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Title: The Twins of Suffering Creek

Author: Ridgwell Cullum

Release date: August 8, 2009 [eBook #29638]
Most recently updated: January 5, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TWINS OF SUFFERING CREEK ***

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

THE ONE-WAY TRAIL
THE TRAIL OF THE AXE
THE SHERIFF OF DYKE HOLE
THE WATCHERS OF THE PLAINS

The Twins of Suffering Creek (1)

“Say––Jessie,” he breathed hotly, “you’re––you’re fine!”

THE TWINS OF
SUFFERING CREEK

BY

RIDGWELL CULLUM

AUTHOR OF
“THE ONE-WAY TRAIL,” “THE WATCHERS OF THE PLAINS,” ETC.

The Twins of Suffering Creek (2)

PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1912, by
George W. Jacobs & Company

TO
MY TWO LITTLE CHUMS

CHRIS AND RIDGE

THIS BOOK
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

CONTENTS

IPOTTER’S CLAY9
IITHE HARVEST OF PASSION23
IIITHE AWAKENING OF SCIPIO37
IVSCIPIO BORROWS A HORSE54
VHUSBAND AND LOVER69
VISUNNY OAK PROTESTS87
VIISUNNY OAK TRIES HIS HAND94
VIIIWILD BILL THINKS HARD––AND HEARS NEWS108
IXTHE FORERUNNER OF THE TRUST116
XTHE TRUST124
XISTRANGERS IN SUFFERING CREEK136
XIITHE WOMAN142
XIIIBIRDIE AND THE BOYS154
XIVBIRDIE GIVES MORE ADVICE167
XVTHE TRUST AT WORK177
XVIZIP’S GRATITUDE188
XVIIJESSIE’S LETTER196
XVIIION THE ROAD205
XIXA FINANCIAL TRANSACTION216
XXHOW THE TRUST BOUGHT MEDICINE225
XXISCIPIO MAKES PREPARATIONS236
XXIISUNDAY MORNING IN SUFFERING CREEK240
XXIIIA BATH AND––247
XXIV––A BIBLE TALK259
XXVWILD BILL FIRES A BOMB267
XXVIWILD BILL INSPECTS HIS CLAIM274
XXVIISUSPENSE285
XXVIIIJAMES296
XXIXTHE GOLD-STAGE304
XXXON THE SPAWN CITY TRAIL316
XXXITHE BATTLE325
XXXIIA MAN’S LOVE335
XXXIIITHE REASON WHY346
XXXIVTHE LUCK OF SCIPIO353
XXXVHOME363

CHAPTER I

POTTER’S CLAY

Scipio moved about the room uncertainly. It wascharacteristic of him. Nature had given him an expressionthat suggested bewilderment, and, somehow, this expressionhad got into his movements.

He was swabbing the floor with a rag mop; a voluntarytask, undertaken to relieve his wife, who was lounging overthe glowing cookstove, reading a cheap story book. Onceor twice he paused in his labors, and his mild, questioningblue eyes sought the woman’s intent face. His stubby,work-soiled fingers would rake their way through his straw-coloredhair, which grew sparsely and defiantly, standingout at every possible unnatural angle, and the mop wouldagain flap into the muddy water, and continue its process ofsmearing the rough boarded floor.

Now and again the sound of children’s voices floated inthrough the open doorway, and at each shrill piping theman’s pale eyes lit into a smile of parental tenderness. Buthis work went on steadily, for such was the deliberatenessof his purpose.

The room was small, and already three-quarters of it hadbeen satisfactorily smeared, and the dirt spread to the necessaryconsistency. Now he was nearing the cookstovewhere the woman sat.

“I’d hate to worry you any, Jess,” he said, in a gentle,apologetic voice, “but I’m right up to this patch. If you’dkind of lift your feet, an’ tuck your skirts around you some,guess you could go right on reading your fiction.”

The woman looked up with a peevish frown. Thensomething like a pitying smile warmed her expression. Shewas a handsome creature, of a large, somewhat bold type,with a passionate glow of strong youth and health in everyfeature of her well-shaped face. She was taller than herdiminutive husband, and, in every detail of expression, hisantithesis. She wore a dress with some pretensions todisplay, and suggesting a considerable personal vanity. Butit was of the tawdry order that was unconvincing, and lackedboth refinement and tidiness.

Scipio followed up his words with a glance of smilingamiability.

“I’m real sorry––” he began again.

But she cut him short.

“Oh, bother!” she exclaimed; and, thrusting her slipperedfeet upon the stove, tucked her skirts about her.Then, utterly ignoring him, she buried herself once morein her book.

The mop flapped about her chair legs, the water splashedthe stove. Scipio was hurrying, and consequently floundering.It was his endeavor not to disturb his wife more thanwas necessary.

Finally he wrung out his mop and stood it outside thedoor in the sun. He emptied his bucket upon the fewanæmic cabbages which grew in an untidy patch at the sideof the hut, and returned once more to the room.

He glanced round it with feeble appreciation. It was ahopeless sort of place, yet he could not detect its shortcomings.The rough, log-built walls, smeared with a mudplaster, were quite unadorned. There was one solitaryopening for a window, and in the center of the room was aroughly manufactured table, laden with the remains ofseveral repasts. Breakfast was the latest, and the smell ofcoffee and fried pork still hung about the room. There weretwo Windsor chairs, one of which his wife was occupying,and a ramshackle food cupboard. Then there were thecookstove and a fuel box, and two or three iron pots hangingabout the walls.

Out of this opened a bedroom, and the rough bedstead,with its tumbled blankets, was in full view where Scipiostood. Although the morning was well advanced the bedwas still unmade. Poor as the place was, it might, in thehands of a busy housewife, have presented a very differentappearance. But Jessie was not a good housewife. Shehated the care of her little home. She was not a bad woman,but she had no sympathy with the harshnesses of life.She yearned for the amplitude to which she had beenbrought up, and detested bitterly the pass to which her husband’sincapacity had brought her.

When she had married Scipio he had money––moneythat had been left to him for the purpose of embarking inbusiness, a purpose he had faithfully carried out. But hisknowledge of business was limited to the signing of checksin favor of anyone who wanted one, and, as a consequence,by the time their twins were three years old he had receivedan intimation from the bank that he must forthwith putthem in credit for the last check he had drawn.

Thus it was that, six months later, the thirty or fortyinhabitants of Job’s Flat on Suffering Creek––a little miningcamp stowed away in the southwest corner of Montana,almost hidden amongst the broken foothills of theRocky Mountains––basking in the sunshine of a Sundayafternoon haze, were suddenly startled by the apparition ofa small wagon, driven by a smaller man with yellow hair,bearing down upon them. But that which stirred them mostsurely was the additional sight of a handsome girl, sittingat his side, and, crowded between them on the seat, a pair ofsmall children.

Scipio, in a desperate effort to restore his fortunes, andset his precious family once more on a sound financial basis,had come in search of the gold which report said was to behad on Suffering Creek for the trouble of picking it up.

This vision startled Suffering Creek, which, metaphorically,sat up and rubbed its eyes. Here was something quiteunaccustomed. The yellow-haired fragment of humanity atthe end of the reins was like nothing they had ever seen;the children were a source of wondering astonishment; butthe woman––ah! There was one woman, and one womanonly, on Suffering Creek until Jessie’s arrival, and she wasonly the “hash-slinger” at Minky’s store.

The newcomer’s face pleased them. Her eyes were fine,and full of coquetry. Her figure was all that a woman’sshould be. Yes, the camp liked the look of her, and so itset out to give Scipio a hearty welcome.

Now a mining camp can be very cordial in its rough way.It can be otherwise, too. But in this case we have only todo with its cordiality. The men of Suffering Creek weredrawn from all sorts and conditions of society. The majorityof them lived like various grades of princes whenmoney was plentiful, and starved when Fortune frowned.There were men amongst them who had never felt the softerside of life, and men who had been ruthlessly kicked fromthat downy couch. There were good men and scoundrels,workers and loafers; there were men who had few scruples,and certainly no morals whatever. But they had met on acommon ground with the common purpose of spinning fortune’swheel, and the sight of a woman’s handsome face setthem tumbling over each other to extend the hand of friendshipto her husband.

And the simple-minded Scipio quickly fell into the fold.Nor was it long before his innocence, his mildness, his never-failinggood-nature got hold of this cluster of ruffians.They laughed at him––he was a source of endless amusementto them––but they liked him. And in such men likingmeant a great deal.

But from the first Scipio’s peculiar nature, and it waspeculiar, led him into many grievous mistakes. His mindwas full of active purpose. He had an enormous sense ofresponsibility and duty to those who belonged to him. Butsomehow he seemed to lack any due sense of proportion inthose things which were vital to their best interests. Ponderousthought had the effect of turning his ideas upsidedown, leaving him with but one clear inspiration. He mustdo. He must act––and at once.

Thus it was he gave much consideration to the selectionof the site of his house. He wanted a southern aspect, itmust be high up, it must not be crowded amongst the otherhouses. The twins needed air. Then the nearer he was tothe creek, where the gold was to be found, the better. Andagain his prospecting must tap a part of it where the diggershad not yet “claimed.” There were a dozen and one thingsto be considered, and he thought of them all until his gentlemind became confused and his sense of proportion completelysubmerged.

The result was, he settled desperately upon the one sitethat common sense should have made him avoid. Nor wasit until the foundations of the house had been laid, and thewalls were already half their full height, that he realized,from the desolation of refuse and garbage strewn everywhereabout him, that his home was overlooking the camp“dumps.”

However, it was too late to make any change, and, withcharacteristic persistence, he completed his work and wentinto residence with his wife and the twins.

The pressure of work lessened, he had a moment inwhich to look around. And with the thought of his twinson his mind, and all his wife had once been accustomed to,he quickly realized the necessity of green vegetables in hisménage. So he promptly flew to the task of arranging acabbage patch. The result was a foregone conclusion. Hedug and planted his patch. Nor was it until the work wascompleted that it filtered through to his comprehension thathe had selected the only patch in the neighborhood with aheavy underlay of gravel and lime stone.

But his crowning effort was his search for gold. Thereare well-established geological laws governing the prospector’scraft which no experienced gold-seeker ever departsfrom. These were all carefully explained to him by willingtongues. Then, after poring over all he had learned, andthought and searched for two days and two nights, he finallydiscovered a spot where no other prospector had staked theground.

It was a curious, gloomy sort of patch, nearly half-a-mileup the creek from the camp, and further in towards themountains. Just at this spot the banks of the creek werehigh, there was an unusual blackness about the soil, and itgave out a faint but unrecognizable odor, that, in the brightmountain air, was quite pleasant. For several hundredyards the ground of this flat was rankly spongy, with anoozy surface. Then, beyond, lay a black greasy-lookingmarsh, and further on again the hills rose abruptly with thefacets of auriferous-looking soil, such as the prospector lovesto contemplate.

Scipio pondered. And though the conditions outraged allhe had been told of the craft he was embarking upon, heplunged his pick into this flat, and set to work with characteristicgood-will.

The men of the camp when they discovered his ventureshook their heads and laughed. Then their laugh died outand their hard eyes grew serious. But no one interfered.They were all seeking gold.

This was Scipio’s position on Suffering Creek, but it doesnot tell half of what lay somewhere in the back of hisquaintly-poised mind. No one who knew him failed torealize his worship for his wife. His was a love such asrarely falls to the lot of woman. And his devotion to hisgirl and boy twins was something quite beyond words.These things were the mainspring of his life, and drovehim to such superlative degrees of self-sacrifice that couldsurely only have been endured by a man of his peculiarmind.

No matter what the toil of his claim, he always seemedto find leisure and delight in saving his wife from thedomestic cares of their home. And though weary to thebreaking-point with his toil, and consumed by a hungerthat was well-nigh painful, when food was short he neverseemed to realize his needs until Jessie and the children hadeaten heartily. And afterwards no power on earth couldrob him of an hour’s romp with the little tyrants who ruledand worshiped him.

Now, as he stood before the littered table, he glanced outat the sun. The morning was advancing all too rapidly.His eyes drifted across to his wife. She was still reading.A light sigh escaped him. He felt he should be out on hisclaim. However, without further thought he took the boilerof hot water off the stove and began to wash up.

It was the clatter of the plates that made Jessie lookup.

“For goodness’ sake!” she exclaimed, with exasperation.“You’ll be bathing the children next. Say, you can justleave those things alone. I’ve only got a bit more to readto the end of the chapter.”

“I thought maybe it ’ud help you out some. I––”

“You give me a pain, you sure do,” Jessie broke in.“You get right out and hustle gold, and leave things of thatsort to others.”

“But I don’t mind doing it, truth I don’t,” Scipio expostulatedmildly. “I just thought it would save you––”

Jessie gave an artificial sigh.

“You tire me. Do you think I don’t know my work?I’m here to do the chores––and well I know it. You’rehere to do a man’s work, same as any other man. You getout and find the gold, I can look after the house––if youcan call it a house,” she added contemptuously.

Her eyes were quite hopeless as she let them wanderover the frowsiness in the midst of which she sat. She wasparticularly discontented this morning. Not only had herthoughts been rudely dragged back from the seductive contemplationof the doings of the wealthy ones as the dimefiction-writer sees them, but there was a feeling of somethingmore personal. It was something which she huggedto her bosom as a priceless pearl of enjoyment in the midstof a barren, rock-bound life of squalor.

The sight of him meandering about the room recalledthese things. Thoughts, while they troubled her, yet hadpower to stimulate and excite her; thoughts which shealmost dreaded, but which caused her exquisite delight.She must get rid of him.

But as she looked about the room something very likedismay assailed her. There were the hated household dutiesconfronting her; duties she was longing to be free of,duties which she was tempted to abandon altogether, witheverything else that concerned her present sordid life.

But Scipio knew none of this. His unsuspicious natureleft him utterly blinded to the inner workings of her indolent,selfish spirit, and was always ready to accept blame forher ill-humors. Now he hurriedly endeavored to makeamends.

“Of course you can, Jess,” he said eagerly. “I don’tguess there’s another woman around who can manage thingslike you. You don’t never grumble at things, and goodnessknows I couldn’t blame you any, if you did. But––butther’ seems such a heap to be done––for you to do,” he wenton, glancing with mild vengefulness at the litter. “Say,”he cried, with a sudden lightening and inspiration, “maybeI could buck some wood for you before I go. You’ll needa good fire to dry the kiddies by after you washened ’em.It sure wouldn’t kep me long.”

But the only effect of his persistent kindliness was tofurther exasperate his wife. Every word, every gentle intentionon his part made her realize her own shortcomingsmore fully. In her innermost heart she knew that she hadno desire to do the work; she hated it, she was lazy. Sheknew that he was far better than she; good, even noble,in spite of his mental powers being so lamentably at fault.All this she knew, and it weakly maddened her becauseshe could not rise above herself and show him all the womanthat was so deeply hidden under her cloak of selfishness.

Then there was that other thought, that something thatwas her secret. She had that instinct of good that made ita guilty secret. Yet she knew that, as the world seesthings, she had as yet done no great harm.

And therein lay the mischief. Had she been a viciouswoman nothing would have troubled her, but she was notvicious. She was not even less than good in her moralinstincts. Only she was weak, hopelessly weak, and soall these things drove her to a shrewish discontent andpeevishness.

“Oh, there’s no peace where you are,” she cried, passionatelyflinging her book aside and springing to her feet.“Do you think I can’t look to this miserable home you’vegiven me? I hate it. Yes, I hate it all. Why I marriedyou I’m sure I don’t know. Look at it. Look round you,and if you have any idea of things at all what can you seebut a miserable hog pen? Yes, that’s it, a hog pen. Andwe are the hogs. You and me, and––and the little ones.Why haven’t you got some ‘get up’ about you? Whydon’t you earn some money, get some somehow so we canlive as we’ve been used to living? Why don’t you do something,instead of pottering around here trying to do choresthat aren’t your work, an’ you can’t do right anyway? Youmake me mad––you do indeed. But there! There’s nouse talking to you, none whatever!”

“I’m sorry, Jess. I’m real sorry you feel like this.”

Scipio left the table and moved to the cupboard, into whichhe mechanically began to stow the provender. It was anunconscious action and almost pathetic in its display of thatkindly purpose, which, where his wife was concerned, wasnever-failing. Jessie saw, angry as she was, and her fineeyes softened. Perhaps it was the maternal instinct underlyingthe selfishness that made her feel something akin to apitying affection for her little husband.

She glanced down at the boiler of water, and mechanicallygathered some of the tin plates together and proceeded towash them.

“I’m kind of sorry, Zip,” she said. “I just didn’t meanall that. Only––only it makes me feel bad seeing all thisaround, and you––you always trying to do both a man’s anda woman’s work. Things are bad with us, so bad they seemhopeless. We’re right here with two kiddies and––andourselves, and there’s practically no money and no prospectsof there being any. It makes me want to cry. It makesme want to do something desperate. It makes me hatethings––even those things I’ve no right to hate. No, no,”as the man tried to stop her, “don’t you say anything. Nota word till I’ve done. You see, I mayn’t feel like talking ofthese things again. Maybe I shan’t never have a chance oftalking them again.”

She sighed and stared out of window.

“I want you to understand things as I see them, andmaybe you’ll not blame me if I see them wrong. You’retoo good for me, and I––I don’t seem grateful for yourgoodness. You work and think of others as no other manwould do. You don’t know what it is to think of yourself.It’s me, and the children first with you, and, Zip––andyou’ve no call to think much of me. Yes, I know whatyou’d say. I’m the most perfect woman on earth. I’m not.I’m not even good. If I were I’d be glad of all you try todo; I’d help you. But I don’t, and––and I just don’t seemable to. I’m always sort of longing and longing for theold days. I long for those things we can never have. Ithink––think always of folks with money, their automobiles,their grand houses, with lots and lots of good things toeat. And it makes me hate––all––all this. Oh, Zip, I’msorry. I’m sorry I’m not good. But I’m not, and I––I––”

She broke off and dashed the back of her hand across hereyes in time to wipe away the great tears that threatened toroll down her rounded cheeks. In a moment Scipio wasat her side, and one arm was thrust about her waist, and heseized one of her hands.

“You mustn’t to cry,” he said tenderly, as though shewere a child. “You mustn’t, Jess––truth. You ain’t whatyou’re saying. You ain’t nothing like it. You’re dear andgood, and it’s ’cause you’re that good and honest you’resaying all these things. Do you think I don’t know justhow you’re suffering? Do you? Why, Jess, I know justeverything about you, and it nigh breaks my heart to thinkof all I’ve brought you to. It ain’t you, Jess, it’s me who’sbad. It’s me who’s a fool. I hain’t no more sense than abuck rabbit, and I ain’t sure a new-littered pup couldn’tput me to sleep for savvee. Now don’t you go to crying.Don’t you indeed. I just can’t bear to see those beautifuleyes o’ yours all red and running tears. And, say, we surehave got better prospects than you’re figgering. You see,I’ve got a claim there’s no one else working on. And surethere’s minerals on it. Copper––or leastways it looks likecopper, and there’s mica, an’ lots––an’ lots of stuff. I’llsure find gold in that claim. It’s just a matter of keepin’on. And I’m going to. And then, when we find it, whata blow-out we’ll have. We’ll get automobiles and houses,and––and we’ll have a bunch of sweet corn for supper,same as we had at a hotel once, and then––”

But the woman had suddenly drawn away from hisembrace. She could stand no more of her little husband’spathetic hopes. She knew. She knew, with the rest of thecamp, the hopelessness of his quest, and even in her worstmoments she had not the heart to destroy his illusions. Itwas no good, the hopelessness of it all came more than everupon her.

“Zip dear,” she said, with a sudden, unwonted tendernessthat had something strangely nervous in it, “don’t youget staying around here or I’ll keep right on crying. Youget out to your work. I’m feeling better now, and you’ve––you’vemade things look kind of brighter,” she lied.

She glanced out of window, and the height of the sunseemed suddenly to startle her. Her more gentle look suddenlyvanished and one of irritability swiftly replaced it.

“Now, won’t you let me help you with all these things?”Scipio coaxed.

But Jessie had seemingly quite forgotten her moment oftenderness.

“No,” she said sharply. “You get right out to work.”Then after a pause, with a sudden warming in her tone,“Think of Jamie and Vada. Think of them, and not ofme. Their little lives are just beginning. They are quitehelpless. You must work for them, and work as you’venever done before. They are ours, and we love them. Ilove them. Yes”––with a harsh laugh––“better than myself.Don’t you think of me, Zip. Think of them, andwork for them. Now be off. I don’t want you here.”

Scipio reluctantly enough accepted his dismissal. Hiswife’s sudden nervousness of manner was not hidden fromhim. He believed that she was seriously upset, and it painedand alarmed his gentle heart. But the cause of her conditiondid not enter into his calculations. How should it?The reason of things seemed to be something which his mindcould neither grasp nor even inquire into. She was troubled,and he––well, it made him unhappy. She said go andwork, work for the children. Ah, yes, her thoughts werefor the children, womanly, unselfish thoughts just such as agood mother should have. So he went, full of a fresh enthusiasmfor his work and for his object.

Meanwhile Jessie went on with her work. And strangelyenough her nervousness increased as the moments went by,and a vague feeling of apprehension took hold of her. Shehurried desperately. To get the table cleared was her chiefconcern. How she hated it. The water grew cold andgreasy, and every time she dipped her cloth into it she shuddered.Again and again her eyes turned upon the windowsurveying the bright sunlight outside. The children playingsomewhere beyond the door were ignored. She was eventrying to forget them. She heard their voices, and they sether nerves jangling with each fresh peal of laughter, orshrill piping cry.

At last the last plate and enameled cup was washed anddried. The boiler was emptied and hung upon the wall.She swabbed the table carelessly and left it to dry. Then,with a rush, she vanished into the inner room.

The moments passed rapidly. There was no sound beyondthe merry games of the twins squatting out in the sun,digging up the dusty soil with their fat little fingers. Jessiedid not reappear.

At last a light, decided step sounded on the creek side ofthe house. It drew nearer. A moment or two later ashadow flitted across the window. Then suddenly a man’shead and shoulders filled up the opening. The head bentforward, craning into the room, and a pair of handsomeeyes peered curiously round.

“Hi!” he cried in a suppressed tone. “Hi! Jessie!”

The bedroom curtain was flung aside, and Jessie, arrayedcarefully in her best shirtwaist and skirt, suddenly appearedin the doorway. Her eyes were glowing with excitementand fear. But her rich coloring was alight with warmth,and the man stared in admiration. Yes, she was very goodto look upon.

CHAPTER II

THE HARVEST OF PASSION

For one passionate moment the woman’s radiant face heldthe gaze of the man. He was swayed with an unwholesomehunger at the sight of her splendid womanhood. Thebeautiful, terrified eyes, so full of that allurement whichever claims all that is vital in man; the warm coloring of herdelicately rounded cheeks, so soft, so downy; the perfectundulations of her strong young figure––these thingscaught him anew, and again set raging the fire of a reckless,vicious passion. In a flash he had mounted to the sill of thewindow-opening, and dropped inside the room.

“Say––Jessie,” he breathed hotly. “You’re––you’refine.”

His words were almost involuntary. It was as thoughthey were a mere verbal expression of what was passingthrough his mind, and made without thought of addressingher. He was almost powerless in his self-control before herbeauty. And Jessie’s conscience in its weakly life could nothold out before the ardor of his assault. Her eyelids lowered.She stood waiting, and in a moment the bold invaderheld her crushed in his arms.

She lay passive, yielding to his caresses for some moments.Then of a sudden she stirred restlessly. She struggledweakly to free herself. Then, as his torrential kissescontinued, sweeping her lips, her eyes, her cheeks, her hair,something like fear took hold of her. Her struggles suddenlybecame real, and at last she stood back panting, butwith her young heart mutely stirred to a passionate response.

Nor was it difficult, as they stood thus, to understand hownature rose dominant over all that belonged to the higherspiritual side of the woman. The wonderful virility in herdemanded life in the full flood of its tide, and here, standingbefore her, was the embodiment of all her natural, if baser,ideals.

The man was a handsome, picturesque creature bred onlines of the purer strains. He had little enough about himof the rough camp in which she lived. He brought withhim an atmosphere of cities, an atmosphere she yearned for.It was in his dress, in his speech, in the bold daring of hishandsome eyes. She saw in his face the high breeding ofan ancient lineage. There was such a refinement in thedelicate chiseling of his well-molded features. His browswere widely expressive of a strong intellect. His nose possessedthat wonderful aquilinity associated with the highesttype of Indian. His cheeks were smooth, and of a delicacywhich threw into relief the perfect model of the frame beneaththem. His clean-shaven mouth and chin suggested allthat which a woman most desires to behold in a man. Hisfigure was tall and muscular, straight-limbed and spare;while in his glowing eyes shone an irresistible courage, a fireof passion, and such a purpose as few women couldwithstand. And so the wife of Scipio admitted her defeatand yielded the play of all her puny arts, that she mightappear sightly in his eyes.

But she only saw him as he wished her to see him. Heshowed her the outward man. The inner man was somethingnot yet for her to probe. He was one of Nature’sanachronisms. She had covered a spirit which was of thehideous stock from which he sprang with a gilding ofsuperlative manhood.

His name was James, a name which, in years long past,the Western world of America had learned to hate with abitterness rarely equaled. But all that was almost forgotten,and this man, by reason of his manner, which wasgenial, open-handed, even somewhat magnificent, rarelyfailed, at first, to obtain the good-will of those with whomhe came into contact.

It was nearly nine months since he first appeared onSuffering Creek. Apparently he had just drifted there inmuch the same way that most of the miners had drifted,possibly drawn thither out of curiosity at the reports of thegold strike. So unobtrusive had been his coming that evenin that small community he at first passed almost unobserved.Yet he was full of interest in the place, and contrivedto learn much of its affairs and prospects. Havingacquired all the information he desired, he suddenly set outto make himself popular. And his popularity was broughtabout by a free-handed dispensation of a liberal supply ofmoney. Furthermore, he became a prominent devotee atthe poker table in Minky’s store, and, by reason of the factthat he usually lost, as most men did who joined in a gamein which Wild Bill was taking a hand, his popularity increasedrapidly, and the simple-minded diggers dubbed himwith the dazzling sobriquet of “Lord James.”

It was during this time that he made the acquaintance ofJessie and her husband, and it was astonishing how swiftlyhis friendship for the unsuspicious little man ripened.

This first visit lasted just three weeks. Then, withoutwarning, and in the same unobtrusive way as he had come,he vanished from the scene. For the moment SufferingCreek wondered; then, as is the way of such places, it ceasedto wonder. It was too busy with its own affairs to concernitself to any great extent with the flotsam that drifted itsway. Scipio wondered a little more than the rest, but histwins and his labors occupied him so closely that he, too,dismissed the matter from his mind. As for Jessie, she saidnot a word, and gave no sign except that her discontentwith her lot became more pronounced.

But Suffering Creek was not done with James yet. Thenext time he came was nearly a month later, just as themonthly gold stage was preparing for the road, carryingwith it a shipment of gold-dust bound for Spawn City, thenearest banking town, eighty miles distant.

He at once took up his old position in the place, stayedtwo weeks, staked out a claim for himself, and pursued hisintimacy with Scipio and his wife with redoubled ardor.

Before those two weeks were over somehow his popularitybegan to wane. This intimacy with Scipio began tocarry an ill-flavor with the men of the place. Somehow itdid not ring pleasantly. Besides, he showed a fresh side tohis character. He drank heavily, and when under the influenceof spirits abandoned his well-polished manners, anddisplayed a coarseness, a savage truculence, such as he hadbeen careful never to show before. Then, too, his claim remainedunworked.

The change in public opinion was subtle, and no onespoke of it. But there was no regret when, finally, hevanished again from their midst in the same quiet mannerin which he had gone before.

Then came the catastrophe. Two weeks later a goldstage set out on its monthly journey. Sixty miles out itwas held up and plundered. Its two guards were shot dead,and the driver mortally wounded. But fortunately thelatter lived long enough to tell his story. He had been attackedby a gang of eight well-armed horsemen. Theywere all masked, and got clear away with nearly thirtythousand dollars’ worth of gold.

In the first rush of despairing rage Suffering Creek wasunable to even surmise at the identity of the authors of theoutrage. Then Wild Bill, the gambler, demanded an accountingfor every man of the camp on the day of thetragedy. In a very short time this was done, and the processturned attention upon Lord James. Where was he?The question remained unanswered. Suspicions grew intoswift conviction. Men asked each other who he was, andwhence he came. There was no answer to any of their inquiriesat first. Then, suddenly, news came to hand thatthe gang, no longer troubling at concealment, was ridingroughshod over the country. It was a return to the régimeof the “bad man,” and stock-raiding and “hold-ups,” ofgreater or less degree, were being carried on in many directionswith absolute impunity; and the man James was at thehead of it.

It was a rude awakening. All the old peace and securitywere gone. The camp was in a state of ferment. Everystranger that came to the place was eyed askance, and unlesshe could give a satisfactory account of himself he had apoor chance with the furious citizens. The future dispatchof gold became a problem that exercised every mind, andfor two months none left the place. And this factbrought about a further anxiety. The gang of robbers wasa large one. Was it possible they might attempt a raidon the place? And, if so, what were their chances ofsuccess?

Such was the position at Suffering Creek, and the natureof the threat which hung over it. One man’s name was ineverybody’s mind. His personality and doings concernedthem almost as nearly as their search for the elusive goldwhich was as the breath of life to them.

And yet Lord James was in no way deterred from visitingthe neighborhood. He knew well enough the positionhe was in. He knew well enough all its possibilities. Yethe came again and again. His visits were paid in daylight,carefully calculated, even surreptitiously made. He soughtthe place secretly, but he came, careless of all consequencesto himself. His contempt for the men of Suffering Creekwas profound and unaffected. He probably feared no man.

And the reason of his visits was not far to seek. Therewas something infinitely more alluring to him at the houseon the dumps than the gold which held the miners––aninducement which he had neither wish nor intention to resist.He reveled in the joy and excitement of pursuing this wifeof another man, and had the camp bristled with an army offighting men, and had the chances been a thousand to oneagainst him, with him the call of the blood would just assurely have been obeyed. This was the man, savage, crude,of indomitable courage and passionate recklessness.

And Jessie was dazzled, even blinded. She was just aweak, erring woman, thrilling with strong youthful life, andhis dominating nature played upon her vanity with an easethat was quite pitiful. She was only too ready to believehis denials of the accusations against him. She was only tooready to––love. The humility, devotion, the goodness ofScipio meant nothing to her. They were barren virtues, toounexciting and uninteresting to make any appeal. Her passionateheart demanded something more stimulating. Andthe stimulant she found in the savage wooing of his unscrupulousrival.

Now the man’s eyes contemplated the girl’s ripe beauty,while he struggled for that composure necessary to carryout all that was in his mind. He checked a further risingimpulse, and his voice sounded almost harsh as he put asharp question.

“Where’s Zip?” he demanded.

The girl’s eyelids slowly lifted. The warm glow of hereyes made them limpid and melting.

“Gone out to his claim,” she said in a low voice.

The other nodded appreciatively.

“Good.”

He turned to the window. Out across the refuse-heapsthe rest of the camp was huddled together, a squalid collectionof huts, uninspiring, unpicturesque. His glance satisfiedhim. There was not a living soul in view; not a soundexcept the prattle of the children who were still playingoutside the hut. But the latter carried no meaning to him.In the heat of the moment even their mother was dead tothe appeal of their piping voices.

“You’re coming away now, Jess,” the man went on,making a movement towards her.

But the girl drew back. The directness of his challengewas startling, and roused in her a belated defensiveness.Going away? It sounded suddenly terrible to her, andthrilled her with a rush of fear which set her shivering.And yet she knew that all along this––this was the endtowards which she had been drifting. The rich color fadedfrom her cheeks and her lips trembled.

“No, no,” she whispered in a terrified tone. For themoment all that was best in her rose up and threatened todefeat his end.

But James saw his mistake. For a second a flash ofanger lit his eyes, and hot resentment flew to his lips. But itfound no expression. Instead, the anger died out of hiseyes, and was replaced by a fire of passion such as had alwayswon its way with this girl. He moved towards heragain with something subtly seductive in his manner, and hisarms closed about her unresisting form in a caress she waspowerless to deny. Passive yet palpitating she lay pressedin his arms, all her woman’s softness, all her subtle perfume,maddening him to a frenzy.

“Won’t you? I love you, Jessie, so that nothing else onearth counts. I can’t do without you––I can’t––I can’t!”

His hot lips crushed against hers, which yielded themselvesall too willingly. Presently he raised his head, andhis eyes held hers. “Won’t you come, Jess? There’snothing here for you. See, I can give you all you wish for:money, a fine home, as homes go hereabouts. My ranch isa dandy place, and,” with a curious laugh, “stocked withsome of the best cattle in the country. You’ll have horsesto ride, and dresses––See! You can have all you want.What is there here? Nothing. Say, you don’t even getenough to eat. Scipio hasn’t got more backbone in himthan to gather five cents when it’s raining dollars.” Hekissed her upturned face again, and the warm responsivemovement of her lips told him how easy his task really was.

But again she pressed him back, so that he held her onlyat arms’ length. Her swimming eyes gazed long and ardentlyinto his.

“It isn’t that, Jim,” she said earnestly; “it isn’t that.Those things don’t count. It’s––it’s you. I––I don’t wantdresses. I don’t want the money. I––I––want you.”

Then she started, terrified again.

“But, Jim, why did you come up to this hut?” shecried. “Why didn’t you wait for me down in the bush atthe river, as usual? Oh, Jim, if anybody sees you they’llshoot you down like a dog––”

“Dog, eh?” cried the man, with a ringing laugh. “Let’em try. But don’t you worry, Jess. No one saw me.Anyway, I don’t care a curse if they did.”

“Oh, Jim!”

Then she nestled closer to him for a moment of passionatesilence, while he kissed her, prolonging the embrace with allthe fire with which he was consumed. And after that shespoke again. But now it was the mother that would nolonger be denied, even in the midst of her storm of emotion.

“But I––I can’t leave them––the little ones. I can’t, Ican’t!” she cried piteously. “Jim, I love you. God knowshow badly I love you, but I––I love them, too. They aremine. They are part of me, and––and I can’t do withoutthem. No––no. I can’t go––I won’t go,” she hurried on,without conviction. “I can’t. I want my babies––my littleboy and girl. You say you love me. I know you love me.Then take them with us, and––and I’ll do as you wish.Oh, I’m wicked, I know. I’m wicked, and cruel, and vileto leave Scipio. And I don’t want to, but––but––oh, Jim,say you’ll take them, too. I can never be happy withoutthem. You can never understand. You are a man, and sostrong.” He drew her to him again, and she nestled closein his arms. “You don’t know what it is to hear a child’svoice, and know that it is part of you, your life, one littletiny atom beginning all over again. No, no––I must havethem.”

She slowly drew herself away, watching his handsomeface, half fearfully, half eagerly. She knew in her heartthat she was waiting for his verdict, and, whatever it mightbe, she would have to abide by it. She knew she must doas he wished, and that very knowledge gladdened her, evenin spite of her maternal dread of being parted from herbabies.

She saw his expression change. She saw the look ofperplexity in the sudden drawing together of his finelymarked brows, she saw the half-angry impatience flash intohis eyes, she saw this again replaced with a half-derisivesmile. And each emotion she read in her own way, moldingit to suit and fall in with her own desires, yet with awilling feeling that his decision should be paramount, thatshe was there to obey him.

He slowly shook his head, and a curious hardness setitself about his strong mouth.

“Not now,” he said. “I would, but it can’t be done.See here, Jess, I’ve got two horses hidden away down therein the bush beside the creek––one for you, and one for me.We can’t fetch those kiddies along with us now. It wouldn’tbe safe, anyhow. We’ve got sixty-odd miles to ridethrough the foothills. But see, I’ll fetch ’em one day, after,if you must have ’em. How’s that?”

“But they’ll never let you,” cried Jessie. “The wholecamp will be up in arms when they know I’ve gone. Youdon’t know them, Jim. They’re fond of Zip, and they’llstand by him.”

James laughed contemptuously.

“Say, Jess,” he cried, “you come right along with menow. And if you need those kiddies, not all Suffering Creek––no,nor hell itself––shall stop me bringing ’em along toyou.” Then he chuckled in an unpleasant manner. “Say,it would tickle me to death to set these mutton-headedgophers jumping around. You’ll get those kiddies if youneed ’em, if I have to blow hell into this mud-heap of acity.”

Jessie’s eyes glowed at the man’s note of savage strengthand confidence. She knew he could and would do as hesaid, and this very fact yielded her to him more surely thanany other display could have done. It was this wonderfuldaring, this reckless, savage manhood that had originallywon her. He was so different from all others, from herpuny husband. He swept her along and dazzled her. Herown virility cried out for such a mate, and no moral scruplescould hope to stay so strong a tide of nature.

“You’ll do it?” she cried fervently. Then she noddedjoyously. “Yes, yes, you’ll do it. I know it. Oh, howgood you are to me. I love you, Jim.”

Again she was in his arms. Again his kisses fell hot andfast upon her glowing face. Nature was rushing a strongflood tide. It was a moment that could have no repetitionin their lives.

They stood thus, locked in each other’s arms, borne alongby a passion that was beyond their control––lost to all theworld, lost to all those things which should have matteredto them. It was the fervid outpouring of two natures whichhad nothing that was spiritual in them. They demandedthe life of the senses, and so strong was the desire that theywere lost to all else.

Then suddenly in the midst of their dream came the disturbingpatter of small feet and the joyous, innocent laughterof infantile glee. Two tiny mud-stained figures rushedat the doorway and fell sprawling into the hut. They wereon their feet again in a moment, laughing and crowing outtheir delight. Then, as the man and woman sprang apart,they stood round-eyed, wondering and gaping.

Jamie and Vada paused only till the grown-up eyes wereturned in their direction, then their chorus broke out in onebreath.

“We got fi’ ’piders––”

“An’ two bugs!”

The important information was fairly shrieked, to theaccompaniment of dancing eyes and flushed cheeks.

Jessie gasped. But her emotion was not at the news sorudely broken. It was the breaking of the spell which hadheld her. Just for one horrific moment she stood staringhelplessly at the innocent picture of her four-year-old twins,beautiful in spite of their grimy exterior, beautiful as aHeaven-inspired picture to the mother.

The man smiled. Nor was it an unpleasant smile. Perhaps,somewhere in his savage composition, he had agrain of humor; perhaps it was only the foolish smile ofa man whose wits are not equal to so incongruous a situation.

“They’re most ev’ry color,” piped Vada, with addedexcitement.

“Uh!” grunted Jamie in agreement. “An’ the bugs hashorns.”

But the man had recovered himself. The interruptionhad brought with it a realization of the time he had spent inthe hut.

“You’d best go and find more,” he said. “There’s heapsoutside.” Then he turned to Jessie. “Come on. Wemust be going. Have you got the things you need ready?”

But the mother’s eyes were on the small intruders.Something was gripping at her heart, and somehow it feltlike four small and dirty hands.

“Wher’ you goin’?” demanded Vada, her childishcuriosity roused, and all her beautiful spiders forgotten forthe moment.

Her question remained unanswered, leaving the room inominous silence. Then Jamie’s treble blundered into itsmidst, dutifully echoing his sister’s inquiry.

“’Es, wher’ you doin’?”

The man’s eyes were narrowly watching the woman’sface. He noted the tremulous lips, the yearning light in hereyes. In a moment he was answering the children, lest theirinnocent words should upset his plans.

“Say, your momma’s going for a horse-ride. She’s justgoing right out, and I’m going to show her a dandy placewhere she can fetch you, so you can catch heaps an’ heapsof bugs and spiders. She’s just wanting you to stop righthere and catch more bugs, till I come along and fetch you.”

“O––oh!” cried Vada, prolonging her exclamationgleefully. “Say, can’t us go now?”

“Me do too,” murmured her faithful shadow.

One quick glance at the mother’s face and the man spokeagain.

“Not now, kiddies. I’ll come and fetch you. Runalong.” Then he turned swiftly upon Jessie. “Where’syour bundle?” he asked in his usual masterful manner.

And her reply came in a tone of almost heart-brokensubmission.

“In there,” she said, with a glance at the inner room.

The man gave her no time to add anything more. Hefelt the ground he was treading was more than shaky. Heknew that with the coming of these children a tremendouspower was militating against him––a power which wouldneed all his wits to combat. He passed into the inner room,and returned in a moment with the girl’s bundle. And withhis return one glance showed him how nearly his plans wereupset. Jessie was clasping Jamie in her arms, kissing himhungrily, tears streaming down her cheeks, while, out ofsheer sympathy, little Vada was clinging to her mother’sskirts, her small face buried in amongst them, sobbing asthough her heart would break.

In a moment he was at her side. This was not a timewhen any drastic methods could serve him, and he adoptedthe only course which his shrewd sense told him would belikely to avail. Gently but firmly he took the boy out ofher arms.

“You want him to go with us?” he said kindly. “Verywell. Maybe we’re doing wrong––I mean, for his sake.Anyhow, I’ll carry him, and then I’ll come back for Vada.It’s not good. It’s too hard on him, carrying him all thatdistance––too dangerous. Still, I want you to be happy,Jess. I’d do anything for that, even––even at his expense.So––”

“No––no!” cried the mother, carried away by the fearhe expressed so subtly, and warmed by his carefully expressedsympathy. “Don’t take any notice of me. I’mfoolish––silly. You’re right––he––he couldn’t make thejourney with us. No, no, we––won’t––take him now.Set him down, Jim. I’ll go now, and you’ll––you’ll comeback for them. Yes, yes, let’s go now. I––I can’t stayany––longer. I’ve left a letter for Zip. Swear I shallhave them both. You’ll never––never break your word?I think I’d––die without them.”

“You shall have them. I swear it.” The man spokereadily enough. It was so easy to promise anything, so longas he got her.

But his oath brought neither expression of gratitude norcomment. The woman was beyond mere words. She feltthat only flight could save her from breaking down altogether.And, thus impelled, she tore herself from thepresence of the children and rushed out of the hut. Thehorses were down at the creek, and thither she sped, lest herpurpose should fail her.

James followed her. He felt that she must not be leftby herself to think. But at the door he paused and glancedkeenly around him. Then he breathed a sigh of relief.Not a living soul was to be seen anywhere. It was good;his plans had worked out perfectly.

He set Jamie down, and, all unconscious of the littledrama being played round his young life, the child stretchedout a chubby hand in the direction of the soap-box he andhis sister had been playing with.

“’Piders,” he observed laconically.

Vada rushed past him to inspect their treasures, her tearsalready dried into streaks on her dirty little cheeks.

“An’ bugs,” she cried gleefully, squatting beside the box.

They had forgotten.

The man hurried away down towards the creek, bearingthe pitiful bundle of woman’s raiment. The girl was ahead,and, as she again came into his view, one thought, and onethought only, occupied his mind. Jessie was his wholeworld––at that moment.

He, too, had forgotten.

“They’ve runned away,” cried Vada, peering into the box.

“Me don’t like ’piders,” murmured Jamie definitely.

Vada’s great brown eyes filled with tears. Fresh rivuletsbegan to run down the muddy channels on her downy cheeks.Her disappointment found vent in great sobbing gulps.

Jamie stared at her in silent speculation. Then one littlefat hand reached out and pushed her. She rolled over andburied her wet face in the dusty ground and howled heart-brokenly.Then Jamie crawled close up beside her, and,stretching himself out, wept his sympathy into the back ofher gaping frock.

CHAPTER III

THE AWAKENING OF SCIPIO

At noon the camp began to rouse. The heavy eyes, thelanguid stretch, the unmeaning contemplation of the noontidesunlight, the slow struggles of a somnolent brain.These things were suggested in the gradual stirring of theplace to a ponderous activity. The heavy movement ofweary diggers as they lounged into camp for their dinnerhad no suggestion of the greedy passion which possessedthem. They had no lightness. Whatever the lust for goldthat consumed them, all their methods were characterizedby a dogged endeavor which took from them every particleof that nervous activity which belongs to the finely temperedbusiness man.

The camp was a single row of egregious dwellings, squat,uncouth, stretching away on either side of the veranda-frontedstore and “gambling hell” which formed a sort ofcenter-piece around which revolved the whole life of thevillage. It was a poor, mean place, shapeless, evil-smellingin that pure mountain air. It was a mere shelter, a roughperch for the human carrion lusting for the orgy of goldwhich the time-worn carcass of earth should yield. Whathad these people to do with comfort or refinement? Whathad they to do with those things calculated to raise the humanmind to a higher spiritual plane? Nothing. All thatmight come later, when, their desires satisfied, the wearybody sick and aching, sends fearful thoughts ahead towardsthe drab sunset awaiting them. For the moment the fulltide of youth is still running strong. Sickness and deathhave no terrors. The fine strength of powerful bodies willnot allow the mind to focus such things.

Out of the rugged hills backing the camp the gold-seekersstruggle to their resting-place. Here, one man comes clamberingover the rough bowlder-strewn path at the base of aforest-clad hill. Here, an atom of humanity emerges fromthe depths of a vast woodland that dwarfs all but the toweringhills. Another toils up a steep hillside from the sluggishcreek. Another slouches along a vague, unmade trail. Yetanother scrambles his way through a low, dense-growingscrub which lines the sides of a vast ravine, the favoredlocality of the gold-seeker.

So they come, one by one, from every direction radiatingabout the building, which is Minky’s store. Their facesare hard. Their skin is tanned to a leathery hue, and is ofa texture akin to hide. They are silent, thoughtful men,too. But their silence is of the vast world in which theydelve, and their thought is the thought of men absorbed intheir quest. No, there is no lightness, even in their happiestmoments. To be light, an intelligent swiftness of brain isneeded. And these derelicts have little of such. Although,when Minky’s spirit has circulated its poison throughtheir veins, they are sometimes apt to assume a burlesqueof it.

Now the camp is wide awake. But it is only the wakefulnessof the mother who is roused by the hungry cryingof her infant. It will slumber again when appetites havebeen duly appeased.

The milk of human kindness is soured by the intensesummer heat. The men are “grouchy.” They jostleharshly as they push up to Minky’s counter for the“appetizers” they do not need. Their greetings are few,and mostly confined to the abrupt demand, “Any luck?”Then, their noon-day drink gulped down, they slouch offinto the long, frowsy dining-room at the back of the store,and coarsely devour the rough fare provided by the buxomBirdie Mason, who is at once the kindliest and worst catererimaginable.

This good-natured soul’s position was not as enviable asone might reasonably have supposed. The only woman ina camp of men, any one of whom might reasonably strike afortune in five minutes. The situation suggests possibilities.But, alas, Birdie was just a woman, and, in consequence,from a worldly point of view, her drawbacks were many.She was attractive––a drawback. She was given to a naturaldesire to stand first with all men––another drawback. Shewas eminently sentimental––a still greater drawback. Butgreatest of all she was a sort of public servant in her positionas caterer, and, as such, of less than no account fromthe moment the “beast” had been satisfied.

She had her moments, moments when the rising good-natureof her customers flattered her, when she was fussedover, and petted, as men are ever ready to treat an attractivemember of the opposite sex. But these things led nowhither,from a point of view of worldly advantage, and,being just a woman, warm-hearted, uncalculating and profoundlyillogical, she failed to realize the pitfalls that laybefore her, the end which, all unsuspecting, she was steadilyforging towards.

Scipio, like the rest, came into camp for his dinner. Hisway lay along the bank of the creek. It was cooler here,and, until he neared his home, there were no hills up whichto drag his weary limbs. He had had, as usual, an utterlyunprofitable morning amidst the greasy ooze of his claim.Yet the glitter of the mica-studded quartz on the hillside,the bright-green and red-brown shading of the milky-whitestone still dazzled his mental sight. There was no waveringin his belief. These toilsome days were merely thenecessary probation for the culminating achievement. Heassured himself that gold lay hidden there. And it was onlywaiting for the lucky strike of his pick. He would find it.It was just a matter of keeping on.

In his simple mind he saw wonderful visions of all thatfinal discovery. He dreamt of the day when he should beable to install his beautiful Jessie in one of those up-townpalaces in New York; when an army of servants shouldanticipate her every desire; when the twins should belaunched upon the finest academies the country possessed,to gorge their young minds to the full with all that whichthe minds of the children of earth’s most fortunate must bestored. He saw his Jessie clad in gowns which displayedand enhanced all those beauties with which his devotedmind endowed her. She should not only be his queen, butthe queen of a social world, which, to his mind, had norival. And the happiness of such dreams was beyond compare.His labor became the work of a love whichstimulated his puny muscles to a pitch which carried himbeyond the feeling of any weariness. For himself hewanted nothing. For Jessie and the twins the world wasnot great enough as a possession.

And was she not worth it? Were they not worth it?Look at her, so splendid! How she bore with him and allhis petty, annoying ways! Her disposition was not of thisearth, he told himself. Would any other woman put upwith his ill-humors, his shortcomings? He realized howvery trying he must be to any bright, clever woman. Hewas not clever, and he knew it, and it made him pity Jessiefor the lot he had brought her to.

And the twins. Vada was the image of her mother. Thebig, round, brown eyes, the soft, childish mouth, the wavingbrown hair. And Jamie. He had her eyes, too, and hernose, and her beautiful coloring. What a mercy ofProvidence neither of them resembled him. But, then, howcould they, with such a mother? How it delighted him tothink that he was working for them, for her. A thrill ofdelight swept over him, and added a spring to his jaded step.What mattered anything else in the world. He was to givethem all that which the world counted as good. He, alone.

But it was not yet. For a moment a shadow crossedhis radiant face as he toiled up the hill to his hut. It wasgone in a moment, however. How could it stay there withhis thought gilded with such high hopes? It was not yet,but it would come––must come. His purpose was invincible.He must conquer and wrench this wealth whichhe demanded from the bosom of the hard old earth. Andthen––and then––

“Hello, kiddies,” he cried cheerily, as his head rose abovethe hilltop and his hut and the two children, playing outsideit, came into his view.

“Pop-pa!” shrieked Vada, dropping a paper full of loosedirt and stones upon her sprawling brother’s back, in herhaste to reach her diminutive parent.

“Uh!” grunted Jamie, scrambling to his feet and totteringheavily in the same direction.

There was a curious difference in the size and growth ofthese twins. Probably it utterly escaped the adoring eyesof their father. He only saw the reflected glory of theirmother in them. Their resemblance to her was all thatreally mattered to him, but, as a matter of fact, this resemblancelay chiefly in Vada. She was like her mother in anextraordinary degree. She was well-grown, strong, andquite in advance of her years, in her speech and brightnessof intellect. Little Jamie, while he possessed much of hismother in his face, in body was under-sized and weakly, andhis mind and speech, backward of development, smacked ofhis father. He was absolutely dominated by his sister, andfollowed her lead in everything with adoring rapture.

Vada reached her father and scrambled agilely up into hiswork-soiled arms. She impulsively hugged his yellow headto her cheeks with both her arms, so that when Jamie cameup he had to content himself by similarly hugging the littleman’s left knee, and kissing the mud-stains on his trousersinto liquid patches.

But Scipio was impartial. He sat Vada down and pickedher brother up. Then, taking the former’s hand in hishorny clasp, bore the boy towards the house.

“You found any gold?” inquired Vada, repeating a questionshe had so often heard her mother put.

“’Es any––dold?” echoed Jamie, from his height aboveScipio’s head.

“No, kiddies,” the man replied, with a slight sigh.

“Oh,” said Vada. But his answer had little significancefor her.

“Where’s your momma?” inquired Scipio, after a pause.

“Momma do hoss-ridin’,” replied Jamie, forestalling hissister for once.

“Yes,” added Vada. “She gone ridin’. An’ they’llcome an’ take us wher’ ther’s heaps an’ heaps o’ ’piders, an’––an’bugs an’ things. He said so––sure.”

“He? Who?”

They had reached the hut and Scipio set Jamie on theground as he put his question.

“The dark man,” said Vada readily, but wrinkling herforehead struggling for the name.

“Uh!” agreed Jamie. “Mister Dames.”

Just for a moment a sharp question lit Scipio’s pale eyes.But the little ones had no understanding of it. And thenext moment, as their father passed in through the doorway,they turned to the sand and stone castle they had beenlaboriously and futilely attempting to mold into some shape.

“Now you bring up more stones,” cried Vada authoritatively.“Run along, dear,” she added patronizingly, asthe boy stood with his small hands on his hips, staringvacantly after his father.

Scipio gazed stupidly about the living-room. The slop-stainedtable was empty. The cookstove fire was out.And, just for a second, the thought flashed through his mind––hadhe returned too early for his dinner? No, he knewhe had not. It was dinner-time all right. His appetite toldhim that.

For the moment he had forgotten what the children hadtold him. His simple nature was not easily open to suspicion,therefore, like all people of slow brain, this startlingbreak in the routine of his daily life simply set him wondering.He moved round the room, and, without being awareof his purpose, lifted the curtain of turkey red, whichserved as a door to the rough larder, and peered in. Then,as he let the curtain fall again, something stirred withinhim. He turned towards the inner room, and his mild voicecalled––

“Jess.”

His answer was a hollow echo that somehow jarred hisnerves. But he called again––

“Jess.”

Again came the echo. Then Vada’s small face appearedround the door-casing.

“Mom-ma gone hoss-ridin’,” she reminded him.

For an instant Scipio’s face flushed. Then it paled icilyunder its tan. His brain was struggling to grasp somethingwhich seemed to be slowly enveloping him, but which hishonest heart would not let him believe. He stared stupidlyat Vada’s dirty face. Then, as the child withdrew to herplay, he suddenly crossed the room to the curtained bedroomdoorway. He passed through, and the flimsy covering fell tobehind him.

