hand, poured out two stiff
"horns" of whisky.

He held one out to the money-lender and took the other himself.

"I drink to the game," he said haltingly. "May--fortune come my way."

Lablache nodded comprehensively and slowly raised his glass.

"Fortune is yours anyhow. Therefore I trust that I win the game."

The two men silently drank. After which Lablache turned to go. He paused
at the French window and plunged his hand into his coat pocket.

The night was dark outside, and again he became a prey to his moral
terror of the half-breed raider. He drew out his revolver and opened the
chamber. The weapon was loaded. Then he turned to old John who was
staring at him.

"It's risky for me to move about at night, John. I fear Retief has not
done with me yet. Good-night," and he passed out on to the veranda.

Lablache was the victim of a foreboding. It is a custom to laugh at
forebodings and set them down to the vagaries of a disordered stomach.
We laugh too at superstition. Yet how often do we find that the
portentous significance of these things is actually realized in fact.
Lablache dreaded Retief.

What would the next twenty-four hours bring forth?

CHAPTER XXV

UNCLE AND NIECE

"Poker" John's remorse came swiftly, but not swiftly or strongly enough
to make him give up the game. After Lablache had taken his departure the
old rancher sat drinking far into the night. With each fresh potation
his conscience became less persistent in its protest. He sought no bed
that night, for gradually his senses left him and he slept where he sat,
until, towards daybreak he awoke, partially sober and shivering with
cold. Then he arose, and, wrapping himself in a heavy overcoat, flung
himself upon a couch, where he again sought sobriety in sleep.

He awoke again soon after daylight. His head was racked with pain. He,
at first, had only a dim recollection of what had occurred the night
before. There was a vague sense of something unpleasant having happened,
but he did not attempt to recall it. He went to his bedroom and douched
himself with cold water. Then he set out for the kitchen in search of
coffee with which to slack his burning thirst. It was not until he had
performed his ablutions that the whole truth of his interview with
Lablache came back to him. Immediately, now that the effect of the
liquor had passed off, he became a prey to terrible remorse.

Possibly had Jacky been at hand at that moment, the whole