However, it was plain that something must be done at once to assist Lablache, and he cast about in his mind for the best means to secure the money-lender’s release.  In his dilemma a recollection came to him of the presence of Jacky Allandale in the barn, and a feeling nearly akin to revenge came to him.  He felt that in some way this girl was connected with, and knew of, the doings of Retief.

With a hurried order to remain where they were to his men he returned to his station at the window of the barn.  He looked in, searching for the familiar figure of the girl.  Dancing had ceased, and the howling Breeds were drinking heavily.  Jacky was no longer to be seen, and, with bitter disappointment, he turned again to rejoin his companions.  There was nothing left to do but to hasten to the settlement and procure fresh horses.

He had hardly turned from the window when several shots rang out on the night air.  They came from the direction in which he was moving.  Instantly he comprehended that an attack was being made upon his troopers.  He drew his pistol and dashed forward at a run.  Three paces sufficed to terminate his race.  Silence had followed the firing of the shots he had heard.  Suddenly his quick ears detected the hiss of a lariat whistling through the air.  He spread out his arms to ward it off.  He felt something fall upon them.  He tried to throw it off, and, the next instant the rope jerked tight round his throat, and he was hurled, choking, backwards upon the ground.

CHAPTER XIX

LABLACHE’S MIDNIGHT VISITOR

Lablache was alone in his office.  He was more alone than he had ever been in his life; or, at least, he felt more alone—­which amounted to much the same thing.  Possibly, had he been questioned on the subject, he would have pooh-poohed the idea, but, nevertheless, in his secret heart he felt that, in spite of his vast wealth, he was a lonely man.  He knew that he had not a single friend in Foss River; and in Calford, another center of his great wealth, things were no better.  His methods of business, whilst they brought him many familiar acquaintances—­a large circle of people who were willing to trade, repelled all approach to friendship.  Besides, his personality was against him.  His flinty disposition and unscrupulous love of power were all detrimental to human affection.

As a rule, metaphorically speaking, he snapped his fingers at these things.  Moreover, he was glad that such was the case; he could the more freely indulge his passion for grab.  Hated, he could work out his peculiar schemes without qualms of conscience; loved, it would have been otherwise.  Yes, Lablache preferred this social ostracism.