For a space the music of childish voices was the onlysound to break the stillness. The hum of buzzing insectsseemed to intensify the summer heat. For minutes nomovement came from the bedroom. It was like the dreadsilence before a storm.

A strange sound came at last. It was something betweena moan and the pained cry of some mild-spirited animalstricken to death. It had no human semblance, and yet––itcame from behind the dingy print curtain over the bedroomdoorway.

A moment later the curtain stirred and the ghastly faceof Scipio suddenly appeared. He moved out into the living-roomand almost fell into the Windsor chair which had lastbeen occupied by his wife. A sheet of notepaper was in hisshaking hand, and his pale eyes were staring vacantly at it.He was not reading. He had read. And that which he hadread had left him dazed and scarcely comprehending. Hesat thus for many minutes. And not once did he stir amuscle, or lift his eyes from their fixed contemplation.

A light breeze set the larder curtain fluttering. Scipiostarted. He stared round apprehensively. Then, as thoughdrawn by a magnet, his eyes came back to the letter in hishand, and once more fixed themselves upon the bold handwriting.But this time there was intelligence in his gaze.There was intelligence, fear, despair, horror; every painfulemotion was struggling for uppermost place in mind andheart. He read again carefully, slowly, as though tryingto discover some loophole from the horror of what waswritten there. The note was short––so short––there wasnot one spark of hope in it for the man who was reading it,not one expression of feeling other than selfishness. It wasthe death-blow to all his dreams, all his desire.

“I’ve gone away. I shall never come back. I can’tstand this life here any longer. Don’t try to find me, forit’s no use. Maybe what I’m doing is wicked, but I’mglad I’m doing it. It’s not your fault––it’s just me. Ihaven’t your courage, I haven’t any courage at all. I justcan’t face the life we’re living. I’d have gone before whenhe first asked me but for my babies, but I just couldn’t partwith them. Zip, I want to take them with me now, but Idon’t know what Jim’s arrangements are going to be. Imust have them. I can’t live without them. And if theydon’t go with us now you’ll let them come to me after,won’t you? Oh, Zip, I know I’m a wicked woman, but Ifeel I must go. You won’t keep them from me? Let mehave them. I love them so bad. I do. I do. Good-byforever.

Jessie.

Mechanically Scipio folded the paper again and satgrasping it tightly in one clenched hand. His eyes wereraised and gazing through the doorway at the golden sunlightbeyond. His lips were parted, and there was a strangedropping of his lower jaw. The tanning of his russetface looked like a layer of dirt upon a super-whited skin.He scarcely seemed to breathe, so still he sat. As yethis despair was so terrible that his mind and heart werenumbed to a sort of stupefaction, deadening the horror ofhis pain.

He sat on for many minutes. Then, at last, his eyesdropped again to the crushed paper, and a quavering sighescaped him. He half rose from his seat, but fell back in itagain. Then a sudden spasm seized him, and flinging himselfround he reached out his slight, tanned arms upon thedirty table, and, his head dropping upon them, he moanedout the full force of his despair.

“I want her!” he cried. “Oh, God, I want her!”

But now his slight body was no longer still. His backheaved with mute sobs that had no tears. All his gentlesoul was torn and bleeding. He had not that iron in hiscomposition with which another man might have crusheddown his feelings and stirred himself to a harsh defense.He was just a warm, loving creature of no great strengthbeyond his capacity for human affection and self-sacrifice.And for the time at least, his sufferings were beyond hiscontrol.

In the midst of his grief two little faces, and two pairsof round, wondering eyes appeared in the doorway. Twosmall infantile minds worked hard at the sight they beheld.Vada, whose quickness of perception was so much in advanceof her brother’s, murmured in his ear––

“Sleep.”

“Uh, seep,” nodded the faithful boy.

Then four little bare feet began to creep into the room.Four big brown eyes shone with gleeful anticipation. Fourchubby arms were outstretched as though claiming the victimof their childish prank. Vada led, but Jamie was closebehind. They stole in, their small feet making not theslightest sound as they tiptoed towards the stricken man.Each, thrilling with excitement, was desperately intent uponfrightening him.

“Boo-h!” cried Vada, her round eyes sparkling as shereached Scipio’s side.

“Bo-oh!” echoed Jamie a second later, chuckling andgurgling a delight he had no other means of expressing atthe moment.

Scipio raised his haggard face. His unsmiling eyes, sopale and unmeaning, stared stupidly at the children. Andsuddenly the merry smile died out of the young faces, andan odd contraction of their brows suggested a dawning sympathywhich came wholly from the heart.

“You’se cryin’, poppa,” cried Vada impulsively.

“Uh,” nodded the boy.

And thereupon great tears welled up into their sympatheticeyes, and the twins wept in chorus. And somehowthe tears, which had thus far been denied the man, nowslowly and painfully flooded his eyes. He groped the twochildren into his arms, and buried his face in the soft wavyhair which fell in a tangle about the girl’s head.

For some moments he sat thus, something of his griefeasing in the flood of almost womanish tears. Until, finally,it was Jamie who saved the situation. His sobs died outabruptly, and the boy in him stirred.

“Me want t’ eat,” he protested, without preamble.

The man looked up.

“Eat?” he echoed vaguely.

“Yes. Dinner,” explained Vada, whose tears were stillflowing, but who never failed as her little brother’sinterpreter.

There was a moment’s pause while Scipio stared down atthe two faces lifted so appealingly to his. Then a changecame into his expressionless eyes. A smoldering fire beganto burn, which seemed to deepen their weakly coloring.His drawn face seemed to gather strength. And somehoweven his straw-colored hair, so scanty, ill-grown anddisheveled, looked less like the stubble it so much resembled.It was almost as though a latent, unsuspected strength wererousing within him, lifting him from the slough of despairby which he was so nearly submerged. It was as thoughthe presence of his twins had drawn from him an acknowledgmentof his duty, a sense which was so strongly andincongruously developed in his otherwise uncertain character,and demanded of him a sacrifice of all personal inclination.They were her children. Yes, and they were his.Her children––her children. And she was gone. Theyhad no one to look to, no one to care for them now, but––him.

He sprang to his feet.

“Why, yes, kiddies,” he said, with a painful assumptionof lightness. “You’re needing food sure. Say, I guess wewon’t wait for your momma. We’ll just hand her anelegant surprise. We’ll get dinner ourselves.”

Jamie gurgled his joyous approval, but Vada was moreintelligible.

“Bully!” she cried. “We’ll give her a surprise.” Thenshe turned to Jamie. “Surprise is when folks do thingsthat other folks don’t guess you’re going to, dear,” sheexplained, to his utter confusion.

Scipio went to the larder and gathered various scraps offood, and plates, and anything that seemed to him as beingof any possible use in a meal. He re-kindled the fire in thecookstove and made some coffee. That he understood.There was no sign of his despair about him now. Perhapshe was more than usually silent, but otherwise, for the timeat least, he had buried his trouble sufficiently deeply out ofsight, so that at any rate the inquiring eyes of the happychildren could see nothing of it.

They, too, busied themselves in the preparation. Vadadictated to her father with never flagging tongue, and Jamiecarried everything he could lift to and fro, regardless ofwhether he was bringing or taking away. Vada chid himin her childishly superior way, but her efforts were quitelost on his delicious self-importance. Nor could there beany doubt that, in his infantile mind, he was quite assuredthat his services were indispensable.

At last the meal was ready. There was nearly everythingof which the household consisted upon the table or in closeproximity to it. Then, when at last they sat down, andScipio glanced over the strange conglomeration, his consciencewas smitten.

“Seems to me you kiddies need bread and milk,” he saidruefully. “But I don’t guess there’s any milk.”

Vada promptly threw herself into the breach.

“On’y Jamie has bread an’ milk, pop-pa. Y’see his newteeth ain’t through. Mine is. You best cut his up intowee bits.”

“Sure, of course,” agreed Scipio in relief. “I’ll getalong down to Minky’s for milk after,” he added, while heobediently proceeded to cut up the boy’s meat.

It was a strange meal. There was something even tragicin it. The children were wildly happy in the thought thatthey had shared in this wonderful surprise for their mother.That they had assisted in those things which childhood everyearns to share in––the domestic doings of their elders.

The man ate mechanically. His body told him to eat,and so he ate without knowing or caring what. His distraughtmind was traveling swiftly through the barren pathsof hopelessness and despair, while yet he had to keep hischildren in countenance under their fire of childish prattle.Many times he could have flung aside his mask and givenup, but the babyish laughter held him to an effort such ashe had never before been called upon to make.

When the meal was finished Scipio was about to getup from his chair, but Vada’s imperious tongue stayedhim.

“We ain’t said grace,” she declared complainingly.

And the man promptly dropped back into his seat.

“Sure,” he agreed helplessly.

At once the girl put her finger-tips together before hernose and closed her eyes.

“Thank God for my good dinner, Amen, and may wehelp fix up after?” she rattled off.

“Ess,” added Jamie, “tank Dod for my dood dinner,Amen, me fix up, too.”

And with this last word both children tumbled almostheadlong from the bench which they were sharing. Norhad their diminutive parent the heart to deny their request.

The next hour was perhaps one of the hardest in Scipio’slife. Nothing could have impressed his hopeless positionupon him more than the enthusiastic assistance so cordiallyafforded him. While the children had no understanding oftheir father’s grief, while with every heart-beat they glowedwith a loving desire to be his help, their every act was anunconscious stab which drove him until he could have criedaloud in agony.

And it was a period of catastrophe. Little Vada scaldedher hand and had to be petted back to her normal conditionof sunny smiles. Jamie broke one of the few plates, andhis tears had to be banished by assurances that it did notmatter, and that he had done his father a kindness by riddinghim of such an ugly plate. Then Vada stumbled intothe garbage pail and had to be carefully wiped, while Jamiesmeared his sparse hair with rancid dripping and insisted hewas “Injun,” vociferously proclaiming his desire to “talp”his sister.

But the crowning disaster came when he attempted toput his threat into execution. He seized a bunch of her hairin his two chubby hands and began to drag her round theroom. Her howls drew Scipio’s attention from his work,and he turned to find them a struggling heap upon the floor.He dashed to part them, kicked over a bucket of drinkingwater in his well-meant hurry, and, finally, had to rescuethem, both drenched to the skin, from the untimely bath.

There was nothing for it but to strip off all their clothesand dress them up in their nightgowns, for as yet he hadno knowledge of their wardrobe, and send them out to getwarm in the sun, while he dried their day-clothes at thecookstove.

It was the climax. The man flung himself into a chairand buried his face in his hands. The mask had droppedfrom him. There was no longer any need for pretense.Once more the grief and horror of his disaster broke throughhis guard and left him helpless. The whole world, his life,everything was engulfed in an abyss of black despair.

He was dry-eyed and desperate. But now somehow hisfeelings contained an emotion that the first shock of his losshad not brought him. He was no longer a prey to a weak,unresisting submission, the grief of a tortured gentle heart.There was another feeling. A feeling of anger and resentmentwhich slowly grew with each moment, and sentthe hot blood surging furiously to his brain. Nor was thisfeeling directed against Jessie. How could it be? He lovedher so that her cruel desertion of him appeared to be a matterfor which he was chiefly to blame. Yes, he understood.He was not the husband for her. How could it be otherwise?He had no cleverness. He had always been afailure. No, his anger was not against Jessie. It was theother. It was the man who had robbed him of all he caredfor in the world.

His anger grew hotter and hotter. And with this growingpassion there came an absolute revulsion of the motive forcethat had always governed him. He wanted to hurt. Hewanted to hurt this man, Lord James. And his simple mindgroped for a means to carry out his desire. He began tothink more quickly and clearly, and the process brought hima sort of cold calmness. Again his grief was thrust outof his focus, and all his mental energy was concentratedupon his desire. And he conjured up a succession ofpictures of the tortures and sufferings he desired for thisvillain who had so wronged him.

But the pictures were too feeble and wholly inadequateto satisfy. So gentle was his nature, that, even stirred ashe was, he could not conceive a fitting punishment for sogreat an offense. He felt his own inadequacy, his ownfeebleness to cope with the problem before him, and so hesat brooding impotently.

It was all useless. And as the minutes slipped by hisanger began to die out, merging once more into the all-absorbinggrief that underlay it. He was alone. Alone!He would never see her again. The thought chilled him toa sudden nervous dread. No, no, it was not possible. Shewould come back. She must come back. Yes, yes. Shewas his Jessie. His beautiful Jessie. She belonged to him.And the children. She loved them. How she loved them.They were theirs. Yes, she would come back. Maybe shewould come back at supper-time. She would understand bythen. Because she was good, and––and kind, and––No,no, Fate could never be so cruel as to take her from him.

He rose and paced the floor with nervous, uneven strides.He plunged his hand into his coat pocket and drew out theletter again. He re-read it, with hot eyes and strainingthought. Every word seemed to sear itself upon his poorbrain, and drive him to the verge of distraction. Why?Why? And he raised his bloodshot eyes to the roof of hishut, and crushed the paper in one desperate hand.

Then suddenly he started. His pale eyes took on afurtive frightened expression. He glanced fearfully roundthe room as though someone was in hiding to surprise hisinspiration. Yes, that was it. Why not? He was notafraid. He was afraid of no one. Yes, yes, he had themeans. He must make the opportunity. She was his. Noone else had a right to her. It was justifiable. It was nomore than justice.

He moved towards the inner room. He was less furtivenow. His purpose had startled him at first, but now he wasconvinced it was right. To a man of his character hisresolve once taken there was only one thing to do––to carryit out.

He passed into the bedroom, and, in a few moments,reappeared. Now he was bearing something in his hand.He held it carefully, and in his eyes was something liketerror of what he held. The thing he carried was an old-fashionedrevolver. It was rusty. But it had a mercilesslook about it. He turned it up gingerly. Then he openedthe breach, and loaded all the six chambers. Then hecarefully bestowed it in his coat pocket, where it bulgedobtrusively.

Now he moved to the open doorway, and somehow hisoriginal furtiveness had returned to him. Here he pausedas the voice of the twins reached and held him. They werestill playing in the sun, banking up the sand and stones intheir futile attempt at castle building. He breathed hard,as though summoning up all his decision. Then he spoke.

“Say, kiddies,” he said firmly. “I’ll be right back atsupper.”

And he moved out without another look in their direction,and walked off in the direction of Minky’s store.

CHAPTER IV

SCIPIO BORROWS A HORSE

Scipio found an almost deserted camp after flounderinghis way over the intricate paths amongst the refuse-heaps.

The miners had departed to their claims with a punctualitythat suggested Trades Union principles. Such was theirexistence. They ate to live; they lived to work, ever trackingthe elusive metal to the earth’s most secret places. Thecamp claimed them only when their day’s work was done;for the rest, it supported only their most urgent needs.

Sunny Oak, lounging on a rough bench in the shadiestpart of the veranda facing Minky’s store, raised a pair ofheavy eyelids, to behold a dejected figure emerge fromamidst the “dumps.” The figure was bearing towards thestore in a dusty cloud which his trailing feet raised at everystep. His eyes opened wider, and interested thought stirredin his somnolent brain. He recognized the figure and wondered.Scipio should have been out on his claim by thistime, like the rest.

The lean long figure of the lounger propped itself uponits elbow. Curiously enough, lazy as he was, the smallestmatter interested him. Had he suddenly discovered a beetlemoving on the veranda he would have found food for reflectionin its doings. Such was his mind. A smile stoleinto his indolent eyes, a lazy smile which spoke of tolerantgood-humor. He turned so that his voice might carry inthrough the window which was just behind him.

“Say, Bill,” he cried, “here’s Zip comin’ down the trail.”

As though his announcement were sufficient to rouse anequal interest in those inside the store, he returned again tohis contemplation of the approaching figure.

“What’s he doin’ around camp this hour?” inquired aharsh voice from beyond the window.

“Guess I ain’t a lightnin’ calc’lator,” observed Sunny,without withdrawing his gaze.

“Nope,” came the prompt retort from the invisiblespeaker; “guess it ’ud keep you busy trackin’ a fun’ral.”

“Which don’t need contradiction! I’m kind o’ makin’holiday these times. Guess you ain’t never heerd tell o’ the‘rest cure’?”

A rough laugh broke on the drowsy atmosphere.

“Sunny’s overworked just now,” said another voice,amidst the rattle of poker chips.

“Wher’ you bin workin’, Sunny?” inquired the harshvoice of the man addressed as Bill.

“Workin’!” cried the loafer, with good-natured scorn.“Say, I don’t never let a hobby interfere with the biznessof life.”

A half-smothered laugh answered him. Even the exigenciesof a poker hand could not quite crush out the naturalhumor of these men, who always followed on the goldentrail of the pioneers.

“Say, what’s your bizness?” demanded another voicepresently.

“Restin’!” the man on the veranda answered easily.

The shuffle of cards and rattle of chips came with asnigger. And the answering lazy smile of Sunny Oak wasgood to see. It lit his unshaven face from his unwashedbrow to his chin. And to an onlooker it might well haveappeared a pity that an intense bodily indolence should sodominate his personality. He looked vastly capable, bothmentally and physically.

But his eyes never left the on-coming Scipio. The littleman moved with bowed head and trailing footsteps. Theutter dispiritedness of his gait stirred even the self-centeredwatcher. But Scipio saw nothing of Sunny Oak. He sawnothing of anything but the despairing picture in his ownmind. The ramshackle shanties which lined one side of thetrail were passed unheeded. The yapping of the camp dogsat the unusual sight of so deplorable a figure at this hour ofthe day was quite unnoticed by him. The shelving rise ofattenuated grassland which blocked the view of SufferingCreek on his left never for a moment came into his focus.His eyes were on the trail ahead of him, and never morethan a few feet from where he trod. And those eyes werehot and staring, aching with their concentration upon thehideous picture which filled his brain.

As Scipio drew near Sunny Oak further bestirred himself,which was a concession not often yielded by that individualto anyone. He sat up, and his smile broadened.Then it faded out as he beheld the usually mild expressionof the yellow-haired prospector now so set and troubled.

“Gee!” he murmured in an undertone. Then, with anevident effort, he offered a greeting.

“Ho, you, Zip! Drawn a blank way up ther’ on yourmudbank?”

Scipio looked up in a dazed fashion. Then he halted andseemed to pull himself together. Finally he spoke.

“Howdy?” he said in a mechanical sort of way.

“Guess I’m a heap better,” responded Sunny, withtwinkling eyes.

Scipio gazed up at the store in a bewildered way. Hesaw the great letters in which Minky’s name and occupationwere inscribed on its pretentious front, and it seemed tobring back his purpose to his distracted mind. Instantly theother’s words became intelligible to him, and his nativekindliness prompted him.

“You been sick?” he demanded.

“Wal, not rightly sick, but––ailin’.” Sunny’s smilebroadened till a mouthful of fairly decent teeth showedthrough the fringe of his ragged mustache.

“Ailin’?”

“Yep. Guess I bin overdoin’ it.”

“It don’t do, working too hard in the heat,” said Scipioabsently.

“Sure,” replied Sunny. “It’s been a hard job avoidin’ it.Ther’s allus folk ready to set me workin’. That’s just theway o’ things. What I need is rest. Say, you ain’tworkin’?”

Scipio started.

“No. I’m looking for Wild Bill.”

Sunny Oak jerked his head backwards in the direction ofthe window.

“Guess he’s at work––in ther’.”

“Thanks.”

Scipio mounted the veranda and passed along to the doorof the store. Sunny’s eyes followed him, but he displayedno other interest. With ears and brain alert, however, hewaited. He knew that all he required to know would reachhim through a channel that was quite effortless to himself.Again he stretched himself out on the bench, and his twinklingeyes closed luxuriously.

Minky’s store was very little different from other places ofits kind. He sold everything that could possibly be neededin a newly started mining camp. He did not confine himselfto hardware and clothing and canned goods, but carried asupply of drugs, stationery and general dry goods, besidesliquor in ample quantities, if of limited quality. There wasrye whisky, there was gin, and there was some sort ofFrench brandy. The two latter were in the smallestquantities. Rye was the staple drink of the place.

The walls of the store were lined with shelves on everyside, and the shelves were full, even overflowing to a piled-upconfusion of goods which were stacked around on thefloor. In the somewhat limited floor-space there were tablesand benches which could be used for the dual purpose ofdrink and cards. But wherein Minky’s store was slightlyout of the usual was the fact that he was not a Jew, andadopted no Jewish methods of trading. He was scrupulouslyhonest with his customers, and fairly moderate in hischarges, relying on this uncommon integrity and temperatenessof disposition to make personal liking the basis of hiscommercial success.

It was perhaps a much further-sighted policy than onewould suppose. Several men had endeavored to start in thestore business in opposition to him, but in each case theirenterprise had proved an utter failure. Not a man in theplace would trade elsewhere. Minky was just “Minky,”whom they liked and trusted. And, what was much moreto the point, who was ever ready to “trust” them.

Wild Bill was at the poker table with Minky, Sandy Joyceand Toby Jenks when Scipio entered the place. He was agambler out and out. It was his profession. He wasknown as Wild Bill of Abilene, a man whose past was neverinquired into by even the most youthful newcomer, whosepresent was a thing that none ever saw sufficient reason toquestion, and whose future suggested nothing so much asthe general uncertainty of things human. He was a man ofharsh exterior and, apparently, harsh purpose. His eyeswere steely and his tongue ironical; he possessed muscles ofiron and a knowledge of poker and all its subtleties that hadnever yet failed him. He was a dead shot with a pistol, and,in consequence, fear and respect were laid at his feet by hisfellow-townsmen. He was also Minky’s most treasuredfriend.

Sandy Joyce had to his credit a married past, which somehowgave him a certain authority in the place. He wasexpected to possess a fund of wisdom in matters worldly,and he did his best to live up to this demand. He was also,by the way, an ex-cowpuncher suffering from gold fever,and between whiles played poker with Wild Bill until he hadlost the result of his more regular labors. He was a slight,tall, bright-eyed man of thirty, with an elaborate flow ofpicturesque language. He was afraid of no man, but allwomen.

Toby Jenks was as short and squat as his friends werelong and thin. He was good-tempered, and spent largeremittances which reached him at regular intervals in thelulls which occurred in his desultory search for gold.

Minky, a plain, large man of blunt speech and gruff manners,looked up swiftly as Scipio entered, and a momentlater three more pairs of eyes were fixed inquiringly uponthe newcomer.

“Struck color?” inquired Minky, with his gruffestcordiality.

“No.”

Scipio’s entire attitude had distinctly undergone a changesince Sunny Oak’s lazy eyes first discovered his approach.Where before the hopelessness of despair had looked outfrom every line of his mild face, now his mouth was setobstinately, and a decided thrust to his usually retiring chinbecame remarkable. Even his wispy hair had an aggressionin the manner in which it obtruded from under the brim ofhis slouch hat. His eyes were nearly defiant, yet there waspleading in them, too. It was as if he were sure of therightness of his purpose, but needed encouragement in itsexecution.

For the moment the poker game was stopped, a fact whichwas wholly due to the interest of the steely eyes of WildBill.

“Layin’ off?” inquired the gambler, without a moment’ssoftening.

“Guess you’re passin’ on that mud lay-out of yours,” suggestedSandy, with a laugh.

Scipio shook his head, and his lips tightened.

“No. I want to borrow a good horse from Bill here.”

The gambler set down the cards he had been shuffling.The statement seemed to warrant his action. He sat backin his chair and bit a chew of tobacco off a black plug.Minky and the others sat round and stared at the little manwith unfeigned interest.

“You’re needin’ a hoss?” demanded Bill, without attemptingto disguise his surprise. “What for?”

Scipio drew a hand across his brow; a beady sweat hadbroken out upon it.

“Oh, nothing to bother folk with,” he said, with a painfulattempt at indifference. “I’ve got to hunt around and findthat feller, ‘Lord’ James.”

A swift glance flashed round the table from eye to eye.Then Sunny Oak’s voice reached them from beyond thewindow––

“Guess you’ve a goodish ways to travel.”

“Time enough,” said Scipio doggedly.

“What you need to find him for?” demanded WildBill, and there was a change in the glitter of his fierceeyes. It was not that they softened, only now they had thesuggestion of an ironical smile, which, in him, implied curiosity.

Scipio shifted his feet uneasily. His pale eyes wanderedto the sunlit window. One hand was thrust in his jacketpocket, and the fingers of it fidgeted with the rusty metal ofthe gun that bulged its sides. This pressure of interrogationwas upsetting the restraint he was putting on himself. Allhis grief and anger were surging uppermost again. With abig effort, which was not lost upon his shrewd audience, hechoked down his rising emotion.

“Oh, I––I’d like to pay him a ‘party call,’” he blurtedout.

Minky was about to speak, but Wild Bill kept him silentwith a sharp glance. An audible snigger came from beyondthe window.

“Guess you know jest wher’ you’ll locate him?” inquiredthe gambler.

“No, but I’m going to find him, sure,” replied Scipiodoggedly. Then he added, with his eyes averted, “Guess Ishan’t let up till I do.”

There was a weak sparkle in the little man’s eyes.

“What’s your game?” rasped Bill curiously.

“Oh, just nothin’.”

The reply caused a brief embarrassed pause. Then thegambler broke it with characteristic force.

“An’ fer that reason you’re––carryin’ a gun,” he said,pointing at the man’s bulging pocket.

Sandy Joyce ceased stacking his “chips”; Toby squaredhis broad shoulders and drained an already empty glass.Minky blinked his astonishment, while Wild Bill thrust hislong legs out and aggressively pushed his hat back on hishead. It was at that moment that curiosity overcame SunnyOak’s habitual indolence, and his face appeared over thewindow-sill.

“He’s stole from me,” said Scipio in a low tone.

“What’s he stole?” demanded the gambler savagely.

“My wife.”

The stillness of the room remained unbroken for somemoments. Actions came far easier to these men than merewords. Scipio’s words had a paralyzing effect upon theirpowers of speech, and each was busy with thoughts whichthey were powerless to interpret into words. “Lord”James was a name they had reason to hate. It was a namesynonymous with theft, and even worse––to them. He hadstolen from their community, which was unforgivable, butthis––this was something new to them, something whichdid not readily come into their focus. Wild Bill was thefirst to recover himself.

“How d’you know?” he asked.

“She wrote telling me.”

“She went ’cos she notioned it?” inquired Sandy.

“He’s stole her––he’s stole my Jessie,” said Scipio sullenly.

“An’ you’re goin’ to fetch her back?” Bill’s questionwhipped the still air.

“Sure––she’s mine.”

Scipio’s simplicity and single-mindedness brought forth asigh of intense feeling from his hearers.

“How?” Wild Bill’s method of interrogation had adriving effect.

“She’s mine, an’––I’m going to get her back.” Therewas pity at the man’s obstinate assertion in every eye exceptWild Bill’s.

“Say, Zip, he’ll kill you,” said the gambler, after apause.

“She’s my wife. She’s mine,” retorted Scipio intensely.“An’ I’ll shoot him dead if he refuses to hand herover.”

“Say,” the gambler went on, ignoring the man’s protest––theidea of Scipio shooting a man like James was too ludicrous––“you’reup agin a bad proposition, sure. James hasstole your––wife. He’s stole more. He’s a stage-robber.”

“A cattle-thief,” broke in Sandy.

“A ‘bad man’ of the worst,” nodded Minky.

“He’s all these, an’ more,” went on Bill, scowling.“He’s a low-down skunk, he’s a pestilence, he’s a murderer.You’re goin’ to hunt him back ther’ to his own shack inthe foothills with his gang of toughs around him, an’ you’regoin’ to make him hand back your wife. Say, you’re surecrazy. He’ll kill you. He’ll blow your carkis to hell, an’charge the devil freightage for doin’ it.”

There was a look of agreement in the eyes that watchedScipio’s mild face. There was more: there was sympathyand pity for him, feelings in these men for which there wasno other means of expression.

But Scipio was unmoved from his purpose. His underlipprotruded obstinately. His pale eyes were alight withpurpose and misery.

“He’s stole my––Jessie,” he cried, “an’ I want her back.”Then, in a moment, his whole manner changed, and hiswords came with an irresistible pleading. Hard as was thegambler, the pathos of it struck a chord in him the existenceof which, perhaps, even he was unaware.

“You’ll lend me a horse, Bill?” the little man cried.“You will, sure? I got fifty dollars saved for the kiddies’clothes. Here it is,” he hurried on, pulling out a packet ofbills from his hip pocket. “You take ’em and keep ’emagainst the horse. It ain’t sufficient, but it’s all I got. I’llpay the rest when I’ve made it, if your horse gets hurted.I will, sure. Say,” he added, with a happy inspiration, “I’llgive you a note on my claim––ha’f of it. You’ll do it?You––”

Bill’s face went suddenly scarlet. Something made himlower his eyelids. It was as though he could not look onthat eager face unmoved any longer. Somehow he felt in avague sort of way that poor Scipio’s spirit was altogether toobig for his body. Bigger by far than that of those sittingthere ready to deride his purpose, and crush it to a weakyielding such as, in their minds, was the only possible thingfor a man of his like.

“You set them bills right back in your dip,” he cried,with a savageness that was only a mask to his real feelings;“I don’t need ’em. You ken get right out to the barn an’have your pick o’ my plugs, an’ anythin’ you need else.Guess you best take the black mare. She’ll carry you allday for a week, sure, an’ then laff at you. Get right on, an’––an’––goodluck!”

There are actions performed in every man’s life for whichhe can never account, even to himself. Such was the actWild Bill performed at that moment. Gambling was hisliving, but his horses were a passion with him. He possessed,perhaps, some of the finest in the country, and heworshiped them. He had never been known to lend ahorse to his best friend, and no one but himself had everbeen allowed to feed or groom them. He was prouder ofthem than a father might be of his firstborn son, and ascareful of them as any doting mother. Therefore his assentto Scipio’s request was quite staggering to his companions.Nor did he know why he did it, and a furious anger followedimmediately upon this unusual outburst of good-nature.

Scipio was profuse in his thanks. But he was cut shortwith a violence that seemed quite unnecessary. For themoment, at least, Bill hated the little man almost as muchas he hated this “Lord” James he was setting out insearch of.

After that no word passed until Scipio had left the storefor the barn. Bill sat wrapt in moody thought, his fierceeyes lowered in contemplation of his well-shod feet. Hiscards were forgotten, the men around him were forgotten.Sandy and the storekeeper were watching his harsh face inwonder, while Toby’s head was turned in the direction ofthe departing man. It was Sunny Oak from his post at thewindow who finally broke the silence.

“Guess you gone plumb ‘bug,’ Bill,” he said, with anamiable grin. Then, as only a flicker of a smile from theothers answered him, and Bill ignored his charge altogether,he hurried on, “You’re helpin’ that misguided feller to adose of lead he’ll never have time to digest. If ever Zipruns foul of James, he’ll blow him to hell as sure––as ther’sallus work for those as don’t need it. An’, wot’s more,you’ll never set eyes on your black mare agin, ’less it’sunder James’ saddle. You’re sure ‘bug.’ You oughter beseen to.”

It was only Sunny Oak who would have dared to say somuch to the gambler. But then, for some unstated reason,Sunny was a privileged person on Suffering Creek. Nobodypaid much attention to the manner in which he allowed histongue to run on, and, besides, he was too lazy to be afraidof anybody.

Bill looked round.

“You’re side-tracked,” he observed contemptuously.“James won’t shoot Jessie’s husband. Maybe he’ll kickhim out, maybe he’ll roast him bad, and tongue-lash him.Anyways, every man’s got to play his own hand. An’––it’sgood to see him playin’ hard, win or lose. But Zip’ll gitback, sure. An’ he’ll bring my mare with him. Go tosleep, Sunny; your thinkin’-pan’s nigh hatched out.”

“I don’t guess he’ll ever get alongside James,” observedMinky thoughtfully. “We’ve all looked for him a piece.We know he’s got a shanty back in the foothills, but I don’tseem to remember hearin’ of anybody findin’ it. I don’tguess Zip’s wise to where it is.”

Bill’s eyes lit with a curious fire.

“Guess Zip’ll find him,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’lltake him time––”

“An’,” cried Sunny, “how’s them pore kiddies to livemeanwhiles?”

The loafer fired his little bomb with the desired effect.The men had no answer for some moments. And graduallyall eyes fixed themselves upon Bill’s face, as though acknowledginghis leadership. He answered the challenge in characteristicfashion.

“Guess we’ll turn Sunny loose to wet-nurse ’em.”

An announcement which set Sunny plunging headlong tohis own defense.

“Say, ain’t ther’ no sort o’ peace for a feller as needsrest? You’re all mighty smart settin’ folks to work. Butthis is your game, Bill, an’ it’s up to you to put it thro’.I ’low you’d make an elegant wet-nurse––so soft andmotherish.”

But Bill had had enough, and turned upon the face at thewindow in his most savage manner.

“See here,” he cried, with fierce irony, “we’ve all know’dyou since Sufferin’ Creek was Sufferin’ Creek, an’ nobodyain’t never kicked. But it’s kind o’ ne’ssary for every felleraround these parts to justify ’emselves. Get me? Youneed ‘justifyin’.’ Wal, I guess you’ll see to them kiddiestill Zip comes back. It’s going to be your work seein’ theydon’t get fixed into any sort o’ trouble, an’ when Zip getsback you’ll hand ’em over clean an’ fixed right. Get that?I’m payin’ for their board, an’ I’m payin’ you a wage. An’you’re goin’ to do it, or light right out o’ here so quick yourown dust’ll choke you.”

“Here, here!” cried Toby, with a delighted laugh.

Sandy grinned into the loafer’s angry face, while Minkynodded an unsmiling approval.

“Gee, you beat hell for nerve!” cried Sunny.

“Guess I ken do better. I ken beat you,” retorted Billcontemptuously. “You’ll do it, or––you ken start gettin’out now,” he added.

Sunny realized his position by the expression of the othermen’s faces, and, quickly resuming his good-humored plaint,he acquiesced with a grumble.

“Gee! but it’s a tough world,” he complained, droppingback on to his bench hurriedly, lest fresh demands should bemade upon him, and just in time to witness Scipio leading abeautiful black mare up to the tying-post.

The men in the store turned out at the sound of horse’shoofs, and stood gathered on the veranda. Bill’s keen eyeswere fixed regretfully on the shining sides of his favoriteanimal. She was a picture of lean muscle and bone, with abeautiful small head, and ears that looked little larger thanwell-polished mussel-shells. She stood pawing the groundimpatiently while Scipio tied her to the post, and she nuzzledhis ribs playfully with her twitching lips in the most friendlyspirit. But Bill’s eyes were suddenly arrested by the mannerin which she was saddled and bridled. Poor Scipio hadblundered in a hopeless fashion.

Other eyes, too, had seen the blunder, and Sandy Joycesuddenly pointed.

“Mackinaw! Jest get that,” he cried.

“By Gee!” laughed Sunny.

But Wild Bill cut them all short in a surprising manner.

“Say, guess you fellers ain’t never made no sort o’ mistakes––anyo’ you. You’re laffin’ a heap. Quit it, or––”His eyes flashed dangerously. Then, as the men becamesilent, he darted across to where Scipio was still fumblingwith the neck rope.

The little man’s attempt at saddling, under any othercircumstances, would have brought forth Bill’s most scathingcontempt. The saddle was set awry upon an ill-foldedblanket. It was so far back from the mare’s withers thatthe twisted double cinchas were somewhere under her belly,instead of her girth. Then the bit was reversed in hermouth, and the curb-strap was hanging loose.

Bill came to his rescue in his own peculiar way.

“Say, Zip,” he cried in a voice that nothing could soften,“I don’t guess you altered them stirrups to fit you. I’ll jestfix ’em.” And the little man stood humbly by while he setto work. He quickly unfastened the cinchas, and set theblanket straight. Then he shifted the saddle, and refastenedthe cinchas. Then he altered the stirrups, and passed onto the mare’s bridle––Scipio watching him all the whilewithout a word. But when the gambler had finished heglanced up into his lean face with an almost dog-like gratitude.

“Thanks, Bill,” he said. “I never done it before.”

“So I guessed.” And the gambler’s words, though whollyharsh, had no other meaning in them. Then he went on,as Scipio scrambled into the saddle, “You don’t need toworry any ’bout things here. Your kiddies’ll be seen toproper till you get back, if you’re on the trail a month.”

Scipio was startled. He had forgotten his twins.

“Say––you––”

But Bill wanted no thanks or explanations.

“We’re seein’ to them things––us, an’ that all-fired lazyslob, Sunny Oak. Ther’ won’t be no harm––” He flickedthe restive mare, which bounded off with the spring of agazelle. “Ease your hand to her,” he called out, so asto drown Scipio’s further protestations of gratitude, “easeyour hand, you blamed little fule. That’s it. Now let hergo.”

And the mare raced off in a cloud of dust.

CHAPTER V

HUSBAND AND LOVER

Where all the trail-wise men of Suffering Creek andthe district had failed, Scipio, the incompetent, succeeded.Such was the ironical pleasure of the jade Fortune. Scipiohad not the vaguest idea of whither his quest would leadhim. He had no ideas on the subject at all. Only had hehis fixed purpose hard in his mind, and, like a loadstone, itdrew him unerringly to his goal.

There was something absolutely ludicrous in the mannerof his search. But fortunately there are few ready to laughat disaster. Thus it was that wherever he went, whereverhe paused amongst his fellows in search of information hewas received perfectly seriously, even when he told the objectof his search, and the story of its reason.

An ordinary man would probably have hugged such astory to himself. He would have resorted to covert probingand excuse in extracting information. But then it isdoubtful if, under such circumstances, his purpose wouldhave been so strong, so absolutely invincible as Scipio’s.As it was, with single-minded simplicity, Scipio saw no reasonfor subterfuge, he saw no reason for disguising the tragedywhich had befallen him. And so he shed his storybroadcast amongst the settlers of the district until, by meansof that wonderful prairie telegraphy, which needs no instrumentsto operate, it flew before him in every direction,either belittled or exaggerated as individual temperamentprompted.

At one ranch the news was brought in from the trail bya hard-faced citizen who had little imagination, but muchknowledge of the country.

“Say, fellers,” he cried, as he swung out of the saddleat the bunkhouse door, “ther’s a tow-headed sucker on thetrail lookin’ fer the James outfit. Guess he wants to shoot’em up. He’s a sawed-off mutt, an’ don’t look a heap likescarin’ a jack-rabbit. I told him he best git back to hum,an’ git busy fixin’ his funeral right, so he wouldn’t have notrouble later.”

“Wher’s he from?” someone asked.

“Sufferin’ Creek,” replied the cowpuncher, “an’ seemsto me he’s got more grit than savvee.”

And this opinion was more or less the general one. Thelittle man rode like one possessed, and it was as well that ofall his six treasured horses Wild Bill had lent him hisblack beauty, Gipsy. She was quite untiring, and, withher light weight burden, she traveled in a spirit of sheerdelight.

At every homestead or ranch Scipio only paused to makeinquiries and then hurried on. The information he receivedwas of the vaguest. James or some of his gang were oftenseen in the remoter parts of the lower foothills, but this wasall. At one farm he had a little better luck, however.Here he was told that the farmer had received an intimationthat if he wished to escape being burnt out he must beprepared to hand over four hundred dollars when calledupon by the writer to do so; and the message was signed“James.”

“So ye see,” said the farmer––a man named Nicholls––despondently,“he’s som’eres skulkin’ around hyar.”

“Seems like it,” acquiesced Scipio.

Then, of a sudden, a suspicion flashed through the other’smind, and the man-hunter spent an uncomfortable fewseconds.

“Say, you’re lookin’ fer him?” the farmer questionedharshly. Then he leant forward, his eyes lighting withsudden anger. “If I tho’t you was––”

But Scipio’s mild blue eyes, and his simple reply had apacific effect at once.

“I’m looking for him because he’s stole my wife. AndI’m goin’ on chasin’ till I find him.”

There was such mild sincerity in his visitor’s mannerthat it was impossible for the farmer to retain his suspicion.

“What you goin’ to do about that four hundred?”inquired Scipio later.

“He’ll get no dollars out o’ me. I ain’t got ’em,” repliedNicholls hopelessly. Then his temper rose. “But I’m justgoin’ to sleep with a gun to my hand, an’ he’ll get it goodan’ plenty, if he shoots the life out of me, an’ burns everystick I got, after.”

Scipio nodded sympathetically.

“I’d feel that ways,” he said. “Well, I guess I’ll begettin’ on. My mare’ll be fed an’ rested by this. Thanksfor the feed. Guess I’ll hunt around this district a piece.Maybe I’ll find––”

But suddenly the farmer awoke from the contemplationof his own troubles and eyed the diminutive figure of hisguest wonderingly, as he stood up to go.

“Say,” he observed critically, “guess you must be bustin’with grit chasin’ this feller.”

Scipio shook his head.

“No,” he said, with a wan smile. “But he’s got––mywife.”

“Ah.”

And there was a world of understanding in the man’smonosyllable.

Five minutes later the man-hunter was on the trail again.It was the afternoon of the second day of his quest. He wassaddle-sore and weary, but his purpose knew no weakening.Gipsy was going fresh and strong, and though she had alreadytraveled probably a hundred miles in her rider’s aimlesswanderings, she moved as though she was out for amorning’s exercise on a liberal diet of oats.

True to his intention Scipio scoured the district with anexcess of enthusiasm which carried him far, and sundownfound him amongst the beehive hummocks which form theapproach to the greater hills. Up and down these wonderfulgrassy dunes he roamed searching a resting-place forhimself and his mare. There was nothing of the sort insight, nothing but the endless series of grassy knolls, andthe dividing hollows which might conceal anything, froma ranch house to an outlying cattle station. And finallyhe abandoned all hope of shelter.

He had certainly lost himself. But, even so, he was notgreatly concerned. Why should he be? What did it matter?He knew that if the worst came to the worst hismare could eat her fill of grass, and, for himself, sleep inthe open had no terrors. Of food for himself he had noteven begun to think. So he rode on until the last blazeof the setting sun dropped behind the sky-line.

He was descending into a hollow, something deeper thanusual. Hope ran high that it was one of those hiddenbreaks, which, at intervals, cross the sea of grassy dunes,and mark a mountain waterway. Nor was he disappointed.A few moments later, to his delight, he found himself gazinginto the depths of one of the many rivulets trickling itsshallow way between low cut banks. Promptly he madeup his mind that it was the place for him to camp.

At the water’s edge he scrambled out of the saddle andbegan to seek a place where his mare could drink. It wasa little difficult, for the banks were sharp, and the bushesplentiful, and he had wandered at least a hundred yards inhis search for an opening when a human voice abruptlyhailed him from the far side of the stream. He lookedacross without answering, and, to his intense surprise, behelda horseman on the opposite bank. The man, judging byhis appearance, was a cowpuncher, and, to Scipio’s simplemind, was, like himself, benighted.

“Hello,” he replied at last, after a thoughtful stare.

The man was eyeing the yellow-headed figure with novery friendly eyes, but this fact was lost upon Scipio, whosaw in him only a fellow man in misfortune. He saw thelariat on the horn of the saddle, the man’s chapps, his hard-muscledbroncho pony gazing longingly at the water. Theguns at the man’s waist, the scowling brow and shifty eyespassed quite unobserved.

“Wher’ you from?” demanded the man sharply.

“Suffering Creek,” replied Scipio readily.

“Guess you’ve come quite a piece,” said the other, aftera considering pause.

“I sure have.”

“What you doin’ here?”

The man’s inquiry rapped out smartly. But Scipio hadno suspicion of anybody, and answered quite withouthesitation.

“I’m huntin’ a man called James. You ain’t seen him?”

But the man countered his question with another.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Scipio––and yours?”

In the dying light the man’s saturnine features seemed torelax for a moment into something like a smile. But hespoke at once.

“Come right over,” he invited. “Guess my name’s Abe––AbeConroy. I’m out chasin’ cattle.” And the fact thathe finished up with a deliberate laugh had no meaning at allfor his companion.

Scipio gladly accepted the invitation, and, in response tothe man’s instructions, moved farther along the stream untilhe came to a shelving in the bank where his mare could climbdown. He crossed over, letting his horse drink by the way,and a few moments later was at his new acquaintance’s side.

The stranger’s mood seemed to have entirely changedfor the better by the time Scipio came up. His smile wasalmost amiable, and his manner of speech was comparativelyjocular.

“So you’re chasin’ that crook, James,” he said easily.“Queer, ain’t it?”

“What?”

“Why, he’s run off a bunch of our stock. Leastways,that’s how I’m guessin’. I’m makin’ up to his place rightnow to spy out things. I was jest waitin’ fer the sun to go.Y’see we’re organizin’ a vigilance party to run––Say, I’da notion fer a moment you was one of his gang.”

But Scipio disclaimed the honor promptly.

“No. I just need to find him. I’m needin’ it bad.”

“Wot fer?”

For once the man-hunter hesitated. A quite unaccountablefeeling gave him a moment’s pause. But he finallyanswered frankly, as he always answered, with a simpledirectness that was just part of him.

“He’s stole my wife,” he said, his eyes directly gazinginto the other’s face.

“Gee, he’s a low-down skunk,” declared the other, with acurse. But the ironical light in his eyes quite escaped hiscompanion’s understanding.

Scipio was full of his good fortune in falling in with aman who knew of James’ whereabouts. A dozen questionssprang into his mind, but he contented himself with statinghis intention.

“I’ll ride on with you,” he said.

“What, right up to James’ lay-out?”

“Sure. That’s wher’ I’m makin’.”

For a moment the man calling himself Conroy sat gazingout at the afterglow of the setting sun. His whole appearancewas ill-favored enough to have aroused distrust inanybody but a man like Scipio. Now he seemed to bepondering a somewhat vexed question, and his brows weredrawn together in a way that suggested anything but a clearpurpose. But finally he seemed to make up his mind to adefinite course. He spoke without turning to his companion,and perhaps it was for the purpose of hiding a lurkingderisive smile.

“If you’re set on makin’ James’ shanty, you best comeright along. Only”––he hesitated for the barest fractionof a second––“y’see, I’m out after this cattle racket, an’ Iguess I owe it to my folks to git their bizness thro’ withoutno chance of upset. See?”

Scipio nodded. He saw the man’s drift, and thought itquite splendid of him.

“Now, I got to spy out things,” the man went on, “an’if you get right up ther’ first it’ll likely upset things fer me––yougoin’ ther’ to hold him up as it were.” His smilewas more pronounced. “Now I guess I’ll show you wherehis lay-out is if you’ll sure give me your promise to let mehunt around fer ha’f-an-hour around his corrals––’fore youbutt in. Then I’ll get right back to you an’ you can goup, an’––shoot him to hell, if you notion that fancy.”

Scipio almost beamed his thanks. The man’s kindnessseemed a noble thing to him.

“You’re a real bully fellow,” he said. “Guess we’ll startright now?”

The man turned and his shrewd eyes fixed themselvespiercingly on the little man’s face.

“Yes,” he said shortly, “we’ll get on.”

He led the way, his horse slightly in advance of the mare,and for some time he made no attempt to break the silencethat had fallen. The twilight was rapidly passing into thedeeper shadows of night, but he rode amongst the hills asthough he were traveling a broad open trail. There was nohesitation, no questioning glance as to his direction. Hemight have been traveling a trail that he had been accustomedto all his life. At last, however, he glanced round athis companion.

“Say, what you goin’ to do when––you get there?” heasked.

“Fetch my wife back,” replied Scipio earnestly.

“What’ll James be doin’?”

“He can’t keep her––she’s mine.”

“That’s so. But––if he notions to keep her?”

Scipio was silent for some moments. His pale eyes werestaring straight ahead of him out into the growing darkness.

“Maybe, I’ll have to shoot him,” he said at last, as thoughthere could be no question about the matter.

The man nodded.

“Got useful guns?” he inquired casually.

“Got one.”

“Ah, what is it? Magazine?”

Scipio pulled his antique possession out of his pocket andhanded it over for the man’s inspection.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Guess the sights ain’t goodover a distance, but at close range it’ll make a nasty hole.”

Conroy took the weapon in his hand. His keen eyesnoted the age of the pattern. He also saw the batteredcondition of the sights, and the clumsy, rusted, protrudinghammer. It was six-chambered, and he knew that it mustbe all of forty years old. One of the earliest patternrevolvers. The sight of it filled him with cruel amusement,but he kept a serious face.

“I ’lows that should bring James to his senses,” heobserved, as he handed it back to its owner.

Scipio read his answer as approval, and warmed towardshim.

“I’d say so,” he said, returning his antiquity to his pocket.“You see, a gun’s li’ble to rattle a feller like James. Aman who can get around when a feller’s back’s turned, an’make love to his wife, ain’t much of a man, is he? I meanhe hasn’t much grit. He’s a coward sure. If he’d got grithe wouldn’t do it. Well, that’s how I figger ’bout thisJames. He’s mean, an’ a cowardly dog. I don’t guess I’llhave to use that gun, but I jest brought it along to scare himto his senses, if he needs it. Maybe though he won’t needit when he sees me come along––y’see, I’m Jessie’s husband––guessthat’ll fix him sure.”

“Guess you got James sized up good,” observed the man,with his eyes fixed ahead. “No, I don’t see you’ll needthat gun.”

They rode on, Scipio’s spirits rising with every yard theytraveled. He knew he was nearing his wife with everypassing moment. He had no doubts, no fears. So long ashe could reach her side he felt that all would be well. Inspite of her letter it never entered his head that she caredfor the man she had gone off with. He blamed James, andit was no mere figure of speech when he said that he believedhe had “stolen” her. He believed such to be the case.He believed she had gone unwillingly. In his mind it wasa case of abduction. Again and again he thanked Providencethat he had fallen in with this man, Conroy. He wasa good fellow, he told himself, a good friend. And his ideaswere so coincident with his own about James.

They were approaching the higher hills. Towering,broken crags loomed ahead darkly in the gathering gloom.The vast riven facets cut the sky-line, and black patchesof pine forests, and spruce, gave a ghostly, threatening outlook.They must have been riding over two hours whenScipio realized they were passing over a narrow cattle trackon the summit of a wooded hill. Then presently theirhorses began a steep shelving descent which required greatcaution to negotiate. And as they proceeded the darknessclosed in upon them, until they appeared to be making analmost precipitate descent into a vast black pit. There wasno light here at all except for the stars above, for the lastglow of twilight was completely shut off by the great wallthey were now leaving behind them.

No word was spoken. Each man was busy with his horse,and the animals themselves were stumbling and flounderingas they picked their uncertain way. A quarter of an hourof this went by, then, suddenly, ahead, still farther downthe slope, two or three dim lights shone up at them like will-o’-the-wisps.They seemed to dance about before Scipio’seyes as they rode. Nor, as he pointed them out to his companion,did he realize that this peculiarity was due to themotion of his mare under him.

“Yep,” replied Conroy dryly. “Them’s James’ lights.”

“He’s got a large place,” said Scipio, with some awe inhis tone.

“He sure has,” agreed Conroy, smiling in the darkness.“He’s got the biggest an’ best-stocked ranch in Montana.”

“You say he’s a––cattle thief?” Scipio was strugglingto get things into proper focus.

“He sure is.” And Conroy’s tone of satisfaction had theeffect of silencing further comment by his companion.

A few moments later the descent was completed, and thesoft grass under her feet set Gipsy dancing to get on, butConroy pulled up.

“Here,” he said authoritatively, “you set right here whileI get on an’ get thro’ with my business. I’ll come alongback for you.”

Without demur Scipio waited, and his companion vanishedin the darkness. The little man had entered into anagreement, and had no desire, in spite of his eagerness to bedoing, of departing from the letter of it. So he possessedhimself in what patience he could until Conroy’s return.

The soft pad of the retiring horse’s hoofs on the thickgrass died away. And presently one of the twinkling lightsahead was abruptly shut out. The horseman had intervenedon Scipio’s line of vision. Then the yellow gleam as suddenlyreappeared, and the last sign of Conroy passed. Thewaiting man watched with every faculty alert. His ears andeyes straining for the least unusual sound or sight. Butthere was none forthcoming.

Then he began to think. He began to consider thesituation. He began to picture to himself something of thescene that he hoped would shortly take place between himselfand the man James. It was the first time he hadthought of the matter deliberately, or attempted to estimateits possibilities. Hitherto he had been too torn by his emotionsto consider anything in detail. And, even now, soimbued was he with the right of his cause that he only sawhis own point of view, which somehow made James a mereplaything in his hands.

He found himself dictating his will upon the thief in firmtones. He demanded his wife without heat, but with theknowledge of the power of his gun lying behind his words.He felt the restraint he would use. He would not bully.Who was he to bully after having had Jessie restored tohim? James should be dealt with as gently as his feelingswould permit him. Yes, thank God, he had no actual desireto hurt this man who had so wronged him. The man wasfoolish, and he could afford to be generous, having hadJessie restored to him. No, he would try hard to forgivehim. It would be a tremendous struggle, he knew, yet hefelt, with Jessie restored to him, he ought to make the effort.Somehow, even now, he almost felt sorry for so misguideda––

But his reflections were suddenly cut short by the soundof horses’ hoofs returning, and, a moment later, Conroyloomed up in the darkness. He came quite close up beforehe spoke, and then it was almost in a whisper.

“I’ve located things,” he said, with an air of deep satisfaction.“Guess we’ll make Mr. ‘Lord’ James hunt hishole ’fore we’re thro’ with him. I figger a rawhide fixedneat about his neck’ll ’bout meet his case. An’ say, I’venews fer you. Ther’s some o’ his boys around. He’s jestright in ther’ wher’ you ken see that biggish light,” he wenton, pointing at the illuminated square of a window. “I seehim through an open door round back. He’s lyin’ on aheap o’ blankets readin’ a book. Ef you git along nowyou’ll get him wher’ you need him, an’––an’ I wouldn’t takeno chances. Get a drop on him from outside the door, an’––wal,guess a feller like you’ll know what to do after that.I’m gettin’ back to home.”

