"There is reason in your sobriquet, John. A man who spends his substance
and time in playing that fascinating but degrading game called 'Draw
Poker' deserves no better title."

John Allandale made a "clucking" sound with his tongue. It was his way
of expressing irritation. Then he stood erect, and glanced round the
room in search of some one. He was a tall, well-built man and carried
his fifty odd years fairly well, in spite of his gray hair and the bald
patch at the crown of his head. Thirty years of a rancher's life had in
no way lessened the easy carriage and distinguished bearing acquired
during his upbringing. John Allandale's face and figure were redolent of
the free life of the prairie. And although, possibly, his fifty-five
years might have lain more easily upon him he was a man of commanding
appearance and one not to be passed unnoticed.

Mrs. Abbot was the wife of the doctor of the Foss River Settlement and
had known John Allandale from the first day he had taken up his abode on
the land which afterwards became known as the Foss River Ranch until
now, when he was acknowledged to be a power in the stock-raising world.
She was a woman of sound, practical, common sense; he was a man of
action rather than a thinker; she was a woman whose moral guide was an
invincible sense of duty; he was a man whose sense of responsibility and
duty was entirely governed by an unreliable inclination. Moreover, he
was obstinate without being possessed of great strength of will. They
were characters utterly opposed to one another, and yet they were the
greatest of friends.

The music had ceased again and once more the walls were lined with
heated dancers, breathing hard and fanning themselves. Suddenly John
Allandale saw a face he was looking for. Murmuring an excuse to Mrs.