better till be yielded to their judgment, when the dealer took
their money also.

Strange to say, the fickle goddess had really shifted her banner
at last, and the Bronco Kid was dealing straight faro now. He was
too good a player to force a winning hand, and Glenister's ill-
fortune became as phenomenal as his winning had been. The girl who
figured in this drama was keyed to the highest tension, her eyes
now on her counters, now searching the profile of her victim.
Glenister continued to lose and lose and lose, while the girl
gloated over his swift-coming ruin. When at long intervals he won
a bet she shrank and shivered for fear he might escape. If only he
would risk it all--everything he had. He would have to come to her
then!

The end was closer than she realized. The throng hung breathless
upon each move of the players, while there was no sound but the
noise of shifting chips and the distant jangle of the orchestra.
The lookout sat far forward upon his perch, his hands upon his
knees, his eyes frozen to the board, a dead cigar clenched between
his teeth. Crowded upon his platform were miners tense and
motionless as statues. When a man spoke or coughed, a score of
eyes stared at him accusingly, then dropped to the table again.

Glenister took from his clothes a bundle of bank-notes, so thick
that it required his two hands to compass it. On-lookers saw that
the bills were mainly yellow. No one spoke while he counted them
rapidly, glanced at the dealer, who nodded, then slid them forward
till they rested on the king. He placed a "copper" on the pile. A
great sigh of indrawn breaths swept through the crowd. The North