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OSHAWA, ONTARIO, TUESDAY, OCTOBER 24, 1922. m-- OW PUNCHER By Robt. J. C. Stead 2) CHAPTER IV Dave's opportunity came sooner than he expected, After the depart- ure of the Hardys things at the old ranch were, as both father and son had predicted, very different. They found themselves on a sort of good behaviour---a behaviour which, un- happily, excited in each other grave suspicions as to purpose, Between these two men rude courtesies or considerations of any kind had heen so long forgotten that attempts to reintroduce them resulted in a sort of estrangement more dangerous than the old open hostility. The tension steadily increased, and hoth looked forward to the moment when something must give way, For several weeks the old man remained entirely sober, but the call of the appetite in him grew more and more insistent as the days went by, and at last came the morn- ing when Dave awoke to fiind 'him gone, He needed no second guess; the craving had become irresistible, and his father had ridden to town for the means to satisfy it. The] passing days did not bring his re-| turn, but this occasioned no anx- | iety to Dave. In the course of carouse his father frequently malted away for weeks at a stretch, and at such times it was Dave's cus- tom to visit the boys on a ranch a dozen miles over the foothills to the southward, These boys had a sister, and what was more natural than that Dave should drown his lone- liness in such company? But this time he southward over the hills, He moped around the ranch buildings, sat moodily by the little stream, cast- ing pebbles in the water, or rode over the old trails on which she had so often been his companion. The seasoh was bright with all the glory of the foothill September; the silver dome of heaven, cloudless morning and noon, ripened with the dying day into seas of gold on which floated cloud-islands of pur- ple and amethyst, and through the immeasurable silence of the night moon and stars bathed the deep val- leys in celestial effulgence. But in the heart of the boy 'was neither sun nor moon nor stars, but only the black gulfs of loneliness from which his light had gone out. Then the old man's horse came home. Dave saw it coming up the trail, not running wildly, but with nervous gallop and many sidelong turnings of the head. As the boy watched he found a strange empti- ness possess him; his body seemed a phantom on which his head hung over-hieavy. He spoke to the horse. which pulled up, snorting, before him; noted the wet neck and flanks, and at last the broken stirrup Then, slowly and and methodical- lv, and still with that strange sen- sation of emptiness, he saddled his own horse and set out on the search. . . , After the last rites had been paid to the old rancher Dave set apou! at once to wind up his affairs, and it was not until then that he discov- ered how deeply his father had been involved. The selling of the cattle and the various effects realized only enough to discharge the liabilities, and when this had been done Dave found himself with a considerable area of unmarketable land, a congid- erable bundle of paid bills, and his horse, saddle and revolver, He rode his horse to town, carrying a few arti- cles of wear with him. It was only after a stiff fight he eould bring him- self to part with his one companion. The last miles into town were rid- den yery slowly, with the boy fre- quently leaning forward and strok- ing thé horse's neck and ears. *Tough doin's, ol' Slop-eye," would say. "Tough doin's." But it's got to be done. I can't keep you in town; 't ain't like out on the old ranch. An' I got a bigger job now than ever you an' me stood in on, an' we've stood in on some big ones, too, ain't we? But that's gone an' done; that old life's all busted, all of a sudden, like a bottle. Busted an' run out. I got a big job on now, he did not ride | <) an' you can't take no part, You jus' got to get out. You're done, see," He sold horse and saddle for sixty dollars and took a room at a cheap hotel until he shounld find work and still cheaper lodgings. In the evening he walked through the streets of the little cow town, It was not altogether new to him; he had frequently visited it for bhusi- ness or pleasure, hut he had never felt the sense of strangeness which oppressed him this night, In the past he had always been in the town as a visitor; his roots were still in the ranch; he could afford to notice the ways of the town, and smile to himself a whimsical smile, and go on. But now he was throwing in his lot with the town; he was go- ing to he one of it, and it stretched no arms of welcome to him, It snubbed him with its indifference. : He became aware that he was very lonely. He became aware that the gathering twilight in the from his nostrils "Smooth guy that." "Yes," said Dave, Then, as it was apparent the stranger was Whats | and repeated, to be friendly, he continued, 'What's the idea?" "The stranger nudged him gently. "Come out of the bunch," he said, in a low voice, When they had moved a little apart he went on, in a Son- | fidential tone. "He has a Mttle trick with three cards that brings him in the easy coin. He's smooth as grease, but the thing's simple, Oh, it's awful simple. It's out' of date with the circuses in the States-- that was where I got wise to it--- but it seems to get 'em here. Now you watch him for a minute," and they watched through an opening in the crowd about his table. The play- er held three cards, two red ones and a black. He passed them about rapidly over the table, occasionally turning his hand sideways so that the onlookers could see the position of the cards. Then he suddenly threw them, face down, on the table, each card hy itself, "The trick is to locate the black card," Dave's companion explained. "It's easy enough if you just keep your eye on the card, but the trouble with these rubes is they name the card and then start to get out their money, and while they're