from one to the other, 
 in the hope of getting him within range of the rope. Then 
 he seemed suddenly to change his mind, and, with a quick 
 double, gallop towards the side of the great chasm. A cry 
 of delight escaped the girl as she saw this. The horse was 
 making for the mouth of a small cavern which had been 
 boarded over, and, judging by the door and window in the 
 woodwork, had evidently been used as a dwelling or a stable. 
 It was the same instinct which led him to this place that had 
 caused the liorse to remain for two years the solitary tenant 
 of the valley. The girl understood, and drew her com- 
 panion's attention. The capture at once became easy. 
 Keeping clear of the cave they cautiously herded their quarry 
 towards it. Golden Eagle was docile enough until he 
 reached the, to him, familiar door. Then, when he found 
 that his pursuers still continued to press in upon him, he 
 took alarm, and, throwing up his head, with a wild, de- 
 fiant snort he made a bolt for the open. 
 
 Instantly two lariats whirled through the air towards the 
 crested neck. One missed its mark, but the other fell, true 
 as a gun-shot over the small, thoroughbred head. It was 
 Jacky's rope which had found its mark. A hitch round the 
 horn of her saddle, and her horse threw himself back with 
 her forefeet braced, and faced the captive. Then the rope 
 tightened with a jerk which taxed its rawhide strands to 
 their utmost. Instantly Golden Eagle, after two years' 
 freedom, stood still; he knew that once more he must re- 
 turn to captivity. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 TOLD IN BAD MAN'S HOLLOW 
 
 JACKY held her treasure fast. The choking grip of the 
 running noose quieted Golden Eagle into perfect docility. 
 Bunning-Ford was off his horse in a moment. Approaching 
 the primitive dwelling he forced open the crazy door. It 
 was a patchwork affair and swung back on a pair of hinges 
 which lamented loudly as the accumulation of rust were 
 disturbed. The interior was essentially suggestive of the 
 half-breed, and his guess at its purpose had been a shrewd 
 one. Part storehouse for forage, part bedroom, and part 
 stable, it presented a squalid appearance. The portion 
 devoted to stable-room was far in the back; the curious 
 apparatus which constituted the bed was placed under the 
 window. 
 
 The man propped the door open, and then went to re- 
 lieve the girl from the strain of holding her captive. Seizing 
 the lariat he gripped it tightly and proceeded to pass slowly, 
 hand over hand, towards the beautiful, wild-eyed chestnut. 
 Golden Eagle seemed to understand, for, presently, the ten- 
 sion of the rope relaxed. For a moment the animal looked 
 fearfully around and snorted, then, as " Lord " Bill deter- 
 minedly attempted to lead him, he threw himself backward. 
 His rebellion lasted but for an instant, for, presently, droop- 
 ing his proud head as though in token of submission, he fol- 
 lowed his captor quietly into the stable which had always 
 been his. 
 
 The girl dismounted, and, shortly after, "Lord" Bill 
 rejoined her. 
 
 " Well ? " she asked, her questioning eyes turned in the 
 direction of the cave. 
 
 76 
 
TOLD IN BAD MAN'S HOLLOW 77 
 
 " He's snug enough," Bill replied quietly, glancing at his 
 watch. He looked up at the chilly sky, then he seated him- 
 self on the edge of a boulder which reposed beside the en- 
 trance to the stable. " We've just got two hours and a half 
 before dark," he added slowly. " That means an hour in 
 which to talk." Then he quietly prepared to roll a cigarette. 
 " Now, Jacky, let's have your yarn first; after that you shall 
 hear mine." 
 
 He leisurely proceeded to pick over the tobacco before 
 rolling it in the paper. He was usually particular about his 
 smoke. He centered his attention upon the matter now, 
 purposely, so as to give his companion a chance to tell her 
 story freely. He anticipated that what she had to tell would 
 affect her nearly. But his surmise of the direction in which 
 she would be affected proved totally incorrect. Her first 
 words told him this. 
 
 She hesitated only for the fraction of a second, then she 
 plunged into her story with a directness which was always 
 hers. 
 
 "This is Bad Man's Hollow he he was my half- 
 brother." 
 
 So the stories of the gossips were not true. Bill gave a 
 comprehensive nod, but offered no comment. Her state- 
 ment appeared to him to need none. It explained itself; 
 she was speaking of Peter Retief. 
 
 " Mother was a widow when she married father widow 
 with one son. Mother was a half-breed." 
 
 An impressive silence ensued. For a moment a black 
 shadow swept across the valley. It was a dense flight of 
 geese winging their way back to the north, as the warm 
 sun melted the snow and furnished them with well-watered 
 feeding-grounds. The frogs were chirruping loudly down 
 at the edge of the stream which trickled its way ever south- 
 wards. She went on. 
 
 " Mother and Peter settled at Foss River at different times. 
 They never hit it off. No one knew that there was any 
 relationship between them up at the camp. Mother lived 
 
78 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 in her own shack. Peter located himself elsewhere. Guess 
 it's only five years since I learned these things. Peter was 
 fifteen years older than I. I take it they made him * bad ' 
 from the start. Poor Peter! still, he was my half-brother." 
 
 She conveyed a world of explanation in her last sentence. 
 There was a tender, far-away look in her great, sorrowful 
 eyes as she told her jerky story. " Lord " Bill allowed 
 himself a side-long glance in her direction, then he turned 
 his eyes towards the south end of the valley and something 
 very like a sigh escaped him. She had struck a sympa- 
 thetic chord in his heart. He longed to comfort her. 
 
 " There's no use in reckoning up Peter's acts. You know 
 'em as well as I do, Bill. He was slick was Peter," she 
 went on, with an inflection of satisfaction. She was re- 
 turning to a lighter manner as she contemplated the cattle- 
 thief's successes. " Cattle, mail-trains, mail-carts nothing 
 came amiss to him. In his own line Peter was a Jo-dandy." 
 Her face flushed as she proceeded. The half-breed blood 
 in her was stirred in all its passionate strength. " But he'd 
 never have slipped the coyote sheriffs or the slick red-coats 
 so long as he did without my help. Say, Bill," leaning 
 forward eagerly and peering into his face with her beautiful 
 glowing eyes, " for three years I just just lived ! Poor 
 Peter! Guess I'm reckoned kind of handy 'round a bunch 
 of steers. There aren't many who can hustle me. You 
 know that. All the boys on the round-up know that. And 
 why? Because I learnt the business from Peter and Peter 
 taught me to shoot quick and straight. Those three years 
 taught me a deal, and I take it those things didn't happen for 
 nothing," with a moody introspective gaze. " Those years 
 taught me how to look after myself and my uncle. Say, 
 Bill, what I'm telling you may sicken you some. I can't 
 help that. Peter was my brother and blood's thicker than 
 water. I wasn't going to let him be hunted down by a lot 
 of bloodthirsty coyotes who were no better than he. I 
 wasn't going to let my mother's flesh feed the crows from 
 the end of a lariat. I helped Peter to steer clear of the law 
 
TOLD IN BAD MAN'S HOLLOW 79 
 
 ' lynch at that and if he fell at last, a victim to the 
 sucking muck of the muskeg, it was God's judgment and not 
 man's that's good enough for me. I'd do it all again, I 
 guess, if if Peter were alive." 
 
 " Peter had some shooting on the account against him," 
 said Bill, without raising his eyes from the contemplation 
 of his cigarette. The girl smiled. The smile hovered for 
 a moment round her mouth and eyes, and then passed, leaving 
 her sweet, dark face bathed in the shadow of regret. She 
 understood the drift of his remark but in no way resented 
 it. 
 
 " No, Bill, I steered clear of that. I'd have shot to save 
 Peter, but it never came to that. Whatever shooting Peter 
 did was done on his lonely. I jibbed at a frolic that 
 meant shooting. Peter never let me dirty my hands to 
 that extent. Guess I just helped him and kept him posted. 
 If I'd had law, they'd have called me accessory after the 
 fact." 
 
 " Lord " Bill pondered. His lazy eyes were half-closed. 
 He looked indifferent but his thoughts were flowing fast. 
 This girl's story had given a fillup to a wild plan which 
 had almost unconsciously found place in his active brain. 
 Now he raised his eyes to her face and was astonished at 
 the setness of its expression. She reminded him of those 
 women in history whose deeds had, at various periods, 
 shaken the foundations of empires. There was a deep, 
 smouldering fire in her eyes, for which only the native blood 
 in her veins could account. Her beautiful face was clouded 
 beneath a somber shadow which is so often accredited as a 
 presage of tragedy. Surely her expression was one of a 
 great, passionate nature, of a soul capable of a wondrous 
 love, or a wondrous hate. She had seated herself upon 
 the ground with the careless abandon of one used to such 
 a resting-place. Her trim riding-boots were displayed from 
 beneath the hem of her coarse dungaree habit. Her Stetson 
 hat was pushed back on her head, leaving the broad low 
 forehead exposed. Her black waving hair streamed about 
 
80 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 her face, a perfect framing for the Van Dyke coloring of 
 her skin. She was very beautiful. 
 
 The man shifted his position. 
 
 " Tell me," he went on, gazing over towards where a flock 
 of wild ducks had suddenly settled upon a reedy swamp, and 
 were noisily revelling in the water, " did your uncle know 
 anything about this? " 
 
 "Not a soul on God's earth knew. Did you ever sus- 
 pect anything? " 
 
 Bill shook his head. 
 
 " Not a thing. I was as well posted on the subject of 
 Peter as any one. Sometimes I thought it curious that old 
 John's stock and my own were never interfered with. But 
 I had no suspicion of the truth. Peter's relationship to your 
 mother did the Breeds in the settlement know anything 
 of it?" 
 
 " No I alone knew." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 The girl looked curiously into her companion's face. The 
 tone of his exclamation startled her. She wondered towards 
 what end his questions were leading. His face was inscrut- 
 able; she gained no inspiration from it. There was a short 
 pause. She wondered anxiously how her story had affected 
 him in regard to herself. After all, she was only a woman 
 a woman of strong affections and deep feelings. Her 
 hardihood, her mannish self-reliance, were but outer cover- 
 ings, the result of the surroundings of her daily life. She 
 feared lest he should turn from her in utter loathing. 
 
 The Hon. Bunning-Ford had no such thoughts, however. 
 Twenty-four hours ago her story might have startled him. 
 But now it was different. His was as wild and reckless a 
 nature as her own. Law and order were matters which he 
 regarded in the light of personal inclinations. He had seen 
 too much of the early life on the prairie to be horrified by 
 the part this courageous girl had taken in her blood-relative's 
 interests. Under other circumstances " Lord " Bill might 
 well have developed into a " bad man " himself. As it was, 
 
TOLD IN BAD MAN'S HOLLOW 81 
 
 his sympathies were always with those whose daring led 
 them into ways of danger and risk of personal safety. 
 
 " How far does this valley extend ? " he asked abruptly, 
 stepping over as though to obtain a view of the southern 
 extremity of the mysterious hollow. 
 
 " Guess we reckoned it 300 miles. Dead straight into 
 the heart of the mountains, then out again sharply into the 
 foot-hills thirty miles south of the border. It comes to an 
 end in Montana." 
 
 " And Peter disposed of his stock that way all by him- 
 self ? " he asked, returning to his seat upon the boulder. 
 
 " All by himself," the girl repeated, again wondering at 
 the drift of his questions. " My help only extended as far 
 as this place. Peter used to fatten his stock right here and 
 then run them down into Montana. Down there no one 
 knew where he came from, and so wonderfully is this place 
 hidden that he was never traced. There is only one approach 
 to it, and that's across the keg. In winter that can be crossed 
 anywhere, but no sane persons would trust themselves in 
 the foothills at that time of year. For the rest it can only 
 be crossed by the secret path. This valley is a perfectly- 
 hidden natural road for illicit traffic." 
 
 " Wonderful." The man permitted a smile to spread 
 over his thin, eagle face. " Peter's supposed to have made a 
 pile of money." 
 
 " Yes, I guess Peter sunk a pile of dollars. He hid his 
 bills right here in the valley," Jacky replied, smiling back 
 into the indolent face before her. Then her face became 
 serious again. "The secret of its hiding-place died with 
 him it's buried deep down in the reeking keg." 
 
 " And you're sure he died in the * reeking keg ' ? " There 
 was a sharp intonation in the question. The matter Deemed 
 to be of importance in the story. 
 
 Jacky half started at the eagerness with which the ques- 
 tion was put. She paused for an instant before replying. 
 
 " I believe he died there," she said at length, like one 
 weighing her words well, " but it was never clearly proved. 
 
82 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Most people think that he simply cleared out of the country. 
 I picked up his hat close beside the path, and the crust of 
 the keg had been broken. Yes, I believe he died in the 
 muskeg. Had he lived I should have known." 
 
 " But how comes it that Golden Eagle is still alive? 
 Surely Peter would never have crossed the keg on foot." 
 
 The girl looked perplexed for a moment. But her con- 
 viction was plainly evident. 
 
 " No he wouldn't have walked. Peter drank some." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " Once I saved him from taking the wrong track at the 
 point where the path forks. He'd been drinking then. 
 Yes," with a quiet assurance, " I think he died in the keg." 
 
 Her companion seemed to have come to the end of his 
 cross-examination. He suddenly rose from his seat. The 
 chattering of the ducks in the distance caused him to turn 
 his head. Then he turned again to the girl before him. 
 The indolence had gone from his eyes. His face was set, 
 and the firm pursing of his lips spoke of a determination 
 arrived at. He gazed down at the recumbent figure upon 
 the ground. There was something in his gaze which made 
 the girl lower her eyes and look far out down the valley. 
 
 "This brother of yours he was tall and thin? " 
 
 The girl nodded. 
 
 " Am I right in my recollection of him when I say that 
 he was possessed of a dark, dark face, lantern jaws, thin 
 and high, prominent cheek-bones?" 
 
 "That's so." 
 
 She faced him inquiringly as she answered his eager ques- 
 tions. 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 He quickly turned again in the direction of the noisy 
 water-fowl. Their rollicking gambols sounded joyously 
 on the brooding atmosphere of the place. The wintry chill 
 in the air was fast ousting the balmy breath of spring. It 
 was a warning of the lateness of the hour. 
 
 " Now listen to me," he went on presently, turning again 
 
TOLD IN BAD MAN'S HOLLOW 83 
 
 from the contemplation of his weird surroundings. " I lost 
 all that was left to me from the wreck of my little ranch this 
 afternoon no, not to Lablache," as the girl was about to 
 pronounce the hated name, " but," with a wintry smile, " to 
 another friend of yours, Pedro Mancha. I also discovered, 
 this afternoon, the source of Lablache's phenomenal luck. 
 He has systematically robbed both your uncle and myself " 
 He broke off with a bitter laugh. 
 
 "My God!" 
 
 The girl had sprung to her feet in her agitation. And a 
 rage indescribable flamed into her face. The fury there ex- 
 pressed appalled him, and he stood for a moment waiting 
 for it to abate. What terrible depths had he delved into? 
 The hidden fires of a passionate nature are more easily kept 
 under than checked in their blasting career when once the 
 restraining will power is removed. For an instant it seemed 
 that she must choke. Then she hurled her feelings into one 
 brief, hissing sentence. 
 
 "Lablache I hate him!" 
 
 And the man realized that he must continue his story. 
 
 " Yes, we lost our money not fairly, but by cheating. 
 I am ruined, and your uncle " Bill shrugged. 
 
 "My uncle God help him! " 
 
 " I do not know the full extent of his losses, Jacky ex- 
 cept that they have probably trebled mine." 
 
 " But I know to what extent the hound has robbed him," 
 Jacky answered in a tone of such bitter hatred as to cause 
 her companion to glance uneasily at the passionate young 
 face before him. " I know, only too well. And right 
 thoroughly has Lablache done his work. Say, Bill, do you 
 know that that skunk holds mortgages on our ranch for 
 two hundred thousand dollars? And every bill of it is for 
 poker. For twenty years, right through, he has steadily 
 sucked the old man's blood. Slick? Say a six-year-old 
 steer don't know more about a branding-iron than does 
 Verner Lablache about his business. For every dollar 
 uncle's lost he's made him sign a mortgage. Every bit of 
 
84 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 paper has the old man had to redeem in that way. What 
 he's done lately I mean uncle I can't say. But Lab- 
 lache held those mortgages nearly a year ago." 
 
 "Whew" "Lord" Bill whistled under his breath. 
 " Gee-whittaker. It's worse than I thought. * Poker ' 
 John's losses during the last winter, to my knowledge, must 
 have amounted to nearly six figures the devil ! " 
 
 " Ruin, ruin, ruin! " 
 
 The girl for a moment allowed womanly feeling to over- 
 come her, for, as her companion added his last item to the 
 vast sum which she had quoted, she saw, in all its horrible 
 nakedness, the truth of her uncle's position. Then she sud- 
 denly forced back the tears which had struggled into her 
 eyes, and, with indomitable courage, faced the catastrophe. 
 
 " But can't we fight him can't we give him " 
 
 "Law? I'm afraid not," Bill interrupted. "Once a 
 mortgage is signed the debt is no longer a gambling debt. 
 Law is of no use to us, especially here on the prairie. 
 There is only one law which can save us. Lablache must 
 disgorge." 
 
 " Yes yes! For every dollar he has stolen let him pay 
 ten." 
 
 The passionate fire in her eyes burned more steadily now. 
 It was the fire which is unquenchable the fire of a lasting 
 hate, vengeful, terrible. Then her tone dropped to a con- 
 templative soliloquy. 
 
 "But how?" she murmured, looking away towards the 
 stream in the heart of the valley, as though in search of 
 inspiration. 
 
 Bunning-Ford smiled as he heard the half-whispered 
 question. But his smile was not pleasant to look upon. 
 All the latent recklessness which might have made of him 
 a good soldier or a great scoundrel was roused in him. He 
 was passing the boundary which divides the old Adam, 
 which is in every man, from the veneer of early training. 
 He was mutely unconsciously calling to his aid the 
 savage instincts which the best of men are not without. 
 
TOLD IN BAD MAN'S HOLLOW 85 
 
 His face expressed something of what was passing within 
 his active brain, and the girl before him, as she turned and 
 watched the working features, usually so placid indifferent, 
 knew that she was to see a side of his character always sus- 
 pected by her but never before made apparent. His thoughts 
 at last found vent in words of almost painful intensity. 
 
 " How ? " he said, repeating the question as though it had 
 been addressed to himself. "He shall pay pay! Ever- 
 lastingly pay ! So long as I have life and liberty, he shall 
 pay!"' 
 
 Then as if anticipating a request for explanation he told 
 her the means by which Lablache had consistently cheated. 
 The girl listened, speechless with amazement. She hung 
 upon his every word. At the conclusion of his story she 
 put an abrupt question. 
 
 "And you gave no sign? He doesn't suspect that you 
 know?" 
 
 " He suspects nothing." 
 
 " Good. You are real smart, Bill. Yes, shooting's no 
 good. This is no case for shooting. What do you pro- 
 pose? I see you mean business." 
 
 The man was still smiling but his smile had suddenly 
 changed to one of kindly humor. 
 
 " First of all Jacky," he said, taking a step towards her, 
 " I can do nothing without your help. I propose that you 
 share this task with me. No, no, I don't mean in that 
 way," as she commenced to assure him of her assistance. 
 " What I mean is that that I love you, dear. I want you 
 to give me the right to protect your uncle." 
 
 He finished up with his hands stretched out towards her. 
 Golden Eagle stirred in his stable, and the two heard him 
 whinny as if in approval. Then as the girl made no answer 
 Bill went on : " Jacky, I am a ruined man. I have nothing, 
 but I love you better than life itself. We now have a com- 
 mon purpose in life. Let us work together." 
 
 His voice sank to a tender whisper. He loved this 
 motherless girl who was fighting the battle of life single- 
 
86 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 handed against overwhelming odds, with all the strength 
 of his nature. He had loved her ever since she had reached 
 woman's estate. In asking for a return of his affections 
 now he fully realized the cruelty of his course. He knew 
 that the future his future was to be given up to the 
 pursuit of a terrible revenge. And he knew that, in linking 
 herself with him, she would perforce be dragged into what- 
 ever wrong-doing his contemplated revenge might lead him. 
 And yet he dared not pause. It all seemed so plain so 
 natural that they should journey through the crookecl 
 paths of the future together. Was she not equally deter- 
 mined upon a terrible revenge? 
 
 He waited in patience for his answer. Suddenly she 
 looked up into his face and gently placed her hands in his. 
 Her answer came with simple directness. 
 
 " Do you really, Bill ? I am glad yes, glad right 
 through. I love you, too. Say, you're sure you don't think 
 badly of me because because I'm Peter's sister? " 
 
 There was a smiling, half-tearful look in her eyes those 
 expressive eyes which, but a moment before, had burnt with 
 a vengeful fire as she asked the question. After all her 
 nature was wondrously simple. 
 
 "Why should I, dear?" he replied, bending and kissing 
 the gauntleted hands which rested so lovingly in his. " My 
 life has scarcely been a Garden of Eden before the Fall. 
 And I don't suppose my future, even should I escape the 
 laws of man, is likely to be most creditable. Your past 
 is your own I have no right nor wish to criticise. Hence- 
 forth we are united in a common cause. Our hand is turned 
 against one whose power in this part of the country is almost 
 absolute. When we have wrested his property from him, 
 to the uttermost farthing, we will cry quits " 
 
 "And on the day that sees Lablache's downfall, Bill, I 
 will become your wife." 
 
 There was a pause. Then Bill drew her towards him and 
 they sealed the compact with one long embrace. They were 
 roused to the matters of the moment by another whinny from 
 
TOLD IN BAD MAN'S HOLLOW 87 
 
 Golden Eagle, who was chafing at his forced imprisonment. 
 
 The two stood back from one another, hand in hand, 
 and smiled as they listened to the tuneful plaint. Then the 
 man unfolded a wonderful plan to this girl whom he loved. 
 Her willing ears drank in the details like one whose heart 
 is set with a great purpose. They also talked of their love 
 in their own practical way. There was little display of 
 sentiment. They understood without that. Their future 
 was not alluring, unless something of the man's strange 
 plan appealed to the wild nature of the prairie which, by 
 association, has somehow become affiliated with theirs. In 
 that quiet, evening-lit valley these two people arranged to 
 set aside the laws of man and deal out justice as they 
 understood it. An eye for an eye a tooth for a tooth; 
 fortune favoring, a cent, per cent, interest in each case. The 
 laws of the prairie, in those days always uncertain, were 
 more often governed by human passions than the calm equity 
 of unbiased jurymen. And who shall say that their idea 
 of justice was wrong? Two "wrongs," it has been said, 
 do not make one " right." But surely it is not a human 
 policy when smote upon one cheek to turn the other for a 
 similar chastisement. 
 
 " Then we leave Golden Eagle where he is," said Jacky, 
 as she remounted her horse and they prepared to return 
 home. 
 
 " Yes. I will see to him," Bill replied, urging his horse 
 into a canter towards the winding ascent which was to take 
 them home. 
 
 The ducks frolicking in their watery playground chattered 
 and flapped their heavy wings. The frogs in their reedy 
 beds croaked and chirruped without ceasing. And who 
 shall say how much they had heard, or had seen, or knew 
 of that compact sealed in Bad Man's Hollow? 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 LABLACHE was seated in a comfortable basket chair in his 
 little back office. He preferred a basket chair he knew 
 its value. He had tried other chairs of a less yielding 
 nature, but they were useless to support his weight; he had 
 broken too many, and they were expensive there is nothing 
 more durable than a strong basket chair. Lablache appre- 
 ciated strength combined with durability, especially when 
 the initial outlay was reduced to a minimum. 
 
 His slippered feet were posted on the lower part of the 
 self-feeding stove and he gazed down, deep in thought, at 
 the lurid glow of the fire shining through the mica sides of 
 the fire-box. 
 
 A clock was ticking away with that peculiar, vibrating 
 aggressiveness which characterizes the cheap American 
 " alarm." The bare wood of the desk aggravated the sound, 
 and, in the stillness of the little room, the noise pounded 
 exasperatingly on the ear-drums. From time to time he 
 turned his great head, and his lashless eyes peered over at 
 the paper dial of the clock. Once or twice he stirred with 
 a suggestion of impatience. At times his heavy breathing 
 became louder and shorter, and he seemed about to give 
 expression to some irritable thought. 
 
 At last his bulk heaved and he removed his feet from 
 the stove. Then he slowly raised himself from the depths 
 of the yielding chair. His slippered feet shuffled over the 
 floor as he moved towards the window. The blind was 
 down, but he drew it aside and wiped the steam from the 
 glass pane with his soft, fat hand. The night was black 
 
 88 
 
LABLACHE'S " COUP " 89 
 
 he could see nothing of the outside world. It was nearly 
 an hour since he had left the saloon where he had been 
 playing poker with John Allandale. He appeared to be 
 waiting for some one, and he wanted to go to bed. 
 
 Cnce more he returned to his complaining chair and 
 lowered himself into it. The minutes slipped by. Lablache 
 did not want to smoke; he felt that he must do something 
 to soothe his impatience, so he chewed at the quicks of his 
 finger-nails. 
 
 Presently there came a tap at the window. The money- 
 lender ponderously rose, and, cautiously opening the door, 
 admitted the dark, unkempt form of Pedro Mancha. There 
 was no greeting; neither spoke until Lablache had again 
 secured the door. Then the money-lender turned his fishy 
 eyes and mask-like face to the newcomer. He did not sug- 
 gest that his visitor should sit down. He merely looked 
 with his cold, cruel eyes, and spoke. 
 
 "Well? been drinking." 
 
 The latter part of his remark was an assertion. He knew 
 the Mexican well. The fellow had an expressive counte- 
 nance, unlike most of his race, and the least sign of drink 
 was painfully apparent upon it. The man was not drunk 
 but his wild eyes testified to his recent libations. 
 
 " Guess you've hit it right thar," he retorted indifferently. 
 
 It was noticeable that this man had adopted the high- 
 pitched, keen tone and pronounced accent of the typical 
 " South- Westerner." In truth he was a border Mexican; a 
 type of man closely allied to the " greaser." He was a per- 
 fect scoundrel, who had doubtless departed from his native 
 land for the benefit of that fair but swarming hornet's nest. 
 
 " It's a pity when you have business on hand you can't 
 leave that * stuff ' alone." 
 
 Lablache made no effort to conceal his contempt. He 
 even allowed his mask-like face to emphasize his words. 
 
 " You're almighty pertickler, mister. You ask for dirty 
 work to be done, an' when that dirty work's done, gorl- 
 darn-it you croak like a flannel-mouthed temperance lee- 
 
90 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 turer. Guess I came hyar to talk straight biz. Jest leave 
 the temperance track, an* hit the main trail." 
 
 Pedro's face was not pretty to look upon. The ring of 
 white round the pupils of his eyes gave an impression of 
 insanity or animal ferocity. The latter was his chief char- 
 acteristic. His face was thin and scored with scars, mainly 
 long and narrow. These, in a measure, testified to his past. 
 His mouth, half hidden beneath a straggling mustache, was 
 his worst feature. One can only liken it to a blubber-lipped 
 gash, lined inside with two rows of yellow fangs, all in a 
 more or less bad state of decay. 
 
 The two men eyed one another steadily for a moment. 
 Lablache could in no way terrorize this desperado. Like 
 all his kind this man was ready to sell his services to any 
 master, provided the forthcoming price of such services 
 was sufficiently exorbitant. He was equally ready to play 
 his employer up should any one else offer a higher price. 
 But Lablache, when dealing with such men, took no 
 chances. He rarely employed this sort of man, preferring 
 to do his own dirty work, but when he did, he knew it was 
 policy to be liberal. Pedro served him well as a rule, con- 
 sequently the Mexican was enabled to ruffle it with the best 
 in the settlement, whilst people wondered where he got his 
 money from. Somehow they never thought of Lablache be- 
 ing the source of this man's means; the money-lender was 
 not fond of parting. 
 
 " You are right, I am particular. When I pay for work 
 to be done I don't want gassing over a bar. I know what 
 you are when the whisky is in you." 
 
 Lablache stood with his great back to the fire watching 
 his man from beneath his heavy lids. Bad as he was him- 
 self the presence of this man filled him with loathing. Pos- 
 sibly deep down, somewhere in that organ he was pleased 
 to consider his heart, he had a faint glimmer of respect for 
 an honest man. The Mexican laughed harshly. 
 
 " Guess all you know of me, mister, wouldn't make a 
 pile o' literature. But say, what's the game to-night ? " 
 
LABLACHE'S " COUP " 91 
 
 Lablache was gnawing his fingers. 
 
 " How much did you take from the Honorable? " he 
 asked sharply. 
 
 "You told me to lift his boodle. Time was short he 
 wouldn't play for long." 
 
 " I'm aware of that. How much ? " 
 
 Lablache's tone was abrupt and peremptory. Mancha 
 was trying to estimate what he should be paid for his 
 work. 
 
 " See hyar, I guess we ain't struck no deal yet. What 
 do you propose to pay me? " 
 
 The Mexican was sharp but he was no match for his 
 employer. He fancied he saw a good deal over this night's 
 work. 
 
 " You played on paper, I know," said the money-lender, 
 quietly. He was quite unmoved by the other's display of 
 cunning. It pleased him rather than otherwise. He knew 
 he held all the cards in his hands he generally did in 
 dealing with men of this stamp. "To you, the amounts 
 he lost are not worth the paper they are written on. You 
 could never realize them. He couldn't meet 'em." 
 
 Lablache leisurely took a pinch of snuff from his snuff- 
 box. He coughed and sneezed voluminously. His indif- 
 ferent coolness, his air of patronage, aggravated the Mexican 
 while it alarmed him. The deal he anticipated began to 
 assume lesser proportions. 
 
 " Which means, I take it, you've a notion you'd like the 
 feel of those same papers." 
 
 Mancha had come to drive a bargain. He was aware that 
 the I.O.U.'s he held would take some time to realize on, in 
 the proper quarter, but, at the same time, he was quite 
 aware of the fact that Bunning-Ford would ultimately meet 
 them. 
 
 Lablache shrugged his shoulders with apparent indiffer- 
 ence he meant to have them. 
 
 "What do you want for the debts? I am prepared to 
 buy at a reasonable figure." 
 
92 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 The Mexican propped himself comfortably upon the cor- 
 ner of the desk. 
 
 " Say, guess we're talkin' biz, now. His * lordship ' is 
 due to ante up the trifle of seven thousand dollars " 
 
 The fellow was rummaging in an inside pocket for the 
 slips of paper. His eyes never left his companion's face. 
 The amount startled Lablache, but he did not move a 
 muscle. 
 
 " You did your work well, Pedro," he said, allowing him- 
 self, for the first time in this conversation, to recognize that 
 the Mexican had a name. He warmed towards a man who 
 was capable of doing another down for such a sum in such 
 a short space of time. " I'll treat you well. Two thousand 
 spot cash, and you hand over the I.O.U.'s. What say? Is 
 it a go?" 
 
 " Be damned to you. Two thousand for a certain seven ? 
 Not me. Say, what d'ye do with the skin when you eat a 
 bananny? Sole your boots with it? Gee-whiz! You do 
 fling your bills around." 
 
 The Mexican laughed derisively as he jammed the papers 
 back into his pocket. But he knew that he would have to 
 sell at the other's price. 
 
 Lablache moved heavily towards his desk. Selecting a 
 book he opened it at a certain page. 
 
 ".You can keep them if you like. But you may as well 
 understand your position. What's Bunning-Ford worth? 
 What's his ranch worth? " 
 
 The other suggested a figure much below the real value. 
 
 " It's worth more than that. Fifty thousand if it's worth 
 a cent," Lablache said expansively. " I don't want to do 
 you, my friend, but as you said we're talking business now. 
 Here is his account with me, you see," pointing to the 
 entries. " I hold thirty-five thousand on first mortgage 
 and twenty thousand on bill of sale. In all fifty-five thou- 
 sand, and his interest twelve months in arrears. Now, you 
 refuse to part with those papers at my price, and I'll sell him 
 up. You will then get not one cent of your money." 
 
LABLACHE'S " COUP " 93 
 
 The money-lender permitted himself to smile a grim, 
 cold smile. He had been careful to make no mention of 
 Bunning-Ford's further assets. He had quite forgotten to 
 speak of a certain band of cattle which he knew his in- 
 tended victim to possess. It was a well-known thing that 
 Lablache knew more of the financial affairs of the people of 
 the settlement than any one else; doubtless the Mexican 
 thought only of " Lord " Bill's ranch. Mancha shifted his 
 position uneasily. But there was a cunning look on his face 
 as he retorted swiftly, 
 
 " You're a'mighty hasty to lay your hands on his reckoning. 
 How's it that you're ready to part two thou' for 'em ? " 
 
 There was a moment's silence as the two men eyed each 
 other. It seemed as if each were endeavoring to fathom 
 the other's thoughts. Then the money-lender spoke, and 
 his voice conveyed a concentration of hate that bit upon 
 the air with an incisiveness which startled his companion. 
 
 " Because I intend to crush him as I would a rattlesnake. 
 Because I wish to ruin him so that he will be left in my 
 debt. So that I can hound him from this place by holding 
 that debt over his head. It is worth two thousand to me 
 to possess that power. Now, will you part ? " 
 
 This explanation appealed to the worst side of the Mexi- 
 can's nature. This hatred was after his own heart. La- 
 blache was aware that such would be the case. That is why 
 he made it. He was accustomed to play upon the feelings 
 of people with whom he dealt as well as their pocket. 
 Pedro Mancha grinned complacently. He thought he un- 
 derstood his employer. 
 
 "Hand over the bills. Guess I'll part. The price is 
 slim, but it's not a bad deal." 
 
 Lablache oozed over to the safe. He opened it, keeping 
 one heavy eye upon his companion. He took no chances 
 he trusted no one, especially Pedro Mancha. Presently 
 he returned with a roll of notes. It contained the exact 
 amount. The Mexican watched him hungrily as he counted 
 out the green-backed bills. His lips moistened beneath his 
 
94 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 mustache his eyes looked wilder than ever. Lablache un- 
 derstood his customer thoroughly. A loaded revolver was in 
 his own coat pocket. It is probable that the brown-faced 
 desperado knew this. 
 
 At last the money-lender held out the money. He held 
 out both hands, one to give and the other to receive. Pedro 
 passed him the I.O.U.'s and took the bills. One swift 
 glance assured Lablache that the coveted papers were all 
 there. Then he pointed to the door. 
 
 " Our transaction is over. Go! " 
 
 He had had enough of his companion. He had no hesita- 
 tion in thus peremptorily dismissing him. 
 
 "You're in a pesky hurry to get rid of me. See hyar, 
 pard, you'd best be civiL Your dealin's ain't a sight cleaner 
 than mine." 
 
 " I'm waiting." Lablache's tone was coldly commanding. 
 His lashless eyes gazed steadily into the other's face. Some- 
 thing the Mexican saw in them impelled him towards the 
 door. He moved backwards, keeping his face turned to- 
 wards the money-lender. At this moment Lablache was at 
 his best. His was a dominating personality. There was no 
 cowardice in his nature at least no physical cowardice. 
 Doubtless, had it come to a struggle where agility was re- 
 quired, he would have fallen an easy prey to his lithe com- 
 panion; but with him, somehow, it never did come to a 
 struggle. He had a way with him that chilled any such 
 thought that a would-be assailant might have. Will and 
 unflinching courage are splendid assets. And, amongst 
 others, this man possessed both. 
 
 Mancha slunk back to the door, and, fumbling at the lock, 
 opened it and passed out. Lablache instantly whipped out 
 a revolver, and, stepping heavily on one side, advanced to 
 the door, paused and listened. He was well under cover. 
 The door was open. He was behind it. He knew better 
 than to expose himself in the light for Mancha to make a 
 target of him from without. Then he kicked the door to. 
 Making a complete circuit of the walls of the office he came 
 
LABLACHE'S " COUP " 95 
 
 to the opposite side of the door, where he swiftly locked and 
 bolted it. Then he drew an iron shutter across the light 
 panelling and secured it 
 
 " Good," he muttered, as, sucking in a heavy breath, he 
 returned to the stove and turned his back to it " It's as 
 well to understand Mexican nature." 
 
 Then he lounged into his basket chair and rubbed his 
 fleshy hands reflectively. There was a triumphant look upon 
 his repulsive features. 
 
 " Quite right, friend Pedro, it's not a bad deal," he 
 said to himself, blinking at the red light of the fire. " Not 
 half bad. Seven thousand dollars for two thousand dol- 
 lars, and every cent of it realizable." He shook with in- 
 ward mirth. " The Hon. William Bunning-Ford will now 
 have to disgorge every stick of his estate. Good, 
 good!" 
 
 Then he relapsed into deep thought. Presently he roused 
 himself from his reverie and prepared for bed. 
 
 " But I'll give him a chance. Yes, I'll give him a 
 chance," he muttered, as, after undergoing the simple opera- 
 tion of removing his coat, he stretched himself upon his bed 
 and drew the blankets about him. " If he'll consent to 
 renounce any claim, fancied or otherwise, he may have 
 to Joaquina Allandale's regard I'll refrain from selling him 
 up. Yes, Verner Lablache will forego his money for a 
 time." 
 
 The great bed shook as the monumental money-lender 
 suppressed a chuckle. Then he turned over, and his 
 stertorous inhalations soon suggested that the great man 
 slept. 
 
 Shylock, the Jew, determined on having his pound of 
 flesh. But a woman outwitted him. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 "AUNT" MARGARET REFLECTS 
 
 IT was almost dark when Jacky returned to the ranch. 
 She had left " Lord " Bill at the brink of the great keg, 
 whence he had returned to his own place. Her first thought, 
 on entering the house, was for the letter which she had 
 left for her uncle. It was gone. She glanced round the 
 room uncertainly. Then she stood gazing into the stove, 
 while she idly drummed with her gauntleted fingers upon 
 the back of a chair. She had as yet removed neither her 
 Stetson hat nor her gauntlets. 
 
 Her strong, dark face was unusually varying in its ex- 
 pression. Possibly her thoughts were thus indexed. Now, 
 as she stood watching the play of the fire, her great, deep 
 eyes would darken with a grave, almost anxious expression; 
 again they would smile with a world of untold happiness 
 in their depths. Again they would change, in a flash, to a 
 hard, cold gleam of hatred and unyielding purpose; then 
 slowly, a tender expression, such as that of a mother for 
 her new-born babe, would creep into them and shine down 
 into the depths of the fire with a world of sweet sympathy. 
 But through all there was a tight compression of the lips, 
 which spoke of the earnest purpose which governed her 
 thoughts; a slight pucker of the brows, which surely told of 
 a great concentration of mind. 
 
 Presently she roused herself, and, walking to where a 
 table-bell stood, rang sharply upon it. Her summons was 
 almost immediately answered by the entry of a servant. 
 
 Jacky turned as the door opened, and fired an abrupt 
 question. 
 
 " Has Uncle John been in, Mamie? " 
 
 96 
 
" AUNT " MARGARET REFLECTS 97 
 
 The girl's face had resumed its usual strong, kindly ex- 
 pression. Whatever was hidden behind that calm exterior, 
 she had no intention of giving a chance observer any clew 
 to it. 
 
 " No, miss," the servant replied, in that awestruck tone 
 which domestics are apt to use when sharply interrogated. 
 She was an intelligent-looking girl. Her dark skin and 
 coarse black hair pronounced her a half-breed. Her mis- 
 tress had said " blood is thicker than water." All the 
 domestics under Jacky's charge hailed from the half-breed 
 camp. 
 
 " Was my message delivered to him? " 
 
 Unconcernedly as she spoke she waited with some anxiety 
 for the answer. 
 
 " Oh, yes, miss. Silas delivered it himself. The master 
 was in company with Mr. Lablache and the doctor,' miss," 
 added the girl, discreetly. 
 
 "And what did he say?" 
 
 " He sent Silas for the letter, miss." 
 
 " He didn't say what time he would return, I suppose? " 
 
 "No, miss " She hesitated and fumbled at the door 
 handle. 
 
 "Well?" as the girl showed by her attitude that there 
 was something she had left unsaid. 
 
 Jacky's question rang acutely in the quiet room. 
 
 " Silas " began the girl, with a deprecating air of 
 unbelief " you know what strange notions he takes he 
 said" 
 
 The girl stopped in confusion under the steady gaze of 
 her mistress. 
 
 " Speak up, girl," exclaimed Jacky, impatiently. " What 
 is it?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing, miss," the girl blurted out desperately. 
 " Only Silas said as the master didn't seem well like." 
 
 "Ah! That will do." Then, as the girl still stood at 
 the door, " You can go." 
 
 The dismissal was peremptory, and the half-breed had 
 
98 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 no choice but to depart. She had hoped to have heard 
 something interesting, but her mistress was never given to 
 being communicative with servants. 
 
 When the door had closed behind the half-breed Jacky 
 turned again towards the stove. Again she was plunged in 
 deep thought. This time there could be no mistake as 
 to its tenor. Her heart was racked with an anxiety which 
 was not altogether new to it. The sweet face was pale 
 and her eyelids flickered ominously. The servant's veiled 
 meaning was quite plain to her. Brave, hardy as this girl 
 of the prairie was, the fear that was ever in her heart had 
 suddenly assumed the proportions of a crushing reality. 
 She loved her uncle with an affection that was almost 
 maternal. It was the love of a strong, resolute nature for 
 one of a kindly but weak disposition. She loved the gray- 
 headed old man, whose affection had made her life one 
 long, long day of happiness, with a tenderness which no 
 recently-acquired faults of his could alienate. He and 
 now another was her world. A world in which it was 
 her joy to dwell. And now now; what of the present? 
 Racked by losses brought about through the agency of his 
 all-absorbing passion, the weak old man was slowly but 
 surely taking to drowning his consciousness of the appalling 
 calamity which he had consistently set to work to bring 
 about, and which in his lucid moments he saw looming 
 heavily over his house, in drink. She had watched him 
 with the never-failing eye of love, and had seen, to her 
 horror, the signs she so dreaded. She could face disaster 
 stoically, she could face danger unflinchingly, but this moral 
 wrecking of the old man, who had been more to her than 
 a father, was more than she could bear. Two great tears 
 welled up into her beautiful, somber eyes and slowly rolled 
 down her cheeks. She bowed like a willow bending to the 
 force of the storm. 
 
 Her weakness was only momentary, however; her courage, 
 bred from the wildness of her life surroundings, rose superior 
 to her feminine weakness. She dashed her gloved hands 
 
" AUNT " MARGARET REFLECTS 99 
 
 across her eyes and wiped the tears away. She felt that 
 she must be doing not weeping. Had not she sealed a 
 solemn compact with her lover? She must to work without 
 delay. 
 
 She glanced round the room. Her gaze was that of one 
 who wishes to reassure herself. It was as if the old life 
 had gone from her and she was about to embark on a career 
 new foreign to her. A career in which she could see no 
 future only the present. She felt like one taking a long 
 farewell to a life which had been fraught with nothing but 
 delight. The expression of her face told of the pain of the 
 parting. With a heavy sigh she passed out of the room 
 out into the chill night air, where even the welcome 
 sounds of the croaking frogs and the lowing cattle were 
 not. Where nothing was to cheer her for the work which 
 in the future must be hers. Something of that solemn night 
 entered her soul. The gloom of disaster was upon her. 
 
 It was only a short distance to Dr. Abbot's house. The 
 darkness of the night was no hindrance to the girl. Hither 
 she made her way with the light, springing step of one whose 
 mind is made up to a definite purpose. 
 
 She found Mrs. Abbot in. The little sitting-room in the 
 doctor's house was delightfully homelike and comfortable. 
 There was nothing pretentious about it just solid comfort. 
 And the great radiating stove in the center of it smelt 
 invitingly warm to the girl as she came in out of the raw 
 night air. Mrs. Abbot was alternating between a basket of 
 sewing and a well-worn, cheap-edition novel. The old lady 
 was waiting with patience, the outcome of experience, for 
 the return of her lord to his supper. 
 
 " Well, * Aunt ' Margaret," said Jacky, entering with the 
 confidence of an assured welcome, " I've come over for a 
 good gossip. There's nobody at home up there," with a 
 nod in the direction of the ranch. 
 
 " My dear child, I'm so pleased," exclaimed Mrs. Abbot, 
 coming forward from her rather rigid seat, and kissing the 
 girl on both cheeks with old-fashioned cordiality. " Come 
 
100 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 and sit by the stove yes, take that hideous hat off, which, 
 by the way, I never could understand your wearing. Now, 
 when John and I were first en " 
 
 " Yes, yes, dear. I know what you're going to say," in- 
 terrupted the girl, smiling in spite of the dull aching at her 
 heart. She knew how this sweet old lady lived in the past, 
 and she also knew how, to a sympathetic ear, she loved to 
 pour out the delights of memory from a heart overflowing 
 with a strong affection for the man of her choice. Jacky 
 had come here to talk of other matters, and she knew that 
 when " Aunt " Margaret liked she could be very shrewd 
 and practical. 
 
 Something in the half-wistful smile of her companion 
 brought the old lady quickly back from the realms of recol- 
 lection, and a pair of keen, kindly eyes met the steady gray- 
 black orbs of the girl. 
 
 " Ah, Jacky, my child, we of the frivolous sex are al- 
 ways being forced into considering the mundane matters 
 of everyday life here at Foss River. What is it, dear? I 
 can see by your face that you are worrying over some- 
 thing." 
 
 The girl threw herself into an easy chair, drawn up to the 
 glowing stove with careful forethought by the old lady. 
 Mrs. Abbot reseated herself in the straight-backed chair she 
 usually affected. She carefully put her book on one side 
 and took up some darning, assiduously inserting the needle 
 but without further attempt at work. It was something to 
 fix her attention on whilst talking. Old Mrs. Abbot always 
 liked to be able to occupy her hands when talking seriously. 
 And Jacky's face told her that this was a moment for serious 
 conversation. 
 
 "Where's the Doc?" the girl asked without preamble. 
 She knew, of course, but she used the question by way of 
 making a beginning. 
 
 The old lady imperceptibly straightened her back. She 
 now anticipated the reason of her companion's coming. She 
 glanced over the top of a pair of gold pince-nez, which she 
 
"AUNT " MARGARET REFLECTS 
 
 had just settled comfortably upon the bridge of her pretty, 
 broad nose. 
 
 " He's down at the saloon playing poker. Why, dear? " 
 
 Her question was so innocent, but Jacky was not for a 
 moment deceived by its tone. The girl smiled plaintively 
 into the fire. There was no necessity for her to disguise 
 her feelings before " Aunt " Margaret, she knew. But her 
 loyal nature shrank from flaunting her uncle's weaknesses 
 before even this kindly soul. She kept her fencing attitude 
 a little longer, however. 
 
 " Who is he playing with ? " Jacky raised a pair of in- 
 quiring gray eyes to her companion's face. 
 
 " Your uncle and Lablache." 
 
 The shrewd old eyes watched the girl's face keenly. But 
 Jacky gave no sign. 
 
 "Will you send for him, * Aunt ' Margaret?" said the 
 girl, quietly. " Without letting him know that I am here," 
 she added, as an afterthought 
 
 " Certainly, dear," the old lady replied, rising with alac- 
 rity. " Just wait a moment while I send word. Keewis 
 hasn't gone to his teepee yet. I set him to clean some 
 knives just now. He can go. These Indians are better 
 messengers than they are domestics." Mrs. Abbot bustled 
 out of the room. 
 
 She returned a moment later, and, drawing her chair be- 
 side that of the girl, seated herself and rested one soft white 
 hand on those of her companion, which were reposing clasped 
 in the lap of her dungaree skirt. 
 
 " Now, tell me, dear tell me all about it I know, it is 
 your uncle." 
 
 The sympathy of her tone could never have been con- 
 veyed in mere words. This woman's heart expressed its 
 kindliness in voice and eyes. There was no resisting her, 
 and Jacky made no effort to do so. 
 
 For one instant there flashed into the girl's face a look 
 of utter distress. She had come purposely to talk plainly 
 to the woman whom she had lovingly dubbed " Aunt Mar- 
 
10? THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 garet," but she found it very hard when it came to the point. 
 She cast about in her mind for a beginning, then abandoned 
 the quest and blurted out lamely the very thing from which 
 she most shrank. 
 
 " Say, auntie, youVe observed uncle lately I mean how 
 strange he is? YouVe noticed how often, now, he is is 
 not himself ? " 
 
 " Whisky," said the old lady, uncompromisingly. " Yes, 
 dear, I have. It is quite the usual thing to smell * old man ' 
 Smith's vile liquor when John Allandale is about. I'm glad 
 you've spoken. I did not like to say anything to you about 
 it. John's on a bad trail." 
 
 " Yes, and a trail with a long, downhill gradient," re- 
 plied Jacky, with a rueful little smile. " Say, aunt," she 
 went on, springing suddenly to her feet and confronting the 
 old lady's mildly-astonished gaze, " isn't there anything we 
 can do to stop him? What is it? This poker and whisky 
 are ruining him body and soul. Is the whisky the result of 
 his losses? Or is the madness for a gamble the result of 
 the liquor? " 
 
 " Neither the one nor the other, my dear. It is 
 Lablache." 
 
 The older woman bent over her darning, and the needle 
 passed, rippling, round a "potato" in the sock which was 
 in her lap. Her eyes were studiously fixed upon the work. 
 
 "Lablache Lablache! It is always Lablache, which- 
 ever way I turn. Gee but the whole country reeks of 
 him. I tell you right here, aunt, that man's worse than 
 scurvy in our ranching world. Everybody and everything 
 in Foss River seems to be in his grip." 
 
 " Excepting a certain young woman who refuses to be en- 
 snared." 
 
 The words were spoken quite casually. But Jacky 
 started. Their meaning was driven straight home. She 
 looked down upon the bent, gray head as if trying to 
 penetrate to the thought that was passing within. There 
 was a moment's impressive silence. The clock ticked loudly 
 
" AUNT " MARGARET REFLECTS 103 
 
 in the silence of the room. A light wind was whistling 
 rather shrilly outside, round the angles of the house. 
 
 " Go on, auntie," said the girl, slowly. " You haven't 
 said enough yet. I guess you're thinking mighty 
 deeply." 
 
 Mrs. Abbot looked up from her work. She was smiling, 
 but behind that smile there was a strange gravity in the ex- 
 pression of her eyes. 
 
 " There is nothing more to say at present." Then she 
 added, in a tone from which all seriousness had vanished, 
 " Hasn't Lablache ever asked you to marry him? " 
 
 A light was beginning to dawn upon the girl. 
 
 "Yes why?" 
 
