got to take chances to live."

"How true, and I never thought of it," beamed Mrs. Selfridge. "What a
philosopher you are, Mr. Macdonald."

The Scotchman went on without paying any attention to her effervescence.
"I've gambled ever since I was a kid. I bet I could cross Death Valley
and get out alive. That time I won. I bet it would rain once down in
Arizona before my cattle died. I lost. Another time I took a contract
to run a tunnel. In my bid I bet I wouldn't run into rock. My bank went
broke that trip. When I joined the Klondike rush I was backing my luck
to stand up. Same thing when I located the Kamatlah field. The coal
might be a poor quality. Maybe I couldn't interest big capital in the
proposition. Perhaps the Government would turn me down when I came to
prove up. I was betting my last dollar against big odds. When I quit
gambling it will be because I've quit living."

"And I suppose I'm a gambler too?" Mrs. Mallory demanded with a little
tilt of her handsome head.

He looked straight at her with the keen eyes that had bored through her
from the first day they had met, the eyes that understood the manner of
woman she was and liked her none the less.

"Of all the women I know you are the best gambler. It's born in you."

"Why, Mr. Macdonald!" screamed Mrs. Selfridge in her high staccato. "I
don't think that's a compliment."

Mrs. Mallory did not often indulge in the luxury of a blush, but she
changed color now. This big, blunt man sometimes had an uncanny
divination. Did he, she asked herself, know what stake she was gambling
for at Kusiak?

"You are too wise," she laughed with a touch of embarrassment very
becoming. "But I suppose you are right. I like excitement."

"We all do. The only man who doesn't gamble is the convict in stripes,
and the only reason he doesn't is that his chips are all gone. It's true
that men on the frontier play for bigger stakes. They back their bets
with all they have got and put their lives on top for good measure. But
kids in the cradle all over the United States are going to live easier
because of the gamblers at the dropping-off places. That writer fellow
hit the nail on the head about me. My whole life is a gamble."

She moved with slow grace toward the door, then over her shoulder
flashed a sudden invitation at him. "Mrs. Selfridge and I are doing a
little betting to-day, Big Chief Gambler. We're backing our luck that
you two men will eat lunch with us at the Blue Bird