fumbling for it he makes a change so quick they never see it, There's just one way to beat him. Get up close, hut don't say you're going to play; just pretend you're getting interested. Then when you're dead sure of a card, crack your fist down on it. great hills had never seemed so vague and empty as the dusk of this | strange town. He realized that he had but one friend in the world; but one, and of her he knew not so much 'as her address, He {began to wonder whether he really | 3 had a friend at all; whether the! 8- | girl would not discard him when he was of no further use just as he had discarded his faithful old horse. Tears of 'loneliness and remorse of the lamps poles. twilight blurred the street now glimmering from their He felt that he had treated the horse very shabbily indeed. He wanted old Slop-eye hack again. He suddenly wanted him with a terrific longing--wanted him more than anything else in the world. For a moment he forgot the girl, and all his homesickness centred ahout the beast which had Deen so long his companion and servant and friend, "I'll buy him back in the morn- in', T will, sure as hell," he said in a sudden gust of emotion, "We got to stick together. I didn't play fair with him, but I'll buy him back. Perhaps I can get a job for him, too, pullin' a light wagon, or some- thin'." The resolution to "play fair" with Slop-eye gradually restored his cheerfulness, and he walked slowly back to the hotel, looking in at many window displays as he went. Half shyly he paused before a win- dow of women's wear--fine, filmy things, soft and elusive, and, he sup- posed, very expensive. He wondered if Reenie bought. g¢lothes .like that to wear in her city home. And then he began to look for a brown sweat- er. and to move from window to window. And presently he found himself at his hotel. The men's sitting-room now pre- sented a much more animated pic- ture than when he had registered earlier in the evening. It was filled with ranchers, cowboys, and cattle- men of all degrees; breeders, buy- ers, traders, owners, and wage- sarners, with a sprinkling of towns- people and others mot directly en- gaged in some phase of the cattle business. The room was strong with smoke and language and ex- pectoration and goodfellowship to which the maudlin carousal of the line-up at the bar furnished appro- priate accompaniment. Through the smoke he could see another room farther back. in which were a num- ber of pool tables; loud voices and loud laughter and oecasional awe- inspiring rips of profanity betokened deep interest in the game, and he al- lowed himself to drift in that dir- ection. Soon he was in a group watching a gaudily dressed individ- ual doing a sort of sleight-of-hand trick with three cards on a table. "Smooth guy that," said someone at his side. The remark was evi- dently intended for Dave, and he turned toward the speaker. He was a man somewhat smaller than Dave; two or three years older; well dressed in town clothes; with a rather puffy faee and a gold-filled tooth from which a corner had been broken as though to accommodate the cigarette which hung there. He blew a slow double stream of smoke Electric Cooking Demonstration JOHN BAILES & SONS will have an Electric Cooking demonstration, in Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday 24, 25 and 26 and any woman who sees it will be fully con- that "It's time to change to a McClary Bailes & Sons vinced Range. John gathered in his eyes, and a mist not | Glue yourself right to it, and get oyt your money with the other hand. | When he sees you do that he'll try [to bluff you; say you ain't in on it, Los you just tell him that don't go, [this is an open game, and he's got to come through, and the crowd'll back you up. I stuck him one--a whole hundred first erack--and then he barred me, Watch him." Dave watched, Saw the black card go down. at one corner of the hoard; saw a bystander fumbling for a five-dollar bill; saw the bill laid on the card; saw it turned up--and it was red. "That is smooth," he said, "I'd 'a' sworn that was the black card." "So it was---when you saw it," his companion explained. "But you were just like the sucker that played him. You couldn't help glancing at the jay getting out his money, and it was in that instant the trick was done. He's too quick for the eye, but that's how he does it." Dave became interested. He saw two or three others lose fives and tens. Then his companion pinched his arm. "Watch that new guy," he whispered. "Watch him. He's wise," A new player had approached. He stood near the table for some min- utes, apparently looking on casual- ly; then his left fist came down on one of the cards. "A hundred on this one," he said, and began thumb- ing out a roll with the other hand. "You ain't playin'," said the deal- "You ain't in on this," "Ain't 1? What do you say, fel- lows?" turning to the crowd. "Am I in or not " "Sure you're in," they exclaimed. "Sure you're in," repeated a big fel- low, lounging forward. *If this guy ain't in we clean you out, see?" "It's on me," said the dealer, with an ugly smile. "Well, if I must pay, I pay. Turn er up." It was black. The dealer paid out a hundred dollars to the new player, who quickly disappeared in the crowd. Dave had made his decision. It was plain his companion's tip was straight. There was just one way to beat this game, but it was simple enough when you knew how. He sidled close to the table, making greal pretence of indifference, but watching the cards closely with his keen black eyes. The dealer show- ed his hand, made a few quick passes, and the blaek card flew out to the right. This was Dave's chance. He pounced on it with his left hand, while his other plunged into his poe- ket. . "Sixty dollars on this one," he cried, and there was triumphant note in his voice of the man who knows he has beaten the other at his own game. "You ain't playin'," said the deal- er. "You ain't in on this." "That don't do," said Dave, very quietly. "You're playin' a