ut a challenge. While the fresh dealer was shuffling the cards he
caught Will's eye. He read there the anxiety of a gambler whose luck
is out. He glanced at his attenuated pile of chips, and took his
opportunity.

"Feel like missing the deal, Will?" he asked casually.

But the set of the face lifted to him warned him of the negative which
swiftly followed.

"Guess I'm not yearning."

Peter followed it up while the cards were being cut.

"I've got to speak to you _particular_."

A look of doubt suddenly leaped into Will's eyes, and he hesitated.

"What d'you want?"

Peter eyed the tumbler of whiskey at the man's elbow. He noted the
heavy eyes in the good-looking young face. But the cards were dealt,
and he waited for the finish of the hand. He saw Will bet, and lose on
a "full-house." His pile was reduced to four fifty-cent chips and the
man's language was full of venom at his opponent's luck. The moment
he ceased speaking Peter began again.

"Your wife's hurt bad," he said. "Doc Crombie's only just left her."

Will started. He had forgotten. A sudden fear held him silent, while
he waited for more. But no more was forthcoming. Only the blue eyes of
his informant searched his face, and, to the guilty man, they seemed
to be reading to the very depths of his soul. Something urged him, and
he suddenly stood up.

"You best deal four hands," he said hastily to his companions. "I'll
be back directly."

Then he moved away from the table unsteadily, and Peter made a guess
at the quantity of bad whiskey he had consumed. He led the way from
the tables, and, once clear of them, glanced over his shoulder.

"We best get outside," he said.

But Will was already regretting his game. The feeling of guilt was
passing. It had only been roused by the suddenness of Peter's
announcement. A look of resentment accompanied his reply.

"I ain't going to miss more than a couple of hands," he protested.

"Then we best hurry."

Peter led the way through the crowd, and the two passed out. With the
glare and reek of the bar behind them he dropped abreast of Will, and
walked him steadily in the direction of his own hut. At first
Henderson failed to notice the intention; he was waiting for Peter to
speak. He was waiting for the "particular" he had spoken of. Then, as
it did not seem to be forthcoming, he promptly rebelled.

"You can tell me right here," he said, with distinct truculence, and
coming to a dead standstill.

Peter r