irrational pride kept him from ever
regretting them, if they had offered a possible excuse for her treatment
of him.

On one of these nights his steps chanced to lead him into a
gambling-saloon. The place had offered no temptation to him; his
dealings with the goddess Chance had been of less active nature.
Nevertheless he placed his last five dollars on the turn of a card. He
won. He won repeatedly; his gains had reached a considerable sum when,
flushed, excited, and absorbed, he was suddenly conscious that he had
become the centre of observation at the table. Looking up, he saw that
the dealer had paused, and, with the cards in his motionless fingers,
was gazing at him with fixed eyes and a white face.

Jeff rose and passed hurriedly to his side. "What's the matter?"

The gambler shrunk slightly as he approached. "What's your name?"

"Briggs."

"God! I knew it! How much have you got there?" he continued, in a quick
whisper, pointing to Jeff's winnings.

"Five hundred dollars."

"I'll give you double if you'll get up and quit the board!"

"Why?" asked Jeff haughtily.

"Why?" repeated the man fiercely; "why? Well, your father shot himself
thar, where you're sittin', at this table;" and he added, with a
half-forced, half-hysterical laugh, "HE'S PLAYIN' AT ME OVER YOUR
SHOULDERS!"

Jeff lifted a face as colorless as the gambler's own, went back to his
seat, and placed his entire gains on a single card. The gambler looked
at him nervously, but dealt. There was a pause, a slight movement where
Jeff stood, and then a simultaneous cry from the players as they turned
towards him. But his seat was vacant. "Run after him! Call him back!
HE'S WON AGAIN!" But he had vanished utterly.

HOW he left, or what indeed followed, he never clearly remembered. His
movements must have been automatic, for when, two hours later, he found
himself at the "Pioneer" coach office, with his carpet-bag and blankets
by his side, he could not recall how or why he had come! He had a dumb
impression that he had barely escaped some dire calamity,--rather that
he had only temporarily averted it,--and that he was still in the shadow
of some impending catastrophe of destiny. He must go somewhere, he must
do something to be saved! He had no money, he had no friends; even Yuba
Bill had been transferred to another route, miles away. Yet, in
the midst of this stupefaction, it was a part of his strange mental
condition that trivial details of Miss M