spicuous from their rough clothing, rugged, bronzed, and
weather-worn countenances. Many of them played most recklessly.
Several successful diggers staked immense sums, and either doubled or
lost, in two or three throws, the hard earnings of many months of toil,
and left the rooms penniless.

At one end of the saloon there was a counter, with a plentiful supply of
stimulants to feed the excitement of the wretched gamblers; and the
waiter here was kept in constant employment. Ned had never been within
the unhallowed precincts of a gambling-house before, and it was with a
feeling of almost superstitious dread that he approached the table, and
looked on. A tall, burly, bearded miner stepped forward at the moment
and placed a huge purse of gold-dust on the table--

"Now, then," he cried, with a reckless air, "here goes--neck or
nothin'."

"Nothin'!" he muttered with a fearful oath, as the president raked the
purse into his coffers.

The man rose and strode sullenly from the room, his fingers twitching
nervously about the hilt of his bowie-knife; an action which the
president observed, but heeded not, being prepared with a concealed
revolver for whatever might occur. Immediately another victim stepped
forward, staked five hundred dollars--and won. He staked again a
thousand dollars--and won; then he rose, apparently resolved to tempt
fickle fortune no more, and left the saloon. As he retired his place
was filled by a young man who laid down the small sum of two dollars.
Fortune favoured this man for a long time, and his pile of dollars
gradually increased until he became over-confident and staked fully half
of his gains--and lost.

Ned's attention was drawn particularly to this player, whom he thought
he had seen before. On looking more fixedly at him, he recognised the
young porter who had carried up the box to the merchant's house. His
next stake was again made recklessly. He laid down all he possessed--
and lost. Then he rose suddenly, and drawing a pistol from his breast,
rushed towards the door. None of the players who crowded the saloon
paid him more than momentary attention. It mattered not to them whether
he meditated suicide or murder. They made way for him to pass, and
then, closing in, were deep again in the all-absorbing game.

But our hero was not thus callous. A strong feeling of sympathy filled
his breast, prompting him to spring through the doorway, and catch the
youth by the shoulder jus