"Without doubt, without doubt, he is everything you mention. Could you,
now, be Mistress Patty Laughton, of Kentucky?"

"Yes, sir."

"I knew your Grandfather Laughton, my child, and since I came here I
have heard-of you," he finished, with innate delicacy. Indeed, who had
not heard her story?

She opened her silken reticule and drew forth a small, buckskin bag.
"Will you not accept it?" Yesterday, at the claims, I panned it out
myself. I am sorry for your plight. I am sorry for anyone in the
clutches of Slick-heels Saul."

"But - . Can you - ?"

"It does not matter. Your extremity is greater than mine."

He stood looking after the slim girl who carried her head so high. "How
like a Kentucky Laughton. Thoroughbred stock, all!" He tossed the bag in
his hand. "'Tis why they are where they are today." Then his keen old
eyes softened. "And why they are what they are, today. Bless her tender
heart to stoop to an old cattle man in the mire. As for this - I must
see Irish Mike," and he hurried off with surprising speed.

Bets rose. Every gambler had been apprised of the sure thing and flocked
to the betting like bears to a honey tree.

"Have ye put up ye'r money, Eric?" asked Irish Mike, late the next