"By heaven!" groaned Pollard as the door closed. "There goes two good men! Kate, what put this last fool idea into your head?" She did not answer for a moment, but dropped into a chair as though suddenly exhausted. "It'll work out," she said at length. "You wait for it!" "Well," grumbled her father, "the mischief is working. Run along to bed, will you?" She rose, wearily, and started across the room. But she turned before she passed out of their sight and leaned against one of the pillars. "Dad, why you so anxious to get me out of the way?" "What d'you mean by that? I got no reason. Run along and don't bother me!" He turned his shoulder on her. As for the girl, she remained a moment, looking thoughtfully at the broad back of Pollard. Then her glance shifted and dwelt a moment on Terry--with pity, he wondered? "Good night, boys!" When the door closed on her, Joe Pollard turned his attention more fully on his new employee, and when Terry suggested that it was time for him to turn in, his suggestion was hospitably put to one side. Pollard began talking genially of the mountains, of the "varmints" he expected Terry to clean out, and while he talked, he took out a broad silver dollar and began flicking it in the air and catching it in the calloused palm of his hand. "Call it," he interrupted himself to say to Terry. "Heads," said Terry carelessly. The coin spun up, flickered at the height of its rise, and rang loudly on the table. "You win," said Pollard. "Well, you're a lucky gent, Terry, but I'll go you ten you can't call it again." But again Terry called heads, and again the coin chimed, steadied, and showed the Grecian goddess. The rancher doubled his bet. He lost, doubled, lost again, doubled again, lost. A pile of money had appeared by magic before Terry. "I came to work for money," laughed Terry, "not _take_ it away." "I always lose at this game," sighed Joe Pollard. The door opened, and Phil Marvin and Slim Dugan came back, talking and laughing together. "What d'you know about that?" Pollard exclaimed softly. "She guessed right. She always does! Oughta be a man, with a brain like she's got. Here we are again!" He spun the coin; it winked, fell, a streak of light, and again Terry had won. He began to grow excited. On the next throw he lost. A moment later his little pile of winnings had disappeared. And now he had forgotten the face of Joe Pollard, forgotten the room, forgotten everything except the thick thumb that snapped the coin into the air. The cold, quiet passion of the gambler grew in him. He was losing steadily. Out of his wallet came in a steady stream the last of his winnings at Pedro's. And still he played. Suddenly the wallet squeezed flat between his fingers. "Pollard," he said regretfully, "I'm broke." The other waved away the idea.