ocket. He was very deliberate,
and displayed no emotion. His asthmatical breathing, perhaps, might have
been more pronounced than usual. Then he gathered up the cards from
floor and table, and wiped out the score upon the wall. He put the cards
in his pocket. After that he stirred the body of his old companion with
his foot. There was no sound from the prostrate rancher. Then the
money-lender gently lowered himself to his knees and placed his hand
over his victim's heart. It was still. John Allandale was dead.

It was now for the first time that Lablache gave any sign of emotion. It
was not the emotion of sorrow--merely fear--susperstitious fear. As he
realized that the other was dead his head suddenly turned. It was an
involuntary movement. And his fishy eyes gazed fearfully behind him. It
was his first realization of guilt. The brand of Cain must inevitably
carry with it a sense of horror to him who falls beneath its ban. He was
a murderer--and he knew it.

Now his-movements became less deliberate. He felt that he must get away
from that horrid sight. He rose swiftly, with a display of that agility
which the unfortunate Horrocks had seen. He glanced about the room and
took his bearings. He strode to the lamp and put it out. Then he groped
his way to the window and took down his bandanna; stealthily, and with a
certain horror, he felt his way in the darkness to the door. He opened
it and passed out.

CHAPTER XXVIII

SETTLING THE RECKONING

Jacky stood at the gate of the fifty-acre pasture. She had been standing
there for some minutes. The night was quite dark; there was no moon. Her
horse, Nigger, was standing hitched to one of the fence posts a few
yards away from her and inside the pasture. The girl was waiting for
"Lord" Bill.

Not a sound broke the stillness of the night as she stood listening. A
wonderful calmness was over all. From her position Jacky had seen the
light shining through the window of the implement shed. Now the shed was
quite dark--the window had been covered. She knew that her uncle and
Lablache were there. She was growing impatient.

Every now and then she would turn her face from the contemplation of the
blackness of the distant end of the field to the direction of the
settlement, her ears straining to catch the sound of her dilatory
lover's coming. The minutes passed all too swiftly. And her impatience
grew and found vent in irritable movements and sighs of vexation.

Suddenly