Scipio glowed. He felt he could have hugged this good-naturedstranger. But he did not altogether agree with theman’s suggestion of getting the drop on James. He felt itwould hardly be playing the game. However, he intendedto be guided by circumstances.

“Thanks, friend,” he said, in his simple fashion. “Youmust let me call you that,” he went on eagerly. “Yousee, you’ve done something for me to-night I can’t neverforget. Maybe you’ve got a wife of your own, and if soyou’ll sure understand.”

“Can’t rightly say I’ve got a––wife,” the man replied,“but I ken understan’ all right. James is low––doggonelow,” he added. And his face was turned well away sothat he could grin comfortably without fear of the otherseeing it.

“Well, so long,” said Scipio hastily. “Seeing I shan’tsee you here when I get back, I’d just like to thank youagain.”

“So long,” replied the other. “An’ you needn’t to thankme too much.”

Scipio urged his mare forward, and the man sat lookingafter him. And somehow his face had lost something of itssatisfied expression. However, he sat there only a moment.Presently he lifted his reins and set his horse at a canter inthe direction of one of the more distant lights.

“He’s a pore fule,” he muttered, “but it’s a lousy trickanyways.” Thus he dismissed the matter from his mindwith a callous shrug.

In the meantime Scipio neared the house from whichshone the larger light. As he drew towards it he saw itsoutline against the starlight. It was a large, two-storiedframe house of weather-boarding, with a veranda frontingit. There were several windows on the hither side of it, butlight shone only in one of them. It was by this light thehorseman saw a tie-post some yards from the house. Andwithout hesitation he rode up to it, and, dismounting, securedhis mare. Then, following Conroy’s directions, he proceededon foot to the back of the house where he was tofind an open door. He turned the angle of the building.Yes, the door was there all right, but whereas Conroy hadsaid that James was lying on his blankets reading, he nowdiscovered that the doorway was filled by that handsomethief’s presence.

Before he realized what had happened, Scipio found himselfin the full glare of the light from the doorway, andJames was smiling down upon his yellow head with acurious blending of insolence and curiosity.

“I was wondering when you’d get around,” he said, withoutshifting his position. Then, as Scipio made no answer,he bestirred himself. “Come right in,” he added, and,lounging out of the doorway, he dropped back into the room.“You’ll find things a bit untidy,” he went on calmly, “yousee I’m making changes in my domestic arrangements.This is temporary, I guess. However, if you don’t justmind that, why––come right in.”

The man’s whole manner was one of good-humoredindifference. There was an unruffled assurance about himthat was quite perfect, if studied. Scipio’s presence thereseemed the last thing of concern to him. And the effect ofhis manner on his visitor entirely upset all the latter’s preconceivedintentions. Astonishment was his first feeling.Then a sudden diffidence seized him, a diffidence that wasnearly akin to fear of his rival. But this passed in a moment,and was instantly replaced by a hot rush of bloodthrough his small body. All his pictured interview died outof his recollections, and, in place of that calmness withwhich he had intended to meet the man, he found his pulseshammering and hot anger mounting to his head. Thecommonest of human passions stirred in him, and he feltit would be good to hurt this man who had so wrongedhim.

“Where’s my wife?” he demanded, with a suddenfierceness.

“Oh––it’s that. Say, come right in?”

James was still smiling pleasantly. This time Scipioaccepted the invitation without thought of trap or anythingelse. He almost precipitated himself into the room.

Nor in his fury did he observe his surroundings. He hadno eyes for the furnishings, the cheap comfort with whichhe was surrounded. And though, as James had said, theplace was untidy, he saw nothing and none of it. His eyeswere on the man; angry, bloodshot eyes, such eyes as thoseof a furiously goaded dog, driven into a corner by the cruellash of a bully’s whip.

“Yes, that’s it. Wher’s my wife?” Scipio demandedthreateningly. “You’ve stole her, and taken her from me.I’ve come to take her back.”

The force of his demands was tinged with the simplicityof a naturally gentle disposition. And maybe, in consequence,something of their sting was lost. The forcefulbluster of an outraged man, determined upon enforcing hisdemands, would probably have stirred James to active protest,but, as it was, he only continued to smile his insolenceupon one whom he regarded as little better than a harmlessworm.

“One moment,” he said, with an exasperating patience,“you say I stole her. To have stolen her suggests that shewas not willing to come along. She came with me. Well,I guess she came because she fancied it. You say you’regoing to take her back. Well,” with a shrug, “I kind ofthink she’ll have something to say about going back.”

For a moment Scipio stood aghast. He glanced abouthim helplessly. Then, in a flash, his pale-blue eyes cameback to the other’s face.

“She’s mine, I tell you! Mine! Mine! Mine!” hecried, in a frenzy of rage and despair. “She’s mine by thelaws of God an’ man. She’s mine by the love that hasbrought our kiddies into the world. Do you hear? She’smine by every tie that can hold man and wife together. An’you’ve stole her. She’s all I’ve got. She’s all I want. She’sjust part of me, and I can’t live without her. Ther’s thekiddies to home waitin’ for her, and she’s theirs, same asthey are hers––and mine. I tell you, you ain’t going tokeep her. She’s got to come back.” He drew a deep breathto choke down his fury. “Say,” he went on, with a suddenmoderating of his tone and his manner, taking on a pitifulpleading, “do you think you love her? You? Do youthink you know what love is? You don’t. You can’t.You can’t love her same as I do. I love her honest. I loveher so I want to work for her till I drop. I love her sothere’s nothin’ on earth I wouldn’t do for her. My life ishers. All that’s me is hers. I ain’t got a thought withouther. Man, you don’t know what it is to love my Jessie.You can’t, ’cos your love’s not honest. You’ve taken hersame as you’d take any woman for your pleasure. If I wasdead, would you marry her? No, never, never, never.She’s a pastime to you, and when you’ve done with her you’dturn her right out on this prairie to herd with the cattle,if ther’ wasn’t anywher’ else for her to go.” Then his voicesuddenly rose and his fury supervened again. “God!” hecried fiercely. “Give me back my wife. You’re a thief.Give her back to me, I say. She’s mine, d’you understand––mine!”

Not for an instant did the smile on James’ face relax.Maybe it became more set, and his lips, perhaps, tightened,but the smile was there, hard, unyielding in its very setness.And when Scipio’s appeal came to an end he spoke with anunderlying harshness that did not carry its way to the littleman’s distracted brain.

“She wouldn’t go back to you, even if I let her––whichI won’t,” he said coldly.

The man’s words seemed to bite right into the heart ofhis hearer. Nothing could have been better calculated togoad him to extremity. In one short, harsh sentence he haddashed every hope that the other possessed. And with arush the stricken man leapt at denial, which was heartrendingin its impotence.

“You lie!” he shouted. The old revolver was draggedfrom his pocket and pointed shakingly at his tormentor’shead. “Give her back to me! Give her back, or––”

James’ desperate courage never deserted him for an instant.And Scipio was never allowed to complete his sentence.The other’s hand suddenly reached out, and thepistol was twisted from his shaking grasp with as littleapparent effort as though he had been a small child.

Scipio stared helpless and confused while James eyed thepattern of the gun. Then he heard the man’s contemptuouslaugh and saw him pull the trigger. The hammer refusedto move. It was so rusted that the weapon was quite useless.For a moment the desperado’s eyes sought the paleface of his would-be slayer. A devilish smile lurked in theirdepths. Then he held out the pistol for the other to take,while his whole manner underwent a hideous change.

“Here, take it, you wretched worm,” he cried, withsudden savagery. “Take it, you miserable fool,” he added,as Scipio remained unheeding. “It wouldn’t blow evenyour fool brains out. Take it!” he reiterated, with a commandthe other could no longer resist. “And now get outof here,” he went on mercilessly, as Scipio’s hand closed overthe wretched weapon, “or I’ll hand you over to the boys.They’ll show you less mercy than I do. They’re waitingout there,” he cried, pointing at the door, “for my orders.One word from me and they’ll cut the liver out of you withrawhides, and Abe Conroy’ll see it’s done right. Get youright out of here, and if ever you come squealing aroundmy quarters again I’ll have you strung up by your wretchedneck till you’re dead––dead as a crushed worm––dead asis your wife, Jessie, to you from now out. Get out of here,you straw-headed sucker, get right out, quick!”

But the tide of the man’s fury seemed to utterly pass thelittle man by. He made no attempt to obey. The pistolhung in his tightly gripping hand, and his underlip protrudedobstinately.

“She’s mine, you thief!” he cried. “Give her back tome.”

It was the cry of a beaten man whose spirit isunquenchable.

But James had finished. All that was worst in him wasuppermost now. With eyes blazing he stepped to the doorand whistled. He might have been whistling up his dogs.Perhaps those who responded were his dogs. Three mencame in, and the foremost of them was Abe Conroy.

“Here,” cried James, his cruel eyes snapping, “take himout and set him on his horse, and send him racing to hellafter m’squitoes. And don’t handle him too easy.”

What happened to him after that Scipio never fully understood.He had a vague memory of being seized and buffetedand kicked into a state of semi-unconsciousness. Nor did herouse out of his stupor, until, sick and sore in every limb,his poor yellow head aching and confused, he found himselfswaying dangerously about in the saddle, with Gipsy, racinglike a mad thing, under his helpless legs.

CHAPTER VI

SUNNY OAK PROTESTS

Wild Bill was gazing out across the camp dumps. Hisexpression suggested the contemplation of a problem of lifeand death, and a personal one at that. Sandy Joyce, too,bore traces suggestive of the weightiest moments of his life.Toby Jenks stood chewing the dirty flesh of a stubby forefinger,while the inevitable smile on Sunny Oak’s face madeone think of a bright spring morning under cover of a yellowfog.

“How am I to see to them pore kiddies?” the latter wascomplaining. “I’ve had to do with cattle, an’ mules, an’even hogs in my time, but I sure don’t guess you ken setthem bits o’ mites in a brandin’ corral, nor feed ’em oats an’hay, nor even ladle ’em swill for supper, like hogs. Ferother things, I don’t guess I could bile a bean right withouta lib’ry o’ cook-books, so how I’m to make ’em elegant papfor their suppers ’ud beat the Noo York p’lice force. An’as fer fixin’ their clothes, an’ bathing ’em, why, it ’ud setme feelin’ that fulish you wouldn’t know me from a patientin a bug-house. It makes me real mad, folks is allus astin’me to get busy doin’ things. I’m that sick, the sight of aha’f-washened kid ’ud turn my stummick to bile, an’ set mecacklin’ like a hen with a brood o’ ducklings she can’t noways account fer. You’se fellers are a happy lot o’ Jonahsto a man as needs rest.”

“You’re sure doing the cacklin’ now,” observed Bill contemptuously.

“Maybe he’s layin’ eggs,” murmured Toby vaguely.

The men were standing on the veranda, gathered roundthe bench on which Sunny Oak was still resting his indolentbody. And the subject of their discourse was Scipio’s twochildren. The father had ridden off on his search for James,and the responsibility of his twins was weighing heavily onthose left behind.

“Kind o’ handy ladlin’ it out to folks,” said Sunny, grinninglazily. “But, with all your brightness, I don’t guess anyo’ you could mother them kiddies. No, it’s jest ’send Sunnyalong to see to ’em.’ That bein’ said, you’ll git right backto your poker with a righteous feelin’ which makes it comegood to rob each other all you know. Psha! You ain’tno better’n them lousy birds as lays eggs sizes too big, an’blames ’em on to some moultin’ sparrer that ain’t gotfeathers ’nuff to make it welcome at a scratchin’ bee.”

Sunny’s flow was a little overwhelming, and perhaps therewas just enough truth in his remarks to make it unadvisablefor the others to measure wits with him. Anyway, he receivedno reply. Bill continued to gaze out at Scipio’s hutin a way that suggested great absorption, while Toby hadnot yet lunched sufficiently off his tattered forefinger.Sandy was the only one of the three apparently alive to thetrue exigencies of the case, and Sunny addressed himselfmore exclusively to him.

“Say,” he went on, his good-humored eyes smiling cunninglyup into the widower’s face, “I’ve heerd tell that youonce did some pore unsuspicious female the dirty trick ofmarryin’ her. Mebbe you’ll sure hev’ notions ’bout kiddiesan’ such things. Now, if Wild Bill had come along an’pushed a shootin’-iron into your map, an’ said you’ll handleZip’s kiddies––wal, I ask you, wot ’ud you ha’ done?”

“Told him to git his head cooled some,” retorted Sandypromptly.

“Ah, guess you bin saved a heap o’ trouble,” murmuredSunny. “But if you hadn’t said that––which you said youwould ha’ said––an’ you’d got busy as he suggested––wal,what then?”

Sandy cleared his throat, and, in his sudden interest, Tobydeferred the rest of his meal.

“Wal, I’d ha’ gone right up to the shack an’ looked intothings.”

Sandy’s first effort seemed to please him, and, hitching hismoleskin trousers up deliberately, he proceeded with someunction––

“Y’see, ther’ ain’t nothin’ like gettin’ a look around.Then you kind o’ know wher’ you are. You sure need toknow wher’ you are ’fore you get busy proper. It’s mostlike everything else. If you get on the wrong trail at thestart, it’s li’ble to lead you wher’ you don’t want to go.What I says is, hit the right trail at the start, then you gota chance o’ gettin’ thro’ right, which, I take it, is an elegantway o’ doin’ most things. Wal, havin’ located the righttrail––”

“We’re talkin’ o’ Zip’s twins,” murmured Sunny gently.

“Sure, that’s where I’m gettin’ to––”

“By trail?” inquired Toby seriously.

“Say, you make me tired,” retorted Sandy angrily.

“Best quit the trail, then,” said Sunny.

“Go to blazes!” cried Sandy, and promptly relapsed intomoody silence.

At that moment Bill turned from his contemplation of thehouse beyond the dumps and fixed his fierce eyes on Sunny’sgrinning face.

“Here, you miser’ble hoboe,” he cried, “get right up outof that, and hump across to Zip’s shack. You’re doin’enough gassin’ fer a female tattin’ bee. Your hot air makesme want to sweat. Now, them kiddies’ll need supper.You’ll jest ast Minky fer all you need, an’ I pay. An’ you’llsee things is fixed right for ’em.”

Sunny lurched reluctantly to his feet. He knew thegambler far too well to debate the point further. He hadmade his protest, which had been utterly ineffective, so therewas nothing left him but to obey the fiercely uttered mandate.

But Sandy Joyce felt that somehow his first effort onbehalf of the children had missed fire, and it was his dutynot to allow himself to be ousted from the council. So hestayed the loafer with a word.

“Say, you’ll be knowin’ how to feed ’em?” he inquiredgravely.

Sunny’s eyes twinkled.

“Wal, mebbe you ken give me pointers,” he retorted, withapparent sincerity.

“That’s how I was figgerin’,” said Sandy cordially. Hefelt better now about his first effort. “Y’see, Minky’s stockis limited some; ther’ ain’t a heap o’ variety, like. An’ kiddiesdo need variety. Y’see, they’re kind o’ delicate feeders,same as high-bred hosses, an’ dogs an’ things. Now, dogsneed diff’rent meat every day, if you’re goin’ to bring ’emup right. A friend o’ mine sure once told me that meat,good meat, was the best feed fer prize dogs, an’ he was afeller that won a heap o’ prizes. He had one, Boston bull,I––”

“’ll I need to git dog-biscuit for them kiddies?” inquiredSunny sarcastically.

“Say, you make me sick,” cried Sandy, flushingangrily.

“Guess that’s how you’ll make them kiddies,” interposedToby.

Sandy glanced viciously from one to the other. Then,assuming a superiority that scarcely hid his chagrin, heignored the interruptions.

“You best ast Minky fer some dandy canned truck,” hesaid decisively, deliberately turning his back on Toby Jenks.“Mebbe a can o’ lobster an’ one o’ them elegant tonguesstewed in jelly stuff, an’ set in a glass bowl. Y’see, theykids needs nourishin’, an’ that orter fix them ’bout right. Idon’t know ’bout them new sides o’ sow-belly Minky’s jesthad in. Seems to me they’ll likely need teeth eatin’ that.Seein’ you ain’t a heap at fixin’ beans right, we best cut thatline right out––though I ’lows there’s elegant nourishin’stuff in ’em for bosses. Best get a can o’ crackers an’ somecheese. I don’t guess they’ll need onions, nor pickles. Buta bit o’ butter to grease the crackers with, an’ some molassesan’ fancy candy, an’ a pound o’ his best tea seems to me ’boutright. After that––”

“Some hoss physic,” broke in Toby, recommencing thechewing of his forefinger.

But Wild Bill’s fierce eyes were on Sandy, and the erstwhilemarried man felt their contempt boring into his verysoul. He was held silent, in spite of his anger against thebroad-shouldered Toby, and was possessed of a feeling thatsomehow his second effort had been no more successful thanhis first. And forthwith the impression received confirmationin a sudden explosion from Wild Bill.

“Jumpin’ mackinaw!” he cried, with a force calculatedto crush entirely the remnants of Sandy’s conceit. “You’dsure shame a crazy sheep fer intellect.” Then he added,with withering sarcasm, “Say, don’t you never leave yourmouth open more’n two seconds at a time, or you’ll get theflies in it, an’––they’ll start nestin’.”

Then without pause he turned on Sunny and deliveredhis ultimatum.

“Get busy,” he ordered in a tone there was no denying.

And somehow Sunny found himself stirring far morerapidly than suited his indolent disposition.

Having thoroughly disturbed the atmosphere to his liking,Bill left the veranda without another look in his companions’direction, and his way took him to the barn at the back ofthe store.

The gambler was a man of so many and diverse peculiaritiesthat it would be an impossibility to catalogue them withany degree of satisfactoriness. But, with the exception ofhis wholesale piratical methods at cards––indeed, at anykind of gambling––perhaps his most striking feature washis almost idolatrous worship for his horses. He simplylived for their well-being, and their evident affection forhimself was something that he treasured far beyond the goldhe so loved to take from his opponents in a gamble.

He possessed six of these horses, each in its way a jewelin the equine crown. Wherever the vagaries of his gambler’slife took him his horses bore him thither, harnessed toa light spring cart of the speediest type. Each animal hadcost him a small fortune, as the price of horses goes, and forbreed and capacity, both in harness and under saddle, itwould have been difficult to find their match anywhere in theState of Montana. He had broken and trained them himselfin everything, and, wherever he was, whatever otherclaims there might be upon him, morning, noon and eveninghe was at the service of his charges. He gloried in them.He reveled in their satin coats, their well-nourished, muscularbodies, in their affection for himself.

Now he sat on an oat-bin contemplating Gipsy’s emptystall, with a regret that took in him the form of fierce anger.It was the first time since she had come into his possessionthat she had been turned over to another, the first timeanother leg than his own had been thrown across her; andhe mutely upbraided himself for his folly, and hated Scipiofor having accepted her services. Why, he asked himselfagain and again, had he been such an unearthly fool? Thenthrough his mind flashed a string of blasphemous invectiveagainst James, and with its coming his regret at having lentGipsy lessened.

He sat for a long time steadily chewing his tobacco. Andsomehow he lost all desire to continue his poker game in thestore. His whole mind had become absorbed by thoughts ofthis James, and though he, personally, had never sufferedthrough the stage-robber’s depredations, he found himselfresenting the man’s very existence. There were no ethicalconsiderations in his mind. His inspiration was purely personal.And though he did not attempt to reduce his hatredto reason, nor to analyze it in any way, the truth of itsexistence lay in the fact of a deadly opposition to this suddenrise to notoriety of a man of strength, and force of charactersimilar, in so many respects, to his own. Perhaps it wasmere jealousy; perhaps, all unknown to himself, there wassome deeper feeling underlying it. Whatever it was, he hada strong sympathy with Scipio, and an unconquerable desireto have a hand in the smoothing out of the little man’stroubles.

He did not leave the barn, and scarcely even took his eyesoff Gipsy’s empty stall, until nearly sundown. Then, as heheard the voices of returning prospectors, he set to work onhis evening task of grooming, feeding, watering and beddingdown his children for the night.

CHAPTER VII

SUNNY OAK TRIES HIS HAND

In the meantime Sunny Oak was executing his orderswith a care for detail quite remarkable in a man of his excessiveindolence. It was a curious fact, and one that told agreat deal of his own character, as well as that of the gambler.His implicit obedience to Wild Bill’s orders was bornof a deeper knowledge of that individual than was possessedby most of his comrades in Suffering Creek. Maybe Minky,who was Bill’s most intimate friend, would have understood.But then Sunny Oak possessed no such privilege. He knewBill through sheer observation, which had taught him tolisten when the gambler spoke as he would listen to a manin high authority over him––or to a man who, withoutscruple, held him helpless under an irresistible threat.Which power it was inspired his obedience he did not pauseto consider. He simply accepted the fact that when Billordered he preferred to obey––it was so much easier.

“Hoboe”––the local term for one suffering from hisindolent malady––as he was, Sunny Oak was a man of somecharacter. Originally this cloak of indolence in which hewrapped himself had been assumed for some subtle reasonof his own. It was not the actual man. But so long had heworn it now that he had almost forgotten the real attributesenshrouded in its folds. As a matter of fact, he was verymuch a man, and a “live” man, too. He really possessedan extraordinary energy when he chose to exercise it. Butit was generally his habit to push his interest aside for theeasier course of indifference. However, his capacity wasnone the less there.

His other possessions, too, were excellent in their way,although he had encouraged the germ of rust in a deplorabledegree. His good-nature would not be denied, and wasobvious to all. But an extremely alert mind, an infiniteresource of keen, well-trained thought, a profound love ofthe beautiful, a more commonplace physical courage supportedby the rarer moral courage, he contrived to keep wellhidden from the vulgar gaze.

These were some of the features so long concealed underthe folds of his cloak of indolence that even he had almostforgotten their existence. Thus it was, in all seriousness, hecried out bitterly in protest when an attempt was made tolift the covering and lay bare the man beneath it. And hislamentations were perfectly genuine.

After leaving the store with a sack of provisions over hisshoulder he grumbled his way across the dumps to Scipio’shouse. He cursed the weight he was forced to carry, andanathematized the man who had driven him to so bestirhimself. He lamented over this waste of his preciousenergies, he consigned Scipio and his children to eternity,and metaphorically hurled Jessie headlong to the depths ofthe uttermost abyss of the nether-world. But he went on.In spite of his foulest language and vilest epithets, it washis full intention to do his best for the children.

What he found on entering Scipio’s hut set his small eyestwinkling again. His unclean face creased up into a grin,and, softly tiptoeing to a far corner of the room, he depositedhis sack with the greatest care. Then he stood up,and his eyes fixed themselves on a curious heap under thetable. It was a tumbled pile of pale blue, dirty white, witha four-legged dash of yellow. And out of the heap he madethe forms of two small sleeping children, each hugging intheir arms an extremity of a yellow cur pup, also soundasleep, in the shaft of sunlight which flooded in through theopen doorway.

Sunny rubbed his eyes and thought hard, nor did he findthe process irksome. From the miserable camp pup heglanced at the grubby face of Jamie. Then his eyes passedon to Vada’s pretty but equally dirty features. And swiftaction at once followed his thought. He glanced at thedying fire in the cookstove, and saw the small clothes hangingon the chair in front of it. He felt them; they werequite dry. Then he tried the kettle on the stove; it still hadwater in it. Then he went to the fuel-box; yes, there wasfuel.

Now with his fingers he replenished the fire, and noiselesslyre-filled the kettle. Then he removed the clothesand put the chair aside. The children still slept on. Hefurther investigated the resources of Scipio’s ménage. Hefound a wash-bowl and soap and a towel, three things herarely sought for any purposes of his own. Then, afterlooking into the cupboard, he shook his head. It was deplorablybare of all but uncleanliness. And it was the formerthat caused his headshake, not the latter. With somepride he re-stocked the shelves with the liberal purchases hehad made at Bill’s expense. He had provided everythingthat a man’s mind could conceive as being necessary for theinterior of healthy childhood. True, he had made no provisionfor a yellow pup.

By this time the kettle was boiling, and it served him asa signal. In a harsh, untuneful voice he began to chantan old coon-ditty. The effect of his music was instantaneousas regards the more sensitive ears of the pup. Itseyes opened, and it lifted its head alertly. Then, with aquick wriggle, he sat up on his hind quarters, and, throwinghis lean, half-grown muzzle in the air, set up such a howlof dismay that Sunny’s melody became entirely lost in ajangle of discords. He caught up his empty sack and flungit at the wailing pup’s head. It missed its aim, and in amoment the twins had joined in their yellow friend’s lament.

Sunny never quite understood the real cause of that dismalprotest––whether it was the sight of him, his dolefulsinging, or the flinging of the sack. All he knew was that itwas very dreadful, and must be stopped as quickly as possible.So, to that end, he began to cajole the children,while he surreptitiously let fly a kick at the pup.

“Say, you bonny kids, you ain’t scairt o’ poor SunnyOak,” he cried, while a streak of yellow flashed in thesunlight and vanished through the door, a departurewhich brought with it renewed efforts from the weepingchildren. “It’s jest Sunny Oak wot nobody’ll let rest,”he went on coaxingly. “He’s come along to feed you supper.Say,” he cried, laboring hard for inspiration, “it’ssuch a bully supper. Ther’s molasses, an’ candy, an’––an’lob-ster!”

Whether it was the smacking of his lips as he dwelt onthe last word, or whether it was merely the fact that theirfright was passing, matters little; anyhow, the cries of thetwins died out as suddenly as they began, and their eyes,big and round, gazed wonderingly up at Sunny’s unkemptface.

“Who’s you, ugly man?” asked Vada at last, her brainworking more quickly than her brother’s.

“’Ess––ug’y man,” added Jamie unmeaningly.

Sunny’s hand went up to his face, and he scratchedamongst his sparse beard as though to test the accuracy ofthe accusation. Then he grinned sheepishly.

“Guess I’m jest an ugly fairy that wants to be kind totwo lonesome kiddies,” he beamed.

“O––oh! You’se a fairy?” said Vada doubtfully.

“’Ess,” nodded Jamie, thrilling with wonderment, andeyeing him critically.

Elated with his success, Sunny went on warmly––

“Yep. Jest a fairy, an’ I bro’t a heap o’ good grub feryou kiddies t’ eat.”

But Vada’s small brain was following out its own trainof thought, and passed the food question by.

“Awful ugly,” she said, half to herself.

“’Ess,” muttered Jamie abstractedly.

“Mebbe,” said Sunny, with a laugh. “Wal, if you crawlright out o’ there an’ git around, I got things fixed so we’llhev’ a bully time.”

But his proposition hadn’t the effect he hoped. Insteadof moving, Jamie suddenly beat his head with his littleclenched fists.

“Me wants yaller pup,” he cried, and forthwith howledafresh.

Again Sunny realized his helplessness, and, glancing aboutfor further inspiration, caught sight of an inquiring yellowhead peering furtively in through the doorway.

“Why, ther’ he is,” he cried, vainly hoping to pacify thechild. Then he began at once a clumsy encouragement ofthe dog. “Here, you yeller feller,” he cried, flicking hisfingers coaxingly. “Come along! Gee, you’re a prettyfeller. Hi! come along here.”

But the dog made no attempt to move, and Sunny beganto lose patience. “Come along, pups,” he cried, withincreasing force. “Come on, you miser’ble rat. Don’tstan’ ther’ waggin’ your fool tail like a whisk-broom. Say,you yaller cur, I’ll––” He started to fetch the creature,but in a twinkling it had fled, to the accompaniment of afresh outburst from Jamie.

“I tho’t you was a fairy,” protested Vada. “Fairies kendo most anything. You’re jest an ugly ole man.”

Sunny stood up and drew the back of his hand across hisperspiring forehead. He was worried. The fairy businesswas played out, and he felt that he must begin again.Children were by no means as easy to handle as he hadthought. He racked his brains, and suddenly bethought himof another move.

In spite of Jamie’s whimpering, he went to the cupboardand produced a tin of molasses. This he carefully openedin full view of Vada’s questioning eyes. Jamie had alsobecome silent, watching him intently. He dug his fingerinto the sticky contents and drew it out. Then he lickedhis finger with tremendous enjoyment.

“Bully,” he muttered, apparently ignoring the children.

Instantly Vada was on her knees, crawling from underthe table, followed closely by her faithful shadow. Shecame cautiously up to Sunny’s side and stood up.

“M’lasses?” she inquired, and her eyes spoke volumes.

“O-oh!” muttered Jamie, scrambling to his feet besideher holding up one fat hand.

Sunny, without replying, allowed them to dip theirfingers into the pot and taste the molasses. He felt thatthe moment was critical, and he would not risk wordswhich might easily set them scuttling back to their stronghold.

His strategy was successful. Up came the hands again,and he knew he had won their confidence. He allowedthem another dip into the pot, and then began the businessin hand.

“We’ll save the rest fer bimeby,” he said decidedly.“Meanwhiles we’ll fix things right.”

“Wot things?” inquired Vada.

“M’lasses,” said Jamie, with tearful eyes.

Again Sunny felt the crisis, but he carried the situationwith a firm hand.

“Bimeby, laddie,” he said cheerfully. “Meanwhiles we’lljest have a wash all round.”

And forthwith he set the wash-bowl ready and filled itwith warm water. Then, after some consideration andtrouble, having discovered a rag which had been used in thehousehold “wash-up,” and a piece of soap, he prepared tostart on little Vada. But she instantly protested.

“You first, Mister Fairy,” she said cheerfully. “Mypoppa allus washes first. Then we has his water.”

“’Ess,” agreed Jamie.

And, to his disgust, Sunny was forced to an unwillingablution, which, by strategy, he had hoped to escape. However,the ordeal was manfully borne, and his reward wasquite worth his trouble. Vada promptly exclaimed whenshe saw his face emerge from the dirty towel, shining withgrease off the house-flannel.

“You’se a fairy, sure,” she cried, clapping her hands anddancing about gleefully. “On’y fairies can change theirselves.You’se a pretty, pretty man––now. Now, Jamiedear. You next,” she added, with feminine assurance.And with clumsy but willing enough hands Sunny Oak contrivedto cleanse his charges.

By the time his task was accomplished perfect good-willreigned all round, and the climax was reached when theyellow pup returned of its own accord, and was promptlyhugged to Jamie’s affectionate little bosom.

The next thing was to prepare the children’s supper.This was a far more serious matter for the loafer. But hefinally achieved it, having learnt, by the process of cross-questioningthe girl, what was usual and therefore expected.However, it was not without some difficulty that he succeededin providing an adequate meal, which consisted ofbread and milk, with bread and molasses as a sort of dessert.For himself, he was forced to fare off a tin of lobsterand tea. Still, his difficulties were not of much consequenceso long as the children were satisfied. And any bother tohimself was his own fault, in having relied for a momenton Sandy Joyce’s ideas of a menu.

Supper over and the table cleared, he decided on furthercatechizing little Vada on points that still were a mysteryto him. So, with Jamie busy on the floor endeavoring tosolve the mystery of the pup’s wagging tail, he lit his pipeand took Vada on his knee. He endeavored to recallincidents of his own childhood; to remember somethingof his own early routine. But somehow nothing was veryclear.

He had washed the children and given them food. Thosethings seemed to him to be perfectly sound. Well, whatnext? It was a little difficult. He glanced at the sun.Surely bed would be quite in order. Bed––ah, yes, thatwas a happy thought. He remembered now, when he wasyoung he always used to get himself into trouble purposelyso they would send him to bed. But with this thought camethe regretful recollection that his predilection for bed wasquickly discovered, and his further penalties took the formof the buckle end of his father’s waist-belt. However, heput the proposition with much tact.

“Say, kiddies,” he began, “how soon does your mommaput you to bed?”

Vada shook her wise little head.

“Momma don’t. Poppa does.”

“And when’s that?” he inquired, driving at his pointdeliberately.

“When momma says.”

Vada was fastening and unfastening the man’s dirtywaistcoat with great interest.

“An’ when does your momma say it?” Sunny persisted.

“When poppa’s done the chores.”

“Ah!”

He felt himself on the wrong tack, and cast about for afresh line of argument.

“Guess you kiddies like bed some,” he hazarded doubtfully.

“Me like m’lasses,” piped Jamie, who had managed toget the pup’s tail over his shoulder, and was hanging onto it with both hands. Vada shrieked as the pup beganto yelp.

“Oh, look at Jamie,” she cried. “He’s pulling Dougal’stail right out. You’re a naughty, naughty boy.”

“Not naughty,” protested Jamie, pulling harder.

Sunny reached down and released the mongrel, whopromptly turned round and licked the boy’s face. Jamiefought him with his little clenched fists, and finally beganto cry.

Again Sunny went to the rescue, and with some difficultypeace was restored. Then he went back to his subject.

“Guess we’ll hev to go to bed right now,” he suggested,with an air of authority.

“Momma ain’t back,” said Vada, her eyes round andwondering.

“She’ll be right along presently,” lied Sunny.

“’Ess,” declared Jamie, “an’––an’––we go find ’pidersan’––an’ bugs.”

Vada nodded.

“Lots an’ lots.”

“That’s to-morrow,” said Sunny, taking his cue wonderingly.

“Poppa ain’t back neither,” protested Vada.

“He’s gone visitin’,” said Sunny. “Maybe he’ll be late.Guess he’s havin’ a hand at poker down at the store.”

Sunny was getting uncomfortably hot. Lies came easilyenough to him in the ordinary way, but with these poorchildren it was somehow different.

“Poppa don’t play poker,” defended Vada. “On’ywicked men does.”

“’Ess,” agreed Jamie.

“That’s so.” Sunny felt himself on dangerous ground.

He smoked on thoughtfully for some moments. He feltthat a desperate move was required, and considered how bestto make it. Finally he resolved that he must assert hisauthority. So, setting Vada on the ground, he stood up.

“Bed,” he said, with a great assumption of finality.

Vada’s eyes rolled ominously, and a pucker came to herlittle sunburnt brow. Jamie offered no preliminary, buthowled at once. And when, after the slightest hesitation,Vada joined in his lament, Sunny’s distress became pitiable.However, he managed to ease his feelings by several well-directedmental curses at Wild Bill’s head, and all thoseothers concerned in reducing him to his present position.And with this silently furious outburst there came a brain-waveof great magnitude.

“First in bed sure gets most m’lasses,” he cried, dartingto the cupboard door and holding the well-smeared pot upabove his head.

The children’s cries ceased, and for a second they stoodstaring up at him. Then, like a pair of rabbits, they turnedand ran for the bedroom, vanishing behind the curtainamidst shrieking excitement. Sunny followed them withthe molasses and a handful of crackers.

They were both on the bed when he passed into theroom, huddling down under a couple of cotton blankets.The man glanced round him. On the other side of theroom was the big bed where their father and motherslept. Both beds were unmade, and the room was litteredwith feminine garments in a manner that suggested themother’s hasty flight. Hardened as he was, the sight andall it suggested depressed him. But he was not allowedmuch time for reflection. Two childish voices shrieked athim at once.

“Me first!” they cried in one breath.

And Sunny ladled them out molasses and crackers to theirhearts’ content. When they had eaten all he thought goodfor them Vada scrambled to her knees.

“Prayers,” she said, and clasped her hands before herface.

Jamie wobbled up to her side and imitated her. AndSunny stood by listening wonderingly to something thatbrought back a world of recollection to him. It broughthim more. It laid before him a mental picture of his presentmanhood which somehow nauseated him. But he stoodhis ground till the final “Amens,” then he hustled the twinsalmost roughly into the blankets, and, having extracted apromise from them not to leave the bed again until hereturned, hurried out of the room.

He stood for a moment in the living-room. He was ina doubt that almost confused him. Mechanically he lookedat the stove. The fire was quite safe. The window wassecure. Then he moved to the door. There was a lock toit and a key. He passed out, and, locking the door behindhim, removed the key.

“Gee!” he exclaimed, drinking in a breath of the eveningair, “five minutes more o’ that an’ I’d ’a’ bin singin’ funeralhymns over my past life. Gee!”

Ten minutes later he was in Wild Bill’s hut down atthe camp, and had finished his account of his adventures.

“Say,” he finished up peevishly, “ther’s things a fellercan do, an’ things he sure can’t. I tell you right here I ain’tlearned how to cluck to my chicks, an’ I ain’t never scratcheda worm in my life. I ’low I’m too old to git busy that waysnow. If you’re goin’ to raise them kids fer Zip while he’saway, it’ll need a committee o’ us fellers. It’s more’n onefeller’s job––much more. It needs a wummin.”

Bill listened patiently until his deputy had aired his finalgrievance. His fierce eyes had in them a peculiar twinklethat was quite lost on Sunny in his present mood. However,when the injured man had finished his tale of woe thegambler stretched his long legs out, and lolled back in hischair with a fresh chew of tobacco in his mouth.

“You ain’t done too bad,” he said judicially. “Thatm’lasses racket was a heap smart. Though––say, you’ll getaround ther’ come sun-up to-morrer, an’ you’ll fix ’em rightall day. Maybe Zip’ll be back later. Anyways, you’ll fix’em.”

“Not on your life––” began Sunny, in fierce rebellion.But Bill cut him short.

“You’ll do it, Sunny,” he cried, “an’ don’t you make nomistake.”

The man’s manner was irresistibly threatening, and Sunnywas beaten back into moody silence. But if looks couldhave killed, Bill’s chances of life were small indeed.

“Guess you’re off duty now,” the gambler went on icily.“You’re off duty till––sun-up. You’re free to get drunk,or––what in hell you like.”

Sunny rose from his seat. His rebellious eyes werefiercely alight as he regarded his master.

“May your soul rot!” he cried venomously. And withthis final impotent explosion he slouched out of the hut.

“Dessay it will,” Bill called after him amiably. “Butit ain’t started yet.”

But his jibe was quite lost on the angry Sunny, for hehad left him with the haste of a man driven to fear ofwhither his anger might carry him.

Left alone, Wild Bill chuckled. He liked Sunny, butdespised his mode of life with all the arrogant superiority ofa man of great force, even if of indifferent morals. Hehad no patience with a weakened manhood. With him itwas only strength that counted. Morality was only forthose who had not the courage to face a mysterious futureunflinchingly. The future concerned him not at all. Hehad no fears of anybody or anything, either human or superhuman.Death offered him no more terrors than Life.And whichever was his portion he was ready to accept itunquestioningly, unprotestingly.

He allowed the hoboe time to get well clear of his shack.Then he stood up and began to pace the room thoughtfully.A desperate frown depressed his brows until they met overthe bridge of his large thin nose. Something was workingswiftly, even passionately, in his brain, and it was evidentthat his thoughts were more than unpleasant to himself. Asthe moments passed his strides became more aggressive,and his movements were accompanied by gesticulations of athreatening nature with his clenched fists.

At last he paused in his walk, and dropped again into hischair. Here he sat for a long while. Then, of a sudden,he lifted his head and glanced swiftly about his bare room.Finally he sprang to his feet and crushed his slouch haton his head, and, crossing over to the oil-lamp on thetable, blew it out. Then he passed out into the night,slamming and locking the door behind him.

The night was dark, and the moon would not rise for atleast another hour. The air was still laden with the heat ofthe long summer’s day, and it hummed with the music ofstirring insect life. He strode along the trail past the store.He glanced at the lighted windows longingly, for he hadan appointment for a game in there that night. But hepassed on.

As he came to the camp dumps he paused for a momentto take his bearings. Then he continued his way with long,decided strides, and in a few minutes the dim outline ofScipio’s house loomed up before him. He came close up,and walked slowly round it. At one window he paused,listening. There was not a sound to be heard outside. Atthe window of the bedroom he listened a long time. No, hecould not even hear the children breathing.

At last he reached the door which Sunny had locked. Hecautiously tried the handle, and the sound brought a whimperfrom the yellow pup within. He cursed the animalsoftly under his breath and waited, hoping the wretchedcreature would settle down again. He heard it snuff at thefoot of the door, and then the soft patter of its feet diedaway, and he knew that the poor thing had satisfied itselfthat all was well.

He smiled, and sat down at the foot of the door. And,with his knees drawn up into his arms, he prepared for hislong vigil. It was the posting of the night sentry overScipio’s twins.

CHAPTER VIII

WILD BILL THINKS HARD––AND HEARS NEWS

Wild Bill stretched himself drowsily. It was noon. Heknew that by the position of the patch of sunlight on thefloor, which he gazed at with blinking eyes. Presently hereached out his long arms and clasped his hands behind hishead. He lay there on his stretcher bed, still very sleepy,but with wakefulness gaining ascendancy rapidly. He hadcompleted two successive nights of “sentry-go” over Scipio’stwins, never reaching his blankets until well after sun-up.

For some minutes he enjoyed the delicious idleness of astill brain. Then, at last, it stirred to an activity whichonce again set flowing all the busy thought of his longnight’s vigil. Further rest became impossible to a man ofhis temperament, and he sprang from his blankets andplunged his face into a bucket of fresh water which stoodon an adjacent bench. In five minutes he was ready for thebusiness of the day.

It was to be a day of activity. He felt that. Yet he hadmade no definite plans. Only all his thoughts of theprevious night warned him that something must be done,and that it was “up to him to get busy.”

A long wakeful night is apt to distort many things ofparamount interest. But the morning light generally reducesthem to their proper focus. Thus it is with peoplewho are considered temperamental. But Bill had no suchclaims. He was hard, unimaginative, and of keen decision.And overnight he had arrived at one considerable decision.How he had arrived at it he hardly knew. Perhaps it wasone of those decisions that cannot be helped. Certain itwas that it had been arrived at through no definite course ofreasoning. It had simply occurred to him and received hisapproval at once. An approval, which, once given, wasrarely, if ever, rescinded. This was the man.

He had first thought a great deal about Scipio. He feltthat the time had come when his fate must be closelyinquired into. The blundering efforts of Sunny Oak wereso hopelessly inadequate in the care of the children, thatonly the return of their father could save them from somedire domestic catastrophe.

Sunny apparently meant well by them. But Bill hatedwell-meaning people who disguised their incompetence underthe excellence of their intentions. Besides, in this caseit was so useless. These two children were a nuisance, headmitted, but they must not be allowed to suffer throughSunny’s incompetence. No, their father must be found.

Then there was his mare, Gipsy; and when he thought ofher he went hot with an alarm which no threat to himselfcould have inspired. This turn of thought brought Jamesinto his focus. That personage was rarely far from it, andhe needed very little prompting to bring the outlaw into thefull glare of his mental limelight. He hated James. Hehad seen him rarely, and spoken to him perhaps only adozen times, when he first appeared on Suffering Creek.But he hated him as though he were his most bitter personalenemy.

He had no reason to offer for this hatred, beyond theoutlaw’s known depredations and the constant threat of hispresence in the district. At least no reason he would haveadmitted publicly. But then Wild Bill was not a man tobother with reasons much at any time. And it was thevenomous hatred of the man which now drove him to adecision of the first importance. And such was his satisfactionin the interest of his decision, that, for the time being,at least, poker was robbed of its charm, faro had become agame of no consequence whatever, and gambling generally,with all its subtleties as he understood them, was no longerworth while. He had decided upon a game with a higherstake than any United States currency could afford. It wasa game of life and death. James, “Lord” James, as hecontemptuously declared, must go. There was no room forhim in the same district as Wild Bill of Abilene.

It would be useless to seek the method by which thisdecision was reached. In a man such as Bill the subtletiesof his motives were far too involved and deeply hidden.The only possible chance of estimating the truth would beto question his associates as to their opinion. And eventhen such opinions would be biased by personal understandingof the man, and so would be of but small account.

Thus Minky would probably have declared that his decisionwas the result of his desire for the welfare of the communityin which he claimed his best friends. Sandy Joycewould likely have shaken his head, and declared itwas the possibility of something having happened to hismare Gipsy. Toby Jenks might have had a wild ideathat Bill had made his “pile” on the “crook” and was“gettin’ religion.” Sunny Oak, whose shrewd mind spentmost of its time in studying the peculiarities of his fellows,might have whispered an opinion to himself, when no onewas about, to the effect that Bill couldn’t stand for a rival“boss” around Suffering Creek.

Any of these opinions might have been right, just as anyof them might have been very wide of the mark. Anyhow,certain it is that no citizen of Suffering Creek would, evenwhen thoroughly drunk, have accused Bill of any leaningtowards sentimentalism or chivalry. The idea that he caredtwo cents for what became of Scipio, or his wife, or hischildren, it would have been impossible to have driven intotheir heads with a sledge-hammer. And maybe they wouldhave been right. Who could tell?

His decision was taken without any definite argument,without any heroics. He frankly declared to himself thatJames must go. And having decided, he, equally frankly,declared that “the proposition was up to him.” This washis silent ultimatum, and, having delivered it, there was noturning back. He would carry it out with as little mercyto himself as he would show to any other concerned.

The men of Suffering Creek thought they knew this man.But it is doubtful if anybody, even the man himself, knewWild Bill. Probably the nearest approach to a fair estimateof him would have been to describe him as a sort of drivingforce to a keen brain and hot, passionate heart. Whetherhe possessed any of the gentler human feelings only his actscould show, for so hard and unyielding was his manner, soruthless his purpose when his mind was made up, that itleft little room for the ordinary observer to pack in a beliefof the softer side to the man.

Ten minutes after performing his primitive ablutionsWild Bill was eating breakfast in the dining-room at thestore, with Minky sitting opposite to him. The storekeeperwas telling him of something that happened the night before,with a troubled expression in his honest eyes.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d get around,” he said, assoon as Birdie Mason had withdrawn to the kitchen. “I’dhave given a deal for you to have been playin’ last night. Iwould sure. There was three fellers, strangers, lookin’ fora hand at poker. They’d got a fine wad o’ money, too, andwere ready for a tall game. They got one with IrishO’Brien, an’ Slade o’ Kentucky, but they ain’t fliers, an’the strangers hit ’em good an’ plenty. Guess they mustha’ took five hundred dollars out of ’em.”

Bill’s sharp eyes were suddenly lifted from his plate. Hewas eating noisily.

“Did you locate ’em––the strangers?” he grated.

“That’s sure the pinch,” said Minky, wiping his broadforehead with a colored handkerchief. The heat in the dining-roomwas oppressive. “I’ve never see ’em before, an’they didn’t seem like talkin’ a heap. They were all threehard-lookin’ citizens, an’––might ha’ been anything frombum cowpunchers to––”

“Sharps,” put in Bill, between noisy sips at his coffee.

“Yes.”

Minky watched a number of flies settle on a greasy patchon the bare table.

“Y’see,” he went on, after a thoughtful pause, “I don’tlike strangers who don’t seem ready tongued––none of usdo, since the stage-robbin’ set in.”

“You mean––” Bill set his cup down.

Minky nodded.

“We ain’t sent out a parcel of gold for months, an’ I’mkind o’ full up with dust about now. Y’see, the boys hasgot to cash their stuff, and I’m here to make trade, so––wal,I jest got to fill myself with gold-dust, an’ take my chances.I’m mighty full just now––an’ strangers worry me some.”

“You’re weakenin’,” said Bill sharply, but his eyes wereserious, and suggested a deep train of swift thought.Presently he reached a piece of bread and spread molasseson it.

“Guess you’re figgerin’ it ’ud be safer to empty out.”

Minky nodded.

“And these strangers?” Bill went on.

“They’ve lit out,” said Minky ruefully. “I ast a fewquestions of the boys. They rode out at sun-up.”

“Where did they sleep?”

“Don’t know. Nobody seems to know.”

Minky sighed audibly. And Bill went on eating.

“Ain’t heerd nothing o’ Zip?” the storekeeper inquiredpresently.

“No.”

“’Bout that mare o’ yours?”

Bill’s face suddenly flushed, and his fierce brows drewtogether in an ominous frown, but he made no answer.Minky saw the change and edged off.

“It’s time he was gettin’ around.”

Bill nodded.

“I was kind of wonderin’,” Minky went on thoughtfully,“if he don’t turn up––wot’s to happen with themkids?”

“I ain’t figgered.”

Bill’s interest was apparently wandering.

“He’ll need to be gettin’ around or––somethin’s got tobe done,” Minky drifted on vaguely.

“Sure.”

“Y’see, Sunny’s jest a hoboe.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t guess Zip’s claim amounts to pea-shucks neither,”the storekeeper went on, his mind leaning towards thefinancial side of the matter.

“No.”

“Them kids’ll cost money, too.”

Bill nodded, but no one could have detected any interestin his movement.

“How’d it be to get that claim worked for him––whilehe’s away?”

Bill shrugged.

“Mebbe Zip’ll be gettin’ back,” he said.

“An’ if he don’t.”

“You mean?”

There was interest enough in Bill now. His interrogationwas full of suppressed force.

“Yes. James.”

Bill sprang to his feet and kicked back his chair. Thesudden rage in his eyes was startling, even to Minky, whowas used to the man. However, he waited, and in amoment or two his friend was talking again in his usuallycold tone.

“I’ll jest git around an’ see how Sunny’s doin’,” he said.

Then he drew out a pipe and began to cut flakes oftobacco from a black plug.

“See here, Minky,” he went on, after a moment’s pause.“You need to do some thinkin’. How much dust have yougot in the store?”

“’Bout twenty thousand dollars.”

“Whew!” Bill whistled softly as he packed the tobaccoin his pipe. “An elegant parcel for strangers to handle.”

The storekeeper’s face became further troubled.

“It sure is––if they handle it.”

“Jest so.”

Bill’s pipe was alight now, and he puffed at it vigorously,speaking between the puffs.

“Y’see, this feller James plays a big game. Cattle duffin’and ord’n’ry stage-robbin’ ain’t good enough, nor big enough,to run his gang on. He needs gold stages, and we ain’tsendin’ gold stages out. Wal, wot’s the conclusion? I astyou?”

“He’ll hev to light out, or––”

“Jest so. Or he’ll get around here to––look into things.Those strangers last night were mebbe ‘lookin’ into things.’You’ll need to stow that dust where the rats can’t gnaw it.Later we’ll think things out. Meanwhile there’s one thingsure, we don’t need strangers on Suffering Creek. There’senough o’ the boys around to work the gold, an’ when theyget it they mostly know what to do with it. Guess I’ll geton up to Zip’s shack.”

The two men walked out into the store. Minky in apessimistic mood passed in behind his counter. This questionof gold had bothered him for some weeks. Since thefirst stage-robbing, and James’ name had become a “terror”in the district, he had opened a sort of banking business forthe prospectors. Commercially it appealed to him enormously.The profits under his primitive methods of dealingwith the matter were dazzlingly large, and, in consequence,the business became a dominant portion of his trade. Norwas it until the quantity of gold he bought began to grow,and mount into thousands of dollars’ worth, that the difficultiesof his traffic began to force themselves upon him. Thenit was that he realized that if it was insecure to dispatch agold stage laden with the property of the prospectors, howwas he to be able to hold his stock at the store with anygreater degree of security.

The more he thought of the matter the greater the difficultiesappeared. Of course he saw possibilities, but none ofthem offered the security he needed. Then worry set in.History might easily repeat itself on Suffering Creek.James’ gang was reported to be a large one. Well, what ifhe chose to sweep down upon the camp, and clean the placeout. Herein lay the trouble. And in consequence his daysand nights were none too easy.

He had never spoken of the matter before. It was nota subject to be discussed with anybody. But Bill wasdifferent from the rest, and, for several days, Minky hadsought an opportunity of unburdening himself to his friend.Now, at last, he had done so, and, in return, had receivedsmall enough comfort. Still he felt he had done the bestthing.

CHAPTER IX

THE FORERUNNER OF THE TRUST

Bill passed straight through the store and set out acrossthe town dumps. And it would have been impossible toguess how far he was affected by Minky’s plaint. His facemight have been a stone wall for all expression it had ofwhat was passing behind it. His cold eyes were fixed uponthe hut ahead of him without apparent interest or meaning.His thoughts were his own at all times.

As he drew near he heard Sunny’s voice raised in song,and he listened intently, wondering the while if the loaferhad any idea of its quality. It was harsh, nasal and possessedas much tune as a freshly sharpened “buzz-saw.”But his words were distinct. Far too distinct Bill thoughtwith some irritation.

“A farmer ast the other day if we wanted work.
Sez we, ‘Ol’ man, the labour?’ Sez he, ‘It’s binding wheat.’
Sez we, ‘Ol’ man, the figger?’ ‘A dollar an’ a ha’f the sum.’
Sez we, ‘Ol’ man, go an’ tickle yerself, we’d a durned sight sooner bum!’

‘Anythin’ at all, marm, we’re nearly starvin’,
Anything to hel-l-lp the bummers on their wa-ay,
We are three bums an’ jolly good chums,
An’ we live like Royal Turks,
An’ with good luck we bum our chuck,
An’ it’s a fool of a man wot works.’”

Just as Sunny was about to begin the next verse Billappeared in the doorway, and the vocalist was reduced to apained silence by his harsh criticism.

“You’d orter be rootin’ kebbeges on a hog ranch wi’ thatvoice,” he said icily. “You’re sure the worst singer inAmerica.”

Then he glanced round for the children. They werenowhere to be seen. Sunny was at the cookstove boilingmilk in a tin “billy.” His face was greasy with perspiration,and, even to Bill’s accustomed eyes, he looked dirtierthan ever. He stood now with a spoon poised, just as hehad lifted it out of the pot at the moment of the other’sentrance.

“Where’s the kids?” the latter demanded sharply.

Sunny shifted his feet a little uneasily and glanced roundthe dirty room. The place looked as though it hadn’t beencleaned for a month. There was a hideous accumulationof unwashed utensils scattered everywhere. The floor wasunswept, let alone unwashed. And the smell of stale foodand general mustiness helped to add to the keenness of thevisitor’s nervous edge as he waited for the man’s reply.

