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 paper has the old man had to
redeem in that way. What he's done lately--I mean uncle--I can't say.
But Lablache 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 overcome 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 suddenly 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 contemplative 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. 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 suspected by her but
never before made apparent. His thoug