In real consternation, the Sheriff sprang to his feet. In one sweeping glance his alert eye caught the whisky bottle upon the mantel. “All right, Girl, I’ll fix you in no time,” he said cheeringly over his shoulder. But where the deuce did she keep her tumblers? The next minute he was groping for them in the dark of the adjoining closet and softly cursing himself for his own slowness. Instantaneously, the Girl came to life. The unturned cards upon the table vanished with one lightning movement; the Girl’s hand disappeared beneath her skirts, raised for the moment knee-high; then the same, swift reverse motion, and the cards were back in place, while the Girl’s eyes trembled shut again, to hide the light of triumph in them. A smile flickered on her lips as the Sheriff returned with the glass and bottle. “Never mind,--I’m better now,” her lips shaped weakly. The Sheriff set down the bottle, and put his arm around the Girl with a rough tenderness. “Oh, you only fainted because you lost,” he told her. Averting her gaze, the Girl quietly disengaged herself, rose to her feet and turned her five cards face upwards. “No, Jack, it’s because I’ve won,--three aces and a pair.” The Sheriff shot one glance at the girl, keen, searching. Then, without so much as the twitch of an eyelid, he accepted his defeat, took a cigar from his pocket and lit it, the flame of the match revealing no expression other than the nonchalance for which he was noted; then, picking up his hat and coat he walked slowly to the door. Here he halted and wished her a polite good-night--so ceremoniously polite that at any other time it would have compelled her admiration. Pale as death and almost on the point of collapse, the Girl staggered back to the table where the wounded road agent was half-sitting, half-lying. Thrusting her hand now into the stocking from which she had obtained the winning, if incriminating, cards, she drew forth those that remained and scattered them in the air, crying out hysterically: “Three aces an’ a pair an’ a stockin’ full of pictures--but his life belongs to me!” XIV Conscious-stricken at the fraud that she had imposed upon the gambler, the Girl lived a lifetime in the moments that followed his departure. With her face buried in her hands she stood lost in contemplation of her shameful secret. A sound--the sound of a man in great pain checked her hysterical sobs. Dazed, she passed her hand over her face as if to clear away the dark shades that were obstructing her vision. Another groan--and like a flash she was down on her knees lavishing endearments upon the road agent.