is mouth. "Yes, a
game--a game. It will tickle old John, and will carry out my purpose.
The mortgages which I hold on his property are nothing to me. Most are
gambling debts. For the rest the interest has covered the principal. I
have seen to that. But he is in arrears now. Good--good. Their
abandonment represents no loss to me--ha, ha." He chuckled mirthlessly.
"A little game--a gentle flutter, friend John, and the stakes all in my
favor. But I do not intend to lose. Oh, no. The girl might outwit me if
I lost. I shall win, and on my wedding day I shall be
magnanimous--good." He unclasped his hands and rubbed them together
gleefully.

"The uncle's consent--his persuasion. She will do as he wishes or--ruin.
It is capital--a flawless scheme. And then to leave Foss River forever.
God, but I shall be glad," with a return to his nervous dread. He looked
about him; eagerly, his great paunchy figure pictured grotesquely
beneath the pasty, fearful face.

"Now to see John," he went on, after a moment's pause. "How--how? I wish
I could get him here. It would be better here. There would be no chance
of listening ears. Besides, there is the whisky." He paused again
thinking. "Yes," he muttered presently. "Delay would be bad. I must not
give my enemy time. At once--at once. Nothing like doing things at once.
I must go to John. But--" and he looked dubiously at the darkened
window--"when I return it will be dark." He picked up his other revolver
and slipped it into his breast pocket. "Yes, yes, I am getting
foolish--old. Come along, my friend, we will go."

He seized his hat and went to the office door. He paused with his hand
upon the lock, and gave one final look round, then he turned the spring
with a great show of determination and passed out.

It was a different man who left the little office on that evening to
the man who had for so many years governed the destinies of the smaller
ranching world of the Foss River district. He had truly said that he was
getting old--but he did not quite realize how old. His enemies had done
their work only too well. The terrible consequences of the night of
terror were to have far-reaching results.

The money-lender set out for the ranch bristling with eagerness to put
into execution his hastily conceived plan.

He found the old rancher in his sanctum. He was alone brooding over the
calamity which had befallen the police-officer, and stimulating his
thought with silent "nippings" at the w