 " I thought so." It was now Mrs. Abbot's turn to rise 
 and confront her companion. And she did so with the 
 calm manner of one who is assured that what she is about 
 to say cannot be refuted. Her kindly face had lost nothing 
 of its sweet expression, only there was something in it 
 which seemed to be asking a mute question, whilst her 
 words conveyed the statement of a case as she knew it. 
 " You dear, foolish people. Can you not see what is going 
 on before your very eyes, or must a stupid old woman like 
 myself explain what is patent to the veriest fool in the set- 
 tlement? Lablache is the source of your uncle's trouble, 
 and, incidentally, you are the incentive. I have watched 
 I have little else to do in Foss River you all for years 
 past, and there is little that I could not tell you about any 
 of you, as far as the world sees you. Lablache has been a 
 source of a world of thought to me. The business side of 
 him is patent to everybody. He is hard, flinty, tyrannical 
 even unscrupulous. I am telling you nothing new, I know. 
 But there is another side to his character which some of 
 you seem to ignore. He is capable of strong passions 
 ay, very strong passions. He has conceived a passion for 
 you. I will call it by no other name in such an unholy 
 brute as Lablache. He wishes to marry you he means to 
 marry you." 
 
104 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 The silver-haired old lady had worked herself up to 
 an unusual vehemence. She paused after accentuating her 
 last words. Jacky, taking advantage of the break, dropped 
 in a question. 
 
 " But how does this affect my uncle ? " 
 
 " Aunt " Margaret sniffed disdainfully and resettled the 
 glasses which, in the agitation of the moment, had slipped 
 from her nose. 
 
 " Of course it affects your uncle," she continued more 
 quietly. "Now listen and I will explain." Once more 
 these two seated themselves and " Aunt " Margaret again 
 plunged into her story. 
 
 " Sometimes I catch myself speculating as to how it 
 comes about that you have inspired this passion in such 
 a man as Lablache," she began, glancing into the somberly 
 beautiful face beside her. " I should have expected that 
 mass of flesh and money he always reminds me of a jelly- 
 fish, my dear ugh ! to have wished to take to himself one 
 of your gaudy butterflies from New York or London for a 
 wife; not a simple child of the prairie who is more than 
 half a wild wild savage." She smiled lovingly into the 
 girl's face. " You see these coarse money-grubbers always 
 prefer their pills well gilded, and, as a rule, their matri- 
 monial pills need a lot of gilding to bring them up to the 
 standard of what they think a wife should be. However, it 
 was not long before it became plain to me that he wished 
 to marry you. He may be a master of finance; he may 
 disguise his feelings if he has any in business, so that 
 the shrewdest observer can discover no vulnerable point in 
 his armor of dissimulation. But when it comes to matters 
 pertaining to to love quite the wrong word in his 
 case, my dear these men are as babes; worse, they are 
 fools. When Lablache makes up his mind to a purpose he 
 generally accomplishes his end " 
 
 " In business," suggested Jacky, moodily. 
 
 " Just so in business, my dear. In matters matri- 
 monial it may be different. But I doubt his failure in 
 
" AUNT " MARGARET REFLECTS 105 
 
 that," went on Mrs. Abbot, with a decided snap of her 
 expressive mouth. "He will try by fair means or foul, 
 and, if I know anything of him, he will never relinquish his 
 purpose. He asked you to marry him and of course you 
 refused, quite natural and right. He will not risk another 
 refusal from you these people consider themselves very 
 sensitive, my dear so he will attempt to accomplish his 
 end by other means means much more congenial to him, 
 the the beast. There now, I've said it, my dear. The 
 doctor tells me that he is quite the most skilful player at 
 poker that he has ever come across." 
 
 " I guess that's so," said the girl, with a dark, ironical 
 smile. 
 
 " And that his luck is phenomenal," the old lady went 
 on, without appearing to notice the interruption. " Very 
 well. Your uncle, the old fool excuse me, my dear has 
 done nothing but gamble all his life. The doctor says 
 that he believes John has never been known to win more 
 than about once in a month's play, no matter with whom 
 he plays. You know we all know that for years he has 
 been in the habit of raising loans from this monumental 
 cuttle-fish to settle his losses. And you can trust that in- 
 dividual to see that these loans are well secured. John 
 Allandale is reputed very rich, but the doctor assures me 
 that were Lablache to foreclose his mortgages a very, very 
 big slice of your uncle's worldly goods would be taken to 
 meet his debts. 
 
 "Now comes the last stage of the affair," she went on, 
 with a sage little shake of the head. " How long ago is it 
 since Lablache proposed to you? But there, you need not 
 tell me. It was a little less than a year ago wasn't 
 it?" 
 
 Her companion nodded her head. She wondered how 
 " Aunt " Margaret had guessed it. She had never told a 
 soul herself. The shrewd little old lady was filling her 
 with wonder. The careful manner in which she had pieced 
 facts together and argued them out with herself revealed to 
 
106 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 her a cleverness and observation she would never, in spite 
 of the kindly soul's counsels, have given her credit for. 
 
 " Yes, I knew I was right," said Mrs. Abbot, com- 
 placently. " Just about the time when Lablache began 
 seriously to play poker about the time when his 
 phenomenal luck set in, to the detriment of your uncle. 
 Yes, I am well posted," as the girl raised her eyebrows in 
 surprise. " The doctor tells me a great deal especially 
 about your uncle, dear. I always like to know what is 
 going on. And now to bring my long explanation to an 
 end. Don't you see how Lablache intends to marry you? 
 Your uncle's losses this winter have been so terribly heavy 
 and all to Lablache. Lablache holds the whip hand of 
 him. A request from Lablache becomes a command or 
 the crash." 
 
 " But how about the Doc," asked Jacky, quickly. " He 
 plays with them mostly?" 
 
 Mrs. Abbot shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " The doctor can take care of himself. He's cautious, and 
 besides Lablache has no wish to win his money." 
 
 " But surely he must lose? Say, auntie, dear, it's not 
 possible to play against Lablache's luck without losing 
 some." 
 
 " Well, dear, I can't say I know much of the game," 
 with some perplexity, " but the doctor assures me that 
 Lablache never hits him hard. Often arid often when the 
 ' pot ' rests between them Lablache will throw down his 
 hand which goes to show that he does not want to take 
 his money." 
 
 " An* I reckon goes to show that he's bucking dead against 
 Uncle John, only. Yes, I see." 
 
 The little gray head again bent over the darning, which 
 had lain almost untouched in her lap during her long 
 recital. Now she resolutely drew the darning yarn through 
 the soft wool of the sock and re-inserted the needle. The 
 girl beside her bent an eager face before her, and, resting her 
 chin upon her hands, propped her elbows on her knees. 
 
" AUNT " MARGARET REFLECTS 107 
 
 "Yes, auntie, I know," Jacky went on thoughtfully. 
 " Lablache means to put this marriage with me right through. 
 I see it all. But say," bringing one of her brown hands 
 down forcibly upon that of her companion, which was con- 
 cealed in the foot of the woolen sock, and gripping it with 
 nervous strength, " I guess he's reckoned without his bride. 
 I'm not going to marry Lablache, auntie, dear, and you can 
 bet your bottom dollar I'm not going to let him ruin uncle. 
 All I want to do is to stop uncle drinking. That is what 
 scares me most." 
 
 " My child, Lablache is the cause of that. The same as 
 he is the cause of all troubles in Foss River. Your uncle 
 realizes the consequences of the terrible losses he has 
 incurred. He knows, only too well, that he is utterly in 
 the money-lender's power. He knows he must go on play- 
 ing, vainly endeavoring to recover himself, and with each 
 fresh loss he drinks deeper to smother his fears and con- 
 science. It is the result of the weakness of his nature 
 a weakness which I have always known would sooner or 
 later lead to his undoing. Jacky, girl, I fear you will one 
 day have to marry Lablache or your uncle's ruin will be 
 certainly accomplished." 
 
 Mrs. Abbot's face was very serious now. She pitied from 
 the bottom of her heart this motherless girl who had come 
 to her, in spite of her courage and almost mannish inde- 
 pendence, for that sympathy and advice which, at certain 
 moments, the strongest woman cannot do without. She 
 knew that all she had said was right, and even if her story 
 could do no material good it would at least have the effect 
 of putting the girl on her guard. In spite of her shrewd- 
 ness Mrs. Abbot could never quite fathom her protegee. 
 And even now, as she gazed into the girl's face, she was 
 wondering how in what manner the narration of her 
 own observations would influence the other's future actions. 
 The thick blood of the half-breed slowly rose into Jacky's 
 face, until the dark skin was suffused with a heavy, pas- 
 sionate flush. Slowly, too, the somber eyes lit glowed 
 
108 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 until the dazzling fire of anger shone in their depths. Then 
 she spoke; not passionately, but with a hard, cruel delivery 
 which sent a shiver thrilling through her companion's body 
 and left her shuddering. 
 
 " ' Aunt ' Margaret, I swear by all that's holy that I'll 
 never marry that scum. Say, I'd rather follow a round-up 
 camp and share a greaser's blankets than wear all the dia- 
 monds Lablache could buy. An' as for uncle; say, the day 
 that sees him ruined'll see Lablache's filthy brains spoiling 
 God's pure air." 
 
 " Child, child," replied the old lady, in alarm, " don't 
 take oaths, the rashness the folly of which you cannot 
 comprehend. For goodness' sake don't entertain such 
 wicked thoughts. Lablache is a villain, but " 
 
 She broke off and turned towards the door, which, at 
 that moment, opened to admit the genial doctor. 
 
 " Ah," she went on, with a sudden change of manner back 
 to that of her usual cheerful self, " I thought you men were 
 going to make a night of it. Jacky came to share my 
 solitude." 
 
 " Good evening, Jacky," said the doctor. " Yes, we were 
 going to make a night of it, Margaret. Your summons 
 broke up the party, and for John's sake " He checked 
 himself, and glanced curiously at the recumbent form of 
 the girl, who was now lounging back in her chair gazing 
 into the stove. " What did you want me for? " 
 
 Jacky rose abruptly from her seat and picked up her 
 hat. 
 
 " ' Aunt ' Margaret didn't really want you, Doc. It was 
 I who asked her to send for you. I want to see 
 uncle." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 The doctor permitted himself the ejaculation. 
 
 " Good-night, you two dear people," the girl went on, 
 with a forced attempt at cheerfulness. " I guess uncle'll be 
 home by now, so I'll be off." 
 
 " Yes, he left the saloon with me," said Doctor Abbot, 
 
" AUNT " MARGARET REFLECTS 109 
 
 shaking hands and walking towards the door. " You'll just 
 about catch him." 
 
 The girl kissed the old lady and passed out. The doctor 
 stood for a moment on his doorstep gazing after her. 
 
 " Poor child poor child ! " he murmured. " Yes, she'll 
 find him I saw him home myself." And he broke off with 
 an expressive shrug. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE CAMPAIGN OPENS 
 
 THE summit of a hill, however insignificant its altitude, is 
 always an inspiring vantage point from which to survey 
 the surrounding world. There is a briskness of atmosphere 
 on a hilltop which is inspiriting to the most jaded of 
 faculties; there is a sparkling vitality in the breath of the 
 morning air which must ever make life a joy and the world 
 seem an inexpressible delight in which it is the acme of 
 happiness to dwell. 
 
 The exigencies of prairie life demand the habit of early 
 rising, and more often does the tiny human atom, which 
 claims for its home the vast tracts of natural pasture, gaze 
 upon the sloth of the orb of day than does that glorious 
 sphere smile down upon a sleeping world. 
 
 Far as the eye can reach stretch the mighty wastes of 
 waving grass the undulating plains of ravishing verdure. 
 What breadth of thought must thus be inspired in one who 
 gazes out across the boundless expanse at the glories of 
 a perfect sunrise? How insignificant becomes the petty 
 affairs of man when gazing upon the majesty of God's 
 handiwork. How utterly inconceivable becomes the associa- 
 tion of evil with such transcendently beautiful creation? 
 Surely no evil was intended to lurk in the shadow of so much 
 simple splendor. 
 
 And yet does the ghastly specter of crime haunt the 
 perfect plains, the majestic valleys, the noiseless, inspiring 
 pine woods, the glistening, snow-capped hills. And so it 
 must remain as long as the battle of life continues undecided 
 so long as the struggle for existence endures. 
 
 The Hon. Bunning-Ford rose while yet the daylight 
 
 no 
 
THE CAMPAIGN OPENS 111 
 
 was struggling to overcome the shades of night. He stood 
 upon the tiny veranda which fronted his minute house, 
 smoking his early morning cigarette. He was waiting for 
 his coffee that stimulating beverage which few who have 
 lived in the wilds of the West can do without and idly , 
 luxuriating in the wondrous charm of scene which was spread 
 out before him. " Lord " Bill was not a man of great 
 poetic mind, but he appreciated his adopted country 
 " God's country," as he was wont to call it as can only 
 those who have lived in it. The prairie had become part 
 of his very existence, and he loved to contemplate the 
 varying lights and colors which moved athwart the fresh 
 spring-clad plains as the sun rose above the eastern horizon. 
 
 The air was chill, but withal invigorating, as he watched 
 the steely blue of the daylit sky slowly give place to the 
 rosy tint of sunrise. Slowly at first then faster great 
 waves of golden light seemed to leap from the top of one 
 green rising ground to another; the gray white of the 
 snowy western mountains passed from one dead shade to 
 another, until, at last, they gleamed like alabaster from 
 afar with a diamond brilliancy almost painful to the eye. 
 Thus the sun rose like some mighty caldron of fire mount- 
 ing into the cloudless azure of a perfect sky, showering 
 unctuous rays of light and heat upon the chilled life that 
 was of its own creating. 
 
 Bill was still lost in thought, gazing out upon the perfect 
 scene from the vantage point of the hill upon which his 
 " shack " stood, when round the corner of the house came 
 a half-breed, bearing a large tin pannikin of steaming 
 coffee. He took the pannikin from the man and propped 
 himself against a post which helped to support the roof of 
 the veranda. 
 
 " Are the boys out ye.t? " he asked the waiting Breed, and 
 nodding towards the corrals, which reposed at the foot of the 
 hill and were overlooked by the house. 
 
 " I guess," the fellow replied laconically. Then, as an 
 afterthought, " They're getting breakfast, anyhow." 
 
112 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " Say, when they've finished their grub you can tell 'em 
 to turn to and lime out the sheds. I'm going in to the settle- 
 ment to-day. If I'm not back to-night let them go right on 
 with the job to-morrow." 
 
 The man signified his understanding of the instructions 
 with a grunt. This cook of " Lord " Bill's was not a man of 
 words. His vocation had induced an irascibility of temper 
 which took the form of silence. His was an incipient mis- 
 anthropy. 
 
 Bill returned the empty pannikin and strolled down to- 
 wards the corrals and sheds. The great barn lay well away 
 from where the cattle congregated. This ranch was very 
 different from that of the Allandales of Foss River. It 
 was some miles away from the settlement. Its surroundings 
 were far more open. Timber backed the house, it is true, 
 but in front was the broad expanse of the open plains. It 
 was an excellent position, and, governed by a thrifty hand, 
 would undoubtedly have thrived and ultimately vied with 
 the more elaborate establishment over which Jacky held 
 sway. As it was, however, Bill cared little for prosperity 
 and money-making, and though he did not neglect his prop- 
 erty he did not attempt to extend its present limits. 
 
 The milch cows were slowly mouching from the corrals 
 as he neared the sheds. A diminutive herder was urging 
 them along with shrill, piping shrieks vicious but in- 
 effective. Far more to the purpose were the efforts to a 
 well-trained, bob-tailed sheep dog who was awaking echoes 
 on the brisk morning air with the full-toned note of his 
 bark. 
 
 " Lord " Bill found one or two hands quietly enjoying 
 their after-breakfast smoke, but the majority had not as 
 yet left the kitchen. Outside the barn two men were busily 
 soft-soaping their saddles and bridles, whilst a third, seated 
 on an upturned box, was wiping out his revolver with a 
 coal-oil rag. Bill passed them by with a nod and greeting, 
 and went into the stable. The horses were feeding, but as 
 yet the stalls had not been cleaned out. He returned and 
 
THE CAMPAIGN OPENS 113 
 
 gave some instructions to one of the men. Then he walked 
 slowly back to the house. Usually he would have stayed 
 down there to see the work of the day carried out; now, 
 however, he was preoccupied. On this particular morning 
 he took but little interest in the place; he knew only too well 
 how soon it must pass from his possession. 
 
 Half-way up the hill he paused and turned his sleepy 
 eyes towards the south. At a considerable distance a 
 vehicle was approaching at a spanking pace. It was a buck- 
 board, one of those sturdy conveyances built especially for 
 light prairie transport. As yet it was not sufficiently near 
 for him to distinguish its occupant, but the speed and cut 
 of the horses seemed familiar to him. He continued on 
 towards the house, and seated himself leisurely on the ver- 
 anda, and, rolling himself another cigarette, calmly watched 
 the on-coming conveyance. 
 
 It was the habit of this man never to be prodigal in the 
 display of energy. He usually sat when there was no need 
 for standing; he always considered speech to be golden, 
 but silence, to his way of thinking, was priceless. And 
 like most men of such opinion he cultivated thought and 
 observation, 
 
 He propped his back against the veranda post, and, tak- 
 ing a deep inhalation from his cigarette, gazed long and 
 earnestly, with half-closed eyes, down the winding southern 
 trail. 
 
 His curiosity, if such a feeling might have been attributed 
 to him, was soon set at rest, for, as the horses raced up the 
 hill towards him, he had no difficulty in recognizing the 
 bulky proportions of his visitor. Seeing the driver of the 
 buckboard making for the house, two of the " hands " had 
 hastened up the hill to take the horses. Lablache, for it 
 was the fleshy money-lender, slid, as agilely as his great 
 bulk would permit him, from the vehicle, and the two 
 men took charge of the horses. Bill was not altogether 
 cordial. It was not his way to be so to anybody but his 
 friends. 
 
114 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " How are you? " he said with a nod, but without rising 
 from his recumbent attitude. " Coin' to stay long? " 
 
 His latter question sounded churlish, but Lablache under- 
 stood his meaning. It was of the horses the rancher was 
 thinking. 
 
 " An hour, maybe," replied Lablache, breathing heavily 
 as a result of his climb out of the buckboard. 
 
 " Right Take 'em away, boys. Remove the harness 
 and give 'em a good rub down. Don't water or feed 'em 
 till they're cool. They're spanking * plugs/ Lablache," he 
 added, as he watched the horses being led down to the 
 barn. " Come inside. Had breakfast? " rising and knock- 
 ing the dust from the seat of his moleskin trousers. 
 
 " Yes, I had breakfast before daylight, thanks," Lablache 
 said, glancing quickly down at the empty corrals, where his 
 horses were about to undergo a rubbing down. " I came 
 out to have a business chat with you. Shall we go in- 
 doors?" 
 
 "Most certainly." 
 
 There was an expressive curtness in the two words. Bill 
 permitted himself a brief survey of the great man's back as 
 the latter turned towards the front door. And although 
 his half-closed lids hid the expression of his eyes, the pursing 
 of the lips and the fluctuating muscles of his jaw spoke 
 of unpleasant thoughts passing through his mind. A busi- 
 ness talk with Lablache, under the circumstances, could not 
 afford the rancher much pleasure. He followed the money- 
 lender into the sitting-room. 
 
 The apartment was very bare, mannish, and scarcely the 
 acme of neatness. A desk, a deck chair, a bench and a 
 couple of old-fashioned Windsor chairs; a small table, on 
 which breakfast things were set, an old saddle, a rack of 
 guns and rifles, a few trophies of the chase in the shape of 
 skins and antelope heads comprised the furniture and decora- 
 tions of the room. And too, in that slightly uncouth collec- 
 tion, something of the character of the proprietor was re- 
 vealed. 
 
THE CAMPAIGN OPENS 115 
 
 Bunning-Ford was essentially careless of comfort. 
 And surely he was nothing if not a keen and ardent sports- 
 man. 
 
 " Sit down." Bill indicated the chairs with a wave of 
 the arm. Lablache dubiously eyed the deck chair, then 
 selected one of the unyielding Windsor chairs as more safe 
 for the burden of his precious body, tested it, and sat down, 
 emitting a gasp of breath like an escape of steam from a 
 safety-valve. The younger man propped himself on the 
 corner of his desk. 
 
 Lablache looked furtively into his companion's face. 
 Then he turned his eyes in the direction of the window. 
 Bill said nothing, his face was calm. He intended the 
 money-lender to speak first. The latter seemed indisposed 
 to do so. His lashless eyes gazed steadily out at the prairie 
 beyond. " Lord " Bill's persistent silence at length forced 
 the other into speech. His words came slowly and were 
 frequently punctuated with deep breaths. 
 
 " Your ranch everything you possess is held on first 
 mortgage." 
 
 " Not all." Bunning-Ford's answer came swiftly. The 
 abruptness of the other's announcement nettled him. The 
 tone of the words conveyed a challenge which the younger 
 man was not slow to accept. 
 
 Lablache shrugged his shoulders with deliberation until 
 his fleshy jowl creased against the woolen folds of his shirt 
 front. 
 
 " It comes to the same thing," he said; "what I what 
 is not mortgaged is held in bonds. The balance, practically 
 all of it, you owe under signature to Pedro Mancha. It is 
 because of that - latest debt I am here." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Bill rolled a fresh cigarette and lit it. He guessed some- 
 thing of what was coming but not all. 
 
 " Mancha will force you to meet your liabilities to him. 
 Your interest is shortly due to the Calford Loan Co. You 
 cannot meet both." 
 
116 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Lablache gazed unblinkingly into the other's face. He 
 was thoroughly enjoying himself. 
 
 Bill was staring pensively at his cigarette. One leg 
 swung pendulum fashion beside the desk. His indebted- 
 ness troubled him not a jot. He was trying to fathom the 
 object of this prelude. Lablache, he knew, had not come 
 purposely to make these plain statements. He blew a cloud 
 of smoke down his nostrils with much appreciation. Then 
 he heaved a sigh as though his troubles were too great for 
 him to bear. 
 
 "Right dead right, first time." 
 
 The lazy eyes appeared to be staring into space. In reality 
 they were watching the doughy countenance before him. 
 
 "What do you propose to do?" Lablache asked, ignor- 
 ing the other's flippant tone. 
 
 Bill shrugged. 
 
 " Debts of honor must be met first," he said quietly. 
 "Mancha must be paid in full. I shall take care of that. 
 For the rest, I have no doubt your business knowledge will 
 prompt you as to what course the Calford Loan Co. and 
 yourself had best adopt." 
 
 Lablache was slightly taken aback at the cool indifference 
 of this man. He scarcely knew how to deal with him. He 
 had driven out this morning intending to coerce, or, at least, 
 strike a hard bargain. But the object of his attentions was, 
 to say the least of it, difficult. 
 
 He moved uneasily and crossed his legs. 
 
 " There is only one course open to your creditors. It is 
 a harsh method and one which goes devilishly against the 
 grain. But" 
 
 " Pray don't apologize, Mr. Lablache," broke in the other, 
 smiling sardonically. " I am fully aware of the tender con- 
 dition of your feelings. I only trust that in this matter you 
 will carry out your er painful duty without worrying 
 me with the detail of the necessary routine. I shall settle 
 Mancha's debt at once ?nd then you are welcome to the 
 confounded lot." 
 
THE CAMPAIGN OPENS 117 
 
 Bill moved from his position and walked towards the 
 door. The significance of his action was well marked. 
 Lablache, however, had no intention of going yet. He 
 moved heavily round upon his chair so as to face his man. 
 
 " One moment er Ford. You are a trifle precipitate. 
 I was going on to say, when you interrupted me, that if you 
 cared to meet me half-way I have a proposition to make 
 which might solve your difficulty. It is an unusual one, I 
 admit, but," with a meaning smile, " I rather fancy that the 
 Calford Loan Co. might be induced to see the advantage, 
 to them, of delaying action." 
 
 The object of this early morning visit was about to be 
 made apparent. Bill returned to his position at the desk 
 and lit another cigarette. The suave manner of his un- 
 welcome guest was dangerous. He was prepared. There 
 was something almost feline in the attitude and the ex- 
 pression of the young rancher as he waited for the money- 
 lender to proceed. Perhaps Lablache understood him. 
 Perhaps his understanding warned him to adopt his best 
 manner. His usual method in dealing with his victims 
 was hardly the same as he was now using. 
 
 "Well, what is this 'unusual' course?" asked Bill, in 
 no very tolerant tone. He wished it made quite plain that 
 he cared nothing about the " selling up " process to which 
 he knew he must be subjected. Lablache noted the haughty 
 manner and resented it, but still he gave no outward sign. 
 He had a definite object to attain and he would not allow 
 his anger to interfere with his chances of success. 
 
 " Merely a pleasant little business arrangement which 
 should meet all parties' requirements," he said easily. 
 " At present you are paying a ten per cent, interest on a 
 principal of thirty-five thousand dollars to the Calford Loan 
 Co. A debt of twenty thousand to me includes an amount 
 of interest which represents ten per cent, interest for ten 
 years. Very well. Your ranch should be yielding a greater 
 profit than it is. With your permission the Calford Trust 
 Co. shall put in a competent manager, whose salary shall be 
 
118 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 paid out of the profits. The balance of said profits shall be 
 handed over to your creditors, less an annual income to you 
 of fifteen hundred dollars. Thus the principal of your 
 debts, at a careful computation, should be liquidated in 
 seven years. In consideration of thus shortening the period 
 of the loans by three years the Calford Trust Co. shall allow 
 you a rebate of five per cent, interest. Failing the profits 
 in seven years amounting to the sums of money required, 
 the Calford Trust Co. and myself will forego the balance 
 due to us. Let me plainly assure you that this is no 
 philanthropic scheme but the result of practical calculation. 
 The advantage to you is obvious. An assured income dur- 
 ing that period, and your ranch well and ably managed and 
 improved. Your property at the end of seven years will 
 return to you a vastly more valuable possession than it is 
 at present. And we, on our part, will recover our money and 
 interest without the unpleasant reflection that, in doing so, 
 we have beggared you." 
 
 Lablache, usurer, scoundrel, smiled benignly at his com- 
 panion as he pronounced his concluding words. The Hon. 
 Bunning-Ford looked, thought, and looked again. He 
 began to think that Lablache was meditating a more rascally 
 proceeding than he had given him credit for. His words 
 were so specious. His pie was so delicately crusted with 
 such a tempting exterior. What was the object of this 
 magnanimous offer? He felt he must know more. 
 
 " It sounds awfully well, but surely that is not all. What, 
 in return, is demanded of me? " 
 
 Lablache had carefully watched the effect of his words. 
 He was wondering whether the man he was dealing with 
 was clever beyond the average, or a fool. He was still 
 balancing the point in his mind when Bill put the question. 
 
 Lablache looked away, produced a snuff-box and drew 
 up a large pinch of snuff before answering. He blew his 
 nose with trumpet-like vehemence on a great red bandana. 
 
 " The only return asked of you is that you vacate the 
 country for the next two years," he said heavily. And 
 
THE CAMPAIGN OPENS 119 
 
 in that rejoinder " Lord " Bill understood the man's guile. 
 
 It was a sudden awakening, but it came to him as no 
 sort of surprise. He had long suspected, although he had 
 never given serious credence to his suspicions, the object the 
 money-lender had in inveigling both himself and " Poker " 
 John into their present difficulties. Now he understood, 
 and a burning desire swept over him to shoot the man down 
 where he sat. Then a revulsion of feeling came to him 
 and he saw the ludicrous side of the situation. He gazed 
 at Lablache, that obese mountain of blubber, and tried to 
 think of the beautiful, wild Jacky as the money-lender's 
 wife. The thing seemed so preposterous that he burst out 
 into a mocking laugh. 
 
 Lablache, whose fishy eyes had never left the rancher's 
 face, heard the tone and slowly flushed with anger. For 
 an instant he seemed about to rise, then instead he leant 
 forward. 
 
 " Well ? " he asked, breathing his monosyllabic inquiry 
 hissing upon the air. 
 
 Bill emitted a thin cloud of smoke into the money- 
 lender's face. His eyes had suddenly become wide open 
 and blazing with anger. He pointed to the door. 
 
 " I'll see you damned first! Now git! " 
 
 At the door Lablache turned. In his face was written 
 all the fury of hell. 
 
 "Mancha's debt is transferred to me. You will settle it 
 without delay." 
 
 He had scarcely uttered the last word when there was a 
 loud report, and simultaneously the crash of a bullet in 
 the casing of the door. Lablache accepted his dismissal 
 with precipitation and hastened to where his horses were 
 stationed, to the accompaniment of " Lord " Bill's mocking 
 laugh. He had no wish to test the rancher's marksmanship 
 further. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 LABLACHE FORCES THE FIGHT 
 
 A MONTH just one month and the early spring has de- 
 veloped with almost tropical suddenness into a golden 
 summer. The rapid passing of seasons, the abrupt break, 
 the lightning change from one into another, is one of the 
 many beauties of the climate of that fair land where there 
 are no half measures in Nature's mode of dealing out from 
 her varied store of moods. Spring chases Winter, hoary, 
 bitter, cruel Winter, in the hours of one night; and in turn 
 Spring's delicate influence is overpowered with equal 
 celerity by the more matured and unctuous ripeness of 
 Summer. 
 
 Foss River had now become a glorious picture of vivid 
 coloring. The clumps of pine woods no longer present 
 their tattered purplish appearance, the garb in which grim 
 Winter is wont to robe them. They are lighter, gayer, and 
 bathed in the gleaming sunlight they are transformed from 
 their somber forbidding aspect to that of radiant, welcome 
 shade. The river is high, almost to flooding point And 
 the melting snow on the distant mountain-tops has urged 
 it into a sparkling torrent of icy cold water rushing on at a 
 pace which threatens to tear out its deterring banks and 
 shallow bed in its mad career. 
 
 The most magical change which the first month of sum- 
 mer has brought is to be seen in the stock. Cattle, when 
 first brought in from distant parts at the outset of the round- 
 up, usually are thin, mean-looking, and half -starved. Two 
 weeks of the delicious spring grass and the fat on their 
 ribs and loins rolls and shakes as they move, growing al- 
 
 120 
 
LABLACHE FORCES THE FIGHT 121 
 
 most visibly under the succulent influence of the delicate 
 vegetation. 
 
 Few at Foss River appreciated the blessings of summer 
 more fully than did Jacky Allendale, and few worked 
 harder than did she. Almost single-handed she grappled 
 with the stupendous task of the management of the great 
 ranch, and no " hand," however experienced, was more cap- 
 able in the most arduous tasks which that management in- 
 volved. From the skillful organization down to the roping 
 and branding of a wild two-year-old steer there was no one 
 who understood the business of stock-raising better than she. 
 She loved it it was the very essence of life to her. 
 
 Silas, her uncle's foreman, was in the habit of summing 
 her up in his brief but expressive way. 
 
 " Missie Jacky? " he would exclaim, in tones of surprise, 
 to any one who dared to express wonder at her masterly 
 management. " Guess a cyclone does its biz mighty 
 thorough, but I take it ef that gal 'ud been born a hurricane 
 she'd 'ave dislodged mountains an' played baseball with the 
 glaciers." 
 
 But this year things were different with the mistress of 
 the Foss River Ranch. True she went about her work 
 with that thorough appreciation which she always displayed, 
 but the young face had last something of its happy girlish 
 delight that debonnaire cheerfulness which usually 
 characterized it. A shadow seemed to be hanging over her 
 a shadow, which, although it marred in no way her fresh 
 young beauty, added a deepened pensiveness to her great 
 somber eyes, and seemed to broaden the fringing black ring 
 round the gray pupils. This year the girl had more to 
 grapple with than the mere management of the ranch. 
 
 Her uncle needed all her care. And, too, the conscious- 
 ness that the result of all her work was insufficient to pay the 
 exorbitant interest on mortgages which had been forced 
 upon her uncle by the hated, designing Lablache took some- 
 thing of the zest from her labors. Then, besides this, there 
 were thoughts of the compact sealed between her lover and 
 
122 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 herself in Bad Man's Hollow, and the knowledge of the 
 intentions of the money-lender towards " Lord " Bill, all 
 helped to render her distrait. She knew all about the scene 
 which had taken place at Bill's ranch, and she knew that, 
 for her lover at least, the crash had come. During that first 
 month of the open season the girl had been sorely tried. 
 There was no one but " Aunt " Margaret to whom she could 
 go for comfort or sympathy, and even she, with her wise 
 councils and far-seeing judgment, could not share in the 
 secrets which weighed so heavily upon the girl. 
 
 Jacky had not experienced, as might have been expected, 
 very great difficulty in keeping her uncle fast to the grind- 
 stone of duty. Whatever his faults and weaknesses, John 
 Allendale was first of all a rancher, and when once the 
 winter breaks every rancher must work ay, work like no 
 negro slave ever worked. It was only in the evenings, when 
 bodily fatigue had weakened the purpose of ranching habit, 
 and when the girl, wearied with her day's work, relaxed 
 her vigilance, that the old man craved for the object of his 
 passion and its degrading accompaniment. Then he would 
 nibble at the whisky bottle, having " earned his tonic," as 
 he would say, until the potent spirit had warmed his courage 
 and he would hurry off to the saloon for " half an hour's 
 flutter," which generally terminated in the small hours of the 
 morning. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs at the Foss River Ranch 
 when Lablache put into execution his threats against the 
 Hon. Bunning-Ford. The settlement had returned to its 
 customary torpid serenity. The round-up was over, and 
 all the " hands " had returned to the various ranches to 
 which they belonged. The little place had entered upon 
 its period of placid sleep, which would last until the advent 
 of the farmers to spend the proceeds of their garnered 
 harvest. But this would be much later in the year, and 
 in the meantime Foss River would sleep. 
 
 The night before the sale of " Lord " Bill's ranch, he and 
 Jacky went for a ride. They had thus ridden out on many 
 
LABLACHE FORCES THE FIGHT 123 
 
 evenings of late. Old John was too absorbed in his own 
 affairs to bother himself at these evening journeyings, 
 although, in his careless way, he noticed how frequent a 
 visitor at the ranch Bill had lately become. Still, he made no 
 objection. If his niece saw fit to encourage these visits he 
 would not interfere. In his eyes the girl could do no wrong. 
 It was his one redeeming feature, his love for the motherless 
 girl, and although his way of showing it was more than 
 open to criticism, it was true he loved her with a deep, strong 
 affection. 
 
 Foss River was far too sleepy to bother about these com- 
 ings and goings. Lablache, alone, of the sleepy hamlet, 
 eyed the evening journeys with suspicion. But even he was 
 unable to fathom their object, and was forced to set them 
 down, his whole being consumed with jealousy the while, 
 to lovers' wanderings. However, these nightly rides were 
 taken with purpose. After galloping across the prairie in 
 various directions they always, as darkness crept on, ter- 
 minated at a certain spot the clump of willows and reeds 
 at which the secret path across the great keg began. 
 
 The sun was well down below the distant mountain 
 peaks when Jacky and her lover reached the scrubby bush 
 of willows and reeds upon the evening before the day of 
 the sale of Bill's ranch. As they drew up their panting 
 horses, and dismounted, the evening twilight was deepen- 
 ing over the vast expanse of the mire. 
 
 The girl stood at the brink of the bottomless caldron of 
 viscid muck and gazed out across the deadly plain. Bill 
 stood still beside her, watching her face with eager, hungry 
 eyes. 
 
 "Well?" he said at last, as his impatience forced itself 
 to his lips. 
 
 " Yes, Bill," the girl answered slowly, as one balancing 
 her decision well before giving judgment, " the path has 
 widened. The rain has kept off long enough, and the sun 
 has done his best for us. It is a good omen. Follow 
 me." 
 
124 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 She linked her arm through the reins of her horse's bridle, 
 and leading the faithful animal, stepped fearlessly out on 
 to the muskeg. As she trod the rotten crust she took a zig- 
 zag direction from one side of the secret path to the other. 
 That which, in early spring, had scarcely been six feet in 
 width, would now have borne ten horsemen abreast. 
 Presently she turned back. "We need go no further, Bill; 
 what is safe here continues safe across the keg. It will 
 widen in places, but in no place will the path grow 
 narrower." 
 
 " But tell me," said the man, anxious to assure himself 
 that no detail was forgotten, " what about the trail of our 
 footprints?" 
 
 The girl laughed. Then indenting the ground with her 
 shapely boot until the moisture below oozed into the im- 
 print, she looked up into the lazy face before her. 
 
 " See we wait for one minute, and you shall see the 
 result" 
 
 They waited in silence in the growing darkness. The 
 night insects and mosquitoes buzzed around them. The 
 man's attention was riveted upon the impression made by 
 the girl's foot. Slowly the water filled the print, then slowly, 
 under the moist influence, the ground, sponge-like, rose 
 again, the water disappeared, and all sign of the footmark 
 was gone. 
 
 When again the ground had resumed its natural appear- 
 ance the girl looked up. 
 
 "Are you satisfied, Bill? No man or beast who passes 
 over this path leaves a trail which lasts longer than a 
 minute. Even the rank grass, however badly trodden down, 
 rears itself again with amazing vitality. I guess this place 
 was created through the devil's agency and for the purpose 
 of devil's work." 
 
 Bill gave one sweeping glance around. Then he turned, 
 and the two made their way back to the edge of the sucking 
 mire. 
 
 " Yes, it'll do, dear. Now let us hasten home." 
 
LABLACHE FORCES THE FIGHT 125 
 
 They remounted their horses and were soon lost in the 
 gathering darkness as they made their way over the brow 
 of the rising ground, in the direction of the settlement. 
 
 The next day saw the possession of the Hon. Bunning- 
 Ford's ranch < pass into other hands. Punctually at noon 
 the sale began. And by four o'clock the process, which 
 robbed the rancher of everything that he possessed in the 
 world, was completed. 
 
 Bill stationed himself on the veranda and smoked in- 
 cessantly while the sale proceeded. He was there to see 
 how the things went, and, in fact, seemed to take an out- 
 sider's interest only. He experienced no morbid sentiment 
 at the loss of his property it is doubtful if he cared at all. 
 Anyhow, his leisurely attitude and his appearance of good- 
 natured indifference caused many surprised remarks amongst 
 the motley collection of bidders who were present. In spite 
 of these appearances, however, he did take a very keen in- 
 terest. A representative of Lablache's was there to purchase 
 stock, and Bill knew it, and his interest was centered on this 
 would-be purchaser. 
 
 The stock was the last thing to come under the hammer. 
 There were twenty lots. Of these Lablache's representative 
 purchased fifteen three-quarters of the stock of the entire 
 ranch. 
 
 Bill waited only for this, then, as the sale closed, he 
 leisurely rolled and lit another cigarette and strolled to 
 where a horse, which he had borrowed from the Allendales' 
 stable, was tied, and rode slowly away. 
 
 As he rode away he turned his head in the direction of 
 the house upon the hill. He was leaving for good and all 
 the place which had so long claimed him as master. He 
 saw the small gathering of people still hanging about the 
 veranda, upon which the auctioneer still stood with his 
 clerk, busy over the sales. He noticed others passing hither 
 and thither, as they prepared to depart with their purchases. 
 But none of these things which he looked upon affected 
 him in any mawkish, sentimental manner. It was all over. 
 
126 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 That little hill, with its wooded background and vast front- 
 age of prairie, from which he had loved to watch the sun 
 get up after its nightly sojourn, would know him no more. 
 His indifference was unassumed. His was not the nature 
 to regret past follies. 
 
 He smiled softly as he turned his attention to the future 
 which lay before him, and his smile was not in keeping with 
 the expression of a broken man. 
 
 In these last days of waning prosperity Bunning-Ford 
 had noticeably changed. With loss of property he had lost 
 much of that curious veneer of indolence, utter disregard of 
 consequences, which had always been his. Not that he 
 had suddenly developed a violent activity or boisterous en- 
 thusiasm. Simply his interest in things and persons seemed 
 to have received a fillip. There seemed to be an air of 
 latent activity about him; a setness of purpose which must 
 have been patent to any one sufficiently interested to observe 
 the young rancher closely. But Foss River was too sleepy 
 indifferent to worry itself about anybody, except those 
 in its ranks who were riding the high horse of success. 
 Those who fell out by the wayside were far too numerous to 
 have more than a passing thought devoted to them. So this 
 subtle change in the man was allowed to pass without com- 
 ment by any except, perhaps, the money-lender, Lablache, 
 and the shrewd, kindly wife of the doctor people not much 
 given to gossip. 
 
 It was only since the discovery of Lablache's perfidy that 
 " Lord " Bill had understood what living meant. His dis- 
 covery in Smith's saloon had roused in him a very human 
 manhood. Since that time he had been seized with a mental 
 activity, a craving for action he had never, in all his lazy 
 life, before experienced. This sudden change had been ag- 
 gravated by Lablache's subsequent conduct, and the flame 
 had been fanned by the right that Jacky had given him to 
 protect her. The sensation was one of absorbing excite- 
 ment, and the loss of property sat lightly upon him in con- 
 sequence. Money he had not property he had not. But 
 
LABLACHE FORCES THE FIGHT 127 
 
 he had now what he had never possessed before he had an 
 object. 
 
 A lasting, implacable vengeance was his, from the con- 
 templation of which he drew a satisfaction which no posses- 
 sion of property could have given him. Nature had, with 
 incorrigible perversity, cut him out for a life of ease, whilst 
 endowing him with a character capable of very great things. 
 Now, in her waywardness she had aroused that character and 
 overthrown the hindering superficialty in which she had 
 clothed it. And further to mark her freakish mood, these 
 same capabilities which might easily, under other circum- 
 stances, have led him into the fore-front of life's battle, she 
 directed, with inexorable cruelty, into an adverse course. He 
 had been cheated, robbed, and his soul thirsted for revenge. 
 Lablache had robbed the uncle of the girl he loved, and, 
 worse than all, the wretch had tried to oust him from the 
 affections of the girl herself. Yes, he thirsted for revenge 
 as might any traveler in a desert crave for water. His 
 eyes, no longer sleepy, gleamed as he thought. His long, 
 square jaws seemed welded into one as he thought of his 
 wrongs. His was the vengeance which, if necessary, would 
 last his lifetime. At least, whilst Lablache lived no quarter 
 would he give or accept. 
 
 Something of this he was thinking as he took his farewell 
 of the ranch on the hill, and struck out in the direction of the 
 half-breed camp situated in a hollow some distance outside 
 the settlement of Foss River. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE FIRST CHECK 
 
 THE afterglow of sunset slowly faded out of the western 
 sky. And the hush of the night was over all. The feeling 
 of an awful solitude, which comes to those whose business 
 is to pass the night on the open prairie, is enhanced rather 
 than reduced by the buzz of insect life upon the night air. 
 The steady hum of the mosquito the night song of the 
 grasshoppers and frogs the ticking, spasmodic call of the 
 invisible beetles all these things help to intensify the lone- 
 liness and magnitude of the wild surroundings. Nor does 
 the smoldering camp-fire lessen the loneliness. Its very 
 light deepens the surrounding dark, and its only use, after 
 the evening meal is cooked, is merely to dispel the savage 
 attack of the voracious mosquito and put the fear of man 
 into the hearts of the prairie scavenger, the coyote, whose 
 dismal howl awakens the echoes of the night at painfully 
 certain intervals, and often drives sleep from the eyes of 
 the weary traveler. 
 
 It is rare that the " cow-hand " pitches his camp amongst 
 hills, or in the neighborhood of any bushy growth. The 
 former he shuns from a natural dislike for a limited view. 
 The latter, especially if the bush takes the form of pine 
 woods, is bad for many reasons, chief amongst which is the 
 fact of its being the harborage of the savage, gigantic timber 
 wolf a creature as naturally truculent as the far-famed 
 grizzly, the denizen of the towering Rockies. 
 
 Upon a high level of the prairie, out towards the upper 
 reaches of the Rainy River, a tributary of the broad, swift- 
 flowing Foss River, and some fifteen miles from the settle- 
 
 128 
 
THE FIRST CHECK 129 
 
 ment, two men were lounging, curled leisurely round the 
 smoldering remains of a camp fire. Some distance away 
 the occasional lowing of a cow betrayed the presence of a 
 band of cattle. 
 
 The men were wide awake and smoking. Whether they 
 refrained from sleep through necessity or inclination matters 
 little. Probably the hungry attacks of the newly-hatched 
 mosquito were responsible for their wakefulness. Each man 
 was wrapped in a single brown blanket, and folded saddle- 
 cloth answered as a pillow, and it was noticeable that they 
 were stretched out well to leeward of the fire, so that the 
 smoke passed across them, driving away a few of the less 
 audacious " skitters." 
 
 " We'll get 'em in by dinner to-morrow," said one of the 
 sleepless men thoughtfully. His remark was more in the 
 tone of soliloquy than addressed to the other. Then louder, 
 and in a manner which implied resentment, "Them all- 
 fired skitters is givin' me a twistin'." 
 
 " Smoke up, pard," came a muffled rejoinder from the 
 region of the other blanket. " Maybe your hide's a bit 
 tender yet. I 'lows skitters 'most allus goes fur young 'uns. 
 Guess I'm all right." 
 
 " Dessay you are," replied the first speaker, sharply. " I 
 ain't been long in the country leastways, not on the prairie, 
 an' like as not I ain't dropped into the ways o' things. I've 
 allus heerd as washin' is mighty bad when skitters is around. 
 They doesn't worry you any." 
 
 He pulled heavily at his pipe until his face was enveloped 
 in a fog of smoke. His companion's tone of patronage had 
 nettled him. The old hand moved restlessly but did not 
 answer. It is doubtful if the other's sarcasm had been ob- 
 served. It was scarcely broad enough to penetrate the 
 toughened hide of the older hand's susceptibilities. 
 
 The silence was broken by a man's voice in the distance. 
 The sound of an old familiar melody, chanted in a manly 
 and not unmusical voice, reached the fireside. It was the 
 voice of the man who was on watch round the band of 
 
130 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 cattle, and he was endeavoring to lull them into quiescence. 
 The human voice, in the stillness of the night, has a som- 
 nolent effect upon cattle, and even mosquitoes, unless they 
 are very thick, fail to counteract the effect. The older hand 
 stirred. Then he sat up and methodically replenished the 
 fire, kicking the dying embers together until they blazed 
 afresh. 
 
 " Jim Bowley do sing mighty sweet," he said, in disparag- 
 ing tones. " Like a crazy buzz-saw, I guess. S'pose them 
 beasties is gettin' kind o' restless. Say, Nat, how goes the 
 time? It must be night on ter your spell." 
 
 Nat sat up and drew out a great silver watch. 
 
 " Haf an hour yet, pard." Then he proceeded to re-fill 
 his pipe, cutting great flakes of black tobacco from a large 
 plug with his sheath knife. Suddenly he paused in the 
 operation and listened. " Say, Jake, what's that? " 
 
 "What's what?" replied Jake, roughly, preparing to lie 
 down again. 
 
 "Listen!" 
 
 The two men bent their keen, prairie-trained ears to wind- 
 ward. They listened intently. The night was very black 
 as yet the moon had not risen. Jake used his eyes as 
 well as ears. On the prairie, as well as elsewhere, eyes have 
 a lot to do with hearing. He sought to penetrate the dark- 
 ness around him, but his efforts were unavailing. He could 
 hear no sound but the voice of Jim Bowley and the steady 
 plodding of his horse's feet as he ceaselessly circled the band 
 of somnolent cattle. The sky was cloudy, and only here 
 and there a few stars gleamed diamond-like in the heavens, 
 but threw insufficient light to aid the eyes which sought to 
 penetrate the surrounding gloom. The old hand threw him- 
 self back on his pillow in skeptical irritation. 
 
 "Thar ain't nothin', young *un," he said disdainfully. 
 " The beasties is quiet, and Jim Bowley ain't no tenderfoot. 
 Say, them skitters 'as rattled yer. Guess you 'card some 
 prowl in* coyote. They allus come around whar ther's a 
 tenderfoot." 
 
THE FIRST CHECK 131 
 
 Jake curled himself up again and chuckled at his own 
 sneering pleasantry. 
 
 " Coyote yerself , Jake Bond/' retorted Nat, angrily. 
 " Them lugs o' yours is gettin' old. Guess yer drums is 
 saggin'. You're mighty smart, I don't think." 
 
 The youngster got on to his feet and walked to where 
 the men's two horses were picketed. Both horses were 
 standing with ears cocked and their heads held high in the 
 direction of the mountains. Their attitude was the acme 
 of alertness. As the man came up they turned towards 
 him and whinnied as if in relief at the knowledge of his 
 presence. But almost instantly turned again to gaze far 
 out into the night. Wonderful indeed is a horse's instinct, 
 but even more wonderful is the keenness of his sight and 
 hearing. 
 
 Nat patted his broncho on the neck, and then stood be- 
 side him watching listening. Was it fancy, or was it 
 fact? The faintest sound of a horse galloping reached him; 
 at least, he thought so. 
 
 He returned to the fire sullenly antagonistic. He did 
 not return to his blanket, but sat silently smoking and think- 
 ing. He hated the constant reference to his inexperience 
 on the prairie. If even he did hear a horse galloping in 
 the distance it didn't matter. But it was his ears that had 
 first caught the sound in spite of his inexperience. His 
 companion pigheadedly derided the fact because his own 
 ears were not sufficiently keen to have detected the sound 
 himself. 
 
 Thus he sat for a few minutes gazing into the fire. Jake 
 was now snoring loudly, and Nat was glad to be relieved 
 from the tones of his sneering voice. Presently he rose 
 softly from his seat, and taking his saddle blanket, saddled 
 and bridled his horse. Then he mounted and silently rode 
 off towards the herd. It was his relief on the cattle guard. 
 
 Jim Bowley welcomed him with the genial heartiness of a 
 man who knows that he has finished his vigil and that he 
 can now lie down to rest. The guarding of a large herd at 
 
132 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 night is always an anxious time. Cattle are strange things 
 to handle. A stampede will often involve a week's weary 
 scouring of the prairie. 
 
 Just as Jim Bowley was about to ride up to the camp, 
 Nat fired a question which he had been some time medita- 
 ting. 
 
 " Guess you didn't hear a horse gallopin' jest now, paid ? " 
 he asked quietly. 
 
 " Why cert, boy," the other answered quickly, " only a 
 deaf mule could 'a* missed it. Some one passed right under 
 the ridge thar, away to the southwest. Guess they wer' 
 travelin' mighty fast too. Why ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothin', Jim, on'y I guess Jake Bond's that same 
 deaf mule you spoke of. He's too fond of gettin' at 
 youngsters, the old fossil. I told 'im as I 'card suthin', an' 
 'e told me as I was a tenderfoot and didn't know wot I 
 was gassin' about." 
 
 "Jake's a cantankerous cuss, boy. Let 'im gas; 'e don't 
 cut any figger anyway. Say, you keep yer eye peeled on 
 some o' the young heifers on the far side o' the bunch. 
 They're rustlin' some. They keep mouching after new 
 grass. When the moon gits up you'll see better. S'long, 
 mate." 
 
 Jim rode away towards the camp fire, and young Nat 
 proceeded to circle round the great herd of cattle. It was 
 a mighty bunch for three men to handle. But Lablache, 
 its owner, was never one to underwork his men. This was 
 the herd which he had purchased at the sale of Bunning- 
 Ford's ranch. And they were now being taken to his own 
 ranch, some distance to the south of the settlement, for the 
 purpose of re-branding with his own marks. 
 
 As young Nat entered upon his vigil the golden arc of 
 the rising moon broke the sky-line of the horizon. Already 
 the clouds were fast clearing, being slowly driven before the 
 yellow glory of the orb of night. Soon the prairie would 
 be bathed in the effulgent, silvery light which renders the 
 western night so delicious when the moon is at its full. 
 