“Guess they’re out on the dumps playin’ at findin’ gold,”Sunny said, with a slightly forced laugh. “Y’see, littleVada’s staked out a claim on a patch of elegant garbage, an’is digging fer worms. Them’s the gold. An’ Jamie’splayin’ ‘bad man’ an’ swoopin’ down on her and sneakin’her worms. It’s a new game. Y’see, I thought it out andtaught ’em how to play it. They’re a heap struck on it,too. I––”

But words somehow failed him under the baleful stare ofthe other’s eyes. And turning back to the milk he fell intoa stupid silence.

“You’ll get right out an’ huyk them kiddies off’n thosedumps,” cried Bill sharply. “You got no more sense inyour idjot head than to slep when your eyes shut. Diggin’worms on the dumps! Gee! Say, if it ain’t enough togive ’em bile and measles, an’––an’ spots, then I don’t knowa ‘deuce-spot’ from a hay-rake. Git right out, you loafin’bum, an’ fetch ’em in, an’ then get the muck off’n your face,an’ clean this doggone shack up. I’d sure say you was atravelin’ hospital o’ disease by the look of you. I’m payin’you a wage and a heap good one, so git out––an’ I’ll see tothat darn milk.”

Argument was out of the question, so Sunny adopted theeasier course of obedience to his employer’s orders. Hedropped the spoon into the milk with a suddenness thatsuggested resentment, and shuffled out, muttering. But Billfollowed him to the door.

“How?” he inquired threateningly.

“I didn’t say nothin’,” lied Sunny.

“I didn’t jest guess you did,” retorted Bill sarcastically.And he watched his man hurry out into the sunlight witheyes that had somehow become less severe.

He waited where he was for some moments. Then heturned back into the room and stared disgustedly about him.

“If a feller can’t fix two kiddies right an’ cook ’em papwithout mussin’ things till you feel like dying o’ colic at thesight, he ain’t fit to rob hogs of rootin’ space,” he muttered.“I’d––Gee-whiz! Ther’s that doggone milk raising bluemurder wi’––”

He rushed to the stove where the boiling milk was pouringover the sides of the pot in a hissing, bubbling stream. Heclutched at the “billy,” scalding his fingers badly, jerked itoff the stove, upset the contents on the floor and flung thepot itself across the room, where it fell with a clatter upona pile of dirty tin plates and pannikins. He swore violentlyand sucked his injured fingers, while, in angry dismay, hecontemplated the additional mess his carelessness had caused.And at that moment Sunny returned, leading two grubby-facedinfants by the hand.

“I got ’em back,” he cried cheerfully. Then his shrewdeyes took in the situation at a glance, and they sparkled withmalicious glee.

“Gee,” he cried, releasing the youngsters and pointing atthe mess on the stove and floor. “Now ain’t that a realpity? Say, how d’you come to do that? It sure ain’t aheap of trouble heatin’ a drop o’ milk. Most any fule kendo that. I tho’t you savvied that, I sure did, or I’d ha’ putyou wise. Y’see, you should jest let it ha’ come to the bile,an’ then whip it off quick. My, but it’s real foolish! Tencents o’ milk wasted for want of a little sense.”

“Our dinner milk,” cried Vada in consternation. “Allgone.”

“All dorn,” echoed Jamie, flinging himself on the floorand dipping his fingers into the mess and licking them withgrave appreciation.

In a moment he was joined by the inevitable yellow pup,which burnt its tongue and set up a howl. Vada ran to theanimal’s assistance, fell over Jamie’s sprawling legs androlled heavily in the mess.

For some seconds confusion reigned. Sunny darted toVada’s rescue, sent the pup flying with a well-directed kick,picked the weeping girl up, and tried to shake some of themilk from her dirty clothing. While Bill grabbed Jamie outof the way of any further mischief. The boy struggledfuriously to free himself.

“Me want dinner milk,” he shouted, and beat thegambler’s chest with both his little fists.

“You kicked Dougal!” wailed Vada, from under Sunny’sarm.

And at that moment a mild voice reached them from theopen doorway––

“Why, what’s happenin’?”

Bill and Sunny turned at once. And the next instant thechildren were shrieking in quite a different tone.

“Pop-pa,” they shouted, with all the power of theirchildish lungs. The men released them, and, with a rush,they hurled themselves upon the small person of their father.

Scipio set a bundle he was carrying upon the floor andscrambled Jamie into his arms and kissed him. Then hekissed Vada. After that he stood up, and, in a peculiarlydazed fashion gazed about him, out of a pair of blackenedand bloodshot eyes, while the children continued to clingto him.

The two onlookers never took their eyes off him. SunnyOak gazed with unfeigned astonishment and alarm, but Billmerely stared. The little man was a pitiable object. Hisclothes were tattered. His face was bruised and cut, anddry blood was smeared all round his mouth. Both eyeswere black, and in one of them the white was changed to abright scarlet.

James’ men had done their work all too well. They hadhandled their victim with the brutality of the savages theywere.

Scipio let his eyes rest on Bill, and, after a moment’shesitation, as though gathering together his still scatteredwits, spoke his gratitude.

“It was real kind of you lendin’ me Gipsy. I set herback in the barn. She’s come to no harm. She ain’t gotsaddle-sore, nor––nor nothin’. Maybe she’s a bit tuckered,but she’s none the worse, sure.”

Bill clicked his tongue, but made no other response. Atthat moment it would have been impossible for him to haveexpressed the thoughts passing through his fierce mind.Sunny, however, was more superficial. Words were burstingfrom his lips. And when he spoke his first remark wasa hopeless inanity.

“You got back?” he questioned.

Scipio’s poor face worked into the ghost of a smile.

“Yes,” he said. And the awkwardness of the meetingdrove him to silently caressing his children.

Presently Sunny, who was not delicate-minded, pointedat his face.

“You––you had a fall?”

Scipio shook his head.

“You see, I found him and––his boys got rough,” heexplained simply.

“Gee!”

There was no mistaking Sunny’s anger. He forgot hisusual lazy indifference. For once he was stirred to a ragethat was as active and volcanic as one of Wild Bill’s suddenpassions.

But the gambler at last found his tongue, and Sunny wasgiven no further opportunity.

“What you got there?” he asked, pointing at the parcelScipio had deposited on the floor.

The little man glanced down at it.

“That?” he said hazily. “Oh, that’s bacon an’ things.I got ’em from Minky on my way up. He told me you’dsure got grub up here, an’ I didn’t need to get things. ButI guessed I couldn’t let you do all this now I’m back. Say,”he added, becoming more alert. “I want to thank you both,you bin real good helping me out.”

Bill swallowed some tobacco juice, and coughed violently.Sunny was eaten up with a rage he could scarcely restrain.But Scipio turned to the children, who were now clingingsilently to his moleskin trousers.

“Guess we’ll get busy an’ fix things up,” he said, layingcaressing hands upon them. “You’ll need your dinners,sure. Poppa’s got nice bacon. How’s that?”

“Bully,” cried Vada promptly. Now that she had herfather again everything was “bully.” But Jamie wassilently staring up at the man’s distorted features. Hedidn’t understand.

Wild Bill recovered from his coughing, suddenly bestirredhimself.

“Guess we’d best git goin’, Sunny,” he said quietly.“Zip’ll likely need to fix things up some. Y’see, Zip,” hewent on, turning to the father, “Sunny’s done his best tokep things goin’ right. He’s fed the kiddies, which was themost ne’ssary thing. As for keppin’ the place clean,”––hepointed at the small sea of milk which still stood in poolson the floor––“I don’t guess he’s much when it comes tocleanin’ anything––not even hisself. I ’low he’s wreckedthings some. Ther’s a heap of milk wasted. Howsum––”

“Say!” cried the outraged Sunny. But Bill would allowno interruption.

“We’ll git goin’,” he said, with biting coldness. “Comeright along. So long, Zip,” he added, with an unusual touchof gentleness. “I’ll be along to see you later. We needto talk some.”

He moved over to Sunny’s side, and his hand closed uponhis arm. And somehow his grip kept the loafer silent untilthey passed out of the hut. Once outside the gambler threwhis shoulders back and breathed freely. But he offered noword. Only Sunny was inclined to talk.

“Say, he’s had a desprit bad time,” he said, with eyesablaze.

But Bill still remained silent. Nor did another word passbetween them until they reached Minky’s store.

The moment they had departed Scipio glanced forlornlyround his home. It was a terrible home-coming. Threedays ago in spite of all set-backs and shortcomings, hope hadrun high in his heart. Now––He left the twins standingand walked to the bedroom door. He looked in. But thecurtains dropped from his nerveless fingers and he turnedback to the living room, sick in mind and heart. For onemoment his eyes stared unmeaningly at the children. Thenhe sat down on the chair nearest the table and beckonedthem over to him. They came, thrilled with awe in theirsmall wondering minds. Their father’s distorted featuresfascinated yet horrified them.

Jamie scrambled to one knee and Vada hugged one ofthe little man’s arms.

“We’ll have to have dinner, kiddies,” he said, withattempted lightness.

“Ess,” said Jamie absently. Then he reached up to thewound on his father’s right cheek, and touched it gentlywith one small finger. It was so sore that the man flinched,and the child’s hand was withdrawn instantly.

“Oose’s hurted,” he exclaimed.

“Pore poppa’s all hurt up,” added Vada tearfully.

“Not hurt proper,” said Scipio, with a wan smile.“Y’see, it was jest a game, an’––an’ the boys were rough.Now we’ll git dinner.”

But Vada’s mind was running on with swift childishcuriosity, and she put a sudden question.

“When’s momma comin’ back?” she demanded.

The man’s eyes shifted to the open doorway. The goldensunlight beyond was shining with all the splendor of asummer noon. But for all his blackened eyes saw theremight have been a gray fog of winter outside.

“Momma?” he echoed blankly.

“Ess, momma,” cried Jamie. “When she comin’?”

Scipio shook his head and sighed.

“When she comin’?” insisted Vada.

The man lowered his eyes till they focused themselvesupon the yellow pup, now hungrily licking up the cold milk.

“She won’t come back,” he said at last, in a low voice.Then with a despairing gesture, he added: “Never! never!”And his head dropped upon Jamie’s little shoulder while hehugged Vada more closely to his side as though he fearedto lose her too.

CHAPTER X

THE TRUST

It was a blazing afternoon of the “stewing” type. Theflies in the store kept up a sickening hum, and torturedsuffering humanity––in the form of the solitary Minky––withtheir persistent efforts to alight on his perspiring faceand bare arms. The storekeeper, with excellent forethought,had showered sticky papers, spread with molassesand mucilage, broadcast about the shelves, to ensnare the unwarypests. But though hundreds were lured to their deathby sirupy drowning, the attacking host remained undiminished,and the death-traps only succeeded in adding disgustingodors to the already laden atmosphere. Fortunately,noses on Suffering Creek were not over-sensitive, and thefly, with all his native unpleasantness, was a small matter inthe scheme of the frontiersman’s life, and, like all other obstructions,was brushed aside physically as well as mentally.

The afternoon quiet had set in. The noon rush hadpassed, nor would the re-awakening of the camp occur untilevening. Ordinarily the quiet of the long afternoon wouldhave been pleasant enough to the hard-working storekeeper.For surely there is something approaching delight in theleisure moments of a day’s hard and prosperous work. Butjust now Minky had little ease of mind. And these longhours, when the camp was practically deserted, had becomea sort of nightmare to him. The gold-dust stored in the dimrecesses of his cellars haunted him. The outlaw, James, wasa constant dread. For he felt that his store held a baitwhich might well be irresistible to that individual. Experiencedas he was in the ways of frontier life, the advent ofthe strangers of the night before had started a train of alarmwhich threatened quickly to grow into panic.

He was pondering this matter when Sunny Oak, accompaniedby the careless Toby Jenks, lounged into the store.With a quick, almost furtive eye the storekeeper glancedup to ascertain the identity of the newcomers. And, whenhe recognized them, such was the hold his alarm had uponhim, that his first thought was as to their fitness to help incase of his own emergency. But his fleeting hope receiveda prompt negative. Sunny was useless, he decided. AndToby––well, Toby was so far an unknown quantity in allthings except his power of spending on drink the moneyhe had never earned.

“Ain’t out on your claim?” he greeted the remittanceman casually.

“Too blamed hot,” Toby retorted, winking heavily.

Then he mopped his face and ordered two whiskies.

“That stuff won’t cool you down any,” observed Minky,passing behind his counter.

“No,” Toby admitted doubtfully. Then with a brightlook of intelligence. “But it’ll buck a feller so it don’tseem so bad––the heat, I mean.” His afterthought setSunny grinning.

Minky set out two glasses and passed the bottle. Themen helped themselves, and with a simultaneous “How!”gulped their drinks down thirstily.

Minky re-corked the bottle and wiped a few drops ofwater from the counter.

“So Zip’s around,” he said, as the glasses were returnedto the counter. And instantly Sunny’s face became unusuallyserious.

“Say,” he cried, with a hard look in his good-naturedeyes. “D’you ever feel real mad about things? So mad,I mean, you want to get right out an’ hurt somebody orsomethin’? So mad, folks is likely to git busy an’ stringyou up with a rawhide? I’m sure mostly dead easy as aman, but I feel that away jest about now. I’ve sed to myselfI’d do best settin’ my head in your wash-trough. I’vesaid it more’n oncet in the last half-hour. But I don’t guessit’s any sort o’ use. So––so, I’ll cut out the wash-trough.”

“You most generally do,” said Toby pleasantly.

“You ain’t comic––’cep’ when you’re feedin’,” retortedSunny, nettled. Then he turned to Minky, just as thedoorway of the store was darkened by the advent of SandyJoyce. But he glanced back in the newcomer’s directionand nodded. Then he went on immediately with his talk.

“Say, have you seen him?” he demanded of anybody.“I’m talkin’ o’ Zip,” he added, for Sandy’s enlightenment.“He found James. Located his ranch, an’––an’ nigh gothammered to death for his pains. Gee!”

“We see him,” said Minky, after an awed pause. “Buthe never said a word. He jest set Bill’s mare back in thebarn, an’ bo’t bacon, and hit off to hum.”

“I didn’t see him,” Sandy admitted. “How was he?”

“Battered nigh to death, I said,” cried Sunny, withstartling violence. “His eyes are blackened, an’ his poremean face is cut about, an’ bruised ter’ble. His clothes istorn nigh to rags, an’––”

“Was it the James outfit did it?” inquired Minkyincredulously.

“They did that surely,” cried Sunny vehemently. “Youain’t seen Bill, have you? He’s that mad you can’t git aword out o’ him. I tell you right here somethin’s goin’ tohappen. Somethin’s got to happen,” he added, with a freshburst of rage. “That gang needs cleanin’ out. They needshootin’ up like vermin, an’––”

“You’re goin’ to do it?” inquired Sandy sarcastically.

Sunny turned on him in a flash.

“I’ll take my share in it,” he cried, “an’ it’ll need tobe a big share to satisfy me,” he added, with such evidentsincerity and fiery determination that his companions staredat him in wonder.

“Guess Sunny’s had his rest broke,” observed Toby, witha grin.

“I have that sure. An’––an’ it makes me mad to gitbusy,” the loafer declared. “Have you seen that pore fellerwith his face all mussed? Gee! Say, Zip wouldn’t hurt alouse; he’s that gentle-natured I’d say if ther’ was only abaulky mule between him an’ starvation he’d hate to live.He ain’t no more savvee than a fool cat motherin’ a chinadog, but he’s got the grit o’ ten men. He’s hunted outJames with no more thought than he’d use firin’ a crackeron the 4th o’ July. He goes after him to claim his right,as calm an’ foolish as a sheep in a butcherin’ yard. An’I’d say right here ther’ ain’t one of us in this store wouldhave had the grit chasin’ for his wife wher’ Zip’s binchasin’––”

“Not for a wife, sure,” interjected Sandy.

Toby smothered a laugh, but became serious underSunny’s contemptuous eye.

“That’s like you, Sandy,” he cried. “It’s sure like you.But I tell you Zip’s a man, an’ a great big man to the marrerof his small backbone. His luck’s rotten. Rotten everyways. He’s stuck on his wife, an’ she’s gone off with atough like James. He works so he comes nigh shamin’ evenme, who hates work, on a claim that couldn’t show thecolor o’ gold on it, if ther’ wa’an’t nothin’ to the earth butgold. He’s jest got two notions in his silly head. It’s hiskids an’ his wife. Mackinaw! It makes me sick. It doessure. Here’s us fellers without a care to our souls, whilethat pore sucker’s jest strugglin’ an’ strugglin’ an’ everythin’swrong with him––wrong as––oh, hell!”

For once Sandy forgot his malicious jibe at the loafer’sexpense. And Toby, too, forgot his pleasantry. Sunny’soutburst of feeling had struck home, and each man stoodstaring thoughtfully at the mental picture he had conjuredfor them. Each admitted to himself in his own way thepity the other’s words had stirred, but none of them hadanything to add at the moment.

Sunny glanced from one to the other. His look was halfquestioning and wholly angry. He glanced across at thewindow and thrust his hands in his ragged trousers pockets.

And presently as he began to tap the floor with his foota fresh rush of fiery anger was mounting to his head. Heopened his lips as though about to continue his tirade, butapparently changed his mind. And, instead, he drew adollar bill from his pocket, and flung it on the counter.

“Three more drinks,” he demanded roughly.

Minky in unfeigned surprise produced the glasses.Sandy leant over, and, with face thrust forward, inspectedthe bill. Toby contented himself with a low whistle ofastonishment.

Sunny glared at them contemptuously.

“Yes,” he said roughly, “I’ve earned it. I’ve worked forit, do you understand? Wild Bill set me to look afterZip’s kids, an’ he’s paid me for it. But––but that moneyburns––burns like hell, an’ I want to be quit of it. Oh, Iain’t bug on no sort o’ charity racket, I’m jest about as softas my back teeth. But I’m mad––mad to git busy doin’anythin’ so we ken git Zip level with that low-down skunk,James. An’ if ther’s fi’ cents’ worth o’ grit in you, MisterSandy Joyce, an’ an atom o’ savvee in your fool brain, Toby,you’ll take a hand in the game.”

Minky looked on in silent approval. Anything directedagainst James was bound to meet with his approval justnow. But Sandy cleared his throat, and lounged with hisback against the counter.

“An’ wot, I’d ast, is goin’ to hurt this tough?” he inquired,with a dash of his usual sarcasm.

Sunny flew at his drink and gulped it down.

“How do I know?” he cried scornfully.

“Jest so.”

Toby grinned.

“You’re a bright one, Sunny. You’re so bright, youdazzle my eyes,” he cried.

But Sunny was absorbed in a thought that was hazilyhovering in the back of his brain, and let the insult pass.

“How ken I tell jest wot we’re goin’ to do,” he cried.“Wot we want to do is to kind o’ help that pore crittur Zipout first. Ther’ he is wi’ two kids to see to, which is suremore than one man’s work, an’ at the same time he’s gotto dig up that mudbank claim of his. He don’t see thething’s impossible, ’cos he’s that big in mind he can’t seesmall things like that. But I ain’t big that aways, an’ I kensee. If he goes on diggin’ wot’s his kids goin’ to do, an’ ifhe don’t dig wot’s they goin’ to do anyways. We’ll hev toform a committee––”

“Sort o’ trust,” grinned Toby.

But Sunny passed over his levity and seized upon hissuggestion.

“I ’lows your fool head’s tho’t somethin’ wiser than itguessed,” he said. “That’s just wot we need. Ther’should be a trust to see after him. An’ after it’s got hiskids fixed right––”

Sunny broke off as the tall figure of Wild Bill threw itsshadow across the window of the store. The next momentthe man himself entered the room.

He nodded silently, and was about to fling himself intoone of the chairs, when Toby, in jocular anticipation, threwSunny’s proposition at him.

“Say, Sunny’s woke up an’ bin thinkin’,” he cried. “Iallow his brain is shockin’ wonderful. Guess he’s got sicko’ restin’ an’ reckons he got a notion for makin’ a trust lay-out.”

“The Zip Trust,” added Sandy, with a laugh, in whichToby joined heartily.

“Yes. He guesses Zip needs lookin’ after,” declared theremittance man in the midst of his mirth, glancing roundfor appreciation of the joke.

But the encouragement he received fell short of his expectations,and his laugh died out quite abruptly. There wasno responsive smile on Minky’s face. Sunny was gloweringsulkily; while Bill’s fierce brows were drawn together inan angry frown, and his gimlet eyes seemed to bore theirway into the speaker’s face.

“Wal?” he demanded coldly.

“Wal, I think he’s––”

But Bill cut him short in his coldest manner.

“Do you?” he observed icily. “Wal, I’d say you bestthink ag’in. An’ when you done thinkin’ jest start rightover ag’in. An’ mebbe some day you’ll get wise––if youdon’t get took meanwhiles.”

Bill flung himself into the chair and crossed his longlegs.

“Sunny’s on the right lay,” he went on. “Ther’ ain’tmany men on Sufferin’ Creek, but Zip’s one of ’em. Say,Toby, would you ride out to James’ outfit to call him allyou think of the feller whose stole your wife?”

“Not by a sight,” replied Toby seriously.

“Wal, Zip did. He’s big,” went on Bill in cold, harshtones. Then he paused in thought. But he went on almostimmediately. “We got to help him. I’m sure withSunny.” He turned on the loafer with a wintry smile.“You best organize right away, an’––count me in.”

Sunny’s eyes glowed with triumph. He had feared theman’s ridicule. He had expected to see his lean shouldersgo up in silent contempt. And then, he knew, would havefollowed a storm of sarcasm and “jollying” from Sandyand the others. With quick wit he seized his opportunity,bent on using Bill’s influence to its utmost. He turned onMinky with a well calculated abruptness.

“You’ll help this thing out––too?” he challengedhim.

And he got his answer on the instant––

“I sure will––to any extent.”

Sandy and Toby looked at the storekeeper in some doubt.Bill was watching them with a curious intentness. Andbefore Sunny could challenge the two scoffers, his harshvoice filled the room again.

“I don’t know we’ll need any more,” he said, abruptlyturning his gaze upon the open window, “otherwise we’dlikely hev ast you two fellers. Y’see, we’ll need folks as kendo things––”

“Wot sort o’ things?” demanded Sandy, with a suddeninterest.

“Wal, that ain’t easy to say right now, but––”

“I ain’t much seein’ to kids,” cried Sandy, “but I ken domost anythin’ else.”

A flicker of a smile crept into Bill’s averted eyes, whileSunny grinned broadly to see the way the man was nowliterally falling over himself to follow the leadership of WildBill.

“Wal, it ain’t no use in saying things yet, but if you’redead set on joining this Zip Trust, I guess you can. Butget this, what you’re called upon to do you’ll need to dogood an’ hard, an’––without argument.”

Sandy nodded.

“I’m in,” he cried, as though a great privilege had beenbestowed upon him.

And at once Toby became anxious.

“Guess you ain’t no use for me, Bill?” he hazarded,almost diffidently.

Bill turned his steely eyes on him in cold contemplation.Minky had joined in Sunny’s grin at the other men’s expense.Sandy, too, now that he was accepted as an activemember of the trust, was indulging in a superior smile.

“I don’t allow I have,” Bill said slowly. “Y’see, youain’t much else than a ‘remittance’ man, an’ they ain’t nosort o’ trash anyway.”

“But,” protested Toby, “I can’t help it if my folks handme money?”

“Mebbe you can’t.” Bill was actually smiling. And thisfact so far influenced the other members of the trust thatan audible titter went round the room. Then the gamblersuddenly sat forward, and the old fierce gleam shone oncemore in his cold eyes. “Say,” he cried suddenly. “If afeller got the ‘drop’ on you with six bar’ls of a gunwell-loaded, an’––guessed you’d best squeal, wot ’ud you do?”

“Squeal,” responded the puzzled Toby, with alacrity.

“You ken join the Trust. You sure got more savveethan I tho’t.”

Bill sat back grinning, while a roar of laughter concludedthe founding of the Zip Trust.

But like all ceremonials, the matter had to be prolongedand surrounded with the frills of officialdom. Sunny calledit organization, and herein only copied people of greaterdegree and self-importance. He plunged into his task withwhole-hearted enthusiasm, and, with every word he uttered,preened himself in the belief that he was rapidly ascendingin the opinion of Wild Bill, the only man on Suffering Creekfor whose opinion he cared a jot.

He explained to his comrades, with all the vanity of aman whose inspiration has met with public approval, thatin forming such a combine as theirs, it would be necessaryto allot certain work, which he called “departments,”to certain individuals. He assured his fellow-membersthat such was always done in “way-up concerns.” It savedconfusion, and ensured the work being adequately performed.

“Sort o’ like a noo elected gover’ment,” suggested Sandysapiently.

“Wal, I won’t say that,” said Sunny. “Them fellerstraipse around wi’ portyfolios hangin’ to ’em. I don’t guesswe need them things. It’s too hot doin’ stunts like that.”

“Portfolios?” questioned Toby artlessly. “Wot’s themfor?”

“Oh, jest nuthin’ o’ consequence. Guess it’s to makefolks guess they’re doin’ a heap o’ work. No, what we needis to set each man his work this aways. Now Bill hereneeds to be president sure. Y’see, we must hev a ‘pres.’Most everything needs a ‘pres.’ He’s got to sit on top, soif any one o’ the members gits gay he ken hand ’em a daisywot’ll send ’em squealin’ an’ huntin’ their holes like gophers.Wal, Bill needs to be our ‘pres.’ Then there’s the ‘generalmanager.’ He’s the feller wot sets around an’ blames mosteverybody fer everything anyway, an’ writes to the noospapers.He’s got to have savvee, an’ an elegant way o’ shiftin’ the responsibility o’ things on them as can’t gitback at him. He’s got to be a bright lad––”

“That’s Sunny, sure,” exclaimed Toby. “He’s a dandyat gettin’ out o’ things an’ leaving others in. Say––”

“Here, half-a-tick,” cried Joyce, with sudden inspiration.“Who’s goin’ to be ‘fightin’ editor’?”

“Gee, what a brain!” cried Sunny derisively. “Say, weain’t runnin’ a mornin’ noos sheet. This is a trust. Sandy,my boy, you need educatin’. A trust’s a corporation offolks wot is so crooked, they got to git together, an’ pooltheir cash, so’s to git enough dollars to kep ’em out o’ penitentiary.That’s how they start. Later on, if they kepclear o’ the penitentiary, they start in to fake the market tillthe Gover’ment butts in. Then they git gay, buy up a votein Congress, an’ fake the laws so they’re fixed right ferthemselves. After that some of them git religion, some of’em give trick feeds to their friends, some of ’em start in tohang jewels on stage females. Some of ’em have beenknown to shoot theirselves or git divorced. It ain’t no sorto’ matter wot they do, pervided they’re civil to the noospaperfolk. That’s a trust, Sandy, an’ I don’t say but what the felleras tho’t o’ that name must o’ bin a tarnation amusin’feller.”

“Say, you orter bin in a cirkis,” sneered Sandy, as theloafer finished his disquisition.

“Wal, I’d say that’s better’n a museum,” retorted Sunny.

But Toby was impatient to hear how Sunny intended todispose of him.

“Wher’ do I figger in this lay-out?” he demanded.

“You?” Sunny’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t guess we’llneed to give you hard work. You best be boss o’ theworkin’ staff.”

“But ther’ ain’t no workin’ staff,” protested Toby.

“Jest so. That’s why you’ll be boss of it.” Then Sunnyturned to Sandy.

“We’ll need your experience as a married man, tho’,” hesaid slyly. “So you best be head o’ the advisory board.You’ll need to kep us wise to the general principles of vittlin’a family of three, when the woman’s missin’. Then we’llneed a treasurer.” Sunny turned to Minky, and his twinklingeyes asked the question.

“Sure,” said Minky promptly, “I’ll be treasurer. Seemsto me I’ll be safer that ways.”

“Good,” cried Sunny, “that’s all fixed.” He turned toBill. “Say, pres,” he went on, “I’d like to pass a vote o’thanks fer the way you conducted this yer meetin’, an’ putit to the vote, that we accept the treasurer’s invitation totake wine. All in favor will––”

“Mine’s rye,” cried Sandy promptly.

“An’ mine,” added Toby.

“Rye for me,” nodded Sunny at Minky’s grinning face.“Bill––?”

But Bill shook his head.

“Too early for me,” he said, “you fellers can git all youneed into you though. But see here, folks,” he went on,with a quietness of purpose that promptly reduced every eyeto seriousness. “This ain’t no play game as Sunny may ha’made you think. It’s a proposition that needs to go thro’,an’––I’m goin’ to see it thro’. Zip’s kids is our first trouble.They ain’t easy handlin’. They got to be bro’t up reg’lar,an’ their stummicks ain’t to be pizened with no wrong sorto’ vittles. Ther’s such a heap o’ things to kids o’ that ageit makes me nigh sweat at the tho’t. Howsum, Zip’s downan’ out, an’ we got to see him right someways. As ‘pres’of this lay-out, I tell you right here, every mother’s son ofus had best git out an’ learn all we ken about fixin’ kidsright. How to feed ’em, how to set their pretties on right,how to clean ’em, how to––well, jest how to raise ’em. Ifany o’ you got leddy friends I’d say git busy askin’ ’em.So––”

At that moment the sound of footsteps on the verandacame in through the window, and Bill looked round. Thenext instant he spoke more rapidly, and with greaterauthority.

“Git goin’,” he cried, “an’ we’ll meet after supper.”

There was no doubt of this man’s rule. Without a wordthe men filed out of the store, each one with his thoughtsbent upon the possibilities of acquiring the knowledgenecessary.

CHAPTER XI

STRANGERS IN SUFFERING CREEK

Bill watched the men depart. The stolid Minky, too,followed them with his eyes. But as they disappearedthrough the doorway he turned to the gambler, and, in surprise,discovered that he was reclining in a chair, stretchedout in an attitude of repose, with his shrewd eyes tightlyclosed. He was about to speak when the swing-doorsopened, and two strangers strolled in.

Minky greeted them, “Howdy?” and received an amiableresponse. The newcomers were ordinary enough to satisfyeven the suspicious storekeeper. In fact, they looked likemen from some city, who had possibly come to SufferingCreek with the purpose of ascertaining the possibilities ofthe camp as a place in which to try their fortunes. Bothwere clad in store clothes of fair quality, wearing hats of theblack prairie type, and only the extreme tanning of theirsomewhat genial faces belied the city theory.

Minky noted all these things while he served them thedrinks they called for, and, in the most approvedly casualmanner, put the usual question to them.

“Wher’ you from?” he inquired, as though the matterwere not of the least consequence.

He was told Spawn City without hesitation, and in responseto his remark that they had “come quite a piece,”they equally amiably assured him that they had.

Then one of the men addressed his companion.

“Say, Joe,” he said, “mebbe this guy ken put us wise tothings.”

And Joe nodded and turned to the storekeeper.

“Say, boss,” he began, “we’ve heerd tell this lay-out is adead gut bonanza. There’s folks in Spawn City says ther’sgold enough here to drown the United States Treasury department.Guess we come along to gather some.” Hegrinned in an ingratiating manner.

Minky thought before answering.

“Ther’ sure is a heap o’ gold around. But it ain’t easy.I don’t guess you’d gather much in a shovel. You’ll getpay dirt that aways, but––”

“Ah! Needs cap’tal,” suggested Joe.

“That’s jest how we figgered,” put in the other quietly.

Minky nodded. Many things were traveling swiftlythrough his mind.

“Drove in?” he inquired.

“Sure,” replied Joe. “Unhooked down the trail a piece.”

Bill’s eyes opened and closed again. Then he shiftednoisily in his chair. The men turned round and eyed himwith interest. Then the man called Joe called back to thestorekeeper.

“My name’s Joe Manton,” he said, by way of introduction.“An’ my friend’s called Sim Longley. Say,” hewent on, with a backward jerk of the head, “mebbe yourfriend’ll take something?”

Minky glanced over at Wild Bill. The gambler drowsilyopened his eyes and bestirred himself.

“I sure will,” he said, rearing his great length up, andmoving across to the counter. “I’ll take Rye, mister, an’thank you. This is Mr. Minky, gents. My name’s Bill.”

The introduction acknowledged, talk flowed freely. WildBill, in carefully toned down manner, engaged the strangersin polite talk, answering their questions about the gold prospectsof the place, which were often pointed, in the mostgenial and even loquacious manner. He told them a greatdeal of the history of the place, warned them that SufferingCreek was not the sinecure the outside world had been told,endorsed Minky’s story that what Suffering Creek reallyneeded was capital to reach the true wealth of the place.And, in the course of the talk, drink flowed freely.

Bill was always supplied with his drink from a differentbottle to that out of which the strangers were served. Asa matter of fact, he was probably the most temperate manon Suffering Creek, and, by an arrangement with Minky, soas not to spoil trade, drank from a bottle of colored waterwhen the necessity for refreshment arose. But just nowhis manner suggested that he had drunk quite as muchwhisky as the strangers. His spirits rose with theirs, andhis jocularity and levity matched theirs, step by step, as theywent on talking.

The man Longley had spoken of the settlement as being“one-horsed,” and Billy promptly agreed.

“It sure is,” he cried. “We ain’t got nothing but thisyer canteen, with ol’ Minky doin’ his best to pizen us. Still,we get along in a ways. Mebbe we could do wi’ a dancin’-hall––ifwe had females around. Then I’d say a bankwould be an elegant addition to things. Y’see, we hev toship our gold outside. Leastways, that’s wot we used to do,I’ve heard. Y’see, I ain’t in the minin’ business,” headded, by way of accounting for his lack of personalknowledge.

“Ah!” said Joe. “Maybe you’re ‘commercial’?”

Bill laughed so genially that the others joined in it.

“In a ways, mebbe I am. You see, I mostly sit around,an’ when anything promisin’ comes along, why, I ain’t aboveplankin’ a few dollars by way of––speculation.”

Joe grinned broadly.

“A few shares in a poker hand, eh?” he suggestedshrewdly.

“You’re kind o’ quick, mister,” Bill laughed. “I’m stuckon ‘draw’ some.”

Then the talk drifted suddenly. It was Longley whopresently harked back to the commercial side of SufferingCreek.

“You was sayin’ ther’ wasn’t no bank on SufferingCreek,” he said interestedly. “What do folks do with theirdust now, then?”

A quick but almost imperceptible glance passed betweenBill and the storekeeper. And Bill’s answer came at once.

“Wal, as I sed, we used to pass it out by stage. But––”

Longley caught him up just a shade too quickly.

“Yes––but?”

“Wal,” drawled Bill thoughtfully, “y’see, we ain’tshipped dust out for some time on account of a gang that’ssettin’ around waitin’. You comin’ from Spawn City’lllikely have heard of this feller James an’ his gang. A mostter’ble tough is James. I’ll allow he’s got us mighty nighwher’ he wants us––scairt to death. No, we ain’t sent outno gold stage lately, but we’re goin’ to right soon. We’llhev to. We’ve ast for an escort o’ Gover’ment troops, butI guess Sufferin’ Creek ain’t on the map. The Gover’mentdon’t guess they’ve any call to worry.”

“Then what you goin’ to do?” inquired Longley, profoundlyinterested.

“Can’t say. The stage’ll hev to take its chances.”

“An’ when––” began Longley. But his comrade cut himshort.

“Say, I’ll allow the gold racket’s mighty int’restin’, butit makes me tired this weather. You was speakin’‘draw’––”

“Sure,” responded Bill amiably. “We’re four here, ifyou fancy a hand. Minky?”

The storekeeper nodded, and promptly produced cards and‘chips.’ And in five minutes the game was in progress.Used as he was to the vagaries of his gambling friend,Minky was puzzled at the way he was discussing SufferingCreek with these strangers. His talk about James and thegold-stage was too rankly absurd for anything, and yet heknew that some subtle purpose must be underlying his talk.However, it was no time to question or contradict now, sohe accepted the situation and his share in the game.

And here again astonishment awaited him. Bill loststeadily, if not heavily. He watched the men closely, butcould discover none of the known tricks common to thegame when sharps are at work. They not only seemed tobe playing straight, but badly. They were not good pokerplayers. Yet they got the hands and won. For himself, hekept fairly level. It was only Bill who lost.

And all through the game the gambler allowed himselfto be drawn into talking of Suffering Creek by the interestedLongley, until it would have been obvious to the veriestgreenhorn that the stranger was pumping him.

The newcomers seemed to be enjoying themselves enormously,and the greatest good-will prevailed. Nor was ituntil nearly supper-time that Bill suddenly stood up anddeclared he had had enough. He was a loser to the extentof nearly a hundred dollars.

So the party broke up. And at Minky’s suggestion themen departed to put their horses in the barn, while theypartook of supper under his roof. It was the moment theyhad gone that the storekeeper turned on his friend.

“Say, I ain’t got you, Bill. Wot’s your game?” he demanded,with some asperity.

But the gambler was quite undisturbed by his annoyance.He only chuckled.

“Say,” he countered, “ever heerd tell of Swanny Long,the biggest tough in Idaho?”

“Sure. But––”

“That’s him––that feller Sim Longley.”

The storekeeper stared.

“You sure?”

“Sure? Gee! I was after him fer nigh three––Say,”he broke off––it was not his way to indulge in reminiscence––“Iguess he’s workin’ with James.” Then he laughed.“Gee! I allow he was rigged elegant––most like some Bible-smashin’sky-pilot.”

Minky was still laboring hard to understand.

“But all that yarn of the gold-stage?” he said sharply.

“That?” Bill at once became serious. “Wal, that’spretty near right. You ain’t yearnin’ fer that gang to comesnoopin’ around Suffering Creek. So I’m guessin’ we’ll hevto pass a gold-stage out o’ her some time.”

“You’re mad,” cried Minky in consternation.

“That’s as may be,” retorted Bill, quite unruffled.“Anyways, I guess I spent a hundred dollars in a mightygood deal this day––if it was rotten bad poker.”

And he turned away to talk to Slade of Kentucky, whoentered the store at that moment with his friend O’Brien.

CHAPTER XII

THE WOMAN

The woman turned from the window at the sound offootsteps somewhere behind her. That was her way now.She started at each fresh sound that suggested anyone approaching.Her nerves were on edge for some reason shecould never have put into words. She did not fear, yet acurious nervousness was hers which made her listen acutelyat every footstep, and breathe her relief if the sound diedaway without further intrusion upon her privacy.

Presently she turned back to the window with just suchrelief. The footstep had passed. She drew her feet up intothe ample seat of the rocking-chair, and, with her elbowresting upon its arm, heavily pressed her chin into the palmof her hand, and again stared at the rampart of mountainsbeyond.

Nor had all the beauties spread out before her yearninggaze the least appeal for her. How should they? Herthoughts were roaming in a world of her own, and her eyeswere occupied in gazing upon her woman’s pictures as shesaw them in her mind. The wonders of that scene of naturalsplendor laid out before her had no power to penetratethe armor of her preoccupation. All her mind and heartwere stirred and torn by emotions such as only a woman canunderstand, only a woman can feel. The ancient battle oftitanic forces, which had brought into existence that worldof stupendous might upon which her unseeing eyes gazed,was as nothing, it seemed, to the passionate struggle goingon in her torn heart. To her there was nothing beyond herown regretful misery, her own dread of the future, herpassionate revulsion at thoughts of the past.

The truth was, she had not yet found the happiness shehad promised herself, that had been promised to her. Shehad left behind her all that life which, when it had beenhers, she had hated. Her passionate nature had drawn herwhither its stormy waves listed. And now that the tempestwas passed, and the driving forces had ceased to urge, leavingher in a rock-bound pool of reflection, she saw theenormity of the step she had taken, she realized the strengthof Nature’s tendrils which still bound her no less surely.

The mild face of Scipio haunted her. She saw in herremorseful fancy his wondering blue eyes filled with thestricken look of a man powerless to resent, powerless toresist. She read into her thought the feelings of his simpleheart which she had so wantonly crushed. For she knew hislove as only a woman can. She had probed its depth andfound it fathomless––fathomless in its devotion to herself.And now she had thrown him and his love, the greatlegitimate love of the father of her children, headlong outof her life.

A dozen times she bolstered her actions with the assurancethat she did not want his love, that he was not the man shehad ever cared for seriously, could ever care for. She toldherself that the insignificance of his character, his personality,were beneath contempt. She desired a man of strengthfor her partner, a man who could make himself of someaccount in the world which was theirs.

No, she did not want Scipio. He was useless in thescheme of life, and she did not wish to have to “mother”her husband. Far rather would she be the slave of a manwhose ruthless domination extended even to herself. Andyet Scipio’s mild eyes haunted her, and stirred something inher heart that maddened her, and robbed her of all satisfactionin the step she had taken.

But this was only a small part of the cause of her presentmood. She had not at first had the vaguest understandingof the bonds which really fettered her, holding her fast tothe life that had been hers for so long. Now she knew.And the knowledge brought with it its bitter cost. Someforewarning had been hers when she appealed to her loverfor the possession of her children. But although hermother’s instinct had been stirred to alarm at parting, shehad not, at that time, experienced the real horror of whatshe was doing in abandoning her children.

She was inconsolable now. With all her mind and heartshe was crying out for the warm, moist pressure of infantlips. Her whole body yearned for those who were flesh ofher flesh, for the gentle beating hearts to which her bodyhad given life. They were hers––hers, and of her ownaction she had put them out of her life. They were hers,and she was maddened at the thought that she had left themto another. They were hers, and––yes, she must havethem. Whatever happened, they must be restored to her.Life would be intolerable without them.

She was in a wholly unreasoning state of mind. All themother in her was uppermost, craving, yearning, panting forher own. For the time, at least, all else was lost in anoverwhelming regret, and such a power of love for heroffspring, that she had no room for the man who hadbrought about the separation.

She was a selfish woman, and had always craved for thebest that life could give her, but now that her mother-lovewas truly roused her selfishness knew no bounds. She hadno thought for anybody, no consideration. She could havenone until her desire was satisfied.

Her tortured heart grew angry against Scipio. She wasdriven to fury against James. What mattered it that herlover had so far fulfilled all his other promises to her, if hedid not procure the children and return them to her arms?What mattered it that she was surrounded with luxuryuncommon on the prairie, a luxury she had not known forso many years?

She had her own rooms, where no one intruded withouther consent. The spacious house had been ransacked tomake them all that she could desire. All the outlaw’sassociates were herded into the background, lest their presenceshould offend her. Even James himself had refrainedfrom forcing his attentions upon her, lest, in the first rush offeeling at her breaking with the old life, they should beunwelcome. His patience and restraint were wonderful ina man of his peculiar savagery. And surely it pointed hislove for her. Had it been simply the momentary passion ofan untamed nature, he would have waited for nothing, whenonce she had become his possession.

It was a curious anachronism that she should be themistress of the situation with such a man as James. Yet sofar she was mistress of the situation. The question was,how long would she remain so? It is possible that she hadno understanding of this at first. It is possible that shewould have resented such a question, had it occurred toher when she first consented to break away from her oldlife.

But now it was different. Now that she began to understandall she had flung away for this man, when the motherin her was at last fully aroused, and all her wits were drivenheadlong to discover a way by which to satisfy her all-consumingdesire for her children, now the native cunning ofthe woman asserted itself. She saw in one revealing flashher position, she saw where lay her power at the moment,and she clung to it desperately, determined to play the manwhile she could to gain her ends.

Thus it was she was nervous, apprehensive, every timeshe thought it likely that her lover was about to visit her.She dreaded what might transpire. She dreaded lest herpower should be weakened before she had accomplished herend. It was difficult; it was nerve-racking. She must keephis love at fever-heat. It was her one chance.

Again she started. It was the sound of a fresh footstepbeyond the door. She glanced at the door with half-startledeyes and sat listening. Then her lips closed decidedly anda look of purpose crept into her eyes. A moment later shestood up. She was pale, but full of purpose.

“Is that you, Jim?” she called.

“Sure,” came the ready response.

The next instant the door was flung open and the mancame in.

His bronzed face was smiling, and the savage in him washidden deep down out of sight. His handsome face wasgood to look upon, and as the woman’s eyes surveyed hiscarefully clad slim figure she felt a thrill of triumph at thethought that he was hers at the raising of her finger.

But she faced him without any responsive smile. She hadsummoned him with a very definite purpose in her mind,and no display of anything that could be interpreted intoweakness must be made.

“I want to talk to you,” she said, pointing at the rocking-chairshe had just vacated.

James glanced at the chair. Then his eyes turned backto her with a question in them. Finally he shrugged hisshoulders and flung himself into the seat, and stretched outhis long legs luxuriously.

Apparently Jessie had not noticed the shrug. It wouldhave been better had she done so. She might then haveunderstood more fully the man she was dealing with. However,she turned to the window and spoke with her back tohim.

“It’s about––things,” she said a little lamely.

The man’s smile was something ironical, as his eyesgreedily devoured the beauty of her figure.

“I’m glad,” he said in a non-committing way. Then, asno reply was immediately forthcoming, he added, “Getgoing.”

But Jessie made no answer. She was thinking hard, andsomehow her thoughts had an uneasy confusion in them.She was trying hard to find the best way to begin that whichshe had to say, but every opening seemed inadequate. Shemust not appeal, she must not dictate. She must adopt somemiddle course. These things she felt instinctively.

The man shifted his position and glanced round theroom.

“Kind of snug here,” he said pleasantly, running his eyesappreciatively over the simple decorations, the cheap bric-à-bracwhich lined the walls and, in a world where all decorationwas chiefly conspicuous by its absence, gave to the placea suggestion of richness. The red pine walls looked warm,and the carpeted floor was so unusual as to give one a feelingof extraordinary refinement. Then, too, the chairs, scatteredabout, spoke of a strain after civilized luxury. Thewhole ranch-house had been turned inside out to makeJessie’s quarters all she could desire them.

“Yes,” he muttered, “it’s sure snug.” Then his eyescame back to the woman. “Maybe there’s something I’veforgotten. Guess you’ve just got to fix a name to it.”

Jessie turned instantly. Her beautiful eyes were shiningwith a sudden hope, but her face was pale with a hardlycontrolled emotion.

“That’s easy,” she said. “I want my children. I wantlittle Vada. I––I must have her. You promised I should.If you hadn’t, I should never have left. I must have her.”She spoke breathlessly, and broke off with a sort of nervousjolt.

In the pause that followed James’ expression underwent asubtle change. It was not that there was any definite movementof a single muscle. His smile remained, but, somehow,through it peeped a hard look which had not been therebefore.

“So you want––the kids,” he said at last, and a curiousmetallic quality was in his voice. “Say,” he added thoughtfully,“you women are queer ones.”

“Maybe we are,” retorted Jessie. She tried to laugh asshe spoke, but it was a dismal failure. Then she hurriedon. “Yes,” she cried a little shrilly, “it was part of ourbargain, and––so far you have not carried it out.”

“Bargain?” The man’s brows went up.

“Yes, bargain.”

“I don’t remember a––bargain.” James’ eyes had inthem an ominous glitter.

“Then you’ve got a bad memory.”

“I sure haven’t, Jess. I sure haven’t that. I generallyremember good. And what I remember now is that I promisedyou those kids if you needed them. I swore that youshould have ’em. But I made no bargain. Guess womendon’t see things dead right. This is the first time you’vespoken to me of this, and you say I haven’t fulfilled mybargain. When I refuse to give you them kiddies, it’s timeto take that tone. You want them kids. Well––go on.”

The change in her lover’s manner warned Jessie thatdanger lay ahead. In the brief time she had spent under hisroof she had already learned that, as yet, she had only seenthe gentlest side of the man, and that the other side wasalways perilously near the surface.

In the beginning this had been rather a delight to her tothink that she, of all people, was privileged to bask in thesunny side of a man who habitually displayed the stormclouds of his fiercer side to the world in general. But sincethat time a change, which she neither knew nor understood,had come over her, and, instead of rejoicing that he possessedthat harsher nature, she rather feared it, feared thatit might be turned upon her.

It was this change that had helped to bring her woman’scunning into play. It was this change which had broughther her haunting visions of the old life. It was this changewhich had prompted her that she must keep her lover atarm’s length––as yet. It was this change, had she pausedto analyze it, which might have told her of the hideous mistakeshe had made. That the passion which she had believedto be an absorbing love for the man was merely a passion,a base human passion, inspired in a weak, discontentedwoman. But as yet she understood nothing of this. Theglamour of the man’s personality still had power to swayher, and she acknowledged it in her next words.

“Don’t be angry, Jim dear,” she said, with a smile ofseductive sweetness which had immediate effect upon theman. “You don’t understand us women. We’re sure unreasonablewhere our love is concerned.”

Then a flush spread itself slowly over her handsome face,and passion lit her eyes.

“But I must have my children,” she broke out suddenly.“One of them, anyhow––little Vada. You––you can’tunderstand all it means to be away from them. They aremine. They are part of me. I––I feel I could kill anyonewho keeps them from me. You promised, Jim, you suredid. Get her for me. My little girl––my little Vada.”

The man had risen from his chair and moved to thewindow. He sat on the rough sill facing her. His eyeswere hot with passion, too, but it was passion of a verydifferent sort.

“And if I do?” he questioned subtly.

“If you do?” Jessie’s eyes widened with a world ofcunning simplicity.

“Yes, if I do?” The man’s face was nearer.

“You’ll have fulfilled your promise.”

Jessie had turned again to the window, and her eyes werecold.

The man’s brows drew together sharply, and his dark eyeswatched the perfect outline of her oval cheek. Then hedrew a sharp breath, and biting words leapt to his lips. Buthe held them back with a sudden grip that was perilouslynear breaking. Jessie’s power was still enormous with him.But this very power was maddening to a man of his nature,and the two must not come into too frequent conflict.

He suddenly laughed, and the woman turned in alarm atthe note that sounded in it.

“Yes,” he said tensely. “I’ll fulfill my promise. It’llamuse me, sure, getting back at that Sufferin’ Creek lay-out.I owe them something for keepin’ back the gold-stages.You shall have Vada, sure.”

He broke off for an instant and drew nearer. He leantforward, and one arm reached out to encircle her waist.But with an almost imperceptible movement the womanstood beyond his reach.

“And––and after?” he questioned, his arm still outstretchedto embrace her.

The woman made no answer.

“And after?”

There was a hot glow in his tone. He waited. Then hewent on.

“Then I’ll have done everything,” he said––“all that aman can do to make you happy. I’ll have fulfilled all mypromises. I’ll––And you?” he went on, coming close upto her.

This time she did not repulse him. Instinct told her thatshe must not. Before all things she wanted Vada. So hisarms closed about her, and a shower of hot, passionate kissesfell upon her face, her hair, her lips.

At last she pushed him gently away. For the moment allthe old passion had been stirred, but now, as she releasedherself, an odd shiver passed through her body, and a greatrelief came to her as she stood out of his reach. It was thefirst real, definite feeling of repulsion she had had, and asshe realized it a sudden fear gripped her heart, and shelonged to rush from his presence. But, even so, she did notfully understand the change that was taking place in her.Her predominating thought was for the possession of littleVada, and she urged him with all the intensity of herlonging.

“You’ll get her for me?” she cried, with an excitementthat transfigured her. “You will. Oh, Jim, I can neverthank you sufficiently. You are good to me. And whenwill you get her––now? Oh, Jim, don’t wait. You must doit now. I want her so badly. I wonder how you’ll do it.Will you take her? Or will you ask Zip for her? I––Ibelieve he would give her up. He’s such a queer fellow. Ibelieve he’d do anything I asked him. I sure do. Howare you going to get her?”

The man was watching her with all the fire of his love inhis eyes. It was a greedy, devouring gaze of which Jessiemust have been aware had she only been thinking less of herchild. Nor did he answer at once. Then slowly the passionatelight died out of his eyes, and they became thoughtful.

“Tell me,” the woman urged him.

Suddenly he looked into her face with a cruel grin.

“Sit down, Jess,” he said sharply, “and write a letter toZip asking him, in your best lingo, to let you have your kid.An’ when you done that I’ll see he gets it, an’––I’ll see youget the kid. But make the letter good an’ hot. Pile up theagony biz. I’ll fix the rest.”

For a moment the woman looked into his face, now litwith such a cruel grin. Something in her heart gave herpause. Somehow she felt that what she was called upon todo was intended to hurt Zip in some subtle way, and thethought was not pleasant. She didn’t want to hurt Zip.She tried in those few seconds to probe this man’s purpose.But her mind was not equal to the task. Surely a letterappealing to Zip could not really hurt him. And she wantedlittle Vada so much. It was this last thought that decidedher. No, nothing should stand in her way. She steeled herheart against her better feelings, but with some misgivings,and sat down to write.

James watched her. She procured paper and pen, and hewatched her bending over the table. No detail of her faceand figure escaped his greedy eyes. She was very beautiful,so beautiful to him that he stirred restlessly, chafing irritablyunder the restraint he was putting upon himself. Again andagain he asked himself why he was fool enough to do as hewas doing. She was his. There was no one to stop him,no one but––her.

Ah! There was the trouble. Such was the man’s temperthat nothing could satisfy him that gave him no difficulty ofattaining. His was the appetite of an epicure in all things.Everything in its way must be of the best, and to be of thebest to him it must be the most difficult of achievement.

He waited with what patience he could until the letterwas written. Then he watched Jessie seal and address it.Then she rose and stood staring down at the cruel missive.She knew it was cruel now, for, trading on the knowledgeof the man who was to receive it, she had appealedthrough the channel of her woman’s weakness to all thatgreat spirit which she knew to abide in her little husband’sheart.

James understood something of what was passing in hermind. And it pleased him to think of what he had forcedher to do––pleased him as cruelty ever pleases the trulyvicious.

At last she held the missive out to him.

“There it is,” she said. And as his hand closed upon ither own was drawn sharply away, as though to avoid contactwith his.

“Good,” he said, with a peculiar grin.

For a moment the silence remained unbroken. Then thewoman raised appealing eyes to his face.

