a
dollar limit."

And so it was arranged. Tresler stayed. He was initiated. He learned
the result of a game of "draw" in Forks, where the players made the
whole game of life a gamble, and attained a marked proficiency in the
art.

The result was inevitable. By midnight there were four richer citizens
in Forks, and a newcomer who was poorer by his change out of a
hundred-dollar bill. But Tresler lost quite cheerfully. He never
really knew how it was he lost, whether it was his bad play or bad
luck. He was too tired and sleepy long before the game ended. He
realized next morning, when he came to reflect, that in some
mysterious manner he had been done. However, he took his initiation
philosophically, making only a mental reservation for future guidance.

That night he slept on a palliasse of straw, with a pillow consisting
of a thin bolster propped on his outer clothes. Three very yellow
blankets made up the tally of comfort. And the whole was spread out on
the floor of a room in which four other men were sleeping noisily.

After breakfast he paid his bill, and, procuring his horse, prepared
for departure. His first acquaintance in Forks stood his friend to the
last. Slum it was who looked round his horse to see that the girths of
the saddle were all right; Slum it was who praised the beast in quiet,
critical tones; Slum it was who shook him by the hand and wished him
luck; Slum it was who gave him a parting word of advice; just as it
was Slum who had first met him with ridicule, cared for him--at a
price--during his sojourn, and quietly robbed him at a game he knew
little about. And Tresler, with the philosophy of a man who has that
within him which must make for achievement, smiled, shook hands
heartily and with good will, and quietly stored up the wisdom he had
acquired in his first night in Forks Settlement.

"Say, Tresler," exclaimed Slum, kindly, as he wrung his departing
guest's hand, "I'm real glad I've met you. I 'lows, comin' as you did,
you might 'a' run dead into some durned skunk as hadn't the manners
for dealin' with a hog. There's a hatful of 'em in Forks. S'long. Say,
ther's a gal at Skitter Bend. She's the ol' blind boss's daughter, an'
she's a dandy. But don't git sparkin' her wi' the ol' man around."

Tresler laughed. Slum amused him.

"Good-bye," he said. "Your kindness has taken a load--off my mind. I
know more than I did yesterday morning. No, I won't get sparking the
girl with the old man