THE FIRST CHECK 133 
 
 As the cowboy circled the herd, the moon, at first directly 
 to his left, slowly dropped behind until its, as yet, dull light 
 shone full upon his back. The beasts were quite quiet and 
 the sense of responsibility which was his, in a measure, 
 lessened. 
 
 Some distance ahead, and near by where he must pass, a 
 clump of undergrowth and a few stunted trees grew round 
 the base of a hillock and broken rocks. The cattle were re- 
 posing close up by this shelter. Nat's horse, as he drew 
 near to the brush, was ambling along at that peculiar gait, 
 half walk, half trot, essentially the pace of a " cow-horse." 
 Suddenly the animal came to a stand, for which there seemed 
 no apparent reason. He stood for a second with ears cocked, 
 sniffing at the night air in evident alarm. Then a prolonged, 
 low whistle split the air. The sound came from the other 
 side of the rocks, and, to the tenderfoot's ears, constituted a 
 signal. 
 
 The most natural thing for him to have done would have 
 been to wait for further developments, if developments there 
 were to be. However, he was a plucky youngster, in spite of 
 his inexperience, and, besides, something of the derision of 
 Jake Bond was still rankling in his mind. He knew the 
 whistle to be the effort of some man, and his discovery of 
 the individual would further prove the accuracy of his hear- 
 ing, and he would then have the laugh of his companion. 
 A more experienced hand would have first looked to his six- 
 shooter and thought of cattle thieves, but, as Jake had said, 
 he was a tenderfoot Instead, without a moment's hesitation, 
 he dashed his spurs into his broncho's flanks and swept 
 round to the shadowed side of the rocks. 
 
 He realized his folly when too late. The moment he 
 entered the shade there came the slithering whirr of some- 
 thing cutting through the air. Something struck the horse's 
 front legs, and the next moment he shot out of the saddle in 
 response to a somersault which the broncho turned. His 
 horse had been roped by one of his front legs. The cowboy 
 lay where he fell, dazed and half stunned. Then he be- 
 
134 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 came aware of three dark faces bending over him. An 
 instant later a gag was forced into his mouth, and he felt 
 himself being bound hand and foot. Then the three faces 
 silently disappeared, and all was quiet about him. 
 
 In the meantime, on the rising ground, where the camp 
 fire burned, all was calm slumber. The two old hands were 
 taking their rest with healthy contentment and noisy asser- 
 tion. The glory of the rising moon was lost to the slum- 
 berers, and no dread of coming disaster disturbed them. The 
 stertorous blasts of their nostrils testified to this. The re- 
 plenished fire slowly died down to a mass of white smolder- 
 ing ashes, and the chill-growing air caused one of the 
 sleepers to move restlessly in his sleep and draw his head 
 down beneath his blanket for greater warmth. 
 
 Up the slope came three figures. They were moving with 
 cautious, stealthy step, the movement of men whose purpose 
 is not open. On they came swiftly silently. One man 
 led; he was tall and swarthy with long black hair falling 
 upon his shoulders in straight, coarse mass. He was evi- 
 dently a half-breed, and his clothes denoted him to be of 
 the poorer class a class accustomed to live by preying 
 upon its white neighbors. He was clad in a pair of mole- 
 skin trousers, which doubtless at one time had been white, 
 but which now were of that nondescript hue which dirt 
 conveys. His upper garments were a beaded buckskin shirt 
 and a battered Stetson hat. Around his waist was a 
 cartridge belt, on which was slung a holster containing a 
 heavy six-chambered revolver and a long sheath knife. 
 
 His companions were similarly equipped, and the three 
 formed a wild picture of desperate resolve. Yard by yard 
 they drew toward the sleepers, at each step listening for the 
 loud indications of sleep which were made only too apparent 
 upon the still night air. Now they were close upon the 
 fire. One of the unconscious cow-boys, Jim Bowley, stirred. 
 A moment passed. Then the intruders drew a step nearer. 
 Suddenly Jim roused and then sat up. His action at once 
 became a signal. There was a sound of swift footsteps, and 
 
THE FIRST CHECK 135 
 
 the next instant the astonished man was gazing into the 
 muzzle of a heavy pistol. 
 
 " Hands up ! " cried the voice of the leading half-breed. 
 One of his followers had similarly covered the half-awakened 
 Jake. 
 
 Without a word of remonstrance two pairs of hands went 
 up. Astonishment had for the moment paralyzed speech on 
 the part of the rudely awakened sleepers. They were only 
 dimly conscious of their assailants. The compelling rings 
 of metal that confronted them weighed the balance of their 
 judgment, and their response was the instinctive response of 
 the prairie. Whoever their assailants, they had got the drop 
 on them. The result was the law of necessity. 
 
 In depressing silence the assailants drew their captives' 
 weapons. Then, after binding their arms, the leader bade 
 them rise. His voice was harsh and his accent " South- 
 western " American. Then he ordered them to march, the 
 inexorable pistol ever present to enforce obedience. In 
 silence the two men were conducted to the bush where the 
 first capture had been made. And here they were firmly 
 tied to separate trees with their own lariats. 
 
 " See hyar," said the tall half-breed, as the captives' feet 
 were bound securely. " There ain't goin' to be no shootin'. 
 You're that sensible. You're jest goin' to remain right hyar 
 till daylight, or mebbe later. A gag'll prevent your gassin'. 
 You're right in the track of white men, so I guess you'll do. 
 See hyar, bo', jest shut it," as Jim Bowley essayed to speak, 
 " cause my barker's itchin' to join in a conversation." 
 
 The threat had a quieting effect upon poor Jim, who im- 
 mediately closed his lips. Silent but watchful he eyed the 
 half-breed's face. There was something very familiar about 
 the thin cheeks, high cheek-bones, and about the great 
 hooked nose. He was struggling hard to locate the man. At 
 this moment the third ruffian approached with three horses. 
 The other had been busy fixing a gag in Jake Bond's mouth. 
 Jim Bowley saw the horses come up. And, in the now bril- 
 liant moonlight, he beheld and recognized a grand-looking 
 
136 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 golden chestnut. There was no mistaking that glorious 
 beast. Jim was no tenderfoot; he had been on the prairie 
 in this district for years. And although he had never come 
 into actual contact with the man, he had seen him and knew 
 about the exploits of the owner of that perfect animal. 
 
 The half-breed approached him with an improvised gag. 
 For the life of him Jim could not resist a temptation which 
 at that moment assailed him. The threatening attitude of 
 his captor for the instant had lost its effect. If he died for 
 it he must blurt out his almost superstitious astonishment. 
 
 The half-breed seized his prisoner's lower jaw in his 
 hand and compressed the cheeks upon the teeth. Jim's lips 
 parted, and a horrified amazement found vent in words. 
 
 "Holy Gawd! man. But be ye flesh or sperrit? Peter 
 Retief as I'm a livin' " 
 
 He said no more, for, with a wrench, the gag was forced 
 into his mouth by the relentless hand of the man before 
 him. Although he was thus silenced his eyes remained 
 wide open and staring. The dark stern face, as he saw it, 
 was magnified into that of a fiend. The keen eyes and 
 depressed brows, he thought, might belong to some devil 
 re-incarnated, whilst the eagle-beaked nose and thin-com- 
 pressed lips denoted, to his distorted fancy, a sanguinary 
 cruelty. At the mention of his name this forbidding 
 apparition flashed a vengeful look at the speaker, and a 
 half smile of utter disdain flickered unnoticed around the 
 corners of his mouth. 
 
 Once his prisoners were secured the dark-visaged cattle- 
 thief turned to the horses. At a word the trio mounted. 
 Then they rode off, and the wretched captives beheld, to 
 their unspeakable dismay, the consummate skill with which 
 the cattle were roused and driven off. Away they went 
 with reckless precipitance, the cattle obeying the master 
 hand of the celebrated raider with an implicitness which 
 seemed to indicate a strange sympathy between man and 
 beast. The great golden chestnut raced backwards and 
 forwards like some well-trained greyhound, heading the 
 
THE FIRST CHECK 137 
 
 leading beasts into the desired direction without effort or 
 apparent guidance. It was a grand display of the cowboy's 
 art, and, in spite of his predicament and the cruel tightness 
 of his bonds, Jim Bowley reveled in the sight of such a 
 display. 
 
 In five minutes the great herd was out of sight, and only 
 the distant rumble of their speeding hoofs reached the 
 captives. Later, the moon, no longer golden, but shedding 
 a silvery radiance over all, shone down upon a peaceful 
 plain. The night hum of insects was undisturbed. The 
 mournful cry of the coyote echoed at intervals, but near by, 
 where the camp fire no longer put the fear of man into the 
 hearts of the scavengers of the prairie, all was still and 
 calm. The prisoners moaned softly, but not loud enough 
 to disturb the peace of the perfect night, as their cruel bonds 
 gnawed at their patience. For the rest, the Western world 
 had resumed its wonted air. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE HUE AND CRY 
 
 "A THOUSAND head of cattle, John! A thousand; and 
 ' hustled ' from under our very noses. By thunder ! it is 
 intolerable. Over thirty-five thousand dollars gone in one 
 clean sweep. Why, I say, do we pay for the up-keep of the 
 police if this sort of thing is allowed to go on? It is dis- 
 graceful. It means ruination to the country if a man can- 
 not run his stock without fear of molestation. Who said 
 that scoundrel Retief was dead drowned in the great mus- 
 keg? It's all poppy-cock, I tell you; the man's as much 
 alive as you or I. Thirty-five thousand dollars! By 
 heavens ! it's it's scandalous ! " 
 
 Lablache leant forward heavily in his chair and rested his 
 great arms upon John Allandale's desk. " Poker " John 
 and he were seated in the former's office, whither the money- 
 lender had come, post-haste, on receiving the news of the 
 daring raid of the night before. The great man's voice 
 was unusually thick with rage, and his asthmatical breath- 
 ing came in great gusts as his passionate excitement grew 
 under the lash of his own words. The old rancher gazed in 
 stupefied amazement at the financier. He had not as yet 
 fully realized the fact with which he had just been ac- 
 quainted in terms of such sweeping passion. The old man's 
 brain was none too clear in the mornings now. And the 
 suddenness of the announcement had shocked his faculties 
 into a state of chaos. 
 
 "Terrible terrible," was all he was able to murmur. 
 Then, bracing himself, he asked weakly, " But what are you 
 to do?" 
 
 The weather-beaten old face was working nervously. 
 
 138 
 
THE HUE AND CRY 139 
 
 The eyes, in the past keen and direct in their glance, were 
 bloodshot and troubled. He looked like a man who was 
 fast breaking up. Very different from the night when we 
 first met him at the Calford Polo Club ball. There could 
 be no doubt as to the origin of this swift change. The 
 whole atmosphere of the man spoke of drink. 
 
 Lablache turned on him without any attempt to conceal 
 the latent ferocity of his nature. The heavy, pouchy jowl 
 was scarlet with his rage. The money-lender had been 
 flicked upon a very raw and tender spot Money was his 
 god. 
 
 "What am I to do? " he retorted savagely. "What are 
 we to do? What is all the ranching world of Alberta to do? 
 Why, fight, man. Hound this scoundrel to his lair. Follow 
 him track him. Hunt him from bush to bush until we 
 fall upon him and tear him limb from limb. Are we going 
 to sit still while he terrorizes the whole country? While he 
 ' hustles ' every head of stock from us, and and spirits it 
 away? No, if we spend fortunes upon his capture we must 
 not rest until he swings from a gibbet at the end of his own 
 lariat." 
 
 " Yes, of course of course," the rancher responded, his 
 cheek twitching weakly. " You are quite right, we must 
 hunt this scoundrel down. But we know what has gone 
 before I mean, before he was supposed to have died. The 
 man could never be traced. He seemed to vanish into thin 
 air. What do you propose? " 
 
 " Yes, but that was two years ago," said Lablache, mood- 
 ily. " Things may be different now. A thousand head of 
 cattle does not vanish so easily. There is bound to be some 
 trace left behind. And then, the villain has only got a short 
 start of us. I sent a messenger over to Stormy Cloud Settle- 
 ment the first thing this morning. A sergeant and four men 
 will be sent to work up the case. I expect them here at 
 any moment As justices of the peace it devolves on both 
 of us to set an example to the settlers, and we shall then 
 receive hearty co-operation. You understand, John," the 
 
140 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 money-lender went on, with pompous assertiveness, "al- 
 though, at present, I am the chief sufferer by this scoundrel's 
 depredations, it is plainly your duty as much as mine to take 
 this matter up." 
 
 The first rough storm of Lablache's passion had passed. 
 He was " yanking " himself up to the proper attitude for the 
 business in hand. Although he had calmed considerably 
 his lashless eyes gleamed viciously, and his flabby face wore 
 an expression which boded ill for the object of his rage, 
 should that unfortunate ever come within the range of his 
 power. 
 
 " Poker " John was struggling hard to bring a once keen 
 intellect to bear upon the affair. He had listened to the 
 money-lender's account of the raid with an almost doubtful 
 understanding, the chief shock to which was the re-appear- 
 ance of the supposed dead Retief , that prince of " hustlers," 
 who, two years ago, had terrorized the neighborhood by 
 his impudent raids. At last his mind seemed to clear and 
 he stood up. And, bending across the desk as though to 
 emphasize his words, he showed something of the old spirit 
 which had, in days gone by, made him a successful rancher. 
 
 " I don't believe it, Lablache. This is some damned 
 yarn to cover the real culprit. Why, man, Peter Retief is 
 buried deep in that reeking keg, and no slapsided galoot's 
 goin' to pitch such a crazy notion as his resurrection down 
 my throat. Retief? Why, I'd as lief hear that Satan him- 
 self was abroad duffing cattle. Bah ! Where's the * hand ' 
 that's gulled you?" 
 
 Lablache eyed the old man curiously. He was not sure 
 that there might not be some truth in the rancher's forcible 
 skepticism. For the moment the old man's words carried 
 some weight, then, as he remembered the unvarnished tale 
 the cowboy had told, he returned to his conviction. He 
 shook his massive head. 
 
 " No one has gulled me, John. You shall hear the story 
 for yourself as soon as the police arrive. You will the better 
 be able to judge of the fellow's sincerity." 
 
THE HUE AND CRY 141 
 
 At this moment the sound of horses' hoofs came in 
 through the open window. Lablache glanced out on to the 
 veranda. 
 
 " Ah, here he is, and I'm glad to see they've sent Sergeant 
 Horrocks. The very man for the work. Good," and he 
 rubbed his fat hands together. " Horrocks is a great prairie 
 man." 
 
 " Poker " John rose and went out to meet the officer. 
 Later he conducted him into the office. Sergeant Horrocks 
 was a man of medium height, slightly built, but with an air 
 of cat-like agility about him. He was very bronzed, with 
 a sharp, rather than a clever face. His eyes were black and 
 restless, and a thin mouth, hidden beneath a trim black 
 mustache, and a perfectly-shaped aquiline nose, completed 
 the sum of any features which might be called distinctive. 
 He was a man who was thoroughly adapted to his work 
 work which needed a cool head and quick eye rather than 
 great mental attainments. He was dressed in a brown can- 
 vas tunic with brass buttons, and his riding breeches were 
 concealed in a pair of well-worn leather " chaps." A Stetson 
 hat worn at the exact angle on his head, with his official 
 " side arms " secured round his waist, completed a very 
 picturesque appearance. 
 
 " Morning, Horrocks," said the money-lender. " This is 
 a pretty business you've come down on. Left your men 
 down in the settlement, eh? " 
 
 "Yes. I thought I'd come and hear the rights of the 
 matter straight away. According to your message you are 
 the chief victim of this ' duffing ' business ? " 
 
 " Exactly," replied Lablache, with a return to his tone 
 of anger, " one thousand head of beeves ! Thirty-five thou- 
 sand dollars' worth ! " Then he went on more calmly : 
 " But wait a moment, we'll send down for the * hand ' that 
 brought in the news." 
 
 A servant was despatched, and a few minutes later Jim 
 Bowley entered. Jacky, returning from the corrals, entered 
 at the same time. Directly she had seen the police horse 
 
142 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 outside she knew what was happening. When she appeared 
 Lablache endeavored to conceal a look of annoyance. 
 Sergeant Horrocks raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was 
 not accustomed to petticoats being present at his councils. 
 John, however, without motive, waived all chance of objec- 
 tion by anticipating his guests. 
 
 " Sergeant, this is my niece, Jacky. Affairs of the prairie 
 affect her as nearly as they do myself. Let us hear what this 
 man has to tell us." 
 
 Horrocks half bowed to the girl, touching the brim of his 
 hat with a semi-military salute. Acquiescence to her pres- 
 ence was thus forced upon him. 
 
 Jacky looked radiant in spite of the uncouthness of her 
 riding attire. The fresh morning air was the tonic she 
 loved, and, as yet, the day was too young for the tired 
 shadows to have crept into her beautiful face. Horrocks, 
 in spite of his tacit objection, was forced to admire the 
 sturdy young face of this child of the prairie. 
 
 Jim Bowley plunged into his story with a directness and 
 simplicity which did not fail to carry conviction. He told 
 all he knew without any attempt at shielding himself or his 
 companions. Horrocks and the old rancher listened care- 
 fully to the story. Lablache looked for discrepancies but 
 found none. Jacky, whilst paying every attention, keenly 
 watched the face of the money-lender. The seriousness of 
 the affair was reflected in all the faces present, whilst the 
 daring of the raid was acknowledged by the upraised brows 
 and wondering ejaculations which occasionally escaped the 
 police-officer and " Poker " John. When the narrative 
 came to a close there followed an impressive pause. Hor- 
 rocks was the first to break it. 
 
 " And how did you obtain your release ? " 
 
 " A Mennonite family, which had bin travelin* all night, 
 came along 'bout an hour after daylight. They pitched 
 camp nigh on to a quarter mile from the bluff w'ere we was 
 tied up. Then they came right along to look fur kindlin'. 
 There wasn't no other bluff for half a mile but ours. They 
 
THE HUE AND CRY 143 
 
 found us all three. Young Nat 'ad got 'is collar-bone 
 broke. Them 'ustlers 'adn't lifted our * plugs' so I jest 
 came right in." 
 
 " Have you seen these Mennonites ? " asked the officer, 
 turning sharply to the money-lender. 
 
 " Not yet," was the heavy rejoinder. " But they are com- 
 ing in." 
 
 The significance of the question and the reply nettled the 
 cowboy. 
 
 " See hyar, mister, I ain't no coyote come in to pitch 
 yarns. Wot I've said is gospel. The man as 'eld us up 
 was Peter Retief as sure as I'm a living man. Sperrits 
 don't walk about the prairie 'ustling cattle, an' I guess 'is 
 'and was an a'mighty solid one, as my jaw felt when 'e 
 gagged me. You take it from me, 'e's come around agin 
 to make up fur lost time, an' I guess 'e's made a tidy haul 
 to start with." 
 
 " Well, we'll allow that this man is the hustler you speak 
 of," went on Horrocks, bending his keen eyes severely on 
 the unfortunate cowboy. "Now, what about tracking the 
 cattle?" 
 
 " Guess I didn't wait fur that, but it'll be easy 'nough." 
 
 " Ah, and you didn't recognize the man until you'd seen 
 his horse?" 
 
 The officer spoke sharply, like a counsel cross-examining 
 a witness. 
 
 " Wai, I can't say like that," said Jim, hesitating for the 
 first time. " His looks was familiar, I 'lows. No, without 
 knowing of it I'd recognized 'im, but 'is name didn't come 
 along till I see that beast, Golden Eagle. I 'lows a good 
 prairie hand don't make no mistake over cattle like that. 
 'E may misgive a face, but a beastie no, siree." 
 
 " So you base your recognition of the man on the identity 
 of his horse. A doubtful assertion." 
 
 " Thar ain't no doubt in my mind, sergeant Ef you'll 
 'ave it so, I did some." 
 
 The officer turned to the other men. 
 
144 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " If there's nothing more you want this man for, gentle- 
 men, I have quite finished with him for the present. 
 With your permission," pulling out his watch, " I'll get 
 him to take me to the er scene of disaster in an hour's 
 time." 
 
 The two men nodded and Lablache conveyed the neces- 
 sary order to the man, who then withdrew. 
 
 As soon as Bowley had left the room three pairs of eyes 
 were turned inquiringly upon the officer. 
 
 " Well? " questioned Lablache, with some show of eager- 
 ness. 
 
 Horrocks shrugged a pair of expressive shoulders. 
 
 " From his point of view the man speaks the truth," he 
 replied decisively. " And," he went on, more to himself 
 than to the others, " we never had any clear proof that the 
 scoundrel, Retief, came to grief. From what I remember 
 things were very hot for him at the time of his disappear- 
 ance. Maybe the man's right. However," turning to the 
 others, " I should not be surprised if Mr. Retief has over- 
 reached himself this time. A thousand head of cattle cannot 
 easily be hidden, or, for that matter, disposed of. Neither 
 can they* travel fast; and as for tracking, well," with a shrug, 
 " in this case it should be child's play." 
 
 " I hope it will prove as you anticipate," put in John 
 Allandale, concisely. " What you suggest has been ex- 
 perienced by us before. However, the matter, I feel sure, 
 is in capable hands." 
 
 The officer acknowledged the compliment mechanically. 
 He was thinking deeply. Lablache struggled to his feet, 
 and, supporting his bulk with one hand resting upon the 
 desk, gasped out his final words upon the matter. 
 
 " I want you to remember, sergeant, this matter not only 
 affects me personally but also in my capacity as a justice of 
 the peace. To whatever reward I am able to make in the 
 name of H. M. Government I shall add the sum of one 
 thousand dollars for the recovery of the cattle, and the 
 additional sum of one thousand dollars for the capture of 
 
THE HUE AND CRY 145 
 
 the miscreant himself. I have determined to spare no ex- 
 pense in the matter of hunting this devil," with vindictive 
 intensity, " down, therefore you can draw on me for all out- 
 lay your work may entail. All I say is, capture him.' 7 
 
 " I shall do my best, Mr. Lablache," Horrocks replied 
 simply. " And now, if you will permit me, I will go down 
 to the settlement to give a few orders to my men. Good- 
 morning er Miss Allandale; good day, gentlemen. 
 You will hear from me to-night." 
 
 The officer left in all the pride of his official capacity. 
 And possibly his pride was not without reason, for many and 
 smart were the captures of evil-doers he had made during 
 his career as a keeper of the peace. But we have been told 
 that " pride goeth before a fall." His estimation of a 
 " hustler " was not an exalted one. He was accustomed to 
 dealing with men who shoot quick and straight " bad 
 men " in fact and he was equally quick with the gun, 
 and a dead shot himself. Possibly he was a shade quicker 
 and a trifle more deadly than the smartest "bad man" 
 known, but now he was dealing with a man of all these neces- 
 sary attainments and whose resourcefulness and cleverness 
 were far greater than his own. Sergeant Horrocks had a 
 harder road to travel than he anticipated. 
 
 Lablache took his departure shortly afterwards, and 
 " Poker " John and his niece were left in sole possession of 
 the office at the ranch. 
 
 The old man looked thoroughly wearied with the mental 
 effort the interview had entailed upon him. And Jacky, 
 watching him, could not help noticing how old her uncle 
 looked. She had been a silent observer in the foregoing 
 scene, her presence almost ignored by the other actors. 
 Now, however, that they were left alone, the old man turned 
 a look of appealing helplessness upon her. Such was the 
 rancher's faith in this wild, impetuous girl that he looked 
 for her judgment on what had passed in that room with the 
 ready faith of one who regards her as almost infallible, where 
 human intellect is needed. Nor was the girl, herself, slow to 
 
146 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 respond to his mute inquiry. The swiftness of her answer 
 enhanced the tone of her conviction. 
 
 "Set a thief to catch a thief, Uncle John. I guess 
 Horrocks, in spite of his shifty black eyes, isn't the man for 
 the business. He might track the slimmest neche that ever 
 crossed the back of a choyeuse. Lablache is the man 
 Retief has to fear. That uncrowned monarch of Foss 
 River is subtle, and subtlety alone will serve. Horrocks? " 
 with fine disdain, " Say, you can't shoot snipe with a pea- 
 shooter." 
 
 "That's so," replied John, with weary thoughtlessness. 
 " Do you know, child, I can't help feeling a strange satis- 
 faction that this Retief's victim is Lablache. But there, 
 one never knows, when such a man is about, who will be 
 the next to suffer. I suppose we must take our chance 
 and trust to the protection of the police." 
 
 The girl had walked to the window and now stood 
 framed in the casement of it. She turned her face back 
 towards the old man as he finished speaking, and a quiet 
 little smile hovered round the corners of her fresh ripe 
 lips. 
 
 " I don't think Retief will bother us any at least, he 
 never did before. Somehow I don't think he's an ordinary 
 rascal." She turned back to the window. " Hulloa, I 
 guess Bill's coming right along up the avenue." 
 
 A moment later " Lord " Bill, lazily cheerful as was his 
 wont, stepped in through the open French window. The 
 selling up of his ranch seemed to have made little difference 
 to his philosophical temperament. In his appearance, per- 
 haps, for now he no longer wore the orthodox dress of the 
 rancher. He was clad in a tweed lounging suit, and a pair 
 of well-polished, brown leather boots. His headgear alone 
 pertained to the prairie. It was a Stetson hat. He was 
 smoking a cigarette as he came up, but he threw the in- 
 sidious weed from him as he entered the room. 
 
 "Morning, John. How are you, Jacky? I needn't ask 
 you if you have heard the news. I saw Sergeant Horrocks 
 
THE HUE AND CRY 147 
 
 and old Shylock leaving your veranda. Hot lot isn't it? 
 And all Lablache's cattle, too." 
 
 A look of deep concern was on his keen face. Lablache 
 might have been his dearest friend. Jacky smiled over at 
 him. " Poker " John looked pained. 
 
 " Guess you're right, Bill," said the rancher. " Hot 
 very hot. I pity the poor devil if Lablache lays a hand on 
 him. Excuse me, boy, I'm going down to the barn. We've 
 got a couple of ponies we're breaking to harness." 
 
 The old man departed. The others watched the burly 
 figure as he passed out of the door. His whole personality 
 seemed shrunken of late. The old robustness seemed a 
 thing of the past The last two months seemed to have 
 put ten years of ageing upon the kindly old man. Jacky 
 sighed as the door closed behind him, and there was no 
 smile in her eyes as she turned again to her lover. Bill's 
 face had become serious. 
 
 " Well ? " in a tone of almost painful anxiety. 
 
 The girl had started forward and was leaning with her 
 two brown hands upon the back of a chair. Her face was 
 pale beneath her tan, and her eyes were bright with excite- 
 ment. For answer, Bunning-Ford stepped to the French 
 window and closed it, having first glanced up and down the 
 veranda to see that it was empty. Not a soul was in sight. 
 The tall pines, which lined the approach to the house, waved 
 silently in the light breeze. The clear sky was gloriously 
 blue. On everything was the peace of summer. 
 
 The man swung round and came towards the girl. His 
 eagle face was lit up by an expression of triumph. He held 
 out his two hands, and the girl placed her own brown ones 
 in them. He drew her towards him and embraced her in 
 silence. Then he moved a little away from her. His 
 gleaming eyes indexed the activity of his mind. 
 
 " The cattle are safe as houses. It was a grand piece 
 of work, dear. They would never have faced the path 
 without your help. Say, girlie, I'm an infant at handling 
 stock compared with you. Now what news?" 
 
148 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Jacky was smiling tenderly into the strong face of the 
 man. She could not help but wonder at the reckless daring 
 of this man, who so many set down as a lazy good-for-noth- 
 ing. She knew she had always known, she fancied 
 the strong character which underlay that indolent exterior. 
 It never appealed to her to regret the chance that had driven 
 him to use his abilities in such a cause. There was too 
 much of the wild half-breed blood in her veins to allow her 
 to stop to consider the might-have-beens. She gloried in 
 his daring, and something of the spirit which had caused 
 her to help her half-brother now forced from her an almost 
 worshiping adoration for her lover. 
 
 " Horrocks is to spare no expense in tracking Retief 
 down." She laughed silently. " Lablache is to pay. They 
 are going over the old ground again, I guess. The tracks 
 of the cattle. Horrocks is not to be feared. We must watch 
 Lablache. He will act. Horrocks will only be his puppet." 
 
 Bill pondered before he spoke. 
 
 " Yes," he said thoughtfully at last, " that is the best of 
 news. The very best. Horrocks can track. He is one of 
 the best at that game. But I have taken every precaution. 
 Tracking is useless waste of time." 
 
 " I know that from past experience, Bill. Now that the 
 campaign has begun, what is the next move? " 
 
 The girl was all eagerness. Her beautiful dark face was 
 no longer pale. It was aglow with the enthusiasm of her 
 feelings. Her deep, meaning eyes burned with a consuming 
 brilliancy. Framed in its setting of curling, raven hair, 
 her face would have rejoiced the heart of the old masters 
 of the Van Dyke school. She was wondrously beautiful. 
 Bill gazed upon her features with devouring eyes, and 
 thoughts of the wrongs committed by Lablache against her 
 and hers teemed through his brain and set his blood surging 
 through his veins in a manner that threatened to overbalance 
 his usual cool judgment. He forced himself to an outward 
 calmness, however, and the lazy tones of his voice remained 
 as easy as ever. 
 
THE HUE AND CRY 149 
 
 " On the result of the next move much will depend," he 
 said. " It is to be a terrific coup, and will entail careful 
 planning. It is fortunate that the people at the half-breed 
 camp are the friends of of Retief." 
 
 " Yes, and of mine," put in the girl. Then she added 
 slowly, and as though with painful thought, " Say, Bill, be 
 be careful. I guess you are all I have in the world you 
 and uncle. Do you know, I've kind of seen to the end of 
 this racket. Maybe there's trouble coming. Who's to be 
 lagged I can't say. There are shadows around, Bill; the 
 place fairly hums with 'em. Say, don't don't give La- 
 blache a slant at you. I can't spare you, Bill." 
 
 The tall thin figure of her companion stepped over to- 
 wards her, and she felt herself encircled by his long power- 
 ful arms. Then he bent down from his great height and 
 kissed her passionately upon the lips. 
 
 " Take comfort, little girl. This is a war, if necessary, 
 to the death. Should anything happen to me, you may be 
 sure that I leave you freed from the snares of old Shylock. 
 Yes, I will be careful, Jacky. We are -playing for a heavy 
 stake. You may trust me." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 AMONG THE HALF-BREEDS 
 
 LABLACHE was not a man of variable moods. He was too 
 strong; his purpose in life was too strong for any vacilla- 
 tion of temper. His one aim his whole soul was wrapt 
 in a craving for money-making and the inevitable power 
 which the accumulation of great wealth must give him. 
 In all his dealings he was perfectly at least outwardly 
 calm, and he never allowed access to anger to thwart his 
 ends. An inexorable purpose governed his actions to an 
 extent which, while his feelings might undergo paroxysms 
 of acute changes, never permitted him to make a false move 
 or to show his hand prematurely. But this latest reverse 
 had upset him more than he had ever been upset in his life, 
 and all the great latent force of his character had suddenly, 
 as it were, been precipitated into a torrent of ungovernable 
 fury. He had been wounded deeply in the most vulnerable 
 spot in his composition. Thirty-five thousands of his 
 precious dollars ruthlessly torn from his capacious and re- 
 tentive money-bags. Truly it was a cruel blow, and one 
 well calculated to disturb the even tenor of his complacency. 
 Thought was very busy within that massive head as he 
 lumped heavily along from John Allandale's house in the 
 direction of his own store. Some slight satisfaction was 
 his at the reflection of the prompt assistance he had ob- 
 tained from the police. It was the satisfaction of a man 
 who lived by the assistance of the law, of a man who, in 
 his own inordinate arrogance, considered that the law was 
 made for such as he, to the detriment of those who attempt 
 to thwart the rich man's purpose. He knew Horrocks to 
 be capable, and although he did not place too much reliance 
 
 150 
 
AMONG THE HALF-BREEDS 151 
 
 on that astute prairie-man's judgment he always believed 
 in his own judgment first still, he knew that he could not 
 have obtained better assistance, and was therefore as con- 
 tent as circumstances would permit. That he was sanguine 
 of recovering his property was doubtful. Lablache never 
 permitted himself the luxury of optimism. He set himself 
 a task and worked steadily on to the required end. So 
 he had decided now. He did not permit himself to dwell 
 on the desired result, or to anticipate. He would simply 
 leave no stone unturned to bring about the recovery of his 
 stolen property. 
 
 He moved ponderously along over the smooth dusty road, 
 and at last reached the market-place. The settlement was 
 drowsily quiet. Life of a sort was apparent but it was 
 chiefly " animal." The usual number of dogs were moving 
 about, or peacefully basking in the sun; a few saddle horses 
 were standing with dejected air, hitched to various tying- 
 posts. A buckboard and team was standing outside his own 
 door. The sound of the smith's hammer falling upon the 
 anvil sounded plaintively upon the calmness of the sleepy 
 village. In spite of the sensational raid of the night before, 
 Foss River displayed no unusual activity. 
 
 At length the great man reached his office, and threw 
 himself, with great danger to his furniture, into his capacious 
 wicker chair. He was in no mood for business. Instead 
 he gazed long and thoughtfully out of his office window. 
 What somber, vengeful thoughts were teeming through his 
 brain would be hard to tell, his mask-like face betrayed 
 nothing. His sphinx-like expression was a blank. 
 
 In this way half an hour and more passed. Then his 
 attention became fixed upon a tall figure sauntering slowly 
 towards the settlement from the direction of Allandale's 
 ranch. In a moment Lablache had stirred himself, and 
 a pair of field-glasses were leveled at the unconscious pedes- 
 trian. A moment later an exclamation of annoyance broke 
 from the money-lender. 
 
 " Curse the man! Am I never to be rid of this damned 
 
152 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Englishman?" He stood now gazing malevolently at the 
 tall figure of the Hon. Bunning-Ford, who was leisurely 
 making his way towards the village. For the time being 
 the channel of Lablache's thoughts had changed its direction. 
 He had hoped, in foreclosing his mortgages on the English- 
 man's property, to have rid Foss River of the latter's, to him, 
 hateful presence. But since misfortune had come upon 
 " Lord " Bill, the Allandales and he had become closer 
 friends than ever. This effort had been one of the money- 
 lender's few failures, and failure galled him with a bitter- 
 ness the recollection of which no success could eliminate. 
 The result was a greater hatred for the object of his venge- 
 ance, and a lasting determination to rid Foss River of the 
 Englishman forever. And so he remained standing and 
 watching until, at length, the entrance of one of his clerks, 
 to announce that the saloon dinner-time was at hand, brought 
 him out of his cruel reverie, and he set off in quest of the 
 needs of his inner man, a duty which nothing, of whatever 
 importance, was allowed to interfere with. 
 
 In the meantime, Horrocks, or, as he was better known 
 amongst his comrades, " the Ferret," was hot upon the trail 
 of the lost cattle. Horrocks bristled with energy at every 
 point, and his men, working with him, had reason to be 
 aware of the fact. It was an old saying amongst them that 
 when " the Ferret " was let loose there was no chance of bits 
 rusting. In other words, his mileage report to his chiefs 
 would be a long one. 
 
 As the sergeant anticipated, it was child's play to track 
 the stolen herd. The tracks left by the fast-driven cattle 
 was apparent to the veriest greenhorn, and Horrocks and 
 his men were anything but greenhorns. 
 
 Long before evening closed in they had followed the foot- 
 prints right down to the edge of the great muskeg, and 
 already Horrocks anticipated a smart capture. But his task 
 seemed easier than it really was. On the brink of the keg 
 the tracks became confused. With some difficulty the sleuth 
 instincts of these accomplished trackers led them to follow 
 
AMONG THE HALF-BREEDS 153 
 
 the marks for a mile and a half along the edge of the mire, 
 then, it seemed, the herd had been turned and driven with 
 great speed back on their tracks. But worse confusion be- 
 came apparent, and " the Ferret " soon realized that the herd 
 had been driven up and down along the border of the great 
 keg with a view to evading further pursuit. So frequently 
 had this been done that it was impossible to further trace 
 the stock, and the sun was already sinking when Horrocks 
 dismounted, and with him his men were at last forced to 
 acknowledge defeat. 
 
 He had come to a standstill with a stretch of a mile and 
 a half of cattle tracks before him. There was no sign 
 further than this of where the beasts had been driven. The 
 keg itself gave no clew. It was as green and trackless as 
 ever, and again on the land side there was not a single foot- 
 print beyond the confused marks along the quagmire's dan- 
 gerous border. 
 
 The work of covering retreat had been carried out by a 
 master hand, and Horrocks was not slow to acknowledge 
 the cleverness of the raider. With all one good prairie 
 man's appreciation for another he detected a foeman worthy 
 of his steel, and he warmed to the problem set out before 
 him. The troopers waited for their superior's instructions. 
 As " the Ferret " did not speak one of the men commented 
 aloud. 
 
 " Smart work, sergeant," he said quietly. " I'm not 
 surprised that this fellow rode roughshod over the district 
 for so long and escaped all who were sent to nab him. 
 He's clever, is P. Retief, Esq." 
 
 Horrocks was looking out across the great keg. Strangely 
 enough they had halted within twenty yards of the willow 
 bush, at which point the secret path across the mire began. 
 The man with the gold chevrons upon his arm ignored the 
 remark of his companion, but answered with words which 
 occurred in his own train of thought. 
 
 " It's plain enough, I guess. Yonder is the direction 
 taken by the cattle," he said, nodding his head towards the 
 
154 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 distant peaks of the mountains beyond. " But who's got 
 the nerve to follow 'em? Say," he went on sharply, " some- 
 where along this bank, I mean in the mile and a half of 
 hoof marks, there's a path turns out, or, at least, firm ground 
 by which it is possible to cross this devil's keg. It must be 
 so. Cattle can't be spirited away. Unless, of course 
 but no, a man don't duff cattle to drown 'em in a swamp. 
 They've crossed this pernicious mire, boys. We may nab 
 our friend, Retief, but we'll never clap eyes on those 
 beasts." 
 
 " It's the same old business over again, sergeant," said 
 one of the troopers. " I was on this job before, and I 
 reckon we landed hereabouts every time we lit on Retief's 
 trail. But we never got no further. Yonder keg is a mighty 
 hard nut to crack. I guess the half-breed's got the bulge 
 on us. If path across the mire there is he knows it and 
 we don't, and, as you say, who's goin' to follow him ? " 
 Having delivered himself of these sage remarks he stepped 
 to the brink of the mire and put his foot heavily upon its 
 surface. His top-boot sank quickly through the yielding 
 crust, and the black subsoil rose with oily, sucking action, 
 and his foot was immediately buried out of sight. He drew 
 it out sharply, a shudder of horror quickening his action. 
 Strong man and hardy as he was, the muskeg inspired him 
 with a superstitious terror. " Guess there ain't no follow- 
 ing them beasties through that, sergeant Leastways, not 
 for me." 
 
 Horrocks had watched his subordinate's action thought- 
 fully. He knew, without showing, that no man or beast 
 could attempt to cross the mire with any hope of success 
 without the knowledge of some secret path. That such a 
 path, or paths, existed he believed, for many were the stories 
 of how criminals in past days escaped prairie law by such 
 means. However, he had no knowledge of any such paths 
 himself, and he had no intention of sacrificing his life use- 
 lessly in an attempt to discover the keg's most jealously 
 guarded secret. 
 
AMONG THE HALF-BREEDS 155 
 
 He turned back to his horse and prepared to vault into 
 the saddle. 
 
 " It's no use, boys. We are done for to-day. You can 
 ride back to the settlement. I have another little matter 
 on hand. If any of you see Lablache just tell him I shall 
 join him in about two hours' time." 
 
 Horrocks rode off and his four troopers headed towards 
 the Foss River. 
 
 Despite the fact that his horse had been under the saddle 
 for nearly eight hours Horrocks rode at a great pace. He 
 was one of those men who are always to be found on the 
 prairie thorough horsemen. Men who, in times of leisure, 
 care more for their horses than they do for themselves; men 
 who regard their horses as they would a comrade, but who, 
 when it becomes a necessity to work or travel, demand 
 every effort the animal can make by way of return for the 
 care which has been lavished upon it. Such men generally 
 find themselves well repaid. A horse is something more 
 than a creature with four legs, one at each corner, head out 
 of one end, tail out of the other. There is an old saying in 
 the West to the effect that a thorough horseman is worthy 
 of man's esteem. The opinion amongst prairie men is that 
 a man who loves his horse can never be wholly bad. And 
 possibly we can accept this decision upon the subject with- 
 out question, for their experience in men, especially in " bad 
 men," is wide and varied. 
 
 Horrocks avoided the settlement, leaving it well to the 
 west, and turned his willing beast in the direction of the 
 half-breed camp. There was an ex-Government scout living 
 in this camp whom he knew; a man who was willing to sell 
 to his late employers any information he chanced to possess. 
 It was the officer's intention to see this man and purchase all 
 he had to sell, if it happened to be worth buying. Hence 
 his visit to the camp. 
 
 The evening shadows were fast lengthening when he 
 espied in the distance the squalid shacks and dilapidated 
 teepees of the Breeds. There was a large colony of those 
 
156 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 wanderers of the West gathered together in the Foss River 
 camp. We have said that these places are hot-beds of 
 crime, a curse to the country; but that description scarcely 
 conveys the wretched poverty and filthiness of these motley 
 gatherings. From a slight rising ground Horrocks looked 
 down on what might have, at first sight, been taken for a 
 small village. A scattering of small tumbled-down shacks, 
 about fifty in number, set out on the fresh green of the 
 prairie, created the first blot of uncleanly, uncouth habita- 
 tion upon the view. Add to these a proportionate number 
 of ragged tents and teepees, a crowd of unwashed, and, for 
 the most part, undressed children, a hundred fierce and half- 
 starved dogs of the " husky " type. Imagine a stench of 
 dung fire cooking, and the gathering of millions of mos- 
 quitoes about a few choyeuses and fat cattle grazing near 
 by, and the picture as it first presents itself is complete. 
 
 The approach to such a place makes one almost wish the 
 undulating prairie was not quite so fair a picture, for the 
 contrast with man's filthy squalor is so great that the feel- 
 ing of nauseation which results is almost overpowering. 
 Horrocks, however, was used to such scenes. His duty often 
 took him into worse Breed camps than this. He treated 
 such places to a perfectly callous indifference, and regarded 
 them merely as necessary evils. 
 
 At the first shack he drew up and instantly became the 
 center of attention from a pack of yelping dogs and a num- 
 ber of half-fearful, wide-eyed ragamuffins, grimy children 
 nearly naked and ranging in age from two years up to twelve. 
 Young as the latter were they were an evil-looking collection. 
 The noisy greeting of the camp dogs had aroused the elders 
 from their indolent repose within the shacks, and Horrocks 
 quickly became aware of a furtive spying within the dark- 
 ened doorways and paneless windows. 
 
 The reception was nothing unusual to the officer. The 
 Breeds he knew always fought shy of the police. As a 
 rule, such a visit as the present portended an arrest, and 
 they were never quite sure who the victim was to be and 
 
AMONG THE HALF-BREEDS 157 
 
 the possible consequences. Crime was so common amongst 
 these people that in nearly every family it was possible to 
 find one or more law-breakers and, more often than not, the 
 delinquent was liable to capital punishment. 
 
 Ignoring his cool reception, Horrocks hitched his horse 
 to a tree and stepped up to the shack, regardless of the 
 vicious snapping of the dogs. The children fled precipi- 
 tately at his approach. At the door of the house he halted. 
 
 "Hallo there, within! " he called. 
 
 There was a moment's pause, and he heard a whispered 
 debate going on in the shadowy interior. 
 
 "Hey!" he called again. "Get a hustle on, some of 
 you. Get out," he snapped sharply, as a great husky, with 
 bristling hair, came snuffing at his legs. He aimed a kick 
 at the dog, which, in response, sullenly retreated to a safe 
 distance. 
 
 The angry tone of his second summons had its effect, 
 and a figure moved cautiously within and finally approached 
 the door. 
 
 "Eh! what is it?" asked a deep, guttural voice, and a 
 bulky form framed itself in the opening. 
 
 The police-officer eyed the man keenly. The twilight 
 had so far deepened that there was barely sufficient light 
 to distinguish the man's features, but Horrocks's survey sat- 
 isfied him as to the fellow's identity. He was a repulsive 
 specimen of the Breed; the dark, lowering face had some- 
 thing utterly cruel in its expression. The cast was brutal 
 in the extreme; sensual, criminal. The shifty black eyes 
 looked anywhere but into the policeman's face. 
 
 "That you, Gustave? " said Horrocks, pleasantly enough. 
 He wished to inspire confidence. " I'm looking for Gautier. 
 I've got a nice little job for him. Do you know where he 
 is?" 
 
 " Ugh ! " grunted Gustave, heavily, but with a decided air 
 of relief. He entertained a wholesome dread of Sergeant 
 Horrocks. Now he became more communicative. Hor- 
 rocks had not come to arrest anybody. " I see," he went 
 
158 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 on, gazing out across the prairie, " this is not a warrant busi- 
 ness, eh? Guess Gautier is back there," with a jerk of a 
 thumb in a vague direction behind him. "He's in his 
 shack. Gautier's just hooked up with another squaw." 
 
 "Another?" Horrocks whistled softly. "Why, that's 
 the sixth to my knowledge. He's very much a marrying 
 man. How much did he pay the neche this time? " 
 
 " Two steers and a sheep," said the man, with an oily grin. 
 
 "Ah! I wonder how he acquired 'em. Well, I'll go 
 and find him. Gautier is smart, but he'll land himself in 
 the penitentiary if he goes on marrying squaws at that price. 
 Say, which is his shack did you say ? " 
 
 " Back thar. You'll see it. He's just limed the outside 
 of it. Guess white's the color his new squaw fancies most. 
 S'long." 
 
 The man was glad to be rid of his visitor. In spite of 
 the sergeant's assurance, Gustave never felt comfortable in 
 the officer's presence. Horrocks moved off in search of the 
 white hut, while the Breed, with furtive eyes, watched his 
 progress. 
 
 There was no difficulty in locating the shack in that 
 colony of grime. Even in the darkness the gleaming white 
 of the ex-spy's abode stood out prominently. The dogs and 
 children now tacitly acknowledged the right of the police- 
 officer's presence in their camp, and allowed him to move 
 about apparently unnoticed. He wound his way amongst 
 the huts and tents, ever watchful and alert, always aiming 
 for Gautier's hut. He knew that in this place at night his 
 life was not worth much. A quick aim, and a shot from 
 behind, and no one would ever know who had dropped 
 him. But the Canadian police are accustomed to take des- 
 perate chances in their work, and think less of it than do 
 our police patrols in the slums of London. 
 
 He found Gautier sitting at his hut door waiting for him. 
 Another might have been surprised at the Breed's cognizance 
 of the police-officer's intentions, but Horrocks knew the 
 habits of these people, and was fully alive to the fact that 
 
AMONG THE HALF-BREEDS 159 
 
 while he had been talking to Gustave a messenger was dis- 
 patched to warn Gautier that he was sought. 
 
 "Well, sergeant, what's your best news?" Gautier asked 
 civilly. He was a bright, intelligent-looking, dusky man, 
 of perhaps forty years. His face was less brutal than that 
 of the other Breed, but it was none the less cunning. He 
 was short and massively built. 
 
 " That's just what I've come to ask you, Gautier. I think 
 you can tell me all I want to know if you've a notion to. 
 Say," with a keen look round, " can we talk here? " 
 
 There was not a soul visible but an occasional playing 
 child. It was curious how quiet the camp became. Horrocks 
 was not deceived, however. He knew that a hundred pairs of 
 eyes were watching him from the reeking recesses of the huts. 
 
 "No talk here." Gautier was serious, and his words 
 conveyed a lot. " It's bad medicine your coming to-night. 
 But there," with a return to his cunning look, " I don't know 
 that I've got anything to tell." 
 
 Horrocks laughed softly. 
 
 "Yes yes, I know. You needn't be afraid." Then 
 lowering his voice: " I've got a roll of bills in my pocket." 
 
 " Ah, then don't stay here talking. There's lots to tell, 
 but they'd kill me if they suspected. Where can I see you 
 quiet-like ? They won't lose sight of me if they can help 
 it, but I reckon I'm good for the best of 'em." 
 
 The man's attempt to look sincere was almost ludicrous. 
 His cunning eyes twinkled with cupidity. Horrocks kept 
 his voice down. 
 
 " Right. I shall be at Lablache's store in an hour's time. 
 You must see me to-night." Then aloud, for the benefit of 
 listening ears, " You be careful what you are doing. This 
 promiscuous buying of wives, with cattle which you may 
 have difficulty in accounting for your possession of, will lead 
 you into trouble. Mind, I've warned you. Just look to it." 
 
 His last sentences were called out as he moved away, and 
 Gautier quite understood. 
 
 Horrocks did not return the way he had come, but took 
 
160 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 a circuitous route through the camp. He was a man who 
 never lost a chance in his work, and now, while he was in 
 the midst of that criminal haunt, he thought it as well to 
 take a look round. He hardly knew what he expected to 
 find out if anything. But he required information of 
 Retief, and he was fully alive to the fact that all that in- 
 dividual's movement, would be known here. He trusted to 
 luck to help him to discover something. 
 
 The smartest of men have to work against overwhelming 
 odds in the detection of crime. Many and devious are the 
 ways of men whose hand is against the law. Surely is the 
 best detective a mere babe in the hands of a clever criminal. 
 In this instance the very thing that Horrocks was in search 
 of was about to be forced upon him. For underlying that 
 information was a deep-laid scheme. 
 
 Never can reliance be placed in a true half-breed. The 
 heathen Chinee is the ideal of truth and honesty when his 
 wiles are compared with the dark ways of the Breed. Hor- 
 rocks, with all his experience, was no match for the dusky- 
 visaged outcast of the plains. Gautier had been deputied 
 to convey certain information to Lablache by the patriarchs 
 of the camp. And with his native cunning he had decided, 
 on the appearance of Sergeant Horrocks, to extort a price 
 for that which it was his duty to tell. Besides this, as 
 matters had turned out, Horrocks was to receive gratis that 
 for which he would shortly pay Gautier. 
 
 He had made an almost complete circuit of the camp. 
 Accustomed as he was to such places, the stench of it almost 
 made him sick. He came to a stand close beside one of 
 the outlying teepees. He was just preparing to fill his pipe 
 and indulge in a sort of disinfecting smoke when he became 
 aware of voices talking loudly close by. The sound pro- 
 ceeded from the teepees. From force of habit he listened. 
 The tones were gruff, and almost Indian-like in the brevity 
 of expression. The language was the bastard jargon of the 
 French half-breed. For a moment he was doubtful. Then 
 his attention became riveted. 
 
AMONG THE HALF-BREEDS 161 
 
 " Yes," said one voice, " he is a good man, is Peter. 
 When he has plenty he spends it. He does not rob the 
 poor Breed. Only the gross white man. Peter is clever. 
 Very." 
 
