Bill nodded.

“Now see and be off.  And don’t make any mistake, or we may all swing for it.  Tell Baptiste he must go over the keg at once and bring Golden Eagle to my shack at about half-past ten.  Tell him to be punctual.  Now scoot.  No mistakes, or—­” and Bill made a significant gesture.

The man understood and hurried away.  “Lord” Bill was satisfied that his orders would be carried out to the letter.  The service he demanded of this man was congenial service, in so far that it promised loot in plenty and easily acquired.  Moreover, the criminal side of the half-breed’s nature was tickled.  A liberal reward for honesty would be less likely to secure good service from such as Gautier than a chance of gain for shady work.  It was the half-breed nature.

After the departure of the half-breed, Bill remained where he was for some time.  He sat with his hands clasped round his knees, gazing thoughtfully out towards the camp.  He was reviewing his forces and mentally struggling to penetrate the pall which obscured the future.  He felt himself to be playing a winning game; at least, that his vengeance and chastisement of Lablache had been made ridiculously easy for him.  But now he had come to that point when he wondered what must be the outcome of it all as regarded himself and the girl he loved.  Would his persecution drive Lablache from Foss River to the security of Calford, Where he would be able to follow him and still further prosecute his inexorable vengeance?  Or would he still choose to remain?  He knew Lablache to be a strong man, but he also knew, by the money-lender’s sudden determination to force Jacky into marriage with him, that he had received a scare.  He could not decide on the point.  But he inclined to the belief that Lablache must go after to-night.  He would not spare him.  He had yet a trump card to play.  He would be present at the game of cards, and—­well, time would show.

He threw away his mangled cigarette end and rose from the ground.  One glance of his keen eyes told him that no one was in sight.  He strolled out upon the prairie and made his way back to the settlement.  He need not have troubled himself about the future.  The future would work itself out, and no effort of his would be capable of directing its course.  A higher power than man’s was governing the actions of the participants in the Foss River drama.

For the rest of the day “Lord” Bill moved about the settlement in his customary idle fashion.  He visited the saloon; he showed himself on the market-place.  He discussed the doings of Retief with the butcher, the smith, Dr. Abbot.  And, as the evening closed in and the sun’s power lessened, he identified himself with others as idle as himself, and basked in the warmth of its feeble, dying rays.

When darkness closed in he went to his shack and prepared his evening meal with a simple directness which no thoughts of coming events could upset.  Bill was always philosophical.  He ate to live, and consequently was not particular about his food.  He passed the evening between thought and tobacco, and only an occasional flashing of his lazy eyes gave any sign of the trend of his mental effort.