Old John smiled.
"In those words?"
"Well, no, uncle," the girl said with a responsive smile. "But they needed a 'jinning' up. I sent the message in your name."
The old man shook his head, but his indulgent smile remained.
"You'll be getting me into serious trouble with that impetuosity of yours, Jacky," he said absently. "But there—I daresay you know best."
His words were characteristic of him. He left the entire control of the ranch to this girl of two-and-twenty, relying implicitly upon her judgment in all things. It was a strange thing to do, for he was still a vigorous man. To look at him was to make oneself wonder at the reason. But the girl accepted the responsibility without question. There was a subtle sympathy between uncle and niece. Sometimes Jacky would gaze up into his handsome old face and something in the twitching cheek, the curiously-shaped mouth, hidden beneath the gray mustache, would cause her to turn away with a sigh, and, with stimulated resolution, hurl herself into the arduous labors of managing the ranch. What she read in that dear, honest face she loved so well she kept locked in her own secret heart, and never, by word or act, did she allow herself to betray it. She was absolute mistress of the Foss River Ranch and she knew it. Old "Poker" John, like the morphine "fiend," merely continued to keep up his reputation and the more fully deserve his sobriquet. His mind, his character, his whole being was being slowly but surely absorbed in the lust of gambling.
The girl laid her hand upon the old man's arm.
"Uncle—what was Lablache talking to you about? I mean when I came for the field-glasses."
"Poker" John was gazing abstractedly into the dense growth of pines which fringed the house. He pulled himself together, but his eyes had in them a far-away look.
"Many things," he replied evasively.