.

Found big lead; lost it again. Need you badly.

WESTCOTT.

For the second time that night, too, a picture rose before him, a
picture of great plains, towering mountains, and open spaces that spoke
the freedom and health of outdoor living. He had known that life once
before, when he and Jim Westcott had prospected and hit the trail
together, and its appeal to him now after three years of shallow
sightseeing in the city was deeper than ever.

"Good old Jim," he murmured, "struck pay-dirt at last only to lose it
and he needs me. By George, I think I'll go."

And why should he not? Only twenty-nine, he could still afford to
spend a few years in search of living. His fortune left him at the
death of his father was safely invested, and he had no close friends in
the city and no relatives, except a cousin, John Cavendish, for whom he
held no love, and little regard.

He had almost determined upon going to Bear Creek to meet Westcott and
was calling for his check when his attention was arrested by a noisy
party of four that boisterously took seats at a near-by table.
Cavendish recognised the two women as members of the chorus of the
prevailing Revue, one of them Celeste La Rue, an aggressive blonde with
thin lips and a metallic voice, whose name was synonymous with midnight
escapades and flowing wine. His contemptuous smile at the sight of
them deepened into a disgusted sneer when he saw that one of the men
was John Cavendish, his cousin.

The two men's eyes met, and the younger, a slight, mild-eyed youth with
a listless chin, excused himself and presented himself at the elder's
table.

"Won't you join us?" he said nervously.

Frederick Cavendish's trim, bearded jaw tightened and he shook his
head. "They are not my people," he said shortly, then retreating,
begged, "John, when are you going to cut that sort out?"

"You make me weary!" the boy snapped. "It's easy enough for you to
talk when you've got all the money--that gives you an excuse to read me
moral homilies every time I ask you for a dollar, but Miss La Rue is as
good as any of your friends any day."

The other controlled himself. "What is it you want?" he demanded
directly: "Money? If so, how much?"

"A hundred will do," the younger man said eagerly. "I lost a little on
cards lately, and have to borrow. To-night I met the girl----"

Frederick Cavendish silenced him and tendered him the bills. "Now," he
said gravely, "this is the last,