me to him to discuss the "hustler." He had
come to suggest a game of cards, but for reasons of his own the former
wished to postpone the request. He had not expected that "Poker" John
would have come this evening; therefore, certain plans of his were not
to have been put into execution until the following day. Now, however,
it was different. John's coming, and his condition, offered him a chance
which was too good to be missed, and Lablache was never a man to miss
opportunities.

CHAPTER XVII

THE NIGHT OF THE PUSKY

Presently the old man drew himself up a little. The spirit had a bracing
effect upon him. The dull leering eyes assumed a momentary brightness,
and he almost grew cheerful. The change was not lost upon Lablache. It
was a veritable game of the cat and the mouse.

"This is the first time your stock has been touched," said John,
meaninglessly. His thoughts were running upon the game of cards he had
promised himself. An unaccountable lack of something like moral courage
prevented him talking of it. Possibly it was the iron influence of his
companion which forbade the suggestion of cards. "Poker" John was
inwardly chafing at his own weakness.

"Yes," responded the other, "I have not been touched before." Then,
suddenly, he leant forward, and, for the moment, the money-lender's face
lit up with something akin to kindliness. It was an unusual sight, and
one not to be relied upon. "How many years is it, John, that we have
struggled side by side in this benighted land?"

The rancher looked at the other, then his eyes dropped. He scarcely
comprehended. He was startled at the expression of that leathery, puffed
face. He shifted uneasily with the curious weakly restlessness of a
shattered nerve.

"More years, I guess, than I care to think of," he murmured at last.

"Yes, yes, you're right, John--quite right. It doesn't do to look back
too far. We're getting on. But we're not old men yet. We're rich, John,
rich in land and experience. No, not so old. We can still give the
youngsters points, John. Ha, ha!"

Lablache laughed hollowly at his own pleasantry. His companion joined
in the laugh, but without mirth. Poker--he could think of nothing but
poker. The money-lender insinuatingly pushed the whisky bottle closer to
the senile rancher. Almost unconsciously the old man helped himself.

"I wonder what it would be like living a private, idle life?" Lablache
went on, as though speaking to himself. Then di