 Then another voice, deep-toned and full, took up the 
 eulogy. 
 
 " Peter knows how to spend his money. He spends it 
 among his friends. It is good. How much whisky will 
 he buy, think you ? " 
 
 Another voice chipped in at this point, and Horrocks 
 strained his ears to catch the words, for the voice was the 
 voice of a female and her utterance was indistinct. 
 
 " He said he would pay for everything all we could 
 eat and drink and that the pusky should be held the 
 night after to-morrow. He will come himself and dance the 
 Red River jig. Peter is a great dancer and will dance all 
 others down." 
 
 Then the first speaker laughed. 
 
 " Peter must have a long stocking if he would pay for 
 all. A barrel of rye would not go far, and as for food, he 
 must bring several of the steers which he took from old 
 Lablache if he would feed us. But Peter is always as good 
 as his word. He said he would pay. And he will pay. 
 When does he come to prepare ? " 
 
 "He does not come. He has left the money with Bap- 
 tiste, who will see to everything. Peter will not give ' the 
 Ferret ' a chance." 
 
 " But how ? The dance will be a danger to him," said 
 the woman's voice. " What if * the Ferret ' hears? " 
 
 "He will not hear, and, besides, Peter will be prepared 
 if the damned police come. Have no fear for Peter. He 
 is bold." 
 
 The voices ceased and Horrocks waited a little longer. 
 But presently, when the voices again became audible, the 
 subject of conversation had changed, and he realized that 
 he was not likely to hear more that would help him. So, 
 with great caution, he stole quickly away to where his horse 
 
162 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 was tied. He mounted hastily and rode off, glad to be away 
 from that reeking camp, and greatly elated with the success 
 of the visit 
 
 He had learned a lot. And he was to hear more yet 
 from Gautier. He felt that the renowned " hustler " was 
 already in his clutches. His spurs went sharply into his 
 broncho's flanks and he raced over the prairie towards the 
 settlement. Possibly he should have known better than to 
 trust to the overhearing of that conversation. His knowl- 
 edge of the Breeds should have warned him to put little 
 faith in what he had heard. But he was eager. His repu- 
 tation was largely at stake over this affair, and that must be 
 the excuse for the rashness of his faith. However, the 
 penalty of his folly was to be his, therefore blame can well 
 be spared. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 GAUTIER CAUSES DISSENSION 
 
 " SIT down and let me hear the worst." 
 
 Lablache's voice rasped harshly as he delivered his man- 
 date. Horrocks had just arrived at the money-lender's 
 store after his visit to the half-breed camp. The police- 
 officer looked weary. And the dejected expression on his 
 face had drawn from his companion the hesitating 
 superlative. 
 
 "Have you got anything to eat?" Horrocks retorted 
 quickly, ignoring the other's commands. " I am famished. 
 Had nothing since I set out from Stormy Cloud. I can't 
 talk on an empty stomach." 
 
 Lablache struck a table bell sharply, and one of his clerks, 
 all of whom were still working in the store, entered. The 
 money-lender's clerks always worked early and late. It was 
 part of the great man's creed to sweat his employees. 
 
 " Just go over to the saloon, Markham, and tell them to 
 send supper for one something substantial," he called out 
 after the man, who hastened to obey with the customary 
 precipitance of all who served the flinty financier. 
 
 The man disappeared in a twinkling and Lablache turned 
 to his visitor again. 
 
 " They'll send it over at once. There's some whisky in 
 that bottle," pointing to a small cabinet, through the glass 
 door of which gleamed the white label of " special 
 Glenlivet." " Help yourself. It'll buck you up." 
 
 Horrocks obeyed with alacrity, and the genial spirit con- 
 siderably refreshed him. He then reseated himself opposite 
 to his host, who had faced round from his desk. 
 
 163 
 
164 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 "My news is not the worst, as you seem to anticipate; 
 although, perhaps, it might have been better," the officer 
 began. " In fact, I am fairly well pleased with the result of 
 my day's work." 
 
 "Which means, I take it, that you have discovered a 
 clew." 
 
 Lablache's heavy eyes gleamed. 
 
 " Rather more than a clew," Horrocks went on reflectively. 
 " My information relates more to the man than to the beasts. 
 We shall, I think, lay our hands on this Retief." 
 
 " Good good," murmured the money-lender, inclining 
 his heavy jowled head. " Find the man and we shall re- 
 cover the cattle." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," put in the other. " How- 
 ever, we shall see." 
 
 Lablache looked slightly disappointed. The capture of 
 Retief seemed to him synonymous with the recovery of his 
 stock. However, he waited for his visitor to proceed. The 
 money-lender was essentially a man to draw his own con- 
 clusions after hearing the facts, and no opinion of another 
 was likely to influence him when once those conclusions 
 were arrived at. Lablache was a strong man mentally and 
 physically. And few cared to combat his decisions or 
 opinions. 
 
 For a moment further talk was interrupted by the entry 
 of a man with Horrocks's supper. When the fellow had 
 withdrawn the police-officer began his repast and the nar- 
 ration of his story at the same time. Lablache watched and 
 listened with an undisturbed concentration. He lost no 
 point, however small, in the facts as stated by the officer. 
 He refrained from interruption, excepting where the signifi- 
 cance of certain points in the story escaped him, and, at 
 the conclusion, he was as conversant with the situation as 
 though he had been present at the investigation. The great 
 man was profoundly impressed with what he heard. Not 
 so much with the shrewdness of the officer as with the simple 
 significance of the loss of further trace of the cattle at the 
 
GAUTIER CAUSES DISSENSION 165 
 
 edge of the muskeg. Up to this point of the story he felt 
 assured that Horrocks was to be perfectly relied upon, but, 
 for the rest, he was not so sure. He felt that though this 
 man was the finest tracker in the country the delicate science 
 of deduction was not necessarily an accompaniment to his 
 prairie abilities. Therefore, for the moment, he concen- 
 trated his thoughts upon the features surrounding the great 
 keg. 
 
 " It is a curious thing," he said retrospectively, as the 
 policeman ceased speaking, "that in all previous raids of 
 this Retief we have invariably tracked the lost stock down 
 to this point. Of course, as you say, there is not the slightest 
 doubt that the beasts have been herded over the keg. 
 Everything seems to me to hinge on the discovery of that 
 path. That is the problem which confronts us chiefly. 
 How are we to find the secret of the crossing? " 
 
 " It cannot be done," said Horrocks, simply but with 
 decision. 
 
 " Nonsense," exclaimed the other, with a heavy gasp of 
 breath. " Retief knows it, and the others with him. Those 
 cattle could not have been herded over single-handed. Now 
 to me it seems plain that the crossing is a very open secret 
 amongst the Breeds." 
 
 " And I presume you consider that we should work chiefly 
 on that hypothesis?" 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " And you do not consider the possible capture of Retief 
 as being the most important feature of the case ? " 
 
 " Important certainly. But, for the moment, of minor 
 consideration. Once we discover the means by which he 
 secretes his stock and the hiding-place we can stop his 
 depredations and turn all our energies to his capture. You 
 follow me? At first I was inclined to think with you that 
 the capture of the man would be the best thing. But now 
 it seems to me that the easiest method of procedure will be 
 the discovery of that path." 
 
 The rasping tone in which Lablache spoke conveyed to 
 
166 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 the other his unalterable conviction. The prairie man, how- 
 ever, remained unconvinced. 
 
 " Well," he replied, after a moment's deliberation, " I 
 cannot say I agree with you. Open secret or not, I've a 
 notion that we'd stand a better chance of discovering the 
 profoundest of state secrets than elicit information, even 
 supposing them to possess it, of this description from the 
 Breeds. I expect Gautier here in a few minutes; we shall 
 hear what he has to say." 
 
 " I trust he may have something to say." 
 
 Lablache snapped his reply out in that peculiar tone of 
 his which spoke volumes. It never failed to anger him to 
 have his opinions gainsaid. Then his manner changed 
 slightly, and his mood seemed to become contemplative. 
 Horrocks observed the change and wondered what was 
 coming. The money-lender cleared his throat and spat into 
 the stove. Then he spoke with that slow deliberation which 
 was his when thinking deeply. 
 
 " Two years ago, when Retief did what he liked in this 
 part of the country, there were many stories going about 
 as to his relationship with a certain lady in this settlement." 
 
 "Miss Allandale yes, I have heard." 
 
 "Just so; some said that she er was very partial to 
 him. Some, that they were distantly connected. All were 
 of opinion that she knew a great deal of the man if she only 
 chose to tell. These stories were gossip merely. These 
 small places are given to gossip. But I must confess to a 
 belief that gossip is often always, in fact founded on a 
 certain amount of fact." 
 
 There was no niceness of feeling about this mountain of 
 obesity in matters of business. He spoke as callously of 
 the girl, for whom he entertained his unholy passion, as he 
 would speak of a stranger. He experienced no compunc- 
 tion in linking her name with that of an outlaw. His gross 
 nature was of too low an order to hold anything sacred 
 where his money-bags were affected. 
 
 "Perhaps you er do not know," he pursued, care- 
 
GAUTIER CAUSES DISSENSION 167 
 
 fully lighting his pipe and pressing the charred tobacco down 
 with the tip of his little finger, " that this girl is the daughter 
 of a Breed mother? " 
 
 " Guess I hadn't a notion." 
 
 Horrocks's keen eyes flashed with interest. He too lit his 
 pipe as he lounged back in his chair. 
 
 " She is a quarter-breed, and, moreover, the esteem in 
 which she is held by the skulking inhabitants of the camp 
 inclines me to the belief that er judicious er 
 handling " 
 
 " You mean that through her we might obtain the infor- 
 mation we require ? " 
 
 Horrocks punctuated the other's deliberate utterances with 
 hasty eagerness. Lablache permitted a vague smile about 
 the corners of his mouth, his eyes remained gleaming coldly. 
 
 " You anticipate me. The matter would need delicate 
 handling. What Miss Allandale has done in the past will 
 not be easy to find out. Granting, of course, that gossip 
 has not wronged her," he went on doubtfully. " On second 
 thoughts, perhaps you had better leave that source of infor- 
 mation to me." 
 
 He relapsed apparently into deep thought. His pensive 
 deliberation was full of guile. He had a purpose to achieve 
 which necessitated the suggestion which he had made to 
 this representative of the law. He wished to impress upon 
 his companion a certain connivance on the part of, at least, 
 one member of the house of Allandale with the doings of 
 the raider. He merely wished to establish a suspicion in 
 the mind of the officer. Time and necessity might develop 
 it, if it suited Lablache's schemes that such should occur. 
 In the meantime he knew he could direct this man's actions 
 as he chose. 
 
 The calm superiority of the money-lender was not lost 
 upon his companion. Horrocks was nettled, and showed 
 it. 
 
 " But you'll pardon me, Mr. Lablache. You have offered 
 me a source of information which, as a police-officer, it is 
 
168 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 my duty to sound. As you yourself admit, the old stories of 
 a secret love affair may have some foundation in fact. 
 Accept that and what possibilities are not opened up? Had 
 I been employed on the affairs of Retief, during his previous 
 raids, I should certainly have worked upon so important a 
 clew." 
 
 " Tut, tut, man," retorted the other, sharply. " I under- 
 stood you to be a keen man at your business. A single ill- 
 timed move in the direction we are discussing and the fat 
 will be in the fire. The girl is as smart as paint; at the 
 first inkling of your purpose she'll curl up shut up like a 
 rat trap. The Breeds will be warned and we shall be further 
 off success than ever. No, no, when it comes to handling 
 Jacky Allandale you leave it to me Ah ! " 
 
 Lablache's ejaculation was the result of the sudden appari- 
 tion of a dark face peering in at his window. He swung 
 round with lightning rapidity, and before Horrocks could 
 realize what he was doing his fat hand was grasping the 
 butt of a revolver. Then, with a grunt of annoyance, he 
 turned back to his guest. 
 
 " That's your Breed, I take it For the moment I thought 
 it was some one else; it's always best in these parts to shoot 
 first and inquire afterwards. I occasionally get some strange 
 visitors." 
 
 The policeman laughed as he went to the door. His 
 irritation at the money-lender's manner was forgotten. The 
 strangeness of the sight of Lablache's twenty stone of flesh 
 moving with lightning rapidity astonished him beyond 
 measure. Had he not seen it nothing would have convinced 
 him of the man's marvelous agility when roused by 
 emergency. It was something worth remembering. 
 
 Sure enough, the face on the other side of the window 
 belonged to Gautier, and, as Horrocks opened the door, the 
 Breed pushed his way stealthily in. 
 
 " It's all right, boss," said the man, with some show of 
 anxiety, " I've slipped 'em. I'm watched pretty closely, but 
 good evening, sir," he went on, turning to Lablache with 
 
GAUTIER CAUSES DISSENSION 169 
 
 obsequious politeness. '* This is bad medicine this busi- 
 ness we're on." 
 
 Lablache cleared his throat and spat, but deigned no 
 reply. He intended to take no part in the ensuing con- 
 versation. He only wished to observe. 
 
 Horrocks at once became the officer to the subordinate. 
 He turned sharply on the Breed. 
 
 " Cut the cackle and come to business. Have you any- 
 thing to tell us about this Retief ? Out with it sharp." 
 
 " That depends, boss," said the man, with a cunning 
 smile. " As you sez. Cut the cackle and come to busi- 
 ness. Business means a deal, and a deal means ' cash 
 pappy.' Wot's the figger? " 
 
 There was no obsequious politeness about the fellow now. 
 He was about as bad a specimen of the Breed as could well 
 be found. Hence his late employment by the authorities. 
 " The worse the Breed the better the spy," was the motto of 
 those whose duty it was to investigate crime. Gautier was 
 an excellent spy, thoroughly unscruplous and rapacious. 
 His information was always a saleable commodity, and he 
 generally found his market a liberal one. But with business 
 instincts worthy of Lablache himself he was accustomed to 
 bargain first and impart after. 
 
 " See here," retorted Horrocks, " I don't go about blind- 
 folded. Neither am I going to fling bills around without 
 getting value for 'em. What's your news? Can you lay 
 hands on Retief, or tell us where the stock is hidden?" 
 
 " Guess you're looking fer somethin' now," said the man, 
 impudently. " Ef I could supply that information right off 
 some 'un 'ud hev to dip deep in his pocket fur it. I ken 
 put you on to a good even trail, an' fifty dollars 'ud be small 
 pay for the trouble an' the danger I'm put to. Wot say? 
 Fifty o' the best greenbacks? " 
 
 " Mr. Lablache can pay you if he chooses, but until I 
 know that your information's worth it I don't part with 
 fifty cents. Now then, we've had dealings before, Gautier 
 dealings which have not always been to your credit. You 
 
170 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 can trust me to part liberally if you've anything worth tell- 
 ing, but mind this, you don't get anything beforehand, and 
 if you don't tell us all you know, in you go to Calford and 
 a diet of skilly'll be your lot for some time to come." 
 
 The man's face lowered considerably at this. He knew 
 Horrocks well, and was perfectly aware that he would be 
 as good as his word. There was nothing to be gained by 
 holding out. Therefore he accepted the inevitable with as 
 bad a grace as possible. Lablache kept silence, but he was 
 reading the Breed as he would a book. 
 
 " See hyar, sergeant," said Gautier, sulkily, " you're 
 mighty hard on the Breeds, an' you know it. It'll come 
 back on you, sure, one o' these days. Guess I'm going to 
 play the game square. It ain't fur me to bluff men o' your 
 kidney, only I like to know that you're going to treat me 
 right. Well, this is what I've got to say, an' it's worth fifty 
 as you'll 'low." 
 
 Horrocks propped himself upon the corner of the money- 
 lender's desk and prepared to listen. Lablache's lashless 
 eyes were fixed with a steady, unblinking stare upon the 
 half-breed's face. Not a muscle of his own pasty, cruel face 
 moved. Gautier was talking to, at least, one man who was 
 more cunning and devilish than himself. 
 
 The dusky ruffian gave a preliminary cough and then 
 launched upon his story with all the flowery embellishments 
 of which his inventive fancy was capable. What he had to 
 tell was practically the same as Horrocks had overheard. 
 There were a few items of importance which came fresh to 
 the police-officer's ears. It stuck Lablache that the man 
 spoke in the manner of a lesson well learned, and, in con- 
 sequence, his keen interest soon relaxed. Horrocks, how- 
 ever, judged differently, and saw in the man's story a sound 
 corroboration of his own information. As the story pro- 
 gressed his interest deepened, and at its conclusion he ques- 
 tioned the half-breed closely. 
 
 "This pusky. I suppose it will be the usual drunken 
 orgie?" 
 
GAUTIER CAUSES DISSENSION 171 
 
 " I guess," was the laconic rejoinder. 
 
 " Any of the Breeds from the other settlements coming 
 over? " 
 
 " Can't say, boss. Like enough, I take it." 
 
 " And what is Retief 's object in defraying all expenses 
 in giving the treat, when he knows that the white men are 
 after him red-hot ? " 
 
 "Mebbe it's bluff cheek. Peter's a bold man. He 
 snaps his fingers at the police," replied Gautier, illustrating 
 his words with much appreciation. He felt he was getting 
 a smack at the sergeant. 
 
 " Then Peter's a fool." 
 
 " Guess you're wrong thar. Peter's the slickest * bad 
 man ' I've heerd tell of." 
 
 "We'll see. Now what about the keg? Of course the 
 cattle have crossed it. A secret path ? " 
 
 " Yup." 
 
 " Who knows the secret of it? " 
 
 " Peter." 
 
 "Only?" 
 
 The Breed hesitated. His furtive eyes shifted from one 
 face to the other of his auditors. Then encountering the 
 fixed stare of both men he glanced away towards the window. 
 He seemed uncomfortable under the mute inquiry. Then 
 he went on doubtfully. 
 
 " I guess thar's others. It's an old secret among the 
 Breeds. An' I've heerd tell as some whites knows it." 
 
 A swift exchange of meaning glances passed between the 
 two listeners. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Can't say." 
 
 "Won't you mean?" 
 
 " No, boss. Ef I knew it 'ud pay me well to tell. Guess 
 I don't know. I've tried to find out." 
 
 " Now look you. Retief has always been supposed to 
 have been drowned in the keg. Where's he been all the 
 time? " 
 
172 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 The half-breed grinned. Then his face became suddenly 
 serious. He began to think the cross-questioning was be- 
 coming too hot He decided to draw on his imagination. 
 
 " Peter was no more drowned than I was. He tricked 
 you us all into that belief. Gee! but he's slick. 
 Peter went to Montana. When the States got too sultry fur 
 'im he jest came right back hyar. He's been at the camp 
 fur two weeks an' more." 
 
 Horrocks was silent after this. Then he turned to 
 Lablache. 
 
 " Anything you'd like to ask him? " 
 
 The money-lender shook his head and Horrocks turned 
 back to his man. 
 
 " I guess that's all. Here's your fifty," he went on, tak- 
 ing a roll of bills from his pocket and counting out the 
 coveted greenbacks. " See and don't get mad drunk and 
 get to shooting. Off you go. If you learn anything more 
 I'm ready to pay for it." 
 
 Gautier took the bills and hastily crammed them into 
 his pocket as if he feared he might be called upon to return 
 them. Then he made for the door. He hesitated before 
 he passed out. 
 
 " Say, sergeant, you ain't goin' fur to try an' take 'im at 
 the pusky? " he asked, with an appearance of anxiety. 
 
 "That's my business. *Why?" 
 
 The Breed shrugged. 
 
 " Ye'll feed the coyotes, sure as kingdom come. Say 
 they'll jest flay the pelt off yer." 
 
 "Git!" 
 
 The rascal " got " without further delay or evil prophecy. 
 He knew Horrocks. 
 
 When the door closed, and the officer had assured him- 
 self of the man's departure, he turned to his host. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well?" retorted Lablache. 
 
 "What do you make of it?" 
 
 " An excellent waste of fifty dollars." 
 
GAUTIER CAUSES DISSENSION 173 
 
 Lablache's face was expressive of indifference mixed with 
 incredulity. 
 
 " He told you what you already knew," he pursued, " and 
 drew on his imagination for the rest. I'll swear that Retief 
 has not been seen at the Breed camp for the last fortnight. 
 Moreover, that man was reciting a carefully-thought-out 
 tale. I fancy you have something yet to learn in your 
 business, Horrocks. 'You have not the gift of reading 
 men." 
 
 The police-officer's face was a study. As he listened to 
 the masterful tone of his companion his color came and went. 
 His dark skin flushed and then rapidly paled. A blaze of 
 anger leapt into his keen, flashing eyes. Lablache had 
 flicked him sorely. He struggled to keep cool. 
 
 " Unfortunately my position will not allow me to fall out 
 with you," he said, with scarcely-suppressed heat, " other- 
 wise I should call you sharply to account for your insulting 
 remarks. For the moment we will pass them over. In the 
 meantime, Mr. Lablache, let me tell you, my experience leads 
 me to trust largely to the story of that man. Gautier has 
 sold me a good deal of excellent information in the past, and 
 I am convinced that what I have now heard is not the least 
 of his efforts in the law's behalf. Rascal scoundrel as 
 he is, he would not dare to set me on a false scent " 
 
 " Not if backed by a man like Retief and all the half- 
 breed camp? You surprise me." 
 
 Horrocks gritted his teeth but spoke sharply. Lablache's 
 supercilious tone of mockery drove him to the verge of 
 madness. 
 
 " Not even under these circumstances. I shall attend that 
 pusky and effect the arrest. I understand these people bet- 
 ter than you give me credit for. I presume your discretion 
 will not permit you to be present at the capture? " 
 
 It was Horrocks's turn to sneer now. Lablache remained 
 unmoved. He merely permitted the ghost of a smile. 
 
 " My discretion will not permit me to be present at the 
 pusky. There will be no capture, I fear." 
 
174 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " Then I'll bid you good-night. There is no need to 
 further intrude upon your time." 
 
 " None whatever." 
 
 The money-lender did not attempt to show the policeman 
 any consideration. He had decided that Horrocks was a 
 fool, and when Lablache formed such an opinion of a man 
 he rarely attempted to conceal it, especially when the man 
 stood in a subordinate position. 
 
 After seeing the officer off the premises, Lablache moved 
 heavily back to his desk. The alarm clock indicated ten 
 minutes to nine. He stood for some moments gazing with 
 introspective eyes at the timepiece. He was thinking hard. 
 He was convinced that what he had just heard was a mere 
 fabrication, invented to cover some ulterior motive. That 
 motive puzzled him. He had no fear for Horrocks's life. 
 Horrocks wore the uniform of the Government. Lawless 
 and all as the Breeds were, he knew they would not resist 
 the police unless, of course, Retief were there. Having 
 decided in his mind that Retief would not be there he had 
 no misgivings. He failed to fathom the trend of affairs at 
 all. In spite of his outward calm he felt uneasy, and he 
 started as though he had been shot when he heard a loud 
 knocking at his private door. 
 
 The money-lender's hand dropped on to the revolver lying 
 upon the desk, and he carried the weapon with him when 
 he went to answer the summons. His alarm was needless. 
 His late visitor was " Poker " John. 
 
 The old rancher came in sheepishly enough. There was 
 no mistaking the meaning of his peculiar crouching gait, 
 the leering upward glance of his bloodshot eyes. To any 
 one who did not know him, his appearance might have been 
 that of a drink-soaked tramp, so dishevelled and bleared he 
 looked. Lablache took in the old man's condition in one 
 swift glance from his pouched and fishy eyes. His greeting 
 was cordial too cordial. Any other but the good-hearted, 
 simple old man would have been suspicious of it. Cordiality 
 was not Lablache's nature. 
 
GAUTIER CAUSES DISSENSION 175 
 
 "Ah, John, better late than never," he exclaimed 
 gutturally. " Come in and have a smoke." 
 
 "Yes, I thought I'd just come right down and see if 
 you'd got any news." 
 
 "None none, old friend. Nothing at all. Horrocks 
 is a fool, I'm thinking. Take that chair," pointing to the 
 basket chair. " You're not looking up to the mark. Have 
 a nip of Glenlivet." 
 
 He passed the white-labeled bottle over to his companion, 
 and watched the rancher curiously as he shakily helped 
 himself to a liberal " four fingers." " Poker " John was 
 rapidly breaking up. Lablache fully realized this. 
 
 " No news no news," murmured John, as he smacked 
 his lips over his " tot " of whisky. " It's bad, man, very 
 bad. We're not safe in this place whilst that man's about. 
 Dear, dear, dear." 
 
 The senility of the rancher was painfully apparent. 
 Doubtless it was the result of his recent libations and 
 excesses. The money-lender was quite aware that John had 
 not come to him to discuss the " hustler." He had come 
 to suggest a game of cards, but for reasons of his own the 
 former wished to postpone the request. He had not ex- 
 pected that "Poker" John would have come this evening; 
 therefore, certain plans of his were not to have been put into 
 execution until the following day. Now, however, it was 
 different. John's coming, and his condition, offered him a 
 chance which was too good to be missed, and Lablache was 
 never a man to miss opportunities. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE PUSKY 
 
 PRESENTLY the old man drew himself up a little. The 
 spirit had a bracing effect upon him. The dull leering 
 eyes assumed a momentary brightness, and he almost grew 
 cheerful. The change was not lost upon Lablache. It was 
 a veritable game of the cat and the mouse. 
 
 "This is the first time your stock has been touched," 
 said John, meaninglessly. His thoughts were running upon 
 the game of cards he had promised himself. An unaccount- 
 able lack of something like moral courage prevented him 
 talking of it. Possibly it was the iron influence of his com- 
 panion which forbade the suggestion of cards. " Poker " 
 John was inwardly chafing at his own weakness. 
 
 " Yes," responded the other, " I have not been touched 
 before." Then, suddenly, he leant forward, and, for the 
 moment, the money-lender's face lit up with something akin 
 to kindliness. It was an unusual sight, and one not to be 
 relied upon. " How many years is it, John, that we have 
 struggled side by side in this benighted land?" 
 
 The rancher looked at the other, then his eyes dropped. 
 He scarcely comprehended. He was startled at the expres- 
 sion of that leathery, puffed face. He shifted uneasily 
 with the curious weakly restlessness of a shattered nerve. 
 
 " More years, I guess, than I care to think of," he mur- 
 mured at last. 
 
 " Yes, yes, you're right, John quite right. It doesn't 
 do to look back too far. We're getting on. But we're not 
 old men yet. We're rich, John, rich in land and experience. 
 No, not so old. We can still give the youngsters points, 
 John. Ha, ha!" 
 
 176 
 
THE NIGHT OF THE PUSKY 177 
 
 Lablache laughed hollowly at his own pleasantry. His 
 companion joined in the laugh, but without mirth. Poker 
 he could think of nothing but poker. The money-lender 
 insinuatingly pushed the whisky bottle closer to the senile 
 rancher. Almost unconsciously the old man helped him- 
 self. 
 
 " I wonder what it would be like living a private, idle 
 life ? " Lablache went on, as though speaking to himself. 
 Then directly to his companion, " Do you know, old friend, 
 I'm seriously thinking of selling out all my interests and 
 retiring. I've worked very hard very hard. I'm getting 
 tired of it all. Sometimes I feel that rest would be good. 
 I have amassed a very large fortune, John as you know." 
 
 The confidences of the money-lender were so unusual 
 that " Poker " John, in a dazed way, mildly wondered. 
 The whisky had roused him a good deal now, and he felt 
 that it was good to talk like this. He felt that the money- 
 lender was a good fellow, and much better than he had 
 thought. He even experienced compunction for the opinions 
 which, at times, he had expressed of this old companion. 
 Drink plays strange pranks with one's better judgment at 
 times. Lablache noted the effect of his words carefully. 
 
 " Yes," said John, " you have worked hard we have 
 both worked hard. Our lives have not been altogether with- 
 out pleasure. The occasional game of cards we have had to- 
 gether has always helped to relieve monotony, eh, Lablache? 
 Yes yes. No one can say we have not earned rest. But 
 there yes, you have been more fortunate than I. I could 
 not retire." 
 
 Lablache raised his sparse eyebrows. Then he helped 
 himself to some whisky and pushed the bottle over to the 
 other. When John had again replenished his glass the 
 money-lender solemnly raised his and waved it towards the 
 gray-headed old man. John responded unsteadily. 
 
 "How!" 
 
 " How ! " replied the rancher. 
 
 Both men drank the old Indian toast. Simple honesty 
 
178 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 was in one heart, while duplicity and low cunning filled the 
 other. 
 
 " You could not retire ? " said Lablache, when they had 
 set their empty glasses upon the desk. 
 
 "No no," answered the other, shaking his head with 
 ludicrous mourn fulness, "not retire; I have responsibilities 
 debts. You should know. I must pay them off. I 
 must leave Jacky provided for." 
 
 " Yes, of course. You must pay them off. Jacky should 
 be your first consideration." 
 
 Lablache pursed his sensual lips. His expression was 
 one of deep concern. Then he apparently fell into a reverie, 
 during which John was wondering how best to propose the 
 longed-for game of cards. The other roused himself before 
 the desired means suggested itself to the old gambler. And 
 his efforts were cut short abruptly. 
 
 " Jacky ought to marry," Lablache said without preamble. 
 " One never knows what may happen. A good husband 
 a man with money and business capacity, would be a great 
 help to you, and would assure her future." 
 
 Lablache had touched upon the one strong point which 
 remained in John Allandale's character. His love for 
 Jacky rivaled his passion for poker, and in its* pure honesty 
 was perhaps nearly as strong as that feverish zest. The 
 gambler suddenly became electrified into a different being. 
 The signs of decay the atmosphere of drink, as it were, 
 fell from him in the flashing of a second, and the old vig- 
 orous rancher, like the last dying flame of a fire, shot up 
 into being. 
 
 " Jacky shall marry when she chooses, and whatever man 
 she prefers. I will never profit by that dear child's mat- 
 rimonial affairs," he said simply. 
 
 Lablache bit his lips. He had been slightly premature. 
 He acquiesced with a heavy nod of the head and poured 
 himself out some more whisky. The example was natural 
 and his companion followed it. 
 
 " You are quite right, John. I merely spoke from a 
 
THE NIGHT OF THE PUSKY 179 
 
 worldly point of view. But your decision affects me 
 closely." 
 
 The other looked curiously at the money-lender, who thus 
 found himself forced to proceed. Hitherto he had chosen 
 his own gait. Now he felt himself being drawn. The 
 process was new to him, but it suited his purpose. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 Lablache sighed. It was like the breathing of an adi- 
 pose pig. 
 
 " I have known that niece of yours, John, ever since she 
 came into this world. I have watched her grow. I un- 
 derstand her nature as well as you do yourself. She is a 
 clever, bright, winsome girl. But she needs the guiding hand 
 of a good husband." 
 
 "Just so. You are right. I am too old to take proper 
 care of her. When she chooses she shall marry." 
 
 John's tone was decisive. His words were non-com- 
 mitting and open to no argument. Lablache went on. 
 
 " Supposing now a rich man, a very rich man, proposed 
 marriage for her. Presuming he was a man against whom 
 there was no doubtful record who, from a worldly point 
 of view, there could be no objection to should you object 
 to him as a ljusband for Jacky? " 
 
 The rancher was still unsuspecting. 
 
 " What I have stated should answer your question. If 
 Jacky were willing I should have no objection." 
 
 " Supposing," the money-lender went on, " she were un- 
 willing, but was content to abide by your decision. What 
 then?" 
 
 There was a passing gleam of angry protest in the 
 rancher's eyes as he answered. 
 
 " What I have said still holds good," he retorted a little 
 hotly. " I will not influence the child." 
 
 " I am sorry. I wish to marry your girl." 
 
 There was an impressive silence after this announcement. 
 " Poker " John stared in blank wonderment at his com- 
 panion. The expectation of such a contingency could not 
 
180 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 have been farther from his thought. Lablache to marry 
 his niece it was preposterous ludicrous. He would not 
 take it seriously he could not. It was a joke and not a 
 nice one. 
 
 He laughed and in his laugh there was a ring of 
 anger. 
 
 " Of course you are joking, Lablache," he said at last 
 " Why, man, you are old enough to be the girl's father." 
 
 " I was never more serious in my life. And as for age," 
 with a shrug, " at least you will admit my intellect is unim- 
 paired. Her interests will be in safe keeping." 
 
 Having recovered from his surprise the old man solemnly 
 shook his head. Some inner feeling made him shrink from 
 thoughts of Lablache as a husband for his girl. Besides, 
 he had no intention of retreating from the stand he had 
 taken. 
 
 " As far as I am concerned the matter is quite impossible. 
 If Jacky comes to me with a request for sanction of her 
 marriage to you, she shall have it. But I will express no 
 wish upon the matter. No, Lablache, I never thought you 
 contemplated such a thing. You must go to her. I will not 
 interfere. Oh, dear! oh, dear! " and the old man laughed 
 again nervously. 
 
 Lablache remained perfectly calm. He had expected 
 this result; although he had hoped that it might have been 
 otherwise. Now he felt that he had paved the way to 
 methods much dearer to his heart. This refusal of John's 
 he intended to turn to account. He would force an ac- 
 ceptance from Jacky, and induce her uncle, by certain means, 
 to give his consent. 
 
 The money-lender remained silent while he refilled his 
 pipe. " Poker " John seized the opportunity. 
 
 " Come, Lablache," he said jocosely, " let us forget this 
 little matter. Have a drink of your own whisky I'll join 
 you and let us go down to the saloon for a gentle flutter." 
 
 He helped himself to the spirit and poured out a glass 
 for his companion. They silently drank, and then La- 
 
THE NIGHT OF THE PUSKY 181 
 
 blache coughed, spat and lit his pipe. He fumbled his hat 
 on to his head and moved to the door. 
 
 " Come on, then," he said gutturally. And John Allan- 
 dale followed him out. 
 
 The two days before the half-breed pusky passed quickly 
 enough for some of those who are interested, and dragged 
 their weary lengths all too slowly for others. At last, how- 
 ever, in due course the day dawned, and with it hopes and 
 fears matured in the hearts of not a few of the denizens of 
 Foss River and the surrounding neighborhood. 
 
 To all appearance the most unconcerned man was the Hon. 
 Bunning-Ford, who still moved about the settlement in his 
 cheery, debonnaire fashion, ever gentlemanly and always 
 indolent. He had taken up his residence in one of the many 
 disused shacks which dotted round the market-place, and 
 there, apparently, sought to beguile the hours and eke out 
 the few remaining dollars which were his. For Lablache, in 
 his sweeping process, had still been forced to hand over some 
 money, over and above his due, as a result of the sale of the 
 young rancher's property. The trifling amount, however, 
 was less than enough to keep body and soul together for six 
 months. 
 
 Lablache, too, staunch to his opinions, did not trouble 
 himself in the least. For the rest, all who knew of the medi- 
 tated coup of Horrocks were agitated io a degree. All hoped 
 for success, but all agreed in a feeling of pessimism which 
 was more or less the outcome of previous experiences of 
 Retief. Did not they know, only too well, of the traps which 
 had been laid and which had failed to ensnare the daring 
 desperado in days gone by? Horrocks they fondly believed 
 to be a very smart man, but had not some of the best in 
 the Canadian police been sent before to bring to justice this 
 scourge of the district? 
 
 Amongst those who shared these pessimistic views Mrs. 
 Abbot was one of the most skeptical. She had learnt all 
 the details of the intended arrest in the way she learned 
 everything that was going on. A few judicious questions to 
 
182 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 the doctor and careful observations never left her long in 
 the dark. She had a natural gift for absorbing information. 
 She was a sort of social amalgam which never failed to 
 glean the golden particles of news which remained after the 
 " panning up " of daily events in Foss River. Nothing ever 
 escaped this dear old soul, from the details of a political 
 crisis in a distant part of the continent down to the number 
 of drinks absorbed by some worthless half-breed in " old 
 man" Smith's saloon. She had one of those keen, active 
 brains which refuses to become dull and torpid in an at- 
 mosphere of humdrum monotony. Luckily her nature never 
 allowed her to become a mischievous busybody. She was 
 too kindly for that too clever, tactful. 
 
 After duly weighing the point at issue she found Hor- 
 rocks's plans wanting, hence her unbelief, but, at the same 
 time, her old heart palpitated with nervous excitement as 
 might the heart of any younger and more hopeful of those 
 in the know. 
 
 As for the Allandales, it would be hard to say what they 
 thought. Jacky went about her duties with a placidity that 
 was almost worthy of the great money-lender himself. She 
 showed no outward sign, and very little interest. Her 
 thoughts she kept severely to herself. But she had thoughts 
 on the subject, thoughts which teemed through her brain 
 night and day. She was in reality aglow with excitement, 
 but the Breed nature in her allowed no sign of emotion to 
 appear. . " Poker " John was beyond a keen interest. 
 Whisky and cards had done for him what morphine and 
 opium does for the drug fiend. He had no thoughts beyond 
 them. In lucid intervals, as it were, he thought, perhaps, as 
 well as his poor dulled brain would permit him, but the result 
 of his mental effort would scarcely be worth recording. 
 
 And so the time drew near. 
 
 Horrocks, since his difference of opinion with Lablache, 
 had made the ranch his headquarters, leaving the money- 
 lender as much as possible out of his consultations. He 
 had been heartily welcomed by old John and his niece, the 
 
THE NIGHT OF THE PUSKY 183 
 
 latter in particular being very gracious to him. Horrocks 
 was not a lady's man, but he appreciated comfort when he 
 could get it, and Jacky spared no trouble to make him com- 
 fortable now. Had he known the smiling thought behind 
 her beautiful face his appreciation might have lessened. 
 
 As the summer day drew to a close signs of coming events 
 began to show themselves. First of all Aunt Margaret made 
 her appearance at the Allandales' house. She was hot and 
 excited. She had come up for a gossip, she said, and 
 promptly sat down with no intention of moving until she 
 had heard all she wanted to know. Then came " Lord " 
 Bill, cheerily monosyllabic. He always considered that long 
 speeches were a disgusting waste of time. Following closely 
 upon his heels came the doctor and Pat Nabob, with another 
 rancher from an outlying ranch. Quite why they had come 
 up they would have hesitated to say. Possibly it was cu- 
 riosity possibly natural interest in affairs which nearly af- 
 fected them. Horrocks, they knew, was at the ranch. Per- 
 haps the magnetism which surrounds persons about to embark 
 on hazardous undertakings had attracted them thither. 
 
 As the hour for supper drew near the gathering in the 
 sitting-room became considerable, and as each newcomer 
 presented himself, Jacky, with thoughtful hospitality, caused 
 another place to be set at her bountiful table. No one was 
 ever allowed to pass a meal hour at the ranch without par- 
 taking of refreshment. It was one of the principal items 
 provided for in the prairie creed, and the greatest insult to 
 be offered at such time would have been to leave the house 
 before the repast. 
 
 At eight o'clock the girl announced the meal with char- 
 acteristic heartiness. 
 
 " Come right along and feed," she said. " Who knows 
 what to-night may bring forth? I guess we can't do bet- 
 ter than drink success to our friend, Sergeant Horrocks. 
 Whatever the result of his work to-night we all allow his 
 nerve's right. Say, good people, there's liquor on the table 
 and glasses ; a bumper to Sergeant Horrocks." 
 
184 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 The wording of the girl's remarks was significant. Truly 
 Horrocks might have been the leader of a forlorn hope. 
 Many of those present certainly considered him to be such. 
 However, they were none the less hearty in their toast, and 
 Jacky and Bill were the two first to raise their glasses on 
 high. 
 
 The toast drunk, tongues were let loose and the supper 
 began. Ten o'clock was the time at which Horrocks was 
 to set out Therefore there were two hours in which to make 
 merry. Never was a merrier meal taken at the ranch. 
 Spirits were at bursting point, due no doubt to the cur- 
 rent of excitement which actuated each member of the gather- 
 ing. 
 
 Jacky was in the best of spirits, and even " Poker " John 
 was enjoying one of his rare lucid intervals. " Lord " Bill 
 sat between Jacky and Mrs. Abbot, and a more charming 
 companion the old lady thought she had never met. It 
 was Jacky who led the talk, Jacky who saw to every one's 
 wants, Jacky whose spirits cheered everybody, by her light 
 badinage, into, even against their better judgment, a feeling 
 of optimism. Even Horrocks felt the influence of her bright, 
 winsome cheeriness. 
 
 " Capture this colored scoundrel, Sergeant Horrocks," 
 the girl exclaimed, with a laughing glance, as she helped 
 him to a goodly portion of baked Jack-rabbit, " and we'll 
 present you with the freedom of the settlement, in an illu- 
 minated address inclosed in a golden casket. That's the 
 mode, I take it, in civilized countries, and I guess we are 
 civilized hereabout, some. Say, Bill, I opine you're the 
 latest thing from England here to-night. What does * free- 
 dom ' mean ? " 
 
 Bill looked dubious. Everybody waited for his answer. 
 
 " Freedom um. Yes, of course freedom. Why, 
 freedom means banquets. You know turtle soup bile 
 indigestion. Best champagne in the mayor's cellar. 
 Police can't run you in if you get drunk. All that sort 
 of thing, don'tcherknow." 
 
THE NIGHT OF THE PUSKY 185 
 
 " An excellent definition," laughed the doctor. 
 
 " I wish somebody would present me with l freedom,' " 
 said Nabob, plaintively. 
 
 " It's a good thing we don't go in for that sort of thing 
 extensively in Canada," put in Horrocks, as the representa- 
 tive of the law. " The peaceful pastime of the police would 
 soon be taken from them. Why, the handling of ' drunks ' 
 is our only recreation." 
 
 " That, and for some of them the process of lowering four 
 per cent, beer," added the doctor, quietly. 
 
 Another laugh followed the doctor's sally. 
 
 When the mirth had subsided Aunt Margaret shook her 
 head. This levity rather got on her nerves. This Retief 
 business, as she understood it, was a very serious affair, 
 especially for Sergeant Horrocks. She was keenly anxious 
 to hear the details of his preparations. She knew most of 
 them, but she liked her information first hand. With this 
 object in view she suggested, rather than asked, what she 
 wanted to know. 
 
 " But I don't quite understand. I take it you are going 
 single-handed into the half-breed camp, where you expect to 
 find this Retief, Sergeant Horrocks ? " 
 
 Horrocks's face was serious as he looked over at the 
 old lady. There was no laughter in his black, flashing 
 eyes. He was not a man given to suavity. His business 
 effectually crushed any approach to that sort of thing. He 
 was naturally a stern man, too. 
 
 " I am not quite mad, madam," he said curtly. " I set 
 some value upon my life." 
 
 This crushing rejoinder had no effect upon Aunt Margaret. 
 She still persisted. 
 
 "Then, of course, you take your men with you. Four, 
 you have, and smart they look, too. I like to see well- 
 set-up men. I trust you will succeed. They I mean the 
 Breeds are a dangerous people." 
 
 "Not so dangerous as they're reckoned, I guess," said 
 Horrocks, disdainfully. " I don't anticipate much trouble." 
 
186 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " I hope it will turn out as you think," replied the old 
 lady, doubtfully. 
 
 Horrocks shrugged his shoulders; he was not to be drawn. 
 
 There was a moment's silence after this, which was at 
 length broken by "Poker" John. 
 
 " Of course, Horrocks," he said, " we shall carry out 
 your instructions to the letter. At three in the morning, 
 failing your return or news of you, I set out with my ranch 
 hands to find you. And woe betide those black devils if 
 you have come to harm. By the way, what about your 
 men?" 
 
 "They assemble here at ten. We leave our horses at 
 Lablache's stables. We are going to walk to the settle- 
 ment." 
 
 " I think you are wise," said the doctor. 
 
 " Guess horses would be an encumbrance," said Jacky. 
 
 " An excellent mark for a Breed's gun," added Bill. 
 " Seems to me you'll succeed," he went on politely. His 
 eagle face was calmly sincere. The gray eyes looked steadily 
 into those of the officer's. Jacky was watching her lover 
 keenly. The faintest suspicion of a smile was in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " I should like to be there," she said simply, when Bill 
 had finished. " It's mean bad luck being a girl. Say, d'you 
 think I'd be in the way, sergeant ? " 
 
 Horrocks looked over at her, and in his gaze was a look 
 of admiration. In the way he knew she would be, but he 
 could not tell her so. Such spirit appealed to him. 
 
 " There would be much danger for you, Miss Jacky," 
 he said. " My hands would be full, I could not look after 
 you, and besides " He broke off at the recollection of the 
 old stories about this girl. Suddenly he wondered if he 
 had been indiscreet. What if the stories were true. He 
 ran cold at the thought. These people knew his plans. 
 Then he looked into the girl's beautiful face. No, it must 
 be false. She could have nothing in common with the 
 rascally Breeds. 
 
THE NIGHT OF THE PUSKY 187 
 
 " And besides what ? " Jacky said, smiling over at the 
 policeman. 
 
 Horrocks shrugged. 
 
 "When Breeds are drunk they are not responsible." 
 
 " That settles it," the girl's uncle said, with a forced laugh. 
 He did not like Jacky 's tone. Knowing her, he feared she 
 intended to be there to see the arrest. 
 
 Her uncle's laugh nettled the girl a little, and with a 
 slight elevation of her head, she said, 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 Further talk now became impossible, for, at that moment 
 the troopers arrived. Horrocks discovered that it was nearly 
 ten o'clock. The moment for the start had come, and, with 
 one accord, everybody rose from the table. In the bustle 
 and handshaking of departure Jacky slipped away. When 
 she returned the doctor and Mrs. Abbot were in the hall 
 alone with " Lord " Bill. The latter was just leaving. 
 " Poker " John was on the veranda seeing Horrocks off. 
 
 As Jacky came downstairs Aunt Margaret's eyes fell upon 
 the ominous holster and cartridge belt which circled the girl's 
 hips. She was dressed for riding. There could be no mis- 
 taking the determined set of her face. 
 
 " Jacky, my dear," said the old lady in dismay. " What 
 are you doing? Where are you going? " 
 
 " Guess I'm going to see the fun I've a notion there'll 
 be some." 
 
 "But" 
 
 " Don't ' but ' me, Aunt Margaret, I take it you aren't 
 deaf." 
 
 The old lady relapsed into dignified silence, but there was 
 much concern and a little understanding in her eyes as she 
 watched the girl pass out to the corrals. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE PUSKY. 
 
 A PUSKY is a half-breed dance. That is the literal mean- 
 ing of the word. The practical translation, however, is 
 often different. In reality it is a debauch a frightful 
 orgie, when all the lower animal instincts and they are 
 many and strong in the half-breed are given full sway. 
 When drunkenness and bestial passions rule the actions of 
 these worse than savages. When murder and crimes of all 
 sorts are committed without scruple, without even thought. 
 Latterly things have changed, and these orgies are less fre- 
 quent among the Breeds, or, at least, conducted with more 
 regard for decorum. But we are talking of some years ago, 
 at a time when the Breeds had to learn the meaning of 
 civilization before good order and government were 
 thoroughly established in this great Western country; in 
 the days when Indian " Sun " dances, and other barbarous 
 functions were held. In the days of the Red River Jig, 
 when a good fiddler of the same was held to be a man of 
 importance; when the method of tuning the fiddle to the 
 necessary pitch for the playing of that curious dance was a 
 secret known only to a privileged few. Some might call them 
 the " good " old days. " Bad " is the adjective which best 
 describes that period. 
 
 When Horrocks and his men set out for the Breed camp 
 they had discarded their police clothes and were clad in the 
 uncouth garb of the half-breeds. They had even gone to 
 the length of staining their faces to the coppery hue of the 
 Indians. They were a ragged party, these hardy riders of 
 the plains, as they embarked on their meditated capture of 
 ithe desperate raider. All of the five were " tough " men, 
 
 188 
 
THE PUSKY 189 
 
 who regarded their own lives lightly enough men who 
 had seen many stirring times, and whose hairbreadth escapes 
 from " tight " corners would have formed a lengthy narrative 
 in themselves. They were going to they knew not what 
 now, but they did not shrink from the undertaking. Their 
 leader was a man whose daring often outweighed his caution, 
 but, as they well knew, he was endowed with a reckless man's 
 luck, and they would sooner follow such as he for they 
 were sure of a busy time than work with one of his more 
 prudent colleagues. 
 
 At the half-breed camp was considerable bustle and ex- 
 citement. The activity of the Breed is not proverbial; they 
 are at best a lazy lot, but now men and women came and 
 went bristling with energy to their finger tips. Preparations 
 were nearing completion. The chief item of importance 
 was the whisky supply, and this the treasurer, Baptiste, had 
 made his personal care. A barrel of the vilest " rot-gut " 
 that was ever smuggled into prohibition territory had been 
 procured and carefully secreted. This formed the chief re- 
 freshment, and, doubtless, the " bluestone " with which its 
 fiery contents were strengthened, would work the passionate 
 natures, on which it was to play, up to the proper crime- 
 committing pitch. 
 
 The orgie was to be held in a barn of considerable dimen- 
 sions. It was a ramshackle affair, reeking of old age and 
 horses. The roof was decidedly porous in places, being so 
 lame and disjointed that the starry resplendence of the sum- 
 mer sky was plainly visible from beneath it. 
 
 This, however, was a trifling matter, and of much less 
 consequence than the question of space. What few horse 
 stalls had once occupied the building had been removed, 
 and the mangers alone remained, with the odor of horse, 
 to remind the guests of the original purpose of their ball- 
 room. A careful manipulation of dingy Turkey red, and 
 material which had once been white, struggled vainly to hide 
 these mangers from view, while coarse, rough boards which 
 had at one time floored some of the stalls, served to cover in 
 
190 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 the tops and convert them into seats. The result was a 
 triumph of characteristic ingenuity. The barn was con- 
 verted into a place of the necessary requirements, but ren- 
 dered hideous in the process. 
 
 Next came the disguising of the rafters and " collar- 
 ties " of the building. This was a process which lent itself 
 to the curiously warped artistic sense of the benighted peo- 
 ple. Print I mean cotton rags was the chief idea of 
 decoration. They understood these stuffs. They were 
 cheap or, at least, as cheap as anything sold at Lablache's 
 store. Besides, print decorated the persons of the buxom 
 Breed women, therefore what more appropriate than such 
 stuff to cover the nakedness of the building. Festoons of 
 print, flags of print, rosettes of print: these did duty for the 
 occasion. The staring patterns gleamed on every beam, or 
 hung in bald draping almost down to the height of an 
 ordinary man's head. The effect was strangely reminiscent 
 of a second-hand clothes shop, and helped to foster the 
 nauseating scent of the place. 
 
 A row of reeking oil lamps, swinging in crazy wire swings, 
 were suspended down the center from the moldering beams, 
 and in the diamond window spaces were set a number of 
 black bottles, the neck of each being stuffed with a tallow 
 candle. 
 
 One corner of the room was set apart for the fiddler, and 
 here a dai's of rough boarding, also draped in print stuff, was 
 erected to meet the requirements of that honored personage. 
 Such was the uncouth place where the Breeds proposed to 
 hold their orgie. And of its class it was an excellent ex- 
 ample. 
 
