"If we're going it's time you girls were in bed. You've had a hard day and to-morrow will be another," Lady Jim pronounced.
The Westerner rose to go.
"Night's young yet. Stop and sit in with us to a game of poker. What!" Farquhar invited.
"My pocketbook is at the camp," the American demurred.
"I'll be your banker," his host volunteered.
The ladies said good-night and departed. Chairs were drawn to the card table, chips sold, and hands dealt. The light of morning was breaking before Kilmeny made his way back to camp. He had in his pockets one hundred seventy three dollars, most of which had recently been the property of Dobyans Verinder.
An early start for Gunnison had been agreed upon by the fishermen at the camp. To go to bed now was hardly worth while. Jack took a towel from the willow bush upon which it was hanging, went down to the river, stripped, and from a rock ten feet above a deep pool dived straight as an arrow into the black water. The swirl of the current swept him into the shallower stream below. He waded ashore, beautiful in his supple slimness as an Apollo, climbed the rock a second time, and again knew the delightful shock of a dive into icy water fresh from the mountain snows.
Ten minutes later he wakened the camp by rattling the stove lids.
"Oh, you sluggards! Time to hit the floor," he shouted.