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Before putting the screw on the Allandales it had been his object to rid the place, and his path, of his only stumbling block. In this he had not quite succeeded as we have seen. He quite understood that the Hon. Bunning-Ford must be removed from Foss River first. Whilst he was on hand Jacky would be difficult to coerce.
Bunning-Ford and the doctor could get no hands at all, and thus they were saved heavy losses. Occasionally, even, the doctor raked in a few "antes." But John Allandale could do nothing right. He was always drawing tolerable cards just good enough to lose with. Until, by the time daylight came, he had lost so heavily that his two friends were eagerly seeking an excuse to break up the game.
Bunning-Ford rose while yet the daylight was struggling to overcome the shades of night. He stood upon the tiny veranda which fronted his minute house, smoking his early morning cigarette. He was waiting for his coffee that stimulating beverage which few who have lived in the wilds of the West can do without and idly luxuriating in the wondrous charm of scene which was spread out before him.
"And tell Smith to send me in a bottle of 'white seal' and some glasses." "Right you are." Then "Lord" Bill passed out. "Poker without whisky is bad," he muttered as he made his way back to the bar, "but poker and whisky together can only be the beginning of the end. We'll see. Poor old John!" It was on the stroke of four o'clock when Bunning-Ford left the saloon.
His thin face at times could suddenly become very keen. His true character was hidden by the cultivated lazy expression of his eyes. Bunning-Ford was one of those men who are at their best in emergency. At all other times life was a thing which it was impossible for him to take seriously. He valued money as little as he valued anything in the world. Poker he looked upon as a means to an end.
The servant departed, and Jacky sat down at a writing-table and wrote a note to "Lord" Bill. The note was brief but direct in its tone. "Can you see me this afternoon? Shall be in after tea." That was all she put, and added her strong, bold signature to it. Silas came to the window and she gave him the note with instructions to deliver it into the hands of the Hon. Bunning-Ford.
"You can keep them if you like. But you may as well understand your position. What's Bunning-Ford worth? What's his ranch worth?" The other suggested a figure much below the real value. "It's worth more than that. Fifty thousand if it's worth a cent," Lablache said expansively. "I don't want to do you, my friend, but as you said we're talking business now.
And we, on our part, will recover our money and interest without the unpleasant reflection that, in doing so, we have beggared you." Lablache, usurer, scoundrel, smiled benignly at his companion as he pronounced his concluding words. The Hon. Bunning-Ford looked, thought, and looked again. He began to think that Lablache was meditating a more rascally proceeding than he had given him credit for.
A silence only broken by monosyllabic and almost whispered betting and "raising" as the games proceeded. An hour passed thus. At the table where Lablache and John Allandale were playing the usual luck prevailed. The money-lender seemed unable to do wrong, and at the other table Bunning-Ford was faring correspondingly badly.
"Nonsense, man," said the doctor sharply. "Your opinion's warped. Besides, you're in a blue funk. Come on over to 'old man' Smith's and have a 'freshener. You want bucking-up. Coming, Bill?" he went on, turning to Bunning-Ford. "I want an 'eye-opener' myself. What say to a 'Collins'?"
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