hisky bottle. He was in a
semi-maudlin condition when the money-lender entered, and greeted his
visitor with almost childish effusion.

Lablache saw and understood, and a sense of satisfaction came to him. He
hoped his task would be easier than he had anticipated. His evil nature
rose to the occasion, and, for the moment, his own troubles and fears
were forgotten. There was a cat-like licking of the lips as he
contemplated the pitiful picture before him.

"Well?" said old John, looking into the other's face with a pair of
bloodshot eyes, as he re-seated himself after rising to greet his
visitor. "Well, poor Horrocks has gone--gone, a victim to his sense of
duty. I guess, Lablache, there are few men would have shown his grit."

"Grit! Yes, that's so." The money-lender had been about to say "folly,"
but he checked himself. He did not want to offend "Poker" John--now.

"Yes. The poor fellow was too good for his work," he went on, in tones
of commiseration. "'Tis indeed a catastrophe, John. And we are the
losers by it. I regret now that I did not altogether agree with him when
he first came amongst us."

John wagged his head. He looked to be near weeping. His companion's
sympathetic tone was almost too much for his whisky-laden heart. But
Lablache had not come here to discuss Horrocks, or, for that matter, to
sympathize with the gray-headed wreck of manhood before him. He wished
to find out first of all if anybody was about whom his plans concerned,
and then to force his proposition upon his old companion. He carefully
led the rancher to talk of other things.

"The man has gone into Stormy Cloud to report?"

"Yes."

"And who are they likely to send down in place--ah--of the unfortunate
Horrocks, think you?"

"Can't say. I guess they'll send a good man. I've asked for more men."

The old man roused somewhat from his maudlin state.

"Ah, that's a good move, John," said the money-lender. "What does Jacky
think about--these things?"

The question was put carelessly. John yawned, and poured out a "tot" of
whisky for his friend.

"Guess I haven't seen the child since breakfast. She seemed to take it
badly enough then."

"Thanks. Aren't you going to have one?" as John pushed the glass over to
the other.

"Why, yes, man. Never shirk my liquor."

He dashed a quantity of raw spirit into his glass and drank it off.
Lablache looked on with intense satisfaction. John rose unsteadily, and,
supporting himself against