, John, devilish. I started before you. Thought I
could make the river in time. I was completely 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?"

John Allandale'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 pasteboards' 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 superstition."

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