d not ungently upon hand and cards.

"The last hand, Girl!" he reminded her. "And I've a feeling that I
win,--that in one minute I'll hold you in my arms." And still covering
her fingers with his own, he stole a glance at his cards.

"I win," he announced, briefly, his eyes alone betraying the inward
fever. He dropped the cards before her on the table. "Three kings,--and
the _last hand_!"

Suddenly, as though some inward cord had snapped under the strain, the
Girl collapsed. Limply she slid downward in her chair, one groping hand
straying aimlessly to her forehead, then dropping of its own weight.
"Quick, Jack,--I'm ill,--git me somethin'!" The voice trailed off to
nothingness as the drooping eyelids closed.

In real consternation, the Sheriff sprang to his feet. In one sweeping
glance his alert eye caught the whisky bottle upon the mantel. "All
right, Girl, I'll fix you in no time," he said cheeringly over his
shoulder. But where the deuce did she keep her tumblers? The next minute
he was groping for them in the dark of the adjoining closet and softly
cursing himself for his own slowness.

Instantaneously, the Girl came to life. The unturned cards upon the
table vanished with one lightning movement; the Girl's hand disappeared
beneath her skirts, raised for the moment knee-high; then the same,
swift reverse motion, and the cards were back in place, while the Girl's
eyes trembled shut again, to hide the light of triumph in them. A smile
flickered on her lips as the Sheriff returned with the glass and bottle.

"Never mind,--I'm better now," her lips shaped weakly.

The Sheriff set down the bottle, and put his arm around the Girl with a
rough tenderness.

"Oh, you only fainted because you lost," he told her.

Averting her gaze, the Girl quietly disengaged herself, rose to her feet
and turned her five cards face upwards.

"No, Jack, it's because I've won,--three aces and a pair."

The Sheriff shot one glance at the girl, keen, searching. Then, without
so much as the twitch of an eyelid, he accepted his defeat, took a cigar
from his pocket and lit it, the flame of the match revealing no
expression other than the nonchalance for which he was noted; then,
picking up his hat and coat he walked slowly to the door. Here he halted
and wished her a polite good-night--so ceremoniously polite that at any
other time it would have compelled her admiration.

Pale as death and almost on the point of collapse, the Girl stagg