and obstinacy is weakness.  The money-lender knew that obstinacy could be broken down by steady determination.  However, time, with him, was now everything.  He must clinch the deal with as little delay as possible if he would escape from Foss River and the ruinous attacks of Retief.  This thought was ever present with him and urged him to press the old man hard.  If John Allandale would not be reasonable, he, Lablache, must force an acceptance of his terms from him.

The rancher was mollified.  His dulled brain suddenly saw a loop-hole of escape.

“I guess you mean well enough, Lablache.  But say, ask the child yourself.”

The other shook his massive head.

“I have—­she has refused.”

“Then why in thunder do you come to me?”

The angry light was again in the rancher’s bloodshot eyes.

“Why?  Because she will marry me if you choose.  She can’t refuse—­she dare not.”

“Then, by God, I’ll refuse for her—­”

He paused disconcertedly in his wrath.  Lablache’s cold eyes fixed him with their icy stare.

“Very well, John,” said Lablache, with a contemptuous shrug.  “You know the inevitable result of such a hasty decision.  It means ruin to you—­beggary to that poor child.”  His teeth snapped viciously.  Then he smiled with his mouth.  “I can only put your de—­refusal down to utter, unworthy selfishness.”

“Not selfishness, Lablache—­not that.  I would sacrifice everything in the world for that child—­”

“Except your own pleasure—­your own personal comforts.  Bah, man!” with scathing contempt, “your object must be plain to the veriest fool.  You do not wish to lose her.  You fear to lose your best servant lest in consequence you find the work of the ranch thrust upon your own hands.  You would have no time to indulge your love of play.  You would no longer be able to spend three parts of your time in ‘old man’ Smith’s filthy bar.  Your conduct is laudable, John—­it is worthy of you.”

Lablache had expected another outburst of anger, but John only leered in response to the other’s contempt.  Drunk as he was, the rancher saw the absurdity of the attack.

“Piffle!” he exclaimed.  “Now see, when Jacky comes in you shall hear what she has to say.”

“Poker” John smiled with satisfaction at his own ’cuteness.  He felt that he had outwitted the astute usurer.  His simplicity, however, was of an infantile order.

“That would be useless.”  Lablache did not want to be confronted with Jacky.  “My mind is quite made up.  The Calford Trust will begin proceedings at once, unless—­”

“Unless I give my consent.”

The satisfaction had suddenly died out of John Allandale’s face.  Even in his maudlin condition he understood the relentless purpose which backed the money-lender’s proposal.  To his credit be it said that he was thinking only of Jacky—­the one being who was dearer to him than all else in the world.  For himself he had no thought—­he did not care what happened.  But he longed to save his niece from the threatened catastrophe.  His seared old face worked in his distress.  Lablache beheld the sign, and knew that he was weakening.