“You won’t hurt Zip?” she said in a voice that wouldsurely have heartened the object of her solicitude had heheard it.

The man shook his head. His jaws were set, and hissmile was unpleasing.

“Guess any hurtin’ Zip gets’ll be done by you.”

“Ah, no, no!”

The woman reached out wildly for the letter, but Jameshad passed swiftly out of the room.

CHAPTER XIII

BIRDIE AND THE BOYS

The derelicts of a mining camp must ever be interestingto the student of human nature, so wide is the field for study.But it were better to be a student, simply, when probingamongst the refuse heaps of life’s débris. A sentimentalist,a man of heart, would quickly have it broken with the pityof it all. A city’s tragedies often require search to revealthem, but upon the frontier tragedy stalks unsepulcheredin the background of nearly every life, ready to leap outin all its naked horror and settle itself leech-like uponthe sympathetic heart, stifling it with the burden of itsmisery.

No, it is not good to delve into the dark pages of suchfolks’ lives too closely, unless armored with impenetrablecallousness. But one cannot help wondering whence allthose living tragedies come. Look at the men. For themost part strong, able creatures, apparently capable of fightingthe lusty battle of life with undiminished ardor. Lookat the women. They are for the most part thinking women,healthy, capable. And yet––well, nine-tenths of them arenot so cut off from their home cities, their friends andrelatives, without some more than ordinary reason.

It is a sad sight to see the women plunged headlong intothe fight for existence in such places, to witness the crueliron thrust upon them its searing brand, to watch all thenatural softness of their sex harden to the necessary degreefor a successful issue to the battle, to witness their frequentunsexing and ultimate degradation. Such results are commonenough when a woman enters the lists. It is so often amere question of time. And when the end is achieved, howawful, how revolting, but how natural.

How Birdie Mason came to find herself the one womanon Suffering Creek––leaving out the later advent of Scipio’swife––it is not for us to ask. Whatever her little tragedyit is hers alone, and does not concern us. All that we needthink of is her future, and the pity that so well-favored awoman has not found her lot cast in places where herwomanhood has its best chances. However, she is there,living the life of all such hired “helps,” drudging frommorning till night in one long round of sordid labor, inan atmosphere stinking with the fetid breath of debasedhumanity.

But as yet the life has made no inroads upon her moralhealth. Her sunny good nature sets her singing over themost grinding labors. Her smiling face, and ready tongue,give her an air of happiness and joy of life which seemswell-nigh invincible. And her popularity contrives hermany thrilling moments and advantages which she is toomuch a woman and a child to deny herself.

Her day’s work ends with the after supper “wash up,” adreary routine which might well crush the most ardent spirit.Yet she bends over her tubs full of crockery dreaming hersunny dreams, building her little castles to the clink ofenameled tin cups, weaving her romances to the clatter ofcutlery, smiling upon the mentally conjured faces of herboys amidst the steaming odors of greasy, lukewarm water.The one blot upon her existence is perhaps the Chinese cook,with whom she has perforce to associate. She dislikes himfor no other reason than that he is a “yaller-faced doper thatought to been set to herd with a menagerie of measlyskunks.” But even this annoyance cannot seriously dampher buoyancy, and, with wonderful feminine philosophy, sheputs him out of her mind as a “no account feller, anyway.”

She was putting the finishing touches to the long dining-table,making it ready for the next day’s breakfast. It wasnot an elaborate preparation. She “dumped” a box ofknives and forks at each end of it, and then proceeded tochase any odd bits of débris from the last meal on to the floorwith a duster. Then, with a hand-broom and pan, she tookthese up and with them any other rubbish that might belying about. Finally, she set jugs of drinking water atintervals down the center of the table, and her work wasdone.

She looked about her, patting her fair hair with thateminently feminine touch which is to be seen in everywoman from the millionaire’s wife down to the poorestemigrant. Then, with less delicacy, she lifted her apronand wiped the moisture from her round young face.

“Guess that’s ’most everything,” she murmured, her eyesbrightening at the contemplation of her completed task.“I’ll just cut out them––”

She went to a cupboard and drew out a parcel of whitelawn and paper patterns, which she carefully spread out onthe table. And, in a few moments, she was bendingabsorbedly over the stuff, lost in the intricacies of hewingout an embryonic garment for her personal adornment.

It was at this task that Toby Jenks found her. He wasworried to death at the thought that, as a member of thenewly formed Zip Trust, it was his duty to gather informationconcerning the management of children. However, inthe midst of his trouble he hit on the brilliant idea of consultingthe only woman of his acquaintance.

Toby wanted to do something startling in the interestsof the Trust. He felt that his membership had been conferredin a rather grudging spirit. And, to his mildly resentfulway of thinking, it seemed it would be a good thingif he could surprise his friends with the excellence of hisservices in the general interests of the concern.

Birdie heard the door open, and raised a pair of startledeyes at the intruder. It was not that such visits were outof order, or even uncommon, but they generally occurredafter pre-arrangement, which gave her the opportunity of“fixing herself right.”

With a wild grab she scrambled her material, and thepattern, so that its identification would be quite impossibleto male eyes, and hugged it in her arms. Turning swiftlyshe thrust it into the cupboard, and slammed the door. Butshe had no resentment at the interruption. Toby was quitea new visitor, and, well––the more the merrier.

She turned to him all smiles, and Toby returned herwelcome something sheepishly. He cut a quaint figure withhis broad, ungainly shoulders supporting his rather pumpkinface. Then his arms were a little too long and terminatedin two “leg-of-mutton” hands.

“Evenin’, Birdie,” he said bashfully. “Guess you weresewin’?”

“Guess again,” cried the girl readily, her eyes dancing atthe contemplation of a few moments’ badinage with a newcandidate for her favors.

“Well, you wa’an’t playin’ the pianner.”

But Birdie was quite equal to the best efforts of hercandidates.

“My, but ain’t you slick?” she cried, allowing her smilinggaze to remain looking straight into his face in a way sheknew never failed to confuse her admirers on SufferingCreek. She watched till the sturdy man’s eyes turned away,and knew that he was groping for an adequate retort. Thiseffect was the result of practice with her, a practice shethoroughly enjoyed.

The “leg-of-mutton” hands fumbled their way into thetops of Toby’s trousers, and, with a sudden self-assertion,which fitted him badly, he lurched over to the table, beyondwhich Birdie was standing. It was his intention to seathimself thereon, but his tormentor had not yet reached thepoint where she could allow such intimacy.

“Say, I ain’t ast you to sit around,” she said, with analluring pout. “Men-folk don’t sit around in a lady’s’parlor till they’re ast. ’Sides, the table’s fixed fer breakfast.And anyway it ain’t for settin’ on.”

Toby moved away quickly, his attempt at ease desertinghim with ludicrous suddenness. At sight of his blushingface Birdie relaxed her austerity.

“Say, ain’t you soft?” she declared, with a demurelowering of her lids. “I’ve allus heerd say, you only gotto tell a feller don’t, an’ he sure does it quick. Men-folk isthat contrary. Now––”

The encouragement brought its reward. Toby promptlysat himself on the table and set it creaking.

“Well, I do declare!” cried Birdie, in pretended indignation.“And I never ast you, neither. I don’t know, I’msure. Some folks has nerve.”

But this time Toby was not to be intimidated. Perhapsit was the girl’s bright smile. Perhaps, with marvelousinspiration, he saw through her flirtatious methods. Anyway,he remained where he was, grinning sheepishly up intoher face.

“Guess you best push me off. I ain’t heavy,” he daredher clumsily.

“I sure wouldn’t demean myself that way,” she retorted.“Gee, me settin’ hands on a feller like you. It would needa prize-fighter.”

The acknowledgment of his size and strength was a subtletribute which pleased the man, as it was intended to. Hepreened himself and drew his knees up into his arms, inan attitude intended to be one of perfect ease and to showhis confidence.

“I sure ain’t much of a feller for strength,” he saidmodestly, eyeing his enormous arms and hands affectionately.“You ought to see Wild Bill. He––he could eatme, an’ never worry his digestion.”

Birdie laughed happily. She was always ready to laughat a man’s attempt at humor. That was her way.

“You are a queer one,” she said, seating herself on theopposite edge of the table, so that she was sufficiently adjacent,and at the requisite angle at which to carry on herflirtation satisfactorily. “Say,” she went on, with a downdrooping of her eyelids, “why ain’t you in there playin’poker? Guess you’re missin’ heaps o’ fun. I wish I wasa ‘boy.’ I wouldn’t miss such fun by sitting around inhere.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Toby grinned, while his brainsstruggled to find a happy reply. “Well, you see,” hehazarded at last, “poker an’ whisky ain’t to be compared totalkin’ to a dandy fine gal with yaller hair an’ elegant blueeyes.”

He passed one of his great hands across his forehead asthough his attempt had made him perspire. But he had hisreward. Birdie contrived a blush of pleasure, and edged alittle nearer to him.

“Gee, you can talk pretty,” she declared, her lips partedin an admiring smile. “It makes me kind o’ wonder howyou fellers learn it.” Then she added demurely, “But Iain’t pretty, nor nothing like you fellers try to make out.I’m jest an ord’nary sort of girl.”

“No you ain’t,” broke in Toby, feeling that his initialsuccess had put him on the top of the situation, and that hehad nothing now to fear. Besides, he really felt that Birdiewas an uncommonly nice girl, and, in a vague way, wonderedhe had never noticed it before.

“That you ain’t,” he went on emphatically. Then headded as though to clinch his statement, “not by a sight.”

This brought him to a sudden and uncomfortable stop.He knew he ought to go on piling up compliment on complimentto make good his point. But he had emptied hisbrain cells by his threefold denial, and now found himselfgroping in something which was little better than a vacuum.And in his trouble he found himself wishing he was giftedwith Sunny’s wit. Wild Bill’s force would have carried himthrough, or even Sandy Joyce’s overweening confidencewould have kept his head above water. As it was he wasstuck. Hopelessly, irretrievably at the end of his resources.

He perspired in reality now, and let his knees drop out ofhis arms. This movement was his salvation. With therelaxing of his physical effort the restraining grip uponhis thinking powers gave way. Inspiration leaped, and hefound himself talking again almost before he was awareof it.

“You’re a real pretty gal, Birdie,” he heard himself saying.“Now, maybe you got some kids?” he added, with anautomatic grin of ingratiation.

How the inquiry slipped out he never knew. How it hadbeen formulated in his brain remained a riddle that he wasnever able to solve. But there it was, plain and decided.There was no shirking it. It was out in all its nakedcrudeness.

There was a moment’s pause which might have beenhours, it seemed so horribly long to the waiting man. Hebecame dimly aware of a sudden hardening in Birdie’s eyes,a mounting flush to her cheeks and forehead, a sudden, astoundingphysical movement, and then the work-worn palmof her hand came into contact with his cheek with suchforce as to prove the value to her physical development ofthe strenuous labors which were hers.

He never thought a woman’s hand could sting so much.He never thought that he could be made to feel so mean asthis girl’s sudden vehemence made him feel.

“How dare you, you bumming remittance feller?” shecried, with eyes blazing and bosom heaving. “How dareyou––you––you––” And then she further punished himwith that worst of all feminine punishments––she burstinto tears.

The next few moments were never quite clear to the distractedand unthinking Toby. He never really knew whatactually happened. He had a confused memory of sayingthings by way of apology, of making several pacific overtures,which met with physical rebuffs of no mean order,and tearful upbraidings which were so mixed up with chokingsniffs as to be fortunately more or less unintelligible.Finally, when he came to his ordinary senses, and the deadlevel of his understanding was fully restored, he found himselfgrasping the girl firmly by the waist, her golden headlying snugly on his massive shoulder, and with a distinctrecollection of warm ripe lips many times pressed upon hisown. All of which was eminently pleasing.

When once these comfortable relations were thoroughlyestablished, he had no difficulty in clearing the clouds fromher horizon, and relegating her tears into the background.Her nature was of a much too smiling order to need a greatdeal of coaxing. But explanation was needed, and explanationnever came easily to this stalwart dullard.

“Y’see, what I meant was,” he said, with a troubled frownof intense concentration, “maybe you know about kids. Ididn’t mean offense, I sure didn’t. Everybody knows ourBirdie to be jest a straight, up-standin’, proper gal, whowouldn’t hurt nobody, nor nuthin’, ’cep’ it was a buzzin’fly around the supper hash. No feller don’t take no accounto’ her bein’ a pot-wallopin’, hash-slingin’ mutton rustler. Itsure ain’t no worse than ladlin’ swill to prize hogs. It’s jestin the way o’ business. ’Sides, she don’t need to care whatno fellers thinks. She ain’t stuck on men-folk wuth a cent.”

“That I sure ain’t,” asserted a smothered voice from thebosom of his dirty shirt.

“That you ain’t,” he reassured her. “You’re jest adandy gal as ’ud make any feller with a good patch o’ paydirt a real elegant sort o’ wife.”

The golden head snuggled closer into his shirt.

“You ain’t got no patch o’ pay dirt, Toby?” she inquired.

Toby shook his head all unsuspiciously.

“No sech luck,” he asserted. Then with a sudden burstof gallantry, “If I had I don’t guess there’d be no BirdieMason chasin’ around these parts unbespoke.”

The girl’s eyes developed an almost childish simplicity asthey looked up into his foolish face.

“What d’you mean?”

“Mean? Why, jest nothin’, only––”

Toby laughed uneasily. And a shadow crossed Birdie’sface.

“I don’t guess the patch o’ pay dirt matters a heap,” shesaid, with subtle encouragement.

“That’s so,” agreed Toby.

“Y’see, a gal don’t marry a feller fer his patch o’ paydirt,” she went on, doing her best.

“Sure she don’t.”

But Toby’s enthusiasm was rapidly cooling. The girlbreathed a sigh of perfect content. And her heavy breathingwas fast making a moist patch amidst the gravel stainson his shirt front.

“She jest loves a feller––”

Toby’s arm slipped from her waist, and a hunted lookcrept into his foolish eyes.

“An’ she don’t care nothin’––”

The man was suddenly seized with a racking fit ofcoughing, which somehow jolted the girl into an uprightposition.

“Course she don’t,” he agreed, when his paroxysm hadpassed. “Say, you don’t think I got newmony?” he inquired,feeling the need for an abrupt change of subject.“I was allus weak-chested as a kid. An’ talkin’ o’ kids,”he hurried on, in his terror recalling the object of his visit,“guess you ken put me wise.”

“Kids? I wasn’t talkin’ of kids,” protested the girl alittle angrily.

She was hurt. Cruelly hurt. All her best efforts hadgone for nothing. A moment before Toby had seemed sonearly hers, and now––

“No. I didn’t guess you were. But––that is––yousee––”

The man floundered heavily and broke off. His look wasone of comical confusion and trouble. So much so that itwas too much for the girl’s good nature.

“Whose kids?” she demanded, the familiar smile creepingback into her eyes, and her lips pursing dryly. “Yours?”

“Oh, no,” denied the man quickly. “Not mine. It’sZip’s. Y’see, since his wife’s lit out he’s kind o’ left with’em. An’ he’s that fool-headed he don’t know how to raise’em proper. So I guessed I’d help him. Now, if you putme wise––”

“You help raise Zip’s kids? Gee!” The girl slid offthe table and stood eyeing him, her woman’s humor tickledto the limit.

But Toby did not realize it. He was in deadly earnestnow.

“Yes,” he said simply. Then, with a gleam of intelligence,“How’d you raise ’em?”

The girl was suddenly stirred to a feeling of good-humoredmalice.

“How’d I raise ’em? Why, it ain’t jest easy.”

“It sure ain’t,” agreed Toby heartily. “Now, how’dyou feed ’em?”

Birdie became judicially wise.

“Well,” she began, “you can’t jest feed ’em same asord’nary folks. They need speshul food. You’ll need togive ’em boiled milk plain or with pap, you kin git fancycrackers an’ soak ’em. Then ther’s beef-tea. Not jestord’nary beef-tea. You want to take a boilin’ o’ bones, an’boil for three hours, an’ then skim well. After that youmight let it cool some, an’ then you add flavorin’. Nottoo much, an’ not too little, jest so’s to make it eleganttastin’. Then you cook toasties to go with it, or give ’emcrackers. Serve it to ’em hot, an’ jest set around blowin’ itso it don’t scald their little stummicks. Got that? Youcan give ’em eggs, but not too much meat. Meat well donean’ cut up wi’ vegetables an’ gravy, an’ make ’em eat it witha spoon. Knives is apt to cut ’em. Eggs light boiled, an’don’t let ’em rub the yolk in their hair, nor slop gravy overtheir bow-ties. Candy, some, but it ain’t good for theirteeth, which needs seein’ to by a dentist, anyway. Say,if they’re cuttin’ teeth you ken let ’em chew the beef bones,it helps ’em thro’. Fancy canned truck ain’t good ’less it’sbaked beans, though I ’lows beans cooked reg’lar is best.You soak ’em twenty-four hours, an’ boil ’em soft, an’ seethe water don’t boil away. Fruit is good if they ain’t subjec’to colic, which needs poultices o’ linseed, an’ truck likethat. Don’t let ’em eat till they’re blown up like frogs, an’––yougot all that?”

“Ye-es,” replied the bewildered man a little helplessly.

“Well,” continued the smiling girl, “then there’s theirmanners an’ things.”

Toby nodded vaguely.

“You’ll need to give ’em bed at sundown,” Birdie hurriedon. “An’ up at sunrise. Clothes needs washin’ at leastonce a month––with soap. See they says their prayers,an’ bath ’em once a week reg’lar––with soap. But do itSundays. An’ after that give ’em a Bible talk for an hour.Then I dessay they’ll need physic once a week––best giveit Saturday nights. Don’t fix ’em that way same as ahorse, their stummicks ain’t made of leather. You got allthat?”

Toby gave a bewildered nod.

“How ’bout when they’re sick?” he asked.

“Sick? Why, see they don’t muss their clothes,” Birdieanswered cheerfully. “Guess that’s put you wise to mosteverything.”

“Sure.” Toby slid from the table, feeling dazed. Norhad he the courage to ask any more questions. He wastrying hard to fix the salient points of the information in hiswhirling brain, but all he could remember was that all washingmust be done with soap, and the children must havebones to keep their teeth right. He clung to these thingsdesperately, and felt that he must get away quickly beforethey, too, should slip through the sieve of his memory.

“Guess I’ll git along an’––an’ see to things,” he murmuredvaguely, without glancing in Birdie’s direction.“You said beef bones?” he added, passing a hand perplexedlyacross his forehead.

“Sure,” smiled the girl.

“Good. Thanks.” Then he moved heavily off. “Beefbones and soap––bath an’ Bible talk; beef bones an’soap––”

The girl watched him vanish behind the closing door,muttering as he went to “see to things.”

She stood for some moments where he had left her. Thesmile was still in her eyes, but its humor had died out. Shewas unfeignedly sorry he had gone. He was such a good-naturedsimpleton, she thought. A real good-hearted sort.Just the sort to make a husband worth having. Ah, well,he had gone! Better luck next time.

She turned away with a deep, sentimental sigh, andcrossed over to the cupboard. She drew out her work oncemore and again spread out the crumpled paper pattern uponthe gossamer lawn.

Yes, Toby would have suited her well. She heaved anothersigh. He had remittances from home, too. And hewouldn’t be difficult to manage. His head was rather afunny shape, and his face didn’t suggest brightness, butthen––

She began to snip at the material with her rusty scissors.But just as her mind had fully concentrated upon her taska sudden sound startled her. She looked up, listening, andthe next moment the door was flung wide, and Sandy Joycestood framed in the opening.

CHAPTER XIV

BIRDIE GIVES MORE ADVICE

The ordinary woman would probably have resented thissecond interruption, taking into consideration the nature ofBirdie’s occupation, and the fact that Toby’s visit had hardlyproved a success from her point of view. But Birdie wasonly partially ordinary. Her love and admiration for theopposite sex was so much the chief part of her compositionthat all other considerations gave way before it. Her heartthrilled with a sickly sentiment at all times. To her menwere the gods of the universe, and, as such, must be propitiated,at least in theory. In practice it might be necessary toflout them, to tease them, even to snub them––on rare occasions.But this would only come after intimacy had beenestablished. After that her attitude would be governed bycircumstances, and even then her snubs, her floutings, herteasing, would only be done as a further lure, a further propitiation.She loved them all with a wonderful devotion.Her heart was large, so large that the whole race of mencould have been easily lost in its mysterious and obscure recesses.

Again her work was bundled into the cupboard, the poorflimsy pattern further suffering. But beyond a casual wonderif the garment would eventually be wearable, cut fromso mangled a pattern, she had no real care.

Her smiling eyes turned readily upon the newcomer themoment her secret labors had been hidden from prying maleeyes. And there was no mistaking her cordiality for thiscold-eyed visitor.

“Sakes alive! but you do look fierce,” she cried challengingly.“You sure must be in a bad temper.”

But Sandy’s expression was simply the outcome of longand difficult consideration. As a matter of fact, in his hardway, he was feeling very delighted. His past marriedexperience had brought him to the conviction that here wasthe only person in Suffering Creek who could help him.

And, furthermore, he was well satisfied to think that onlyhis experience as a married man could have suggested tohim this means of gaining the information required by theirpresident, and so shown him the way to surpass his comradesin his efforts on behalf of the Trust.

But his knowledge of womankind warned him that hemust not be too hasty. He must not show his hand until hehad established himself in a favorable position in the susceptibleBirdie’s heart. With this object in view he set himselfto offer his blandishments in characteristic fashion. Hedid not suffer from Toby’s complaint of bashfulness. Marriedlife had cured him of that. In consequence, hismethod, if crude, was direct.

“I can’t say the same of you, Birdie,” he declared unsmilingly.“You’re bloomin’ as––as a kebbige.”

“Kebbige?” sniffed the girl.

“Kebbige, sure,” nodded the man of married experience.“Guess mebbe it ain’t a bokay fer smell. But fer taste––withcorned beef? Gee!”

Birdie took no umbrage.

“You got to it––after awhiles,” she remarked slyly.Then she added, with a gush, “D’you know, I’m allus mostscared to death of you men. You’re that big an’ strong, itmakes me feel you could well-nigh eat me.”

Sandy availed himself of the invitation.

“A tasty mouthful,” he declared. And without more adohe passed round the table, caught her quickly in his arms,and, without the smallest expression of interest, kissed her.If interest were lacking, his movements were so swift that,had the girl the least idea of avoiding the embrace––whichshe hadn’t––she would have found it difficult to do so.

“You men are ones!” she declared, with a little gasp, ashis arms fell from about her.

“How’s that?”

“I never did––the cheek of some of you!”

“A feller needs cheek,” replied the self-satisfied widower.“’Specially with pretty gals around,” he added condescendingly.

Birdie eyed him archly.

“Gals?” she inquired.

“I should have said ‘gal.’”

The laughing nod that rewarded him assured Sandy thathe was well on the right track, and at once he took the opportunityof introducing the object of his visit.

“Say,” he began, “guess you never tho’t o’ gettin’ hitchedup to a feller?”

Birdie lowered her eyelids and struggled for a blush, whichsomehow defied her best efforts. But her subtleties werequite lost upon Sandy, and in his eagerness he waited for noreply.

“No, course you hain’t. You got so many beaus tochoose from. ’Sides,” he added thoughtfully, “gettin’ marriedsure needs special savvee. What I mean,” he explained,seeing the amused wonder in the girl’s now wideeyes, “you kind o’ need eddicatin’ to git married. Y’see,when you get fixed that way you sort of, in a manner ofspeakin’, got to unlearn things you never learnt, an’ learnthem things what can’t never be taught. What I mean is,marriage is a sort of eddication of itself, wot don’t learn younuthin’ till you git––unmarried. Savee?”

The girl shook her head in bewilderment.

“That’s sure too bright fer me.”

“That’s ’cos you ain’t been married. Y’see, I have.”

“Can’t you put it easier––seein’ I ain’t been married?”

“Sure I can.” Sandy took up a position, on the edge ofthe table with such a judicial air that the girl started togiggle.

“See here,” he began largely. “Now what d’you know’bout kids––raisin’ ’em, I mean?”

The girl’s eyes twinkled on the verge of laughing outright.

“Zip’s kids?” she inquired shrewdly.

Sandy started and frowned.

“What d’you mean––Zip’s kids?”

“Oh, just nothing,” said Birdie airily. “Seein’ kids wasin your mind, I naturally tho’t o’ Zip’s.”

Sandy nodded. But he was only half convinced. Howon earth, he wondered, did she know he was thinking ofZip’s kids? He felt that it would be best to nip that idea inthe bud. It was undignified that he should appear to beinterested in Zip’s twins.

“I ain’t interested in no special kids,” he said, with somedignity. “I was just theorizin’––like. Now, if you gotmarried, wot you know of raisin’ kids? Guess you’re thatignorant of the subject maybe you’d feed ’em hay?”

Birdie laughed dutifully, but her retort was rather disconcerting.

“You bin married––how’d you feed ’em? I’m learning.”

“How’d I feed ’em?” Sandy eyed his tormentor severely.“That ain’t the question. How’d you feed ’em?”

The girl thought for a moment, and then looked upbrightly.

“If they was Zip’s kids––”

“I said they ain’t.”

“Well, if they were, I’d say––”

“See here, cut Zip’s kids out. They ain’t in this shootin’match,” cried Sandy testily.

But Birdie persisted slyly.

“Y’see, I must get some kids in my eye if I’m to answeryou right,” she said. “I can see things better that way.Now, if they were Zip’s kids––”

“Which they ain’t,” asseverated the man doggedly.

“Which they ain’t,” nodded Birdie, “I’d feed ’em cerealsan’ pap––”

Sandy’s face suddenly cleared. His whole being seemedto expand.

“Say, you’re a bright gal,” he declared. “Cereals an’pap. That’s dead right. Say, you know more than––You’dgive ’em milk to drink––now?” he suggested.

“Oh no, nothing like that. Water.”

The man looked disappointed.

“Water?” he said. “You sure of that? But I guessyou’d give ’em banannys?”

Again the girl shook her head.

“Fruit gives ’em colic.”

“Ah, yes, that’s so. They’d need physic then, wouldn’tthey?”

“You need to be easy with physic, too,” declared the girl,with sparkling eyes. “Don’t give ’em physic ever unlessthey’re real sick.”

The man’s crestfallen appearance set Birdie giggling. Shewas enjoying the situation. She meant to upset all Sandy’spreconceived ideas.

“Now, pork?” he suggested, but with less assurance.

But Birdie was obdurate.

“Never,” she declared emphatically. “Beans, yes.There’s good nourishment in beans. Then ther’s fresh vegetables––heapsof ’em.”

“Ah! Now, how ’bout fixin’ them right––the kids, Imean? Guess they’ll need bathin’.”

But Birdie fell upon him with a strong denial.

“Bath?” she cried. “Gee! you do run on. Guess youwant to hand ’em newmony. Kids sure don’t never needbathin’. Jest a lick with soap an’ hot water once a week.An’ say,” she went on, suddenly remembering somethingshe had told Toby in a fit of mischief, “kep their food soft,or you’ll break their young teeth.”

Sandy’s eyes lit, and in an unguarded moment he admittedthat the thought had occurred to him. Birdie caught himup at once.

“I tho’t you was just astin’ me these questions to see if Iwas right for gettin’ married?” she protested innocently.

“That’s so––course,” he said hastily. Then he wriggledout of it. “But how’d I be able to say you was right if Ihadn’t tho’t on things some myself?”

“Ah! I didn’t just think of that.”

“Course not. Gals never see the fine points of goodargyment.”

Sandy’s superiority was overwhelming, but Birdie hadborne with him with amused patience until now. Shehad known him a long time as a boarder, but never until nowhad she realized the blundering conceit that was his. Shefelt that she had given him rope enough, and it was time tobring him up with a jerk.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” she mocked him, curtseying.

“You’re welcome, ma’am,” Sandy returned, with aclumsy bow, failing to realize her change of attitude.

“If you guess I’m right for marryin’, maybe you’ll handme my diploma,” she said, with a demure down-drooping ofher eyelids.

She waited, and finally glanced up into his flushed face.Her sarcasm had struck home at last, and without hesitationshe went on mercilessly––

“Say, if you ain’t goin’ to hand me a diploma, guess youcan let me get on with my sewin’. Havin’ been a marriedman, maybe you’ll understand men-folk ain’t a heap of usearound when a woman’s sewin’. Guess they’re handy ladlin’out most things, but I’d say a man ain’t no more use roundthe eye of a needle than a camel.”

Sandy’s dignity and temper were ruffled. It was inconceivablethat Birdie––or, as he mentally apostrophized her,“this blamed hash-slinger”––should so flout him. Howdared she? He was so angry that words for once utterlyfailed him, and he moved towards the door with gills as scarletas any blustering turkey-cock. But Birdie had no ideaof sparing him, and hurled her final sarcasm as she turnedagain to her cupboard.

“I’d hate to be one o’ Zip’s kids with you gettin’ busyaround me,” she cried, chuckling in an infuriating manner.

It was too much for Sandy. He turned fiercely as hereached the door.

“You’re ‘bug,’” he declared roughly. “I tell you, Zip’skids ain’t nothin’ to do with me––”

“Which, I’d say, was lucky for them,” cried Birdie airily.

“An’ I’d jest like to say that when a genelman gits aroundto do the perlite by a no-account mutton-worrier, he figgersto be treat right––”

Birdie turned on him with cold eyes.

“I’ll sure be treatin’ you right,” she said, “when I tell youthat door don’t need shuttin’ after you. It’s on the swing.”

She did not wait to witness her guest’s departure. Shefelt it would not be graceful, under the circumstances. So,pushing her head into the cupboard, she once more gatheredup her work.

When the soft swish of the swing-door told her thatSandy’s departure had been taken, she emerged with herbundle and spread it out on the table for the third time.She was all smiles. She was not a bit angry with the foolishwidower. This dogmatic attitude of mind, this wonderfulself-satisfaction, were peculiar to the creature; he couldn’thelp it. But it had roused a mischievous spirit in her, andthe temptation was too great to resist. The only thing sheregretted was having let him kiss her, and she at once putup her hand to wipe the spot where the operation had beenperformed. At any rate, she had certainly taken himdown a peg or two, and the thought set her in high good-humor.

Nor could she help wondering at his stupidity in imaginingshe couldn’t see through his desire for information aboutchildren. It was laughable, coming after Toby’s. Oh, thesemen! They were dear, foolish creatures. Poor kids, shethought, her mind reverting to Zip’s twins. What had theydone to have this pack of foolish people worrying overthem? Were they all going to take a hand in bringing theyoungsters up? Well, anyhow, she pitied them.

She smiled at her thoughts as the busy scissors snippedtheir way round the pattern. These men were too funny.First Toby, now Sandy––who next?

She started and looked up, her scissors poised in the air.The swing-door had swished open, and Wild Bill stood beforeher.

“Good sakes!” she cried. “How you scared me!”Then, realizing what lay before her, she grabbed up herwork, and was for returning it to the cupboard.

But Wild Bill was in a hurry. Besides, he had nothing ofthe ingratiating ways of the other men about him. He sawher object, and stayed her in his own peculiar authoritativefashion.

“Say, you can quit huggin’ them fixin’s,” he cried. “Iain’t come pryin’ around a leddy’s wardrobe. You ken jestset down with paper an’ ink an’ things, an’ write down howbest Zip’s kids can be raised. I’ll git right back for it inha’f-an-hour.”

Nor did he wait for any reply. It was taken for grantedthat his demands would be promptly acceded to, and hevanished as abruptly as he came. The swing-door closed,and Birdie gave a sigh.

“An’ him, too,” she murmured. “Well, I do declare. Itjust licks creation.”

But this was a different proposition to either Toby orSandy. She sprang to her task for the great Wild Bill in away that spoke volumes for her sentimental heart. WildBill? Well, she would never have owned it, but there wasjust one man in the world that scared Birdie to death, and atthe same time made her think her path was a bed of roses,and that was Wild Bill. In an astonishingly short time shewas sitting at the table poring over a writing-pad, and bitingthe already well-chewed end of a pen.

Outside, in the smoke-laden atmosphere of the store,amidst the busy click of poker chips and clink of glasses,Wild Bill was talking earnestly to Minky, who was standingbehind the counter.

They had been talking for some time. Minky’s eyes frequentlywandered in the direction of a table where fourstrangers were playing. But no one could have guessed, inhis quiet scrutiny, the anxiety that lay behind it.

“You must git out to-night?” he inquired of his hawk-visagedfriend.

“Sure,” responded Bill absently.

“High finance?”

Bill nodded, with the ghost of a smile.

“A gang of rich guys,” he said. “They’re gathering atSpawn City for a financial descent on Suffering Creek.They’re all minin’ folk. Guess they’ll be yearning for a biggame.”

“When’ll you git back?”

“Noon, day after to-morrow, maybe.”

Bill had turned away, and was abstractedly contemplatingthe strangers. Suddenly he turned again, and his steely eyesfixed themselves on the troubled Minky.

“Say, things is gettin’ on your nerves. It ain’t yet.Those folks is only lookin’ fer pointers.”

“An’ findin’ ’em?”

“Mebbe. But it takes time. Say, we ain’t dead in SufferingCreek yet. I’ll be around before––”

“Trouble gits busy.” Minky laughed hollowly.

“Sure. I’m most gener’ly around when trouble––gitsbusy. I’m made like that.”

“I’m glad.”

Bill drank up the remains of his drink and began to moveaway.

“Wher’ you going now?” inquired Minky.

“See my plugs fed an’ watered, and then gittin’ aroundmy shack. I’ve got to see some folks before I hit the trail.Say, I ain’t got big enough wad. Best hand me a couple o’thousand.”

Minky dived under his counter, and, after fumbling forsome time, reappeared with the required sum in UnitedStates currency.

“Good luck,” he said, as he passed it across the countercautiously.

“Thanks. An’, say––see the boys keep a close eye onZip––an’ the kids. So long.”

He moved away, but instead of passing out of the frontdoor he disappeared into the dining-room at the back.

CHAPTER XV

THE TRUST AT WORK

Wild Bill’s hut presented an unusually animated appearance.The customary oil-lamp was receiving the supportof two vilely smelling yellow candles. The additional lightthus obtained was hardly in proportion to the offensivenessof the added aroma. Still, the remoter corners of the placewere further lit up, and the rough faces of the four occupantsof the room were thrown into stronger relief.

But the animation of the scene was rather a matter ofvisual illusion than actuality. For Wild Bill, in his rightof proprietorship, was lounging on his blanketed bunk, whileToby’s inanimate form robbed him of the extreme foot ofit. Sunny Oak was hugging to himself what comfort therewas to be obtained from the broken chair, which usuallysupported Bill’s wash bucket, set well within elbow-reachof the table on which the illuminations had been placed.Sandy Joyce with unusual humility––possibly the result ofhis encounter with Birdie––was crouching on an upturnedcracker box.

There was a wonderful intentness, expectancy in everyeye except Bill’s. In Toby’s there was triumphal anticipation,in Sandy’s a conscious assurance. Bill had just comein from preparing his horses for their night journey, and,with an hour and more to spare, and the prospect of a longnight before him, was anxious to take things as easy aspossible.

Reaching his arms above his head he pushed his handsbehind it for support, and opened the proceedings.

“You fellers been busy?” he inquired.

And promptly every mouth opened to give proud assurance.But the gambler checked the impulse with gratingsarcasm.

“I ain’t got but one pair ears,” he said, “so you’ll eachwait till you’re ast questions. Bein’ president o’ this yerTrust I’ll do most of the yappin’,” he added grimly. “I’mgoin’ away to-night fer a couple o’ days. That’s why thismeetin’s called. An’ the object of it is to fix things rightfor Zip, an’ to ’range so he gits a chance to put ’em through.Now, I seen enough of him––an’ others,” with a swift,withering glance in Sunny’s direction, “to know he’s rightup again a proposition that ain’t no one man affair. Combinationis the only bluff to fix them kids of his right.We’ve most of us got ideas, but like as not they ain’t allwe guess ’em to be. In some cases ther’ ain’t a doubt of it.Without sayin’ nothin’ of anybody, I sure wouldn’t trustToby here to raise a crop of well-grown weeds––withouthelp. An’ Sandy, fer all he’s a married man, don’t seemto have prospered in his knowledge of kids. As for Sunny,well, the sight of him around a kid ain’t wholesome. An’as fer me, guess I may know a deal about cookin’ a jack-pot,but I’d hate to raise the bet about any other kind o’ pot.Seein’ things is that way with us we’ll git to work systematic.Ther’ ain’t a gamble in life that ain’t worked the better fera system. So, before we get busy, I’ll ast you, Sunny, tograb the grip under my bunk, an’ you’ll find in it, som’eresunder the card decks, paper an’ ink. You’ll jest fix themright, an’ take things down, so we don’t make no sort o’mistake.”

He waited until Sunny had procured the necessary writingmaterials and set them out on the table. Then he went onin his strong, autocratic fashion.

“Now,” he said, fixing his eyes on Toby. “You’se fellershas had time to make inquiries, an’ knowing you ferbright boys I don’t guess you lost any time. The subject isthe raisin’ of kids. Mebbe Toby, you bein’ the youngestmember of this doggone Trust, an’ a real smart lad, mebbeyou’ll open your face an’ give us pointers.”

By the time he finished speaking every eye was turnedon the triumphantly grinning Toby.

“I sure will,” he said, with a confidence surprising in aman who had been so bashful in his interview with Birdie.Just for a moment one of his great hands went up to hischeek, and he gently smoothed it, as though the recollectionof the slap he had received in the process of gathering informationwas being used to inspire his memory. “Y’see,”he began, “I got friends around Suffering Creek what knowsall about kids. So––so I jest asted ’em, Mr. President.”

He cleared his throat and stared up at the roof. He wasevidently struggling hard with memory.

Bill lolled over and drew a closely written document fromhis pocket and began to peruse it. Sandy tapped the floorimpatiently with one foot. He was annoyed that his evidencewas not demanded first. Sunny sat with pen poised,waiting for the word to write.

Toby’s eyes grew troubled.

“What they chiefly need,” he murmured, his face becomingmore and more intent, “what they––chiefly––need––is––”He was laboring hard. Then suddenly his facebrightened into a foolish smile. “I got it,” he cried triumphantly,“I got it. What kids need is beef bones an’ soap!”

In the deathly silence that followed his statement Tobylooked for approving glances. But he looked in vain.Sunny had dropped his pen and made a blot on his paper.Sandy’s annoyance had changed into malicious triumph.But the president of the Trust made no move. He merelylet his small eyes emit a steely glance over the top of hispaper, directed with stern disapproval on the hopeful “remittance”man.

“An’ what ‘bug-house,’” he inquired, with biting sarcasm,“is your bright friends spendin’ their vacation at?”

Toby flushed to the roots of his unkempt hair. Thesudden death of his triumph was almost tragic. His facefell, and his heavy jaw dropped in pathetic astonishment.But it was not Bill’s sarcasm alone that so bit into his bones,it was the jeering light he witnessed in Sandy’s eyes, combinedwith the undisguised ridicule of Sunny’s open grin.His blood began to rise; he felt it tingling in the great extremitiesof his long arms. The obvious retort of the witlesswas surging through his veins and driving him.

But the Trust president was talking, and the calm ofcoming storm was held for a moment. But it is doubtful ifthe object of his harangue grasped anything of his meaning,so great was his anger against his grinning comrades.

“Beef bones an’ soap!” cried Bill harshly, at the unheedingman. “If they was asses bones we’d sure only need toopen up your family mausoleum to git enough bones toraise a farm o’ babbies on. I’d like to say right here, thefeller wot don’t know the natural use o’ soap is a dangerto the health an’ sanitary fixin’s o’ this yer camp. Beefbones an’ soap!” he went on, as though the very combinationof the words was an offense to his gastronomical senses.“You pumpkin-faced idjut, you mush-headed tank o’ wisdom,you masterpiece of under-done mule brain, how insizzlin’ torment you’re figgerin’ to ladle soap into the vitalsof inoffendin’ babbies, an’ push beef bones through theirinnercent stummicks, ’ud par’lize the brains of every sciencesociety in this yer country to know, an’ drive the whole worldo’ physic dealers barkin’ like a pack o’ mangy coyotes wi’their bellies flappin’ in a nor’-east blizzard. Gosh-dang it,you misfortunate offspring of Jonah parents, we’re settin’out to raise kids. We ain’t startin’ a patent manure fact’ry,nor runnin’ a Chinese hand laundry––”

But the president’s picturesque flow was lost in a suddencommotion. The calm was broken, and the storm burst.The weight of ridicule in his comrades’ faces was too muchfor Toby, and he leapt from the foot of the bunk on whichhe was sitting. He projected himself with more force thancunning in the direction of the grinning loafer, bent onbodily hurt to his victim. But his leap fell short by reasonof Sunny’s agility. The latter snatched up the oil-lampand dodged behind the table, with the result that Toby’sgreat body sent the candles flying, and itself fell amidst thelegs of the upset table. He was on his feet in an instant,however, ready to continue with all his might his vengefulpursuit. But the heavy hand of Bill fell upon his coat collarwith irresistible force, and, with a jerk, he was hurled acrossthe room out of harm’s way.

“Ther’s more hell to the back o’ that if you come ag’in,Toby,” the gambler cried, with cold threat. “An’ as foryou, Sunny,” he went on, turning on the Trust secretary,“I’ll set the boys to wash you clean in Minky’s trough ifyou so much as smile ag’in till we’re through. Fix themcandles, an’ sit right down––the lot of you.”

He stood for a moment eyeing the lurid face of Toby.Nor did he move until the burly remittance man had pulledhimself together. He watched him settle himself again onthe foot of the bunk, passive but inwardly raging. Then,as the candles were once more replaced in the bottles andlit, he calmly picked up his document and returned to hiscouch. The whole episode passed in a few moments, andoutward equanimity was quickly restored. Such was thehot, impulsive nature of these men.

The president lost no time in proceeding with the businessin hand. He addressed his friends generally.

“I ain’t goin’ to say a word ’bout the elegant informationgathered by our bright junior member,” he said slowly.“You’ve all heard it, an’ I guess that’s sure all that’s needed.Wher’ he got it, is his funeral––or should be. Leastways,if it ain’t satisfact’ry it shows laudable enterprise on his part––whichis good for this yer Trust.”

He paused and referred to his document. And in thatmoment, burning to further crush Toby, and add to his ownglorification by reason of the superiority of his information,Sandy cleared his throat to speak. This was to be the momentof his triumph. He meant to wipe out the memoryof past failures in one sweep.

“I consulted a lady friend of mine––” he began. ButBill waved him to silence.

“You needn’t worry nothin’,” he said coldly. “I got itall wrote down here.”

“How you got it?” cried Sandy. “I ain’t said it.”

Bill’s eyes met the other’s angry glance with that coldirony that was so much a part of his nature.

“Guess your leddy friend wrote it,” he said. And, as heheard the words, the last of Toby’s ill-humor vanished. Hisstupid face wreathed itself into a broad grin as he watchedthe blank look of disappointment spread itself over Sandy’sface.

“Listen here, all of you,” the president went on, quiteundisturbed by the feelings he had stirred in the widower.“This is wot the leddy says. She’s writ it all so ther’ can’tbe no mistake.”

Then he began to read from his document with carefuldistinctness.

“‘Don’t take no notice of what I told Toby Jenks an’Sandy Joyce. I jest fooled ’em proper. Toby’s a nice boy,but he ain’t got brains enough to kep himself warm on asummer day, so I didn’t waste nothin’ on him, ’cep’ time.As fer Sandy, he’s sech a con-se-quenshul––’ Have Igot that word right, Sunny?” Bill inquired blandly of thesecretary.

“You sure have,” grinned Sunny, enjoying himself.

“‘Sech a consequenshul fool of an idjut man,’” Bill readon, with a glance into Sandy’s scarlet face, “‘that I hadn’tno time but to push him out of this dinin’-room.’”

“The miser’ble hash-slinger,” exploded the exasperatedSandy, springing to his feet, his eyes blazing with impotentfury.

“Sit down,” commanded the president. “This yere is aproper meetin’ of the Zip Trust, an’ don’t call fer no langwidgeag’in a defenseless woman.”

“Then she ain’t no right to say things,” cried the outragedman.

“She ain’t. She’s wrote ’em,” retorted Bill, in a mannerthat left nothing more to be said. “‘Consequenshul,’ wasthe word,” he went on, rolling it off his tongue as thoughhe enjoyed its flavor, “an’ I allow it must have took herthinking some to be so elegant. You’ll set,” he added,glancing up severely at the still standing man.

Sandy dropped back on his box, but he was anything butappeased. His dignity was hurt sorely. He, who understoodwomen so well, to be treated like this. Then he triedto console himself with the opinion that after all Birdie wasnot exactly a woman, only a “pot-rustler.” But Bill waspushing the business forward. He wanted to get the matterin hand settled.

“Here,” he went on, “this is how she says of them kids:‘You can’t jest lay down reg’lations fer feedin’. Jest feed’em natural, an’ if they git a pain dose ’em with physic.Ther’s some things you must kep ’em from gittin’ into theirstummicks. Kindlin’ wood is ridiculous fer them to chew,ther’ ain’t no goodness in it, an’ it’s li’ble to run slivvers intotheir vitals. Sulphur matches ain’t good fer ’em to suck.I ain’t got nothing to say ’bout the sulphur, but the phospherusis sure injurious, an’, anyway, it’s easy settin’ ’emselvesafire. Kids is ter’ble fond of sand, an’ gravel, an’mud, inside an’ out. Outside ain’t no harm, ’cep’ it keps youwashin’ ’em, but inside’s likely to give ’em colic. Don’t let’em climb on tables an’ things. Ther’ never was a kid whocould climb on to a table but what could fall off. Don’tlet ’em lick stove-black off a hot cookstove. This don’t needexplainin’ to folk of ord’nary intelligence. Coal is formakin’ a fire, an’ ain’t good eatin’. Boilin’ water has itsuses, but it ain’t good play fer kids. Guns an’ knives ain’tneeded fer kids playin’ Injun. These things is jest generalnotions to kep in your head fer ord’nary guidance. Kids’clothes needs washin’ every Monday––with soap. Mebbeyou’ll need to wash every day if kids is frolicsome. Bow-tiesis for Sunday wear. Girl’s hair needs braidin’ everynight, an’ don’t leave chewin’ t’baccer around. Kids is sureto eat it. Best give ’em physic every Saturday night, an’bath ’em Sunday mornin’. Don’t use no hand scrubber. Ifyou can’t git through the dirt by ord’nary washin’, best leaveit. Kids is tender-skinned anyway. After their bath set’em out in the sun, an’ give ’em an elegant Bible talk. Ther’ain’t nothin’ like a Bible talk fer kids. It sets ’em wise toreligion early, an’ gives ’em a good impression o’ the folksraisin’ ’em. Ef they ast too many questions you need toanswer ’em with discretion––’”

“Wot’s she mean by that?” asked Toby, all interest inthe mass of detail.

“Mean? Why––” Bill paused considering.

Sunny looked up from his writing.

“Why, don’t say fool things fer the sake of gassin’!” heexplained readily. “Everything you tell ’em needs a moral.”

“Moral?” murmured Toby vaguely.

“Yes, moral.”

But Sandy saw a chance of restoring his fallen prestige,and promptly seized upon it.

“Moral,” he said, beaming with self-satisfaction, “ishandin’ a lesson all wrop up in fancy words so’s to set folkscussin’ like mad they can’t understand it, an’ hatin’ themselveswhen they’re told its meanin’. Now, if I was goin’to show you what a blamed idjut you was without jestsayin’ so––”

“Shut up!” cried Bill. And without waiting for a replyhe read on, “‘––with discretion. If you treat kids properthey mostly raise themselves, which is jest Natur’. Don’tworry yourself, ’less they fall into a swill-barrel, or dosome ridiculous stunt o’ that natur’––an’ don’t worry them.Ther’ ain’t no sense to anybody goin’ around with notionsthey ken flap their wings, an’ cluck like a broody hen; an’scratchin’ worms is positive ridiculous. Help ’em when theyneed help, otherwise let ’em fall around till they knock senseinto theirselves. Jest let ’em be kids as long as Natur’ fancies,so’s when they git growed up, which they’re goin’ todo anyways, they’ll likely make elegant men an’ women.Ef you set ’em under glass cases they’ll sure get fixed intothings what glass cases is made to hold––that’s images. Idon’t guess I kin tell you nothin’ more ’bout kids, seein’ Iain’t a mother, but jest a pot-wolloper.’”

Bill folded the paper as he finished reading, and silentlyhanded it across to the secretary. Somehow he seemedimpressed with the information the paper contained. Thewhole meeting seemed impressed. Even Sandy had nocomment to offer, while Toby resorted to biting his forefingerand gazing stupidly at the opposite wall. It wasSunny who finally broke the silence.

“Guess I’ll jest writ’ out the chief points fer Zip’s guidance?”he asked.

Bill nodded.

“That’s it, sure,” he agreed. “Jest the chief points.Then you’ll hand it to Zip to-morrer mornin’, an’, ef heneeds it, you can explain wot he ain’t wise to. I’d like tosay right here that this hash-slinger has got savvee. Greatbig savvee, an’ a heap of it. I ain’t a hell of a lot on the kidracket, they mostly make me sick to death. In a manner o’speakin’, I don’t care a cuss for Zip nor his kids. Ef theydrown theirselves in a swill-bar’l it’s his funeral, an’ theirluck, an’ it don’t cut no ice with me. But, cuss me, ef Iken stand to see a low-down skunk like this yer James comeit over a feller-citizen o’ Suffering Creek, an’ it’s our duty tosee Zip gits thro’. I’m sore on James. Sore as hell. I ain’tno Bible-thumpin’, mush-hearted, push-me-amongst-the-angelsfeller anyways. An’ you boys has got to git righton to that, quick.” He glared round at his friends defiantly,as though daring them to do otherwise. But as nobody gavea sign of doubt on the subject, he had no alternative but tocontinue. “I’m jest sore on James an’––” He hesitatedfor the fraction of a second, but went on almost immediately.“––ther’ may come a time when the play gits busy. Getme? Wal,” as Sandy and Sunny nodded assent, and Tobysat all eyes for the speaker, “this yere Trust is a goin’ concern,an’, I take it, we mean business. So, though we ain’trunnin’ a noospaper, maybe we’ll need a fightin’ editor afterall. If we need a fightin’ editor we’ll sure need a fightin’staff. That’s jest logic. I’ll ast you right here, is you boysthat fightin’ staff? If so, guess I’m fightin’ editor. How?”

His eyes were on Sunny Oak. And that individual’sunwashed face broadened into a cheerful grin.

“Fightin’ don’t come under the headin’ of work––proper,”he said. “Guess I’m in.”

Bill turned on Sandy.

“You ain’t got the modest beauty o’ the vi’let,” he said,with saturnine levity. “How you feelin’?”

“Sure good,” exclaimed the widower. “But I’d feelbetter lettin’ air into the carkis of James.”

“Good,” muttered Bill. “An’ you, Toby?” he went on,turning on the “remittance” man. “You’re a heap fat, an’need somethin’ to get it down. How you fancy things?”

“I’d as lief scrap ’side these scalliwags as ag’in ’em,” hereplied, indicating his companions with an amiable grin.

Bill nodded.

“This yere Trust is a proper an’ well-found enterprise,”he said gravely. “As fer Minky, I guess we can count himin most anything that ain’t dishonest. So––wal, this is jestprecautions. Ther’s nuthin’ doin’ yet. But you see,” headded, with a shadowy grin, “life’s mostly chock-full offancy things we don’t figger on, an’ anyway I can’t setaround easy when folks gets gay. I’ll be back to hum dayafter to-morrer, or the next day, an’, meanwhiles, you’ll seethings are right with Zip. An’ don’t kep far away fromMinky’s store when strangers is around. Minky’s a goodfriend o’ mine, an’ a good friend to most o’ you, so––well,guns is good med’cine ef folks git gay, an’ are yearnin’ tohandle dust what ain’t theirs.”

“Them strangers?” suggested Sandy. “Is––?”

Bill shrugged.

“Strangers is strangers, an’ gold-dust is gold-dust,” hesaid shrewdly. “An’ when the two git together ther’sgener’ly a disease sets in that guns is the best med’cine for.That’s ’bout all.”

CHAPTER XVI

ZIP’S GRATITUDE

What a complicated machinery human nature is! Itseems absurd that a strongly defined character should be justas full of surprises as the weakest; that the fantastic, theunexpected, even the illogical, are as surely found in the oneas in the other. It would be so nice, so simple and easy, tosit down and foreshadow a certain course of action for acertain individual under a given stress; and to be sure that,in human psychology, two and two make precisely four, nomore and no less.

But such is not the case. In human psychology two andtwo can just as easily make ten, or fifteen, or any othernumber; and prophecy in the matter is about as great awaste of time as worrying over the possibilities of theweather. The constitution of the nervous system cannot beestimated until put to the test. And when the first test hasrevealed to us the long-awaited secret, it is just as likely to beflatly contradicted by the second. The whole thing is thevery mischief.

Those who knew him would have been quite certain thatin Scipio’s case there could only be one result from theaddition of the two and two of his psychology. In a manof his peculiar mental caliber it might well seem that therecould be no variation to the sum. And the resulting prophecywould necessarily be an evil, or at least a pessimistic one.He was so helpless, so lacking in all the practicalities ofhuman life. He seemed to have one little focus that wasquite incapable of expansion, of adaptability. That focuswas almost entirely filled by his Jessie’s image, with just asmall place in it reserved for his twins. Take the womanout of it, and, to all intents and purposes, he looked out upona dead white blank.

