h 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."

"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 Baptiste. 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 forgotten 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