public game here, an' I choose to play with vou, this once. Sixty dollars on this card." He was fumbling his money on the table. "You ain't playin'," repeated the dealer. "You're a butt-in. You ain't in this game at all." "Sure he's in," said the crowd. crowd. "Sure he's in," repeated the big fellow who had interfered be- fore. "He's a stranger here, but you play with him or you don't play no more in this joint, see?" "That's hittin' me twice in the same spot, an' hittin' me hard," whined the dealer, "but you got it on me. Turn 'er up." The card was red. Dave looked at it stupigiy. It was a moment or two before he realized that his mohey was gone. Then regardless of 'those about him, he rushed through the erowd, fling- ing bystanders right and left, and plunged into the might. He walked down a street until it lost itself on the prairie; then he followed a prairie trail far into the country. The air was cold and a few drops of rain were fly- ing in it, but he was unconscious of the weather. He was in a rage, through and through. More than once his hand went to his revol- ver, and he half turned on his heel to retrace his steps, but his better judgment led him on to fight it out with himself. Slop- eye was now a dream, a memory. gone -- gone. Everything was gone; only his revolver and a few cents remained. revolver again. With that he was supreme. No man in all that town of men schooled in the ways of the West was more than his equal while that grip lay in his palm. At the point of that muzzie he could de- er. mand his money back--and get it. He gripped the |! -- dH lt ll a -™" | Mother says, "It must be FRY'S." S Then he. laughed. Hollow and empty it sounded in the night air, but it was a laugh, and it saved his spirit. "Why, you fool," he chuck- led. "You came to town for to learn somethin', didn't yon? Well, you're learnin'. Sixty dollars a throw. Bdu- cation comes high, don't it? ' But you shouldn't kick.' He didn't coax you in, an' gave you every chance to back away. You butted in and got stung. Perhaps you've learned | somethin' worth sixty dollars." | With these more philosophical thoughts he turned townward again, andl as he tramped along his light- heartedness reasserted itself, His sense of fairness made him feel that he had no grievance against the card- sharker, and in his innocence of the ways of the ganmie it never occurred to him that the friendly stranger who had showed him how to play it, and the big fellow who insisted on his being "* in," and the other player who had won a hundred dol- lars a few minutes before, were all partners with the sharker, and pro- bably at this moment were dividing his sixty dollars--the price of old Slop-eye--between them. Early next morning he was awake and astir. The recollection of his loss sent a sudden pang through his morning spirits, but he tried to close his mind to it. "No use worryin' over that," he said, jingling the few coins that now represented his weal- th. "That's over and gone. I trad- ed sixty dollars for my first lesson. Maybe it was a bad trade, but, any- way, I ain't goin' to squeal." He turned that thought over in his mind. It suddenly oecurred to him that it expressed a principle he might very well weave into his new life. "If |I can jus' get that idea, an® live up to it," he said, "never to squeal, no matter what hits me, nor how, | guess it's worth sixty dollars." He whistled as he finished dressing, ate his breakfast cheerfully, and set out in search of employment. CHAPTER V. Almost the first person he met was the stranger who had schooled him in the gambling game the night before. He greeted Dave cordially; his voice had a soft, seductive, al- most feminine quality which Dave had not noticed in their whispered conversation in the pooi-room. There was something attractive about his persohdlity, something which invit- ed frieddship and even confidence, and yet beneath these emotions Dave felt a sense of distrust, as though part of Bis nature rebelled Against the acquaintanceship. "That was the rottenest luck you had last might," the stranger was saying. "I never saw the beat of it. I knew you were wrong the 'moment you 'had your 'hand down, but I couldn't butt in then. I was hoping you'd stay and raise him next time; you might have got your money back that "way." "Ob, I don't mind the money," said Dave, cheerfully. "I don't want t back. In fact, I figure it was pretty well spent." | "Lots more where it came from, eh?" laughed the other. "You're from the ranches, I see, and I sup- pose the price of a steer or two does- AFm from them, back. my last nickel for breakfast, so I've got to line a job before noon." The stranger extended his hand. "Shake," You're no squealer, name is Conward,. Dave hands. ette a few moments in silence. the employment agency and intro- duced Dave. "Nothing very choicé oh tap to- day," said the employment man. "You can handle horses, I suppose?" "I guess I can," said Dave. "Some." "I can place you delifering coal. Thirty dollars a months, and you board with the boss." "I'll take it," said Dave. (To be continued) ww a pu mA SA--. "What kind of a job do you want?" Conward asked at length, "Any "kind that pays a wage," said Dave. "If'Y don't like it I'll chuck it as soon as I ean afford t' be partic'lar, but just. now I've got to get a grub-stake." "I know the fellow that rums an employment agency down here," Con- ward answered. ,L "Lét's go down. Perhaps I can put you in right." Conward spoke to the manager of er | - " an' I'm net: goin' As for money-- well, 1 spent he said. "I like you. anyway. My Yours?" told his name, and shook Conward offered his cigar- box, and the two smoked for n't worry you a hair's worth." "From is right," Dave replied. e Don't Rub--Just Soak Your Clothes Clean INSO isfine granules of soap essence, scientifically and lotely different from ordinary soap, flakes or washing pe ler. It should be used differently too--for instance, to get do not pour the Rinso granules into the tub from the ge.