[CHAPTER I - THE POLO CLUB BALL]
[CHAPTER II - THE BLIZZARD: ITS CONSEQUENCES]
[CHAPTER III - A BIG GAME OF POKER]
[CHAPTER IV - AT THE FOSS RIVER RANCH]
[CHAPTER V - THE "STRAY" BEYOND THE MUSKEG]
[CHAPTER VI - WAYS THAT ARE DARK]
[CHAPTER VII - ACROSS THE GREAT MUSKEG]
[CHAPTER VIII - TOLD IN BAD MAN'S HOLLOW]
[CHAPTER IX - LABLANCHE'S "COUP"]
[CHAPTER X - "AUNT" MARGARET REFLECTS]
[CHAPTER XI - THE CAMPAIGN OPENS]
[CHAPTER XII - LABLACHE FORCES THE FIGHT]
[CHAPTER XIII - THE FIRST CHECK]
[CHAPTER XIV - THE HUE AND CRY]
[CHAPTER XV - AMONG THE HALF-BREEDS]
[CHAPTER XVI - GAUTIER CAUSES DISSENSION]
[CHAPTER XVII - THE NIGHT OF THE PUSKY]
[CHAPTER XVIII - THE PUSKY]
[CHAPTER XIX - LABLANCHE'S MIDNIGHT VISITOR]
[CHAPTER XX - A NIGHT OF TERROR]
[CHAPTER XXI - HORROCKS LEARNS THE SECRET OF THE MUSKEG]
[CHAPTER XXII - THE DAY AFTER]
[CHAPTER XXIII - THE PAW OF THE CAT]
[CHAPTER XXIV - "POKER" JOHN ACCEPTS]
[CHAPTER XXV - UNCLE AND NIECE]
[CHAPTER XXVI - IN WHICH MATTERS REACH A CLIMAX]
[CHAPTER XXVII - THE LAST GAMBLE]
[CHAPTER XXVIII - SETTLING THE RECKONING]
[CHAPTER XXIX - THE MAW OF THE MUSKEG]
CHAPTER I - THE POLO CLUB BALL
It was a brilliant gathering—brilliant in every sense of the word. The hall was a great effort of the decorator's art; the people were faultlessly dressed; the faces were strong, handsome—fair or dark complexioned as the case might be; those present represented the wealth and fashion of the Western Canadian ranching world. Intellectually, too, there was no more fault to find here than is usual in a ballroom in the West End of London.
It was the annual ball of the Polo Club, and that was a social function of the first water—in the eyes of the Calford world.
"My dear Mrs. Abbot, it is a matter which is quite out of my province," said John Allandale, in answer to a remark from his companion. He was leaning over the cushioned back of the Chesterfield upon which an old lady was seated, and gazing smilingly over at a group of young people standing at the opposite end of the room. "Jacky is one of those young ladies whose strength of character carries her beyond the control of mere man. Yes, I know what you would say," as Mrs. Abbot glanced up into his face with a look of mildly-expressed wonder; "it is true I am her uncle and guardian, but, nevertheless, I should no more dream of interfering with her—what shall we say?—love affairs, than suggest her incapacity to 'boss' a 'round up' worked by a crowd of Mexican greasers."
"Then all I can say is that your niece is a very unfortunate girl," replied the old lady, acidly. "How old is she?"
"Twenty-two."
John Allandale, or "Poker" John as he was more familiarly called by all who knew him, was still looking over at the group, but an expression had suddenly crept into his eyes which might, in a less robust-looking man, have been taken for disquiet—even fear. His companion's words had brought home to him a partial realization of a responsibility which was his.
"Twenty-two," she repeated, "and not a relative living except a good-hearted but thoroughly irresponsible uncle. That child is to be pitied, John."