 At ten o'clock the barn was lit up, and strangely bizarre 
 was the result. The draught through the broken windows 
 set the candles a-guttering, until rivers of yellow fat decorated 
 the black bottles in which they were set. The stench from 
 these, and from the badly-trimmed coal oil lamps down the 
 center, blended disgustingly with the native odor of the 
 place, until the atmosphere became heavy, pungent, revolting 
 
THE PUSKY 191 
 
 in the nostrils, and breathing became a labor after the sweet 
 fresh air of the prairie outside. 
 
 Soon after this the dancers began to arrive. They came 
 in their strange deckings of glaring colors, and many and 
 varied were the types which soon filled the room. There 
 were old men and there were young men. There were girls 
 in their early teens, and toothless hags, decrepit and falter- 
 ing. Faces which, in wild loveliness, might have vied with 
 the white beauty of the daughters of the East. Faces seared 
 and crumpled with weight of years and nights of debauchery. 
 Men were there of superb physique, whilst others crouched 
 huddled, with shuffling gait towards the manger seats, to 
 seek rest for their rotting bones, and ease for their cramping 
 muscles. 
 
 Many of the faces were marred by disease; small-pox was 
 a prevalent scourge amongst these people. The effect of 
 the pure air of the prairie was lost upon the germ-laden 
 atmosphere which surrounded these dreadful camps. Crime, 
 too, was stamped on many of the faces of those gathering 
 in the reeking ballroom. The small bullet head with low, 
 receding forehead; the square set jaws and sagging lips; the 
 shifty, twinkling little eyes, narrow-set and of jetty hue; 
 such faces were plentiful. Nor were these features confined 
 to the male sex alone. Truly it was a motley gathering, and 
 not pleasant to look upon. 
 
 All, as they came, were merry with anticipation; even 
 the hags and the rheumatism-ridden male fossils croaked 
 out their quips and coarse pleasantries to each other with 
 gleeful unctuousness, inspired by thoughts of the generous 
 contents of the secreted barrel. Their watery eyes watered 
 the more, as, on entering the room, they glanced round seek- 
 ing to discover the fiery store of liquor, which they hoped 
 to help to dispose of. It was a loathsome sight to behold 
 these miserable wretches gathering together with no thought 
 in their beast-like brains but of the ample food and drink 
 which they intended should fall to their share. Crabbed 
 old age seeking rejuvenation in gut-burning spirit. 
 
192 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 The room quickly filled, and the chattering of many 
 and strange tongues lent an apish tone to the function. 
 The French half-breed predominated, and these spoke their 
 bastard lingo with that rapidity and bristling elevation of 
 tone which characterizes their Gallic relatives. It seemed 
 as though each were trying to talk his neighbor down, and 
 the process entailed excited shriekings which made the old 
 barn ring again. 
 
 Baptiste, with a perfect understanding of the people, 
 served out the spirit in pannikins with a lavish hand. It 
 was as well to inspire these folk with the potent liquor from 
 the start, that their energies might be fully aroused for the 
 dance. 
 
 When all, men and women alike, had partaken of an 
 "eye-opener," Baptiste gave the signal, and the fiddler 
 struck up his plaintive wail. The reedy strings of his in- 
 strument shrieked out the long-drawn measure of a miserable 
 waltz, the company paired off, and the dance began. 
 
 Whatever else may be the failings of the Breeds they 
 can dance. Dancing is as much a part of their nature as 
 is the turning of a dog twice before he lies down, a feature 
 of the canine race. Those who were physically incapable 
 of dancing lined the walls and adorned the manger seats. 
 For the rest, they occupied the sanded floor, and danced 
 until the dust clouded the air and added to the choking 
 foulness of the atmosphere. 
 
 The shrieking fiddle lured this savage people, and its 
 dreadful tone was music of the sweetest to their listening 
 ears. This was a people who would dance. They would 
 dance so long as they could stand. 
 
 More drink followed the first dance. Baptiste had not 
 yet recognized the pitch of enthusiasm which must promise 
 a successful evening. The quantities of liquor thus devoured 
 were appalling. The zest increased. The faces wearing 
 an habitual frown displayed a budding smile. The natural 
 smiler grinned broadly. All warmed to the evening's 
 amusement. 
 
THE PUSKY 193 
 
 Now came the festive barn dance. The moccasined 
 feet pounded the filthy floor, and the dust gathered thick 
 round the gums of the hard-breathing dancers. The noise 
 of coarse laughter and ribald shoutings increased. All 
 were pleased with themselves, but more pleased still with 
 the fiery liquid served out by Baptiste. The scene grew 
 more wild as time crept on, and the effect of the liquor 
 made itself apparent. The fiddler labored cruelly at his 
 wretched instrument. His task was no light one, but he 
 spared himself no pains. His measure must be even, his 
 tone almost unending to satisfy his countrymen. He under- 
 stood them, as did Baptiste. To fail in his work would 
 mean angry protests from those he served, and angry pro- 
 tests amongst the Breeds generally took the form of a shower 
 of leaden bullets. So he scraped away with aching limbs, 
 and with heavy foot pounding out the time upon the crazy 
 dais. He must play until long after daylight, until his 
 fingers cramped, and his old eyes would remain open no 
 longer. 
 
 Peter Retief had not as yet put in an appearance. Hor- 
 rocks was at his post viewing the scene from outside one of 
 the broken windows. His men were hard by, concealed at 
 certain points in the shelter of some straggling bush which 
 surrounded the stable. Horrocks, with characteristic en- 
 ergy and disregard for danger, had set himself the task of 
 spying out the land. He had a waiting game to play, but 
 the result he hoped would justify his action. 
 
 The scene he beheld was not new to him, his duties so 
 often carried him within the precincts of a half-breed camp. 
 No one knew the Breeds better than did this police of- 
 ficer. 
 
 Time passed. Again and again the fiddle ceased its ear- 
 maddening screams as refreshment was partaken of by the 
 dancers. Wilder and wilder grew the scene as the potent 
 liquor took hold of its victims. They danced with more 
 and more reckless abandon as each time they returned to 
 step it to the fiddler's patient measure. Midnight ap- 
 
194 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 preached and still no sign of Retief. Horrocks grew restless 
 and impatient. 
 
 Once the fiddle ceased, and the officer watching saw all 
 eyes turn to the principal entrance to the barn. His heart 
 leapt in anticipation as he gazed in the direction. Surely 
 this sudden cessation could only herald the coming of Re- 
 tief. 
 
 He saw the door open as he craned forward to look. For 
 the moment he could not see who entered; a crowd obscured 
 his view. He heard a cheer and a clapping of hands, and 
 he rejoiced. Then the crowd parted and he saw the slim 
 figure of a girl pass down the center of the reeking den. 
 She was clad in buckskin shirt and dungaree skirt. At the 
 sight he muttered a curse. The newcomer was Jacky Al- 
 landale. 
 
 He watched her closely as she moved amongst her un- 
 couth surroundings. Her beautiful face and graceful figure 
 was like to an oasis of stately flora in a desert of trailing, 
 vicious brambles, and he marveled at the familiarity 
 with which she came among these people. Moreover, he be- 
 came beset with misgivings as he remembered the old stories 
 which linked this girl's name with that of Retief. He strug- 
 gled to fathom the meaning of what he saw, but the real 
 significance of her coming escaped him. 
 
 The Breeds once more returned to their dancing, and all 
 went on as before. Horrocks followed Jacky 's movements 
 with his eyes. He saw her standing beside a toothless old 
 woman, who wagged her cunning, aged head as she talked 
 in answer to the girl's questions. Jacky seemed to be look- 
 ing and inquiring for some one, and the officer wondered if 
 the object of her solicitude was Retief. He would have been 
 surprised had he known that she was inquiring and looking 
 for himself. Presently she seated herself and appeared to be 
 absorbed in the dance. 
 
 The drink was flowing freely now, and a constant demand 
 was being made upon Baptiste. Whilst the fiery spirit 
 scorched down the hardened throats, strange, weird groans 
 
THE PUSKY 195 
 
 came from the fiddler's woeful instrument. The old man 
 was tuning it down for the plaintive requirements of the Red 
 River Jig. 
 
 The dance of the evening was about to begin. Men and 
 women primed themselves for the effort. Each was eager 
 to outdo his or her neighbor in variety of steps and power of 
 endurance. All were prepared to do or die. The mad jig 
 was a national contest, and the one who lasted the longest 
 would be held the champion dancer of the district a cov- 
 eted distinction amongst this strange people. 
 
 At last the music began again, and now the familiar 
 " Ragtime " beat fascinatingly upon the air. Those who 
 lined the walls took up the measure, and, with foot and clap- 
 ping hands, marked the time for the dancers. Those who 
 competed leapt to the fray, and soon the reeking room became 
 stifling with dust. 
 
 The fiddler's time, slow at the commencement, soon grew 
 faster, and the dancers shook their limbs in delighted an- 
 ticipation. Faster and faster they shuffled and jigged, now 
 opposite to partners, now round each other, now passing 
 from one partner to another, now alone, for the admiration 
 of the onlookers. Nor was there pause or hesitation. An 
 instant's pause meant dropping out of that mad and old 
 time " hoe-down," and each coveted the distinction of 
 champion. Faster and more wildly they footed it, and soon 
 the speed caused some of the less agile to drop out. It was 
 a giddy sight to watch, and the strange clapping of the 
 spectators was not the least curious feature of the scene. 
 
 The crowd of dancers grew thinner as the fiddler, with a 
 marvelous display of latent energy, kept ever-increasing his 
 speed. 
 
 In spite of himself Horrocks became fascinated. There 
 was something so barbarous heathenish in what he be- 
 held. The minutes flew by, and the dance was rapidly 
 nearing its height. More couples fell out, dead beat and 
 gasping, but still there remained a number who would fight 
 it out to the bitter end. The streaming faces and gaping lips 
 
196 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 of those yet remaining told of the dreadful strain. Another 
 couple dropped out, the woman actually falling with ex- 
 haustion. She was dragged aside and left unnoticed in the 
 wild excitement. Now were only three pairs left in the 
 center of the floor. 
 
 The police-officer found himself speculating as to which 
 would be the winner of the contest. 
 
 " That brown-faced wench, with the flaming red dress, '11 
 do 'em all," he said to himself. The woman he was watch- 
 ing had a young Breed of great agility for her vis-a-vis. 
 " She or her partner '11 do it," he went on, almost audibly. 
 " Good," he was becoming enthusiastic, " there's another 
 couple done," as two more suddenly departed, and flung 
 themselves on the ground exhausted. " Yes, they'll do it 
 crums, but there goes her partner! Keep it up, girl keep 
 it up. The others won't be long. Stay with " 
 
 He broke off in alarm as he felt his arm suddenly clutched 
 from behind. Simultaneously he felt heavy breathing blow- 
 ing upon his cheek. Quick as a flash his revolver was 
 whipped out and he swung round. 
 
 " Easy, sergeant," said the voice of one of his troopers. 
 " For Gawd's sake don't shoot. Say, Retief 's down at the 
 settlement. A messenger's jest come up to say he's ' hustled ' 
 all our horses from Lablache's stable, and the old man him- 
 self 's in trouble. Come over to that bluff yonder, the mes- 
 senger's there. He's one of Lablache's clerks." 
 
 The police-officer was dumbfounded, and permitted him- 
 self to be conducted to the bluff without a word. He was 
 wondering if he were dreaming, so sudden and unexpected 
 was the announcement of the disaster. 
 
 When he halted at the bluff, the clerk was still discussing 
 the affair with one of the troopers. As yet the other two 
 were in their places of concealment, and were in ignorance 
 of what had happened. 
 
 " It's dead right," the clerk said, in answer to Horrocks's 
 sharply-put inquiry. " I'd been in bed sometime when I 
 was awakened by a terrible racket going on in the office. 
 
THE PUSKY 197 
 
 It's just under the room I sleep in. Well, I hopped out of 
 bed and slipped on some clothes, and went downstairs, think- 
 ing the governor had been taken with a fit or something. 
 When I got down the office was in darkness, and quiet as 
 death. I went cautiously to work, for I was a bit scared. 
 Striking a light I made my way in, expecting to find the 
 governor laid out, but, instead, I found the furniture all 
 chucked about and the room empty. It wasn't two shakes 
 before I lit upon this sheet of paper. It was lying on the 
 desk. The governor's writing is unmistakable. You can 
 see for yourself; here it is " 
 
 Horrocks took the sheet, and, by the light of a match 
 read the scrawl upon it. The writing had evidently been 
 done in haste, but its meaning was clear. 
 
 " Retief is here," it ran. " I am a prisoner. Follow up 
 with all speed. LABLACHE." 
 
 After reading, Horrocks turned to the clerk, who immedi- 
 ately went on with his story. 
 
 " Well, I just bolted out to the stables intending to take 
 a horse and go over to * Poker ' John's. But when I got 
 there I found the doors open, an' every blessed horse gone. 
 Yes, your horses as well and the governor's buckboard 
 too. I jest had a look round, saw that the team harness 
 had gone with the rest, then I ran as hard as I could pelt 
 to the Foss River Ranch. I found old John up, but he'd 
 been drinking, so, after a bit of talk, I learned from him 
 where you were and came right along. That's all, sergeant, 
 and bad enough it is too. I'm afraid they'll string the 
 governor up. He ain't too popular, you know." 
 
 The clerk finished up his breathless narrative in a way 
 that left no doubt in the mind of his hearers as to his 
 sincerity. He was trembling with nervous excitement still. 
 And even in the starlight the look upon his face spoke of 
 real concern for his master. 
 
 For some seconds the officer did not reply. He was 
 
198 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 thinking rapidly. To say that he was chagrined would 
 hardly convey his feelings. He had been done outwitted 
 and he knew it. Done like the veriest tenderfoot. 
 He, an officer of wide experience and of considerable repu- 
 tation. And worst of all he remembered Lablache's warn- 
 ing. He, the money-lender, had been more far-seeing 
 had understood something of the trap which he, Horrocks, 
 had plunged headlong into. The thought was as worm- 
 wood to the prairie man, and helped to cloud his judgment 
 as he now sought for the best course to adopt. He saw now 
 with bitter, mental self-reviling, how the story that Gautier 
 had told him and for which he had paid and which 
 had been corroborated by the conversation he had heard in 
 the camp, had been carefully prepared by the wily Retief; 
 and how he, like a hungry, simple fish, had deliberately 
 risen and devoured the bait. He was maddened by the 
 thought, too, that the money-lender had been right and he 
 wrong, and took but slight solace from the fact that the 
 chief disaster had overtaken that great man. 
 
 However, it was plain that something must be done at 
 once to assist Lablache, and he cast about in his mind for 
 the best means to secure the money-lender's release. In his 
 dilemma a recollection came to him of the presence of Jacky 
 Allandale in the barn, and a feeling nearly akin to revenge 
 came to him. He felt that in some way this girl was con- 
 nected with, and knew of, the doings of Retief. 
 
 With a hurried order to remain where they were to his 
 men he returned to his station at the window of the barn. 
 He looked in, searching for the familiar figure of the girl. 
 Dancing had ceased, and the howling Breeds were drinking 
 heavily. Jacky was no longer to be seen, and, with bitter 
 disappointment, he turned again to rejoin his companions. 
 There was nothing left to do but to hasten to the settle- 
 ment and procure fresh horses. 
 
 He had hardly turned from the window when several 
 shots rang out on the night air. They came from the 
 direction in which he was moving. Instantly he compre- 
 
THE PUSKY 199 
 
 bended that an attack was being made upon his troopers. 
 He drew his pistol and dashed forward at a run. Three 
 paces sufficed to terminate his race. Silence had followed 
 the firing of the shots he had heard. Suddenly his quick 
 ears detected the hiss of a lariat whistling through the air. 
 He spread out his arms to ward it off. He felt something* 
 fall upon them. He tried to throw it off, and, the next 
 instant the rope jerked tight round his throat, and he was 
 hurled, choking, backwards upon the ground. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 LABLACHE'S MIDNIGHT VISITOR 
 
 LABLACHE was alone in his office. He was more alone than 
 he had ever been in his life; or, at least, he felt more 
 alone which amounted to much the same thing. Possibly, 
 had he been questioned on the subject, he would have 
 pooh-poohed the idea, but, nevertheless, in his secret heart 
 he felt that, in spite of his vast wealth, he was a lonely 
 man. He knew that he had not a single friend in Foss 
 River; and in Calford, another center of his great wealth, 
 things were no better. His methods of business, whilst 
 they brought him many familiar acquaintances a large 
 circle of people who were willing to trade, repelled all ap- 
 proach to friendship. Besides, his personality was against 
 him. His flinty disposition and unscrupulous love of power 
 were all detrimental to human affection. 
 
 As a rule, metaphorically speaking, he snapped his fingers 
 at these things. Moreover, he was glad that such was the 
 case; he could the more freely indulge his passion for grab. 
 Hated, he could work out his peculiar schemes without 
 qualms of conscience; loved, it would have been otherwise. 
 Yes, Lablache preferred this social ostracism. 
 
 But the great money-lender had his moments of weak- 
 ness moments when he rebelled against his solitary lot. 
 He knew that his isolated position had been brought about 
 by himself fostered by himself, and he knew he pre- 
 ferred that it should be so. But, nevertheless, at times he 
 felt very lonely, and in these moments of weakness he 
 wondered if he obtained full consolation in his great wealth 
 for his marooned position. Generally the result of these 
 reflections brought him satisfaction. How? is a question. 
 
 200 
 
LABLACHE'S MIDNIGHT VISITOR 201 
 
 Possibly he forced himself, by that headstrong power with 
 which he bent others who came into contact with him to 
 his will, to such a conclusion. Lablache was certainly a 
 triumph of relentless purpose over flesh and feelings. 
 
 Lablache was nearly fifty, and had lived alone since he 
 was in his teens. Now he pined, as all who live a solitary 
 life must some day pine, for a companion to share his 
 loneliness. He craved not for the society of his own sex. 
 With the instinct in us all he wanted a mate to share with 
 him his golden nest. But this mass of iron nerve and 
 obesity was not as other men. He did not weakly crave, 
 and then, with his wealth, set out to secure a wife who 
 could raise him in the social scale, or add to the bags which 
 he had watched grow in bulk from flattened folds of sacking 
 to the distended proportions of miniature balloons. No, 
 he desired a girl, the only relation of a man whom he had 
 helped to ruin a girl who could bring him no social 
 distinction, and who could not add one penny piece to his 
 already enormous wealth. Moreover, strangely enough, he 
 had conceived for her a passion which was absolutely un- 
 holy in its intensity. It is needless, then, to add, when 
 speaking of such a man, that, willing or not, he intended 
 that Jacky Allandale should be his. 
 
 Thoughts of this wild, quarter-breed girl filled his brain 
 as he sat solitary in his little office on the night of the 
 pusky. He sat in his favorite chair, in his favorite posi- 
 tion. He was lounging back with his slippered feet resting 
 on the burnished steel foot-rests of the stove. There was 
 no fire in the stove, of course, but from force of habit he 
 gazed thoughtfully at the mica sides which surrounded the 
 firebox. Probably in this position he had thought out some 
 of his most dastardly financial schemes and therefore most 
 suitable it seemed now as he calculated his chances of cap- 
 turing the wild prairie girl for his mate. 
 
 He had given up all thoughts of ever obtaining her willing 
 consent, and, although his vanity had been hurt by her 
 rejection of his advances, still he was not the man to be 
 
202 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 easily thwarted. His fertile brain had evolved a means by 
 which to achieve his end, and, to his scheme-loving nature, 
 the process was anything but distasteful. He had always, 
 from the first moment he had decided to make Jacky Allan- 
 dale his wife, been prepared for such a contingency as her 
 refusal, and had never missed an opportunity of ensnaring 
 her uncle in his financial toils. He had understood the 
 old man's weakness, and, with satanic cunning, had set 
 himself to the task of wholesale robbery, with crushing 
 results to his victim. This had given him the necessary 
 power to further prosecute his suit. As yet he had not 
 displayed his hand. He felt that the time was barely ripe. 
 Before putting the screw on the Allandales it had been his 
 object to rid the place, and his path, of his only stumbling 
 block. In this he had not quite succeeded as we have seen. 
 He quite understood that the Hon. Bunning-Ford must be 
 removed from Foss River first. Whilst he was on hand 
 Jacky would be difficult to coerce. Instinctively he knew 
 that " Lord " Bill was her lover, and, with him at hand to 
 advise her, Jacky would hold out to the last. However, he 
 believed that in the end he must conquer. Bunning-Ford's 
 resources were very limited he knew, and soon his hated 
 rival must leave the settlement and seek pastures new. La- 
 blache was but a clever scheming mortal. He did not credit 
 others with brains of equal caliber, much less cleverer and 
 more resourceful than his own. It had been better for him 
 had his own success in life been less assured, for then 
 he would have been 'more doubtful of his own ability to 
 do as he wished, and he would have given his adversaries 
 credit for a cleverness which he now considered as only 
 his. 
 
 After some time spent in surveying and considering his 
 plans his thoughts reverted to other matters. This was the 
 night of the half-breed pusky. His great face contorted 
 into a sarcastic smile as he thought of Sergeant Horrocks. 
 He remembered with vivid acuteness every incident of his 
 interview with the officer two nights ago. He bore the man 
 
LABLACHE'S MIDNIGHT VISITOR 203 
 
 no malice now for the contradiction of himself, for the 
 reason that he was sure his own beliefs on the subject of 
 Retief would be amply realized. His lashless eyes quivered 
 as his thoughts invoked an inward mirth. No one realized 
 more fully than did this man the duplicity and cunning of 
 the Breed. He anticipated a great triumph over Horrocks 
 the next time he saw him. 
 
 As the time passed on he became more himself. His 
 loneliness did not strike him so keenly. He felt that after 
 all there was great satisfaction to be drawn from a watcher's 
 observance of men. Isolated as he was he was enabled to 
 look on men and things more critically than he otherwise 
 would be. 
 
 He reached over to his tobacco jar, which stood upon 
 his desk, and leisurely proceeded to fill his pipe. It was 
 rarely he indulged himself in an idle evening, but to-night 
 he somehow felt that idleness would be good. He was 
 beginning to feel the weight of his years. 
 
 He lit his heavy briar and proceeded to envelop himself 
 in a cloud of smoke. He gasped out a great sigh of satis- 
 faction, and his leathery eyelids half closed. Presently a 
 gentle tap came at the glass door, which partitioned off the 
 office from the store. Lablache called out a guttural " Come 
 in," at the same time glancing at the loud ticking " alarm " 
 on the desk. He knew who his visitor was. 
 
 One of the clerks opened the door. 
 
 " It is past ten, sir, shall I close up? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, close up. Whose evening off is it? " 
 
 " Rodgers, sir. He is still out. He'll be in before mid- 
 night, sir." 
 
 " Ah, down at the saloon, I expect," said Lablache, drily. 
 "Well, bolt the front door. Just leave it on the spring 
 latch. I shall be up until he comes in. What are you 
 two boys going to do? " 
 
 " Going to bed, sir." 
 
 "All right; good-night." 
 
 " Good-night, sir." 
 
204 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 The door closed quietly after the clerk, and Lablache 
 heard his two assistants close up the store and then go up- 
 stairs to their rooms. The money-lender was served well. 
 His employees in the store had been with him for years. 
 They were worked very hard and their pay was not great, 
 but their money was sure, and their employment was all 
 the year round. So many billets upon the prairie depended 
 upon the seasons opulence one month and idleness the 
 next. On the ranches it was often worse. There is but 
 little labor needed in the winter. And those who have the 
 good fortune to be employed all the year round generally 
 experience a reduction in wages at the end of the fall 
 round-up, and find themselves doing the " chores " when 
 winter comes on. 
 
 After the departure of the clerk Lablache re-settled him- 
 self and went on smoking placidly. The minutes ticked 
 slowly away. An occasional groan from the long-suffering 
 basket chair, and the wreathing clouds of smoke were the 
 only appreciable indication of life in that little room. By- 
 and-by the great man reached a memorandum tablet from 
 his desk and dotted down a few hurried figures. Then he 
 breathed a great sigh, and his face wore a look of satis- 
 faction. There could be no doubt as to the tenor of his 
 thoughts. Money, money. It was as life to him. 
 
 The distant rattle of the spring lock of the store front 
 door being snapped-to disturbed the quiet of the office. 
 Lablache heard the sound. Then followed the bolting of 
 the door. The money-lender turned again to his figures. 
 It was the return of Rodgers, he thought, which had dis- 
 turbed him. He soon became buried in further calcula- 
 tions. While figuring he unconsciously listened for the 
 sound of the clerk's footsteps on the stairs as he made his 
 way up to his room. The sound did not come. The room 
 was clouded with tobacco smoke, and still Lablache belched 
 out fresh clouds to augment the reek of the atmosphere. 
 Suddenly the glass door opened. The money-lender heard 
 the handle move. 
 
LABLACHE'S MIDNIGHT VISITOR 205 
 
 " Eh, what is it, Rodgers? " he said, in a displeased tone. 
 As he spoke he peered through the smoke. 
 
 "What d'you want?" he exclaimed angrily. Then he 
 rubbed his eyes and craned forward only to fall back again 
 with a muttered curse. He had stared into the muzzle of 
 a heavy six-shooter. 
 
 He moved his hand as though to throw his memorandum 
 pad on the desk, but instantly a stern voice ordered him to 
 desist and the threatening revolver came closer. 
 
 " Jest stay right thar, pard." The words were spoken in 
 an exaggerated Western drawl. " My barker's mighty light 
 in the trigger. I guess it don't take a hundred-weight to 
 loose it. And I don't cotton to mucking up this floor with 
 yer vitals." 
 
 Lablache remained still. He saw before him the tall 
 thin figure of a half-breed. He had black lank hair which 
 hung loosely down almost on to his shoulders. His face 
 was the color of mud, and he was possessed of a pair of 
 keen gray eyes and a thin-hooked nose. His face wore a 
 lofty look of command, and was stamped by an expression 
 of the unmost resolution. He spoke easily and showed not 
 the smallest haste. 
 
 " Guess we ain't met before, boss not familiar-like, 
 leastways. My name's Retief Peter Retief, an* I take it 
 yours is Lablache. Now I've jest come right along to do 
 biz with you how does that fit your bowels ? " 
 
 The compelling ring of metal faced the astonished money- 
 lender. For the moment he remained speechless. 
 
 "Wai?" drawled the other, with elaborate significance. 
 
 Lablache struggled for words. His astonishment dis- 
 may made the effort a difficult one. 
 
 " You've got the drop on me you you damned 
 scoundrel," he at last burst out, his face for the moment 
 purpling with rage. " I'm forced to listen to you now," he 
 went on more gutturally, as the paroxysm having found vent 
 began to pass, " but watch yourself that you make no bad 
 reckoning, or you'll regret this business until the rope's 
 
206 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 round your neck. You'll get nothing out of me but what 
 you take. Now then, be sharp. What are you going to 
 do?" 
 
 The half-breed grinned. 
 
 " You're mighty raw on the hide jest now, I guess. But 
 see hyar, my reckonin's are nigh as slick as yours. An' 
 jest slant yer tongue some. * Damned scoundrel ' sliden' 
 from yer flannel face is like a coyote roundin' on a timber 
 wolf, an' a coyote ain't as low down as a skunk. I opine 
 I want a deal from you," Retief went on, with a hollow 
 laugh, " and wot I want I mostly git, in these parts." 
 
 Lablache was no coward. And even now he had not 
 the smallest fear for his life. But the thought of being 
 bluffed by the very man he was willing to pay so much for 
 the capture of riled him almost beyond endurance. The 
 Breed noted the effect of his words and pushed his pistol 
 almost to within arm's reach of the money-lender's face. 
 
 The half-breed's face suddenly became stern. 
 
 " That's a dandy ranch of yours down south. Me an' 
 my pards 'ave taken a notion to it. Say, you're comin' 
 right along with us. Savee? Guess we'll show you the 
 slickest round up this side o' the border. Now jest sit 
 right thar while I let my mates in." 
 
 Retief took no chances. Lablache, under pistol com- 
 pulsion, was forced to remain motionless in his chair. The 
 swarthy Breed backed cautiously to the door until his hand 
 rested upon the spring catch. This, with deft fingers, he 
 turned and then forced back, and the next moment he was 
 joined by two companions as dark as himself and likewise 
 dressed in the picturesque garb of the prairie " hustler." 
 The money-lender, in spite of his predicament, was keenly 
 alert, and lost no detail of the new-comers' appearance. He 
 took a careful mental photograph of each of the men, trust- 
 ing that he might find the same useful in the future. He 
 wondered what the next move would be. He eyed the 
 Breed's pistol furtively, and thought of his own weapon 
 lying on his desk at the corner farthest from him. He 
 
LABLACHE'S MIDNIGHT VISITOR 207 
 
 knew there was no possible chance of reaching it. The 
 slightest unbidden move on his part would mean instant 
 death. He understood, only too well, how lightly human 
 life was held by these people. Implicit obedience alone 
 could save him. In those few thrilling moments he had still 
 time to realize the clever way in which both he and Hor- 
 rocks had been duped. He had never for a moment be- 
 lieved in Gautier's story, but had still less dreamed of such 
 a daring outrage as was now being perpetrated. He had 
 not long to wait for developments. Directly the two men 
 were inside, and the door was again closed, Retief pointed 
 to the money-lender. 
 
 " Hustle, boys the rope. Lash his feet." 
 
 One of the men produced an old lariat. In a trice the 
 great man's feet were fast. 
 
 " His hands? " said one of the men. 
 
 " Guess not. He's goin' to write, some." 
 
 Lablache instantly thought of his cheque-book. But 
 Retief had no fancy for what he considered was useless 
 paper. 
 
 The hustler stepped over to the desk. His keen eyes 
 spotted the money-lender's pistol lying upon the far corner 
 of it. He had also noted his prisoner casting furtive glances 
 in the direction of it. To prevent any mischance he picked 
 the gleaming weapon up and slipped it into his hip pocket. 
 After that he drew a sheet of foolscap from the stationery 
 case and laid it on the blotting pad. Then he turned to 
 his comrades. 
 
 " Jest help old money-bags over," he said quietly. He 
 was thoroughly alert, and as calmly indifferent to the danger 
 of discovery as if he were engaged on the most righteous 
 work. 
 
 When Lablache had been hoisted and pushed into posi- 
 tion at the desk the raider took up a pen and held it out 
 towards him. 
 
 " Write," he said laconically. 
 
 Lablache hesitated. He looked from the pen to the man's 
 
208 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 leveled pistol. Then he reluctantly took the pen. The 
 half-breed promptly dictated, and the other wrote. The 
 compulsion was exasperating, and the great man scrawled 
 with all the pettishness of a child. 
 The message read 
 
 " Retief is here. I am a prisoner. Follow up with all 
 speed.'' 
 
 "Now sign," said the Breed, when the message was 
 written. 
 
 Lablache signed and flung down the pen. 
 
 "What's that for?" he demanded huskily. 
 
 "For?" His captor shrugged. "I guess them gophers 
 of police are snugly trussed by now. Mebbe, though, one 
 o' them might 'a' got clear away. When they find you're 
 gone, they'll light on that paper. I jest want 'em to come 
 right along after us. Savee? It'll 'most surprise 'em when 
 they come along." Then he turned to his men. " Now, 
 boys, lash his hands, and cut his feet adrift. Then, into 
 the buckboard with him. Guess his carcase is too bulky for 
 any * plug ' to carry. Get a hustle on, lads. We've hung 
 around here long enough." 
 
 The men stepped forward to obey their chief, but, at 
 that moment, Lablache gave another display of that won- 
 derful agility of his of which, at times, he was capable. 
 His rage got the better of him, and even under the muzzle 
 of his captor's pistol he was determined to resist. We have 
 said that the money-lender was no coward; at that moment 
 he was desperate. 
 
 The nearest Breed received a terrific buffet in the neck, 
 then, in spite of his bound feet, Lablache seized his heavy 
 swivel chair, and, raising it with all his strength he hurled 
 it at the other. Still Retief's pistol was silent. The money- 
 lender noticed the fact, and he became even more assured. 
 He turned heavily and aimed a blow at the " hustler." 
 But, even as he struck, he felt the weight of Retief's hand, 
 
LABLACHE'S MIDNIGHT VISITOR 209 
 
 and struggling to steady himself his bound feet impeding 
 him he overbalanced and fell heavily to the ground. In 
 an instant the Breeds were upon him. His own handker- 
 chief was used to gag him, and his hands were secured. 
 Then, without a moment's delay, he was hoisted from the 
 floor his great weight bearing his captors down and 
 carried bodily out of the office and thrown into his own 
 buckboard, which was waiting at the door. Retief sprang 
 into the driving seat whilst one of the Breeds held the 
 prisoner down, some other dark figures leapt into the sad- 
 dles of several waiting horses, and the party dashed off at 
 a breakneck speed. 
 
 The gleaming stars gave out more than sufficient light 
 for the desperate teamster. He swung the well-fed, high- 
 mettled horses of the money-lender round, and headed right 
 through the heart of the settlement. The audacity of this 
 man was superlative. He lashed the animals into a gallop 
 which made the saddle horses extend themselves to keep up. 
 On, on into the night they raced, and almost in a flash the 
 settlement was passed. The sleepy inhabitants of Foss 
 River heard the mad racing of the horses but paid no heed. 
 The daring of the raider was his safeguard. 
 
 Lablache knew their destination. They were traveling 
 southward, and he felt that their object was his own ranch. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 A NIGHT OF TERROR 
 
 THAT midnight drive was one long nightmare to the un- 
 fortunate captive. He had been thrown, sprawling, into the 
 iron-railed " carryall " platform at the back of the buck- 
 board, and lay on the nut-studded slats, where he was jolted 
 and bumped about like the proverbial pea on a drum. 
 
 When the raider changed his direction, and turned off 
 the trail on to the open prairie, the horrors of the prisoner's 
 position were intensified a hundredfold. Alone, there was 
 insufficient room for the suffering man in the limited space 
 of the " carryall," but beside him sat, or rather crouched, a 
 burly Breed, ready at a moment's notice to quash any at- 
 tempt at escape on the part of the wretched money-lender. 
 
 Thus he was borne along, mile after mile, southward 
 towards his own ranch. Sometimes during that terrible ride 
 Lablache found time to wonder what was the object of these 
 people in thus kidnapping him. Surely if they only meant 
 to carry off his cattle, such a task could have been done 
 without bringing him along with them. It seemed to him 
 that there could be only one interpretation put upon the 
 matter, and, in spite of his present agonies, the great man 
 shuddered as he thought. 
 
 Courageous as he was, he endured a period of mental 
 agony which took all the heart out of him. He understood 
 the methods of the prairie so well that he feared the very 
 worst. A tree a lariat and he saw, in fancy, a crowd 
 of carrion swarming round his swinging body. He could 
 conceive no other object, and his nerves became racked almost 
 to breaking pitch. 
 
 The real truth of the situation was beyond his wildest 
 
 210 
 
A NIGHT OF TERROR 211 
 
 dreams. The significance of the fact that this second attack 
 was made against him was lost upon the wretched man. 
 He only seemed to realize with natural dread that Retief 
 the terror of the countryside was in this, therefore the 
 outcome must surely be the very worst 
 
 At length the horses drew up at Lablache's lonely ranch. 
 His nearest neighbor was not within ten miles of him. 
 With that love of power and self aggrandisement which 
 always characterized him, the money-lender had purchased 
 from the Government a vast tract of country, and retained 
 every acre of it for his own stock. It might have stood him 
 in good stead now had he let portions of his grazing, and so 
 settled up the district. As it was, his ranch was character- 
 istic of himself isolated; and he knew that Retief could 
 here work his will with little chance of interference. 
 
 As Lablache was hoisted from the buckboard and set 
 upon his feet, and the gag was removed from his mouth, 
 the first thing he noticed was the absolute quiescence of the 
 place. He wondered if his foreman and the hands were 
 yet sleeping. 
 
 He was not long left in doubt. Retief gave a few rapid 
 orders to his men, and as he did so Lablache observed, for 
 the first time, that the Breeds numbered at least half-a- 
 dozen. He felt sure that not more than four besides their 
 chief had traveled with them, and yet now the number had 
 increased. 
 
 The obvious conclusion was that the others were already 
 here at the time of the arrival of the buckboard, doubtless 
 with the purpose of carrying out Retief s plans. 
 
 The Breeds moved off in various directions, and their 
 chief and the money-lender were left alone. As soon as the 
 others were out of earshot the raider approached his captive. 
 His face seemed to have undergone some subtle change. 
 The lofty air of command had been replaced by a look of 
 bitter hatred and terrible cruelty. 
 
 " Now, Lablache," he said coldly, " I guess you're goin' 
 to see some fun. I ain't mostly hard on people. I like to 
 
212 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 do the thing han'some. Say I'll jest roll this bar'l 'long so 
 as you ken set An' see hyar, ef you're mighty quiet I'll 
 loose them hands o' yours," 
 
 Lablache deigned no reply, but the other was as good as 
 his word. 
 
 " Sulky, some, I guess," the half-breed went on. " Wai, 
 I'm not goin' back on my word," he added as he rolled the 
 barrel up to his prisoner and scotched it securely. " Thar, 
 set." 
 
 The money-lender didn't move. 
 
 "Set!" This time the word conveyed a command and 
 the other sat down on the barrel. 
 
 " Guess I can't stand cantankerous cusses. Now, let's 
 have a look at yer bracelets." 
 
 He sat beside his captive and proceeded to loosen the 
 rope which bound his wrists. Then he quietly drew his 
 pistol and rested it on his knee. Lablache enjoyed his 
 freedom, but wondered what was coming next. 
 
 There was a moment of silence while the two men gazed 
 at the corrals and buildings set out before them. Away to 
 the right, on a rising ground, stood a magnificent house 
 built of red pine lumber. Lablache had built this as a, 
 dwelling for himself. For the prairie it was palatial, and 
 there was nothing in the country to equal it. This build- 
 ing alone had cost sixty thousand dollars. On a lower 
 level there were the great barns. Four or five of these 
 stood linked up by smaller buildings and quarters for the 
 ranch hands. Then there was a stretch of low buildings 
 which were the boxes built for the great man's thoroughbred 
 stud horses. He was possessed of six such animals, and 
 their aggregate cost ran into thousands of pounds, each one 
 having been imported from England. 
 
 Then there were the corrals with their great ten-foot 
 walls, all built of the finest pine logs cut from the mountain 
 forests. These corrals covered acres of ground and were 
 capable of sheltering five thousand head of cattle without 
 their capacity being taxed. It was an ideal place and repre- 
 
A NIGHT OF TERROR 213 
 
 sented a considerable fortune. Lablache noticed that the 
 corrals were entirely empty. He longed to ask his captor 
 for explanation, but would not give that swarthy individual 
 the satisfaction of imparting unpleasant information. 
 
 However, Retief did not intend to let the money-lender 
 off lightly. The cruel expression of his face deepened as 
 he followed the direction of Lablache's gaze. 
 
 " Fine place, this," he said, with a comprehensive nod. 
 " Cost a pile o' dollars, I take it." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " You ain't got much stock. Guess the boys 'ave helped 
 themselves liberal." 
 
 Lablache turned his face towards his companion. He 
 was fast being drawn. 
 
 " Heard 'em gassin' about twenty thousand head some 
 days back. Guess they've borrowed 'em," he went on in- 
 differently. 
 
 " You villain ! " the exasperated prisoner hissed at last. 
 
 If ever a look conveyed a lust for murder Lablache's 
 lashless eyes expressed it. 
 
 "Eh? What? Guess you ain't well." The icy tones 
 mocked at the distraught captive. 
 
 The money-lender checked his wrath and struggled to 
 keep cool. 
 
 " My cattle are on the range. You could never have 
 driven off twenty thousand head. It would have been im- 
 possible without my hearing of it. It is more than one 
 night's work." 
 
 " That's so," replied the half-breed, smiling sardonically. 
 " Say, your hands and foreman are shut up in their shack. 
 They've bin taking things easy fur a day or two. Jest to 
 give my boys a free hand. Guess we've been at work here 
 these three days." 
 
 The money-lender groaned inwardly. He understood 
 the Breed's meaning only too well. At last his bottled-up 
 rage broke out again. 
 
 " Are you man or devil that you spirit away great herds 
 
214 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 like this. Across the keg, I know, but how how? 
 Twenty thousand! My God, you'll swing for this night's 
 work," he went on impotently. " The whole countryside 
 will be after you. I am not the man to sit down quietly 
 under such handling. If I spend every cent I'm possessed 
 of, you shall be hounded down until you dare not show 
 your face on this side of the border." 
 
 " Easy, boss," the Breed retorted imperturbably. " Ef 
 you want to see that precious store o' yours again a civil 
 tongue '11 help you best. I'm mostly a patient man easy 
 goin'-like. Now jest keep calm an' I'll let you see the 
 fun. Now that's a neat shack o' yours," he went on, point- 
 ing to the money-lender's mansion. " Wonder ef I could 
 put a dose o' lead into one o' the windows from here." 
 
 Lablache began to think he was dealing with a madman. 
 He remained silent, and the Breed leveled his pistol in the 
 direction of the house and fired. A moment's silence fol- 
 lowed the sharp report. Then Retief turned to his captive. 
 
 " Guess I didn't hear any glass smash. Likely I missed 
 it," and he chuckled fiendishly. Lablache sat gazing 
 moodily at the building. Then the half-breed's voice 
 roused him. "Hello, wot's that?" He was pointing at 
 the house. "Why, some galoot's lightin' a bonfire! Say, 
 that's dangerous Lablache. They might fire your place." 
 
 But the other did not answer. His eyes were staring 
 wide with horror. As if in answer to the pistol-shot a fire 
 had been lit against the side of the house. It was no 
 ordinary fire, either, but a great pile of hay. The flames 
 shot up with terrible swiftness, licking up the side of the 
 red pine house with lightning rapidity. Lablache under- 
 stood. The house was to be demolished, and Retief had 
 given the signal. He leapt up from his seat, forgetful of his 
 bound feet, and made as though to seize the Breed by the 
 throat. He got no further, however, for Retief gripped him 
 by the shoulder, and, notwithstanding his great bulk, hurled 
 him back on to the barrel, at the same time pressing the 
 muzzle of his pistol into his face. 
 
A NIGHT OF TERROR 215 
 
 " Set down, you scum," he thundered. " Another move 
 like that an' I'll let the atmosphere into yer." Then with 
 a sudden return to his grim pastime, as the other remained 
 quiet, " Say, red pine makes powerful fine kindlin'. I 
 reckon they'll see that light at the settlement. You don't 
 seem pleased, man. Ain't it a beaut. Look, they've started 
 it the other side. Now the smoke stack's caught. Burn, 
 burn, you beauty. Look, Lablache, a sixty thousand dollar 
 fire, an' all yours. Ain't you proud to think that it's all 
 yours?" 
 
 Lablache was speechless with horror. Words failed to 
 express his feelings. The Breed watched him as a tiger 
 might contemplate its helpless prey. He understood some- 
 thing of the agony the great man was suffering. He wanted 
 him to suffer he meant him to suffer. But he had only 
 just begun the torture he had so carefully prepared for his 
 victim. 
 
 Presently the roof of the building crashed in, and, for 
 the moment, the blaze leapt high. Then, soon, it began to 
 die down. Retief seemed to tire of watching the dying 
 blaze. He turned again to his prisoner. 
 
 "Not 'nough, eh? Not 'nough. We can't stop here all 
 night. Let's have the rest. The sight'll warm your heart." 
 And he laughed at his own grim pleasantry. "The boys 
 have cleared out your stud ' plugs.' And, I guess, yer 
 barns are chocked full of yer wheel gearing and implements. 
 Say, I guess we'll have 'em next." 
 
 He turned from his silent captive without waiting for 
 reply, and rapidly discharged the remaining five barrels of 
 his pistol. For answer another five bonfires were lighted 
 round the barns and corals. Almost instantly the whole 
 place became a gorgeous blaze of light. The entire ranch, 
 with the exception of one little shack was now burning as 
 only pine wood can burn. It was a terrible, never-to-be- 
 forgotten sight, and Lablache groaned audibly as he saw 
 the pride of his wealth rapidly gutted. If ever a man 
 suffered the money-lender suffered that night. Retief 
 
216 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 showed a great understanding of his prisoner far too 
 great an understanding for a man who was supposed to be 
 a stranger to Lablache in the way he set about to torture 
 his victim. No bodily pain could have equaled the mental 
 agony to which the usurer was submitted. The sight of the 
 demolishing of his beautiful ranch probably the most 
 beautiful in the country was a cruelly exquisite torture to 
 the money-loving man. That dread conflagration repre- 
 sented the loss to him of a fortune, for, with grasping 
 pusillanimity, Lablache had refused to insure his property. 
 Had Retief known this he could not have served his own 
 purpose better. Possibly he did know, and possibly that was 
 the inducement which prompted his action. Truly was the 
 money-lender paying dearly for past misdeeds. With the 
 theft of his cattle and the burning of his ranch his loss was 
 terrible, and, in his moment of anguish, he dared not attempt 
 to calculate the extent of the catastrophe. 
 
 When the fire was at its height Retief again addressed his 
 taunting language to the man beside him, and Lablache 
 writhed under the lash of that scathing tongue. 
 
 " I've heerd tell you wer' mighty proud of this place of 
 yours. Spent piles o' bills on it. Nothin' like circulatin' 
 cash, I guess. Say now, how long did it take you to fix 
 them shacks up ? " 
 
 No answer. Lablache was beyond mere words. 
 
 " A sight longer than it takes a bit of kindlin* to fetch 
 'em down, I take it," he went on placidly. " When d'ye 
 think you'll start re-building? I wonder," thoughtfully. 
 " why they don't fire that shed yonder," pointing to the 
 only building left untouched. " Ah, I was forgettin', that's 
 whar your hands are enjoyin' themselves. It's thoughtful 
 o' the boys. I guess they're good lads. They don't cotton 
 to killin' prairie hands. But they ain't so particular over 
 useless lumps o' flesh, I guess," with a glance at the stricken 
 man beside him. 
 
 Lablache was gasping heavily. The mental strain was 
 almost more than he could bear, and his crushed and hope- 
 
A NIGHT OF TERROR 217 
 
 less attitude brought a satanic smile on the cruel face be- 
 side him. 
 
 " You don't seem to fancy things much," Retief went 
 on. "Guess you ain't enjoyin' yerself. Brace up, pard; 
 you won't git another sight like this fur some time. 
 Why, wot's ailing yer? " as the barrel on which they were 
 seated moved and Lablache nearly rolled over backwards. 
 " I hadn't a notion yer wouldn't enjoy yerself. Say, 
 jest look right thar. Them barns," he added, pointing 
 towards the fire, "was built mighty solid. They're on'y 
 jest cavin'." 
 
 Lablache remained silent. Words, he felt, would be use- 
 less. In fact it is doubtful if he would have been equal to 
 expression. His spirit was crushed and he feared the man 
 beside him as he had never feared any human being before. 
 Such was the nervous strain put upon him that the sense of 
 his loss was rapidly absorbed in a dread for his own per- 
 sonal safety. The conflagration had lost its fascination for 
 him, and at every move every word of his captor he 
 dreaded the coming of his own end. It was a physical and 
 mental collapse, and bordered closely on frenzied terror. It 
 was no mental effort of his own that kept him from hurling 
 himself upon the other and biting and tearing in a vain 
 effort to rend the life out of him. The thought the fever, 
 desire, craving was there, but the will, the personality, 
 of the Breed held him spellbound, an inert mass of flesh 
 incapable of physical effort incapable almost of thought, 
 but a prey to an overwhelming terror. 
 
 The watching half-breed at length rose from his seat and 
 shrugged his thin, stooping shoulders. He had had enough 
 of his pastime, and time was getting on. He had other 
 work to do before daylight He put his hand to his mouth 
 and imitated the cry of the coyote. An instant later an- 
 swering cries came from various directions, and presently 
 the Breeds gathered round their chief. 
 
 " Say, bring up the ' plugs/ lads. The old boy's had his 
 bellyfull. I guess we'll git on." Then he turned upon 
 
218 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 the broken money-lender and spoke while he re-charged the 
 chambers of his pistol. 
 
 " See hyar, Lablache, this night's work is on'y a begin- 
 ning. So long as you live in Foss River Settlement so long 
 will I hunt you out an' hustle yer stock. You talked of 
 houndin' me, but I guess the shoe's on the other foot. I 
 ain't finished by a sight, an* you'll hear from me agin'. I 
 don't fancy yer life," he went on with a grin. " Et's too 
 easy, I guess. Et's yer bills I'm after. Ye've got plenty an* 
 to spare. But bills is all-fired awk'ud to handle when they 
 pass thro' your dirty hands. So I'll wait till you've turned 
 'em into stock. Savee? I'm jest goin' right on now. 
 Thar's a bunch o* yer steers waitin' to be taken off. Happen 
 I'm goin' to see to 'em right away. One o' these lads'll jest 
 set some bracelets on yer hands, and leave yer tucked up and 
 comfortable so you can't do any harm, and you can set 
 right thar an' wait till some r un comes along an' looses yer. 
 So long, pard, an* remember, Foss River's the hottest place 
 outside o' hell fur you, jest now." 
 
 Some of the half-breeds had brought up the horses whilst 
 Retief was talking, and, as he finished speaking, the hustler 
 vaulted on to the back of the great chestnut, Golden Eagle, 
 and prepared to ride away. Whilst the others were getting 
 into their saddles he took one look at the wretched captive 
 whose hands had been again secured. There was a swift 
 exchange of glances malevolent and murderous on the 
 part of the money-lender, and derisive on the part of the 
 half-breed then Retief swung his charger round, and, at 
 the head of his men, galloped away out into the starry night. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 HORROCZS LEARNS THE SECRET OF THE MUSKEG 
 
 THE rope which brought Horrocks to the ground came 
 near to strangling him. He struggled wildly as he fell, 
 and, as he struggled, the grip of the rope tightened. He 
 felt that the blood was ready to burst from his temples and 
 eyes. Then everything seemed to swim about him and he 
 believed consciousness was leaving him. Everything was 
 done in a moment and yet he seemed to be passing through 
 an eternity of time. 
 
 The lariat is a handy weapon, but to truly appreciate its 
 merits one must be a prairie man. The Breeds are prairie 
 men. They understand fully the uses to which a " rope " 
 may be put. For criminal purposes they appreciate its 
 silent merits, and the dexterity with which they can use it 
 makes its value equal to, and even surpass, the noisier and 
 more tell-tale pistol. 
 
 The next thing that the policeman knew was that he was 
 stretched on his back upon the ground, disarmed, and with 
 a great bandanna secured about his eyes and mouth, and his 
 hands tied behind his back. Then a gruff voice bade him 
 rise, and, as he silently obeyed, he was glad to feel that the 
 gripping lariat was removed from his throat. Truly had 
 the officer's pride gone before a fall. And his feelings were 
 now of the deepest chagrin. He stood turning his head 
 from side to side, blindly seeking to penetrate the bandage 
 about his eyes. He knew where he was, of course, but he 
 would have given half his year's salary for a sight of his 
 assailants. 
 
