The rancher looked at the other, then his eyes dropped.  He scarcely comprehended.  He was startled at the expression of that leathery, puffed face.  He shifted uneasily with the curious weakly restlessness of a shattered nerve.

“More years, I guess, than I care to think of,” he murmured at last.

“Yes, yes, you’re right, John—­quite right.  It doesn’t do to look back too far.  We’re getting on.  But we’re not old men yet.  We’re rich, John, rich in land and experience.  No, not so old.  We can still give the youngsters points, John.  Ha, ha!”

Lablache laughed hollowly at his own pleasantry.  His companion joined in the laugh, but without mirth.  Poker—­he could think of nothing but poker.  The money-lender insinuatingly pushed the whisky bottle closer to the senile rancher.  Almost unconsciously the old man helped himself.

“I wonder what it would be like living a private, idle life?” Lablache went on, as though speaking to himself.  Then directly to his companion, “Do you know, old friend, I’m seriously thinking of selling out all my interests and retiring.  I’ve worked very hard—­very hard.  I’m getting tired of it all.  Sometimes I feel that rest would be good.  I have amassed a very large fortune, John—­as you know.”

The confidences of the money-lender were so unusual that “Poker” John, in a dazed way, mildly wondered.  The whisky had roused him a good deal now, and he felt that it was good to talk like this.  He felt that the money-lender was a good fellow, and much better than he had thought.  He even experienced compunction for the opinions which, at times, he had expressed of this old companion.  Drink plays strange pranks with one’s better judgment at times.  Lablache noted the effect of his words carefully.

“Yes,” said John, “you have worked hard—­we have both worked hard.  Our lives have not been altogether without pleasure.  The occasional game of cards we have had together has always helped to relieve monotony, eh, Lablache?  Yes—­yes.  No one can say we have not earned rest.  But there—­yes, you have been more fortunate than I. I could not retire.”

Lablache raised his sparse eyebrows.  Then he helped himself to some whisky and pushed the bottle over to the other.  When John had again replenished his glass the money-lender solemnly raised his and waved it towards the gray-headed old man.  John responded unsteadily.

“How!”

“How!” replied the rancher.

Both men drank the old Indian toast.  Simple honesty was in one heart, while duplicity and low cunning filled the other.

“You could not retire?” said Lablache, when they had set their empty glasses upon the desk.

“No—­no,” answered the other, shaking his head with ludicrous mournfulness, “not retire; I have responsibilities—­debts.  You should know.  I must pay them off.  I must leave Jacky provided for.”

“Yes, of course.  You must pay them off.  Jacky should be your first consideration.”