the
handkerchief effectually hid the interior. Suddenly the light went out.
He knew what this meant. Turning away from the window he crept towards
the door. Jacky had come up. He motioned her into the shadow. Then he
waited.

The door opened and a great figure came out. It was Lablache. Even in
the darkness Bill recognized him. His heavy, asthmatical breathing must
have betrayed the money-lender if there had been no other means of
identification.

Lablache stepped out on to the prairie utterly unconscious of the
figures crouching in the darkness. He stepped heavily forward. Four
steps--that was all. A silent spring--an iron grip round the
money-lender's throat, from behind. A short, sharp struggle--a great
gasping for breath. Then Lablache reeled backwards and fell to the
ground with Bill hanging to his throat like some tiger. In the fall the
money-lender's pistol went off. There was a sharp report, and the bullet
tore up the ground. But no harm was done. Bill held on. Then came the
swish of a skirt. Jacky was at her lover's side. She dragged the
money-lender's pistol from his pocket. Then Bill let go his hold and
stood panting over the prostrate man. The whole thing was done in
silence. No word was spoken.

Lablache sucked in a deep whistling breath. His eyes rolled and he
struggled into a sitting posture. He was gazing into the muzzle of
Bill's pistol.

"Get up!" The stern voice was unlike Bill's, but there was nothing of
the twang of Retief about it.

The money-lender stared, but did not move--neither did he speak. Jacky
had darted into the hut. She had gone to light the lamp and learn the
truth.

"Get up!" The chilling command forced the money-lender to rise. He saw
before him the tall, thin figure of his assailant.

"Retief!" he gasped, and then stood speechless.

Now the re-lighted lamp glowed through the doorway. Bill pointed towards
the door.

"Go inside!" The relentless pistol was at Lablache's head.

"No--no! Not inside." The words whistled on a gasping breath.

"Go inside!"

Cowed and fearful, Lablache obeyed the mandate.

Bill followed the money-lender into the miserable room. His keen eyes
took in the scene in one swift glance. He saw Jacky kneeling beside the
prostrate form of her uncle. She was not weeping. Her beautiful face was
stonily calm. She was just looking down at that still form, that drawn
gray face, the staring eyes and dropped jaw. Bill saw and understood.
Lablache might ex