e believed that in the end
he must conquer. Bunning-Ford's resources were very limited he knew, and
soon his hated rival must leave the settlement and seek pastures new.
Lablache was but a clever scheming mortal. He did not credit others with
brains of equal caliber, much less cleverer and more resourceful than
his own. It had been better for him had his own success in life been
less assured, for then he would have been more doubtful of his own
ability to do as he wished, and he would have given his adversaries
credit for a cleverness which he now considered as only his.

After some time spent in surveying and considering his plans his
thoughts reverted to other matters. This was the night of the half-breed
pusky. His great face contorted into a sarcastic smile as he thought of
Sergeant Horrocks. He remembered with vivid acuteness every incident of
his interview with the officer two nights ago. He bore the man no
malice now for the contradiction of himself, for the reason that he was
sure his own beliefs on the subject of Retief would be amply realized.
His lashless eyes quivered as his thoughts invoked an inward mirth. No
one realized more fully than did this man the duplicity and cunning of
the Breed. He anticipated a great triumph over Horrocks the next time he
saw him.

As the time passed on he became more himself. His loneliness did not
strike him so keenly. He felt that after all there was great
satisfaction to be drawn from a watcher's observance of men. Isolated as
he was he was enabled to look on men and things more critically than he
otherwise would be.

He reached over to his tobacco jar, which stood upon his desk, and
leisurely proceeded to fill his pipe. It was rarely he indulged himself
in an idle evening, but to-night he somehow felt that idleness would be
good. He was beginning to feel the weight of his years.

He lit his heavy briar and proceeded to envelop himself in a cloud of
smoke. He gasped out a great sigh of satisfaction, and his leathery
eyelids half closed. Presently a gentle tap came at the glass door,
which partitioned off the office from the store. Lablache called out a
guttural "Come in," at the same time glancing at the loud ticking
"alarm" on the desk. He knew who his visitor was.

One of the clerks opened the door.

"It is past ten, sir, shall I close up?" he asked.

"Yes, close up. Whose evening off is it?"

"Rodgers, sir. He is still out. He'll be in before midnight, sir."