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No, not yet, my friend." He closed the book and put it away. Then he walked to the window. Bunning-Ford's horse was still standing outside the house. "He must be dealt with soon," he muttered. And in those words was concentrated a world of hate and cruel purpose. Who shall say of what a man's disposition is composed?
Then he turned, and the two made their way back to the edge of the sucking mire. "Yes, it'll do, dear. Now let us hasten home." They remounted their horses and were soon lost in the gathering darkness as they made their way over the brow of the rising ground, in the direction of the settlement. The next day saw the possession of the Hon. Bunning-Ford's ranch pass into other hands.
"Your ranch everything you possess is held on first mortgage." "Not all." Bunning-Ford's answer came swiftly. The abruptness of the other's announcement nettled him. The tone of the words conveyed a challenge which the younger man was not slow to accept. Lablache shrugged his shoulders with deliberation until his fleshy jowl creased against the woolen folds of his shirt front.
"Yes, poker." "I'm sorry, Bill. But be here at four sharp and I'll tell you all about it. See here, boy, 'mum's' the word." The craving of the Hon. Bunning-Ford's life was excitement. His temperament bordered on the lethargic. He felt that unless he could obtain excitement life was utterly unbearable. He had sought it all over the world before he had adopted the life of a rancher.
"Jacky, what you have just said has made something plain to me which I could not understand before. He came and gave me unsolicited, mind "a little eagerly, "a detailed account of Bunning-Ford's circumstances, and " "Endeavored to bully you into sending him about his business. Poor old Bill! And what was his account of him?"
But Lablache, its owner, was never one to underwork his men. This was the herd which he had purchased at the sale of Bunning-Ford's ranch. And they were now being taken to his own ranch, some distance to the south of the settlement, for the purpose of re-branding with his own marks. As young Nat entered upon his vigil the golden arc of the rising moon broke the sky-line of the horizon.
The money-lender permitted himself to smile a grim, cold smile. He had been careful to make no mention of Bunning-Ford's further assets. He had quite forgotten to speak of a certain band of cattle which he knew his intended victim to possess.
Instinctively he knew that "Lord" Bill was her lover, and, with him at hand to advise her, Jacky would hold out to the last. However, he believed that in the end he must conquer. Bunning-Ford's resources were very limited he knew, and soon his hated rival must leave the settlement and seek pastures new. Lablache was but a clever scheming mortal.
The money-lender was left-handed. He held the pack in his right, and, in dealing, he was slow and slightly clumsy. The object of Bunning-Ford's attention quickly became apparent. Each card as it left the pack was passed over the burnished silver of the dealer's memorandum pad. It was smartly done, and Lablache was assisted by the fact that the piece of metal was inclined towards him.
Tea was set upon the table and Jacky was seated before the stove. "Late, Bill, late! Guess that 'plug' of yours is a rapid beast, judging by the pace you came up the hill." For the moment Bunning-Ford's face had resumed its wonted air of lazy good-nature. "Glad you took the trouble to watch for me, Jacky," he retorted quickly, with an attempt at his usual lightness of manner.
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