ed.

"In those words?"

"Well, no, uncle," the girl said with a responsive smile. "But they
needed a 'jinning' up. I sent the message in your name."

The old man shook his head, but his indulgent smile remained.

"You'll be getting me into serious trouble with that impetuosity of
yours, Jacky," he said absently. "But there--I daresay you know best."

His words were characteristic of him. He left the entire control of the
ranch to this girl of two-and-twenty, relying implicitly upon her
judgment in all things. It was a strange thing to do, for he was still a
vigorous man. To look at him was to make oneself wonder at the reason.
But the girl accepted the responsibility without question. There was a
subtle sympathy between uncle and niece. Sometimes Jacky would gaze up
into his handsome old face and something in the twitching cheek, the
curiously-shaped mouth, hidden beneath the gray mustache, would cause
her to turn away with a sigh, and, with stimulated resolution, hurl
herself into the arduous labors of managing the ranch. What she read in
that dear, honest face she loved so well she kept locked in her own
secret heart, and never, by word or act, did she allow herself to betray
it. She was absolute mistress of the Foss River Ranch and she knew it.
Old "Poker" John, like the morphine "fiend," merely continued to keep up
his reputation and the more fully deserve his sobriquet. His mind, his
character, his whole being was being slowly but surely absorbed in the
lust of gambling.

The girl laid her hand upon the old man's arm.

"Uncle--what was Lablache talking to you about? I mean when I came for
the field-glasses."

"Poker" John was gazing abstractedly into the dense growth of pines
which fringed the house. He pulled himself together, but his eyes had in
them a far-away look.

"Many things," he replied evasively.

"Yes, I know, dear, but," bending her face while she removed one of her
buckskin gauntlets from her hand, "I mean about me. You two
were-discussing me, I know."

She turned her keen gray eyes upon her relative as she finished
speaking. The old man turned away. He felt that those eyes were reading
his very soul. They made him uncomfortable.

"Oh, he said I ought not to let you associate with certain people."

"Why?" The sharp question came with the directness of a pistol-shot.

"Well, he seemed to think that you might think of marrying."

"Ah, and--"

"He seemed to fancy that you, being impetu