d enough men already with cards without
resorting to a gun?"

"This is no robbery," and I knew by the sharpness of his reply my words
had stung, "and it might be well for you to keep a civil tongue in your
head. I overheard what you said to those men in the cabin. So you are
going to take care of me, are you?" There was a touch of steel in the
low voice. "Now listen, you brainless meddler. Joe Kirby knows
exactly what he is doing when he plays any game. I had nothing to do
with Beaucaire's death, but those stakes are mine. I hold them, and I
will kill any man who dares to interfere with me."

"You mean you refuse to return any of this property?"

"Every cent, every nigger, every acre--that's my business. Beaucaire
was no child; he knew what he was betting, and he lost."

"But," I insisted almost hopelessly, "perhaps you do not wholly
understand this matter--the entire situation. Judge Beaucaire risked
every penny he possessed in the world."

"I suppose he did, but he expected to gain it all back again, with as
much more of mine."

"That may be true, Kirby. I am not defending his action, but surely
this is no reason, now that he is dead, why you should not show some
degree of mercy to others totally innocent of any wrong. The man left
two daughters, both young girls, who will now be homeless and
penniless."

He laughed, and the sound of that laugh was more cruel than the
accompanying words.

"Two daughters!" he sneered. "According to my information that strains
the relationship a trifle, friend Knox--at least the late Judge never
took the trouble to acknowledge the fact. Permit me to correct your
statement. I happen to know more about Beaucaire's private affairs
than you do. He leaves one daughter only. I have never met the young
lady, but I understand from excellent authority that she possesses
independent means through the death some years ago of her mother. I
shall therefore not worry about her loss--and, indeed, she need meet
with none, for if she only prove equal to all I have heard I may yet be
induced to make her a proposition."

"A proposition?"

"To remain on the plantation as its mistress--plainly an offer of
marriage, if you please. Not such a bad idea, is it?"

I stood speechless, held motionless only by the pressing muzzle of his
pistol, the cold-blooded villainy of the man striking me dumb. This
then had probably been his real purpose from the start. He had
followed Beauca