“That is true,” said Ranald, gravely, “but it was a cruel blow,” pointing to Rouleau, who, supported by LeNoir, was sitting on a chair, his face badly cut and bleeding, “and that, too, after taking from him the wages of six months in the bush!” “I suppose you admit the game was fair,” said the lieutenant, moving nearer to Ranald, the threat in his tone evident to all. “The game was fair,” said Ranald, facing De Lacy, “but I will say the lad was no fair match for you!” “He chose to risk his money, which you were not willing to do.” De Lacy felt that he was being put in an unpleasant light and was determined to anger Ranald beyond control. Ranald caught the sneer. “If I did not play,” he cried, hotly, “it was for no fear of you or any of you. It was no man's game whatever,” he continued, contemptuously. “Now, De Lacy,” cried Harry, again, “let this stop. The man who fights will first fight me!” “Perhaps Mr. Macdonald would show us how the game should be played,” said Mr. Sims, coming as near to a sneer as he dared. “It would not be hard to show you this game,” said Ranald, ignoring Mr. Sims, and looking the lieutenant in the eyes, “or perhaps the other!” “Good!” cried Harry, gladly seizing the opportunity of averting a fight. “The game! Take your places, gentlemen!” The lieutenant hesitated for a moment, as if uncertain what to do. Then, with a slight laugh, he said, “Very well, one thing at a time, the other can wait.” “Come on!” cried Harry, “who goes in? LeNoir, you?” LeNoir looked at Ranald. “What you say?” “No,” said Ranald, shortly, “this is my game!” With that he turned aside from the table and spoke a few words in a low tone to LeNoir, who assisted Rouleau from the room, and after some minutes' absence, returned with a little linen bag. Ranald took the bag and began to count out some money upon the table before him. “I will play to one hundred dollars,” he said. The lieutenant and Mr. Sims each laid the same amount before them upon the table. “I have not so much on me,” said Harry, “but perhaps my I. O. U. will do.” “What shall we say,” said Mr. Sims, “a dollar to play and five dollars limit?” “Say five and twenty-five,” said De Lacy, who was commanding himself with a great effort. “Is that too high?” said Harry, looking toward Ranald. “No,” said Ranald, “the higher the better.” It was soon evident that Ranald knew the game. He had learned it during the long winter nights in the shanty from Yankee, who was a master at it, and he played it warily and with iron nerve. He seemed to know as by instinct when to retreat and when to pursue; and he played with the single purpose of bleeding the lieutenant dry. Often did he refuse to take toll of Harry or Mr. Sims when opportunity offered, but never once did he allow the lieutenant to escape. “You flatter me,” said the lieutenant, sarcastically, as Ranald's purpose became increasingly clear.