lege life, just for
to-night."

I decided the half-cut of Indian blood on his mother's side was
showing itself; it was just enough to give Tom a good red flavoring
and a rare taste for gaming and liquor.

We played until daylight, when Barrett said he must make his sneak
home, and reaching for his wide-brimmed, soft felt preacher's hat,
left--having pocketed twenty-six of our good dollars, swallowed
unnumbered cups of twelve-year-old and won the combined respect of
everyone at Jake's.

The next Sunday Jake went to church out of curiosity. He said Tom
Barrett "officiated" in a surplice as white as snow and with a face
as sinless as your mother's. He preached most eloquently against
the terrible evil of the illicit liquor trade, and implored his
Indian flock to resist this greatest of all pitfalls. Jake even
seemed impressed as he told us.

But Tom Barrett's "breaking loose for once" was like any other
man's. Night after night saw him at Jake's, though he never
played to win after that first game. As the weeks went on, he got
anxious-looking; his clerical coat began to grow seedy, his white
ties uncared for; he lost his fresh, cheeky talk, and the climax
came late in March when one night I found him at Jake's sitting
alone, his face bowed down on the table above his folded arms, and
something so disheartened in his attitude that I felt sorry for
the boy. Perhaps it was that I was in trouble myself that day; my
biggest "deal" of the season had been scented by the officers and
the chances were they would come on and seize the five barrels
of whiskey I had been as many weeks smuggling into the Reserve.
However it was, I put my hand on his shoulder, and told him to
brace up, asking at the same time what was wrong.

"Money," he answered, looking up with kind of haggard eyes. "Dan, I
must have money. City bills, college debts--everything has rolled
up against me. I daren't tell the governor, and he couldn't help me
anyway, and I can't go back for another term owing every man in my
class." He looked suicidal. And then I made the plunge I'd been
thinking on all day.

"Would a hundred dollars be any good to you?" I eyed him hard as I
said it, and sat down in my usual place, opposite him.

"Good?" he exclaimed, half rising. "It would be an eternal
godsend." His foxy eyes glittered. I thought I detected greed in
them; perhaps it was only relief.

I told him it was his if he would only help me, and making sure we
were qu