 He was not given long for his futile efforts. The same 
 
 219 
 
220 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 rough voice which had bade him rise now ordered him to 
 walk, and he found himself forced forward by the aid of a 
 heavy hand which gripped one of his arms. The feeling of 
 a blindfold walk is not a happy one, and the officer ex- 
 perienced a strange sensation of falling as he was urged 
 he knew not whither. After a few steps he was again halted, 
 and then he felt himself seized from behind and lifted bodily 
 into a conveyance. 
 
 He quickly realized that he was in a buckboard. The 
 slats which formed the body of it, as his feet lit upon them, 
 told him this. Then two men jumped in after him and he 
 found himself seated between them. And so he was driven 
 off. 
 
 In justice to Horrocks it must be said that he experienced 
 no fear. True, his chagrin was very great. He saw only 
 too plainly what want of discretion he had displayed in 
 trusting to the Breed's story, but he felt that his previous 
 association with the rascal warranted his credulity, and the 
 outcome must be regarded as the fortune of war. He only 
 wondered what strange experience this blindfold journey 
 was to forerun. There was not the least doubt in his mind 
 as to whose was the devising of this well-laid and well-car- 
 ried-out plot. Retief, he knew, must be answerable for the 
 plan, and the method displayed in its execution plainly 
 showed him that every detail had been carefully thought 
 out, and administered by only too willing hands. That 
 there was more than ordinary purpose in this blindfold 
 journey he felt assured, and he racked his brains to dis- 
 cover the desperado's object. He even found time to spec- 
 ulate as to how it had fared with his men, only here he was 
 even more at a loss than in the case of his own ultimate 
 fate. 
 
 In less than half an hour from the time of his capture the 
 buckboard drew up beside some bush. Horrocks knew it 
 was a bluff. He could hear the rustle of the leaves as they 
 fluttered in the gentle night air. Then he was unceremo- 
 niously hustled to the ground, and, equally unceremoniously, 
 
HORROCKS LEARNS THE SECRET 221 
 
 urged forward until his feet trod upon the stubbly, breaking 
 undergrowth. Next he was brought to a stand and swung 
 round, face about, his bonds were removed, and four power- 
 ful hands gripped his arms. By these he was drawn back- 
 wards until he bumped against a tree-trunk. His hands 
 were then again made fast, but this time his arms embraced 
 the tree behind him. In this manner he was securely 
 trussed. 
 
 Now from behind his captors were well behind him 
 a hand reached over, and, by a swift movement, removed 
 the bandage from before his eyes. Then, before he had time 
 to turn his head, he heard a scrambling through the bush, 
 and, a moment later, the sound of the creaking buckboard 
 rapidly receding. He was left alone; and, after one swift, 
 comprehensive survey, to his surprise, he found himself fac- 
 ing the wire-spreading muskeg, at the very spot where he 
 had given up further pursuit of the cattle whose " spur " he 
 had traced down to the brink of the viscid mire. 
 
 His astonishment rendered him oblivious to all else. He 
 merely gazed out across that deceptive flat and wondered. 
 Why why had this thing been done, and what strange 
 freak had induced the " hustler " to conceive such a form of 
 imprisonment for his captive? Horrocks struggled with his 
 confusion, but he failed to fathom the mystery, and never 
 was a man's confusion worse confounded than was his. 
 
 Presently he bethought him of his bonds, and he cautiously 
 tried them. They were quite unyielding, and, at each turn 
 of his arms, they caused him considerable pain. The Breeds 
 had done their work well, and he realized that he must wait 
 the raider's pleasure. He was certain of one thing, how- 
 ever, which brought him a slight amount of comfort. He 
 had been brought here for a definite purpose. Moreover, he 
 did*not believe that he was to be left here alone for long. 
 So, with resignation induced by necessity, he possessed him- 
 self of what patience he best could summon. 
 
 How long that solitary vigil lasted Horrocks had no idea. 
 Time, in that predicament, was to him of little account. 
 
222 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 He merely wondered and waited. He considered himself 
 more than fortunate that his captors had seen fit to remove 
 the bandage from his eyes. In spite of his painful captivity 
 he felt less helpless from the fact that he could see what 
 might be about him. 
 
 From a general survey his attention soon became riveted 
 upon the muskeg spread out before him, and, before long, 
 his thoughts turned to the secret path which he knew, at 
 some point near by, bridged the silent horror. All about 
 him was lit by the starry splendor of the sky. The scent 
 of the redolent grass of the great keg hung heavily upon the 
 air and smelt sweet in his nostrils. He could see the ghostly 
 outline of the distant peaks of the mountains, he could hear 
 the haunting cries of nightfowl and coyote; but these things 
 failed to interest him. Familiarity with the prairie made 
 them, to him, commonplace. The path the secret of the 
 great keg. That was the absorbing thought which occupied 
 his waiting moments. He felt that its discovery would 
 more than compensate for any blunders he had made. He 
 strained his keen eyes as he gazed at the tall waving grass 
 of the mire, as though to tear from the bosom of the awful 
 swamp the secret it so jealously guarded. He slowly sur- 
 veyed its dark surface, almost inch by inch, in the hopes of 
 discovering the smallest indication or difference which might 
 lead to the desired end. 
 
 There was nothing in what he saw to guide him, nothing 
 which offered the least suggestion of a path. In the dark- 
 ness the tall waving grass took a nondescript hue which 
 reached unbroken for miles around. Occasionally the 
 greensward seemed to ripple in the breeze, like water swayed 
 by a soft summer zephyr, but beyond this the outlook was 
 uniform darkly mysterious inscrutable. 
 
 His arms cramped under the pressure of the restraining 
 bonds and he moved uneasily. Now and again the rustling 
 of the leaves overhead caused him to listen keenly. Grad- 
 ually his fancy became slightly distorted, and, as time 
 passed, the sounds which had struck so familiarly upon his 
 
HORROCKS LEARNS THE SECRET 223 
 
 ears, and which had hitherto passed unheeded, began to get 
 upon his nerves. 
 
 By-and-by he found himself listening eagerly for the 
 monotonous repetition of the prairie scavenger's dismal 
 howl, and as the cries recurred they seemed to grow in power 
 and become more plaintively horrible. Now, too, the sigh- 
 ing of the breeze drew more keen attention from the im- 
 prisoned man, and fancy magnified it into the sound of 
 many approaching feet. These matters were the effect of 
 solitude. At such times nerves play curious pranks. 
 
 In spite of his position, in spite of his anxiety of mind, 
 the police-officer began to grow drowsy. The long night's 
 vigil was telling, and nature rebelled, as she always will 
 rebel when sleep is refused and bodily rest is unobtainable. 
 A man may pace his bedroom for hours with the unmiti- 
 gated pain of toothache. Even while the pain is almost 
 unendurable his eyes will close and he will continue his 
 peregrinations with tottering gait, awake, but with most of 
 his faculties drowsily faltering. Horrocks found his head 
 drooping forward, and, even against his will, his eyes would 
 close. Time and again he pulled himself together, only the 
 next instant to catch himself dozing off again. 
 
 Suddenly, however, he was electrified into life. He was 
 awake now, and all drowsiness had vanished. A sound 
 distant, rumbling, but distinct had fallen upon his, for 
 the moment, dulled ears. For awhile it likened to the far- 
 off growl of thunder, blending with a steady rush of wind. 
 But it was not passing. The sound remained and grew 
 steadily louder. A minute passed then another and then 
 another. Horrocks stared in the direction, listening with 
 almost painful intensity. As the rumbling grew, and the 
 sound became more distinct, a light of intelligence crept into 
 the prisoner's face. He heard and recognized. 
 
 " Cattle! " he muttered, and in that pronouncement was 
 an inflection of joy. " Cattle and moving at a great 
 pace." 
 
 He was alert now, as alert as he had ever been in his life. 
 
224 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Was he at last going to discover the coveted secret? Cattle 
 traveling fast at this time of night, and in the vicinity of the 
 great keg. What could it mean? To his mind there could 
 only be one construction which he could reasonably put upon 
 the circumstance. The cattle were being " hustled," and 
 the hustler must be the half-breed Retief. 
 
 Then, like a douche of cold water, followed the thought 
 that he had been purposely made a prisoner at the edge of 
 the muskeg. Surely he was not to be allowed to see the 
 cattle pass over the mire and then be permitted to go free. 
 Even Retief in his wildest moments of bravado could not 
 meditate so reckless a proceeding. No, there was some 
 subtle purpose underlying this new development possibly 
 the outcome was to be far more grim than he had supposed. 
 He waited horrified, at his own thoughts, but fascinated in 
 spite of himself. 
 
 The sound grew rapidly and Horrocks's face remained 
 turned in the direction from which it proceeded. He 
 fancied, even in the uncertain light, that he could see the 
 distant crowd of beasts silhouetted against the sky-line. His 
 post of imprisonment was upon the outskirts of the bush, 
 and he had a perfect and uninterrupted view of the prairie 
 along the brink of the keg, both to the north and south. 
 
 It was his fancy, however, which designed the silhouette, 
 and he soon became aware that the herd was nearer than 
 he had supposed. The noise had become a continuous 
 roar as the driven beasts came on, and he saw them loom 
 towards him a black patch on the dark background of the 
 dimly-lit prairie. The bunch was large, but his straining 
 eyes as yet could make no estimate of its numbers. He 
 could see several herders, but these, too, were as yet beyond 
 recognition. 
 
 Yet another surprise was in store for the waiting man. 
 So fixed had his attention been upon the on-coming cattle 
 that he had not once removed his eyes from the direction 
 of their approach. Now, however, a prolonged bellow to 
 the right of him caused him to turn abruptly. To his utter 
 
HORROCKS LEARNS THE SECRET 225 
 
 astonishment he saw, not fifty yards from him, a solitary 
 horxeman leading a couple of steers by ropes affixed to their 
 horns. He wondered how long this strange apparition had 
 been there. The horse was calmly nibbling at the grass, 
 and the man was quietly resting himself with elbows propped 
 upon the horn of his saddle. He, too, appeared to be gazing 
 in the direction of the on-coming cattle. Horrocks tried 
 hard to distinguish the man's appearance, but the light was 
 too uncertain to give him more than the vaguest idea of his 
 personality. 
 
 The horse seemed to be black or very dark brown. And 
 the general outline of the rider was that of a short slight 
 man, with rather long hair which flowed from beneath the 
 brim of his Stetson hat. The most curious distinguishable 
 feature was his slightness. The horse was big and the man 
 was so small that, as he sat astride of his charger, he looked 
 to be little more than a boy of fifteen or sixteen. 
 
 Horrocks's survey was cut short, however, for now the 
 herd of cattle was tearing down upon him at a desperate 
 racing pace. He saw the solitary rider gather up his lines 
 and move his horse further away from the edge of the 
 muskeg. Then the herd of cattle came along. They raced 
 past the bluff where the officer was stationed, accompanied 
 by four swarthy drivers, one of which was mounted upon a 
 great chestnut horse whose magnificent stride and propor- 
 tions fixed the captive's attention. He had heard of 
 " Golden Eagle," and he had no doubt in his mind that this 
 was he and the rider was the celebrated cattle-thief. The 
 band and its drovers swept by, and Horrocks estimated that 
 the cattle numbered many hundreds. 
 
 After awhile he heard the sound of voices. Then the 
 beasts were driven back again over their tracks, only at a 
 more gentle pace. Several times the performance was gone 
 through, and each time, as they passed him, Horrocks 
 noticed that their pace was decreased, until by the sixth 
 time they passed their gait had become a simple mouche, 
 and they leisurely nipped up the grass as they went, with 
 
226 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 bovine unconcern. It was a masterly display of how cattfe 
 can be handled, and Horrocks forgot for a while his other 
 troubles in his interest in the spectacle. 
 
 After passing him for the sixth time the cattle came to 
 a halt; and then the strangest part of this strange scene 
 was enacted. The horseman with the led steers, whom, by 
 this time, Horrocks had almost forgotten, came leisurely 
 upon the field of action. No instructions were given. The 
 whole thing was done in almost absolute silence. It seemed 
 as if long practice had perfected the method of pro- 
 cedure. 
 
 The horseman advanced to the brink of the muskeg, ex- 
 actly opposite to the bluff where the captive was tied, and 
 with him the two led steers. Horrocks held his breath 
 his excitement was intense. The swarthy drivers roused 
 the tired cattle and headed them towards the captive steers. 
 Horrocks saw the boyish rider urge his horse fearlessly on 
 to the treacherous surface of the keg. The now docile and 
 exhausted cattle followed leisurely. There was no undue 
 bustle or haste. It was a veritable " follow my leader.'* 
 Where it was good enough for the captive leaders to go it 
 was good enough for the weary beasts to follow, and so, as 
 the boy rider moved forward, the great herd followed in 
 twos and threes. The four drivers remained until the end, 
 and then, as the last steer set foot on the dreadful mire, 
 they too joined in the silent procession. 
 
 Horrocks exerted all his prairie instinct as he watched 
 the course of that silent band. He was committing to mem- 
 ory, as far as he was capable, the direction of the path 
 across the keg, for, when opportunity offered, he was deter- 
 mined to follow up his discovery and attempt the journey 
 himself. He fancied in his own secret her.rt that Retief 
 had at last overreached himself, and in thus giving away 
 his secret he was paving the way to his own capture. 
 
 It was not long before the cattle and their drivers passed 
 out of sight, but Horrocks continued to watch, so that he 
 should lose no chance detail of interest At length, how- 
 
HORROCKS LEARNS THE SECRET 227 
 
 ever, he found that his straining gaze was useless, and all 
 further interest passed out of his lonely vigil. 
 
 Now he busied himself with plans for his future move- 
 ments, when he should once more be free. And in such 
 thought the long night passed, and the time drew on to- 
 wards dawn. 
 
 The surprises of the night were not yet over, however, 
 for just before the first streaks of daylight shot athwart 
 the eastern sky he saw two horsemen returning across the 
 muskeg. He quickly recognized them as being the raider 
 himself and the boyish rider who had led the cattle across 
 the mire. They came across at a good pace, and as they 
 reached the bank the officer was disgusted to see the boy 
 ride off in a direction away from the settlement, and the 
 raider come straight towards the bluff. Horrocks was 
 curious about the boy who seemed so conversant with the 
 path across the mire, and was anxious to have obtained a 
 clearer view of him. 
 
 The raider drew his horse up within a few yards of the 
 captive. Horrocks had a good view of the man's command- 
 ing, eagle face. In spite of himself he could not help but 
 feel a strange admiration for this lawless Breed. 
 
 There was something wonderfully fascinating and lofty in 
 the hustler's direct, piercing gaze as, proudly disdainful, he 
 looked down upon his discomfited prisoner. 
 
 He seemed in no hurry to speak. A shadowy smile 
 hovered about his face as he eyed the officer. Then he 
 turned away and looked over to the eastern horizon. He 
 turned back again and drawled out a greeting. It was not 
 cordial but it was characteristic of him. 
 
 "Wai?" 
 
 Horrocks made no reply. The Breed laughed mockingly, 
 and leant forward upon the horn of his saddle. 
 
 " Guess you've satisfied your curiosity some. Say, the 
 boys didn't handle you too rough, I take it. I told 'em to 
 go light." 
 
 Horrocks was constrained to retort. 
 
228 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 "Not so rough as you'll be handled when you get the 
 law about you." 
 
 "Now I call that unfriendly. Guess them's gopher's 
 words. But say, pard, the law ain't got me yet. Wot d'ye 
 think of the road across the keg? Mighty fine trail that." 
 He laughed as though enjoying a good joke. 
 
 Horrocks felt that he must terminate this interview. The 
 Breed had a most provoking way with him. His self- 
 satisfaction annoyed his hearer. 
 
 "How much longer do you intend to keep me here?" 
 Horrocks exclaimed bitterly. " I suppose you mean mur- 
 der; you'd better get on with it and stop gassing. Men of 
 your kidney don't generally take so much time over that sort 
 of business." 
 
 Retief seemed quite unruffled. 
 
 " Murder? Why, man, I didn't bring you here to murder 
 you. Guess ef I'd a notion that way you'd 'a' been done 
 neat long ago. No, I jest wanted to show you what you 
 wanted to find out. Now I'm goin' to let you go, so you, 
 an* that skunk Lablache'll be able to chin-wag over this 
 night's doin's. That's wot I'm here fer right now." 
 
 As he finished speaking the Breed circled Golden Eagle 
 round behind the tree, and, bending low down from the 
 saddle, he cut the rope which held the policeman's wrists. 
 Horrocks, feeling himself freed, stepped quickly from the 
 bush into the open, and faced about towards his liberator. 
 As he did so he found himself looking up into the muzzle 
 of Retief's revolver. He stood his ground unflinchingly. 
 
 " Now, see hyar, pard," said Retief, quietly, " I've a 
 mighty fine respect for you. You ain't the cuckoo that 
 many o' yer mates is. You've got grit, anyway. But that 
 ain't all you need. * Savee's' a mighty fine thing on 
 occasions. Now you need * Savee.' I'll jest give yer a 
 piece of advice right hyar. You go straight off down to 
 Lablache's ranch. You'll find him thar. An' pesky un- 
 comfortable you'll find him. You ken set him free, also his 
 ranch boys, an' when you've done that jest make tracks for 
 
HORROCKS LEARNS THE SECRET 229 
 
 Stormy Cloud an' don't draw rein till you git thar. Ef ever 
 you see Retief on one trail, jest hit right off on to another. 
 That's good sound sense right through fur you. Say, work 
 on that, an' you ain't like to come to no harm. But I swear, 
 right hyar, ef you an' me ever come to close quarters I'll 
 perforate you 'less you git the drop on me. An' to do 
 that'll keep you humpin'. So long, pard. It's jest gettin' 
 daylight, an' I don't calc'late to slouch around hyar when 
 the sun's shinin'. Don't go fur to forget my advice. I 
 don't charge nothin' fur it, but it's good, pard real good, 
 for all that. So long." 
 
 He swung his horse round, and before Horrocks had time 
 to collect himself, much less to speak, he was almost out 
 of sight. 
 
 Half dazed and still wondering at the strangeness of the 
 desperate Breed's manner he mechanically began to walk 
 slowly in the direction of the Foss River Settlement. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE DAY AFTER 
 
 MORNING broke over a disturbed and restless community 
 at Foss River. The chief residents who were not imme- 
 diately concerned in the arrest of Retief only deeply in- 
 terested, and therefore skeptical had gone to bed over- 
 night eager for the morning light to bring them news. Their 
 broken slumbers ceased as daylight broadened into sunrise, 
 and, without waiting for their morning coffee, the majority 
 set out to gather the earliest crumbs of news obtainable. 
 There were others, of course, who were not in the know, or, 
 at least, had only heard vague rumors. These were less 
 interested, and therefore failed to rise so early. 
 
 Amongst the earliest abroad was Doctor Abbot. Aunt 
 Margaret's interest was not sufficient to drag her from her 
 downy couch thus early, but, with truly womanly logic, she 
 saw no reason why the doctor should not glean for her the 
 information she required. Therefore the doctor rose and 
 shivered under the lightness of his summer apparel in the 
 brisk morning air. 
 
 The market-place, upon which the doctor's house looked, 
 was almost deserted when he passed out of his door. He 
 glanced quickly around for some one whom he might 
 recognize. He saw that the door of " Lord " Bill's shack 
 was open, but it was too far off for him to see whether that 
 lazy individual was yet up. A neche was leisurely cleaning 
 up round Lablache's store, whilst the local butcher was 
 already busy swabbing out the little shed which did duty 
 for his shop. As yet there was no other sign of life abroad, 
 and Doctor Abbot prepared to walk across to the butcher 
 for a gossip, and thus wait for some one else to come along. 
 
 He stepped briskly from his house, for he was 
 
 230 
 
THE DAY AFTER 231 
 
 " schrammed " with cold in his white drill clothing. As 
 he approached the energetic butcher, he saw a man enter- 
 ing the market-place from the southern extremity of the 
 settlement. He paused to look closely at the new-comer. 
 In a moment he recognized Thompson, one of the clerks 
 from Lablache's store. He conjectured at once that this 
 man might be able to supply him with the information he 
 desired, and so changed his direction and went across to 
 meet him. 
 
 " Mornin', Thompson," he said, peering keenly into the 
 pale, haggard face of the money-lender's employee. " What's 
 up with you? You look positively ill. Have you heard 
 how the arrest went off last night? " 
 
 There was a blunt directness about the doctor which gen- 
 erally drove straight to the point. The clerk wearily passed 
 his hand across his forehead. He seemed half asleep, and, 
 as the doctor had asserted, thoroughly ill. 
 
 " Arrest, doctor ? Precious little arrest there's been. I've 
 been out on the prairie all night. What, haven't you heard 
 about the governor? Good lor'! I don't know what's go- 
 ing to happen to us all. Do you think we're safe here? " 
 
 "Safe here? What do you mean, man?" the doctor 
 answered, noting the other's fearful glances round. " Why, 
 what ails you? What about Lablache? " 
 
 Others had now appeared upon the market-place and 
 Doctor Abbot saw " Lord " Bill, dressed in a gray tweed 
 suit, and looking as fresh as if he had just emerged from 
 the proverbial bandbox, coming leisurely towards him. 
 
 "What about Lablache, eh?" replied Thompson, echo- 
 ing the doctor's question ruefully. " A pretty nice thing 
 Horrocks and his fellows have let themselves, and us, in 
 for." 
 
 Bill had come up now and several others had joined the 
 group. They stood by and listened while the clerk told 
 his story. And what a story it was too. It was vividly 
 sanguinary, and enough to strike terror into the hearts of 
 his audience. 
 
232 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 He told with great gusto of how Lablache had been 
 abducted. How the police horses and the money-lender's 
 had been stolen from the stables at the store. He dwelt 
 on the frightful horrors committed up at the Breed camp. 
 How he had seen the police shot down before his very 
 eyes, and he became expansive on the fact that, with his 
 own hands, Retief had carried off Horrocks, and how he 
 had heard the raider declare his intention of hanging him. 
 It was a terrible tale of woe, and his audience was thrilled 
 and horrified. " Lord " Bill alone appeared unmoved. A 
 close observer even might have noticed the faintest suspicion 
 of a smile at the corners of his mouth. The smile broad- 
 ened as the sharp doctor launched a question at the narrator 
 of terrible facts. 
 
 " How came you to see all this, and escape? " 
 
 Thompson was at no loss. He told how he had been 
 sent up by " Poker " John to find Horrocks and tell him 
 about Lablache. How he arrived in time to see the horrors 
 perpetrated, and how he only managed to escape with his 
 own life by flight, under cover of the darkness, and how, 
 pursued by the blood-thirsty Breeds, he had managed to 
 hide on the prairie, where he remained until daylight, and 
 then by a circuitous route got back to the settlement 
 
 " I tell you what it is, doctor," he finished up con- 
 sequentially, " the Breeds are in open rebellion, and, headed 
 by that devil, Retief, intend to clear us whites out of the 
 country. It's the starting of another Riel rebellion, and if 
 we don't get help from the Government quickly, it's all up 
 with us. That's my opinion," and he gazed patronizingly 
 upon the crowd, which by this time had assembled. 
 
 " Nonsense, man," said the doctor sharply. " Your opin- 
 ion's warped. Besides, you're in a blue funk. Come on 
 over to * old man ' Smith's and have a ' freshener.' You 
 want bucking-up. Coming, Bill ? " he went on, turning to 
 Bunning-Ford. " I want an * eye-opener ' myself. What 
 say to a 'Collins'?" 
 
 The three moved away from the crowd, which they left 
 
THE DAY AFTER 233 
 
 horrified at what it had heard, and eagerly discussing and 
 enlarging upon the sanguinary stories of Thompson. 
 
 " Poker " John was already at the saloon when the three 
 reached the door of " old man " Smith's reeking den. The 
 proprietor was sweeping the bar, in a vain effort to clear 
 the atmosphere of the nauseating stench of stale tobacco 
 and drink. John was propped against the bar mopping up 
 his fourth " Collins." He usually had a thirst that took 
 considerable quenching in the mornings now. His over- 
 night potations were deep and strong. Morning " nibbling " 
 had consequently become a disease with him. " Old man " 
 Smith, with a keen eye to business, systematically mixed 
 the rancher's morning drinks good and strong. 
 
 Bill and the doctor were not slow to detect the condition 
 of their old friend, and each felt deeply on the subject. 
 Their cheery greetings, however, were none the less hearty. 
 Smith desisted in his dusty occupation and proceeded to serve 
 his customers. 
 
 " We're having lively times, John," said the doctor, after 
 emptying his " long sleever." " Guess Retief's making 
 things ' hum ' in Foss River." 
 
 " Hum? Shout is more like it," drawled Bill. " You've 
 heard all the news, John? " 
 
 " I've enough news of my own," growled the rancher. 
 
 " Been up all night. I see you've got Thompson with 
 you. What did Horrocks do after you told him about 
 Lablache ? " he went on, turning to the clerk. 
 
 Bill and the doctor exchanged meaning glances. The 
 clerk having found a fresh audience again repeated his story. 
 " Poker " John listened carefully. At the close of the nar- 
 rative he snorted disdainfully and looked from the clerk to 
 his two friends. Then he laughed loudly. The clerk be- 
 came angry. 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Allandale, but if you doubt my word " 
 
 " Doubt your word, boy? " he said, when his mirth had 
 subsided. " I don't doubt your word. Only I've spent 
 most of the night up at the Breed camp myself." 
 
234 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " And were you there, sir, when Horrocks was cap- 
 tured?" 
 
 " No, I was not. After you came to my place and went 
 on to the camp, I was very uneasy. So, after a bit, I got 
 my ' hands ' together and prepared to follow you up there. 
 Just as I was about to set out," he went on, turning to the 
 doctor and Bill, " I met Jacky coming in. Bless you if she 
 hadn't been to see the pusky herself. You know," with a 
 slight frown, " that child is much too fond of those skulking 
 Breeds. Well, anyway, she said everything was quiet 
 enough while she was there and," turning again to Thomp- 
 son, " she had seen nothing of Retief or Horrocks or any 
 of the latter's men. We just put our heads together, and 
 she convinced me that I was right, after what had occurred 
 at the store, and had better go up. So up I went. We 
 searched the whole camp. I guess we were there for nigh 
 on three hours. The place was quiet enough. They were 
 still dancing and drinking, but not a blessed sign of Hor- 
 rocks could we find." 
 
 " I expect he'd gone before you got there, sir," put in 
 Thompson. 
 
 " Did you find the bodies of the murdered police? " asked 
 the doctor innocently. 
 
 " Not a sign of 'em," laughed John. " There were no 
 dead policemen, and, what's more, there was no trace of 
 any shooting." 
 
 The three men turned on the clerk, who felt that he 
 must justify himself. 
 
 "There was shooting enough, sir; you mark my words. 
 You'll hear of it to-day, sure." 
 
 " Lord " Bill walked away towards the window in dis- 
 gust. The clerk annoyed him. 
 
 " No, boy, no. I'm thinking you are mistaken. I should 
 have discovered some trace had there been any shooting. I 
 don't deny that your story's true, but in the excitement of 
 the moment I guess you got rattled and saw things." 
 
 Old John laughed and turned away. At that instant 
 
THE DAY AFTER 235 
 
 Bill called them all over to the window. The bar window 
 overlooked the market-place, and the front of Lablache's 
 store was almost opposite to it. 
 
 Bill pointed towards the store as the three men gathered 
 round. " Old man " Smith also ranged himself with the 
 others. 
 
 " Look! " Bill smiled grimly. 
 
 A buckboard had just drawn up outside Lablache's em- 
 porium and two people were alighting. A crowd had gath- 
 ered round the arrivals. There was no mistaking one of 
 the figures. The doctor was the first to give expression 
 to the thought that was in the mind of each of the interested 
 spectators. 
 
 "Lablache!" he exclaimed in astonishment. 
 
 " And Horrocks," added " Lord " Bill quietly. 
 
 " Guess he wasn't hung then after all," said " Poker " 
 John, turning as he spoke. But Thompson had taken his 
 departure. This last blow was too much. And he felt 
 that it was an advantageous moment in which to retire to 
 his employer's store, and hide his diminished head amongst 
 the bales of dry goods and the monumental ledgers to be 
 found there. 
 
 " That youth has a considerable imagination." The Hon. 
 Bunning-Ford turned from the window and strolled leisurely 
 towards the door. 
 
 " Where are you going? " exclaimed " Poker " John. 
 
 " To cook some breakfast" 
 
 " No, no, you must come up to the ranch with me. Let's 
 go right over to the store first, and hear what Lablache has 
 to say. Then we'll go and feed." 
 
 Bill shrugged. Then 
 
 " Lablache and I are not on the best of terms," he said 
 doubtfully. He wished to go notwithstanding his demur. 
 Besides he was anxious to go on to the ranch to see Jackv. 
 The doubt in his tone gave John his cue, and the old man 
 refused to be denied. 
 
 " Come along," he said, and linking his arm within the 
 
236 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 other's, he led the way over to the store; the doctor, equally 
 eager, bringing up the rear. 
 
 Bill suffered himself to be thus led. He knew that in 
 such company Lablache could not very well refuse him 
 admission to his office. He had a decided wish to be present 
 when the money-lender told his tale. However, in this he 
 was doomed to disappointment. Lablache had already de- 
 cided upon a plan of action. 
 
 At the store the three friends made their way through the 
 crowd of curious people who had gathered on the unexpected 
 return of the chief actors in last night's drama; they made 
 their way quickly round to the back where the private door 
 was. 
 
 Lablache was within, and with him Horrocks. The 
 heavy voice of the money-lender answered " Poker " John's 
 summons. 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 He was surprised when the door opened, and he saw 
 who his visitors were. John and the doctor he was prepared 
 for, but " Lord " Bill's coming was a different matter. For 
 an instant he seriously meditated an angry objection. Then 
 he altered his mind, a thing which was rare with him. 
 After all the man's presence could do no harm, and he felt 
 that to object to him, would be to quarrel with the rancher. 
 On second thoughts he would tolerate what he considered 
 the intrusion. 
 
 Lablache was ensconced in his basket chair, and Hor- 
 rocks was at the great man's desk. Neither moved as their 
 visitors entered. The troubles of the previous night were 
 plainly written on both men's faces. There was a haggard 
 look in their eyes, and a generally dishevelled appearance 
 about their dress. Lablache in particular looked unwashed 
 and untidy. Horrocks looked less troubled, and there was 
 a strong air of determination about his face. 
 
 " Poker " John showed no niceness in broaching the sub- 
 ject of his visit. His libations had roused him to the proper 
 pitch for plain speaking. 
 
THE DAY AFTER 
 
 "Well, what happened to you last night, Lablache? I 
 guess you're looking about as blue as they make 'em. Say, 
 I thought sure Retief was going to do for you when I 
 heard about it." 
 
 "Ah. Who told you about about me?" 
 
 " Your clerk." 
 
 "Rodgers?" 
 
 "No, Thompson." 
 
 " Ah! Have you seen Rodgers at all? " 
 
 "No." John turned to the other two. "Have you?" 
 
 Neither of the men had seen the clerk, and old John 
 turned again to Lablache. 
 
 " Why, what's happened to Rodgers? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing. I haven't seen him since I have been back 
 that's all." 
 
 "Well, now tell us all about last night," went on the 
 rancher. " This matter is going to be cleared up. I have 
 been thinking of a vigilance committee. We can't do bet- 
 ter." 
 
 Lablache shook his great head. To the doctor and 
 " Lord " Bill there seemed to be an utter hopelessness con- 
 veyed in the motion. 
 
 " I have nothing to tell. Neither has Horrocks. What 
 happened last night concerns ourselves alone. You may 
 possibly hear more later on, but the telling by us now will 
 do no good, and probably a lot of harm. As for your 
 vigilance committee, form it if you like, but I doubt that 
 you will do any good with it." 
 
 This refusal riled the old rancher. He was just in that 
 condition when it would take little to make him quarrel. 
 He was about to rap out an angry retort when a knock 
 came at the partition door. It was Thompson. He had 
 come to say that the troopers had returned, and wanted to 
 see the sergeant. Also to say that Rodgers was with them. 
 Horrocks immediately went out to see them, and, before 
 John could say a word, Lablache turned on him. 
 
 " Look here, John, for the present my lips are sealed. 
 
238 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 It is Horrocks's wish. He has a plan which he wishes to 
 carry out quietly. The result of his plan largely depends 
 upon silence. Retief seems to have sources of information 
 everywhere. Walls have ears, man. Now, I shall be glad 
 if you will leave me. I I must get cleaned up." 
 
 John's anger died within him. He saw that Lablache 
 was upset. He looked absolutely ill. The old man's good 
 nature would not allow him to press this companion of his 
 ranching life further. There was nothing left for him to 
 do but leave. 
 
 As he rose to go, the money-lender unbent still further. 
 
 " I'll see you later, John, I may then be able to tell you 
 more. Perhaps it may interest you to know that Horrocks 
 has discovered the path across the keg, and he's going to 
 cross it. Good-by. So long, Doc." 
 
 " Very well, I shall be up at the ranch. Come along, 
 Bill. Jacky, I expect, is waiting breakfast for us." 
 
 Lablache heard the old man's remark as the latter passed 
 out, and a bitter feeling of resentment rose within him. 
 He felt that everything was against him. His evil nature, 
 however, would not let him remain long desponding. He 
 ground his teeth and cursed bitterly. It had only wanted a 
 fillip such as this to rouse him from the curious lethargic 
 hopelessness into which the terrible night's doings had cast 
 him. 
 
 The moment the three men got away from the store, 
 Doctor Abbot drew attention to the money-lender's words. 
 
 " Going to cross the keg, eh? Well, if he's really dis- 
 covered the path it's certainly the best thing to do. He's a 
 sharp man is Horrocks." 
 
 "He's a fool! " 
 
 Bill's words were so emphatic that both men stared at 
 him. If they were startled at his words, they were still 
 more startled at the set expression of his face. Doctor 
 Abbot thought he had never seen the insouciant Bill so 
 roused out of himself. 
 
 "Why how?" 
 
THE DAY AFTER 239 
 
 "How? I tell you, man, that no one knows that path 
 except except Retief, and, supposing Horrocks has dis- 
 covered it, if he attempts to cross, there can only be one 
 result to his mad folly. I tell you what it is, the man 
 should be stopped. It's absolute suicide nothing more 
 nor less." 
 
 Something in the emphasis of " Lord " Bill's words kept 
 the others silent until the doctor left them at his home. 
 Then as the two men hurried out across the prairie towards 
 the ranch, the conversation turned back to the events of the 
 previous evening. 
 
 At the ranch they found Jacky awaiting the old man's 
 return, on the veranda. She was surprised when she saw 
 who was with him. Her surprise was a pleasant one, how- 
 ever, and she extended her hand in cordial welcome. 
 
 " Come right in, Bill. Gee, but you look fit and slick." 
 
 The two young people smiled into each other's faces, 
 and no onlooker, not even the observant Aunt Margaret, 
 could have detected the understanding which passed in that 
 look. Jacky was radiant. Her sweet, dark face was slightly 
 flushed. There were no tell-tale rings about her dark eyes. 
 For all sign she gave to the contrary she might have en- 
 joyed the full measure of a night's rest. Her visit to the 
 Breed camp, or, for that matter, any other adventures which 
 had befallen her during the night, had left no trace on her 
 beautiful face. 
 
 " I've brought the boy up to feed," said old John. " I 
 guess we'll get right to it. I've got a ' twist ' on me that'll 
 take considerable to satisfy." 
 
 The meal passed pleasantly enough. The conversation 
 naturally was chiefly confined to the events of the night. 
 But somehow the others did not respond very eagerly to 
 the old rancher's evident interest and concern. Most of 
 the talking most of the theorizing most of the sugges- 
 tions for the stamping out of the scourge, Retief, came 
 from him, the others merely contenting themselves with 
 agreeing to his suggestions with a lack of interest which, 
 
240 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 had the old man been perfectly sober, he could not have 
 failed to observe. However, he was especially obtuse this 
 morning, and was too absorbed in his own impracticable 
 theories and suggestions to notice the others' lack of in- 
 terest. 
 
 At the conclusion of the meal the rancher took himself 
 off down to the settlement again. He must endeavor to 
 draw Lablache, he said. He would not wait for him to 
 come to the ranch. 
 
 Jacky and Bill went out on to the veranda, and watched 
 the old man as he set out with unsteady gait for the settle- 
 ment. 
 
 " Bill," said the girl, as soon as her uncle was out of ear- 
 shot, "what news? " 
 
 "Two items of interest One, the very best, and the 
 other the very worst." 
 
 "Which means?" 
 
 "No one has the least suspicion of us; and Horrocks, 
 the madman, intends to attempt the passage of the keg." 
 
 " Lord " Bill jaws shut with a snap as he ceased speak- 
 ing. The look which accompanied his last announcement 
 was one of utter dejection. Jacky did not reply for an in- 
 stant, her great eyes had taken on a look of deep anxiety as 
 she gazed towards the muskeg. 
 
 "Bill, can nothing be done to stop him?" She gazed 
 appealingly up into the face of the tall figure beside her. 
 " He is a brave man, if foolish." 
 
 " That's just it, dear. He's headstrong and means to 
 see this thing through. Had I thought that he would ever 
 dream of contemplating such a suicidal feat as attempting 
 that path, I'd never have let him see the cattle cross last 
 night. My God! it turns me sick to think of it." 
 
 " Hush, Bill, don't talk so loud. Do you think any one 
 could dissuade him? Lablache, or or uncle, for in- 
 stance." 
 
 Bunning-Ford shook his head. His look was troubled. 
 
 " Horrocks is not the man to be turned from his pur- 
 
THE DAY AFTER 241 
 
 pose," he replied. " And besides, Lablache would not at- 
 tempt such a thing. He is too keen to capture Retief," 
 with a bitter laugh. " A life more or less would not upset 
 that scoundrel's resolve. As for your uncle," with a shrug, 
 " I don't think he's the man for the task. No, Jacky," he 
 went on, with a sigh, " we must let things take their course 
 now. We have embarked on this business. We mustn't 
 weaken. His blood be upon his own head." 
 
 They relapsed into silence for some moments. " Lord " 
 Bill lit a cigarette, and leant himself against one of the 
 veranda posts. He was worried at the turn events had 
 taken. He had no grudge against Horrocks; the man was 
 but doing his duty. But his meditated attempt he con- 
 sidered to be an exaggerated sense of that duty. Presently 
 he spoke again. 
 
 " Jacky do you know, I feel that somehow the end of 
 this business is approaching. What the end is to be I can- 
 not foretell. One thing, however, is clear. Sooner or later 
 we must run foul of people, and when that occurs well," 
 throwing his cigarette from him viciously, " it simply means 
 shooting. And " 
 
 " Yes, Bill, I know what you would say. Shooting means 
 killing, killing means murder, and murder means swinging. 
 You're right, but," and the girl's eyes began to blaze, " be- 
 fore that, Lablache must go under. Whatever happens, Bill, 
 before we decorate any tree with our bodies, if our object is 
 not already obtained, I'll shoot him with my own pistol. 
 I guess we're embarked on a game that we're going to see 
 through." 
 
 " That's so. We'll see it through. Do you know what 
 stock we've taken, all told? Close on twenty thousand 
 head, and all Lablache's. They're snug over at * Bad 
 Man's' Hollow, and a tidy fine bunch they are. The di- 
 vision with the boys is a twentieth each, and the balance 
 is ours. Our share is ten thousand." He ceased speaking. 
 Then presently he went on, harking back to the subject of 
 Horrocks. " I wish that man could be stayed. His failure 
 
242 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 must precipitate matters. Should he drown, as he surely 
 will, the whole countryside will join in the hue and cry. It 
 is only his presence here that keeps the settlers in check. 
 Well, so be it. It's a pity. But I'm not going to swing. 
 They'll never take me alive." 
 
 " If it comes to that, Bill, you'll not be alone, I guess. 
 You can gamble your soul, when it comes to open warfare 
 I'm with you, an' I guess I can shoot straight." 
 
 Bill looked at the girl in astonishment. He noted the 
 keen deep eyes, the set little mouth. The fearless expres- 
 sion on her beautiful face. Her words had fairly taken his 
 breath away, but he saw that she had meant what she said. 
 
 " No, no, girlie. No one will suspect you. Besides, this 
 is my affair. You have your uncle." 
 
 " Say, boy, I love my uncle I love him real well. I'm 
 working for him, we both are and we'll work for him to 
 the last. But our work together has taught me something, 
 Bill, and when I cotton to teaching there's nothing that can 
 knock what I learn out of my head. I've just learned to 
 love you, Bill. And, as the Bible says, old Uncle John's 
 got to take second place. That's all. If you go under 
 well, I guess I'll go under too." 
 
 Jacky gave her lover no chance to reply. As he opened 
 his lips to expostulate and took a step towards her she 
 darted away, and disappeared into the sitting-room. He 
 followed her in, but the room was empty. 
 
 He paused. Then a smile spread over his face. 
 
 " I don't fancy we shall go under, little woman," he mut- 
 tered, " at least, not if I can help it." 
 
 He turned back to the veranda and strolled away to- 
 wards the settlement. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE PAW OF THE CAT 
 
 LABLACHE was alone. Horrocks had left him to set out on 
 his final effort to discover Retief's hiding-place. The great 
 man was eagerly waiting for his return. Evening was draw- 
 ing on and the officer had not yet put in an appearance, 
 neither had the money-lender received any word from him. 
 In consequence he was beginning to hope that Horrocks had 
 succeeded. 
 
 All day the wretched man had been tortured by horrid 
 fears. And, as time passed and evening drew on, his mood 
 became almost a panic. The money-lender was in a deplor- 
 able state of mind; his nerves were shaken, and he was 
 racked by a dread of he scarce knew what. What he had 
 gone through the night before had driven him to the verge 
 of mental collapse. No bodily injury could have thus re- 
 duced him; for, whatever might have been his failings, 
 physical cowardice was not amongst the number. Any 
 moral weakness which might have been his had been so 
 obscured by long years of success and prosperity, that no 
 one knowing him would have believed him to be so af- 
 flicted. No, in spite of his present condition Lablache was 
 a strong man. 
 
 But the frightful mental torture he had endured at 
 Retief's hands had told its tale. The attack of the last 
 twenty-four hours had been made against him alone; at 
 least, so Lablache understood it. Retief's efforts were only 
 in his direction; the raider had robbed him of twenty 
 thousand head of cattle; he had burnt his beautiful ranch 
 out, in sheer wantonness it seemed to the despairing man; 
 what then would be his next move if he were not stopped? 
 
 243 
 
244 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 What else was there of his Lablache's that the Breed 
 could attack? His store yes yes; his store! That was 
 all that was left of his property in Foss River. And then 
 what then? There was nothing after that, except, perhaps 
 except his life. 
 
 Lablache stirred in his seat and wheezed heavily as he 
 arrived at this conclusion. His horrified thoughts were ex- 
 pressed in the look of fear that was in his lashless eyes. 
 
 His life yes! That must be the raider's culminating 
 object. Or would he leave him that, so that he might 
 further torture him by burning him out of Calford. He 
 pondered fearfully, and hard, practical as was his nature, 
 the money-lender allowed his imagination to run riot over 
 possibilities which surely his cooler judgment would have 
 scoffed at 
 
 Lablache rose hurriedly from his chair. It only wanted 
 a quarter to five. Putting his head through the partition 
 doorway he ordered his astonished clerks to close up. He 
 felt that he could not dare not keep the store open longer. 
 Then he inspected the private door of his office. The 
 spring catch was fast. He locked his safe. All the time 
 he moved about fearfully like some hunted criminal. At 
 last he returned to his seat. His bilious eyes roved over 
 the various objects in the room. A hunted look was in 
 them. His mind seemed fixed on one thought alone the 
 coming of Retief. 
 
 After this he grew more calm. Perhaps the knowledge 
 that the store was secure now against any intruder helped 
 to steady his nerves. Then he started was the store 
 secure? He rose again and went to the window to put up 
 the shutter. He gazed out towards the Foss River Ranch, 
 and, as he gazed, he saw some one riding fast towards the 
 settlement 
 
 The horseman came nearer; the sight fascinated the great 
 man. Now the traveler had reached the market place, and 
 was coming on towards the store. Suddenly the money- 
 lender recognized in the horseman one of Horrocks's troop- 
 
THE PAW OF THE CAT 245 
 
 ers, mounted on a horse from John Allandale's stable. A 
 wild hope leapt up in his heart. Then, as the man drew 
 nearer and Lablache saw the horrified expression of his face, 
 hope went from him, and he feared the worst. 
 
 The clatter of hoofs ceased outside the office door. 
 Lablache stepped heavily forward and threw it open. He 
 stood framed in the doorway as the man gasped out his 
 terrible news. 
 
 " He's drowned, sir, drowned before our eyes. We tried, 
 but couldn't save him. He would go, sir; we tried to 
 persuade him, but he would go. No more than fifty yards 
 from the bank, and then down he went. He was out of 
 sight in two minutes. It was horrible, sir, and him never 
 uttered a sound. I'm going in to Stormy Cloud to report 
 an' get instructions. Anything I can do, sir? " 
 
 So the worst was realized. For the moment the money- 
 lender could find no words. His tongue clove to the roof 
 of his mouth. His last hope the last barrier between him 
 and the man whom he considered his arch enemy, Retief, 
 seemed to have been shattered. He thought not of the 
 horror of the policeman's drowning; he felt no sorrow at 
 the reckless man's ghastly end. He merely thought of him- 
 self. He saw only how the man's death affected his personal 
 interests. At last he gurgled out some words. He scarce 
 knew what he said. 
 
 " There's nothing to be done. Yes no yes, you'd 
 better go up to the Allandales," he went on uncertainly. 
 " They'll send a rescue party." 
 
 The trooper dashed off and Lablache securely fastened 
 the door. Then he put the shutter over the window, and, 
 notwithstanding that it was broad daylight still, he lit the 
 lamp. 
 
 Once more he returned to his protesting chair, into which 
 he almost fell. To him this last catastrophe was as the 
 last straw. What was now to become of the settlement; 
 what was to become of him? Horrocks gone; the troopers 
 withdrawn, or, at least, without a guiding hand, what might 
 
246 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Retief not be free to do while the settlement awaited the 
 coming of a fresh detachment of police. He impotently 
 cursed the raider. The craven weakness, induced by his 
 condition of nervous prostration, was almost pitiable. All 
 the selfishness which practically monopolized his entire na- 
 ture displayed itself in his terror. He cared nothing for 
 others. He believed that Retief was at war with him alone. 
 He believed that the raider sought only his wealth his 
 wealth which his years of hard work and unscrupulous 
 methods had laboriously piled up the wealth he loved 
 and lived for the wealth which was to him as a god. He 
 thought of all he had already lost. He counted it up in 
 thousands, and his eyes grew wide with horror and despair 
 as the figures mounted up, up, until they represented a great 
 fortune. 
 
 The long-suffering chair creaked under him as he flung 
 himself back in it, his pasty, heavy-jowled face was ghastly 
 under the lash of despairing thought. Only a miser, one of 
 those wretched creatures who live only for the contemplation 
 of their hoarded wealth, could understand the feelings of 
 the miserable man as he lay back in his chair. 
 
 The man who had thus reduced the money-lender must 
 have understood his nature as did the inquisitors of old 
 understand the weaknesses of their victims. For surely he 
 could have found no other vulnerable spot in the great 
 man's composition. 
 
 The first shock of the trooper's news began to pass. 
 Lablache's mind began to balance itself again. Such a 
 state of nerves as was his could not last and the man remain 
 sane. Possibly the thought that he was still a rich man 
 came to his aid. Possibly the thought of hundreds of thou- 
 sands of dollars sunk in perfect securities, in various Eu- 
 ropean centers, toned down the grievousness of his losses. 
 Whatever it was he grew calmer, and with calmness his 
 scheming nature reasserted itself. 
 
 He moved from his seat and helped himself liberally to 
 the whisky which was in his cabinet. He needed the gen- 
 
THE PAW OF THE CAT 247 
 
 erous spirit, and drank it off at a gulp. His chair behind 
 him creaked. He started. His ashen face became more 
 ghastly in its hue. He looked round fearfully. Then he 
 understood, and he wheezed heavily. Once more he sat 
 himself down, and the warming spirit steadily did its work. 
 
 Suddenly his mind leapt forward, as it were, from its 
 stagnatory condition of abject fear. It traveled swiftly, 
 urged by a pursuing dread over plans for the future. The 
 guiding star of his thought was safety. At all costs he 
 must find safety for his property and himself. So long as 
 Retief was at large there could be no safety for him in Foss 
 River. He must get away. He must get away, bearing 
 with him the fruits which yet remained to him of his life's 
 toil. He had contemplated retiring before. His retirement 
 from business would mean ruin to many of those who had 
 borrowed from him he knew, and to those on whose property 
 he held mortgages as security. But that could not be helped. 
 He was not going to allow himself to suffer through what 
 he considered any humanitarian weakness. Yes, he would 
 retire get away from the reach of Retief and his compan- 
 ions, and ah! 
 
 His thoughts merged into another channel a channel 
 which, under the stress of his terrors, had for the moment 
 been obscured. He suddenly thought of the Allandales. 
 Here for the instant was a stumbling block. Or should he 
 renounce his passion for Jacky? He drummed thought- 
 fully with his finger-tips upon the arms of his chair. 
 
 No, why should he give her up? Something of his old 
 nerve was returning. He held all the cards. He knew he 
 could, by foreclosing, ruin " Poker " John. Why should he 
 give the girl up, and see her calmly secured by that cursed 
 Bunning-Ford? His bilious eyes half closed and his sparse 
 eyebrows drew together in a deep concentration of thought. 
 Then presently his forehead smoothed, and his lashless eyes 
 gleamed wickedly. He rose heavily to his feet and labored 
 to and fro across the floor, with his beefy hands clasped 
 behind his back. 
 
248 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " Excellent excellent," he muttered. " The devil could 
 not have designed it better." There was a grim, evil smile 
 about his mouth. " Yes, a game a game. It will tickle 
 old John, and will carry out my purpose. The mortgages 
 which I hold on his property are nothing to me. Most are 
 gambling debts. For the rest the interest has covered the 
 principal. I have seen to that. But he is in arrears now. 
 Good good. Their abandonment represents no loss to 
 me ha, ha." He chuckled mirthlessly. " A little game 
 a gentle flutter, friend John, and the stakes all in my 
 favor. But I do not intend to lose. Oh, no. The girl 
 might outwit me if I lost. I shall win, and on my wedding 
 day I shall be magnanimous good." He unclasped his 
 hands and rubbed them together gleefully. 
 
 "The uncle's consent his persuasion. She will do as 
 he wishes or ruin. It is capital a flawless scheme. 
 And then to leave Foss River forever. God, but I shall 
 be glad," with a return to his nervous dread. He looked 
 about him, eagerly, his great paunchy figure pictured 
 grotesquely beneath the pasty, fearful face. 
 
 " Now to see John," he went on, after a moment's pause. 
 " How how ? I wish I could get him here. It would be 
 better here. There would be no chance of listening ears. 
 Besides, there is the whisky." He paused again thinking. 
 " Yes," he muttered presently. " Delay would be bad. I 
 must not give my enemy time. At once at once. Noth- 
 ing like doing things at once. I must go to John. But 
 and he looked dubiously at the darkened window " when 
 I return it will be dark." He picked up his other revolver 
 and slipped it into his breast pocket. " Yes, yes, I am 
 getting foolish old. Come along, my friend, we will 
 
 go." 
 
