and abide the consequences."

"You don't know my uncle, or you would not advise any such step as
that," said Tom, with a sigh which showed that he knew him, and that he
was bound to stick to his course. "I am the only relative he has got in
the world, but that won't hinder him from saying every time he gets mad
at me: 'So you are the lad that tried to reduce me to poverty by
stealing five thousand dollars from me!' He will get all over that when
he finds that I am not coming home, and then I will go back to him."

"How long do you think it will take him?"

"About a year, maybe two."

"Do you think you can stand it among all these lawless men for that
length of time?"

"I've got to. I don't see any other way out of it."

"And you were going to Texas to get another start? Texas is a country in
which all men bring up who have made a failure, and you were bound that
way."

"Yes, sir. I think I could make another start there."

"Have you any relatives or friends living there?"

"Not a soul," replied Tom, straightening about on his chair and looking
down at the river. "By the way," he added, "I want to give you a piece
of advice. Those men of whom you won the money last night have
threatened to have it all back if they have to kill you."

"Who told you that story?" said Mr. Bolton, with a smile.

"The barber."

"Well, they will have plenty of time to try their hands at it between
here and Cincinnati. I told them a funny story about being a
cattle-grower somewhere out West. If they try anything with me, they
will have their hands full. There are three of them, and I know them
all. The clerk has got the money now under lock and key. There goes the
breakfast-bell. I will talk to you again after we go in."

Tom was disappointed in more respects than one when he found that his
new friend was to leave him at Memphis. With a view of gaining a little
time he did not follow him into the dining-hall, but went into the
barber shop and proceeded to wash his hands. When they had been dried to
his satisfaction, he went out and drew up before the desk.

"Who is that man who talked to me a little while ago?" he asked.

"He's a gambler," was the reply, "and a mighty good one, too. He got
into those fellows last night, didn't he?"

That was just what Tom was afraid of. He went out and took his seat at
the table, saw Bolton exchange courtesies with the three sharpers who
had tried to fleece him the night before, watched him