t that, when he hears of this coming scrap in
Krovitch, will throw himself body and soul into it, as his forbears have
done from Marston Moor to date, just because it's likely to be a lost
cause. He's always for the under dog--and I honor him for it. I'm
willing to bet he'll go to Krovitch when he hears."

"A thousand?" inquired Jackson with speculative ardor. Saunderson
narrowed his eyes, as he looked judiciously at the broker. He flicked
the ash from his cigarette before replying.

"Too much. What's the use?" he said. "Make it even money at a hundred
and I'll go you. On any other man I'd ask odds. With Carter, though,
when it comes to war, to women, or to any one needing help, he's right
there with the goods. He's in a class by himself. Do you take the bet?"

"Certainly," answered Jackson as he handed the money over to Langdon as
stakeholder. "Word of honor, Billy, that you will not urge him on?"

"Word of honor, Jackson. Keep your hands off, too." The two shook hands
gravely, while Langdon made a memorandum of the wager.

Before he had reached the corner, the subject of this speculation had
forgotten, for the nonce, all about Krovitch and her troubles. His
wearied mind--like a recalcitrant hunter at a stiffish fence--had thrown
off the idea as too much weight to carry. A week later he was to be
reminded of the episode at the club. Its effects led him far afield into
a tale of romance, intrigue, war and women. Intrigue, war and women are
inseparable.

II

"STRANGE COUNTREES FOR TO SEE"

In the soul of Calvert Carter arose a vague unrest. A voiceless summons
bade him, with every April stir of wind, to shake off the tale of common
things and match his manhood and keen intelligence in Nature's conflict,
the battle of the male. Six years past had found him in Cuba. In that
brief campaign against Spain, his entire military career, each day so
crowded with anticipation or actual battle, had been laid the foundation
for this _wanderlieb_; this growing appetite for excitement and hazard.
Occasional trips to Europe and even forays after big game had failed to
satisfy him. Without realizing it, his was the aboriginal's longing for
war,--primitive savage against primitive savage, and--his life lacked a
woman.

He paced about his library as in a cage.

He strove desperately to understand the elusive impulse which urged him
to go forth running, head up, pulses flaming; on, on, out of the reeking
city to the coo