'Poleon breathed an exclamation of astonishment at this assertion. "Wat you sayin'?" he cried. "If dat loafer mak' fresh talk wit' you I--pull him in two piece wit' dese fingers. Dere's plenty good man. I--you--" He paused uncertainly; then his tone changed to one of appeal. "You won't marry wit' nobody, eh? Promise me dat." "That's an easy promise, under the circumstances." "Bien! I never t'ink 'bout you gettin' married. By gosh! dat's fierce t'ing, for sure! Wat I'll do if--" 'Poleon shook his massive shoulders as if to rid himself of such unwelcome speculations. "No danger!" Rouletta's crooked smile did not go unnoticed. 'Poleon studied her face intently; then he inquired: "Wat ail' you, li'l sister?" "Why--nothing." "Oh yes! I got eye lak fox. You seeck?" "The idea!" Miss Kirby pulled herself together, but there was such genuine concern in her companion's face that her chin quivered. She felt the need of saying something diverting; then abruptly she turned away. 'Poleon's big hand closed over hers; in a voice too low for any but her ears he said: "Somet'ing is kill de song in your heart, ma petite. I give my life for mak' you happy. Sometam you care for tell me, mebbe I can he'p li'l bit." The girl suddenly bowed her head; her struggling tears overflowed reluctantly; in a weary, heartsick murmur she confessed: "I'm the most miserable girl in the world. I'm so--unhappy." Some instinct of delicacy prompted the woodsman to refrain from speaking. In the same listless monotone Rouletta continued: "I've always been a lucky gambler, but--the cards have turned against me. I've been playing my own stakes and I've lost." "You been playing de bank?" he queried, in some bewilderment. "No, a gambler never plays his own game. He always bucks the other fellow's. I've been playing--hearts." 'Poleon's grasp upon her hand tightened. "I see," he said. "Wal, bad luck is boun' to change." In Rouletta's eyes, when she looked up, was a vision of some glory far beyond the woodsman's sight. Her lips had parted, her tears had dried. "I wonder--" she breathed. "Father's luck always turned. 'Don't weaken; be a thoroughbred!' That's what he used to tell me. He'd be ashamed of me now, wouldn't he? I've told you my troubles, 'Poleon, because you're all I have left. Forgive me, please, big brother." "Forgive? Mon Dieu!" said he. Their midnight meal was set out; to them it was tasteless, and neither one made more than a silent pretense of eating it. They were absorbed in their own thoughts when the sound of high voices, a commotion of some sort at the front of the saloon, attracted their attention. Rouletta's ears were the first to catch it; she turned, then uttered a breathless exclamation. The next instant she had slid down from her perch and was hurrying away. 'Poleon strode after her; he was at her back when she paused on the outskirts of a group which had assembled near the cashier's cage.