r
the desired opportunity.

"I hate to be thwarted! I hate it! I hate it!" she often said angrily to
herself, but she was helpless in the face of Van Lennop's cool
avoidance.

In the meantime the bugbear of her existence was making history in his
own way. The Dago Duke was no inconspicuous figure in Crowheart, for his
daily life was punctuated with escapades which constantly furnished
fresh topics of conversation to the populace. He fluctuated between
periods of abject poverty and briefer periods of princely affluence, the
latter seldom lasting longer than a night. He engaged in disputes over
money where the sum involved rarely exceeded a dollar, with a night in
the calaboose and a fine as a result, after which it was his wont to
present his disfigured opponent with a munificent gift as a token of his
esteem. Who or what he was and why he chose to honor Crowheart with his
presence were questions which he showed no desire to answer. He was duly
considered as a social possibility by Andy P. Symes, but rejected owing
to the fact that he was seldom if ever sober, and, furthermore, in spite
of his undeniably polished manners, showed a marked preference for the
companionship of the element who were unmistakably goats in the social
division.

At last there came a time when the Dago Duke was unable to raise a cup
of coffee to his lips without scalding himself. He had no desire for
food, his eyes were bloodshot, and his favorite bartender tied his scarf
for him mornings. He moved from saloon to saloon haranguing the patrons
upon the curse of wealth, encouraged in his socialistic views by the
professional gamblers who presided over the poker games and roulette
wheels. In view of their interest there seemed no likelihood that the
curse would rest upon him long.

Then one night, or morning, to be exact, after the Dago Duke had been
assisted to retire by his friend the bartender, and the washstand by
actual count had chased the bureau sixty-two times around the room, the
Dago Duke noticed a lizard on the wall. He was not entirely convinced
that it was a lizard until he sat up in bed and noticed that there were
two lizards.

He crept out and picked up his shoe for a weapon.

"Now if I can paste that first one," he told himself optimistically, "I
know the other will leave."

He struck at it with the heel of his shoe, and it darted to the ceiling,
whence it looked down upon him with a peculiarly tantalizing smile.

The Dago