Instantaneously, the Girl came to life.  The unturned cards upon the table vanished with one lightning movement; the Girl’s hand disappeared beneath her skirts, raised for the moment knee-high; then the same, swift reverse motion, and the cards were back in place, while the Girl’s eyes trembled shut again, to hide the light of triumph in them.  A smile flickered on her lips as the Sheriff returned with the glass and bottle.

“Never mind,—­I’m better now,” her lips shaped weakly.

The Sheriff set down the bottle, and put his arm around the Girl with a rough tenderness.

“Oh, you only fainted because you lost,” he told her.

Averting her gaze, the Girl quietly disengaged herself, rose to her feet and turned her five cards face upwards.

“No, Jack, it’s because I’ve won,—­three aces and a pair.”

The Sheriff shot one glance at the girl, keen, searching.  Then, without so much as the twitch of an eyelid, he accepted his defeat, took a cigar from his pocket and lit it, the flame of the match revealing no expression other than the nonchalance for which he was noted; then, picking up his hat and coat he walked slowly to the door.  Here he halted and wished her a polite good-night—­so ceremoniously polite that at any other time it would have compelled her admiration.

Pale as death and almost on the point of collapse, the Girl staggered back to the table where the wounded road agent was half-sitting, half-lying.

Thrusting her hand now into the stocking from which she had obtained the winning, if incriminating, cards, she drew forth those that remained and scattered them in the air, crying out hysterically: 

“Three aces an’ a pair an’ a stockin’ full o’ pictures—­but his life belongs to me!”

XIV.

Conscious-stricken at the fraud that she had imposed upon the gambler, the Girl lived a lifetime in the moments that followed his departure.  With her face buried in her hands she stood lost in contemplation of her shameful secret.

A sound—­the sound of a man in great pain checked her hysterical sobs.  Dazed, she passed her hand over her face as if to clear away the dark shades that were obstructing her vision.  Another groan—­and like a flash she was down on her knees lavishing endearments upon the road agent.

Never before, it is true, had the Girl had any experience in gun-shot wounds.  She had played the part of nurse, however, more than once when the boys met with accidents at the mines.  For the women of the California camps at that time had endless calls upon them.  It was a period for sacrifices innumerable, and help and sympathy were never asked that they were not freely given.  So, if the Girl did not know the very best thing to do, she knew, at least, what not to do, and it was only a few minutes before she had cut the coat from his back.

The next thing to be done—­the dragging of the unconscious man to the bed—­was hard work, of course, but being strong of arm, as well as stout of heart, she at last accomplished it.