let him quit, It was something deeper. He was desolate and his
heart was gone. Helen was lost to him--worse yet, was unworthy,
and she was all he cared for. What did he want of the Midas with
its lawsuits, its intrigues, and its trickery? He was sick of it
all--of the whole game--and wanted to get away. If he won, very
well. If he lost, the land of the Aurora would know him no more.

When he put his proposition, the Bronco Kid dropped his eyes as
though debating. The girl saw that he studied the cards in his box
intently and that his fingers caressed the top one ever so softly
during the instant the eyes of the rest were on Glenister. The
dealer looked up at last, and Cherry saw the gleam of triumph in
his eye; he could not mask it from her, though his answering words
were hesitating. She knew by the look that Glenister was a pauper.

"Come on," insisted Roy, hoarsely. "Turn the cards."

"You're on!"

The girl felt that she was fainting. She wanted to scream. The
triumph of this moment stifled her--or was it triumph, after all?
She heard the breath of the little man behind her rattle as though
he were being throttled, and saw the lookout pass a shaking hand
to his chin, then wet his parched lips. She saw the man she had
helped to ruin bend forward, his lean face strained and hard, an
odd look of pain and weariness in his eyes. She never forgot that
look. The crowd was frozen in various attitudes of eagerness,
although it had not yet recovered from the suspense of the last
great wager. It knew the Midas and what it meant. Here lay half of
it, hidden beneath a tawdry square of pasteboard. With maddening