pain that comes to the poor man in
such a time? He huddles his coat about him, for his heart is as cold as
a Christmas day; and if it would make his child happy, he would pour out
his heart's blood on the snow.

Such was the grief of Donnegan as he backed slowly out into the night.
Though Jack Landis were fixed as high as the moon he would tear him out
of his place and give him to the girl.

14

The lantern went out in the tent; she was asleep; and when he knew that,
Donnegan went down into The Corner. He had been trying to think out a
plan of action, and finding nothing better than to thrust a gun stupidly
under Landis' nose and make him mark time, Donnegan went into Lebrun's
place. As if he hoped the bustle there would supply him with ideas.

Lebrun's was going full blast. It was not filled with the shrill mirth
of Milligan's. Instead, all voices were subdued to a point here. The
pitch was never raised. If a man laughed, he might show his teeth but he
took good care that he did not break into the atmosphere of the room.
For there was a deadly undercurrent of silence which would not tolerate
more than murmurs on the part of others. Men sat grim-faced over the
cards, the man who was winning, with his cold, eager eye; the chronic
loser of the night with his iron smile; the professional, ever debonair,
with the dull eye which comes from looking too often and too closely
into the terrible face of chance. A very keen observer might have
observed a resemblance between those men and Donnegan.

Donnegan roved swiftly here and there. The calm eye and the smooth play
of an obvious professional in a linen suit kept him for a moment at one
table, looking on; then he went to the games, and after changing the
gold which Jack Landis had given as alms so silver dollars, he lost it
with precision upon the wheel.

He went on, from table to table, from group to group. In Lebrun's his
clothes were not noticed. It was no matter whether he played or did not
play, whether he won or lost; they were too busy to notice. But he came
back, at length, to the man who wore the linen coat and who won so
easily. Something in his method of dealing appeared to interest Donnegan
greatly.

It was jackpot; the chips were piled high; and the man in the linen coat
was dealing again. How deftly he mixed the cards!

Indeed, all about him was elegant, from the turn of his black cravat to
the cut of the coat. An inebriate passed, shouldered and