“But can’t we fight him—­can’t we give him—­”

“Law?  I’m afraid not,” Bill interrupted.  “Once a mortgage is signed the debt is no longer a gambling debt.  Law is of no use to us, especially here on the prairie.  There is only one law which can save us.  Lablache must disgorge.”

“Yes—­yes!  For every dollar he has stolen let him pay ten.”

The passionate fire in her eyes burned more steadily now.  It was the fire which is unquenchable—­the fire of a lasting hate, vengeful, terrible.  Then her tone dropped to a contemplative soliloquy.

“But how?” she murmured, looking away towards the stream in the heart of the valley, as though in search of inspiration.

Bunning-Ford smiled as he heard the half-whispered question.  But his smile was not pleasant to look upon.  All the latent recklessness which might have made of him a good soldier or a great scoundrel was roused in him.  He was passing the boundary which divides the old Adam, which is in every man, from the veneer of early training.  He was mutely—­unconsciously—­calling to his aid the savage instincts which the best of men are not without.  His face expressed something of what was passing within his active brain, and the girl before him, as she turned and watched the working features, usually so placid—­indifferent, knew that she was to see a side of his character always suspected by her but never before made apparent.  His thoughts at last found vent in words of almost painful intensity.

“How?” he said, repeating the question as though it had been addressed to himself.  “He shall pay—­pay!  Everlastingly pay!  So long as I have life—­and liberty, he shall pay!”

Then as if anticipating a request for explanation he told her the means by which Lablache had consistently cheated.  The girl listened, speechless with amazement.  She hung upon his every word.  At the conclusion of his story she put an abrupt question.

“And you gave no sign?  He doesn’t suspect that you know?”

“He suspects nothing.”

“Good.  You are real smart, Bill.  Yes, shooting’s no good.  This is no case for shooting.  What do you propose?  I see you mean business.”

The man was still smiling but his smile had suddenly changed to one of kindly humor.

“First of all Jacky,” he said, taking a step towards her, “I can do nothing without your help.  I propose that you share this task with me.  No, no, I don’t mean in that way,” as she commenced to assure him of her assistance.  “What I mean is that—­that I love you, dear.  I want you to give me the right to protect—­your uncle.”

He finished up with his hands stretched out towards her.  Golden Eagle stirred in his stable, and the two heard him whinny as if in approval.  Then as the girl made no answer Bill went on:  “Jacky, I am a ruined man.  I have nothing, but I love you better than life itself.  We now have a common purpose in life.  Let us work together.”