path. The thought pleased him. And none knew of
this path except a man who was dead and this girl he loved. There was a
strange excitement in the thought of such a journey.

"Lord" Bill, ignoring his stirrup, vaulted into his saddle, and, as he
swung his horse round and headed towards the settlement, he wondered
what the day would bring forth.

"Confound the cards," he muttered, as he rode away.

And it was the first time in his life that he had reluctantly
contemplated a gamble.

Had he only known it, a turning-point in his life was rapidly
approaching--a turning-point which would lead to events which, if told
as about to occur in the nineteenth century, would surely bring down
derision upon the head of the teller. And yet would the derided one have
right on his side.

CHAPTER VI

"WAYS THAT ARE DARK"

It was less than a quarter of a mile from the Allandales' house to the
saloon--a den of reeking atmosphere and fouler spirits.

The saloon at Foss River was no better and no worse than hundreds of
others in the North-West at the time of which we write. It was a fairly
large wooden building standing at the opposite end of the open space
which answered the purpose of a market-place, and facing Lablache's
store. Inside, it was gloomy, and the air invariably reeked of stale
tobacco and drink. The bar was large, and at one end stood a piano kept
for the purpose of "sing-songs"--nightly occurrences when the execrable
whisky had done its work. Passing through the bar one finds a large
dining-room on one side of a passage, and, on the other, a number of
smaller rooms devoted to the use of those who wished to play poker.

It was towards this place that the Hon. Bunning-Ford was riding in the
leisurely manner of one to whom time is no object.

His thoughts were far from matters pertaining to his destination, and he
would gladly have welcomed anything which could have interfered with his
projected game. For the moment poker had lost its charm.

This man was at no time given to vacillation. All his methods were, as a
rule, very direct. Underneath his easy nonchalance he was of a very
decided nature. His thin face at times could suddenly become very keen.
His true character was hidden by the cultivated lazy expression of his
eyes. Bunning-Ford was one of those men who are at their best in
emergency. At all other times life was a thing which it was impossible
for him to take seriously. He valued money as little as