hind three jacks, was satisfied that he had the better hand, but did not like to risk so largely his friend's money, though by this time he hardly knew whether he was playing on his own account or for the other. Cheap enough," sneered the sharper, as he spread out on the board his hand, which could boast nothing higher than two fours.

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Duke detested bluffing. His nature was too single and straightforward to enjoy indulging in such trickery himself, and he did not like any better to have it played upon him. The sharper was quick enough to discover this; he discovered also that Duke was not greatly interested in the game, being apparently unconcerned whether he won or lost, and certainly having no intention of high play. And a sardonic satisfaction warmed the scoundrel's heart as he saw that at last he had been able to put his finger upon this immaculate young man's weakness, upon the soft spot in the character of one whom long before he had become satisfied was of a superior order.

For an hour or more the game went on, and Duke's friend did not return. Meanwhile the betting became heavier, several pots rising up into the thousands, and Duke was largely loser. Of course, now he was playing for himself; he would not for a moment expect his friend to suffer for his folly. But he himself could not afford to lose so much money, representing as it did weeks and months of toil and self-denial He would play for even, and then quit, he said to himself; and here should end his first and last attempt at real gambling. For he felt in his sinking heart, in his boiling blood, in his face flushed half in shame and half in anger-in anger at his own folly and at the leering, sneering sharper that this man was playing him like an angler a fish which could not escape the toils.

On went the game, the unfortunate Duke becoming more and more involved. He had not with him so much to lose, but he had already through the keeper

CAUGHT IN THE TOILS.

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of the saloon made his credit good at the game, for all knew well that he would never be led to venture what he could not pay.

"Five thousand more!" Hissed forth by the sharper came these words, while his snake-like eyes were riveted on his victim. There was already fifteen thousand at stake on the board. Duke held a very good hand, three kings and two sevens; but the game had drifted into such wild and reckless bluffing, that the best hand was by no means always allowed to take the money. Even now the sharper might have nothing higher than a ten spot, or he might have four aces; there was no way to tell. Duke's hand was good, very good, considering everything. The chances were at least ten to one the sharper could not beat it. That pot would make him whole, and he would then be free from the infernal toils in which he so unexpectedly found himself. On the other hand it was ruin, absolute and eternal ruin, he felt and knew it to be, if he lost. But his hand; at least ten to one in his favor.

Pale was the face, the heart irregular and jerking, and hollow and sepulchral the voice as the words came forth "I call!"

The sharper could measure accurately enough the Duke's hand; he knew as well as if he had seen it that it was not so very strong, for had it been the young man would have manifested more confidence. Nor was it by any means a poor hand, else he would not have called him. He was sure enough of his victim, as with a Satanic smile he slowly laid down on the table one, two, three, four queens.

Without speaking a word Duke laid his cards upon the pack, rose from his seat, and beckoning the saloon man to follow, walked out into the darkness, walked on through the darkness until he came to his cabin, when, scraping the dirt from under one corner, brought forth four bags, each containing $5,000 in gold dust. "This will make it good," he said, as he

handed it to the saloon man, who thereupon marched back through the darkness.

The ruined young man likewise stepped forth into the night. The cabin was too close for him; he could not breathe within those so lately happy walls. "It is like a dream; a horrid, horrid dream. So sudden, so accidental! Yet it is no dream, would to God it were! Fool, fool, fool! No, not fool; fate! A pistol ball crashing through my brain as I entered that room would have been no less looked for, could have held me scarcely less responsible. Why fate, or providence, or almighty God could be so cruel as to tear from me my hard earnings, my consecrated gold, and give it to that thief, I cannot understand. Punishment? I deserve no punishment. Punish

ment for what? I am an honest man, aye an honest man, and thou God knoweth it; that thing is a thief, and thou God knoweth it. This is omnipotent justice; hell is full of such justice. My gold, aye, my consecrated gold, consecrated to her. Ah, Christ! to her, my love! my love!"

Long he sat upon a stone, his head buried between his hands; then slowly arose, walked into the cabin, took from his breast a well-worn picture, and holding it close under the dim light of the candle, drank from its lineaments the last draught of a thirsty soul. "Farewell, sweet angel; thine have I ever been; thine now no longer!" Tearing up the pasteboard he scattered the fragments about his cabin floor, blew out the light, stepped forth, fastening the door after him, and took the trail up the river to the high divide, then zig-zag up the mountain. The moon was now abroad, throwing its pale, impotent light as far as it could into the black cañon, at the bottom of which shone a thread of silver foam.

"Suicide? Bah! I am no sick simpleton. I am a man. I am not afraid to live. I can suffer. Powers of heaven or hell, I defy you! As you have done to me, so would not I to you. Take from

the honest man and give to the thief! Take gold consecrated to the highest and purest affections, and cast it before swine! Omnipotent justice? Bah! again, I say. There is none such; no omnipotence and no justice."

Up, up, through the pale moonlight, zigzag to the mountain-top, then over the eternal snows, and down toward the great river flowing oceanward, life, love, justice, heaven-words, mere words, windy words, words, words!

CHAPTER XXIV.

DUELLING.

Falstaff Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour pricks me off when I come on? How then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word, honour? What is that honour? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died o'Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. 'Tis insensible, then. Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it; therefore I'll none of it; honour is a mere 'scutcheon and so ends my catechism.

THE time is past when to an average intellect the necessity exists of denouncing duelling, and we have now only to regard with astonishment the bondage of our ancestors to this folly. In the evolution of progress, fashion, that is to say actively expressed opinion or belief, is constantly undergoing change; indeed, change of belief, and corresponding action, is progress. And as some of the beliefs of past ages are to us absurdities so gross that we can only wonder how some minds could for a moment have entertained them, so will certain of our creeds and conduct appear to generations following.

Take for example woman; along the highways of history how variable her condition! Alternately slave and saint, now she is the drudge and chattel of man and now his companion and idol. To us the strangest of all strange passions that ever blotted the human heart, seems that from which sprung the cruel treatment of women which formed a prominent feature in ancient and half-civilized warfare. What to us could possibly seem more unnatural than the picture of an enraged soldier in whom blind fury had so swal

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