He thought the matter over carefully, and some time later tied his mule to a tree and went again in search of Morgan Fitzsimmons. He found that individual in another drinking place, playing cards with two innocent-looking miners. "Another five dollars gone," he heard one of the miners say. "I am in hard luck to-day." "So am I," said the other miner. "Don't think I am going to play any more," he added, as he arose from the bench on which he was sitting. "Give you a chance to win your money back if you say so," said Morgan Fitzsimmons, carelessly. "Another time," said the miner, and then he moved away, followed by his companion. Morgan Fitzsimmons took the money lying on the table and put it in his pocket. "Have something with me," he said, to the man who was keeping the bar. "I will and I'll have more," said the other individual, coolly. "How much more?" "I get twenty-five per cent. of a straight game." "That's a pretty steep rake-off." "And I get fifty per cent. of a crooked game," said the man who ran the establishment. "What do you mean by that?" "I mean, Mr. Fitzsimmons, that I want half of what you got out of Dinky Blade and Jack Wilson." "Hum!" Morgan Fitzsimmons was taken somewhat aback. "Then--er--you mean to say----" "Better say nothing, my dear friend. I understand you and you'll understand me, sooner or later. You won forty dollars. Hand over twenty and call for what you please." Morgan Fitzsimmons glared at the keeper of the place and the other man eyed him coolly. Then the gambler and swindler--for Fitzsimmons was nothing less--passed over four five-dollar bills, after which the keeper of the resort treated him to some liquor. Then the pair became quite confidential. Mark had slipped around to a side window and was taking in the scene with keen interest. He saw what it all meant. Morgan Fitzsimmons had played cards with the miners and swindled them out of forty dollars. The keeper of the resort was willing to wink at the transaction and let it pass for one-half of the ill-gotten gains. Now Fitzsimmons was evidently arranging to do more "business" in the future, on the same basis. "He is a rascal--fully as bad as Sag Ruff," thought Mark. "And that being so, it is more than likely he stole that three hundred dollars from the office safe. I wish I could corner him in some way and bring him to justice. That would clear my name. I suppose Mr. Powers still thinks I am guilty." The talk between the keeper of the resort and Morgan Fitzsimmons went on for some time and then the gambler drew back. "I'll be on hand every night this week," said he. "We'll make a big thing of this, trust me for it." "All right, Mr. Fitzsimmons. But mind, not a word to anybody of it." "Trust me," and then Fitzsimmons walked away. Mark watched him go down the rude street until he came to a row of shanties which were used for boarding places. He passed into one of them and to a room he had evidently rented for the time being.