 He seized his hat and went to the office door. He paused 
 with his hand upon the lock, and gave one final look round, 
 then he turned the spring with a great show of determina- 
 tion and passed out. 
 
 It was a different man who left the little office on that 
 
THE PAW OF THE CAT 249 
 
 evening to the man who had for so many years governed 
 the destinies of the smaller ranching world of the Foss 
 River district. He had truly said that he was getting old 
 but he did not quite realize how old. His enemies had 
 done their work only too well. The terrible consequences 
 of the night of terror were to have far-reaching results. 
 
 The money-lender set out for the ranch bristling with 
 eagerness to put into execution his hastily conceived plan. 
 
 He found the old rancher in his sanctum. He was alone 
 brooding over the calamity which had befallen the police- 
 officer, and stimulating his thought with silent " nippings " 
 at the whisky bottle. He was in a semi-maudlin condition 
 when the money-lender entered, and greeted his visitor with 
 almost childish effusion. 
 
 Lablache saw and understood, and a sense of satisfaction 
 came to him. He hoped his task would be easier than he 
 had anticipated. His evil nature rose to the occasion, and, 
 for the moment, his own troubles and fears were forgotten. 
 There was a cat-like licking of the lips as he contemplated 
 the pitiful picture before him. 
 
 " Well ? " said old John, looking into the other's face with 
 a pair of bloodshot eyes, as he re-seated himself after rising 
 to greet his visitor. " Well, poor Horrocks has gone gone, 
 a victim to his sense of duty. I guess, Lablache, there are 
 few men would have shown his grit." 
 
 "Grit! Yes, that's so." The money-lender had been 
 about to say " folly," but he checked himself. He did not 
 want to offend " Poker " John now. 
 
 " Yes. The poor fellow was too good for his work," 
 he went on, in tones of commiseration. " 'Tis indeed a 
 catastrophe, John. And we are the losers by it. I regret 
 now that I did not altogether agree with him when he first 
 came amongst us." 
 
 John wagged his head. He looked to be near weeping. 
 His companion's sympathetic tone was almost too much for 
 his whisky-laden heart. But Lablache had not come here 
 to discuss Horrocks, or, for that matter, to sympathize with 
 
250 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 the gray-headed wreck of manhood before him. He wished 
 to find out first of all if anybody was about whom his 
 plans concerned, and then to force his proposition upon his 
 old companion. He carefully led the rancher to talk of 
 other things. 
 
 "The man has gone into Stormy Cloud to report? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And who are they likely to send down in place ah 
 of the unfortunate Horrocks, think you?" 
 
 " Can't say. I guess they'll send a good man. I've asked 
 for more men." 
 
 The old man roused somewhat from his maudlin state. 
 
 " Ah, that's a good move, John," said the money-lender. 
 " What does Jacky think about these things ? " 
 
 The question was put carelessly. John yawned, and 
 poured out a " tot " of whisky for his friend. 
 
 " Guess I haven't seen the child since breakfast. She 
 seemed to take it badly enough then." 
 
 "Thanks. Aren't you going to have one?" as John 
 pushed the glass over to the other. 
 
 " Why, yes, man. Never shirk my liquor." 
 
 He dashed a quantity of raw spirit into his glass and 
 drank it off. Lablache looked on with intense satisfaction. 
 John rose unsteadily, and, supporting himself against the 
 furniture as he went, moved over to the French window 
 and closed it. Then he lurched heavily back into his chair 
 again. His eyes half closed. But he roused at the sound 
 of Lablache's guttural tones. 
 
 " John, old friend." Muddled as he was the rancher 
 started at the term. " I've come to have a long chat with 
 you. This morning I could not talk. I was too broken up 
 too, too ill. Now listen and you shall hear of all that 
 happened last night, and then you will the better be able 
 to judge of the wisdom of my decision." 
 
 John listened while Lablache told his tale. The money- 
 lender embellished the facts slightly so as the further to 
 emphasize them. Then, at the conclusion of the story of 
 
THE PAW OF THE CAT 251 
 
 his night's doings, he went on to matters which concerned 
 his future. 
 
 " Yes, John, there is nothing left for me but to get out 
 of the country. Mind this is no sudden determination, 
 but a conclusion I have long arrived at. These disastrous 
 occurrences have merely hastened my plans. I am not so 
 young as I was, you know," with an attempt at lightness, 
 " I simply dare not stay. I fear that Retief will soon at- 
 tempt my life." 
 
 He sighed and looked for sympathy. Old John seemed 
 too amazed to respond. He had never realized that the 
 raider's efforts were solely directed against Lablache. The 
 money-lender went on. 
 
 " And that is why I have come to you, my oldest friend. 
 I feel you should be the first to know, for with no one else 
 in Foss River have I lived in such perfect harmony. And, 
 besides, you are the most interested." 
 
 The latter was in the tone of an afterthought. Strangely 
 enough the careless way in which it was spoken carried the 
 words well home to the rancher's muddled brain. 
 
 "Interested?" he echoed blankly. 
 
 "Why, yes. Certainly, you are the most interested. I 
 mean from a monetary point of view. You see, the wind- 
 ing up of my business will entail the settling up of er 
 my books." 
 
 " Yes," said the rancher, with doubtful understanding. 
 
 " Then er you take my meaning as to how er 
 how you are interested." 
 
 " You mean my arrears of interest," said the gray headed 
 old man dazedly. 
 
 " Just so. You will have to meet your liabilities to me." 
 
 "But but man." The rancher spluttered for words 
 to express himself. This was the money-lender's oppor- 
 tunity, and he seized it. 
 
 " You see, John, in retiring from business I am not al- 
 together a free agent. My affairs are so mixed up with the 
 affairs of the Calford Trust and Loan Co. The period of 
 
252 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 one of your mortgages, for instance the heaviest by the 
 way has long expired. It has not been renewed. The 
 interest is in arrears. This mortgage was arranged by me 
 jointly with the Calford Trust and Loan Co. When I 
 retire it will have to be settled up. Being my friend I have 
 not troubled you, but doubtless the company will have no 
 sentiment about it. As to the others they are debts of 
 honor. I am afraid these things will have to be settled, 
 John. You will of course be able to meet them." 
 
 " God, man, but I can't," old John exclaimed. " I tell 
 you I can't," he reiterated in a despairing voice. 
 
 Lablache shrugged his obese shoulders. 
 
 "That is unfortunate." 
 
 " But, Lablache," said the rancher, gazing with drunken 
 earnestness into the other's face, " you will not press me? " 
 
 " Why no, John, of course not as far as I am person- 
 ally concerned. I have known you too long and have too 
 much regard for you and yours. No, no, John ; of course 
 I am a business man, but I am still your friend. Friend 
 eh, John your friend." 
 
 The rancher looked relieved, and helped himself to more 
 whisky. Lablache joined him and they silently drank. 
 " Poker " John set his empty glass down first. 
 
 " Now Lablache, about these lia-liabilities," he said with 
 a hiccup. "What is to be done? " 
 
 " Well, John, we are friends of such old standing that 
 I don't like to retire from business and leave you incon- 
 venienced by the process. Perhaps there is a way by which 
 I can help you. I am very wealthy and wealth is a 
 great power a very great power even in this wild region. 
 Now, suppose I make a proposition to you." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 " POKER " JOHN ACCEPTS 
 "AH!" 
 
 There was a tone of drunken suspicion about the exclama- 
 tion which was not lost on Lablache. 
 
 " If you were suddenly called upon to meet your liabilities 
 to me, John," said the money-lender, smiling, " how would it 
 fix you?" 
 
 " It would mean ruin," replied John, hoarsely. 
 
 Lablache cleared his throat and snorted. Then he smiled 
 benignly upon his old companion. 
 
 " That's just what I thought. Well, you're not going to 
 be ruined by me. I'm going to burn the mortgages and 
 settle with the Calford Trust and Loan Co. myself " 
 
 The rancher feared to trust his ears. 
 
 " That is if you are willing to do something for me." 
 
 In his eager hope John Allandale had leant forward so 
 as not to miss a word the other said. Now, however, he 
 threw himself back in his chair. Some suspicion was in 
 his mind. It might have been intuition. He knew La- 
 blache well. He laughed cynically. 
 
 " That's more like you," he said roughly. 
 
 " One moment," said the money-lender; the smile vanished 
 from his lips. " Fair play's good medicine. We'll wipe out 
 your debts if you'll tell your niece that you want her to 
 marry me." 
 
 "I'll I'll " 
 
 " Hold on, John," with upraised hand, as the old man 
 purpled with rage and started to shout. 
 
 " I'll see you damned first! " The rancher had lurched 
 on to his feet and his fist came down with a crash upon 
 the corner of the table. Lablache remained unmoved. 
 
 253 
 
254 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " Tut tut, man; now listen to me." The old man towered 
 unsteadily over him. " I can't understand your antipathy 
 to me as a husband for your niece. Give your consent 
 she'll do it for you and, on my wedding day, I burn those 
 mortgages and I'll settle 100,000 dollars upon Jacky. Be- 
 sides this I'll put 200,000 dollars into your ranch to develop 
 it, and only ask ten per cent, of the profits. Can I speak 
 fairer? That girl of yours is a good girl, John; too good to 
 kick about the prairie. I'll make her a good husband. She 
 shall do as she pleases, live where she likes. You 
 can always be with us if you choose. It's no use being 
 riled, John, I'm making an honest proposition." 
 
 The rancher calmed. In the face of such a generous 
 proposal he could not insult Lablache. He was determined, 
 however. It was strange, perhaps, that any suggestion for 
 his influence to be used in his niece's choice of a husband 
 should have such a violent effect upon him. But " Poker " 
 John was a curious mixture of weakness and honor. He 
 loved his niece with a doting affection. She was the apple 
 of his eye. To him the thought of personal benefit at the 
 cost of her happiness was a sacrilege. Lablache understood 
 this. He knew that on this point the rancher's feelings 
 amounted to little short of mania. And yet he persisted. 
 John's nature was purely obstinate, and obstinacy is weak- 
 ness. The money-lender knew that obstinacy could be 
 broken down by steady determination. However, time, with 
 him, was now everything. He must clinch the deal with as 
 little delay as possible if he would escape from Foss River 
 and the ruinous attacks of Retief. This thought was ever 
 present with him and urged him to press the old man hard. 
 If John Allandale would not be reasonable, he, Lablache, 
 must force an acceptance of his terms from him. 
 
 The rancher was mollified. His dulled brain suddenly 
 saw a loop-hole of escape. 
 
 " I guess you mean well enough, Lablache. But say, ask 
 the child yourself." 
 
 The other shook his massive head. 
 
" POKER " JOHN ACCEPTS 255 
 
 " I have she has refused." 
 
 " Then why in thunder do you come to me? " 
 
 The angry light was again in the rancher's blood-shot eyes. 
 
 " Why ? Because she will marry me if you choose. She 
 can't refuse she dare not." 
 
 "Then, by God, I'll refuse for her" 
 
 He paused disconcertedly in his wrath. Lablache's cold 
 eyes fixed him with their icy stare. 
 
 ;< Very well, John," said Lablache, with a contemptuous 
 shrug. " You know the inevitable result of such a hasty 
 decision. It means ruin to you beggary to that poor 
 child." His teeth snapped viciously. Then he smiled with 
 his mouth. " I can only put your de refusal down to 
 utter, unworthy selfishness." 
 
 " Not selfishness, Lablache not that. I would sacrifice 
 everything in the world for that child " 
 
 " Except your own pleasure your own personal com- 
 forts. Bah, man ! " with scathing contempt, " your object 
 must be plain to the veriest fool. You do not wish to lose 
 her. You fear to lose your best servant lest in consequence 
 you find the work of the ranch thrust upon your own 
 hands. You would have no time to indulge your love of 
 play. You would no longer be able to spend three parts of 
 your time in * old man ' Smith's filthy bar. Your conduct 
 is laudable, John it is worthy of you." 
 
 Lablache had expected another outburst of anger, but 
 John only leered in response to the other's contempt. Drunk 
 as he was, the rancher saw the absurdity of the attack. 
 
 " Piffle ! " he exclaimed. " Now see, when Jacky comes 
 in you shall hear what she has to say." 
 
 " Poker " John smiled with satisfaction at his own 'cute- 
 ness. He felt that he had outwitted the astute usurer. His 
 simplicity, however, was of an infantile order. 
 
 " That would be useless." Lablache did not want to be 
 confronted with Jacky. " My mind is quite made up. The 
 Calford Trust will begin proceedings at once, unless " 
 
 " Unless I give my consent." 
 
256 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 The satisfaction had suddenly died out of John Allan- 
 dale's face. Even in his maudlin condition he understood 
 the relentless purpose which backed the money-lender's pro- 
 posal. To his credit be it said that he was thinking only 
 of Jacky the one being who was dearer to him than all 
 else in the world. For himself he had no thought he did 
 not care what happened. But he longed to save his niece 
 from the threatened catastrophe. His seared old face worked 
 in his distress. Lablache beheld the sign, and knew that 
 he was weakening. 
 
 " Why force me to extremities, John ? " he said presently. 
 " If you would only be reasonable, I feel sure you would 
 have no matter for regret. Now, suppose I went a step 
 further." 
 
 " No no," weakly. There followed a pause. John 
 Allandale avoided the other's eyes. To the old man the 
 silence of the room became intolerable. He opened his lips 
 to speak. Then he closed them only to open them again. 
 " But but what step do you propose? Is is it honest? " 
 
 " Perfectly." Lablache was smiling in that indulgent 
 manner he knew so well how to assume. " And it might 
 appeal to you. Pressure is a thing I hate. Now suppose 
 we leave the matter to to chance." 
 
 " Chance? " The rancher questioned the other doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " Yes why not ? " The money-lender's smile broadened 
 and he leaned forward to impress his hearer the more surely. 
 " A little game a game of poker, eh ? " 
 
 John Allandale shook his head. He failed to grasp the 
 other's meaning. 
 
 " I don't understand," he said, struggling with the liquor 
 which fogged his dull brain. 
 
 "No, of course you don't," easily. "Now listen to me 
 and I'll tell you what I mean." The money-lender spoke 
 as though addressing a wayward child. " The stakes shall 
 be my terms against your influence with Jacky. If you win 
 you keep your girl, and I cancel your mortgages; if I win 
 
" POKER " JOHN ACCEPTS 257 
 
 I marry your girl under the conditions I have already of- 
 fered. It's wholly an arrangement for your benefit. All 
 I can possibly gain is your girl. Whichever way the game 
 goes I must pay. Saints alive but what an old fool I 
 am ! " He laughed constrainedly. " For the sake of a 
 pretty face I'm going to give you everything but there," 
 seriously, " I'd do more to win that sweet child for my wife. 
 What d'you say, John ? " 
 
 There could be no doubt that Lablache meant what he 
 said, only he might have put it differently. Had he said 
 that there was nothing at which he would stop to secure 
 Jacky, it would have been more in keeping with the facts. 
 He meant to marry the girl. His bilious eyes watered. 
 There was a sensual look in them. His heavy lips parted 
 and closed with a sucking smack as though expressing ap- 
 preciation of a tasty morsel. 
 
 John remained silent, but into his eyes had leapt a gleam 
 which told of the lust of gaming aroused. His look his 
 whole face spoke for him. Lablache had primed his hook 
 with an irresistible bait. He knew his man. 
 
 " See," he went on, as the other remained silent, " this 
 is the way we can arrange it. We will play * Jackpots ' 
 only. The best seven out of thirteen. It will be a pretty 
 game, in which, from an outsider's point of view, I alone 
 can be the loser. If I win I shall consider myself amply 
 repaid. If I lose well," with an expressive movement of 
 the hands, " I will take my chance as a sportsman should. 
 I love your niece, John, and will risk everything to win her. 
 Now, think of it. It will be the sweetest, prettiest gamble. 
 And, too, think of the stake. A fortune, John a fortune 
 for you. And for me a bare possibility of realizing my 
 hopes." 
 
 The old gambler's last vestige of honor struggled to make 
 itself apparent in a negative movement of the head. But 
 the movement would not come. His thoughts were of the 
 game, and ere yet the last words of the money-lender had 
 ceased to sound, he was captured. The satanic cunning of 
 
258 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 the proposal was lost upon his sodden intellect. It was a 
 contemptible, pitiable piece of chicanery with which Lablache 
 sought to trap the old man into giving his consent and as- 
 sistance. The money-lender had no intention of losing the 
 game. He knew he must win. He was merely resorting 
 to this means because he knew the gambling spirit of the 
 rancher. He knew that " Poker " John's obstinacy was 
 proof against any direct attack; that no persuasion would 
 induce the consent he desired. The method of a boxer 
 pounding the body of an opponent whom he knows to be 
 afflicted with some organic weakness of the heart is no more 
 cowardly than was Lablache's proposal. 
 
 The rancher still remained silent. Lablache moved in 
 his chair; one of his great fat hands rested for a moment 
 on John's coat sleeve. 
 
 " Now, old friend," he said, with a hoarse, whistling 
 breath. " Shall you play play the game ? It will be a 
 grand finale to the many er comfortable games we have 
 played together. Well ? Thirteen * Jackpots/ John 
 yes?" 
 
 " And and if I consented mind, I only say * if.' r 
 The rancher's face twitched nervously. 
 
 " You would stand to win a fortune and also one for 
 your niece." 
 
 " Yes yes. I might win. My luck may turn." 
 
 " It must you cannot always lose." 
 
 " Quite right I must win soon. It is a great offer a 
 splendid stake." 
 
 " It is." 
 
 "Yes yes, Lablache, I will play. God, man! I will 
 play you! " 
 
 Beads of sweat stood on John Allandale's forehead as 
 he literally hurled his acceptance at his companion. He 
 accepted in the manner of one who knows he is setting at 
 defiance all honesty and right, urged to such a course by 
 an all-mastering passion, which he is incapable of resisting. 
 
 Strange was the nature of this man. He knew himself as 
 
" POKER " JOHN ACCEPTS 259 
 
 it is given to few weak men to know themselves. He knew 
 that he wished to do this thing. He knew, also, that he 
 was doing wrong. Moreover he knew that he wished to 
 stand by Jacky and be true to his great affection for her. 
 He was under the influence of potent spirit, and yet his 
 thoughts and judgment were clear upon the subject. His 
 mania had possessed him and he would play from choice; 
 and all the while he could hear the voice of conscience 
 rating him. He would have preferred to play now, but then 
 he remembered the quantity of spirit he had consumed. 
 He must take no chances. When he played Lablache he 
 must be sober. The delay of one night, however, he knew 
 would bring him agonies of remorse, therefore he would 
 settle everything now so that in the throes of conscience he 
 could not refuse to play. He feared delay. He feared the 
 vacillation which the solitary hours of the night might bring 
 to him. He leant forward and thickly urged the money- 
 lender. 
 
 " When shall it be ? .Quick, man, let us have no delay. 
 The time, Lablache the time and place." 
 
 Lablache wheezed unctuously. 
 
 "That's the spirit I like, John," he said, fingering his 
 watch-chain with his fat hands. " To business. The place 
 er yes." A moment's thought whilst the rancher 
 waited with impatience. " Ah, I know. That implement 
 shed on your fifty-acre pasture. Excellent. There is a 
 living room in it. You used to keep a man there. It is 
 disused now. It will suit us admirably. We can use that 
 room. And the time " 
 
 " To-morrow, Lablache. It must be to-morrow. I could 
 not wait longer," broke in the other, in a voice husky with 
 eagerness and liquor. " After dark, when no one can see 
 us going out to the shed. No one must know, Lablache, 
 mind no one. Jacky will not dream of what we are 
 doing." 
 
 " Very well. To-morrow, then. At eleven o'clock at 
 night, John. And as you say in the meantime mum." 
 
260 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Lablache was pleased with the rancher's suggestion. It 
 quite fell in with his own ideas. Everything must be done 
 quickly now. He must get away from Foss River without 
 delay. 
 
 "Yes yes. Mum's the word." "Poker" John in- 
 dicated his approval with an upward leer as Lablache rose 
 from his chair, and a grotesque pursing of his lips and his 
 forefinger at the side of his nose. Then he, too, struggled 
 to his feet, and, with unsteady hand, poured out two stiff 
 " horns " of whisky. 
 
 He held one out to the money-lender and took the other 
 himself. 
 
 " I drink to the game," he said haltingly. " May 
 fortune come my way." 
 
 Lablache nodded comprehensively and slowly raised his 
 glass. 
 
 " Fortune is yours anyhow. Therefore I trust that I win 
 the game." 
 
 The two men silently drank. After which Lablache turned 
 to go. He paused at the French window and plunged his 
 hand into his coat pocket. 
 
 The night was dark outside, and again he became a prey 
 to his moral terror of the half-breed raider. He drew out 
 his revolver and opened the chamber. The weapon was 
 loaded. Then he turned to old John who was staring at 
 him. 
 
 " It's risky for me to move about at night, John. I fear 
 Retief has not done with me yet. Good-night," and he 
 passed out on to the veranda. 
 
 Lablache was the victim of a foreboding. It is a custom 
 to laugh at forebodings and set them down to the vagaries 
 of a disordered stomach. We laugh too at superstition. 
 Yet how often do we find that the portentous significance 
 of these things is actually realized in fact. Lablache 
 dreaded Retief. 
 
 What would the next twenty-four hours bring forth? 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 UNCLE AND NIECE 
 
 " POKER " JOHN'S remorse came swiftly, but not swiftly or 
 strongly enough to make him give up the game. After 
 Lablache had taken his departure the old rancher sat drink- 
 ing far into the night. With each fresh potation his con- 
 science became less persistent in its protest. He sought no 
 bed that night, for gradually his senses left him and he 
 slept where he sat, until, towards daybreak he awoke, par- 
 tially sober and shivering with cold. Then he arose, and, 
 wrapping himself in a heavy overcoat, flung himself upon a 
 couch, where he again sought sobriety in sleep. 
 
 He awoke again soon after daylight. His head was racked 
 with pain. He, at first, had only a dim recollection of what 
 had occurred the night before. There was a vague sense 
 of something unpleasant having happened, but he did not 
 attempt to recall it. He went to his bedroom and douched 
 himself with cold water. Then he set out for the kitchen 
 in search of coffee with which to slack his burning thirst. 
 It was not until he had performed his ablutions that the 
 whole truth of his interview with Lablache came back to 
 him. Immediately, now that the effect of the liquor had 
 passed off, he became a prey to terrible remorse. 
 
 Possibly had Jacky been at hand at that moment, the 
 whole course of events might have been altered. Her pres- 
 ence, a good breakfast, and occupation might have given 
 him strength to carry out the rejection of Lablache's chal- 
 lenge which his remorse suggested. However, none of these 
 things were at hand, and John Allandale set out, from force 
 of habit, to get his morning " Collins " down at " old man " 
 
 261 
 
262 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Smith's. Something to pull him together before he en- 
 countered his niece, he told himself. 
 
 It was a fatal delusion. " Old man " Smith sold drink 
 for gain. The more he sold the better he liked it. John 
 Allandale's " Collins " developed, as it always did now, into 
 three or four potent drinks. So that by the time he re- 
 turned to the ranch for breakfast his remorse was pushed 
 well into the background, and with feverish craving he longed 
 for the fateful game. 
 
 In spite of his devotion to the bottle John Allandale 
 usually made a hearty breakfast. But this morning the 
 sight of Jacky presiding at his table upset him, and he left 
 his food almost untasted. Remorse was deadened but con- 
 science was yet unsilenced within him. Every time she 
 spoke to him, every time he encountered her piercing gray 
 eyes he felt himself to be a worse than Judas. In his rough, 
 exaggerated way he told himself that he was selling this girl 
 as surely as did the old slave owners sell their slaves in 
 bygone days. He endeavored to persuade himself that what 
 he was doing was for the best, and certainly that it was 
 forced upon him. He would not admit that his mania for 
 poker was the main factor in his acceptance of Lablache's 
 terms. Gradually, however, his thoughts became intolerable 
 to him, and when Jacky at last remarked on the fact that 
 he was eating nothing and drinking only his coffee, he 
 could stand it no longer. He pushed his chair back and 
 rose from the table, and, muttering an excuse, fled from the 
 room. 
 
 Her uncle's precipitate flight alarmed Jacky. She had 
 seen, as anybody with half an eye could see, that he had 
 had a heavy night. The bleared eyes, the puffed lids, the 
 working, nervous face were simple enough evidence. She 
 knew, too, that he had already been drinking this morning. 
 But these things were not new to her, only painful facts 
 which she was unable to alter; but his strange behavior and 
 lack of appetite were things to set her thinking. 
 
 She was a very active-minded girl. It was not her way 
 
UNCLE AND NIECE 263 
 
 to sit wondering and puzzling over anything she could not 
 understand. She had a knack of setting herself to unravel 
 problems which required explanation in the most common- 
 sense way. After giving her uncle time to leave the house 
 intuition told her that he would do so she rose and 
 rang the bell. Then she moved to the window while she 
 waited for an answer to her summons. She saw the burly 
 figure of her uncle walking swiftly down towards the settle- 
 ment and in the direction of the saloon. 
 
 She turned with a sigh as a servant entered. 
 
 " Did any one call last night while I was out? " she asked. 
 
 " Not for you, miss." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "No, miss, but Mr. Lablache was here. He was with 
 your uncle for a long time in the office." 
 
 " Did he come in with Mr. Allandale ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, miss, the master didn't go out. At least not 
 that I know of. Mr. Lablache didn't call exactly. I think 
 he just came straight to the office. I shouldn't have known 
 he was there, only I was passing the door and heard his 
 voice and the master's." 
 
 " Oh, that will do just wait a moment, though. Say, 
 is Silas around? Just find him and send him right along. 
 Tell him to come to the veranda." 
 
 The servant departed, and Jacky sat down at a writing- 
 table and wrote a note to " Lord " Bill. The note was brief 
 but direct in its tone. 
 
 " Can you see me this afternoon? Shall be in after tea." 
 
 That was all she put, and added her strong, bold signa- 
 ture to it. Silas came to the window and she gave him the 
 note with instructions to deliver it into the hands of the 
 Hon. Bunning-Ford. 
 
 The letter dispatched she felt easier in her mind. 
 
 What had Lablache been closeted with her uncle for? 
 This was the question which puzzled nay, alarmed her. 
 
264 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 She had seen her uncle early on the previous evening, and 
 he had seemed happy enough. She wished now, when she 
 had returned from visiting Mrs. Abbot, that she had thought 
 to see if her uncle was in. It had become such a custom 
 for him lately to be out all the evening that she had long 
 ceased her childhood's custom of saying " Good-night " to 
 him before retiring to bed. One thing was certain, she felt 
 her uncle's strange behavior this morning was in some way 
 due to Lablache's visit She meant to find out what that 
 visit meant. 
 
 To this end several plans occurred to her, but in each 
 case were abandoned as unsuitable. 
 
 " No," she murmured at last, " I guess I'll tax him with 
 it. He'll tell me. If Lablache means war, well I've a 
 notion he'll get a hustling he don't consider." 
 
 Then she left the sitting-room that she might set about 
 her day's work. She would see her uncle at dinner-time. 
 
 Foss River had not yet risen to the civilized state of late 
 dinners and indigestion. Early rising and hard work 
 demanded early meals and hearty feeding. Dinner gener- 
 ally occurred at noon an hour at which European society 
 thinks of taking its dejeuner. By rising late society can 
 thus avoid what little fresh, wholesome air there is to be 
 obtained in a large city. Civilization jibs at early rising. 
 Foss River was still a wild and savage country. 
 
 At noon Jacky came in to dinner. She had not seen her 
 uncle since breakfast. The old man had not returned from 
 the settlement. Truth to tell he wished to avoid his niece 
 as much as possible for to-day. As dinner-time came round 
 he grew nervous and uncomfortable, and was half inclined 
 to accept "old man" Smith's invitation to dine at the 
 saloon. Then he realized that this would only alarm Jacky 
 and set her thinking. Therefore he plucked up the 
 shattered remains of his moral courage and returned to the 
 ranch. When a man looses his last grip on his self-respect 
 he sinks with cruel rapidity. "Poker" John told himself 
 that he was betraying his niece's affection, and with this 
 
UNCLE AND NIECE 265 
 
 assurance he told himself that he was the lowest-down cur 
 in the country. The natural consequence to a man of his 
 habit and propensity was drink. The one time in his 
 life when he should have refrained from indulgence he 
 drank; and with each drink he made the fatal promise to 
 himself that it should be the last. 
 
 When Jacky saw him swaying as he came up towards the 
 house she could have cried out in very anguish. It smote 
 her to the heart to see the old man whom she so loved in 
 this condition. Yet when he lurched on to the veranda 
 she smiled lovingly up into his face and gave no sign that 
 she had any knowledge of his state. 
 
 " Come right along, uncle," she said gayly, linking her 
 arm within his, " dinner is on. You must be good and 
 hungry, you made such a poor breakfast this morning." 
 
 " Yes, child, I wasn't very well," he mumbled thickly. 
 "Not very well now." 
 
 " You poor dear, come along," and she led him in through 
 the open window. 
 
 During the meal Jacky talked incessantly. She talked of 
 everything but what had upset her uncle. She avoided 
 any reference to Lablache with great care. But, in spite of 
 her cheerfulness, she could not rouse the degenerate old 
 man. Rather it seemed that, as the meal progressed, he 
 became gloomier. The truth was the girl's apparent light- 
 heartedness added to his self-revilings and made him feel 
 more criminal than ever. He ate his food mechanically, 
 and he drank glass after glass of ale. 
 
 Jacky heaved a sigh of relief when the meal was over. 
 She felt that she could not much longer have kept up her 
 light-hearted talk. Her uncle was about to move from the 
 table. The girl stayed him with a gesture. He had eaten 
 a good dinner and she was satisfied. Now she would 
 question him. 
 
 It is strange how a woman, in whatever relationship she 
 may stand, loves to see a man eat well. Possibly she un- 
 derstands the effect of a good dinner upon the man in whom 
 
266 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 she centers her affection; possibly it is the natural maternal 
 instinct for his well-being. 
 
 " Uncle, what did Lablache come to see you for last 
 night?" 
 
 The question was abrupt. It had the effect of bringing 
 the rancher back to his seat with a drunken lurch. 
 
 "Eh?" he queried, blinking nervously. 
 
 "What did he come for? " Jacky persisted. 
 
 The girl could be relentless even with her uncle. 
 
 " Lablache oh er talk bus bus'ness, child 
 bus'ness," and he attempted to get up from his chair again. 
 
 But Jacky would not let him go. 
 
 " Wait a moment, uncle dear, I want to talk to you. I 
 sha'n't keep you long." The old man looked anywhere but 
 at his companion. A cold sweat was on his forehead, and 
 his cheek twitched painfully under the steady gaze of the 
 girl's somber eyes. " I don't often get a chance of talking 
 to you now," she went on, with a slight touch of bitterness. 
 " I just want to talk about that skunk, Lablache. I guess 
 he didn't pass the evening talking of Retief and what he 
 intends to do towards his capture? Say, uncle, what was 
 it about?" 
 
 The old man grasped at the suggestion. 
 
 "Yes yes, child. It was Retief." 
 
 He kept his eyes averted. The girl was not deceived. 
 
 "All the time?" 
 
 " Poker " John remained silent. He would have lied but 
 could not. 
 
 "Uncle!" 
 
 Her tone was a moral pressure. The old man turned for 
 relief to his avuncular authority. 
 
 " I must go. You've no right question me," he stut- 
 tered. "I refu-" 
 
 "No, uncle, you won't refuse me." The girl had risen 
 and had moved round to where the old man sat. She 
 fondled him lovingly and his attempt at angry protest died 
 within him. " Come, dear, tell me all about it. You are 
 
UNCLE AND NIECE 267 
 
 worried and I can help you. What did he threaten you 
 with? I suppose he wants money," contemptuously. 
 "How much?" 
 
 The old drunkard was powerless to resist her loving 
 appeal. 
 
 He was cornered. Another might have lied and so 
 escaped, but John Allandale's weakness was such that he 
 had not the courage to resort to subterfuge. Moreover, 
 there was a faint spark of honor flickering deep down in 
 his kindly heart. The girl's affectionate display was surely 
 fanning that spark into a flame. Would the flame grow or 
 would it sparkle up for one brief moment and then go out 
 from pure lack of fuel? Suddenly something of the truth 
 of the cause of her uncle's distress flashed across Jacky's 
 mind. She knew Lablache's wishes in regard to herself. 
 Perhaps she was the subject of that interview. 
 
 " Uncle, it is I who am causing you this trouble. What 
 is it that Lablache wants of me? " She asked the question 
 with her cheek pressed to the old man's face. His whisky- 
 laden breath reeked in her nostrils. 
 
 Her question took him unawares, and he started up 
 pushing her from him. 
 
 "Who who told you, girl?" His bleared eyes were 
 now turned upon her, and they gazed fearfully into hers. 
 
 " I thought so," she exclaimed, smiling back into the 
 troubled face. "No one told me, uncle. I guess that 
 beast wants to marry me. Say, uncle, you can tell me every- 
 thing right here. I'll help you. He's smart, but he can't 
 mate with me." 
 
 " But but " He struggled to collect his thoughts. 
 
 " No * buts,' dear. I've refused Lablache once. I guess 
 I can size up the racket he thinks to play. Money money ! 
 He'd like to buy me, I take it. Say, uncle, can't we frolic 
 him some? Now what did he say?" 
 
 "I can't tell you, child," the old man protested 
 desperately. Then he weakened further before those deep, 
 steadfast eyes. "Don't press me. Don' press me." 
 
268 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 His voice contained maudlin tears. " I'm a vill'n, girL 
 I'm worse. Don' look a' me like that Ja'y Ja'y 
 I've sol' you!" 
 
 The miserable old man flung himself back in his chair 
 and his head bowed until his chin sank heavily upon his 
 chest. Two great tears welled into his bloodshot eyes and 
 trickled slowly down his seared old cheeks. It was a 
 pitiable sight. Jacky looked on silently for a moment. Her 
 eyes took in every detail of that picture of despair. She 
 had heard the old man's words but took no heed of them. 
 She was thinking very hard. Suddenly she seemed to arrive 
 at a decision. Her laugh rang out, and she came and knelt 
 at her uncle's side. 
 
 " So you've sold me, you old dear, and not a bad thing 
 too. What's the price?" 
 
 Her uncle raised his bowed head. Her smiling face 
 dried his tears and put fresh heart into him. He had 
 expected bitter invective, but instead the girl smiled. 
 
 Jacky's task now became a simple one. A mere matter 
 of pumping. Sharp questions and rambling replies. Bit 
 by bit she learned the story of Lablache's proposal and the 
 manner in which an acceptance had been forced upon her 
 uncle. She did not relinquish her task until the minutest 
 detail had been gleaned. At last she was satisfied with her 
 cross-examination. 
 
 She rose to her feet and passed her hand with a caressing 
 movement over her uncle's head, gazing the while out of the 
 window. Her mind was made up. Her uncle needed her 
 help now. That help should be his. She condoned his 
 faults; she saw nothing but that which was lovable in his 
 weakness. Hers was now the strength to protect him, who, 
 in the days of his best manhood had sheltered her from the 
 cruel struggles of a life in the half-breed camp, for such, 
 at the death of her impecunious father, must otherwise have 
 been her lot. 
 
 Now she looked down into that worn, old face, and her 
 brisk, business-like tones roused him into new life. 
 
UNCLE AND NIECE 269 
 
 " Uncle, you must meet Lablache and play the game. 
 For the rest, leave it to me. All I ask is no more whisky 
 to-day. Stay right here and have a sleep. Guess you might 
 go an' lie down, I'll call you for supper. Then you'll be 
 fit One thing you must remember; watch that ugly- faced 
 cur when you play. See he don't cheat any. I'll tell you 
 more before you start out. Come right along now and have 
 that sleep." 
 
 The old man got up and the girl led him from the room. 
 She saw him to his bedroom and then left him. She de- 
 cided that, for herself, she would not leave the house until 
 she had seen Bill. She must get her uncle sober before he 
 went to meet Lablache. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 IN WHICH MATTERS REACH A CLIMAX 
 
 Foss RIVER SETTLEMENT was, at the time, a very small 
 place, and of practically no importance. It was brought into 
 existence by the neighborhood of one or two large ranches; 
 these ranches employed considerable labor. Foss River 
 might be visited by an earthquake, and, provided the earth- 
 quake was not felt elsewhere, the world would not be likely 
 to hear of it for weeks. The newspapers of the Western 
 cities were in their infancy, and contented themselves with 
 the news of their own towns and feverish criticisms of poli- 
 tics which were beyond the understanding of their editors. 
 Progress in the West was very slow almost at a standstill. 
 
 After the death of Horrocks the police had withdrawn to 
 report and to receive augmentation. No one felt alarm at 
 their absence. The inhabitants of Foss River were a self- 
 reliant people accustomed to look to themselves for the 
 remedy of a grievance. Besides, Horrocks, they said, had 
 shown himself to be a duffer merely a tracker, a prairie- 
 man and not the man to bring Retief to justice. Already 
 the younger members of the settlement and district were 
 forming themselves into a vigilance committee. The elders 
 those to whom the younger looked for a lead in such 
 matters had chosen to go to the police; now the younger 
 of the settlement decided to act for themselves. 
 
 This was the condition and feeling in Foss River at the 
 time of the death of Horrocks; this was the state of affairs 
 when the insouciant Bill leisurely strolled into the sitting- 
 room at the Foss River Ranch, about the time that Joaquina 
 Allandale had finished her tea. With the familiarity of 
 the West, Bill entered by the French window. His lazy 
 
 270 
 
IN WHICH MATTERS REACH A CLIMAX 271 
 
 smile was undisturbed. He might have been paying an or- 
 dinary call instead of answering a summons which he knew 
 must be a matter of emergency, for it was understood be- 
 .tween these two that private meetings were tabooed, except 
 when necessity demanded them. 
 
 Jacky's greeting was not reassuring, but her lover's ex- 
 pression remained unchanged, except that his weary eyelids 
 further unclosed. 
 
 " Guess we're side-tracked, Bill," she said meaningly. 
 " The line's blocked. Signals dead against us." 
 
 Bill looked into her eyes; then he turned and closed the 
 window, latching it securely. The door was closed. His 
 keen eyes noted this. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 The girl shrugged. 
 
 " The next twelve hours must finish our game." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " Yes," the girl went on, " it is Lablache's doing. We 
 must settle our reckoning with him to-night." 
 
 Bill flung himself into a chair. 
 
 " Will you explain ? I don't understand. May I 
 smoke?" 
 
 Jacky smiled. The request was so unnecessary. She 
 always liked Bill's nonchalance. It conveyed such a sug- 
 gestion of latent power. 
 
 " Yes, smoke, Bill; smoke and get your thinking box in 
 order. My yarn won't take a deal of time to tell. But it'll 
 take a deal of thought to upset Lablache's last move, 
 without shootin'." 
 
 " Um shooting's an evil, but sometimes necessary. 
 What's his racket?" 
 
 The girl told her story quickly. She forgot nothing. She 
 never allowed herself to fall into the womanly mistake of 
 omitting details, however sm^ll. 
 
 Bill fully appreciated her cleverness in this direction. 
 He could trust what she said implicitly. At the conclusion 
 of the story he sat up and rolled another cigarette. 
 
272 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " And your uncle is upstairs in bed ? " 
 
 " Yes, when he wakes I guess he'll need a bracer. He'll 
 be sober. He must play. Lablache means to win." 
 
 " Yes, he means to win. He has had a bad scare." 
 
 " What are we going to do? " 
 
 The girl eyed her lover keenly. She saw by his manner 
 that he was thinking rapidly. 
 
 "The game must be interrupted with another scare." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Bill shrugged and laughed. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" 
 
 " Burn him out his store. And then " 
 
 "And then?" eagerly. 
 
 " Retief will be present at the game. Tell him what has 
 happened and if he doesn't leave Foss River shoot him. 
 Mortgages and all records of debts, etc., are in his store." 
 
 " Good." 
 
 After expressing her approval the girl sat gazing into her 
 lover's face. They talked a little longer, then Bill rose to 
 
 g- 
 
 " Eleven o'clock to-night you say is the appointed hour? " 
 
 " Yes. I shall meet you at the gate of the fifty-acre 
 pasture." 
 
 " Better not." 
 
 " Yes, I am going to be there," with a decisive nod. 
 " One cannot be sure. You may need me." 
 
 "Very well. Good-by, little woman." "Lord" Bill 
 bent and kissed her. Then something very like a sigh es- 
 caped him. " I think with you this game is nearly up. 
 To-night will settle things one way or the other." 
 
 " Yes. Trouble is not far off. Say, Bill, when it comes, 
 I want to be with you." 
 
 Bill looked tenderly down into the upturned face. 
 
 " Is that why you insist on coming to-night ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Another embrace and Bill left the house. 
 
 He sauntered leisurely down the avenue of pines. He 
 
IN WHICH MATTERS REACH A CLIMAX 273 
 
 kept straight on towards the muskeg. Then he turned away 
 from the settlement, and was soon lost behind the rising 
 ground which shored the great mire. Once out of sight of 
 the house he quickened his pace, gradually swinging away 
 from the keg, and heading towards the half-breed camp. 
 
 Foss River might have been deserted for all signs of life 
 he encountered. The prairie was calmly silent. Not even 
 the call of the birds broke the stillness around. The heat 
 of the afternoon had lulled all nature to repose. 
 
 He strode on swiftly until he came to a small bluff. Here 
 he halted and threw himself full length upon the ground in 
 a welcome shade. He was within sight of the half-breed 
 camp. He shifted his position until his head was in the 
 sun. In this way he could see the scattered dwellings of 
 the prairie outcasts. Then he drew a small piece of look- 
 ing-glass from his pocket and held it out in the sun. Turn- 
 ing and twisting it in the direction of the camp, as might a 
 child who wishes to dazzle a play-fellow's eyes. For sev- 
 eral minutes he thus manipulated his impromptu heliograph. 
 Then, as he suddenly beheld an answering flash in the dis- 
 tance, he desisted, and returned the glass to his pocket. Now 
 he drew back in the shade and composed himself to smoke. 
 
 The half-closed eyes of the recumbent man gazed steadily 
 out towards the camp. He had nearly finished his third 
 cigarette when his quick ears caught the sound of footsteps. 
 Instantly he sat up. The steps grew louder and then round 
 the sheltering bush came the thick-set form of Gautier. He 
 was accompanied by an evil-looking dog which growled 
 sulkily as it espied the white man. 
 
 " Ugh ! Hot walking" said the newcomer, by way of 
 greeting. 
 
 " Not so hot as it'll be to-night," said the white man, 
 quietly. " Sit down." 
 
 " More bonfires, boss? " said the half-breed, with a mean- 
 ing grin, seating himself as he spoke. 
 
 " More bonfires. See you, I want six of the boys at 
 Lablache's store to-night at eleven o'clock. We are going 
 
274 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 to burn his place. It will be quite easy. Lablache will be 
 away, and only his clerks on the premises. The cellar 
 underneath the building is lit by barred windows, two under 
 the front, and two under the office at the back. All you 
 have to do is to break the glass of the window at the back 
 and pour in a couple of gallons of coal oil. Then push 
 in some straw, and then light a piece of oil-soaked rope and 
 drop it in. The cellar is full of cases of goods and barrels 
 of oil. The fire will be unextinguishable. Directly it is 
 well lit see that the clerks are warned. We want no lives 
 lost. You understand? The stables are adjacent and will 
 catch fire too. I sha'n't be there until later. There will be 
 no risk and lots of loot. Savee ? " 
 
 The cunning face of the half-breed was lit by an unholy 
 grin. He rubbed his hands with the unctuous anticipation 
 of a shop-walker. Truly, he thought, this white man was a 
 man after his own heart. He wagged his head in approval. 
 
 " Easy easy? It is childlike," he said in ecstasy. " I 
 have long thought of it, sure. An' thar is a big store of 
 whisky thar, eh, boss ? Good good ! And what time will 
 you come ? " 
 
 " When the fire is lit. I go to deal with Lablache. Look 
 you here, Gautier, you owe that man a grudge. You would 
 kill him but you don't dare. I may pay off that grudge for 
 you. Pay it by a means that is better than killing." 
 
 " Torture," grinned the half-breed. 
 
 Bill nodded. 
 
 " Now see and be off. And don't make any mistake, or 
 we may all swing for it. Tell Baptiste he must go over the 
 keg at once and bring Golden Eagle to my shack at about 
 half-past ten. Tell him to be punctual. Now scoot No 
 mistakes, or " and Bill made a significant gesture. 
 
 The man understood and hurried away. " Lord " Bill 
 was satisfied that his orders would be carried out to the 
 letter. The service he demanded of this man was congenial 
 service, in so far that it promised loot in plenty and easily 
 acquired. Moreover, the criminal side of the half-breed's 
 
IN WHICH MATTERS REACH A CLIMAX 275 
 
 nature was tickled. A liberal reward for honesty would be 
 less likely to secure good service from such as Gautier than 
 a chance of gain for shady work. It was the half-breed 
 nature. 
 
 After the departure of the half-breed, Bill remained where 
 he was for some time. He sat with his hands clasped 
 round his knees, gazing thoughtfully out towards the camp. 
 He was reviewing his forces and mentally struggling to 
 penetrate the pall which obscured the future. He felt him- 
 self to be playing a winning game; at least, that his venge- 
 ance and chastisement of Lablache had been made 
 ridiculously easy for him. But now he had come to that 
 point when he wondered what must be the outcome of it 
 all as regarded himself and the girl he loved. Would his 
 persecution drive Lablache from Foss River to the security 
 of Calford, where he would be able to follow him and still 
 further prosecute his inexorable vengeance? Or would he 
 still choose to remain? He knew Lablache to be a strong 
 man, but he also knew, by the money-lender's sudden de- 
 termination to force Jacky into marriage with him, that he 
 had received a scare. He could not decide on the point. 
 But he inclined to the belief that Lablache must go after 
 to-night. He would not spare him. He had yet a trump 
 card to play. He would be present at the game of cards, 
 and well, time would show. 
 
 He threw away his mangled cigarette end and rose from 
 the ground. One glance of his keen eyes told him that no 
 one was in sight. He strolled out upon the prairie and 
 made his way back to the settlement. He need not have 
 troubled himself about the future. The future would work 
 itself out, and no effort of his would be capable of directing 
 its course. A higher power than man's was governing the 
 actions of the participants in the Foss River drama. 
 
 For the rest of the day " Lord " Bill moved about the 
 settlement in his customary idle fashion. He visited the 
 saloon; he showed himself on the market-place. He dis- 
 cussed the doings of Retief with the butcher, the smith, 
 
276 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Dr. Abbot. And, as the evening closed in and the sun's 
 power lessened, he identified himself with others as idle as 
 himself, and basked in the warmth of its feeble, dying rays. 
 
 When darkness closed in he went to his shack and pre- 
 pared his evening meal with a simple directness which no 
 thoughts of coming events could upset. Bill was always 
 philosophical. He ate to live, and consequently was not 
 particular about his food. He passed the evening between 
 thought and tobacco, and only an occasional flashing of his 
 lazy eyes gave any sign of the trend of his mental effort. 
 
 At a few minutes past ten he went into his bedroom and 
 carefully locked the door. Then he drew from beneath his 
 bed a small chest; it was an ammunition chest of very 
 powerful make. The small sliding lid was securely pad- 
 locked. This he opened and drew from within several 
 articles of apparel and a small cardboard box. 
 
 Next he divested himself of his own tweed clothes and 
 donned the things he had taken from the box. These con- 
 sisted of a pair of moleskin trousers, a pair of chaps, a 
 buckskin shirt and a battered Stetson hat. From the card- 
 board box he took out a tin of greasy-looking stuff and a long 
 black wig made of horse hair. Stepping to a glass he smeared 
 his face with the grease, covering his own white flesh care- 
 fully right down to the chest and shoulders, also his hands. 
 It was a brownish ocher and turned his skin to the copperish 
 hue of the Indian. The wig was carefully adjusted and 
 secured by sprigs to his own fair hair. This, with the hat 
 well jammed down upon his head, completed the transforma- 
 tion, and out from the looking-glass peered the strong, 
 eagle face of the redoubtable half-breed, Retief. 
 
 He then filled the chest with his own clothes and re- 
 locked it. Suddenly his quick ear caught the sound of 
 some one approaching. He looked at his watch; it wanted 
 two minutes to half-past ten. He waited. 
 
 Presently he heard the rattle of a stick down the feather- 
 edged boarding of the outer walls of the hut. He picked 
 up his revolver belt and secured it about his waist, and 
 
IN WHICH MATTERS REACH A CLIMAX 277 
 
 then, putting out the light, unlocked the back door which 
 opened out of his bedroom. 
 
 A horse was standing outside, and a man held the bridle 
 reins looped upon his arm. 
 
 "That you, Baptiste?" 
 
 " Yup." 
 
 " Good, you are punctual." 
 
 " It's as well." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "I go to join the boys," the half-breed said slowly. 
 "And you?" 
 
 "I oh, I go to settle a last account with Lablache," 
 replied Bill, with a mirthless laugh. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 Bill looked sharply at the man. He understood the 
 native distrust of the Breed. Then he nodded vaguely in 
 the direction of the Foss River Ranch. 
 
 " Yonder. In old John's fifty-acre pasture. Lablache 
 and John meet at the tool-shed there to-night. Why?" 
 
 " And you go not to the fire? " Baptiste's voice had a 
 surprised ring in it. 
 
 " Not until later. I must be at the meeting soon after 
 eleven." 
 
 The half-breed was silent for a minute. He seemed to 
 be calculating. At length he spoke. His words conveyed 
 resolve. 
 
 " It is good. Guess you may need assistance. I'll be 
 there and some of the boys. We ain't goin' ter interfere 
 if things goes smooth." 
 
 Bill shrugged. 
 
 " You need not come." 
 
 "No? Nuthin' more?" 
 
 " Nothing. Keep the boys steady. Don't burn the 
 clerks in the store." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " S'long." 
 
 " S'long." 
 
278 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " Lord " Bill vaulted into the saddle, and Golden Eagle 
 moved restively away. 
 
 It was as well that Foss River was a sleepy place. 
 " Lord " Bill's precautions were not elaborate. But then he 
 knew the ways of the settlement. 
 
 Dr. Abbot chanced to be standing in the doorway of the 
 saloon. Bill's shack was little more than a hundred yards 
 away. The doctor was about to step across to see if he 
 were in, for the purpose of luring his friend into a game. 
 Poker was not so plentiful with the doctor now since Bill 
 had dropped out of Lablache's set. 
 
 He saw the dim outline of a horseman moving away from 
 the back of " Lord " Bill's hut. His curiosity was aroused. 
 He hastened across to the shack. He found it locked up, 
 and in darkness. He turned away wondering. And as he 
 turned away he found himself almost face to face with Bap- 
 tiste. The doctor knew the man. 
 