Every thought in his inadequate brain was centered roundhis wife. She was the mainspring of his every emotion.His love for her was his whole being. It was something sogreat and strong that it enveloped all his senses. She washis, and he was incapable of imagining life without her.She was his, and only death could alter so obvious a fact.She was his vanguard in life’s battle, a support that shoredup his confidence and courage to face, with a calm determination,whatever that battle had to offer him.

But with Jessie’s going all prophecy would have remainedunfulfilled. Scipio did not go under in the manner to havebeen expected of him. After the first shock, outwardly atleast, there appeared to be no change in him. His apparentlycolorless personality drifted on in precisely the same amiable,inconsequent manner. What his moments of solitudewere, only he knew. The agony of grief through which hepassed, the long sleepless nights, the heartbreaking sense ofloss, these things lay hidden under his meaningless exterior,which, however, defied the revelation of his secret.

After the passing of the first madness which had sent himheadlong in pursuit of his wife, a sort of mental evolution setin. That unadaptable focus of his promptly became adaptable.And where it had been incapable of expansion, itslowly began to expand. It grew, and, whereas before hisJessie had occupied full place, his twins now became thecentral feature.

The original position was largely reversed, but it waschiefly the growth of the images of his children, and not thediminishing of the figure of his wife. And with this newaspect came calmness. Nothing could change his great lovefor his erring Jessie, nothing could wipe out his sense ofloss; his grief was always with him. But whereas, judgedby the outward seeming of his character, he should have beencrushed under Fate’s cruel blow, an inverse process seemedto have set in. He was lifted, exalted to the almost sublimeheights where his beacon-fire of duty shone.

Yes, but the whole thing was so absurdly twisted. Thecare of his children occupied his entire time now, so that hiswork, in seeking that which was required to support them,had to be entirely neglected. He had fifty dollars betweenhim and starvation for his children. Nor could he see hisway to earning more. The struggles of his unpractical mindwere painful. It was a problem quite beyond him. Hestruggled nobly with it, but he saw no light ahead, and, withthat curious singleness of purpose that was his, he eventuallyabandoned the riddle, and devoted his whole thought to thechildren. Any other man would probably have decided tohire himself out to work on the claims of other men, and sohope to earn sufficient to hire help in the care of the twins,but not so Scipio. He believed that their future well-beinglay in his claim. If that could not be worked, then therewas no other way.

He had just finished clearing up his hut, and the twinswere busy with their games outside in the sun, aided by theirfour-legged yellow companion, whose voice was always to beheard above their excited squabblings and laughter. SoSunny Oak found things when he slouched up to the hut withthe result of the Trust’s overnight meeting in his pocket.

The loafer came in with a grin of good-nature on hisperspiring and dirty face. He was feeling very self-righteous.It was pleasant to think he was doing a good work.So much so that the effort of doing it did not draw the usualprotest from him.

He glanced about him with a tolerant eye, feeling thathenceforth, under the guidance of the Trust he represented,Scipio’s condition would certainly be improved. But somehowhis mental patronage received a quiet set-back. Thehut looked so different. There was a wholesome cleanlinessabout it that was quite staggering. Sunny remembered it asit was when he had last seen it under his régime, and thecontrast was quite startling. Scipio might be incapable oforganization, but he certainly could scour and scrub.

Sunny raked at his beard with his unclean finger-nails.Yes, Zip must have spent hours of unremitting labor on theplace since he had seen it last.

However, he lost no time in carrying out his mission.

“Kind o’ busy, Zip?” he greeted the little man pleasantly.

Scipio raised a pair of shadowed eyes from the inside ofthe well-scoured fry-pan he was wiping.

“I’m mostly through fixin’ these chores––for awhiles,”he replied quietly. Then he nodded in the direction of thechildren’s voices. “Guess I’m goin’ to take the kiddies downto the creek to clean ’em. They need cleanin’ a heap.”

Sunny nodded gravely. He was thinking of those thingshe had so carefully written out.

“They sure do,” he agreed. “Bath oncet a week. Butnot use a hand-scrubber, though,” he added, under a wave ofmemory. “Kids is tender skinned,” he explained.

“Pore little bits,” the father murmured tenderly. Thenhe went on more directly to his visitor. “But they do needwashin’. It’s kind o’ natural fer kids to fancy dirt. Afterthat,” he went on, his eyes drifting over to a pile of dirtyclothes stacked on a chair, “I’ll sure have to do a bit ofwashing.” He set the frying-pan down beside the stove andmoved over to the clothes, picking up the smallest pair ofchild’s knickers imaginable. They were black with dirt, andhe held them up before Sunny’s wondering eyes and smiledpathetically. “Ridic’lous small,” he said, with an odd twistof his pale lips. “Pore little gal.” Then his scanty eyebrowsdrew together perplexedly, and that curious expressionof helplessness that was his crept into his eyes. “Themfrills an’ bits git me some,” he said in a puzzled way.“Y’see, I ain’t never used an iron much, to speak of. It’skind of awkward using an iron.”

Sunny nodded. Somehow he wished he knew somethingabout using an iron. Birdie had said nothing about it.

“Guess you hot it on the stove,” he hazarded, after amoment’s thought.

“Yes, I’d say you hot it,” agreed Scipio. “It’s afterthat.”

“Yes.” Sunny found himself thinking hard. “Yougot an iron?” he inquired presently.

“Sure––two.” Scipio laid the knickers aside. “Youhot one while you use the other.”

Sunny nodded again.

“You see,” the other went on, considering, “these prettiesneeds washin’ first. Well, then I guess they need to dry.Now, ’bout starch? ’Most everything needs starch. Atleast, ther’ always seems to be starch around washing-time.Y’see, I ain’t wise to starch.”

“Blamed if I am either,” agreed Sunny. Then his morepractical mind asserted itself. “Say, starch kind o’ fixesthings hard, don’t it?” he inquired.

“It sure does.”

Scipio was trying to follow out his companion’s train ofthought.

Sunny suddenly sat down on the edge of the table andgrinned triumphantly.

“Don’t use it,” he cried, with finality. “You need toremember kiddies is tender skinned, anyway. Starch’llsure make ’em sore.”

Scipio brightened.

“Why, yes,” he agreed, with relief. “I didn’t jest thinkabout that. I’m a heap obliged, Sunny. You always seemto help me out.”

The flush of pleasure which responded to the little man’stribute was quite distinguishable through the dirt on theloafer’s face.

“Don’t mention it,” he said embarrassedly. “It’s easy,two thinkin’ together. ’Sides, I’ve tho’t a heap ’bout thingssince––since I started to fix your kiddies right. Y’see, itain’t easy.”

“No, it just ain’t. That is, y’see, I ain’t grumbling,”Scipio went on hurriedly, lest his meaning should be mistaken.“If you’re stuck on kiddies, like me, it don’t worryyou nuthin’. Kind of makes it pleasant thinkin’ how youcan fix things fer ’em, don’t it? But it sure ain’t easy doingthings just right. That’s how I mean. An’ don’t it makeyou feel good when you do fix things right fer ’em? But Idon’t guess that comes often, though,” he added, with a sigh.“Y’see, I’m kind of awkward. I ain’t smart, like you orBill.”

“Oh, Bill’s real smart,” Sunny began. Then he checkedhimself. He was to keep Bill’s name out of this matter, andhe just remembered it in time. So he veered round quickly.“But I ain’t smart,” he declared. “Anything I know I gotfrom a leddy friend. Y’see, women-folk knows a heap ’boutkiddies, which, I ’lows, is kind o’ natural.”

He fumbled in his pocket and drew out several sheets ofpaper. Arranging them carefully, he scanned the scrawlingwriting on them.

“Guess you’re a scholar, so I won’t need to read what Iwrit down here. Mebbe you’ll be able to read it yourself.I sure ’low the spellin’ ain’t jest right, but you’ll likely understandit. Y’see, the writin’s clear, which is the chief thing.I was allus smart with a pen. Now, this yer is jest how our––my––leddyfrien’ reckons kids needs fixin’. It ain’t reasonableto guess everything’s down ther’. They’re jest sorto’ principles which you need to foller. Maybe they’ll helpyou some. Guess if you foller them reg’lations your kids’llsure grow proper.”

He handed the papers across, and Scipio took them onlytoo willingly. His thanks, his delight, was in the suddenlighting up of his whole face. But he did not offer a verbalexpression of his feelings until he had read down thefirst page. Then he looked up with eyes that were almostmoist with gratitude.

“Say,” he began, “I can’t never tell you how ’bliged I am,Sunny. These things have bothered me a whole heap. It’skind of you, Sunny, it is, sure. I’m that obliged I––”

“Say,” broke in the loafer, “that sort o’ talk sort o’worrits my brain. Cut it out.” Then he grinned. “Y’see,I ain’t used to thinkin’ hard. It’s mostly in the natur’ o’work, an’––well, work an’ me ain’t been friends for years.”

But Scipio was devouring the elaborated informationSunny had so laboriously set out. The loafer’s picturesquemind had drawn heavily on its resources, and Birdie’s principleshad undergone a queer metamorphosis. So much so,that she would now have had difficulty in recognizing them.Sunny watched him reading with smiling interest. He waslooking for those lights and shades which he hoped his illuminatingphraseology would inspire. But Scipio was indeadly earnest. Phraseology meant nothing to him. It wasthe guidance he was looking for and devouring hungrily.At last he looked up, his pale eyes glowing.

“That’s fine,” he exclaimed, with such a wonderful reliefthat it was impossible to doubt his appreciation. Then heglanced round the room. He found some pins and promptlypinned the sheets on the cupboard door. Then he stoodback and surveyed them. “You’re a good friend, Sunny,”he said earnestly. “Now I can’t never make a mistake.There it is all wrote ther’. An’ when I ain’t sure ’bout nothing,why, I only jest got to read what you wrote. I don’tguess the kiddies can reach them there. Y’see, kiddies isqueer ’bout things. Likely they’d get busy tearing thosesheets right up, an’ then wher’d I be? I’ll start right in nowon those reg’lations, an’ you’ll see how proper the kiddies’llgrow.” He turned and held out his hand to his benefactor.“I’m ’bliged, Sunny; I sure can’t never thank you enough.”

Sunny disclaimed such a profusion of gratitude, but hisdirty face shone with good-natured satisfaction as he grippedthe little man’s hand. And after discussing a few detailsand offering a few suggestions, which, since the acceptanceof his efforts, seemed to trip off his tongue with an easy confidencewhich surprised even himself, he took his departure.And he left the hut with the final picture of Scipio, stillstudying his pages of regulations with the earnestness of adivinity student studying his Bible, filling his strongly imaginativebrain. He felt good. He felt so good that he wassorry there was nothing more to be done until Wild Bill’sreturn.

CHAPTER XVII

JESSIE’S LETTER

Scipio’s long day was almost over. The twins were inbed, and the little man was lounging for a few idle momentsin the doorway of his hut. Just now an armistice in hisconflict of thought was declared. For the moment theexigencies of his immediate duties left him floundering inthe wilderness of his desolate heart at the mercy of the painof memory. All day the claims of his children had upbornehim. He had had little enough time to think of anythingelse, and thus, with his peculiar sense of duty militatingin his favor, he had found strong support for the burdenof his grief.

But now with thought and muscles relaxed, and the longnight stretching out its black wings before him, the grayshadow had risen uppermost in his mind once more, and aweight of unutterable loneliness and depression bore downhis spirit.

His faded eyes were staring out at the dazzling reflectionsof the setting sun upon the silvery crests of the distantmountain peaks. In every direction upon the horizonstretched the wonderful fire of sunset. Tongues of flame,steely, glowing, ruddy, shot up and athwart the picture inever-changing hues before his unseeing eyes. It was alllost upon him. He stared mechanically, while his busy brainstruggled amongst a tangle of memories and thought pictures.The shadows of his misfortune were hard besettinghim.

Amidst his other troubles had come a fresh realizationwhich filled him with something like panic. He had beenforced to purchase stores for his household. To do so hehad had to pay out the last of his fourth ten-dollar bill. Hisexchequer was thus reduced to ten dollars. Ten dollarsstood between him and starvation for his children. Norcould he see the smallest prospect of obtaining more. Hisimagination was stirred. He saw in fancy the specter ofstarvation looming, hungrily stretching out its gaunt arms,clutching at his two helpless infants. He had no thoughtfor himself. It did not occur to him that he, too, muststarve. He only pictured the wasting of the children’sround little bodies, he heard their weakly whimperings at theravages of hunger’s pangs. He saw the tottering gait asthey moved about, unconscious of the trouble that was theirs,only knowing that they were hungry. Their requests forfood rang in his ears, maddening him with the knowledge ofhis helplessness. He saw them growing weaker day by day.He saw their wondering, wistful, uncomprehending eyes, sobright and beautiful now, growing bigger and bigger as theirsoft cheeks fell away. He––

He moved nervously. He shifted his position, vainly tryingto rid himself of the haunting vision. But panic wasupon him. Starvation––that was it. Starvation! God!how terrible was the thought. Starvation! And yet, before––beforeJessie had gone he had been no better off.He had had only fifty dollars. But somehow it was alldifferent then. She was there, and he had had confidence.Now––now he had none. Then she was there to manage,and he was free to work upon his claim.

Ah, his claim. That was it. The claim lay idle nowwith all its hidden wealth. How he wanted that wealthwhich he so believed to be there. No, he could not workhis claim. The children could not be left alone all day.That was out of the question. They must be cared for.How––how?

His brain grew hot, and he broke out into a sweat. Hishead drooped forward until his unshaven chin rested uponhis sunken chest. His eyes were lusterless, his two roughhands clenched nervously. Just for one weak moment helonged for forgetfulness. He longed to shut out thosehideous visions with which he was pursued. He longed forpeace, for rest from the dull aching of his poor torn heart.His courage was at a low ebb. Something of the nature ofthe hour had got hold of him. It was sundown. There wasthe long black night between him and the morrow. He feltso helpless, so utterly incapable.

But his moment passed. He raised his head. He stooderect from the door casing. He planted his feet firmly, andhis teeth gritted. The spirit of the man rose again. Hemust not give way. He would not. The children shouldnot starve while there was food in the world. If he hadno money, he had two strong hands and––

He started. A sudden noise behind him turned him facingabout with bristling nerves. What was it? It soundedlike the falling of a heavy weight. And yet it did not soundlike anything big. The room was quite still, and looked, inthe growing dusk, just the same as usual.

Suddenly the children leapt into his thought, and hestarted for the inner room. But he drew up short as hepassed behind the table. A large stone was lying at his feet,and a folded paper was tied about it. He glanced round atthe window and––understood.

He stooped and picked the missile up. Then he movedto the window and looked out. There was no one about.The evening shadows were rapidly deepening, but he wassure there was no one about. He turned back to the doorwhere there was still sufficient light for his purposes. Hesat down upon the sill with the stone in his hand. He wasstaring at the folded paper.

Yes, he understood. And instinctively he knew that thepaper was to bring him fresh disaster. He knew it was aletter. And he knew whence it came.

At last he looked up. The mystery of the letter remained.It was there in his hand, waiting the severing of the stringthat held it, but somehow as yet he lacked the courage toread it. And so some moments passed. But at last hesighed and looked at it again. Then he reached round to hiship for his sheath-knife. The stone dropped to the ground,and with it the outer covering of the letter. With tremblingfingers he unfolded the notepaper.

Yes, it was as he expected, as he knew, a letter fromJessie. And as he read it his heart cried out, and the warmblood in his veins seemed to turn to water. He longed forthe woman whose hand had penned those words as he hadnever longed for anything in his life. All the old woundwas ruthlessly torn open, and it was as though a hot, searingiron had been thrust into its midst. He cared nothing forwhat she had done or was. He wanted her.

It was a letter full of pathetic pleading for the possessionof Vada. It was not a demand. It was an appeal. Anappeal to all that was his better nature. His honesty, hismanliness, his simple unselfishness. It was a letter thrillingwith the outpourings of a mother’s heart craving for possessionof the small warm life that she had been at such painsto bestow. It was the mother talking to him as he hadnever heard the wife and woman talk. There was a passion,a mother love in the hastily scrawled words that drovestraight to the man’s simple heart. One little paragraphalone set his whole body quivering with responsive emotion,and started the weak tears to his troubled eyes.

“Let me have her, Zip. Let me have her. Maybe I’velost my right, but I’m her mother. I brought her into theworld, Zip. And what that means you can never understand.She’s my flesh and blood. She’s part of me. Igave her the life she’s got. I’m her mother, Zip, and I’ll gomad without her.”

He read and re-read the letter. He would have read it athird time, but the tears blinded his eyes and he crushed itinto his pocket. His heart yearned for her. It cried outto him in a great pity. It tore him so that he was drawnto words spoken aloud to express his feelings.

“Poor gal,” he murmured. “Poor gal. Oh, my Jessie,what you done––what you done?”

He dashed a hand across his eyes to wipe away the mistof tears that obscured his vision and stood up. He was faceto face with a situation that might well have confoundedhim. But here, where only his heart and not his head wasappealed to, there was no confusion.

The woman had said he could not understand. She hadreferred to her motherhood. But Scipio was a man whocould understand just that. He could understand with hisheart, where his head might have failed him. He read intothe distracted woman’s letter a meaning that perhaps noother man could have read into it. He read a human soul’sagony at the severing of itself from all that belonged to itsspiritual side. He read more than the loss of the woman’soffspring. He read the despairing thought, perhaps unconscious,of a woman upon whom repentance has begun itswork. And his simple heart went out to her, yearning, loving.He knew that her appeal was granted even before heacknowledged it to himself.

And strangely enough the coming of that letter––he didnot pause to think how it had come––produced a miraculouschange in him. His spirit rose thrilling with hope, andfilled with a courage which, but a few moments before,seemed to have gone from him forever. He did not understand,he did not pause to think. How could he? To himshe was still his Jessie, the love and hope of his life. It washer hand that had penned that letter. It was her woman’sheart appealing to his mercy.

“God in heaven,” he cried, appealing to the blue vaultabove him in which the stars were beginning to appear. “Ican’t refuse her. I just can’t. She wants her so––mypoor, poor Jessie.”

It was late in the evening when Scipio returned from thecamp driving Minky’s buckskin mule and ancient buckboard.His mind was made up. He would start out directly afterbreakfast on the morrow. He had resorted to a pitifullittle subterfuge in borrowing Minky’s buckboard. He hadtold the storekeeper that he had heard of a prospect somedistance out, and he wanted to inspect it. He said he intendedto take Vada with him, but wished to leave Jamie behind.Minky, as a member of the Trust, had promptly lenthim the conveyance, and volunteered to have Jamie lookedafter down at the store by Birdie until he returned. Soeverything was made easy for him, and he came back to hishome beyond the dumps with the first feeling of contentmenthe had experienced since his wife had deserted him.

Having made the old mule snug for the night on the leewardside of the house, he prepared to go to bed. Therewas just one remaining duty to perform, however, before hewas free to do so. He must set things ready for breakfaston the morrow. To this end he lit the lamp.

In five minutes his preparations were made, and, afterone final look round, he passed over to the door to secureit. He stood for a moment drinking in the cool night air.Yes, he felt happier than he had done for days. Nor couldhe have said why. It was surely something to do withJessie’s letter, and yet the letter seemed to offer littleenough for hope.

He was going to part with Vada, a thought which filledhim with dismay, and yet there was hope in his heart. Butthen where the head might easily enough fail his heart hadaccepted responsibility. There was a note in the woman’sappeal which struck a responsive chord in his own credulousheart, and somehow he felt that his parting with Vada wasnot to be for long. He felt that Jessie would eventuallycome back to him. He felt, though he did not put thethought into words, that no woman could feel as she didabout her children, and be utterly dead to all the old affectionthat had brought them into the world.

He turned away at last. The air was good to breathe to-night,the world was good after all. Yes, it was better thanhe had thought it. There was much to be done to-morrow,so he would “turn in.”

It was at that moment that something white lying at hisfeet caught his eye. Instantly he remembered it, and, stooping,picked it up. How strange it was the difference of hisfeelings as he lifted the outer wrapping of Jessie’s letter now.There was something almost reverent in the way he handledthe paper.

He closed the door and secured it, and went across to thelamp, where he stood looking down at the stained and dirtycovering. He turned it over, his thoughts abstractedand busy with the woman who had folded it ready forits journey to him. Yes, she had folded it, she had sent it,she––

Suddenly his abstraction passed, and he bent over the disfiguringfinger-marks. There was writing upon the paper,and the writing was not in Jessie’s hand. He raised it closerto his eyes and began to read. And, with each word hemade out, his faculties became more and more angrilyconcentrated.

“You’ll hand the kid over at once. I’ll be on the SpawnCity trail ten miles out. If you ain’t there with the kid noonto-morrow there’s going to be bad trouble.

James.”

“James! James!” Scipio almost gasped the name.His pale eyes were hot and furious, and the blood surged tohis brain.

He had forgotten James until now. He had forgottenthe traitor responsible for his undoing. So much was Jessiein his life that James had counted for little when he thoughtof her. But now the scoundrel swept all other thoughtspell-mell out of his head. He was suddenly ablaze with arage such as he had never before experienced. All that washuman in him was in a state of fierce resentment. He hatedJames, and desired with all his small might to do him a bodilyhurt. Yes, he could even delight in killing him. He wouldshow him no mercy. He would revel in witnessing his deathagonies. This man had not only wronged him. He hadkilled also the spiritual purity of the mother of his children.Oh, how he hated him. And now––now he had dared tothreaten. He, stained to his very heart’s core with villainy,had dared to interfere in a matter which concerned amother’s pure love for her children. The thought maddenedhim, and he crushed the paper in his hand and groundit under his heel.

He would not do it. He could not. He had forgottenthe association to which he was sending the innocent Vada.No, no. Innocent little Vada. Jessie must do without her.

He flung himself into a chair and gave himself up topassionate thought. For two hours he sat there raging, halfmad with his hideous feelings against James. But as thelong hours slipped away he slowly calmed. His hatred remainedfor the man, but he kept it out of his silent strugglewith himself. In spite of his first heated decision he wastorn by a guiding instinct that left him faltering. He realizedthat his hatred of the man, and nothing else, was reallyresponsible for his negative attitude. And this was surelywrong. What he must really consider was the welfare ofVada, and––Jessie. The whole thing was so difficult, soutterly beyond him. He was drawn this way and that,struggling with a brain that he knew to be incompetent.But in the end it was again his heart that was victorious.Again his heart would take no denial.

Confused, weary, utterly at a loss to finally decide, hedrew out Jessie’s letter again. He read it. And like a cloudhis confusion dispersed and his mind became clear. Hishatred of James was thrust once more into the background.Jessie’s salvation depended on Vada’s going. Vada must go.

He sighed as he rose from his chair and blew out thelamp.

“Maybe I’m wrong,” he murmured, passing into the bedroom.“Maybe. Well, I guess God’ll have to judge me,and––He knows.”

CHAPTER XVIII

ON THE ROAD

Wild Bill had many things to think of on his way backto Suffering Creek. He was a tremendously alert-mindedman at all times, so alert-minded that at no time was he givento vain imaginings, and to be alone for long together chafedand irritated him to a degree. His life was something morethan practicality; it was vigor in an extreme sense. Hemust be doing; he must be going ahead. And it matteredvery little to him whether he was using vigor of mind orbody. Just now he was using the former to a purpose.Possibilities and scheming flashed through his head in suchswift succession as to be enough to dazzle a man of lessermental caliber.

The expressed object of his visit to Spawn City was onlyone of several purposes he had in hand. And though heturned up at the principal hotel at the psychological momentwhen he could drop into the big game of poker he had promisedhimself, and though at that game he helped himself,with all the calm amiability in the world, to several thousanddollars of the “rich guys’” money, the rest of his visit to thesilver city was spent in moving about amongst the lowerhaunts where congregated the human jackals which hunt onthe outskirts of such places.

And in these places he met many friends and acquaintanceswith whom he fraternized for the time being. Andhis sojourn cost him a good many dollars, dollars which heshed unstintingly, even without counting. Nor was he theman to part with his money in this casual manner withoutobtaining adequate return, and yet all he had to show as aresult of his expedition was a word of information here andthere, a suggestion or two which would scarcely have revealedto the outsider the interest which they held for him.Yet he seemed satisfied. He seemed very well satisfiedindeed, and his reckless spirit warmed as he progressed inhis peregrinations.

Then, too, he “dined” the sheriff of the county at theonly restaurant worth while. He spent more than two hoursin this man’s company, and his wine bill was in due proportionto the hardy official’s almost unlimited capacity forliquid refreshment. Yet even to the most interested hispurpose would have needed much explanation. He askedso few questions. He seemed to lead the conversation inno particular direction. He simply allowed talk to driftwhither it would. And somehow it always seemed to driftwhither he most desired it.

Yes, his movements were quite curious during his visit,and yet they were commonplace enough to suggest nothingof the depth of subtlety which really actuated them. Therewas even an absurd moment which found him in a candy-storepurchasing several pounds of the most sickly candy hecould buy in so rough a place as the new silver town.

However, the time came for him at last to get out on theroad again for home. And, having prepared his team forthe journey, he hitched them up to his spring-cart himself,paid his bill, and, with a flourish of his whip, and a swaggerwhich only a team of six such magnificent horses as he possessedcould give him, left the hotel at a gallop, the steelymuscles of his arms controlling his fiery children as easily asthe harsh voice of a northern half-breed controls a racingdog-train.

And on the journey home his thoughts were never idle fora moment. So busy were they that the delicious calm of thenight, the wonders of the following dawn, the glory of amagnificent sunrise over a green world of mountain, valleyand plain, were quite lost to his unpoetic soul. The onlythings which seemed able to distract his concentratedthoughts were the fiercely buzzing mosquitoes, and these hecursed with whole-hearted enthusiasm which embraced aperfect vocabulary of lurid blasphemy.

Twice on the journey he halted and unhitched his horsesfor feed and drink and a roll. But the delays were short,and his vigorous methods gave them but short respite. Hecared for his equine friends with all his might, and he drovethem in a similar manner. This was the man. A life on abed of roses would not have been too good for his horses,but if he so needed it they would have to repay him by drivingover a red-hot trail.

Now the home stretch lay before him, some twenty milesthrough a wonderful broken country, all spruce and pineforests, crag and valley, threaded by a white hard trail whichwound its way amidst Nature’s chaos in a manner similarto that in which a mountain stream cuts its course, percolatingalong the path of the least resistance.

Through this splendid country the untiring team traveled,hauling their feather-weight burden as though there wasnothing more joyous in life. In spite of the length of thejourney the gambler had to keep a tight pressure on the reins,or the willing beasts would, at any moment, have broken intoa headlong gallop. Their barn lay ahead of them, and theirmaster sat behind them. What more could they want?

Up a sharp incline, and the race down the correspondingdecline. The wide stretch of valley bottom, and again asteep ascent. There was no slackening of gait, scarcely ahard breath. Only the gush of eager nostrils in the brightmorning air of the mountains. Now along a forest-boundedstretch of level trail, winding, and full of protruding tree-stumpsand roots. There was no stumbling. The surefootedthoroughbreds cleared each obstruction with mechanicalprecision, and only the spring-cart bore the burden ofimpact.

On, up out of the darkened valley to a higher level above,where the high hills sloped away upwards, admitting thedazzling daylight so that the whole scene was lit to a perfectradiance, and the nip of mountain air filled the lungs withan invigorating tonic.

At last the traveler dropped down into the wide valley, inthe midst of which he first came into touch with the higherreaches of Suffering Creek. Here it flowed a sluggish, turgidstream, so sullen, so heavy. It was narrow, and at pointscuriously black in tone. There was none of the freshness,the rushing, tumultuous flow of a mountain torrent about ithere. Its banks were marshy with a wide spread of oozysoil, and miry reeds grew in abundance. The trail cut wellaway from the bed of the creek, mounting the higher landwhere the soil, in curious contrast, was sandy, and the surfacedeep in a silvery dust. To an observer the curiosity ofthe contrast must have been striking, but Wild Bill was notin an observant mood. He was busy with his horses––andhis thoughts.

He was traveling now in a cloud of dust. And it wasthis, no doubt, which accounted for the fact that he did notsee a buckboard drawn by an aged mule until he heard ashout, and his horses swung off the trail of their own accord.Quick as lightning he drew them up with a violent curse.

“What in hell––!” he roared. But he broke off suddenlyas the dust began to clear, and he saw the yellow-headedfigure of Scipio seated in the buckboard, with Vadabeside him, just abreast of him.

“Mackinaw!” he cried. “What you doin’ out here?”

So startled was the gambler at the unexpected vision thathe made no attempt to even guess at Scipio’s purpose. Heput his question without another thought behind it.

Scipio, whose mule had jumped at the opportunity of discontinuingits laborious effort, and was already reaching outat the grass lining the trail, passed a hand across his browbefore answering. It was as though he were trying to fixin his mind the reason of his own presence there.

“Why,” he said hesitatingly, “why, I’m out after a––aprospect I heard of. Want to get a peek at it.”

The latter was said with more assurance, and he smiledvaguely into his friend’s face.

But Bill had gathered his scattered wits, and had had timeto think. He nodded at little Vada, who was interestedlystaring at the satin coats of his horses.

“An’ you takin’ her out to help you locate it?” he inquired,with a raising of his shaggy brows.

“Not just that,” Scipio responded uncomfortably. Hefound it curiously difficult to lie with Bill’s steady eyes fixedon him. “Y’see––Say, am I near ten miles out fromthe camp?”

“Not by three miles.” Bill was watching him intently.He saw the pale eyes turn away and glance half fearfullyalong the trail. Then they suddenly came back, and Scipiogazed at the child beside him. He sighed and lifted hisreins.

“Guess I’ll get on then,” he said in the dogged tone of aman who has made up his mind to an unpleasant task.

But Bill had no intention of letting him go yet. Hesat back in his seat, his hand holding his reins loosely inhis lap.

“That wher’ your prospect is?” he inquired casually.

Scipio nodded. He could not bring himself to frame anyfurther aggravation of the lie.

“Wher’ did you hear of the prospect?” Bill demandedshrewdly.

“I––”

But little Vada broke in. Her interest had been divertedby the word prospect.

“Wot’s ’prospect’?” she demanded.

Bill laughed without any change of expression.

“Prospect is wher’ you expect to find gold,” he explainedcarefully.

The child’s eyes widened, and she was about to speak.Then she hesitated, but finally she proceeded.

“That ain’t wot we’re goin’ for,” she said simply.“Poppa’s goin’ to take me wher’ momma is. I’m goin’ tomomma, an’ she’s ever so far away. Pop told me. Jamie’sgoin’ to stay with him, an’ I’m goin’ to stay with momma,an’––an’––I want Jamie to come too.” Tears suddenlycrowded her eyes, and slowly rolled down her sunburnedcheeks.

Just for a moment neither man spoke. Bill’s fierce eyeswere curiously alight, and they were sternly fixed on theaverted face of the father. At last Scipio turned towardshim; and with his first words he showed his relief that furtherlying was out of the question.

“I forgot––somehow––she knew. Y’see––”

But Bill, who had just bitten off a fresh chew of tobacco,gave him no chance to continue.

“Say,” he interrupted him, “ther’s lies I hate, an’ ther’slies that don’t make no odds. You’ve lied in a way I hate.You’ve lied ’cos you had to lie, knowin’ you was doin’ wrong.If you hadn’t know’d you was doin’ wrong you wouldn’thave needed to lie––sure. Say, you’re not only handin’over that kiddie to her mother, you’re handin’ her over tothat feller. Now, get to it an’ tell me things. An’––youneedn’t to lie any.”

Scipio hung his head. These words coming from WildBill suddenly put an entirely different aspect upon his action.He saw something of the horror he was committing as Billsaw it. He was seeing through another man’s eyes now,where before he had only seen through his own simple heart,torn by the emotions his Jessie’s letter had inspired.

He fumbled in his pocket and drew out his wife’s letter.He looked at it, holding it a moment, his whole heart inhis eyes. Then he reached out and passed it to thegambler.

“She’s got to have her,” he said, with a touch of his nativeobstinacy and conviction. “She’s her mother. I haven’t aright to keep her. I––”

But Bill silenced him without ceremony.

“Don’t yap,” he cried. “How ken I read this yer muckwith you throwin’ hot air?”

Scipio desisted, and sat staring vacantly at the long earsof Minky’s mule. He was gazing on a mental picture ofJessie as he considered she must have looked when writingthat letter. He saw her distress in her beautiful eyes.There were probably tears in her eyes, too, and the thoughthurt him and made him shrink from it. He felt that her poorheart must have been breaking when she had written. PerhapsJames had been cruel to her. Yes, he was sure to havebeen cruel to her. Such a blackguard as he was sure to becruel to women-folk. No doubt she was longing to escapefrom him. She was sure to be. She would never have willinglygone away––

“Tosh!” cried Bill. And Scipio found the letter thrustout for him to take back.

“Eh?”

“I said ‘tosh!’” replied the gambler. “How’d you getthat letter?”

“It was flung in through the window. It was tied to astone.”

“Yes?”

“There was a wrappin’ to it.” Then Scipio’s eyes beganto sparkle at the recollection. “It was wrote on by thefeller James,” he went on in a low voice.

Then suddenly he turned, and his whole manner partookof an impotent heat.

“He’d wrote I was to hand her, Vada, over to him tenmiles out on this trail––or there’d be trouble.”

Wild Bill stirred and shifted his seat with a fierce dash ofirritation. His face was stern and his black eyes blazing.He spat out his chew of tobacco.

“An’ you was scared to death, like some silly skippin’sheep. You hadn’t bowel enough to tell him to go to hell.You felt like handin’ him any other old thing you’d got––‘Here,go on, help yourself.’” He flung out his arms toillustrate his meaning. “‘You got my wife; here’s mykiddies. If you need anything else, you can sure get myclaim. Guess my shack’ll make you an elegant summerpalace.’ Gee!”

The gambler’s scorn was withering, and with each burstof it he flourished his arms as though handing out possessionsto an imaginary James. And every word he spokesmote Scipio, goading him and lashing up the hatred whichburnt deep down in his heart for the man who had ruinedhis life.

But the little man’s thought of Jessie was not so easily setaside, and he jumped to defend himself.

“You don’t understand––” he began. But the other cuthim short with a storm of scathing anger.

“No, I sure don’t understand,” he cried, “I don’t. I suredon’t. Guess I’m on’y jest a man. I ain’t no sort o’ bumangel, nor sanctimonious sky-bustin’ hymn-smiter. I’m on’ya man. An’ I kind o’ thank them as is responsible that I ain’tnuthin’ else. Say”––his piercing eyes seemed to bore theirway right down to the little man’s heart like red-hot needles––“Iain’t got a word to say to you but you orter be herdin’wi’ a crowd o’ mangy gophers. Tchah! A crowd o’ maggots’ud cut you off’n their visitin’ list in a diseased carkis.Here’s a feller robs you in the meanest way a man ken berobbed, an’ you’re yearnin’ to hand him more––a low-downcur of a stage-robber, a cattle-thief, the lowest down bumever created––an’ you’d hand over this pore innercent littlekiddie to him. Was there ever sech a white-livered sucker?Say, you’re responsible fer that pore little gal’s life, you’reresponsible fer her innercent soul, an’ you’d hand her overto James, like the worstest cur in creation. Say, I ain’t gotwords to tell you what you are. You’re a white-livered bumthat even hell won’t give room to. You’re––”

“Here, hold on,” cried Scipio, turning, with his pale eyesmildly blazing. “You’re wrong, all wrong. I ain’t doingit because I’m scared of James. I don’t care nothing for histhreats. I’m scared of no man––not even you. See? MyJessie’s callin’ for her gal––my Jessie! Do you know whatthat means to me? No, of course you don’t. You don’tknow my Jessie. You ain’t never loved a wife like my Jessie.You ain’t never felt what a kiddie is to its mother.You can’t see as I can see. This little gal,” he went on, tenderlylaying an arm about Vada’s small shoulders, “will,maybe, save my pore Jessie. That pore gal has hit the wrongtrail, an’––an’ I’d sacrifice everything in the world to saveher. I’d––I’d sell my own soul. I’d give it to––save her.”

Scipio looked fearlessly into the gambler’s eyes. Hispale cheeks were lit by a hectic flush of intense feeling.There was a light in his eyes of such honesty and devotionthat the other lowered his. He could not look upon it unmoved.

Bill sat back, for once in his life disconcerted. All hisrighteous indignation was gone out of him. He was confrontedwith a spectacle such as, in his checkered career, hehad never before been brought into contact with. It wasthe meeting of two strangely dissimilar, yet perfectly human,forces. Each was fighting for what he knew to be right.Each was speaking from the bottom of a heart inspired byhis sense of human right and loyalty. While the gambler,without subtlety of emotion, saw only with a sense of humanjustice, with a hatred of the man who had so wrongedthis one, with a desire to thwart him at every turn, the otherpossessed a breadth of feeling sufficient to put out of histhoughts all recollection of his personal wrong, if only hecould help the woman he loved.

It was a meeting of forces widely different, yet each in itsway thrilling with a wonderful honesty of purpose. And,curiously enough, the purpose of Scipio, who lacked so muchof the other’s intellect and force, became, in a measure, thedominating factor. It took hold of the gambler, and stirredhim as he had never been stirred before.

Suddenly Wild Bill leaned forward. Once more thoseswift, relentless eyes focused and compelled the others.

“Zip,” he said in a tone that was strangely thrilling,“maybe I didn’t get all you felt––all you got in that tow-headof yours. That bein’ so, guess I owe you amends.But I’m goin’ to ast you to sure fergit that gal’s letter––ferawhiles. I’m goin’ to ast you to turn that bussock-headedmule you’re drivin’ right around, and hit back for the Creek.You do this, Zip, an’ I’ll tell you what I’m goin’ to do. Iain’t no sentimental slob. I ain’t got the makin’s in me ofeven a store-mussed angel. See? But if you do this Iswar to you right here I’m goin’ to see your Jessie right.I swar to you I’ll rid her of this ‘Lord’ James, an’ it’ll jestbe up to you to do the rest. Git me?”

Scipio took a breath that was something like a gasp.

“You’ll––you’ll help me get her back?” he breathed,with a glow of hope which almost shocked his companion.

“I’m not promisin’ that,” said Bill quickly. “That’s sureup to you. But I give it you right here, I’ll––shift thisdoggone skunk out of your way.”

Scipio made no verbal reply. Just for a moment helooked into the gimlet eyes of the other. He saw the ironpurpose there. He saw the stern, unyielding compression ofthe lean, muscular jaws. There was something tremendousin the suggestion of power lying behind this ruffian’s exterior.He turned away and gathered up the old mule’sreins.

“You’ve allus been friendly to me, Bill, so––”

He pulled off the trail and turned the mule’s head in thedirection of home. And the rest of the gambler’s journeywas done in the wake of Minky’s buckboard.

CHAPTER XIX

A FINANCIAL TRANSACTION

Scipio was washing clothes down at the creek. So muchhad happened to him that day, so many and various had beenthe emotions through which he had passed, that there wasonly one thing left him to do. He must work. He darednot sit down and think. Hard physical labor was whathe required. And the rubbing out of the children’s smallclothes, and his own somewhat tattered garments, became asort of soothing drug which quieted his troubled mind, andlulled his nerves into a temporary quiescence. The childrenwere with him, playing unconcernedly upon the muddybanks of the creek, with all the usual childish zest for anythingso deliciously enticing and soft as liquid river mud.

Vada had forgotten her journey of that morning, it hadquite passed out of her little head in the usual way of suchtrifling unpleasantnesses which go so frequently to make upthe tally of childhood’s days. Jamie had no understandingof it. His Vada was with him again, hectoring, guiding himas was her wont, and, in his babyish way, he was satisfied.

As for Scipio he gave no sign of anything. He was concentratingall his mental energies on the work in hand, thusendeavoring to shut out memory which possessed nothingbut pain for him. Every now and then a quick, sidelongglance in the children’s direction kept him informed of theirdoings and safety, otherwise his eyes were rarely raised fromthe iron bath, filled to the brim with its frothing suds.

Striding down the slope from the hut where he had comein search of Scipio, this was the picture Wild Bill discovered.The little yellow-headed man was standing in themidst of a small clearing in the bushes, a clearing long sincemade for the purposes of his wife’s weekly wash. His backwas turned, and his small figure was bowed over the tub infront of him. Every bush around him was decorated withclothes laid out on their leafy surfaces, where the sun couldbest operate its hygienic drying process. He saw the bobbingheads of the mudlarking children a few yards awaywhere the low cut-bank hid their small bodies from view.And somehow an unusual pity stirred his hard, world-wornheart.

And yet no one could have called him a sentimental man.At least, no one who knew his method of life. How wouldit be possible to gild a man with humane leanings who wouldsit in to a game at poker, and, if chance came his way, takefrom any opponent his last cent of money, even if he knewthat a wife and children could be reduced to starvationthereby? How could a kindliness of purpose be read intothe acts of a man who would have no scruple in taking life,under provocation, without the least mercy or qualm of conscience?He displayed no tenderness, he hated what heconsidered such weakness. It was his studied practice toavoid showing consideration for others, and he would havebitterly resented those who considered him. He preferredthat his attitude towards the world should be one of unyieldingselfishness. Such was the game of life as he understoodit.

Yes, honestly enough, he hated sentiment, and for thisvery reason he cursed himself bitterly that such a feelingas he now experienced should so disturb him. He hurrieddown the slope a shade quicker than there was any necessityfor. And it was as though he were endeavoring to outstripthe feelings which pursued him.

Scipio heard him coming, and glanced round quickly.When he beheld his visitor he nodded a greeting and continuedhis work. In his heart was a curious feeling towardsthe gambler. He could not have described it. It was toocomplicated. He liked Wild Bill. He felt that for someindefinite reason he was his friend. Yet he resented him,too. He did not know he resented him. Only he felt thatthis man dominated him, and he was forced to obey himagainst his will. At sight of him his mind went back tothe events of that morning. He thought of Bill’s promise,and a curious excitement stirred within him. He wonderednow what this visit portended.

For once the gambler did not display his usual readiness.He did not speak for some moments, but took up a positionwhence he could see the children at their play, and best watchthe little washerman, on whom he intended to thrust a propositionthat had been revolving in his mind some time. Hechewed his tobacco steadily, while his expression wentthrough many changes. At last he drew his shaggy browstogether and eyed his victim with shrewd suspicion.

“Say, you’re kind o’ smart, ain’t you?” he demandedharshly.

The other looked up with a start, and his mildly inquiringglance should have convinced the most skeptical to the contrary.But apparently it had no such effect on his visitor.

“I’d never ha’ tho’t it,” Bill went on coldly. “To lookat you one ’ud sure think you was that simple a babby couldfool you. Howsum,” he sighed, “I don’t guess you kennever rightly tell.”

A flush began to warm Scipio’s cheeks. He couldn’t understand.He wondered hard, vainly endeavoring to graspwherein he had offended.

“I––I don’t get you,” he said, in a bewildered fashion,dropping the garment he was washing back into the soapsuds.

Bill’s expression underwent another change as he caughtat the words.

“You don’t get me?” he said ironically. “You don’t getme?” Then he shrugged as though he was not angry, butmerely deplored the other’s unsuspected cunning. “Youcan’t strike it rich an’ guess you’re goin’ to blind folks. I’dsay it needs every sort of a man to do that around theseparts.”

Scipio gasped. He had no other feeling than blank astonishment.

“I ain’t struck it rich,” he protested.

And his denial was received with a forced peal of laughter.

“Say, you’re a heap shrewd,” cried Bill, when his laughhad subsided. “I’d say you’re jest about slick. Gee! Wal,I can’t blame you any fer holdin’ your face shut. Ther’sa mint o’ dollars ken drop out of a feller’s mouth throughan unnatteral openin’. Ef you’d got busy gassin’, it’s amillion dollar bet all the folks around this lay-out ’ud bechasin’ you clear to death. Say, it’s right, though? There’schunks of it stickin’ right out, fine, yaller, dandy gold. An’the quartz bank cuttin’ down wider an’ wider?”

But Scipio shook his head. His bewilderment had gone,and in place of it was sad conviction.

“Not yet,” he said. “Not yet. I ain’t seen it, anyway.I sure think there’s gold in plenty on that claim. I knowthere is,” he added, with unusual force, his pulses beginningto quicken, and a sudden hope stirring. Bill’s accusationwas aiding the effect. “But it ain’t on the surface. Itsure ain’t.”

He stood wondering, all his washing forgotten in thisnewly raised hope so subtly stirred by the gambler. Hadsomeone else discovered what he had missed for so long?He hadn’t been near his claim for some days. Had someone––?

“Who says about the gold?” he demanded, with suddeninspiration.

“The folks.”

The gambler passed the point without committing himself.

Scipio shook his head, puzzling. Something must surelyhave transpired, and yet––

“You got me beat, Bill. You have, sure.” The smilethat accompanied his words was good to see. But somehowthe gambler found the far horizon of more interest just then.

“You’re a wide one all right,” he said thoughtfully.“There’s no gettin’ upsides with you. Give me them quiet,simple sort o’ fellers every time. They got the gas machinebeat so far you couldn’t locate him with a forty-foot microscope.Gee!” He chuckled, and turned again to contemplatehis companion, much as he would a newly discoveredwonder of the world.

But poor Scipio was really becoming distressed. Hehoped, merely because the other forced him to hope, by hisown evident sincerity. But the charge of shrewdness, ofconspiring to keep a secret he had never possessed, worriedhim.

“I take my oath I don’t know a thing, Bill,” he declaredearnestly. “I sure don’t. You’ve got to believe me, becauseI can’t say more. I seen my claim days back, an’ Ihadn’t a color. I ain’t seen it since. That’s fact.”

It was strange to see how readily the disbelief died outof the other’s face. It was almost magical. It was asthough his previous expression had been nothing but actingand his fresh attitude the result of studied preparation.

“Well, Zip,” he said seriously, almost dejectedly, “if youput it that way, I sure got to b’lieve you. But it’s queer. Itsure is. There’s folks ready to swear ther’s rich gold onyour claim, an’ I’ll tell you right here I come along to gitin on it. Y’see, I’m a bizness man, an’ I don’t figger togit a crop o’ weeds growin’ around my feet. I sez to myself,I sez, directly I heerd tell, ‘Here’s Zip with an elegantpatch o’ pay dirt, an’ here am I with a wad of bills handy,which I’d sure like to turn over some.’ Then I sez––I wantyou to understand jest how I thought––I sez,‘Mebbe I’vekind o’ bin useful to Zip. Helped him out some, when hewas fixed awkward.’ You see, it ain’t my way to do thingsfor nothing. An’ I do allow I bin useful to you. Well, Ithought o’ these things, so I come along right smart to getin on the plum. Sez I, ‘Zip, bein’ under obligation to mesome, mebbe he’ll let me buy ha’f share in his claim,’ mehandin’ him a thousand dollars. It ’ud be a spot cash deal,an’ me puttin’ in a feller to work––an’ see things right ferme––why, I guess there’d be no chance o’ you gettin’ gay––an’fakin’ the output. See? I don’t guess you’re on thecrook, but in bizness a feller don’t take chances. Y’see I’mpretty bright when it gits to bizness, an’, anyway, I don’tstand fer no play o’ that kind. Get me?”

The gambler’s manner was wholly severe as he explainedhis proposition, and impressed his views of business. Scipiolistened without the slightest umbrage. He saw nothingwrong, nothing unfriendly in the precautions the other hadintended to take. As a matter of fact, the one thing thatconcerned him was the disappointment he must causehim.

“There’s nothing like straight talk, Bill,” he said, cordially.“I allus like straight talk. You kind of know just whereyou are then. There’s not a doubt you’ve been real goodto me,” he went on, with evident feeling, “and I’llnever be able to forget it––never. I tell you right here, ifthere was anything in the world I could do in return, I’ddo it.”

He smiled quaintly and pushed his stubby fingers throughhis sparse hair in his most helpless manner.

“If there was gold on my claim, I’d let you in all youneed, and I wouldn’t want your dollars. Dollars? No,Bill, I don’t want dollars for doing anything for you. I suredon’t. I mean that. Maybe you’ll understand, y’see I’mnot a business man––never was.”

The gambler averted his eyes. He could not look intothe other’s face so shining with honesty and gratitude.

“But there ain’t no gold found on that claim yet,” Scipiowent on. “Leastways, not that I know of, so what’s theuse deceivin’ you? An’ dollars, why, there’s no question of’em between us. You can stand in ha’f my claim, Bill, an’welcome, but you ain’t going to pay me dollars for gold thatain’t been found. Yes, you’re sure welcome to ha’f myclaim, an’ you ken set a man working for you. I’ll not saybut I’ll be glad of the help. But don’t make no mistake,gold ain’t been found, as far as I know, an’ there may benone there, so I’d be glad if you don’t risk a lot of dollarsin the work.”

The gambler felt mean as he listened to the quiet wordsringing with such simple honesty. Time and again his beadyeyes lifted to the steady blue ones, only to drop quickly beforetheir fearless sincerity. He stirred irritably, and a hotimpatience with himself drove him so that the moment Scipiofinished speaking he broke out at once.

“Here,” he cried, without the least gentleness, “you’retalkin’ a heap o’ foolishness. I’m a bizness man offerin’ abizness proposition. I don’t want nuthin’ given. I’m outto make a deal. You say there’s no gold there. Wal, I saythere sure is. That bein’ so I’d be a low down skunk takin’ha’f your claim fer nix, jest because you guess you owe methings––which I ’low you sure do, speakin’ plain. I got athousand dollars right here,”––he pulled out a packet of billsfrom his hip pocket, and held them up for the other’sinspection––“an’ them dollars says ther’s gold on your claim.An’ I’m yearnin’ to touch ha’f that gold. But I’m takin’ nochances. I want it all wrote down reg’lar so folks can’tsay I sneaked around you, an’ got it for nix. Gee, I’d lookmighty small if you turned around on me afterwards. No,sir, you don’t get me that way. I’m only soft around myteeth. If you’re the man I take you for, if you’re honestas you’re guessin’, if you feel you want to pay me fer anythingI done for you, why, cut the gas an’ take my dollars’an’ I’ll get the papers made out by a Spawn City lawyer.They’re all that crooked they couldn’t walk a chalk-line, butI guess they know how to bind a feller good an’ tight, an’I’ll see they bind you up so ther’ won’t be no room for fooltricks. That’s bizness.”

Scipio shook his head. And Bill flushed angrily.

“It ain’t square,” the little man protested. “Maybeyou’ll lose your money.”

“That’s up to me,” the gambler began fiercely. Then hechecked himself, and suddenly became quite grieved.“Wal, Zip, I wouldn’t ha’ b’lieved it. I sure wouldn’t. Butther’––life’s jest self. It’s all self. You’re like all the rest.I’ve been chasin’ a patch o’ good pay dirt ever since I binaround Sufferin’ Creek, an’ it’s only now I’ve found one tosuit me. I sure thought you’d let me in on it. I sure did.Howsum, you won’t. You want it all yourself. Wall, goahead. An’ you needn’t worry about what I told you thismorning. My word goes every time. This ain’t going tomake no difference. I’m not goin’ to squeal on that jestbecause you won’t ’blige me.”

He made as though to return his dollars to his pocket.He had turned away, but his shrewd eyes held his companionin their focus. He saw the flush of shame on Scipio’s face.He saw him open his mouth to speak. Then he saw it shutas he left his tub and came towards him. Bill waited, hiscunning telling him to keep up his pretense. Scipio did notpause till he laid a hand on his arm, and his mild eyes werelooking up into his keen, hard face.

“Bill,” he said, “you can have ha’f my claim and––andI’ll take your dollars. I jest didn’t guess I was bein’ selfishabout it––I didn’t, truth. I was thinkin’ o’ you. I wasthinkin’ you might lose your bills. Y’see, I haven’t had thebest of luck––I––”

But the gambler’s face was a study as he pushed his handoff and turned on him. There was a fine struggle going onin his manner between the harshness he wished to displayand the glad triumph he really felt.

“Don’t slob,” he cried. “Here’s the bills. Stuff ’emright down in your dip. Ha’f that claim is mine, an’ I’llhave the papers wrote reg’lar. I didn’t think you was mean,an’ I’m glad you ain’t.”

Scipio took the money reluctantly enough, and pushed itinto his pocket with a sigh. But Bill had had enough of thematter. He turned to go, moving hastily. Then, of asudden, he remembered. Thrusting his hand into a sidepocket of his jacket he produced a paper parcel.

“Say, Zip, I come nigh forgettin’,” he cried cheerfully.“The hash-slinger down at Minky’s ast me to hand youthis. It’s for the kiddies. It’s candy. I’d say she’s sweeton your kiddies. She said I wasn’t to let you know she’dsent ’em. So you ken jest kep your face closed. So long.”

He hurried away like a man ashamed. Scipio had sucha way of looking into his eyes. But once out of sight heslackened his pace. And presently a smile crept into hissmall eyes, that set them twinkling.

“Guess I’m every kind of a fule,” he muttered. “Athousand dollars! Gee! An’ ther’ ain’t gold within a mileof the doggone claim––’cep’ when Zip’s ther’,” he addedthoughtfully.

CHAPTER XX

HOW THE TRUST BOUGHT MEDICINE

Wild Bill ate his supper that evening because it was hiscustom to do so. He had no inclination for it, and it gavehim no enjoyment. He treated the matter much as he wouldhave treated the stoking of a stove on a winter’s night. Solong as he was filled up he cared little for the class of thefuel.

Birdie waited on him with an attention and care such asshe never bestowed upon any other boarder at the store,and the look in her bright eyes as she forestalled his wishes,compared with the air with which she executed theharshly delivered orders of the rest of the men, was quitesufficient to enlighten the casual onlooker as to the state ofher romantic heart. But her blandishments were quite lostupon our hero. He treated her with much the same sort ofindifference he might have displayed towards one of thecamp dogs.

