It was a fatal delusion. "Old man" Smith sold drink for gain. The more he sold the better he liked it. John Allandale's "Collins" developed, as it always did now, into three or four potent drinks. So that by the time he returned to the ranch for breakfast his remorse was pushed well into the background, and with feverish craving he lodged for the fateful game.
In spite of his devotion to the bottle John Allandale usually made a hearty breakfast. But this morning the sight of Jacky presiding at his table upset him, and he left his food almost untasted. Remorse was deadened but conscience was yet unsilenced within him. Every time she spoke to him, every time he encountered her piercing gray eyes he felt himself to be a worse than Judas. In his rough, exaggerated way he told himself that he was selling this girl as surely as did the old slave owners sell their slaves in bygone days. He endeavored to persuade himself that what he was doing was for the best, and certainly that it was forced upon him. He would not admit that his mania for poker was the main factor in his acceptance of Lablache's terms. Gradually, however, his thoughts became intolerable to him, and when Jacky at last remarked on the fact that he was eating nothing and drinking only his coffee, he could stand it no longer. He pushed his chair back and rose from the table, and, muttering an excuse, fled from the room.
Her uncle's precipitate flight alarmed Jacky. She had seen, as anybody with half an eye could see, that he had had a heavy night. The bleared eyes, the puffed lids, the working, nervous face were simple enough evidence. She knew, too, that he had already been drinking this morning. But these things were not new to her, only painful facts which she was unable to alter; but his strange behavior and lack of appetite were things to set her thinking.
She was a very active-minded girl. It was not her way to sit wondering and puzzling over anything she could not understand. She had a knack of setting herself to unravel problems which required explanation in the most common-sense way. After giving her uncle time to leave the house—intuition told her that he would do so—she rose and rang the bell. Then she moved to the window while she waited for an answer to her summons. She saw the burly figure of her uncle walking swiftly down towards the settlement and in the direction of the saloon.
She turned with a sigh as a servant entered.
"Did any one call last night while I was out?" she asked.
"Not for you, miss."
"Oh!"
"No, miss, but Mr. Lablache was here. He was with your uncle for a long time—in the office."
"Did he come in with Mr. Allandale?"