's so."

"What you suppose he'll say if you rush in there and ask him to please
go away on this long trip and leave your friends serenely in possession
of the land?"

"I wouldn't say 'please'--but you're right. Let's take a look through
that window."

Fraser assented. Shoulder to shoulder, they tiptoed forward and, keeping
out of the shaft of light, viewed the scene within.

It was a busy one, and well bore out the inviting legend of the shingle
sign. Along the plank bar, "the troopers" were thickly ranged, smacking
their lips in "delight" over greasy glasses. Beyond them was a
squint-eyed man who trotted untiringly to and fro, mixing and pouring.
Nearer was the stove, its angular barrel and widespread legs giving it
the appearance of some horrid, fire-belching animal.

An unbroken circle of men surrounded it, hats on, rawhide-bottomed
chairs tilted back to an easy slant. From their pipes and cigars smoke
rose steadily and hung, a blue mist, against the sloping rafters of the
roof.

There was little talking in the circle. Two or three were asleep, their
heads sagging on their necks with maudlin looseness. The others spoke
infrequently, but often let down their chairs while they spat in the
sand-box under the stove, or screwed about in the direction of the
gaming-table. Among these was Old Michael. He sat nearest the door, a
checkerboard balanced on his knees, his black stub pipe in its toothy
vise. And when he was not feeding the stove's flaming maw with broken
boxes, barrel-staves and green wood, his blowzy countenance was
suspended over the pasteboards he was thumbing in a game of solitaire.

The two outside went under the shaft of light and peeped into the rear
of the room. There was Matthews, one of five at a square table. A
cigar-box partly filled with coin and chips was before him. In front of
the other players were other chip-piles. About the five, hanging over
them, almost pressing upon them, were a number of troopers. Two or three
were idle onlookers. But the majority were following with excited
interest every turn of the cards.

"Wretches being plucked of their good six months' pay," whispered
Fraser.

"Looks like they're in for all night," Lounsbury returned.

But the officer was pinching him. "Sh! See there!"

A half-drunken trooper was interrupting the game. He had reeled forward
to the table, and seemed to be addressing himself to Matthews, who, as
he answered, glanced up indifferently. The t