“Yes, smoke, Bill; smoke and get your thinking box in order.  My yarn won’t take a deal of time to tell.  But it’ll take a deal of thought to upset Lablache’s last move, without—­shootin’.”

“Um—­shooting’s an evil, but sometimes—­necessary.  What’s his racket?”

The girl told her story quickly.  She forgot nothing.  She never allowed herself to fall into the womanly mistake of omitting details, however small.

Bill fully appreciated her cleverness in this direction.  He could trust what she said implicitly.  At the conclusion of the story he sat up and rolled another cigarette.

“And your uncle is upstairs in bed?”

“Yes, when he wakes I guess he’ll need a bracer.  He’ll be sober.  He must play.  Lablache means to win.”

“Yes, he means to win.  He has had a bad scare.”

“What are we going to do?”

The girl eyed her lover keenly.  She saw by his manner that he was thinking rapidly.

“The game must be interrupted—­with another scare.”

“What?”

Bill shrugged and laughed.

“What are you going to do?”

“Burn him out—­his store.  And then—­”

“And then?” eagerly.

“Retief will be present at the game.  Tell him what has happened and—­if he doesn’t leave Foss River—­shoot him.  Mortgages and all records of debts, etc., are in his store.”

“Good.”

After expressing her approval the girl sat gazing into her lover’s face.  They talked a little longer, then Bill rose to go.

“Eleven o’clock to-night you say is the appointed hour?”

“Yes.  I shall meet you at the gate of the fifty-acre pasture.”

“Better not.”

“Yes, I am going to be there,” with a decisive nod.  “One cannot be sure.  You may need me.”

“Very well.  Good-by, little woman.”  “Lord” Bill bent and kissed her.  Then something very like a sigh escaped him.  “I think with you this game is nearly up.  To-night will settle things one way or the other.”

“Yes.  Trouble is not far off.  Say, Bill, when it comes, I want to be with you.”

Bill looked tenderly down into the upturned face.

“Is that why you insist on coming to-night?”

“Yes.”

Another embrace and Bill left the house.

He sauntered leisurely down the avenue of pines.  He kept straight on towards the muskeg.  Then he turned away from the settlement, and was soon lost behind the rising ground which shored the great mire.  Once out of sight of the house he quickened his pace, gradually swinging away from the keg, and heading towards the half-breed camp.

Foss River might have been deserted for all signs of life he encountered.  The prairie was calmly silent.  Not even the call of the birds broke the stillness around.  The heat of the afternoon had lulled all nature to repose.