 "Evening, Baptiste." 
 
 " Evening," the man growled. 
 
 The doctor was about to speak again but the man hurried 
 away. 
 
 " Damned funny," the medical . man muttered. Then he 
 moved off towards his own home. Somehow he had for- 
 gotten his wish for poker. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE LAST GAMBLE 
 
 THE fifty-acre pasture was situated nearly a quarter of a 
 mile away to the left of John Allandale's house. Then, too, 
 the whole length of it must be crossed before the implement 
 shed be reached. This would add another half a mile to 
 the distance, for the field was long and narrow, skirting as 
 it did the hay slough which provided the ranch with hay. 
 The pasture was on the sloping side of the slough, and on 
 the top of the ridge stretched a natural fence of pines nearly 
 two miles in extent. 
 
 The shed was erected for the accommodation of mowers, 
 horse-rakes, and the necessary appurtenances for haying. 
 At one end, as Lablache had said, was a living-room. It 
 was called so by courtesy. It was little better than the 
 rest of the building, except that there was a crazy door to 
 it also a window; a rusty iron stove, small, and when a 
 fire burned in it fierce, was crowded into a corner. Now, 
 however, the stove was dismantled, and lengths of stove 
 pipe were littered about the floor around it. A rough bed, 
 supported on trestles, and innocent of bedding, filled one 
 end of this abode; a table made of packing cases, and two 
 chairs of the Windsor type, one fairly sound and the other 
 minus a back, completed the total of rude furniture neces- 
 sary for a " hired man's " requirements. 
 
 A living-room, the money-lender had said, therefore we 
 must accept his statement. 
 
 A reddish, yellow light from a dingy oil lamp glowed 
 sullenly, and added to the cheerlessness of the apartment. 
 At intervals black smoke belched from the chimney top of 
 the lamp in response to the draughts which blew through 
 
 279 
 
280 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 the sieve-like boarding of the shed. One must feel sorry 
 for the hired man whose lot is cast in such cheerless 
 quarters. 
 
 It was past eleven. Lablache and John Allandale were 
 seated at the table. The lurid light did not improve the ex- 
 pression of their faces. 
 
 " Poker " John was eager keenly eager now that Jacky 
 had urged him to the game. Moreover, he was sober 
 sober as the proverbial " judge." Also he was suspicious 
 of his opponent Jacky had warned him. He looked very 
 old as he sat at that table. His senility appeared in every 
 line of his face; in every movement of his shaking hands; 
 in every glance of his bleared eyes. 
 
 Lablache, also, was changed slightly, but it was not in 
 the direction of age; he showed signs of elation, triumph. 
 He felt that he was about to accomplish the object which 
 had long been his, and, at the same time, outwit the half- 
 breed who had so lately come into his life, with such disas- 
 trous results to his, the money-lender's, peaceful enjoyment 
 of his ill-gotten wealth. 
 
 Lablache turned his lashless eyes in the direction of the 
 window. It was a square aperture of about two feet in extent. 
 
 " We are not likely to be interrupted," he said wheezily, 
 " but it never does to chance anything. Shall we cover the 
 window? A light in this room is unusual " 
 
 " Yes, let us cover it." " Poker " John chafed at the de- 
 lay. " No one is likely to come this way, though." 
 
 Lablache looked about for something which would answer 
 his purpose. There was nothing handy. He drew out his 
 great bandanna and tried it. It exactly covered the window. 
 So he secured it. It would serve to darken the light to any 
 one who might chance to be within sight of the shed. He 
 returned to his seat. He bulged over it as he sat down, and 
 its legs creaked ominously. 
 
 " I have brought three packs of cards," he said, laying 
 them upon the table. 
 
 " So have I." 
 
THE LAST GAMBLE 281 
 
 " Poker " John looked directly into the other's bilious 
 eyes. 
 
 "Ah then we have six packs." 
 
 " Yes six." 
 
 "Whose shall we" Lablache began. 
 
 " We'll cut for it. Ace low. Low wins." 
 
 The money-lender smiled at the rancher's eagerness. 
 The two men cut in silence. Lablache cut a "three"; 
 " Poker " John, a " queen." 
 
 "We will use your cards, John." The money-lender's 
 face expressed an unctuous benignity. 
 
 The rancher was surprised, and his tell-tale cheek twitched 
 uncomfortably. 
 
 " For deal," said Lablache, stripping one of John's packs 
 and passing it to his companion. The rancher shuffled and 
 cut Lablache cut. The deal went to the latter. 
 
 " We want something to score on," the money-lender said. 
 "My memorandum pad " 
 
 "We'll have nothing on the table, please." John had 
 been warned. 
 
 Lablache shrugged and smiled. He seemed to imply 
 that the precaution was unnecessary. " Poker " John was 
 in desperate earnest. 
 
 "A piece of chalk on the wall." The rancher pro- 
 duced the chalk and set it on the floor close by the wall 
 and returned to his seat. 
 
 Lablache shuffled clumsily. His fingers seemed too gross 
 to handle cards. And yet he could shuffle well, and his 
 fingers were, in reality, most sensitive. John Allandale 
 looked on eagerly. The money-lender, contrary to his 
 custom, dealt swiftly so swiftly that the bleared eyes of 
 his opponent could not follow his movements. 
 
 Both men picked up their cards. The old instincts of 
 poker were not so pronounced in the rancher as they used 
 to be. Doubtless the game he was now playing did not 
 need such mask-like impassivity of expression as an ordinary 
 game would. After all, the pot opened, it merely became 
 
282 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 a question of who held the best hand. There would be no 
 betting. John's eyes lighted up as he glanced at the index 
 numerals. He held two " Jacks." 
 
 " Can you? " Lablache's husky voice rasped in the still- 
 ness. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The dealer eyed his opponent for a second. His face 
 was that of a graven image. 
 
 "How many?" 
 
 " Three." 
 
 The money-lender passed three cards across the table. 
 Then he discarded two cards from his own hand and drew 
 two more. 
 
 " What have you got? " he asked, with a grim pursing of 
 his sagging lips. 
 
 " Two pairs. Jacks up." 
 
 Lablache laid his own cards on the table, spreading them 
 out face upwards for the rancher to see. He held three 
 " twos." 
 
 " One to you," said John Allandale; and he went and 
 chalked the score upon the wall. 
 
 There was something very businesslike about these two 
 men when they played cards. And possibly it was only 
 natural. The quiet way in which they played implied the 
 deadly earnestness of their game. Their surroundings, too, 
 were impressive when associated with the secrecy of their 
 doings. 
 
 Each man meant to win, and in both were all the baser 
 passions fully aroused. Neither would spare the other, 
 each would do his utmost. Lablache was sure. John was 
 consumed with a deadly nervousness. But John Allandale 
 at cards was the soul of honor. Lablache was confident 
 in his superior manipulation not play of cards. He 
 knew that, bar accidents, he must win. The mystery of 
 being able to deal himself " three of a kind " and even 
 better was no mystery to him. He preferred his usual 
 method the method of "reflection," as he called it; but 
 
THE LAST GAMBLE 283 
 
 in the game he was now playing such a method would be 
 useless for obvious reasons. First of all, knowing his op- 
 ponent's cards would only be of advantage where betting 
 was to ensue. Now he needed the clumsier, if more sure, 
 method of dealing himself a hand. And he did not hesitate 
 to adopt it. 
 
 "Poker" John dealt. The pot was not opened. 
 Lablache again dealt. Still the hand passed without the 
 pot being opened. The next time John dealt Lablache 
 opened the pot and was promptly beaten. He drew to two 
 queens and missed. John drew to a pair of sevens and got 
 a third. The game was one all. After this Lablache won 
 three pots in succession and the game stood four one, 
 in favor of the money-lender. 
 
 The old rancher's face more than indicated the state of 
 the game. His features were gray and drawn. Already 
 he saw his girl married to the man opposite to him. For 
 an instant his weakness led him to think of refusing to play 
 further to defy Lablache and bid him do his worst. Then 
 he remembered that the girl herself had insisted that he 
 must see the game through besides, he might yet win. 
 He forced his thoughts to the coming hand. He was to 
 deal. 
 
 The deal, as far as he was concerned, was successful. 
 His spirits rose. 
 
 Four two. 
 
 Lablache took up the cards to deal. John was watching 
 as though his life depended upon what he saw. Lablache's 
 clumsy shuffle annoyed him. The lashless eyes of the 
 money-lender were bent upon the cards, but he had no 
 difficulty in observing the old man's attention. This un- 
 usual attention he set down to a natural excitement. He 
 had not the smallest idea that the old man suspected him. 
 He passed the cards to be cut. The rancher cut them care- 
 lessly. He had a natural cut. The pack was nearly 
 halved. Lablache had prepared for this. 
 
 The hand was dealt, and the money-lender won with 
 
234 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 three aces, all of which he had drawn in a five-card draw. 
 He had discarded a pair of nines to make the heavy draw. 
 It was clumsy, but he had been forced to it. The position 
 of the aces in the pack he had known, and well, he meant 
 to win. 
 
 Five two. 
 
 The clumsiness of that deal was too palpable. Old John 
 suspected, but held his tongue. His anger rose, and the 
 drawn face flushed with the suddenness of lightning. He 
 was in a dangerous mood. Lablache saw the flush, and a 
 sudden fear gripped his heart. He passed the cards to the 
 other, and then, involuntarily, his hand dropped into the 
 right-hand pocket of his coat. It came in contact with his 
 revolver and stayed there. 
 
 The next hand passed without the pot being opened 
 and the next. Lablache was a little cautious. The next 
 deal resulted in favor of the rancher. 
 
 Five three. 
 
 Lablache again took the cards. This time he meant to 
 get his hand in the deal. At that moment the money- 
 lender would have given a cool thousand had a bottle of 
 whisky been on the table. He had not calculated on John 
 being sober. He shuffled deliberately and offered the pack 
 to be cut. John cut in the same careless manner, but this 
 time he did it purposely. Lablache picked up the bottom 
 half of the cut. There was a terrible silence in the room, 
 and a deadly purpose was expressed in " Poker " John's 
 eyes. \ 
 
 The money-lender began to deal. In an instant John 
 was on his feet and lurched across the table. His hand fell 
 upon the first card which Lablache had dealt to himself. 
 
 " The ace of clubs," shouted the rancher, his eyes blazing 
 and his body fairly shaking with fury. He turned the 
 card over. It was the ace of clubs. 
 
 "Cheat!" he shouted. 
 
 He had seen the card at the bottom of the pack as the 
 other had ceased to shuffle. 
 
THE LAST GAMBLE 235 
 
 There was an instant's thrilling pause. Then Lablache's 
 hand flew to his pocket. He had heard the click of a cock- 
 ing revolver. 
 
 For the moment the rancher's old spirit rose superior to 
 his senile debility. 
 
 " God in heaven ! And this is how you've robbed me, 
 you you bastard ! " 
 
 " Poker " John's seared face was at that moment the face 
 of a maniac. He literally hurled his fury at the money- 
 lender, who was now standing confronting him. 
 
 " It is the last time, if if I swing for it. Prairie law 
 you need, and, Hell take you, you shall have it ! " 
 
 He swung himself half round. Simultaneously two re- 
 ports rang out. They seemed to meet in one deafening peal, 
 which was exaggerated by the smallness of the room. Then 
 all was silence. 
 
 Lablache stood unmoved, his yellow eyeballs gleaming 
 wickedly. For a second John Allandale swayed while his 
 face assumed a ghastly hue. Then in deathly silence he 
 slowly crumpled up, as it were. No sound passed his lips 
 and he sank in a heap upon the floor. His still smoking 
 pistol dropped beside him from his nerveless fingers. 
 
 The rancher had intended to kill Lablache, but the subtle 
 money-lender had been too quick. The lashless eyes watched 
 the deathly fall of the old man. There was no expression 
 in them but that of vengeful coldness. He was accustomed 
 to the unwritten laws of the prairie. He knew that he had 
 saved his life by a hair's-breadth. His right hand was 
 still in his coat pocket. He had fired through the cloth of 
 the coat. 
 
 Some seconds passed. Still Lablache did not move. 
 There was no remorse in his heart only annoyance. He 
 was thinking with the coolness of a callous nerve. He was 
 swiftly calculating the effect of the catastrophe as regarded 
 himself. It was the worst thing that could have happened 
 to him. Shooting was held lightly on the prairie, he knew, 
 but Then he slowly drew his pistol from his pocket 
 
286 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 and looked thoughtfully at it. His caution warned him of 
 something. He withdrew the empty cartridge case and 
 cleaned out the barrel. Then he put a fresh cartridge in 
 the chamber and returned the pistol to his pocket. He was 
 very deliberate, and displayed no emotion. His asthmatical 
 breathing, perhaps, might have been more pronounced than 
 usual. Then he gathered up the cards from floor and table, 
 and wiped out the score upon the wall. He put the cards 
 in his pocket. After that he stirred the body of his old 
 companion with his foot. There was no sound from the 
 prostrate rancher. Then the money-lender gently lowered 
 himself to his knees and placed his hand over his victim's 
 heart. It was still. John Allandale was dead. 
 
 It was now for the first time that Lablache gave any sign 
 of emotion. It was not the emotion of sorrow merely 
 fear susperstitious fear. As he realized that the other 
 was dead his head suddenly turned. It was an involuntary 
 movement. And his fishy eyes gazed fearfully behind him. 
 It was his first realization of guilt. The brand of Cain 
 must inevitably carry with it a sense of horror to him who 
 falls beneath its ban. He was a murderer and he knew 
 it. 
 
 Now his movements became less deliberate. He felt that 
 he must get away from that horrid sight. He rose swiftly, 
 with a display of that agility which the unfortunate Horrocks 
 had seen. He glanced about the room and took his bearings. 
 He strode to the lamp and put it out. Then he groped his 
 way to the window and took down his bandanna; stealthily, 
 and with a certain horror, he felt his way in the darkness 
 to the door. He opened it and passed out. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 SETTLING THE RECKONING 
 
 JACZY stood at the gate of the fifty-acre pasture. She had 
 been standing there for some minutes. The night was quite 
 dark; there was no moon. Her horse, Nigger, was stand- 
 ing hitched to one of the fence posts a few yards away from 
 her and inside the pasture. The girl was waiting for 
 "Lord" Bill. 
 
 Not a sound broke the stillness of the night as she stood 
 listening. A wonderful calmness was over all. From her 
 position Jacky had seen the light shining through the win- 
 dow of the implement shed. Now the shed was quite dark 
 the window had been covered. She knew that her uncle 
 and Lablache were there. She was growing impatient. 
 
 Every now and then she would turn her face from the 
 contemplation of the blackness of the distant end of the field 
 to the direction of the settlement, her ears straining to catch 
 the sound of her dilatory lover's coming. The minutes 
 passed all too swiftly. And her impatience grew and found 
 vent in irritable movements and sighs of vexation. 
 
 Suddenly her ears caught the sound of distant cries com- 
 ing from the settlement. She turned in the direction. A 
 lurid gleam was in the sky. Then, as she watched, the 
 glare grew brighter, and sparks shot up in a great wreathing 
 cloud of smoke. The direction was unmistakable. She 
 knew that Lablache's store had been fired. 
 
 " Good," she murmured, with a sigh of relief. " I guess 
 Bill'll come right along now. I wish he'd come. They've 
 been in that shack ten minutes or more. Why don't he 
 come? " 
 
 The glare of the fire fascinated her, and her eyes re- 
 mained glued in the direction of it. The reflection in the 
 
 287 
 
288 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 sky was widespread and she knew that the great building 
 must be gutted, for there was no means of putting the fire 
 out. Then her thoughts turned to Lablache, and she smiled 
 as she thought of the surprise awaiting him. The sky in 
 the distance grew brighter. She could only see the lurid 
 reflection; a rising ground intervened between her and the 
 settlement. 
 
 Suddenly against the very heart of the glare the figure of 
 a horseman coming towards her was silhouetted as he rode 
 over the rising ground. One glance sufficed the girl. That 
 tall, thin figure was unmistakable her lover was hastening 
 towards her. She turned to her horse and unhitched the 
 reins from the fence post. 
 
 Presently Bill came up and dismounted. He led Golden 
 Eagle through the gate. The greeting was an almost silent 
 one between these two. Doubtless their thoughts carried 
 them beyond mere greetings. They stood for a second. 
 
 " Shall we ride? " said Jacky, inclining her head in the 
 direction of the shed. 
 
 "No, we will walk. How long have they been there? " 
 
 " A quarter of an hour, I guess." 
 
 " Come along, then." 
 
 They walked down the pasture leading their two horses. 
 
 " I see no light," said Bill, looking straight ahead of 
 him. 
 
 " It is covered the window, I mean. What are you 
 going to do, Bill?" 
 
 The man laughed. 
 
 "Lots but I shall be guided by circumstances. You 
 must remain outside, Jacky; you can see to the horses." 
 
 " P'r'aps." 
 
 The man turned sharply. 
 
 "PVaps?" 
 
 " Yes, one never knows. I guess it's no use fixing things 
 when guided by circumstances." 
 
 They relapsed into silence and walked steadily on. Half 
 the distance was covered when Jacky halted. 
 
SETTLING THE RECKONING 289 
 
 "Will Golden Eagle stand ' knee-haltering,' Bill?" 
 
 "Yes, why?" 
 
 "We'll ' knee-halter ' 'em." 
 
 Bill stood irresolute. 
 
 " It'll be better, I guess," the girl pursued. " We'll be 
 freer." 
 
 " All right," replied Bill. " But," after a pause, " I'd 
 rather you didn't come further, little woman there may 
 be shooting " 
 
 "That's so. I like shootin'. What's that?" 
 
 The girl had secured her horse, Bill was in the act of 
 securing his. Jacky raised her hand in an attitude of at- 
 tention and turned her face to windward. Bill stood erect 
 and listened. 
 
 "Ah! it's the boys. Baptiste said they would come." 
 
 There was a faint rustling of grass near by. Jacky's 
 keen ears had detected the stealing sound at once. To 
 others it might have passed for the effect of the night breeze. 
 
 They listened for a few seconds longer, then Bill turned 
 to the girl. 
 
 " Come the horses are safe. The boys will not show 
 themselves. I fancy they are here to watch only me." 
 
 They continued on towards the shed. They were both 
 wrapt in silent thought. Neither was prepared for what 
 was to come. They were still nearly a quarter of a mile 
 from the building. Its outline was dimly discernible in 
 the darkness. And, too, now the light from the oil lamp 
 could be seen dimly shining through the red bandanna which 
 was stretched over the window. 
 
 Now the sound of " Poker " John's voice raised in anger 
 reached them. They stood still with one accord. It was 
 astonishing how the voice traveled all that distance. He 
 must be shouting. A sudden fear gripped their hearts. 
 Bill was the first to move. With a whispered " Wait here," 
 he ran forward. For an instant Jacky waited, then, on a 
 sudden impulse, she followed her lover. 
 
 The girl had just started. Suddenly the sharp report of 
 
290 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 firearms split the air. She came up with Bill, who had 
 paused at the sound. 
 
 " Hustle, Bill. It's murder," the girl panted. 
 
 " Yes," and he ran forward with set face and gleaming 
 eyes. 
 
 Murder and who was the victim? Bill wondered, and 
 his heart misgave him. There was no longer any sound of 
 voices. The rancher had been silenced. He thought of 
 the girl behind him. Then his whole mind suddenly cen- 
 tered itself upon Lablache. If he had killed the rancher no 
 mercy should be shown to him. 
 
 Bill was rapidly nearing the building, and it was wrapped 
 in an ominous silence. 
 
 For a second he again came to a stand. He wanted to 
 make sure. He could hear Jacky's speeding footfalls from 
 behind. And he could hear the stealthy movements of those 
 others. These were the only sounds that reached him. He 
 went on again. He came to the building. The window 
 was directly in front of him. He tried to look into the 
 room but the handkerchief effectually hid the interior. Sud- 
 denly the light went out. He knew what this meant. Turn- 
 ing away from the window he crept towards the door. 
 Jacky had come up. He motioned her into the shadow. 
 Then he waited. 
 
 The door opened and a great figure came out. It was 
 Lablache. Even in the darkness Bill recognized him. His 
 heavy, asthmatical breathing must have betrayed the money- 
 lender if there had been no other means of identification. 
 
 Lablache stepped out on to the prairie utterly unconscious 
 of the figures crouching in the darkness. He stepped heavily 
 forward. Four steps that was all. A silent spring an 
 iron grip round the money-lender's throat, from behind. A 
 short, sharp struggle a great gasping for breath. Then 
 Lablache reeled backwards and fell to the ground with Bill 
 hanging to his throat like some tiger. In the fall the money- 
 lender's pistol went off. There was a sharp report, and 
 the bullet tore up the ground. But no harm was done. 
 
SETTLING THE RECKONING 291 
 
 Bill held on. Then came the swish of a skirt. Jacky was 
 at her lover's side. She dragged the money-lender's pistol 
 from his pocket. Then Bill let go his hold and stood pant- 
 ing over the prostrate man. The whole thing was done in 
 silence. No word was spoken. 
 
 Lablache sucked in a deep whistling breath. His eyes 
 rolled and he struggled into a sitting posture. He was 
 gazing into the muzzle of Bill's pistol. 
 
 " Get up! " The stern voice was unlike Bill's, but there 
 was nothing of the twang of Retief about it 
 
 The money-lender stared, but did not move neither did 
 he speak. Jacky had darted into the hut. She had gone 
 to light the lamp and learn the truth. 
 
 "Get up!" The chilling command forced the money- 
 lender to rise. He saw before him the tall, thin figure of 
 his assailant. 
 
 " Retief! " he gasped, and then stood speechless. 
 
 Now the re-lighted lamp glowed through the doorway. 
 Bill pointed towards the door. 
 
 " Go inside ! " The relentless pistol was at Lablache's 
 head. 
 
 "No no! Not inside." The words whistled on a 
 gasping breath. 
 
 "Go inside!" 
 
 Cowed and fearful, Lablache obeyed the mandate. 
 
 Bill followed the money-lender into the miserable room. 
 His keen eyes took in the scene in one swift glance. He 
 saw Jacky kneeling beside the prostrate form of her uncle. 
 She was not weeping. Her beautiful face was stonily calm. 
 She was just looking down at that still form, that drawn 
 gray face, the staring eyes and dropped jaw. Bill saw and 
 understood. Lablache might expect no mercy. 
 
 The murderer himself was now looking in the direction 
 of but not at the body of his victim. He was gazing 
 with eyes which expressed horrified amazement at the sight 
 of the crouching figure of Jacky Allandale. He was trying 
 to fathom the meaning of her association with Retief. 
 
292 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Bill closed the door. Now he came forward towards the 
 table, always keeping Lablache in front of him. 
 
 "Is he dead?" Bill's voice was solemn. 
 
 Jacky looked up. There was a look as of stone in her 
 somber eyes. 
 
 "He is dead dead." 
 
 " Ah ! For the moment we will leave the dead. Come, 
 let us deal with the living. It is time for a final reckoning." 
 
 There was a deadly chill in the tone of Bill's voice a 
 chill which was infinitely more dreadful to Lablache's ears 
 than could any passionate outburst have been. 
 
 The door opened gently. No one noticed it, so absorbed 
 were they in the ghastly matter before them. Wider the 
 door swung and several dusky faces appeared in the open- 
 ing. 
 
 The money-lender stood motionless. His gaze ignored 
 the dead. He watched the living. He wondered what 
 " Lord " Bill's preamble portended. He shook himself like 
 one rousing from some dreadful nightmare. He summoned 
 his courage and tried to face the consequences of his act 
 with an outward calm. Struggle as he might a deadly fear 
 was ever present. 
 
 It was not the actual fear of death it was the moral 
 dread of something intangible. He feared at that moment 
 not that which was to come. It was the presence of the 
 dusky-visaged raider and the girl. He feared mostly the 
 icy look on Jacky's face. However, his mind was quite 
 clear. He was watching for a loophole of escape. And he 
 lost no detail of the scene before him. 
 
 A matter which puzzled him greatly was the familiar 
 voice of the raider. Retief, as he knew him, spoke with a 
 pronounced accent, but now he only heard the ordinary 
 tones of an Englishman. 
 
 Bill had purposely abandoned his exaggerated Western 
 drawl. Now he removed the scarf from his neck and pro- 
 ceeded to wipe the yellow grease from his face and neck. 
 Lablache, with dismay in his heart, saw the white skin which 
 
SETTLING THE RECKONING 293 
 
 had been concealed beneath the paint. The truth flashed 
 upon him instantly. And before Bill had had time to re- 
 move his wig his name had passed the money-lender's lips. 
 
 " Bunning-Ford ? " he gasped. And in that expression 
 was a world of moral fear. 
 
 " Yes, Bunning-Ford, come to settle his last reckoning 
 with you." 
 
 Bill eyed the murderer steadily and Lablache felt his last 
 grip on his courage relax. A terrible fear crept upon him 
 as his courage ebbed. Slowly Bill turned his eyes in the 
 direction of the still kneeling Jacky. The girl's eyes met 
 his, and, in response to some mute understanding which 
 passed between them, she rose to her feet. 
 
 Bill did not speak. He merely looked at his pistol. 
 Jacky spoke as if answering some remark of his. 
 
 " Yes, this is my affair." 
 
 Then she turned upon the money-lender. There was no 
 wrath in her face, no anger in her tones; only that horrid, 
 stony purpose which Lablache dreaded. He wished she 
 would hurl invective at him. He felt that it would have 
 been better so. 
 
 " The death which you have dealt to that poor old man 
 is too good for you murderer," she said, her deep, somber 
 eyes seeming to pass through and through the mountain of 
 flesh she was addressing. " I take small comfort in the 
 thought that he had no time to suffer bodily pain. You 
 will suffer later." Bill gazed at her wonderingly. 
 "Liar! cheat! you pollute the earth. You thought to 
 cozen that poor, harmless old man out of his property out 
 of me. You thought to ruin him as you have ruined others. 
 Your efforts will avail you nothing. From the moment Bill 
 discovered the use of your memorandum pad " Lablache 
 started " your fate was sealed. We swore to confiscate 
 your property. For every dollar you took from us you should 
 pay ten. But now the matter is different. There is a 
 justice on the prairie a rough, honest, uncorruptible jus- 
 tice. And that justice demands your life. You shall 
 
294 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 scourge Foss River no longer. You have murdered. You 
 shall die!" 
 
 Jacky was about to go further with her inexorable de- 
 nunciation when the door of the shed was flung wide, and 
 eight Breeds, headed by Gautier and Baptiste, came in. 
 They came in almost noiselessly, their moccasined feet giv- 
 ing out scarcely any sound upon the floor of the room. 
 
 " Lord " Bill turned, startled at the sudden apparition. 
 Jacky hesitated. Here was a contingency which none had 
 reckoned upon. One glance at those dark, cruel faces 
 warned all three that these prairie outcasts had been silent 
 witnesses of everything that had taken place. It was a 
 supreme moment, and the deadly pallor which had assumed 
 a leadenish hue on Lablache's face told of one who appre- 
 ciated the horror of that silent coming. 
 
 Baptiste stepped over to where Jacky stood. He looked 
 at her, and then his gaze passed to the dead man upon the 
 floor. His beady, black eyes turned fiercely upon the 
 cowering money-lender. 
 
 " Ow! " he grunted. And his tone was the fierce expres- 
 sion of an Indian roused to homicidal purpose. 
 
 Then he turned back to Jacky, and the look on his face 
 changed to one of sympathy and even love. 
 
 " Not you, missie and the white man no. The 
 prairie is the land of the Breed and his forefathers the 
 Red Man. Guess the law of the prairie'll come best from 
 such as he. You are one of us," he went on, surveying the 
 girl's beautiful face in open admiration. " You've allus 
 been mostly one of us but I take it y'are too white. No, 
 guess you ain't goin' ter muck yer pretty hands wi' the filthy 
 blood of yonder," pointing to Lablache. " These things is 
 fur the likes o' us. Jest leave this skunk to us. Death is 
 the sentence, and death he's goin* ter git an* it'll be some- 
 thin' ter remember by all who behold. An' the story shall 
 go down to our children. This poor dead thing was our 
 best f rien' an' he's dead murdered. So, this is a mat- 
 ter for the Breed." 
 
SETTLING THE RECKONING 295 
 
 Then the half-breed turned away. Seeing the chalk upon 
 the floor he stooped and picked it up. 
 
 " Let's have the formalities. It is but just " 
 
 Bill suddenly interrupted. He was angry at the inter- 
 ference of Baptiste. 
 
 "Hold on!" 
 
 Baptiste swung round. The white man got no further. 
 The Breed broke in upon him with animal ferocity. 
 
 "Who says hold on? Peace, white man, peace! This 
 is for us. Dare to stop us, an* " 
 
 Jacky sprang between her lover and the ferocious half- 
 breed. 
 
 " Bill, leave well alone," she said. And she held up a 
 warning finger. 
 
 She knew these men, of a race to which she, in part, 
 belonged. As well baulk a tiger of its prey. She knew 
 that if Bill interfered his life would pay the forfeit. The 
 sanguinary lust of these human devils once aroused, they 
 cared little how it be satisfied. 
 
 Bill turned away with a shrug, and he was startled to see 
 that he had been noiselessly surrounded by the rest of the 
 half-breeds. Had Jacky's command needed support, it 
 would have found it in this ominous movement. 
 
 Fate had decreed that the final act in the Foss River 
 drama should come from another source than the avenging 
 hands of those who had sealed their compact in Bad Man's 
 Hollow. 
 
 Baptiste turned away from " Lord " Bill, and, at a sign 
 from him, Lablache was brought round to the other side of 
 the table to where the dead rancher was lying. Baptiste 
 handed him the chalk and then pointed to the wall, on which 
 had been written the score of old John's last gamble. 
 
 "Write! " he said, turning back to his prisoner. 
 
 Lablache gazed fearfully around. He essayed to speak, 
 but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. 
 
 " Write while I tell you." The Breed still pointed to 
 the wall. 
 
296 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 Lablache held out the chalk. 
 
 " I kill John Allandale," dictated Baptiste. 
 
 Lablache wrote. 
 
 "Now, sign. So." 
 
 Lablache signed. Jacky and Bill stood looking on silent 
 and wondering. 
 
 " Now," said Baptiste, with all the solemnity of a court 
 official, "the execution shall take place. Lead him out! " 
 
 At this instant Jacky laid her hand upon the half -breed's 
 arm. 
 
 " What what is it? " she asked. And from her expres- 
 sion something of the stony calmness had gone, leaving in 
 its place a look of wondering not untouched with horror. 
 
 "The Devil's Keg!" 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE MAW OF THE MUSKEG 
 
 DOWN the sloping shore to the level of the great keg, the 
 party of Breeds and in their midst the doomed money- 
 lender made their way. Jacky and " Lord " Bill, on 
 their horses, brought up the rear. 
 
 The silent cortege moved slowly on, out on to the oozing 
 path across the mire. Lablache was now beyond human 
 aid. 
 
 The right and wrong of their determination troubled the 
 Breeds not one whit. But it was different with the two 
 white people. What thoughts Bill had upon the matter he 
 kept to himself. He certainly felt that he ought to inter- 
 fere, but he knew how worse than useless his interference 
 would be. Besides, the man should die. The law of 
 Judge Lynch was the only law for such as he. Let that 
 law take its course. Bill would have preferred the stout 
 tree and a raw-hide lariat. But and he shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 Jacky felt more deeply upon the subject. She saw the 
 horror in all its truest lights, and yet she had flouted her 
 lover's suggestion that she should not witness the end. Bad 
 and all as Lablache was cruel as was his nature, mur- 
 derer though he be, surely no crime, however heinous, could 
 deserve the fate to which he was going. She had remon- 
 strated urged Baptiste to forego his wanton cruelty, to 
 deal out justice tempered with a mercy which should hurl 
 the money-lender to oblivion without suffering with scarce 
 time to realize the happening. Her efforts were unavailing. 
 As well try to turn an ape from its mischief a man- 
 eater from its mania for human blood. The inherent love 
 
 297 
 
298 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 of cruelty had been too long fostered in these Breeds of Foss 
 River. Lablache had too long swayed their destinies with 
 his ruthless hand of extortion. All the pent-up hatred, 
 stored in the back cells of memory, was now let loose. For 
 all these years in Foss River they had been forced to look 
 to Lablache as the ruler of their destinies. Was he not the 
 great the wealthy man of the place? When he held up 
 his finger they must work and his wage was the wage of 
 a dog. When money was scarce among them, would he not 
 drive them starving from his great store? When their chil- 
 dren and women were sick, would he not refuse them drugs 
 food nourishment of any sort, unless the money was 
 down? They had not even the privilege of men who owned 
 land. There was no credit for the Breeds outcasts. 
 Baptiste and his fellows remembered all these things. Their 
 time had come. They would pay Lablache and their 
 score of interest should be heavy. 
 
 On their way from the shed to the muskeg Lablache had 
 seen the reflection of the fire at his store in the sky. Gautier 
 had taken devilish satisfaction in telling the wretched man 
 of what had been done mouthing the details in the manner 
 of one who finds joy in cruelty. He remembered past in- 
 juries, and reveled in the money-lender's agony. 
 
 After a toilsome journey the Breeds halted at the point 
 where the path divided into three. Jacky and Bill sat on 
 their horses and watched the scene. Then, slowly, some- 
 thing of Baptiste's intention was borne in upon them. 
 
 Jacky reached out and touched her lover's arm. 
 
 " Bill, what are they going to do? " 
 
 She asked the question. But the answer was already with 
 her. Her companion remained silent. She did not repeat 
 her question. 
 
 Then she heard Baptiste's raucous tones as he issued his 
 commands. 
 
 "Loose his hands!" 
 
 Jacky watched Lablache's face in the dim starlight. It 
 was ghastly. The whole figure of the man seemed to have 
 
THE MAW OF THE MUSKEG 299 
 
 shrunk. The wretched man stood free, and yet more surely 
 a prisoner than any criminal in a condemned cell. 
 
 The uncertain light of the stars showed only the dark ex- 
 panse of the mire upon all sides. In the distance, ahead, 
 the mountains were vaguely outlined against the sky; be- 
 hind and around, nothing but that awful death-trap. Jacky 
 had lived all her life beside the muskeg, but never, until that 
 moment, had she realized the awful terror of its presence. 
 
 Now Baptiste again commanded. 
 
 " Prepare for death." 
 
 It seemed to the listening girl that a devilish tone of 
 exultation rang in his words. She roused herself from her 
 fascinated attention. She was about to urge her horse for- 
 ward. But a thin, powerful hand reached out and gripped 
 her by the arm. It was " Lord " Bill. His hoarse whisper 
 sung in her ears. 
 
 " Your own words Leave well alone." 
 
 And she allowed her horse to stand. 
 
 Now she leaned forward in her saddle and rested her 
 elbows upon the horn in front of her. Again she heard 
 Baptiste speak. He seemed to be in sole command. 
 
 " We'll give yer a chance fur yer life " 
 
 Again the fiendish laugh underlaid the words. 
 
 " It's a chance of a dog a yellow dog," he pursued. 
 Jacky shuddered. " But such a chance is too good fur yer 
 likes. Look look, those hills. See the three tall peaks 
 yes, those three, taller than the rest. One straight in 
 front; one to the right, an' one away to the left. Guess this 
 path divides right hyar in three, an' each path heads for 
 one of those peaks. Say, jest one trail crosses the keg 
 one. Savee? The others end sudden, and then the keg." 
 
 The full horror of the man's meaning now became plain 
 to the girl. She heaved a great gasp, and turned to Bill. 
 Her lover signed a warning. She turned again to the scene 
 before her. 
 
 "Now, see hyar, you scum," Baptiste went on. "This 
 is yer chance. Choose yer path and foller it. Guess yer 
 
300 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 can't see it no more than yer ken see this one we're on, 
 but you've got the lay of it. Guess you'll travel the path 
 yer choose to the end. If yer don't move an' move 
 mighty slippy you'll be dumped headlong into the muck. 
 Ef yer git on to the right path an' cross the keg safe, yer 
 ken sling off wi' a whole skin. Guess you'll fin' it a ticklish 
 job mebbe you'll git through. But I've a notion yer 
 won't. Now, take yer dog's chance, an' remember, its death 
 if yer don't, anyway." 
 
 The man ceased speaking. Jacky saw Lablache shake 
 his great head. Then something made him look at the 
 mountains beyond. There were the three dimly-outlined 
 peaks. They were clear enough to guide him. Jacky, 
 watching, saw the expression of his face change. It was as 
 though a flicker of hope had risen within him. Then she 
 saw him turn and eye Baptiste. He seemed to read in that 
 cruel, dark face a vengeful purpose. He seemed to scent a 
 trick. Presently he turned again to the hills. 
 
 How plainly the watching girl read the varying emotions 
 which beset him. He was trying to face this chance calmly, 
 but the dark expanse of the surrounding mire wrung his 
 heart with terror. He could not choose, and yet he knew 
 he must do so or 
 
 Baptiste spoke again. 
 
 "Choose!" 
 
 Lablache again bent his eyes upon the hills. But his 
 lashless lids would flicker, and his vision became impaired. 
 He turned to the Breed with an imploring gesture. Baptiste 
 made no movement. His relentless expression remained un- 
 changed. The wretched man turned away to the rest of the 
 Breeds. 
 
 A pistol was leveled at his head and he turned back to 
 Baptiste. The only comfort he obtained was a monosyllabic 
 command. 
 
 "Choose!" 
 
 " God, man, I can't." Lablache gasped out the words 
 which seemed literally to be wrung from him. 
 
THE MAW OF THE MUSKEG 301 
 
 " Choose! " The inexorable tone sent a shudder over the 
 distraught man. Even in the starlight the expression of 
 the villain's face was hideous to behold. 
 
 Baptiste's voice again rang out on the still night air. 
 
 "Move him!" 
 
 A pistol was pushed behind his ear. 
 
 " Do y' hear? " 
 
 " Mercy mercy ! " cried the distraught man. But he 
 made no move. 
 
 There was an instant's pause. Then the loud report of 
 the threatening pistol rang out. It had been fired through 
 the lobe of his ear. 
 
 "Oh, God!" 
 
 The exclamation was forced from Jacky. The torture 
 the horror nearly drove her wild. She lifted her reins as 
 though to ride to the villain's aid. Then something some 
 cruel recollection stayed her. She remembered her uncle 
 and her heart hardened. 
 
 The merciless torture of the Breed was allowed to pass. 
 
 To the wretched victim it seemed that his ear-drum must 
 be split for the shot had left him almost stone deaf. The 
 blood trickled from the wound. He almost leapt forward. 
 Then he stood all of a tremble as he felt the ground shake 
 beneath him. A cold sweat poured down his great face. 
 
 " Choose! " Baptiste followed the terror-stricken man up. 
 
 "No no! Don't shoot! Yes, I'll go only don't 
 shoot." 
 
 The abject cowardice the great man now displayed was 
 almost pitiable. Bill's lip curled in disdain. He had ex- 
 pected that this man would have shown a bold front. 
 
 He had always believed Lablache to be, at least, a man 
 of courage. But he did not allow for the circumstances 
 the surroundings. Lablache on the safe ground of the prairie 
 would have faced disaster very differently. The thought of 
 that sucking mire was too terrible. The oily maw of that 
 death-trap was a thing to strike horror into the bravest 
 heart. 
 
302 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 44 Which path ? " Baptiste spoke, waving his hand in the 
 direction of the mountains. 
 
 Lablache moved cautiously forward, testing the ground 
 with his foot as he went. Then he paused again and eyed 
 the mountains. 
 
 44 The right path," he said at last, in a guttural whisper. 
 
 44 Then start." The words rang out cuttingly upon the 
 night air. 
 
 Lablache fixed his eyes upon the distant peak of the 
 mountain which was to be his guide. He advanced slowly. 
 The Breeds followed, Jacky and Bill bringing up the rear. 
 The ground seemed firm and the money-lender moved 
 heavily forward. His breath came in gasps. He was pant- 
 ing, not with exertion, but with terror. He could not test 
 the ground until his weight was upon it. An outstretched 
 foot pressed on the grassy path told him nothing. He knew 
 that the crust would hold until the weight of his body was 
 upon it. With every successful step his terror increased. 
 What would the next bring forth? 
 
 His agony of mind was awful. 
 
 He covered about ten yards in this way. The sweat 
 poured from him. His clothes stuck to him. He paused 
 for a second and took fresh bearings. He turned his head 
 and looked into the muzzle of Baptiste's revolver. He 
 shuddered and turned again to the mountains. He pressed 
 forward. Still the ground was firm. But this gave him 
 no hope. Suddenly a frightful horror swept over him. It 
 was something fresh; he had not thought of it before. The 
 fact was strange, but it was so. The path had he taken 
 the wrong one? He had made his selection at haphazard 
 and he knew that there was no turning back. Baptiste had 
 said so and he had seen his resolve written in his face. A 
 conviction stole over him that he was on the wrong path. 
 He knew he was. He must be. Of course it was only 
 natural. The center path must be the main one. He stood 
 still. He could have cried out in his mental agony. Again 
 he turned and saw the pistol. 
 
THE MAW OF THE MUSKEG 303 
 
 He put his foot out. The ground trembled at his touch. 
 He drew back with a gurgling cry. He turned and tried 
 another spot. It was firm until his weight rested upon it. 
 Then it shook. He sought to return to the spot he had 
 left. But now he could not be sure. His mind was un- 
 certain. Suddenly he gave a jump. He felt the ground 
 solid beneath him as he alighted. His face was streaming. 
 He passed his hand across it in a dazed way. His terror 
 increased a hundredfold. Now he endeavored to take his 
 bearings afresh. He looked out at the three mountains. 
 The right one yes, that was it. The right one. He saw 
 the peak, and made another step forward. The path held. 
 Another step and his foot went through. He drew back 
 with a cry. He tripped and fell heavily. The ground 
 shook under him and he lay still, moaning. 
 
 Baptiste's voice roused him and urged him on. 
 
 " Git on, you skunk," he said. " Go to yer death." 
 
 Lablache sat up and looked about. He felt dazed. He 
 knew he must go on. Death death which ever way he 
 turned. God! did ever a man suffer so? The name of 
 John Allandale came to his mind and he gazed wildly 
 about, fancying some one had whispered it to him in an- 
 swer to his thoughts. He stood up. He took another step 
 forward with reckless haste. He remembered the pistol be- 
 hind him. The ground seemed to shake under him. His 
 distorted fancy was playing tricks with him. Another step. 
 Yes, the ground was solid no, it shook. The weight of 
 his body came down on the spot. His foot went through. 
 He hurled himself backwards again and clutched wildly at 
 the ground. He shuddered and cried out. Again came 
 Baptiste's voice. 
 
 "Git on, or" 
 
 The distraught man struggled to his feet. He was be- 
 coming delirious with terror. He stepped forward again. 
 The ground seemed solid and he laughed a horrid, wild 
 laugh. Another step and another. He paused, breathing 
 hard Then he started to mutter, 
 
304 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 " On on. Yes, on again or they'll have me. The path 
 this is the right one. I'll cheat 'em yet." 
 
 He strode out boldly. His foot sank in something soft. 
 He did not seem to notice it. Another step and his foot 
 sank again in the reeking muck. Suddenly he seemed to 
 realize. He threw himself back and obtained a foothold. 
 He stood trembling. He turned and tried another direc- 
 tion. Again he sank. Again he drew back. His knees 
 tottered and he feared to move. Suddenly a ring of metal 
 pressed against his head from behind. In a state of panic 
 he stepped forward on the shaking ground. It held. He 
 paused, then stepped again, his foot coming down on a 
 reedy tuft. It shook, but still held. He took another step. 
 His foot sunk quickly, till the soft muck oozed round his 
 ankle. He cried out in terror and turned to come back. 
 
 Baptiste stood with leveled pistol. 
 
 " On on, you gopher. Turn again an' I wing yer. 
 On, you bastard. You've chosen yer path, keep to it." 
 
 " Mercy I'm sinking." 
 
 " Git on not one step back." 
 
 Lablache struggled to release his sinking limb. By a 
 great effort he drew it out only to plunge it into another 
 yielding spot. Again he struggled, and in his struggle his 
 other foot slipped from its reedy hold. It, too, sank. With 
 a terrible cry he plunged forward. He lurched heavily as 
 he sought to drag his feet from the viscid muck. At every 
 effort he sank deeper. At last he hurled himself full length 
 upon the surface of the reeking mire. He cried aloud, but 
 no one answered him. Under his body he felt the yielding 
 crust cave. He clutched at the surface grass, but he only 
 plucked the tufts from their roots. They gave him no hold. 
 
 The silent figures on the path watched his death-struggle. 
 It was ghastly horrible. The expression of their faces 
 was fiendish. They watched with positive joy. There was 
 no pity in the hearts of the Breeds. 
 
 They hearkened to the man's piteous cries with ears deaf- 
 ened to all entreaty. They simply watched watched and 
 
THE MAW OF THE MUSKEG 305 
 
 reveled in the watching for the terrible end which must 
 come. 
 
 Already the murderer's vast proportions were half buried 
 in the slimy ooze, and, at every fresh effort to save himself, 
 he sank deeper. But the death which the Breeds awaited 
 was slow to come. Slow slow. And so they would have 
 it. 
 
 Like some hungry monster the muskeg mouths its victims 
 with oozing saliva, supping slowly, and seemingly revels in 
 anticipation of the delicate morsel of human flesh. The 
 watchers heard the gurgling mud, like to a great tongue lick- 
 ing, as it wrapped round the doomed man's body, sucking 
 him down, down. The clutch of the keg seemed like some- 
 thing alive; something so all-powerful like the twining 
 feelers of the giant cuttlefish. Slowly they saw the doomed 
 man's legs disappear, and already the slimy muck was 
 above his middle. 
 
 The minutes dragged along the black slime rose it 
 was at Lablache's breast His arms were outspread, and, 
 for the moment, they offered resistance to the sucking 
 strength of the mud. But the resistance was only mo- 
 mentary. Down, down he was drawn into that insatiable 
 maw. The dying man's arms canted upwards as his shoul- 
 ders were dragged under. 
 
 He cried he shrieked he raved. Down, down he 
 went the mud touched his chin. His head was thrown 
 back in one last wild scream. The watchers saw the staring 
 eyes the wide-stretched, lashless lids. 
 
 His cries died down into gurgles as the mud oozed over 
 into his gaping mouth. Down he went to his dreadful 
 death, until his nostrils filled and only his awful eyes re- 
 mained above the muck. The watchers did not move. 
 Slowly slowly and silently now the last of him dis- 
 appeared. Once his head was below the surface his limp- 
 ened arms followed swiftly. 
 
 The Breeds reluctantly turned back from the horrid 
 spectacle. The fearful torture was done. For a few mo- 
 
306 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 ments no words were spoken. Then, at last, it was Baptiste 
 who broke the silence. He looked round on the passion- 
 distorted faces about him. Then his beady eyes rested on 
 the horrified faces of Jacky and her lover. He eyed them, 
 and presently his gaze dropped, and he turned back to his 
 countrymen. He merely said two words. 
 
 "Scatter, boys." 
 
 The tragedy was over and his words brought down the 
 curtain. In silence the half-breeds turned and slunk away. 
 They passed back over their tracks. Each knew that the 
 sooner he reached the camp again, the sooner would safety 
 be assured. As the last man departed Baptiste stepped up 
 to Jacky and Bill, who had not moved from their positions. 
 
 " Guess there's no cause to complain o' yer friends," he 
 said, addressing Jacky, and leering up into her white, set 
 face. 
 
 The girl shivered and turned away with a look of utter 
 loathing on her face. She appealed to her lover. 
 
 " Bill Bill, send him away. It's it's too horrible." 
 
 " Lord " Bill fixed his gray eyes on the Breed. 
 
 "Scatter we've had enough." 
 
 "Eh? Guess yer per-tickler." 
 
 There was a truculent tone in Baptiste's voice. 
 
 Bill's revolver was out like lightning. 
 
 "Scatter!" 
 
 And in that word Baptiste realized his dismissal. 
 
 His face looked very ugly, but he moved off under the 
 covering muzzle of the white man's pistol. 
 
 Bill watched him until he was out of sight. Then he 
 turned to Jacky. 
 
 "Well? Which way?" 
 
 Jacky did not answer for a moment. She gazed at the 
 mountains. She shivered. It might have been the chill 
 morning air it might have been emotion. Then she 
 looked back in the direction of Foss River. Dawn was 
 already streaking the horizon. 
 
 She sighed like a weary child, and looked helplessly 
 
THE MAW OF THE MUSKEG 307 
 
 about. Her lover had never seen her vigorous nature so 
 badly affected. But he realized the terrors she had been 
 through. 
 
 Bill looked at her. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Yonder." She pointed to the distant hills. " Foss 
 River is no longer possible." 
 
 "The day that sees Lablache" 
 
 "Yes come." 
 
 Bill gazed lingeringly in the direction of the settlement. 
 Jacky followed his gaze. Then she touched Nigger's flank 
 with her spur. Golden Eagle cocked his ears, his head was 
 turned towards Bad Man's Hollow. He needed no urging. 
 He felt that he was going home. 
 
 Together they rode away across the keg. 
 
 Dr. Abbot had been up all night, as had most of Foss 
 River. Everybody had been present at the fire. It was 
 daylight when it was discovered that John Allandale and 
 Jacky were missing. Lablache had been missed, but this 
 had not so much interested people. They thought of Retief 
 and waited for daylight. 
 
 Silas brought the news of "Poker" John's absence 
 also his niece's. Immediately was a " hue and cry " taken 
 up. Foss River bustled in search. 
 
 It was noon before the rancher was found. Doctor Ab- 
 bot and Silas had set out in search together. The fifty- 
 acre pasture was Silas's suggestion. Dr. Abbot did not re- 
 member the implement shed. 
 
 They found the old man's body. They found Lablache's 
 confession. Silas could not read. He took no stock in 
 the writing and thought only of the dead man. The doctor 
 had read, but he said nothing. He dispatched Silas for 
 help. 
 
 When the foreman had gone Dr. Abbot picked up the 
 black wig which Bill had used. He stood looking at it for 
 a while, then he put it carefully into his pocket. 
 
308 THE STORY OF THE FOSS RIVER RANCH 
 
 "Ah! I think I understand something now," he said, 
 slowly fingering the wig. " Um yes. I'll burn it when I 
 get home." 
 
 Silas returned with help. John Allandale was buried 
 quietly in the little piece of ground set aside for such pur- 
 poses. The truth of the disappearance of Lablache, Jacky 
 and " Lord " Bill was never known outside of the doctor's 
 house. 
 
 How much or how little Dr. Abbot knew would be hard to 
 tell. Possibly he guessed a great deal. Anyway, whatever 
 he knew was doubtless shared with " Aunt " Margaret. 
 For when the doctor had a secret it did not remain his long. 
 " Aunt " Margaret had a way with her. However, she was 
 the very essence of discretion. 
 
 Foss River settled down after its nine days' wonder. It 
 was astonishing how quickly the affair was forgotten. But 
 then, Foss River was not yet civilized. Its people had not 
 yet learned to worry too much over their neighbors' affairs. 
 
 THE END 
 
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