Winston was also an excellent farmer and a man he had confidence in, one who could be depended on to subsidize the real owner, which would suit the gambler a good deal better than farming.

When he had come to this decision he threw his cigar end away and strolled towards the bar.
"Boys," he said to the loungers, "I want you to have a drink with me.
Somebody has left me land and property in the very select colony of Silverdale on the Canadian prairie, and I'm going back there to take possession first thing to-morrow." Most of them joined him, and the second time his glass was filled he lifted it and glanced at Potter.
"Long life to you and the prettiest girl on either side of the frontier!" he said.
They drank the toast with acclamation, and Courthorne, who strolled away, retired early and started for the railroad before daylight next morning.

He laughed softly as he glanced back a moment at the lights of the settlement.
"There are a good many places on this side of the frontier that will suit me better than Silverdale," he said.

"In fact, it's probable that most of his friends have seen the last of Lance Courthorne.".