It was past eleven.  Lablache and John Allandale were seated at the table.  The lurid light did not improve the expression of their faces.

“Poker” John was eager—­keenly eager now that Jacky had urged him to the game.  Moreover, he was sober—­sober as the proverbial “judge.”  Also he was suspicious of his opponent.  Jacky had warned him.  He looked very old as he sat at that table.  His senility appeared in every line of his face; in every movement of his shaking hands; in every glance of his bleared eyes.

Lablache, also, was changed slightly, but it was not in the direction of age; he showed signs of elation, triumph.  He felt that he was about to accomplish the object which had long been his, and, at the same time, outwit the half-breed who had so lately come into his life, with such disastrous results to his, the money-lender’s, peaceful enjoyment of his ill-gotten wealth.

Lablache turned his lashless eyes in the direction of the window.  It was a square aperture of about two feet in extent.

“We are not likely to be interrupted,” he said wheezily, “but it never does to chance anything.  Shall we cover the window?  A light in this room is unusual—­”

“Yes, let us cover it.”  “Poker” John chafed at the delay.  “No one is likely to come this way, though.”

Lablache looked about for something which would answer his purpose.  There was nothing handy.  He drew out his great bandanna and tried it.  It exactly covered the window.  So he secured it.  It would serve to darken the light to any one who might chance to be within sight of the shed.  He returned to his seat.  He bulged over it as he sat down, and its legs creaked ominously.

“I have brought three packs of cards,” he said, laying them upon the table.

“So have I.”

“Poker” John looked directly into the other’s bilious eyes.

“Ah—­then we have six packs.”

“Yes—­six.”

“Whose shall we—­” Lablache began.

“We’ll cut for it.  Ace low.  Low wins.”

The money-lender smiled at the rancher’s eagerness.  The two men cut in silence.  Lablache cut a “three”; “Poker” John, a “queen.”

“We will use your cards, John.”  The money-lender’s face expressed an unctuous benignity.

The rancher was surprised, and his tell-tale cheek twitched uncomfortably.

“For deal,” said Lablache, stripping one of John’s packs and passing it to his companion.  The rancher shuffled and cut—­Lablache cut.  The deal went to the latter.

“We want something to score on,” the money-lender said.  “My memorandum pad—­”

“We’ll have nothing on the table, please.”  John had been warned.

Lablache shrugged and smiled.  He seemed to imply that the precaution was unnecessary.  “Poker” John was in desperate earnest.

“A piece of chalk—­on the wall.”  The rancher produced the chalk and set it on the floor close by the wall and returned to his seat.