To-night, particularly, nothing she could do or say seemedto give him the least satisfaction. He ignored her as heignored all the rest of the boarders, and devoured his mealin absolute silence––in so far as any speech went––wraptin an impenetrable moroseness which had a damping effectupon the entire company.

Truth to tell, he was obsessed with his thoughts and feelingsagainst the man James. With every passing day hisresentment against him piled up, till now he could think ofnothing much else but a possible way to dislodge him fromthe pinnacle of his local notoriety, and so rid the district ofthe threat of his presence.

How much of this feeling was purely personal, inspired bythe natural antagonism of a strong, even violent, natureagainst a man whose very existence was an everlasting challengeto him, and how far it was the result of an unadmittedsympathy for Scipio, it would have been impossible to tell ina man like Wild Bill. Reason was not in such things withhim. He never sought reasons where his feelings were concerned.James must go. And so his whole mind and forcewas given up to a search for adequate means to accomplishhis purpose.

The problem was not easy. And when things were noteasy to him, Bill’s temper invariably suffered. Besides,scheming was never pleasant to him. He was so essentiallya man of action. An open battle appealed to him as nothingelse in the world appealed to him. Force of arms––thatwas his conception of the settlement of human differences.

He admitted to himself that the events of the day hadstirred his “bile.” He felt that he must hit out to easehimself, and the one direction to hit out in which wouldhave given him any satisfaction was not yet available. Sohe brooded on, a smoldering volcano which his acquaintancesavoided with a care inspired by past experience.

But his mood was bound to find an outlet somehow. Itis always so. If the opportunity does not come naturally,ill-temper will make one. It was this way with the gambler.A devilish impulse caught him just as supper was nearing itsfinish.

The thought occurred with the entrance of Sandy Joyce,who took the empty place at the table on Bill’s right. Birdiewas hovering near, and, as Sandy took his seat, she suddenlydumped a fresh cup of coffee before the gambler. She giggledcoyly as the cup clattered on the bare table.

“I ain’t set sugar in it, Bill,” she said sweetly, and reachedtowards the sugar-bowl.

But the man pushed her arm roughly aside.

“Oh, skip!” he cried. “You make me sick.”

His bearishness in no way disconcerted the girl. She persisted,and dropped two spoonfuls of granulated sugar intohis cup.

“Some folks need sugar,” she remarked, with anothergiggle, as she moved away. And somehow it was Bill whohad suffered loss of dignity.

This only helped to aggravate his mood, and he turned hissmall eyes sharply on Sandy.

“I’m needin’ someone to work a claim fer me,” he saidin a voice intended to reach every ear, and as he spoke acurious look came into his eyes. It was half a grin, half achallenge, and wholly meant mischief.

The effect was exactly as he had calculated. The entireattention of the room was on him at once, and he warmedas he waited for Sandy’s reply.

“You––you got a claim?” the widower inquired blankly.

Bill licked his lips after devouring a mouthful of pie.

“An’ why in hell not?” he retorted.

Before Sandy could gather an adequate reply, the matterwas taken up by a young miner further down the table.

“Wher’ you got it, Bill?” he inquired, with genuineinterest.

The gambler swallowed another mouthful of pie, andrammed the rim of crust into his cheek with his thumb, andleisurely devoured it before replying.

“I don’t see that my claim has anything to do wi’ thecompany present,” he said at last, with a dangerous look inhis half-grinning eyes. “But, seein’ Mr. Joe Brand is kindo’ curious, guess he may as well know first as last.”

“I didn’t mean no offense, Bill,” apologized the miner,flushing and speaking hurriedly.

Bill promptly became sarcastic.

“Course you didn’t. Folks buttin’ in never don’t mean nooffense. Howsum, guess my claim’s on the banks o’ Sufferin’Creek. Maybe you feel better now?” He glared down thetable, but finally turned again to Sandy. “You ain’t perticklerbusy ’bout now, so––ther’s thirty dollars a week saysyou ken hev the job. An’ I’ll give you a percentage o’ thegold you wash up,” he added dryly. “You on?”

Sandy nodded. He didn’t quite understand his friend’sgame. This was the first he had heard of Bill havingacquired a claim––and on the river, too. There was onlyone other man on the river, and––well, Zip’s claim was thejoke of the camp.

He had just formulated a question in his mind, when thewords were taken out of his mouth by a heavy-faced prospectorfurther down the table.

“Wher’ ’bouts on the Creek, Bill?” he inquired.

The gambler eyed him intently.

“Quite a piece up,” he said shortly.

A half-smile spread over the prospector’s face.

“Not nigh––Zip’s?” he suggested.

The half-grin in Bill’s eyes was becoming more savage.

“Yep––an’ I bought it.”

His information increased the interest with a bound.Every man there knew, or believed, that Zip’s claim was theonly one on the Creek.

“I didn’t know there was any other but Zip’s,” said JoeBrand, his interest outrunning his discretion.

“Ah, you buttin’ in again,” sneered Bill. “Guess youknow right, too. Ther’ ain’t.”

It was curious to glance down at the double row of faceslining the table and note the perplexity which suddenlygathered on them. Bill saw it and enjoyed it. It suited hismood. Finally the heavy-faced prospector blurted out thequestion that was in everybody’s mind, yet which the othersdared not ask.

“You––you bought Zip’s claim?” he asked incredulously.

“Ha’f of it. Me an’ Zip’s partners. You got anythingto say?”

Bill’s words rapped out with biting force, and Sandy,knowing the man, waited, solemn-eyed. Just for one momentastonishment held his audience breathless. Then someone sniggered, and it became the cue for an instantaneousand general guffaw of derision. Every face was wreathedin a broad grin. The humor of this thing was too much.Zip’s claim! Bill, the keen, unscrupulous gambler, had fallenfor Zip’s mud-hole on the banks of Suffering Creek!

Bill waited. The laugh was what he needed, so he waitedtill it died out. As it did so he kicked back his chair andstood up, his tall figure and hard face a picture of coldchallenge.

“You’re that merry, folks,” he said, his teeth clipping eachword, “that maybe some o’ you got something to say. I’dlike to hear it. No?” as he waited. But no one seemedanxious to comment. “Joe Brand kind o’ seems fond o’buttin’ in––mebbe he’ll oblige.”

But the young miner was not to be drawn. Bill shruggedhis lean shoulders, his fierce eyes alight with a dangerousfire.

“Wal,” he went on, “I don’t guess I ken make folks talkif they don’t notion it. But I want to say right here I boughtha’f o’ Zip’s claim fer good dollars, an’ I’m goin’ to paySandy Joyce a tiptop wage fer workin’ my share. An’”––hepaused and glanced swiftly and defiantly at the faceswhich were no longer smiling––“an’ I want to say I boughtthe richest lay-out in this bum camp. Any feller who ain’to’ the same opinion ken git right up on to his hind legs an’call me a ‘liar’––an’ I’m jest yearnin’ fer some feller to gitaround an’ call me that. Jest turn it over in your fool heads.You don’t need to hurry any. Ther’s days an’ days to come,an’ at any time I’ll be glad fer all o’ you to come along an’tell me I’m––a liar.”

He paused, his fierce eyes gleaming. He felt good. Hisoutburst had relieved his pent feelings. It was a safety-valvewhich had worked satisfactorily at the right moment.But as he received no answer to his challenge he turnedto Sandy.

“Ther’ don’t seem to be nuthin’ doin’,” he said, with agrim smile. “So ef you’ll come right along we’ll fixthings out in the store. Guess you ken finish your hashafter.”

Sandy rose. For a moment Bill did not attempt to move.It was as though he were giving the rest of the boarders onelast chance of accepting his challenge. But as no one offeredany comment or made any attempt to stay him, he turnedaway at last with a sigh which was probably of disappointment,and led the way out into the store.

But if the men had made no comment in his presence, itwas a different matter after his departure. Loud indignationbroke out, and fierce, if impotent, protest passed fromlip to lip. It was only for a few moments, however, andpresently anger gave place to a realization of the absurdityof the whole thing.

The humor of these men was tickled. The whole thingwas too ludicrous for words. To think that Wild Bill, therenowned sharp, the shrewdest, the wisest man on SufferingCreek, had fallen for such a proposition! It was certainlythe funniest, the best joke that had ever come their way.How had it happened? they asked each other. Had Zipbeen clever enough to “salt” his claim? It was hardlylikely. Only they knew he was hard up, and it was justpossible, with his responsibilities weighing heavily on him,he had resorted to an illicit practice to realize on his property.They thought of and discussed every possible meansthey could think of by which Bill could have been lured tothe hook––and caught––and landed. That was the joke.It was astounding. It was too good. To-morrow the wholecamp would be ringing with laughter at the news, but––butthe laughter was not likely to reach the gambler’sears.

In the meantime it was quite a different man who waslounging over Minky’s counter talking to Sandy and thestorekeeper. Bill had relieved the pressure of his mood forthe moment, and now, like a momentarily exhausted volcano,he was enjoying the calm of reaction.

“I’ll need you to start work right away,” he was saying,“an’ you ken draw on me fer all the supplies you need. It’sa dandy claim,” he went on grimly, “but I don’t know fersure what you’ll likely find on it. Maybe you’ll find suthin’––ifyou work long enough. Anyways, you’ll start bysinkin’ a shaft; an’ you’ll kep on sinkin’ it till––till I tell youto quit.”

“But that ain’t the regular way gold––”

“Say, whose claim is it? Am I payin’ you or not?”demanded the gambler sharply.

“Sure you are, but you said it was the richest––”

“That was back ther’ at supper,” said Bill coldly.“Guess supper’s over.”

Sandy had no quickness of understanding. He did notappreciate the fineness of the distinction. He shook hishead solemnly.

“Maybe I ain’t jest bright enuff to foller––”

“You ain’t,” agreed Bill shortly.

He winked at Minky, who was listening interestedly.Then he turned abruptly and pointed at the array of patentmedicines adorning one of the shelves.

“Say,” he cried, “’bout them physics.”

Minky turned and gazed affectionately at the shelf. Itwas the pride of his store. He always kept it well dustedand dressed. The delicate wrappings and fancy labels alwayshad a strong fascination for him. Then there were thecurative possibilities of the contents of the inviting packagesas set forth by the insistent “drummer” who sold them tohim.

“An elegant stock,” he murmured. “Sort of concentratedhealth.” Then he glanced round anxiously. “Yourhosses ain’t ailin’?” he inquired. “I got most everythingfer hosses. Ther’s embrocation, hoss iles, every sort of lin’ments.Hoss balls? Linseed?”

The gambler shook his head.

“You ain’t got physic fer men-folk?” he inquired.

“I sure have. But––but you ain’t sick?” Minky eyedhis friend narrowly.

Bill’s mouth twisted wryly.

“I ain’t jest sick,” he replied. “But,” he added hopefully,“you can’t never be sure.”

Minky nodded.

“That’s so. I’d say you don’t look a heap sick, though.”

“You sure don’t,” agreed Sandy. “But, as you sez,you can’t never tell. Now, you buyin’ ha’f Zip’s claimmakes––” His words died down to a thoughtful murmur.Bill’s look was somehow discouraging as he pointed at themedicine.

“What you got?” he demanded abruptly.

“Why, most everything,” said Minky. “Ther’, you seethat longish bottle? That’s a dandy cough cure. Guessyou ain’t needin’ that? No? Ah!” as Bill shook his head,“I didn’t guess you’d a cough. Corns? Now, this yerpacket is an elegant fixin’ fer corns, soft an’ hard. It jestkills ’em stone dead, sure. It’s bully stuff, but ’tain’t goodfer eatin’. You ain’t got corns?” he inquired, as Bill againshook his head. “Ah, seems a pity.” He turned again tothe shelf, determined, if possible, to suit his customer, andlifted down a number of packets and sealed bottles. “Now,here,” he cried, holding up a dainty box tied up with adelicate-colored ribbon. For a moment his audience believedit to be candy, but he quickly undeceived them. “Now thisyer is dandy truck, though I don’t guess ther’s a heap o’ usefer it on Suffering Creek. It’s fer softening alkali water.When the drummer told me that, I guessed to him therwa’an’t a heap o’ water drunk in this camp. But he said itwa’an’t fer drinkin’ water; it was fer baths. I kind o’ toldhim that wouldn’t help the sale any, so he said it could beused fer washin’. Seein’ he couldn’t sell me any that wayneither, he got riled an’ give me a present of it, an’ said heguessed Sufferin’ Creek did use water fer washing gold.Y’see, its price is a dollar an’ a ha’f, but, seein’ it’s kind o’dead stock, you ken have it a present.”

Bill took it.

“It’s mine,” he said. And Sandy watched him with someconcern.

“You––you ain’t takin’ a bath?” he inquired nervously.

“Don’t talk foolish,” cried Bill, and turned again to hisscrutiny of the shelf. “What else you got? Any stummickphysic?”

“Sure.” Minky held up a small bottle of tabloids.“Camel-hell,” he said, with the assurance of a man whoknows the worth of the article he is offering for sale.“Now this yer is Camel-hell––C-a-l-o-m-e-l. And I’d suresay the name is appropriate. That doggone ‘drummer’ fellersaid ther’ was enough in one o’ them bottles to kep thestummicks of a whole blamed menagerie right fer sixmonths. It’s real dandy––”

He broke off suddenly, and his look of enthusiasm wasabruptly replaced by one of anxious interest that borderedclosely on apprehension. His audience realized the change,and both men glanced swiftly in the direction whence thestorekeeper’s gaze had become so suddenly concentrated.Instantly they became aware that two strangers had quietlyentered the store, and had taken their places at one of thetables under the open window.

Bill thought he recognized one of the men, but was notsure where he had seen him. Sandy saw nothing remarkablein their presence, and at once turned back to the counter.

“More of ’em,” said Minky in a low tone, when finallyBill turned back to him.

“Yes. Many while I bin away?”

“Four or five. All––come along fer a game––it seems.”Minky’s eyes were brooding.

Suddenly a light of intelligence sprang into Bill’s thoughtfulface.

“Ah, I remember one o’ them. I see him in Spawn City––ina bum gamblin’ dive.”

Sandy suddenly roused to a keen interest.

“Them strangers,” he said––“that ’minds me I wastalkin’ to one last night. He was askin’ me when a stagewas running from here.”

“What d’you tell him?” demanded Bill quickly, andMinky’s eyes asked the question too.

Sandy laughed conceitedly.

“I sure said ther’ wa’an’t no stages runnin’, with James’gang around. I wa’an’t goin’ to give nuthin’ away tostrangers. Y’see, if I’d pretended we was sendin’ out stages,we’d have that gang hangin’ around waitin’. ’Tain’t no usein gatherin’ wasps around a m’lasses-pot.”

“No. You didn’t tell him nuthin’ else?” Bill inquired,eyeing him shrewdly.

“I did that,” said Sandy triumphantly. “I filled him upgood. I jest told him we was wise to James an’ his gang,an’ was takin’ no chances, seein’ Sufferin’ Creek was such arich lay-out. I told him we was bankin’ up the gold righthere, an’ holdin’ it till the pile was so big we could claim aGover’ment escort that could snap their fingers at James an’his lay-out.”

A swift exchange of glances passed between the gamblerand the storekeeper. And then, in a quiet voice, Bill demanded––

“Anything else?”

“Nothing o’ consequence,” replied Sandy, feeling he hadacquitted himself well. “He jest asted if Minky herebanked the stuff, an’ I ’lowed he did.”

“Ah!” There was an ominous sparkle in Bill’s eyes ashe breathed his ejaculation. Then, with a quiet sarcasmquite lost on the obtuse widower, “You’d make an elegantsheriff’s officer. You’d raise hell with the crooks.”

Sandy appeared pleased with what he took for praise.

“I’d show ’em some––”

But Bill had turned to the storekeeper.

“We’ve got to git doin’. I’ve heerd a heap in SpawnCity. Anyway, it was bound to git around. What he’ssaid don’t matter a heap. What I’ve heerd tells me we’vegot to git busy quick. We’ve got to clean you out of––stuff,or ther’s goin’ to be a most outrageous unhealthy timeon Sufferin’ Creek. We’ll fix things to-morrer. Bein’ Sunday,”he added grimly, “it’ll be an elegant day fer settin’things right. Meanwhiles, I’ll ast you to fix me a parcel o’them physics, jest some of each, an’ you ken git Sunny Oakto pass ’em right on to Zip fer his kids. Guess they’ll worryout how best to dose ’em right.”

Minky nodded, but his eyes were gloomily watching thetwo strangers sitting under the window. Sandy, however,suddenly brightened into a wide smile.

“Sure,” he cried delightedly, slapping his thigh in hisexuberance. “That’s it. Course. It’s all writ in the reg’lationsfer raisin’ them kids. Gee! you had me beat clear todeath. Physic ev’ry Saturday night. Blamed if this ain’tSaturday––an’ t’-morrer’s Sunday. An’ I tho’t you wassufferin’ and needed physic. Say––”

But Bill, too, was watching the strangers with interestedeyes. He was paying no sort of attention to this wonderfuldiscovery of his bright friend.

CHAPTER XXI

SCIPIO MAKES PREPARATIONS

Scipio’s impulses were, from his own point of view,entirely practical. Whatever he did, he did with his wholeheart. And if his results somehow missed coming out ashe intended them, it was scarcely his fault. Rather was itthe misfortune of being burdened with a superfluous energy,supported by inadequate thought.

And he felt something of this as he sat in his living-roomand glanced round him at the unaccountable disorder thatmaintained. It was Sunday morning, and all his spare timein his home on Saturday had been spent in cleaning andscrubbing and putting straight, and yet––and yet––Hepassed a stubby hand across his forehead, as though to brushaside the vision of the confusion he beheld.

He knew everything was wrong, and a subconscious feelingtold him that he had no power to put things right. Itwas curious, too. Every utensil, every stick of furniture,the floor, the stove, everything had been scrubbed andgarnished at a great expense of labor. Everything had beencarefully bestowed in the place which, to his mind, seemedmost suited for its disposal. Yet now, as he gazed abouthim at the result, he knew that only a cleanly untidinessprevailed, and he felt disheartened.

Look at the children’s clean clothes, carefully folded withalmost painful exactness; yet they were like a pile of ragsjust thrown together. And their unironed condition addedto the illusion. Every cooking-pot and pan had been cleanedand polished, yet, to his eyes, the litter of them suggestedone of the heaps of iron scraps out on the dumps. Howwas it every piece of china looked forlornly suggestive ofa wanderer without a home? No, he did not know. Hehad done his very best, and yet everything seemed to needjust that magic touch to give his home the requisite well-cared-forair.

He was disappointed, and his feelings were plainly to beperceived in the regretful glance of his pale eyes. For somemoments his optimistic energy rose and prompted him to beginall over again, but he denied himself this satisfaction ashe glanced through the window at the morning sun. It wastoo high up in the sky. There was other work yet beforehim, with none too much time for its performance beforethe midday meal.

Instead, he turned to the “regulations” which Sunny Oakhad furnished him with, and, with an index finger followingout the words, he read down the details of the work forSunday––in so far as his twins were concerned.

“Ah,” he murmured, “I got the wash done yesterday.It says here Monday. That’s kind of a pity.” Then hebrightened into hopefulness. “Guess I kin do those thingsagain Monday. I sort o’ fancy they could do with anotherwash ’fore the kiddies wear them. I never could washclothes right, first time. Now, Sunday.” His finger passedslowly from one detail to another. “Breakfast––yes.Bath. Ah, guess that comes next. Now, ’bout that bath.”He glanced anxiously round him. Then he turned back tothe regulations. “It don’t say whether hot or cold,” hemuttered disappointedly.

For a moment he stood perplexed. Then he began toreason the matter out with himself. It was summer. Forgrown-ups it would naturally be a cold bath, but he was notso sure about children. They were very young, and itwould be so easy for them to take cold, he thought. No, ithad best be hot. He would cook some water. This thoughtprompting him, he set the saucepan on the stove and stirredthe fire.

He was turning back to his regulations, when it occurredto him that he must now find something to bathe the childrenin. Glancing about amongst the few pots he possessed, herealized that the largest saucepan, or “billy,” in the housewould not hold more than a gallon of water. No, thesewere no use, for though he exercised all his ingenuity hecould see no way of bathing the children in any of them.Once during his cogitations he was very nearly inspired. Itflashed through his mind that he might stand each child outsideof a couple of pots and wash them all over that way.But he quickly negatived the thought. That wasn’t his ideaof a bath. They must sit in the water.

He was about to give the matter up in despair, when, in amoment of inspiration, he remembered the washing-tub. Ofcourse, that was the very thing. They could both sit in thattogether. It was down at the river, but he could easily fetchit up.

So he turned again in relief to the regulations. Whatnext? He found his place, and read the directions outslowly.

“‘After their bath kids needs an hour’s Bible talk.’”

He read it again. And then a third time, so as to makequite sure. Then he turned thoughtfully to the door, staringout at the bright sunlight beyond. He could hear the children’svoices as they played outside, but he was not heedingthem. He was delving around in a hazy recollection ofBible subjects, which he vaguely remembered having studiedwhen a child.

It was difficult––very difficult. But he was not beaten.There were several subjects that occurred to him in scraps.There was Noah. Then there was Moses. He recalledsomething of Solomon, and he knew that David slew a giant.

But none of these subjects amounted to more than a dimrecollection. Of details he knew none. Worked into athorough muddle with his worry, he was almost despairingagain when suddenly he remembered that Jessie possesseda Bible. Perhaps it was still in the bedroom. He would goand see. It would surely help him. So he promptly wentin search of it, and, in a few moments, was sitting downbeside the table poring over it and studiously preparinghimself for his forthcoming tutelary duties.

CHAPTER XXII

SUNDAY MORNING IN SUFFERING CREEK

On the veranda of the store was the usual Sunday morninggathering of the citizens of Suffering Creek, an impromptufunction which occurred as regularly as the sun roseand set. Some of the men were clad in their best blackbroadcloth, resplendent, if shiny at the seams, and bespottedwith drink and tobacco stains. But the majority had madeno such effort to differentiate between the seventh day of theweek and the other six. The only concession that everyoneyielded, and then with bad enough grace in many instances,was to add to the boredom of their day of rest by performinga scanty ablution in the washing trough at the back of thestore.

Minky was one of the few who clung to the customs ofhis up-bringing. He was there, ample, and gayly beaming,in “boiled” shirt, and a highly colored vest, which clashedeffusively with his brilliantly variegated bow-tie, but ofwhich he was inordinately proud.

It was the custom at these meetings to discuss any matterswhich affected the well-being of the community, to listento any item of interest pointing the prosperity of the localgold industry, to thresh out complaints. In fact, it becamea sort of Local Government Board, of which the storekeeperwas president, and such men as Wild Bill, Sandy Joyce andone or two of the more successful miners formed thegoverning committee.

But it was yet comparatively early, and many sore headswere still clinging to their rough pillows. Saturday nightwas always a heavy occasion, and the Sunday morningsleep was a generally acknowledged necessity. However,this did not prevent discussion amongst those alreadyassembled.

Wild Bill was not there. Sandy Joyce was still absent,although both had been long since stirring. Someone sarcasticallysuggested that they had gone off to inspect thegambler’s rich strike before Sandy got to work on it on themorrow. This drew a great laugh at Wild Bill’s expense.And it was only the loyal Minky’s voice that checked it.

“You’se fellers are laffin’,” he said, in good-humoredreproval. “Wal, laff. I can’t say I know why Bill’s bo’tthat claim, but I’ll say this: I’d a heap sooner foller hismoney than any other man’s. I’ve sure got a notion we bestdo our laffin’ right now.”

“That’s so,” agreed Joe Brand reluctantly. “Bill’s acur’us feller. He’s so mighty cur’us I ain’t got much usefor him––personal. But I’ll say right here, he’s wideenough to beat most any feller at any bluff he’s got savvee toput up. Howsum, every ‘smart’ falls fer things at times.Y’see, they get lookin’ fer rich strikes that hard, an’ are sobusy keppin’ other folks out o’ them, it’s dead easy gettin’’em trippin’. Guess that tow-headed sucker, Zip, ’s got himtrippin’ about now, sure.”

Minky shook his head. He did not believe it. If Billhad been caught napping, he must have willfully gone tosleep. He knew the man too well. However, he had nointention of arguing the matter with these people. So heturned away and stood staring out at the far distance beyondthe creek.

In a few moments the whole matter was dismissed fromhis mind, and his thoughts filled with a something that latelyhad become a sort of obsession to him. It was the safety ofhis gold-dust that troubled, and as each day passed his apprehensionsgrew. He felt that trouble was threatening in theair of Suffering Creek, and the thought of how easily hemight be taken at a disadvantage worried him terribly. Heknew that it was imperative for him to unload his gold.But how? How could it be done in safety, in the light ofpast events? It was suicidal to send it off to Spawn Cityon a stage, with the James gang watching the district. Andthe Government––?

Suddenly his eyes lit excitedly. He pointed out across thecreek with startling abruptness, in a direction where the landsloped gradually upwards towards the more distant foothills,in a broken carpet of pine woods. He was indicating a riftin the forest, where, for a long stretch, a wide clearing hadbeen made by the axes of the pioneers of the camp.

“Ho, fellers!” he cried. “Get a peek yonder. Who’sthat?”

In an instant every eye followed the direction of his outstretchedarm. And the men stood silently watching theprogress of a horseman racing headlong through the clearingand making for the creek in front of them as fast as hishorse could lay legs to the ground. So silent and intentdid the group on the veranda become, that faint, yet sharplydistinct, even at that distance, the thrashing of the horse’shoofs floated to their straining ears on the still morning air,and set them wondering.

On came the man at a furious pace. He was leaning farover his horse’s neck, so that the whole weight of his bodywas well clear of the saddle. And as he came the waitingmen could plainly see the rise and fall of his arm, as hemercilessly flogged his straining beast. It was Joe Brandwho first broke the silence.

“Looks like Sid Morton,” he hazarded. “I kind o’seem to mind his sorrel with four white legs. He’s comin’from the right direction, too. Guess his ranch is ten milesup yonder. Say, he’s makin’ a hell of a bat.”

“He sure is.” Jim Wright, the oldest miner in the camp,blinked his red-rimmed eyes as they watered with the strainof watching, “It’s trouble that’s chasin’ him,” he added,with conviction. “Trouble o’ some kind.”

“What sort o’ trouble?” Minky spoke half to himself.Just now there was only one idea of trouble in hismind.

Somebody laughed foolishly.

“There ain’t many sorts o’ trouble sets a man chasin’like that,” said a voice in the background.

Minky glanced round.

“What are they, Van?” he inquired, and turned backagain to his scrutiny of the on-coming horseman.

“Sickness, an’––guns,” replied the man addressed asVan, with another foolish laugh. “If it’s Sid he ain’t gotanybody out on his ranch to be sick, ’cep’ his two ’punchers.An’ I don’t guess he’d chase for them. Must be ‘guns.’”

No one answered him. Everybody was too intent on theextraordinary phenomenon. The man was nearing thecreek. In a few seconds he would be hidden from view,for the opposite bank lay far below them, cut off fromsight by the height of the rising ground intervening on thehither side.

A moment later a distinct movement amongst thewatchers, which had something almost of relief in it, toldthat this had happened. Minky turned to Jim Wright, whochanced to be nearest him.

“It’s Sid,” he declared definitely.

The old man nodded.

“An’ I guess Van’s right,” he agreed.

“He’ll be along up in a minute,” said Joe Brand.

Minky remained where he was watching the point atwhich he expected to see the horseman reappear. This suddenapparition had fastened itself upon his general apprehensionand become part of it. What was the news the manwas bringing?

Some of the men moved off the veranda to meet the horsemanwhen he came up, but the majority remained wherethey were. In spite of their interest, these people wererarely carried away by their feelings in a matter of this sort.Time would tell them all they wanted to know. Perhapsa good deal more than they cared to hear. So they preferredto wait.

Their patience was quickly rewarded. In less than fiveminutes a bobbing head rose above the brow of the incline.Then came the man. He was still leaning forward to easehis panting horse, whose dilated nostrils and flattened earstold the onlookers of its desperate journey. The leg-wearybeast floundered up the steep under quirt and spur––and,in a moment, stood tottering, gasping and steaming beforethe eager crowd.

Sid Morton almost fell out of the saddle. And as his feetcame to the ground he reeled. But Minky caught him, andhe steadied himself.

“I’m beat,” the horseman cried desperately. “Formercy’s sake hand me a horn o’ whisky.”

He flung himself down on the edge of the veranda, leavinghis jaded beast to anyone’s care. He was too far spent tothink of anything or anybody but himself. Falling backagainst the post he closed his eyes while the silent crowdlooked on stupidly.

Minky seemed to be the only one who fully grasped thesituation. He passed the foundered horse on to his“choreman,” and then himself procured a stiff drink of ryewhisky for the exhausted man. This he administeredwithout a moment’s delay, and the ranchman opened hiseyes.

The next instant he sat up, and, in doing so, disclosed alarge dark-red patch on the post he had leaned against.Minky saw the ominous stain.

“Wounded?” he inquired sharply.

“Some.” Then he added, after a moment’s hesitation,“Yes, guess I’m done.”

The ranchman spoke rapidly. For the moment at leasthis weakness seemed to have passed, and the weariness tohave gone out of his eyes and voice. He strained eagerly,his eyes alight and bloodshot. The whisky had given himmomentary courage, momentary strength; the drawn lines ofrapidly draining life had smoothed out of his young cheeks.

“Here, listen,” he cried, almost fiercely. “I’m beat. Iknow. But––but I want to tell you things. You needn’tto notice that hole in my back.” He writhed painfully.“Guess they––they got my lung or––or somethin’. Y’see,it’s the James gang. Some of ’em are”––a spasm of painshot athwart his face as he hesitated––“’bout three milesback ther’––”

At this point a terrible fit of coughing interrupted him,and blood trickled into the corners of his mouth. Minkyunderstood. He dispatched one of the bystanders for somebrandy, while he knelt down to the man’s support. At oncethe drooping body sagged heavily upon his arm; but whenthe paroxysm had passed the weight lightened, and the dyingman hurried on with his story, although his voice had lostmore than half of its former ring.

“Ther’ ain’t much time,” he said, with something like agasp. “He’s run off my stock, an’ set my hay an’ the corralsafire. He––he got us when we was roundin’––roundin’up a bunch o’ steers. Y’see––y’see, we was in––inthe saddle.”

Again he paused. This time his breath came in gasps anddeep-throated gurglings. He struggled on, however, stumblingand gasping with almost every second word.

“We put up a––scrap––good. An’––an’ both––myboys was––was dropped cold. After I––I emptied––mygun––I––I hit––the trail for here. Then I––got it good.Say––”

Once more he was interrupted by a fit of terrible coughing.And the moment it eased the storekeeper held thebrandy, which one of the boys had brought, to his blood-fleckedlips. The poor fellow’s end was not far off. Theonlookers knew it. Minky knew there was practically nothingto be done for him. All these men had witnessed theapproach of death in this form too often before. A lungpierced by a bullet! They could do nothing but look oncuriously, helplessly and listen carefully to the story he wastrying to tell.

The man struggled with himself for some moments. Thestrong young body was yielding reluctantly enough to thedeath-grip. And at last his words gasped haltingly upon thestill air.

“Their plugs––wasn’t––fresh. Mine––was. Thatgive––me––the––legs––of ’em. But––they––rode––hard,an’––”

His voice died down to a whistling gasp and his eyesclosed. He was sinking fast. Minky forced more brandybetween his lips. And presently the drooping eyelidswidened, and a momentary strength lifted the weakeningbody.

“They follered,” he mumbled, “but––I––don’t––know––how––many.’Bout––three. Three––miles––back––I––I––lost––’em––”

His eyes were glazing and staring painfully. And as hislast words hovered on his lips they were drowned by thegurgling and rattling in his throat. Suddenly a shudderpassed through his frame. He started, his eyes staringwildly.

“I’m––done!” he gasped. His arms shot up convulsively,his legs flung out. And then all his weight droppedback on to the storekeeper’s supporting arm. The nextmoment his body seemed to heave as with a deep, restfulsigh, and his head lolled helplessly forward. He was dead.

CHAPTER XXIII

A BATH AND––

Scipio started and looked up as a joyous greeting fromthe children outside warned him of the approach of a visitor.He was rather glad of the interruption, too. He found theBible offered him such an enormous field of research. Itwas worse than enormous; it was overwhelming. TheBible was really more than he could study in the few minuteshe had allowed himself. As yet he had not found evenone single mention of the few subjects he still retained avague recollection of.

As he glanced at the doorway it was darkened by a familiarfigure. Sunny Oak, as ragged, disreputable and uncleanas usual, smiled himself into the room.

“Howdy, Zip?” he greeted genially. “Guessed I’d gitaround, seem’ it was Sunday. Y’see, folks don’t work anySunday. I’d sure say it’s a real blessin’ folks is ’lowed torest one day in seven. Talkin’ o’ work, I heerd tell you’vetook a pardner to your claim. Wild Bill’s smart. He ain’tbluffed you any?”

The loafer seated himself in the other chair with an airof utter weariness. He might just have finished a spell ofthe most arduous labor, instead of having merely strolledacross the dumps. Scipio smiled faintly.

“He hasn’t bluffed me any,” he said gently. “Seems tome he wouldn’t bluff me. Yes, he’s in on ha’f my claim.Y’see, he thinks ther’s gold in sight, an’––an’ I know ther’ain’t. That’s what’s troubling me. I kind of feel meansome.”

Sunny yawned luxuriously.

“Don’t you worry any,” he said easily. “Bill’s mightywide. If he’s come in on your claim he’s––needin’ to bad.Say––”

He broke off and turned alertly to the door. A sound ofvoices reached them, and a moment later Sandy Joyce andToby stood grinning in the doorway.

“Gee!” cried Sunny. “Gettin’ quite a party.”

“I’m real pleased you folks come along,” Scipio declaredwarmly. He stood up and looked round uncertainly.“Say,” he went on, his pale face flushing a little ruefully,“come right in, boys. I don’t see jest where you’re goin’ tosit. Maybe the table’s good an’ strong. This chair’lldo for one.”

But Toby would have none of it.

“Set you down, Zip,” he cried. “I got this doorway.Guess the table’ll fit Sandy. He’s kind o’ high in his notions.I jest see Bill comin’ along up from the river.Looked like he was comin’ this way. How’s the kids?”

“Why, bully,” said Scipio amiably. “Y’see, I got ’emfixed right all right since Sunny wrote out those regulationsfor me. Those regulations are jest dandy, and I’m desperateobliged to him. A feller would need to be a bumsort of fool, anyhow, who couldn’t fix kids right with it allset out so careful. There sure are things set down there I’dnever have thought of––an’ I’m their father, too.” Hepaused and glanced nervously round at the friendly faces.Then, with evident anxiety, he hurried on. “I was justthinkin’,” he exclaimed, “maybe some hot coffee wouldn’tcome amiss. Y’see, I ain’t no rye. Guess I’ll make thatcoffee right away. I got water cooking on the stove. Iwas goin’ to use it for bathin’ the kids, but––”

His visitors exchanged swift glances, and Sunny broke in.“Don’t do it, Zip,” he said with an amiable grin. “Theseboys don’t figger to unpickle their vitals with no sech truckas coffee. Say”––his eyes wandered to where his carefullywritten regulations were posted, “talkin’ o’ baths, have youphysicked the kids right?”

Scipio, feeling somewhat relieved, returned to his chairand lodged himself upon its edge. He could not settle himselfat his ease. Somehow he felt that these men were entirelyhis superior in all those things which count for manhood;and the kindness of such a visit rather overwhelmedhim. Then, too, he was sincerely regretting his inadequatehospitality. Now he became nervously enthusiastic.

“I sure did,” he cried eagerly. “Those physics were realelegant. If you’ll tell me what they cost you, Sunny, I’llsquare up now. How––”

He pulled out some money, but the loafer waved it asidewith ridiculous dignity.

“Thievin’ doctors needs pay. I ain’t no bum doc. Whatyou give ’em––the kids?”

Scipio bundled his money back into his pocket, flushingat the thought that he had unintentionally insulted his benefactor.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I didn’t give ’em no corncure. Y’see,” he added apologetically, “I couldn’t find nocorns on ’em to speak of. But,” he went on more hopefully,“I give ’em the cough cure. They ain’t got no coughs,neither of ’em, but, seein’ they was to take a bath, I guessedit ’ud be a kind of precaution. Then there were them powders.How were they called? Why––Lick––Lick––well,they were called Lick––something. Anyways, I give’em one each. They didn’t take ’em easy, an’ was nigh sick,but they got ’em down after awhile. Then, seein’ they gotbruises on their legs, playin’, I rubbed ’em good with hosslin’ment. After that I give ’em some o’ that tonic––quininean’ something. An’ then, seein’ they couldn’t eat food thismornin’, an’ had got sick headaches, I give ’em one o’ themfizzy Seidlitz fellers between ’em. Jamie bein’ the smallestI give him the thin white packet, an’ the other, the blue one,I give to Vada. That seemed to fix them good, an I guessthey’re most ready fer their baths by now.”

“I guessed you’d treat ’em right,” approved Sunnyseriously. “Ther’ ain’t nothin’ like physic. You’re sure awise guy, Zip.”

Sandy Joyce agreed, too.

“You was dead right,” he said impressively. “It don’tnever do takin’ chances with kids o’ that age. Chances isbum things, anyway. Y’see, kids ken ketch such a heap o’things. Ther’s bile, an’ measles, an’ dropsy, an’ cancer, an’hydryfoby, an’ all kinds o’ things. They’s li’ble to ketch ’emas easy as gettin’ flies wi’ molasses. An’ some o’ them ister’ble bad. Ever had hydryfoby? No? Wal, I ain’tneither, but I see a feller with it oncet, an’ he jest wentaround barkin’ like a camp dog chasin’ after swill bar’ls, an’was scared to death o’ water––”

“Some folks don’t need hydryfoby fer that,” put in Toby,with a grin.

“Ther’ ain’t no call fer you buttin’ in,” flashed Sandyangrily. “Guess I’m talkin’ o’ things you ain’t heerd tellof. You ain’t out o’ your cradle yet.”

He turned back to his host and prepared to continue hislist of horrors, but Sunny forestalled him.

“Talkin’ o’ water,” he said, “you ain’t bathed the kidsyet?”

Scipio shook his head.

“The water’s cookin’.”

“Cookin’?” Toby whistled.

Sunny sat up, all interest.

“Hot bath?” he inquired, with wide eyes. “You ain’tgivin’ ’em a hot bath?” he exclaimed incredulously.

A troubled look came into Scipio’s pale eyes. He doubtedhis purpose in face of his friends’ astonishment.

“Why, yes. That’s how I was thinking,” he said weakly.“Y’see, I guessed it would soften the dirt quicker, and makeit easy wipin’ it off.”

“But ain’t you scared o’ them––peelin’?” inquiredSandy, refusing to be left out of the discussion.

Scipio looked perplexed.

“Peelin’?” he said. “I––I don’t think I get you.”

“Why,” explained Sandy readily, “peelin’ their skins off’em. You allus sets potatoes in b’ilin’ water to git theirskins peeled quick. Same with hogs. Same with most anything.I call that a fool chance to take.”

Scipio’s perplexity merged into a mild smile.

“I wouldn’t jest set ’em into boilin’ water,” he explained;“kind of warm, with a bit o’ soda.”

Sunny approved.

“That sure don’t sound too bad,” he declared. “But wotabout ’em gettin’ cold? Takin’ all that dirt off sudden,y’see––”

“He’s dosed ’em wi’ cough cure,” broke in Toby.

“Sure,” agreed Sunny. “I’d fergot––Say”––heturned to the doorway and craned towards it––“here’s––here’sWild Bill coming along.”

Toby promptly scrambled up from the door-sill and madeway for the Trust president. He strode into the room witha quick glance round and a short, harsh “Howdy?” for thelesser members of his corporation. His manner towardsScipio was no less unbending.

And, curiously enough, his coming silenced all furtherdiscussion. Scipio had nothing to say whatever, and theothers felt that here was their leader from whom they musttake their cue.

Nor was it long in coming. Scipio rose and offered hischair to the newcomer, but the gambler promptly kicked theproffered seat aside, and took up his position on the fuel-box.He glared into the little man’s face for a few seconds,and then opened his lips.

“Wal?” he drawled.

Scipio stirred uneasily.

“I’m real glad to see you, Bill,” he managed to mumbleout. “I ain’t got no rye––”

“Rye––hell!” The gambler was not a patient man, andthe laws of hospitality interested him not in the least.“Say”––he pointed at the open Bible on the table besideSandy––“takin’ on psalm-smitin’?”

Scipio hurled himself into the breach.

“It’s them regulations Sunny give me for raisin’ the kids.They need a Bible talk after their bath. I bin readin’ upsome.”

A momentary twinkle flashed into the gambler’s eyes.

“Have you give ’em their bath?” he demanded.

Scipio pointed at the stove, on which the water was alreadyboiling.

“The water’s cookin’,” he said. “Guess it’s mostready.” The gambler glanced round the room severely.

“Then why the devil is you’se fellers settin’ around?Wher’s the tub?”

“Down at the creek. It’s the wash-tub,” Scipio explained,bestirring himself. The other men stood up ready.

There was no doubt that Bill had taken possession of thesituation. He always seemed to dominate his fellows.Now he caught Scipio’s eye and held him.

“Jest gather the things up quick,” he said authoritatively,“an’ we’ll get busy.”

And as Scipio heaped up the necessary articles for thebath on the table, he looked on with the keenest interest.Finally the little man paused beside the heap, holding in hishand the box of water-softener, which he was eyeing somewhatdoubtfully. Bill’s eyes still twinkled.

“Wot’s that?” he demanded in his savage way, as thoughhe had never seen the box before.

“That? Why, that’s for bathin’,” said Scipio doubtfully.“Y’see, it’s a fixin’ swell ladies in Noo York an’ such placesuse for makin’ their baths soft an’ dandy. Sunny brought italong last night. He guessed it would be elegant for thekids. Y’see, his mother sent it a present to him. He didn’treckon he had use for it, seein’ he took his bath in the creekevery mornin’. He guessed natural water was best forhim.”

Bill snorted.

“Sunny’s a bright lad,” he said, while Toby softly explodedwith laughter in the doorway.

But the gambler was bent on the purpose in hand, andpromptly dismissed the loafer’s fairy-story from his mind.

“Here, get around and bear a hand,” he cried, indicatingthe pile on the table. “You, Toby, quit laffin’ an’ git a holton them clean laundry. An’ say, don’t you muss ’em any.Sunny, you best pile up them washin’ fixin’s––that hand-scrubber,the soap, that wash-flannel an’ the towels. Guessthat’s the nighest you’ll ever come to bathin’ yourself.Sandy Joyce ken carry the hot water, an’, if Zip’s yaller pupgets around, see you don’t scald him any. Guess I’ll handlethese yer dippers. That way Zip’ll be free to take the kidsalong. After they’re bathed they ken set around in thesun, while Zip gives ’em a real elegant Bible talk.”

The whole thing was simplicity itself in the capable handsof a man of Bill’s energy. But for his advent the bathmight have been delayed until the water on the cookstovehad boiled away. What with Sandy’s love of debate andSunny’s indolence, the visit of these men might have beenprolonged for hours. As it was, in five minutes after Bill’sappearance upon the scene the cortége was ready to set outfor the water’s edge; and not only ready, but more thanwilling to submit the all-unconscious twins to the combinationof their inexperienced efforts in matters ablutionary.The one saving clause for the poor little creatures was thepresence of their father and a man of practical intelligencesuch as the gambler. How they might have fared at thehands of the others is a matter best not contemplated tooclosely.

At a word from Wild Bill the procession set out. Scipioheaded it, with a child clinging to each hand, doddling alongat his side all blissfully unconscious, but delighted at goingwhither their elders led them. Vada babbled with delight,and kept up a fire of chattering questions in a truly femininemanner, while little Jamie, stolid but no less joyous, devouredeverything with hungry, thoughtful eyes, and punctuatedhis sister’s remarks with characteristic grunts, and anoccasional emphatic ejaculation and protest at the yellowpup, who would lick his dirty legs.

Behind these came Sandy Joyce, the picture of absurddignity, as he vainly strove to carry the boiler of water withoutscalding himself. Toby came immediately behind him,with the bundle of laundry, a tumbled mass in his arms,crushed firmly to his stout chest, lest, by any ill-fate, heshould drop any of the strange garments, which looked soabsurdly small in his ignorant eyes.

Next came Sunny with the cleansing properties, which hecarried gingerly, as though the very nature of them wererepugnant to him, and the labor of carrying them an offenseto his creed of life. The soap particularly troubled him.Its slippery nature made him drop it several times, till itseemed almost as though it resented him personally, and wastrying to escape from the insult of such association. WildBill brought up the rear of the column, bearing the brighttin dippers, which clattered violently as they swung togetheron their string loops. He suggested nothing so much as aherder driving before him his unusual flock by the aid of aviolent rattling on tin cans.

Solemnly the procession wound its way down the hill.Only the voices of the children, the yapping of the pup andthe clatter of tinware enlivened the journey. The men’sminds were engrossed with their various charges. It wasserious––desperately serious. But then, a bath in anyform, much less a bath of two small children, was an affairof the gravest importance to these men. Then, too, therewas nervousness with it. Everybody felt responsible, fromthe father to the desperate instigator of what was, in theirminds, something almost amounting to an outrage.

However, the windings and roughnesses of the path, as ittwisted its way through the scrubby bushes lining the creekbank, were finally negotiated more or less satisfactorily.The mishaps were not as great as might have been anticipated.Sandy only scalded himself twice, and his curseshad to be stifled by a sharp reprimand from the gambler.Toby skidded down the slope once, and only saved thelaundry at the personal expense of a torn shirt and a grazedelbow. Sunny, except for his difference of opinion with thesoap, enjoyed no other mishap, and Bill’s only transgressionwas to send one of the dippers, amidst a volley of curses,hurtling at the yellow pup, who at one time threatened to upsetall Sandy’s dignity, and incidentally the boiling water, bygetting mixed up with that worthy widower’s legs.

The halt was made beside the wash-tub, and childishcuriosity promptly asserted itself.

“You ain’t washin’ more clothes, poppa?” demandedVada, with wide questioning eyes. “Ain’t this Sunday?”

“Pop-pa wash tothes,” mumbled Jamie.

Sunny took it upon himself to put the matter right in thesmall minds. He beamed upon the children.

“Poppa’s going to wash you,” he said, with unction.

“Wot for?” demanded Vada. “We ain’t done nothin’.”

“’Cos you needs it,” replied the loafer, uncomfortablyavoiding the blandly questioning eyes.

“Ugh!” interjected Jamie.

“We ain’t as dirty as you,” said Vada, after a thoughtfulpause.

Sunny busied himself laying out the utensils on the grassiestspot he could find. Toby glanced round after depositingthe laundry department. He guffawed loudly, and went onwith his work. Sunny’s face went a dirty scarlet, but he refrainedfrom retort. And promptly little Vada went on.

“I don’t want bath,” she protested plaintively. AndJamie chorused in with a grunt of agreement, while hebusied himself trying to climb up the sides of the tub.

Scipio snatched him away, and looked round weakly forsupport. It came in a sharp command from Bill, who hadseated himself on a fallen tree-trunk.

“Git busy,” he ordered. “Set that doggone water in thetub, an’ Sunny ken dip the boiler full of cold. You boysken do that while Zip gets the kids ready. Guess he’ll likelyknow best wher’ the strings an’ buttons is.”

His orders were silently executed by the men. But thechildren had no awe of the gambler, and their protests weremany and querulous. However, the tub was filled satisfactorily,and Scipio finally succeeded in fumbling the clothesoff the children.

It was a curious scene. Scipio moved about with an airof the mildest perplexity. Sunny slouched through hiswork as though it were the hardest of labor, although he wasreally enjoying himself. Toby was grinning all over hisface with huge enjoyment, while Sandy performed his sharewith such an aspect of care that his labors might have beenof an absolutely epoch-making nature. Bill suggestedsimple authority. The “kids” must be bathed, and he wasgoing to see it done.

When all preparations had been made, Scipio became thechief operator, and each man took up his position where besthe could witness the process. There was something somildly stimulating to these ruffians in observing the clumsylavering of two small children. They all appreciated cleanlinessin theory; it was only the practice that they were unaccustomedto, and here it was being demonstrated beforetheir interested eyes. They watched Scipio’s efforts forsome moments in silence, while he, with gentle persuasion,overcame each childish protest. He did it in such a kindly,patient way that very soon these small atoms of humanity,sitting facing each other cross-legged in the tub, gainedample confidence, and gave expression to infantile delight bysplashing each other with water, and incidentally treatingtheir father to an even less welcome bath.

They laughed and crowed and chattered while their fatherplied the house-flannel, and only were their piping voicesquiet at such moments as their small round faces weresmothered with soapsuds, or lost in the embracing folds ofthe none too savory cloth.

But on the part of the spectators, their interest would notpermit of long silence. And it was Sandy Joyce, quite irrepressiblewhere advice was concerned, who found it necessaryto interfere.

“Ain’t you rubbin’ ’em too hard?” he questioned, afterprolonged cogitation.

Scipio turned to reply in the midst of swabbing Jamie’slower limbs. He was holding one foot dangerously high inthe air, and the movement caused him to upset the child’sbalance, so that his upper part promptly disappeared beneaththe frothing suds. A wild splashing and yell from Vadawarned her father of the threatened tragedy, and Jamie washauled up, coughing and spluttering. The little man, withscared face, sought at once to pacify the frightened child,while Sunny withered the interfering widower with a fewwell-chosen words.

“Say, you’d butt in an’ tell folk they wasn’t nailin’ up yourcoffin right,” he cried angrily. “Will you kep that instrumento’ foolishness o’ yours quiet fer ten minutes?”

Sandy flushed.

“They ain’t got hides like hogs,” he grumbled. “Theyneeds handlin’ easy. Say, jest look what he’s doin’ now.What’s––”

He broke off, and all eyes watched Scipio’s movements ashe turned Jamie over, and, supporting his dripping bodyin the crook of his arm, plied the flannel upon the boy’sback. The moment was a tense one. Then a sigh of reliefwent up as the child dropped back in the water with asplash.

“I ain’t never see kids handled that way,” cried the disgustedSandy, unable to keep silence any longer. Then, asno one seemed inclined to question his statement, he wenton, “Wot I sez is, kids needs women-folk to do they thingsright. Zip’s handlin’ ’em like raw beef.” Then he turnedon Sunny, whose rebuke was still rankling. “Guess you’llsay he ain’t––bein’ contrary. Now, ef I was washin’ ’em,I’d––”

“Shut up,” cried Wild Bill harshly. Then he added,with biting sarcasm, “I ain’t surprised you’re a widder-man.”

Toby made no attempt to disguise his laughter, and itmaddened the unfortunate Sandy; and if a look could havekilled, Sunny would have died grinning. However, thewidower sheltered himself in the silence demanded of himuntil the children were lifted out of the tub and dried bytheir patient father. Nor did he even attempt to furtherinterfere while their parent struggled them into their littlewoolen undershirts.

CHAPTER XXIV

––A BIBLE TALK

It was with a sigh of relief that Scipio now turned toWild Bill. Somehow, he naturally looked to him forguidance. Nor did he quite know why.

“’Bout that Bible talk?” he inquired. “Guess you saidthey best set around in the sun.”

Bill nodded.

“I sure did. Guess they kind o’ need airin’ some.’Tain’t no use in settin’ in their clothes damp; they’ll begettin’ sick, sure. Ther’s a dandy bit o’ grass right here.Best set ’em down, an’ get around an’ hand ’em your talk.”

But the worried father pushed his weedy hair off hisforehead with a troubled air.

“I haven’t read up a deal,” he apologized.

The gambler promptly swept his objection aside.

“That don’t figger any. Once you get goin’ you won’tfind no trouble. It’s dead easy after you’re started. That’sthe way it is with passons. They jest get a holt of a notion,an’ then––why, they jest yarn.”

“I see,” replied Scipio doubtfully, while the other mengathered round. “But,” he went on more weakly still,“’bout that notion?”

Bill stirred impatiently.

“That’s it. You start right in with the notion.”

“Course,” cried Sandy. “The notion’s easy. Why,ther’s heaps o’ things you ken take as a notion. Say, wa’an’tther’ a yarn ’bout some blamed citizen what took to a cave,an’ the checkens an’ things got busy feedin’ him?”

“Ravens,” said Sunny.

“Ravens nuthin’,” cried the indignant Sandy.“Checkens of the air, they was.”

Sunny shrugged.

“That ain’t no sort o’ Bible talk, anyway,” he protested.“You need suthin’ what gives ’em a lesson. Now, ther’sNore an’ his floatin’ ranch––”

“That wa’an’t a ranch neither,” contradicted Sandypromptly. “It was jest a barn.”

“Ark,” said Toby.

“Wal, ark then,” admitted Sandy. He didn’t mindToby’s interference.

But the discussion was allowed to go no further. Bill’simpatience manifested itself promptly.

“Say, it don’t matter a cuss whether it was an ark or abarn or a ranch. Sunny’s yarn goes. Now, jest set aroundan’ git the kids in the middle, an’ you, Zip, git busy withthis Nore racket.”

The last authority had given its decision. There was nomore to be said, and the matter was promptly proceededwith. The expectant children, who had stood by listeningto the discussion of their elders, were now seated on thegrass, and before them sat the board of Scriptural instruction.Bill remained in his position on the tree-trunk. Onthe ground, cross-legged, sat Scipio, on his right. Sunnylounged full length upon the ground next to him. Sandyand Toby formed the other horn of the half-circle on thegambler’s left.

