again--"

"By thunder!" exclaimed Sam; "ef thar ain't one of them cussed sharps a
watchin' 'em."

Sure enough, a rough-looking fellow, his hat pulled over his eyes, half
concealed behind a pile of lumber, was casting a sinister glance toward
the pair.

"The gal's well enough," continued Sam; "but I don't take a cent's wuth
of stock in thet thar father of her'n. He's in with them sharps, sure
pop, an' it don't suit his book to hev Foster hangin' round. It's ten to
one he sent that cuss to watch 'em. Wa'al, they're a queer lot, an' I'm
afeared thar's plenty of trouble ahead among 'em. Good luck to you,
Major," and he pushed back his chair and walked away.

After breakfast next morning, when Sinclair was sitting at the table in
his office, busy with maps and plans, the door was thrown open, and
Foster, panting for breath, ran in.

"Major Sinclair," he said, speaking with difficulty, "I've no claim on
you, but I ask you to protect me. The other gamblers are going to hang
me. They are more than ten to one. They will track me here, and unless
you harbor me, I'm a dead man."

Sinclair rose from his chair in a second and walked to the window. A
party of men were approaching the building. He turned to Foster:

"I do not like your trade," said he; "but I will not see you murdered if
I can help it. You are welcome here." Foster said "Thank you," stood