“I am; and I shall not leave this part of the country until I have done so.”
Gentleman Jim got up and took a thoughtful turn about the room. The scout watched him curiously. Suddenly the gambler came to a halt in front of the scout.
“Buffalo Bill,” said he, “I presume you are aware that all gamblers are more or less superstitious and given to premonitions. I have a premonition that there is something on the cards for me, important if not vital. What it is I do not know, but events are forming which will make or mar me. If the worst happens, I have ten thousand dollars in the First National at Montegordo—honest money, not even won by the cards in honest games—and this I want you to hold in trust. I have drawn a check for the amount in your name; if need arise, you will find the check here.”
Gentleman Jim stepped to his desk, and pulled out a concealed drawer. The scout nodded, and the gambler closed the drawer.
“I am to hold the money in trust—for whom?” Buffalo Bill asked.
A sad look crossed the gambler’s face.
“For the only woman I ever loved,” he answered, sinking into a chair; “for my wife, Alice Brisco, if she is living.”
“How am I to find her?”
“We must leave that to fate,” Gentleman Jim answered, with a foreboding shake of the head. “All I know about Alice you will find in that drawer, with the check. If the money is never claimed, it is to be yours.”
“You’re gloomy to-day, old man,” said Buffalo Bill. “This talk of premonitions is all foolishness.”