had never known a bet like this--it meant a fortune. Here was a
tale for one's grandchildren--that a man should win opulence in an
evening, then lose it in one deal. This final bet represented more
than many of them had ever seen a one time before. Its fate lay on
a single card.

Cherry Malotte's fingers were like ice and shook till the buttons
of her case-keeper rattled, her heart raced till she could not
breathe, while something rose up and choked her. If Glenister won
this bet he would quit; she felt it. If he lost, ah! what could
the Kid there feel, the man who was playing for a paltry
vengeance, compared to her whose hope of happiness, of love, of
life hinged on this wager?

Evidently the Bronco Kid knew what card lay next below, for he
offered her no sign, and as Glenister leaned back he slowly and
firmly pushed the top card out of the box. Although this was the
biggest turn of his life, he betrayed no tremor. His gesture
displayed the nine of diamonds, and the crowd breathed heavily.
The king had not won. Would it lose? Every gaze was welded to the
tiny nickelled box. If the face-card lay next beneath the nine-
spot, the heaviest wager in Alaska would have been lost; if it
still remained hidden on the next turn, the money would be safe
for a moment.

Slowly the white hand of the dealer moved back; his middle finger
touched the nine of diamonds; it slid smoothly out of the box, and
there in its place frowned the king of clubs. At last the silence
was broken.