pulled down over his brow, his swarthy face a darker hue beneath the
shadow, losing steadily, only now and then showing a flash of white
teeth as he saw his money go. What mattered loss to him? He had no
more need of money now than Necia had of his love. He would spend
the dollars he had eked and scraped and saved for her as she had
spent the treasures of his heart, and now that the one had brought
him no return he wished to be rid of the other, for he was shortly
to go again in search of his "New Country," where no man needs gold
half so much as a clean heart. It would be a long journey, far to
the West and North--a journey that none of his kind had ever fared
back from, and he wished to go light, as all good adventurers go.

Runnion annoyed him with his volubility, for the news of his good-
fortune had fired the man with a reckless disregard for money, and
he turned to gaming as the one natural recourse of his ilk. As the
irony of fate would have it, he won what the Canadian lost, together
with the stakes of various others who played for a time with him and
then gave up, wagging their heads or swearing softly at the cards.

It was shortly after midnight that Stark came into the place. Poleon
was not too absorbed in his own fortunes to fail to notice the
extraordinary ferocity and exhilaration of the saloon-keeper, nor
that his face was keener, his nostrils thinner, his walk more
nervous, and his voice more cutting than usual when he spoke to
Runnion.

"Come here."

"I'll be with you when I finish this hand," said the player, over
his shoulder.