is Ben Stark!"




CHAPTER XV

AND A KNOT TIGHTENED


A day of shattered hopes is a desolate thing, but the night of such
a day is desolate indeed. In all his life Poleon Doret had never
sunk to such depths of despondency, for his optimistic philosophy
and his buoyant faith in the goodness of life forbade it. Therefore,
when darkness came it blotted out what little brightness and light
and hope were left to him after Necia's stormy interview with the
Lieutenant. The arrival of the freight steamer afforded him some
distraction, but there was only a small consignment for the store,
and that was quickly disposed of; so, leaving the other citizens of
Flambeau to wrangle over their private merchandise, he went back to
his solitary vigil, which finally became so unbearable that he
sought to escape his thoughts, or at least to drown them for a
while, amid the lights and life and laughter of Stark's saloon.
Being but a child by nature, his means of distraction were primal
and elementary, and he began to gamble, as usual with hard luck, for
the cards had ever been unkind to him. He did not think of winnings
or losings, however--he merely craved the occupation; and it was
this that induced him to sit at a game in which Runnion played,
although ordinarily he would not have tolerated even tacitly such a
truce to his dislikes. As it was, he crouched in a corner, his hat