It was a quaint picture upon which the warm noon sunshone down. The open grass clearing, surrounded withtall dense bushes. On one side the wash-tub and the variousappurtenances of the bath, with the creek a little waybeyond. And in the open, sitting alone, side by side, theirlittle pink bodies bare of all but their coarse woolen undershirts,their little faces shining with wholesome soap, theireyes bright with expectancy for the story that was to come,the two pretty children of a lonely father. Then, in asemicircle about them, the members of the Trust, with theirhard, unclean faces, their rough clothes and rougher manners,and their uncultured minds driven by hearts that were––well,just human.

“Git busy,” ordered Bill, when the Trust had finallysettled itself.

And promptly Scipio, with more determination than discretion,cleared his throat and plunged into his peroration.

His mild face beamed. Gentleness and affection shone inevery line of it. And somehow his diffidence, the realizationof his ignorance of the work demanded of him, wereabsorbed and lost to his consciousness in the wonderfulparental delight of teaching his offspring.

“Say, kiddies,” he began, with that soft inflection thatseems so much a part of some men of rough manners, “Iwant you to listen careful to a yarn I’m goin’ to tell youabout. Y’see––”

He hesitated, and unconsciously one hand was lifted andpassed across his brow with a movement that suggestedpuzzlement. It was as though he were not quite surewhither his story were going to lead him.

The gambler nodded encouragingly.

“Bully,” he murmured, turning his eyes just for onemoment in the little man’s direction. But it was only fora moment. The next he was staring absorbedly out at thebush opposite, like a man lost in some train of thought farremoved from the matter in hand. His beady eyes staredunsmilingly, but with curious intentness.

However, Scipio was far too much concerned with whatlay before him to think of anything else. But the sharplyspoken encouragement spurred him, and he went ahead.

“Now, maybe you both heard tell how God made thisfunny old world for us to live in,” he went on, endeavoringto give lightness to his manner. “He made Sufferin’Creek, too––”

Toby coughed, and Sandy whispered audibly to him.

“I don’t guess Zip ought to run Sufferin’ Creek in thisyarn,” he said seriously. “Sufferin’ Creek don’t seemright in a Bible talk.”

Scipio waited, and then, ignoring the comment, laboredclumsily on.

“Now, I’m goin’ to tell you a yarn about it. Y’see,kiddies––y’see, ther’ weren’t a heap o’ folk around whenGod first fixed things right––”

“Jest one man an’ a snake,” interrupted Sandy in hisinformative way.

“Shut up,” whispered Toby, prodding him with his elbow.Sandy scowled, but remained silent.

“Wal,” continued Scipio, “as I was sayin’, He jest madeone sort o’ sample man an’ a snake. An’,” he added, suddenlybrightening under inspiration, “He sot ’em in agarden, an’ called it the Garden of Eden.”

Little Vada suddenly clapped her hands.

“Yes, an’ it was all flowers an’––an’ fruit,” she criedecstatically.

Jamie’s eyes were dancing with delight, too, but he remainedsilent, waiting for developments.

The members of the Trust looked on with the deepestinterest. Each man’s face wore a half-smile––that is, allexcept the gambler’s, who still appeared to be absorbed inhis own thought––and the bush opposite. But the interestof these men was less in the little man’s story than in aspeculation as to when he was going to break down, andyield his tutelary attitude before a battery of infantile questions.

However, Scipio was still in a fairly strong position.

“Well,” he agreed, “I do guess ther’ was fruit ther’, butI don’t guess it was a fruit ranch exactly. Maybe it wassort of mixed farmin’. Howsum, that don’t matter a heap.Y’see, ther’ was heaps an’ heaps of animals, an’ bugs, an’spiders, an’ things––an’ jest one man.”

“Ther’ was a woman,” corrected the irrepressible Sandy.“That’s dead sure. They got busy on one of the man’sribs an’ made her. Ain’t that so, Toby?”

He turned to the squat figure beside him for corroboration,but Sunny took up the matter from across the semicircle.

“You’re a wise guy,” he exclaimed scornfully. “Can’tyou kep from buttin’ in? Say, I’d hate to know sech a heapas you.”

Just for an instant Wild Bill turned his sharp eyes on hiscompanions.

“Shut up you’se all,” he cried. And promptly Scipiowas allowed to continue his story.

“Now, ’bout that garden,” he said thoughtfully. “Y’see,God told that feller he wasn’t to pick no fruit. Y’see, Iguess it was needed fer cannin’ or preservin’. Maybe itwas needed for makin’ elegant candy. I don’t knowrightly––”

“You’re talkin’ foolish,” exclaimed Sandy, jumping upexcitedly. “Cannin’?” he cried scornfully. “They didn’tcan fruit them days.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Scipio apologetically.

“I know I am,” snorted Sandy.

“Then shut up,” cried Bill, without turning his head.

“Anyhow,” went on Scipio, when all argument hadceased, “it was jest up to that feller not to pick that fruit.An’ he didn’t mean to neither, only he got kind o’ friendlywith that snake––”

Little Vada jumped up.

“I know––I know,” she cried, in the wildest excitement.“The snake made him eat an apple, an’ then the rain camedown, an’ poured an’ poured––”

“Poured an’ poured,” echoed Jamie, jumping to his feetand dancing around his sister.

“That’s so,” admitted Scipio, in relief.

“Poured nothin’,” murmured Sandy under his breath.“He’s messin’ up the whole yarn.”

But as his comment didn’t reach the father’s ears he wenton placidly.

“Wal, the rain poured down,” he said, “so they was nighdrownded––”

“Why’d the rain tum?” suddenly inquired Jamie withinterest.

“Ah!” murmured Scipio. Then he added brightly,“Because he picked the fruit.”

“Y’see,” explained Vada, with sisterly patronage, “hedidn’t orter picked the apple.”

Jamie nodded without understanding.

“’Ess.”

“Wal,” went on Scipio, taking advantage of the pause,“he was nigh drownded, an’ he had to swim an’ swim, an’then he built himself a ranch.”

“Barn,” cried Sandy, unable to keep quiet any longer.“It was a barn to kep his stock in.”

“Ark,” said Toby decidedly. “He built a Nore’s Ark––sameas toys kiddies plays with.”

“But Bill said Sunny’s yarn goes,” protested the troubledScipio. And, receiving an affirmatory nod from the preoccupiedgambler, he went on. “Wal, he set that ranchafloat, an’ put out a boat an’ rescued all the other animals,an’ bugs, an’ spiders, an’ things, an’ then set out a duck tosee how things was going––”

“Not a duck, Zip,” said Sunny, shaking his head sorrowfully.

“Course not,” agreed Sandy scornfully.

“Pigeon,” suggested Toby.

But little Vada saved the situation. She jumped to herfeet, dragging Jamie with her. Her dark eyes were shining,and her round little cheeks were scarlet with excitement.

“It wasn’t a duck, nor a pigeon, nor nothin’ but a parrot,”she declared. “Momma told us. He sent out a parrot; an’it flew, an’ flew, an’ flew. An’ then it come back to theark, carryin’ a tree in its beak. An’ then Nore knew therewasn’t no more rain, nor nothing, an’ they turned his wifeinto a pillow o’ salt ’cos she’d made him eat the apple. An’,pop-pa, tell us another.”

“’Ess, a nudder,” cried Jamie, his chubby fat legswabbling under him as he danced about––“a nudder––anudder––a nud––”

But his lisping request was never completed, for, withouta word of warning, Wild Bill suddenly leapt from his seat,and, with a wave of his arm, swept the two children sprawlinginto their father’s lap, while he charged across theclearing. Just for a fraction of a second he paused as heclosed on the bush he had so long contemplated, and hisfriends heard his voice in a furious oath.

“You son of a––!” he roared; and simultaneously therewas a flash and a sharp report from his gun––another, andyet another. Then he vanished into the bush, his smokingrevolver still in his hand ready for use, followed, with noless speed, by Toby and Sandy Joyce.

For a moment Scipio stared; but Sunny Oak seemed tograsp something of the situation. He flung himself beforethe two children, his right hand gripping a revolver whichhe always carried concealed amongst his rags. And at thesame moment the gambler’s voice came back to him.

“Huyk them kids right back to the store, an’ kep ’emthere!” it cried. And instantly the indolent loafer, with amovement almost electrical in its swiftness, seized Vada inhis arms and dashed off up the hill, followed by the littlefather, bearing the screaming Jamie in his.

Inside the bush the three men searched, with eyes andears alert in the fashion of furious terriers. The branchesand inner leaves were spattered with blood, showing thatthe gambler’s shots had taken some effect. The ground,too, was covered with footprints.

With a rush Bill set off trailing the latter, and so soft wasthe ground that he had little or no difficulty in the matter.The trail took them along the creek bank, and here andthere a splash of blood warned them that their quarry wasseverely wounded.

But, even so, they were doomed to disappointment.Thirty yards from the clearing they came to a spot wherethe moist soil was well beaten with horse’s hoofs, and herethe human footprints ended. All three men stared outdown the creek. And then it was that another furious oathescaped the gambler’s lips, as he beheld a racing horsemanmaking good his escape, more than a hundred yards belowthem.

For some moments Wild Bill stood raging impotently.Then he turned on his companions, with a perfect devilglaring out of his ferocious eyes.

“God’s curse light on ’em!” he roared. “It’s James’gang. May his soul rot. I’ll get ’em! I’ll get ’em!They’re after those kids. But, by the wall-eyed Mackinaw,they shan’t touch a hair o’ their heads as long as I’m a livin’man. It’s war, boys! D’ye hear? It’s him an’ me. Me––an’James! An’ I swar to God he’ll go down an’ out assure as my name’s Wild Bill!”

CHAPTER XXV

WILD BILL FIRES A BOMB

When Wild Bill returned to his hut later on in the afternoonhe was consumed by a cold, hard rage, such as comesbut rarely in the life of any man. There was no demonstrativeness:he had no words to give it expression. It wasthe rage of a man who coldly, calmly collects every facultyof brain and body into one great concentration for harm toits object. It was a moment when every evil thought andfeeling was drawn into a cruel longing for harm––harmcalculated to be of the most merciless description.

Neither of the companions who had joined him in thepursuit of the man they had discovered lurking down at theriver had any real understanding of what lay in the back ofthe gambler’s mind. His outburst there had been the firstvolcanic rage which had lit the fires of hate now burningso deep down in his intolerant heart. That outburst theyhad understood. That was the man as they knew him.But this other man they knew nothing of. This was thereal man who returned to his hut, silent and ghastly, withimplacable hatred burning in his heart.

All three had hurriedly and silently returned to the storefrom their futile chase. Bill offered no explanation, and hismanner was so forbidding that even the intrepid Sandy hadfound no use for the questions he would so gladly haveput.

When they arrived, Scipio and Sunny, with the twins, hadreached the place just before them. But they were lostsight of in the rush that was made to tell the gambler of thehappenings at Sid Morton’s ranch. Nor had he any choicebut to listen to the luridly narrated facts. However, hischoice did fall in with their desires, and, after the firstbrief outline, told with all the imagination this varied collectionof beings was capable of, he found himself demanding,as eagerly as they were waiting to tell, every detail of thematter, and even went so far as to examine the body of thedead rancher, roughly laid out in the barn on a bed of hay.He listened almost without comment, which was unusual inhim. His manner displayed no heat. He was cold, critical,and his only words were to ask sharp and definitely pointedquestions. Then, having given Minky instructions for thesafeguarding of the children, he departed without even mentioninghis own adventure down at the river.

But if he neglected to do so, it was otherwise with hisfriends, the other members of the Trust. The moment hisback was turned they shed the story broadcast, each mancompeting with the other in his endeavor to make it thoroughlypalatable to the sensation-loving ears of their fellow-townsmen.And probably of them all Sandy was the mostsuccessful.

In half-an-hour, loyally supported by his friends, he hadthe whole of Suffering Creek strung to such a pitch of nervousexcitement that every man was set looking to his firearms,and all talk was directed towards the most adequatemeans of defending their homes and property.

In the briefest possible time, from a peaceful, industriouscamp, Suffering Creek was transformed into a war base,every citizen stirred not only to defense of his own, butwith a longing to march out to the fray, to seek these landpirates in the open and to exterminate them, as they wouldwillingly exterminate any other vermin.

Men talked war. Brains were feverishly racked forstrategy, and for historical accounts of a similar situation inwhich a town rose to arms and took the law into its ownhands. Stories flew from lip to lip, and, as is usual undersuch stress, so did the convivial glass.

And the result which followed was quite in keeping withthe occasion. Quarrels and bickerings occurred, which keptthe place at fever-heat until the store closed down for thenight and the supply of liquor was cut off. Then slumberbrought its beneficent opiate to distracted nerves.

Throughout it all Minky kept his head level. Whateverhe felt and thought, he had nothing to offer on the altar ofpublic suggestion. He knew that of all these irresponsibledebaters he had the most to lose. Nor did he feel inclinedto expose anything of the risk at which he stood. It was adepressing time for him, so depressing that he could see verylittle hope. His risk was enormous. He felt that the probabilitywas that this raiding gang were well enough postedas to the store of gold he held in his cellars. He felt that,should James or any of his people decide upon a coup, theattack would be well timed, when the miners were out attheir work, and he and the camp generally were left defenseless.

What could he do? He must rid himself of the “dust”somehow. He must dispose of it secretly. A hiding––thatseemed to him, amidst his trouble, to be the only thing.But where? That was the thing. He must consult Bill.To his mind Bill was the only man upon whom he couldplace any real reliance, upon whose judgment he could depend.So, with his shrewd eyes ever on the watch forstrangers amongst his customers, he longed for the hours topass until he could close his store and seek the gambler inhis hut.

In the meantime Wild Bill had cut himself off from hisfellows, spending the long evening hours in the solitude ofhis humble dwelling. The man was strangely calm, but hisfierce eyes and pale face told of an enormous strain ofthought driving him. His mind was sweeping along over aseries of vivid pictures of past events, mixed up with equallyvivid and strongly marked scenes of possible events to come.He was reviewing silently, sternly, a situation which, bysome extraordinary kink in his vanity, he felt it was for himto assume the responsibility of. He felt, although with nofeeling of pride, that he, and he alone, could see itthrough.

The fact of the matter was that, by some strange mentalprocess, James’ doings––his approach to the camp, in facthis very existence––had somehow become a direct individualchallenge to him. Without acknowledging it tohimself, he in some subtle way understood that everythingthis desperado did was a challenge to him––a sneering,contemptuous challenge to him. James was metaphoricallysnapping his fingers under his very nose.

That these were his feelings was undeniable. That thethoughts of the possibilities of an attack on the camp werethe mainspring of his antagonism to the man, that this voluntaryguardianship of Scipio and his twins was the source ofhis rage against him, it was impossible to believe. Theymay have influenced him in a small degree, but only in asmall degree. The man was cast in a very different moldfrom that of a simple philanthropist. It was the man’svanity, the headstrong vanity of a strong and selfish man,that drove him. And as he sat silently raging under histhoughts of the happenings of that day, had he put his paramountfeelings into words he would have demanded howJames dared to exist in a district which he, Wild Bill ofAbilene, had made his own.

He spent the evening sitting on his bed or pacing his littlehut, his thoughts tumbling headlong through his brain. Hefound himself almost absently inspecting his armory, andloading and unloading his favorite weapons. There was nodefinite direction in anything he thought or did, unless itwere in the overwhelming hatred against James whichcolored his every feeling. Without realizing it, every forceof mind and body was seeking inspiration.

And the evening was well-nigh spent before inspirationcame. Careless of time, of everything but his feelings, hehad finally flung himself full length upon his bed, brain-wearyand resourceless. Then came the change. As hishead touched the pillow it almost seemed to rebound; andhe found himself sitting up again glaring at the oppositewall with the desired inspiration in his gimlet eyes.

“Gee!” he breathed, with a force that sent the exclamationhissing through the room.

And for an hour his attitude remained unchanged. Hislegs were drawn up and his long arms were clasped abouthis knees. His eyes were fiercely focused upon a cartridge-belthanging upon the wall, and there they remained, seeminglya fixture, while thought, no longer chaotic, flewthrough his revivified brain. He gave no sign; he utteredno word. But his face told its story of a fiendish joy whichswept from his head to his heart, and thrilled his whole body.

It was in the midst of this that he received a visit fromhis friend Minky. And the moment the door opened inresponse to his summons the look in his eyes, when he sawwho his visitor was, was a cordial welcome. He swunground and dropped his legs over the side of his bunk.

“What’s the time?” he demanded.

Minky pointed to the alarm-clock on the gambler’s table.

“Nigh one o’clock,” he said, with a faint smile.

But Bill ignored the quiet sarcasm.

“Good,” he cried. Then he brought his eyes to theother’s face. They were literally blazing with suppressedexcitement. There was something in them, too, that liftedMinky out of his desperate mood. Somehow they suggestedhope to him. Somehow the very presence of thisman had a heartening effect.

“Say,” cried the gambler in a tone that thrilled withpower, “this is Sunday. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,”he counted the days off on his lean, muscular fingers.“That’s it, sure. Wednesday we send out a ‘stage,’ an’you’re goin’ to ship your gold-dust on it. You’ll ship itto Spawn City. Meanwhiles you’ll buy up all you feel like.Clean the camp out of ‘dust,’ an’ ship it by that stage.”

The storekeeper stared. For a moment he thought hisfriend had taken leave of his senses. A scathing refusalhovered on his lips. But the words never matured. Hewas looking into the man’s burning eyes, and he realizedthat a big purpose lay behind his words.

“An’,” he inquired, with a smile from which he couldnot quite shut out the irony, “an’ who’s goin’ to––drive itthrough?”

“I am.”

The storekeeper jumped and his eyes widened. Hestarted forward. Then he checked himself. He struggledwith a sudden emotion.

“You?” he cried in a sharp whisper. “I––I don’t getyou.”

The gambler leapt to his feet. He strode down the lengthof the hut and came back again. He finally paused beforehis bewildered friend.

“No, o’ course you don’t,” he cried hotly; “course youdon’t. Here, how much ‘dust’ ken you ship?”

“Maybe we’d need to ship sixty thousand dollars’ worth.That is, if we rake around among the boys.”

Minky watched his man closely as he spoke. He wasstill doubting, but he was ready enough to be convinced.He knew it was no use asking too many questions. WildBill hated questions. He watched the latter plunge ahand into the inside pocket of his coat and draw out a book.He had no difficulty in recognizing it as the gambler flung iton the table with a force that set the lamp rattling.

“There it is,” he cried, with a fierce oath. “Ther’s mybank-book. Ther’s seventy odd thousand dollars lyin’ inthe Spawn City bank to my dogasted credit. See?” Heglared; then he drew a step nearer and bent forward. “I’mhandin’ you a check fer your dust,” he went on. “I’veseventy thousand dollars says I’m a better man than Jamesan’ all his rotten scum, an’ that I’m goin’ to shoot him tohell before the week’s out. Now d’ye get me?”

Minky gasped. He had always believed he had longsince fathomed the depths of his wild friend. He had alwaysbelieved that the gambler had no moods which werenot well known to him. He had seen him under almostevery condition of stress. Yet here was a side to his characterhe had never even dreamed of, and he was flabbergasted.

For a moment he had no words with which to adequatelyreply, and he merely shook his head. Instantly the otherflew into one of his savage paroxysms by which it was somuch his habit to carry through his purpose when obstructed.

“You stand there shakin’ your fool head like some moseyold cow,” he cried, with a ruddy flush suddenly mountingto his temples. “An’ you’ll go on shakin’ it till ther’ ain’t‘dust’ enuff in your store to bury a louse. You’ll go onshakin’ it till James’ gun rips out your vitals. Gee!” Hethrew his arms above his head appealing. “Give me aman,” he cried. Then he brought one fist crashing downupon the table and shouted his final words: “Say, you’llget right out an’ post the notices. I’m buyin’ your ‘dust,’an’ I’m driving the stage.”

CHAPTER XXVI

WILD BILL INSPECTS HIS CLAIM

Suffering Creek awoke on the Monday morning laboringunder a hideous depression of nightmare. There wasno buoyancy in the contemplation of the day’s “prospect.”It was as though that wholesome joy of life which belongsto the “outdoor” man had suddenly been snatched away,and only the contemplation of a dull round of unprofitablelabor had been left for the burdened mind to dwell upon.

It was in this spirit that Joe Brand rubbed his eyes andpulled on his moleskin trousers. It was in this spirit thatthe miner, White, slouching along to the store for breakfast,saw and greeted him.

“Nuthin’ doin’ in the night,” he said, in something likethe tone of a disappointed pessimist.

“No.” Joe Brand did not feel a great deal like talking.Besides the nightmare depression that held him he haddrunk a good deal of rye whisky overnight.

White stared out across the creek, whither his thoughtswere still wandering.

“Maybe we––was scairt some,” he observed, with ahollow laugh.

“Maybe.”

Joe’s manner was discouraging.

“Gettin’ breakfast?” the other inquired presently.

“Guess so.”

And the rest of the journey to the store was made inmorose silence.

Others were already astir when they reached their destination.And at some distance they beheld a small group ofmen clustering at one point on the veranda. But such wastheir mood that the matter had no interest whatever forthem until they came within hailing distance. Then it wasthat they were both startled into new life. Then it wasthat all depression was swept away and active interest leapt.Then it was that sore heads and troubled thoughts gave waybefore an excitement almost equal to the previous day’s,only that it carried with it a hope which the latter had almostkilled.

“Say, don’t it beat hell?” demanded a burly prospectoras they came up, pointing back at the wall of the store wherethe group was clustering like a swarm of bees.

“Don’t what?” inquired Brand, with only partial interest.

“Why, that,” cried the man, still pointing. “Ther’ it is,all writ up ther’. It’s in Minky’s writin’, too. They’resendin’ out a stage, Wednesday. Git a peek at it.”

But Brand and his companion did not wait for his finalsuggestion. They, too, had already joined the cluster, andstood craning on the outskirts of it. Yes, there it was, wellchalked out in Minky’s bold capitals––an invitation to allhis customers to trade all the gold they chose to part withto him at the usual rates, or to ship direct to the bank atSpawn City by a stage that was to leave Suffering Creek ateight o’clock on Wednesday morning, its safe delivery insured,at special rates, by the storekeeper himself.

It was the most astounding notice, under the circumstances,ever seen on Suffering Creek, and as the citizensread it excitement surged to a tremendous pitch.

The man called Van expressed something of the thoughtin every mind as he turned to Brand, who happened to beat his side.

“Gee!” he cried, with ironical levity. “Old Minky’splum ‘bug.’ He’s waited to ‘unload’ till James’ gang hasgot the camp held up three miles out. Wal, I ain’t shippin’.Guess I’ll trade my dust at a discount. It’s a sight easiercarryin’ United States currency.”

“But he’s guaranteein’ delivery at the bank,” protestedBrand.

“That’s what it sez, sure,” observed White doubtfully.

“It beats me,” said the burly miner perplexedly, againdrawn to the notice by the apparent recklessness of its purport.“It beats me sure,” he reiterated. Then, after athoughtful pause, he went back to his original statement assomething that expressed the limit of his understanding.“It sure do beat hell.”

So it was throughout the morning. And by noon everysoul in the camp had seen or heard of Minky’s contemplatedrecklessness. The place was wild with excitement, and,instead of setting out for their various claims for the usualday’s work, every man went out to scrape together any“dust” he possessed, and brought it in to trade.

And Minky bought with perfect good-humor, discountingat the recognized tariff, but always with solemn eyes, and amind still wondering at his overnight interview with WildBill. He had obeyed him implicitly, knowing that he wasmaking a liberal profit for himself, whatever the gamblermight be risking. All his transactions were guaranteed forhim by the small fortune which Bill possessed safely depositedin the Spawn City bank. Well, it was not for himto hesitate.

But his trading was not carried on without comment andquestioning. Besides which, there was a heap of roughsarcasm and satire to put up with from his customers. Buthe put up with it. He could afford to. And to the closestquestioning he had always one answer, and no enlightenmentcould they drag out of him.

“The stage goes, boys,” he told them. “An’ personal,I ain’t scairt a cent’s-worth of James an’ his gang. Though,to see the way you’se fellers are fallin’ over yourselves tomake trade with me, I guess I know some folks as is.”

The marvel of the whole thing confounded the publicmind. But the selfishness of human nature demanded thatadvantage should be taken of the situation. If Minky, whorecently had jibbed at trading gold, had suddenly eased themarket, well, it was “up to him.” It was his “funeral.”The public jumped at the chance of realizing, and so relievingthemselves of the cloud of trouble threatening them.James could come along with a whole army of desperadoes,once they had rid themselves of their “dust.” They thenwould no longer have anything to lose except their lives, andthose they were always prepared to risk in anything soenterprising as a little honest gun-play.

It was noon when Wild Bill was stirring. And he listenedto the news which greeted him on every hand with acalmly non-committal air. Nor, when he found it necessaryto comment, did he hesitate to do so in his usual sharp,decided fashion.

“Minky’s good grit,” he declared on one occasion to apuzzled miner. “I don’t guess ther’s many folks around as’ud take his chances. I allow Sufferin’ Creek needs to beproud of sech a feller.”

And his attitude promptly set up a new feeling in thecamp. Minky’s heroic pose had not struck the people before.But now the full force of it struck home in a mannerwhich suddenly raised him to a great pinnacle ofpopularity. The storekeeper of Suffering Creek was standingbetween the camp and possible financial disaster. Itwas noble. It was splendid. Yes, they had reason to bevery thankful to him.

Bill contemplated the notice long and earnestly when hisattention was first called to it. And his narrow eyes lit andtwinkled as he read down the carefully chalked capitals.Minky had certainly done it well. But then Minky didmost things well. He read it down a second time, and thenpushed his way into the store. It was some time before hecould reach his friend, but finally he got him to himself as hewas poring over a big cash-book. The storekeeper lookedup. Nor had he any greeting for his visitor. He was stilldazed at the gambler’s purpose. And somehow it was thelatter who had to speak first.

“You done it good, Minky,” he said amiably.

“Ther’ll be sixty thousand dollars,” the storekeepermumbled doubtfully.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Sure.” Bill turned and gazed out of the window. “Itneeds to be a big pile. Makes things surer.”

“Surer? I don’t get you.”

“No; that’s so.” The gambler turned back to the otherabruptly. “Say, you get busy an’ gas. Gas till you got thecamp yappin’ like coyotes. Tell ’em the stage is sure carryin’sixty thousand dollars’ worth o’ good red gold.” Thenhis manner suddenly changed and he laughed. “Say, I’mjest goin’ out to get a peek at my claim. I sure guess Ibought a dandy rich claim o’ Zip.”

“You orter know,” said Minky, with a shake of the head.“I sure don’t seem to understand––”

“Course you don’t,” cried Bill, with strange good-nature.Then his eyes became curiously reflective. “Wher’s Zip?”

“Zip? Guess he’s around with the kids. Y’see, theBird’s helpin’ him fix things. Maybe they’re back in thedinin’-room.”

Bill stood for a moment in deep thought. Then he turnedsuddenly, and his fierce little eyes fixed themselves on hisfriend’s face.

“Them kids,” he said sharply. “Maybe I’ll get you tokep ’em safe right here fer three days an’ more. After thatwe’ll see.” Then in a moment his expression lightened andhe laughed. “Guess I’ll get Zip to come along an’ showme the claim.”

Half-an-hour later the gambler was striding down theriver bank, with Scipio hurrying along at his side. Severaltimes the little man had endeavored to engage his companionin amiable conversation. He wanted to talk about the episodeat the river, but Bill would have none of it. Nor wasit until he was nearly half-way to their destination, whereSandy Joyce was already at work, that he broke the silencein which he had wrapped himself.

They had just emerged from a narrow cattle-track wherethey had been forced to walk in single file on account of thebush which grew in such abundance on either side of it. Billwas leading, and as the path widened into a clearing, inwhich lay several fallen trees rooted out of the ground bysome long-passed flood of the creek, he suddenly turnedabout and faced his diminutive friend.

“Here,” he said, “we’ll set here a piece. Guess we needto talk some.” He glanced quickly about, and finally flunghimself upon the nearest tree-trunk. “Set,” he cried, pointingat another trunk lying opposite to him.

Scipio wonderingly complied. He stood in considerableawe of the gambler, and now he was ransacking his brain todiscover the object of this desire for a talk. He could findno adequate reason, except it might be that Bill was repentingof his bargain in purchasing a half-share in his claim.Yes, it might be that. It probably was that. He had nodoubt bought on inaccurate information. Scipio knew howmisleading and how wild many of the reports which flewabout Suffering Creek were. Besides, he was certain thatBill’s information about his claim, wherever he had got itfrom, was inaccurate. Yes, no doubt this was what hewanted to talk about, and the honest-minded man promptlydecided that the gambler should have no cause to blame him.He need have no doubts. He would by no means hold himto the bargain. He would return the money––

Suddenly he remembered. He had already spent fivedollars of it, and he went hot and cold at the thought. Hehad nothing with which to replace it.

However, he took no further thought, and, as Bill stillremained silent, he plunged into the matter at once.

“I got most all the money with me,” he began, in hisvague way expecting the other to understand his meaning.“That is, all but fi’ dollars. Y’see, the kids needed––”

Bill’s sharp eyes reached his face with a jump.

“Wot in the name o’ blazes––” he cried.

But Scipio did not let him continue.

“I knew ther’ wa’n’t no gold showin’ on my claim,” hehurriedly explained. “So I’ll jest hand you back yourdollars.”

“Square-toed mackinaw!” the gambler cried, his facescarlet. Then he broke out into one of his harsh laughs.“Say,” he went on, with pretended severity, “you can’tsqueal that way. I’m in ha’f your claim, an’ I ain’t lettin’up my holt on it fer––fer nobody an’ nuthin’. Get thatright here. You can’t bluff me.”

Scipio flushed. He somehow felt very small. The lastthing he wanted Bill to think was that he was trying to dohim an injury.

“I’m sorry,” he said helplessly. “Y’see, I thought, youneeding to talk to me so bad, you wanted, maybe, to quitmy claim.”

He turned away, gazing down the wood-lined river.Somehow he could not face the gambler’s stern eyes. Hadhe seen the sudden softening in them the moment the otherwas sure he was unobserved, he might have been less troubled.But the gambler had no soft side when men’s eyeswere upon him.

“’Tain’t about your claim I need to talk,” Bill said, aftera brief pause. His voice was less harsh, and there was anunusual thoughtfulness in its tone. “It’s––it’s––Say,Zip, I ain’t fergot our talk out there on the trail.” Henodded his head out in the direction of Spawn City. “Youmind that talk when you was puttin’ up that fool propositiono’ handin’ James that kid?”

Scipio’s eyes had come back to his companion, and theirexpression had suddenly dropped to one of hopeless regret.His heart was stirred to its depths by the reference to the pasttrouble which lay like a cankerous sore so deep down in it.

He nodded. But otherwise he had no words.

“You’re needin’ your wife?” Bill went on brusquely.

Again Scipio nodded. But this time words came, too.

“But you was right,” he said. “I saw it all after. Iwas plumb wrong. An’––an’ I ain’t holding you to––whatyou said. You jest wanted to put me right. I understoodthat––after.”

Bill stirred uneasily, and kicked a protruding limb of thetree on which he sat.

“You’re a heap ready to let me out,” he cried, with areturn to his harshest manner. “Who in blazes are you tosay I don’t need to do the––things I said I’d do? Jest waittill you’re ast to.” He turned away, and Scipio was lefttroubled and wondering.

But suddenly the lean body swung round again, and thelittle prospector felt the burning intensity of the man’s eyesas they concentrated on his flushing face.

“You’re needin’ your wife?” he jerked out.

“More’n all the world,” the little man cried, with emotion.

“Would you put up a––a scrap fer her?”

“With anybody.”

The corners of Bill’s mouth wrinkled, but his eyes remainedhard and commanding. Whatever feelings of anappreciative nature lay behind his lean face they were wellhidden.

“You’d face James an’ all his gang––again? You’d facehim if it sure meant––death?”

“The chance o’ death wouldn’t stop me if I could get herback.”

The quiet of the little man’s tone carried a conviction fargreater than any outburst could have done.

“An’ she’s been––his?”

Scipio took a deep breath. His hands clenched. Just fora moment the whites of his eyes became bloodshot withsome rush of tremendous feeling. It seemed as though hewere about to break out into verbal expression of his agonyof heart. But when he finally did speak it was in the sameeven tone, though his breath came hard and deep.

“I want her––whatever she is,” he said quietly.

Bill rose to his feet, and a passionate light shone in hissparkling eyes.

“Then take Minky’s mule an’ buckboard. Start right outfer James’ ranch before sun-up Wednesday mornin’, an’––you’llsure get her. Come on.”

Scipio sprang to his feet, and a dozen hot questionsleapt to his mind. An ocean of gratitude was struggling topour from his inadequate tongue, but Bill would have noneof it. He waved him aside and set off for their destination,and the other could only follow. But at the farther edge ofthe clearing again the gambler paused. This time a suddenthought had changed his plans. He turned abruptly, andwithout one particle of softening in his manner he orderedhim back.

“Say,” he cried, “ther’ ain’t no use fer you to get aroundfurther. You ken jest light back to the store, an’ see tothem kids. Don’t you never let ’em out o’ your sight tillWednesday come. Then hit out fer James’ ranch.”

When Wild Bill eventually reached the claim, he foundSandy sitting on an upturned bucket amidst the most deplorablesurroundings in which a gold prospector in quest of theprecious metal could ever hope to find himself.

The creek bank was some two hundred yards away, witha pronounced rising ground between him and it. Behindhim was a great cut-faced rock of ironstone that certainlylooked auriferous. The base of it lay in a definite hollow,reed-grown and oozy. Beyond him, to the right, followingthe river bank, the ground declined gradually towards ablack-looking, turgid and overgrown swamp. While, fromthe direction in which the gambler approached, a low, dense,thorny bush grew, made up of branches almost skeleton intheir lack of leaves. It was a forlorn and uninviting spot,calculated to dishearten anybody with a heart less big andan enthusiasm less vital than Scipio’s.

Bill stood for a moment surveying the scene before Sandyrealized his presence. And that first glance set him snortingcontemptuously.

“Well, say––” he began. But words failed him, and hehurried across to his “hired” man.

Sandy jumped up as he came near, and before the othercould stop him had poured out his opinion of things in general,and that claim in particular, in a few well-chosen andeffective words.

“Say, Zip orter sure be shot or hanged,” he cried angrily,“an’ this doggone claim o’ mud needs to be boosted througha dogasted volcany an’ blowed out the other side o’ no sorto’ place at all. Ther’ sure ain’t nuthin’ worse in the worldthan the foolishness of a tow-headed fool.”

But Bill ignored the outburst.

“How much gold you found?” he inquired coldly.

Sandy’s indignant eyes blazed.

“Gold? Pea-shucks!” he roared, with a furious oath.“An’ I tell you right here I ain’t to be made no fool of.You ken take this mule-headed job an’––an’––well, you kentake it. I quit right here.”

But again Bill ignored his outburst. There was not avestige of expression in his face as he moved across to themouth of a shaft Scipio had been sinking before his workhad been interrupted by the going of his wife. He lookedinto it and pointed.

“Guess you best get right on makin’ this hole deeper.Ther’ ain’t nuthin’ like diggin’ to find out. Zip’s sure awise guy. I don’t guess I know what you’ll likely find––but––youbest kep diggin’. That’s sure his notion.”

Sandy went purple in the face, and spluttered violentlyin his attempt to speak. Finally, when he did get his wordsout, it was only to repeat his decision.

“It’s jest a mud swamp,” he cried, “an’ I quit.”

Bill turned swiftly. His movements were almost cat-likeas he came up and peered into Sandy’s face.

“You’ll kep right on diggin’ that hole,” he said, with anicy threat. “An’ come Wednesday you’ll quit diggin’ an’hit the trail on Zip’s track––you an’ Sunny an’ Toby––an’you’ll sure see no harm comes to him. But he ain’t to seeyou, nor to know you’re chasin’ him. An’ you ain’t to stophim, no matter what fool trick he gets playin’. Get me?”

Sandy’s choler died out before the other’s purpose. Hesuddenly realized that his work on the claim was not of anygreat consequence to his employer, that Bill had otherthoughts, other schemes in his head, and that he, Sandy,was to have his place in them. He nodded.

“I get you,” he said. “But––”

“Ther’ ain’t no ‘buts,’” interrupted Bill. “You’re goin’to do as I sez. Meanwhiles you’re goin’ right on diggin’that hole, to earn your dollars.”

And without another word he turned and hurried awaytowards the mouth of the trail whence he had appeared.

CHAPTER XXVII

SUSPENSE

It was nearly sundown. A chilly mist was stealing downthe slopes of the surrounding hills. It densified to a ruddyfog as it caught the glow of the evening sun, and finallysettled upon the valley. And with each passing moment thehills seemed to recede, their outlines to grow more indistinctand ghostly. And gradually the whole prospect took on thedepressing aspect of a day dying wearily.

Had Jessie been less preoccupied as she stood at the doorof the ranch-house she might have felt something of all this.But she heeded nothing of the hour, and saw nothing of thepicture before her. Her eyes only visualized the scenes thata world of troubled and apprehensive thought yielded her.Her mind and heart were full of a great terror, a terrorwhich left her helpless and dazed.

She stirred restlessly. Time and again she changed herposition. Now she was leaning against one casing of thedoorway, now against the other. A nervous glance over hershoulder, as some sound in the darkness of the room behindher set her shivering, told of the state of her nerves, as also,with ears ever on the alert, her fearful glances at a definitespot in the rapidly dimming hills told of a straining, harassedexpectancy. Her nerves were almost at breaking-point.Her handsome face was drawn and haggard. All the youthfulfreshness seemed to have vanished from it forever, leavingher radiant eyes shadowed and hopeless. It was apainful change. But the outward and visible signs werenothing to the changes that had taken place within her.

Thirty yards away a decrepit choreman was making pretenseof some work upon a corral fence. But it was onlypretense. His real occupation was espionage. His red-rimmedeyes never for a moment lost sight of his master’swoman when she showed herself in the open. A curious-lookingdog of immense proportions, half mastiff, half Newfoundland,squatted on its haunches at his side, alternatinghis green-eyed attention between a watchful regard for thehand that fed and thrashed it and the woman at the doorway.There was not much to choose between the faces of thesewardens of the ranch. Both were cruel, both were intenselyvicious. In neither pair of eyes was there any friendlinessfor the woman. And it needed little imagination to understandthat both possessed to the full all the instincts of thesavage watch-dog.

But Jessie had no thought for either. Her own terriblethoughts and feelings held her. It is doubtful if she waseven aware of their presence at all. Just now one thoughtstood out dominant in her mind. She was expecting thereturn of––James. And the return of James meant––Sheshuddered.

He was returning from his expedition in the neighborhoodof Suffering Creek, and this knowledge brought with it theremembrance that his object was to give her possession ofat least one of her children. Distracted as she was withher mother’s desire for possession of her offspring, althoughthe man was now only obeying her expressed wishes, shedreaded the child’s coming almost as much as she dreadedher lover’s return. The thought of seeing Vada in thisman’s arms maddened her to such a degree that she waswell-nigh beside herself.

For two whole days now had she brooded under a cloudof despair. She had scarcely stirred out of her room; shehad eaten scarcely enough to sustain life. She had shut herselfup, a prey to harrowing remorse and terror––a remorsewhich she knew to be as useless as her terror was nerve-racking.Her awakening had come, sudden, awful. And,like all such awakenings, it had come too late, so that thehorror of her future was written in letters of fire before hermental eyes, a fire which burnt into her broken heart andleft her in the depths of an unutterable despair.

It was on the morning of her lover’s departure for theregion of Suffering Creek that the awakening had come. Ithad come with an overwhelming rush of horror which, inthe midst of her dressing, had sent her reeling and faintingupon the bed from which she had only just risen, and wherefor two hours she had subsequently lain in a state ofcollapse.

She was brushing her hair, her mind busy with the pleasantthought that shortly she was to have one of her childrenwith her again. She knew that her appeal to her husbandhad failed, but James had sworn to keep his promise, andnow he was setting out for that expressed purpose. Andsuch was her foolish woman’s blind faith that she had nodoubts. When he returned he was to bring, at least, littleVada with him. The fresh mountain air was doubly pleasantto her that morning. The brilliant sunlight raised herspirits. All qualms of conscience were thrust into the background,and she was as nearly happy as earthly interestcould make her.

She could see the crowded corrals from where she stood.She could hear the bellowing of the restless cattle as theypushed and horned each other in their forceful, bovine desireto get out to the succulent grass of their beloved pastures.All the men were astir, preparing for their lawless expedition.The saddle-horses, ready for the trail, were hitched tothe corral fences. Through the open window she could hearher lover ordering and hectoring, as was his way of dealingwith the ruffians who served under his leadership; and athrill of excitement, a subtle sympathy, stirred her. Shemoved to the window, leaving her beautiful hair flowing inthe bright air, and stood watching for the departure.

Then came that hideous thing which was to shadow all herfuture life. It came almost without warning. In a flash, itseemed, the last tinge of romance was swept from herthoughts, and the hideous skeleton of reality was laid bare.

The men had tightened up the cinchas of their saddles,and passed the reins over their horses’ heads, ready tomount. She watched them all with something very like admirationin her blinded eyes. Their hard, desperate facesdid not appear so to her. These things, in her foolish mind,were the hall-mark of reckless courage, of strong, virile manhood.They were men who feared nothing, who cared nomore for their own lives than they would care for the life ofan enemy. And somehow this seemed to her just as itshould be.

She waited to see them mount their raw-boned bronchos.But somehow there was a delay; and in this delay a changecame over the scene. The men drifted away from theirhorses and gathered into groups. They stood whisperingtogether with faces averted from their leader. A feeling ofapprehension somehow caught hold of her. She did notunderstand why, but she felt that all was not right. Sheturned to James, and saw that he was moving round hishorse all unconcernedly, and she wondered if he were awareof the change in his men.

But all further speculation was abruptly checked, for atthat moment she heard the leader issue one of his sharporders. She did not quite catch his words, but she noticedthat no one moved or attempted to comply. Only talkceased instantly. Then she saw the handsome face of herlover flush, as he glanced about him at this unusual phenomenon,and in a moment she recognized the sudden savageanger that flashed into his eyes. Simultaneously his handdropped to the butt of one of his guns.

Then she heard his words, as they were shouted to theaccompaniment of a string of vicious oaths.

“Ho, you, Ned, an’ you, too, Sully!” he cried fiercely,“get your ears flappin’. Huyk that rotten skunk Conroyout. I ain’t tellin’ you again.”

The woman had thrilled at his words. There was suchcommand, such fearlessness in them, in his whole poise.She felt, too, that there was trouble looming. There wasrebellion in the air. Her excitement rose, and her sympathieswere all for this one man.

The two men indicated suddenly bestirred themselves, andmoved off under their leader’s eye. The rest drifted together––eightof them, she found herself counting. Andas they drew together a murmur arose.

Instantly James’ gun flew from its holster; and he stood,the personification of cold authority.

“Another word an’ I empty this into your lousy hides!”she heard him cry. And instantly the murmur died out.

But the threatening weapon did not return to its holster.James stood there waiting. And presently she beheld thetwo men he had despatched returning, bringing in their custody,tottering awkwardly between them, the man Abe Conroy,with his arms tightly fastened behind his back, and apair of horse-hobbles securing his ankles. They cameslowly, for the hobbles allowed but little play, and haltedless than five yards away from their leader.

As they paused the woman shivered. Some premonitionof what was about to happen got hold of her, and struckterror to her heart. She stood staring now, unable to move.A hideous fascination seemed to paralyze her.

The next thing that reached her comprehension was thatJames was speaking in a harsh metallic voice. She hadnever heard him speak like that before, and her fears swiftlyincreased as his words floated in through the open window.

“Now, you skunk,” he was saying, “you guess you’reman enough to run this lay-out. You guess you’re a biggerman than me. You guess you got me squealin’ around likea suckin’ kid. You! An’ I took you out o’ jail, wher’ theywas goin’ to set you swingin’. Gee! I could tell you aheap, but I ain’t no time talkin’ to bastards of your kidney.Swingin’s too good fer sech as you. Anyway, when I gotwork to do I do it myself. Here, you, Ned, an’ you, Sully,stand aside!”

She saw the two men withdraw. She wanted to scream,without quite knowing why. But no sound came. Her eyeswere starting out of her head with the horror of what sheknew to be about to happen. But she had no power to stirhand or foot.

She saw James move forward. She saw the bloodless,horror-stricken face of the prisoner. She saw him stumbleas he attempted to move away. There was no escape.

James moved forward with body crouching, and stridesthat covered the intervening space with almost feline stealth.

He came right up to the man, his gun leading. She hearda report and one dreadful cry of terror and pain. She sawConroy crumple and fall writhing upon the ground. Shesaw the blood streaming from his stomach. Then the furtherhorror came to her staring eyes as she saw James standover his victim and fire shot after shot into the hideous,writhing heap.

But the limit was reached. With one wild scream sheturned away and flung herself upon her bed; and the nextmoment everything mercifully became a blank to her.

That was on the Sunday morning. She saw nothing ofwhat followed. She knew nothing until she awoke sometwo hours later to the haunting vision of the scene she hadwitnessed. And ever since it had clung to her––clung likean obsession, a mental parasite sapping her nerve, her veryreason. Nor had she power to disassociate herself from it.

And now she was waiting in an agony of mind for themurderer’s return. Not only was she waiting for his return,but she expected to see him bearing in his arms one of herown innocent children. The thought of little Vada in hisarms drove her frantic. Her innocent little Vada in thearms of this cold-blooded assassin!

She knew him now for all he was. The scales had fallenfrom her foolish eyes. All the romance of his hideous callinghad passed in a flash, and she saw it as it was. She hadno words to express her feelings of horror and revolting.In her weakness and wickedness she had torn herself out ofthe life of a good man to fling herself upon the bosom ofthis black-hearted villain. She loathed him; she loathed hisvery name. But more than all else she loathed herself.Her punishment was terrible. She was so helpless, sopowerless. She knew it, and the knowledge paralyzed herthought. What could she do? She knew she was watched,and any move to get away would be at once frustrated.She could do nothing––nothing.

No longer able to remain in her room, she had come outto breathe air which she vainly hoped was less contaminatedwith the crimes of the man whose home she had elected toshare. But inside or out it made no difference. The hauntingwas not of the place. It was in her mind; it had envelopedher whole consciousness.

But through it all there was one longing, one yearning forall that she had lost, all she had wantonly thrown away.Suffering Creek, with its poverty-stricken home on thedumps, suggested paradise to her now. She yearned as onlya mother can yearn for the warm caresses of her children.She longed for the honest love of the little man whom, in thedays of her arrogant womanhood, she had so mercilesslydespised. All his patient kindliness came back to her now.All his tremendous, if misdirected, effort on her behalf, hisnever-failing loyalty and courage, were things which to her,in her misery, were the most blessed of all blessings. Shewanted home––home. And in that one bitter cry of herheart was expressed the awakening of her real womanhood.

But it had come too late––too late. There was no homenow for her but the home of this man. There was nohusband for her, only the illicit love of this man. Her children––shecould only obtain them by a theft. And as thislast thought came to her she remembered who it was whomust commit the theft.

The thought brought a fresh terror. How would heaccomplish his end? Had not Scipio tacitly refused to yieldup her children? Then how––how? She shivered. Sheknew the means James would readily, probably only toogladly, adopt. Her husband, the little harmless man whohad always loved her, would be swept aside like anyone elsewho stood in the way. James would shoot him down as hehad shot Conroy down; even, she fancied, he would shoothim down for the wanton amusement of destroying hislife.

Oh no, no! It was too horrible. He was her husband,the first man she had ever cared for. She thought of allthey had been to each other. Her mind sped swiftly overpast scenes which had so long been forgotten. She rememberedhis gentleness, his kindly thought for her, his self-effacementwhere her personal comforts were in question,his devotion both to herself and her children. Every detailof their disastrous married life sped swiftly before herstraining mental vision, leaving the man standing out somethinggreater than a hero to her yearning heart. And shehad flung it all away in a moment of passion. She hadblinded herself in the arrogance of her woman’s vanity.Gone, gone. And now she was the mistress of a commonassassin.

So she lashed herself with the torture of repentance andregret as the darkness fell. She did not stir from her post.The damp of the mist was unnoticed, the chill of the air.She was waiting for that return which was to claim her toan earthly hell, than which she could conceive no greater––waitinglike the condemned prisoner, numb, helpless, fearfullest the end should come unobserved.

The ranch wardens waited, too. The man cursed hischarge with all the hatred of an evil nature, as the damppenetrated to his mean bones. The dog, too, grew restless,but where his master was, there was his place. He had longsince learned that––to his cost.

The night crept on, and there was no change in the position,except that the man sought the sheltering doorway ofone of the barns, and covered his damp shirt with a jacket.But the woman did not move. She was beyond all conceptionof time. She was beyond any thought of personal comfortor fatigue. All she knew was that she must wait––waitfor the coming of her now hated lover, that at least shemight snatch her child from his contaminating arms. Andafter that––well, after that––She had no power to thinkof the afterwards.

The moon rose amidst the obscurity of the fog. Itmounted, and at last reached a height where its silvery lightcould no longer be denied by the low-lying mists. But itsreign was brief. Its cold splendor rapidly began to shrinkbefore the pink dawn, and in less than two hours it was buta dim white circle set in the azure of the new-born day.

Still the woman remained at her post, her dark eyes strainingwith her vigil. She was drenched to the skin with thenight-mists, but the chill of her body was nothing to the chillof her heart. The spy was still at his post in the barn doorway,but he was slumbering, as was his canine servitor, lyingcurled up at his feet. The sun rose, the mists cleared. Andnow the warming of day stirred the cattle in the corrals.

Suddenly the waiting woman started. Her attention hadnever once relaxed. She moved out with stiffened joints,and, shading her eyes with her hand, stared into the gleamingsunlight. Her ears had caught the distant thud ofhorses’ hoofs, and now her eyes confirmed. Away downthe valley she could see the dim outline of a number ofhorsemen riding towards the ranch.

Her heart began to thump in her bosom, and her limbsquaked under her. What could she do? What must she do?Every thought, every idea that her long vigil had suggestedwas swept from her mind. A blank helplessness held her inits grip. She could only wait for what was to come.

The pounding of hoofs grew louder, the figures grewbigger. They were riding out of the sun, and her eyes werealmost blinded as she looked for that which she trembled tobehold. She could not be certain of anything yet, exceptthat the return of her lover was at hand.

Nearer, nearer they came. Nearer, nearer still. Thensuddenly a sharp exclamation broke from the watcher. Itwas a cry which had in it a strange thrill. It might havebeen the gasp of the condemned man at the sound of theword “reprieve.” It might have been the cry of one momentarilyrelieved from years of suffering.

She could see them plainly. For now the figures wereno longer silhouetted against the sun. They had changedtheir course as they neared the ranch, and the rising sun waswell clear. She could even recognize them by their horses.She counted. There were ten of them. One was missing.Who? But her interest was only momentary. She recognizedthe leader, and after that nothing else concerned her.

She could not mistake him. He sat his dark brown horsedifferently to anybody else. He looked to be part of it.But there was no admiration in her eyes. And yet therewas an expression in them that had not been in them sincehis departure. There was hope in her eyes, and somethingakin to joy in her whole attitude. James was riding empty-handed!

Hence her cry. But now she glanced swiftly at eachhorseman, to be sure that they, too, were empty-handed.Yes, each man was riding with the loose swinging arms ofthe prairie man. And with a sigh that contained in it everyexpression of an unbounded relief she turned and vanishedinto the house. For the time, at least, Vada was safe.

CHAPTER XXVIII

JAMES

James clattered into the empty sitting-room and staredabout him. His dark face was flushed with excitement.The savage in him was stirred to its best mood, but it wasstill the savage. He grinned as he realized that the roomwas empty, and it was a grin of amusement. Some thoughtin his mind gave him satisfaction, in spite of the fact thatthere was no one to greet him.

The grin passed and left him serious. Even his excitementhad abated. He had remembered Jessie’s scream atthe scene she must have witnessed. He remembered that hehad left her fainting. With another quick glance round hestood and called––

“Ho, you! Jess!”

There was no answer; and he called again, this time hishandsome face darkening. He had seen her from a distanceoutside the house, so there was no doubt of her being about.

Still he received no answer.

An oath followed. But just as he was about to call againhe heard the sound of a skirt beyond the inner door. Instantlyhe checked his impulse, and where before his swift-risinganger had shone in his eyes a smile now greeted Jessieas she opened the door and entered the room.

For a moment no verbal greeting passed between them.The man was taking in every detail of her face and figure,much as a connoisseur may note the points of some preciouspurchase he is about to make, or a glutton may contemplatea favorite dish. He saw nothing in her face of the effectsof the strain through which she had passed. To him hereyes were the same wonderful, passionate depths that hadfirst drawn his reckless manhood to flout every risk in huntinghis quarry down. Her lips were the same rich, moist,enticing lips he had pressed to his in those past moments ofpassion. The rounded body was unchanged. Yes, she wasvery desirable.

But he was too sure of his ground to notice that there wasno responsive admiration in the woman’s eyes. And perhapsit was as well. She was looking at him with eyes wide opento what he really was, and all the revolting of her naturewas uppermost. She loathed him as she might some venomousreptile. She loathed him and feared him. His bodymight have been the body of an Apollo, his face the mostperfect of God’s creations. She knew him now for the cold-bloodedmurderer he was, and so she loathed and feared him.

There were stains upon his cotton shirt-sleeves, upon thebosom of it showing between the fronts of his unbuttonedwaistcoat. There were stains upon his white moleskintrousers.

“Blood,” she said, pointing. And something of her feelingsmust have been plain to any but his infatuated ears.

He laughed. It was a cruel laugh.

“Sure,” he cried. “It was a great scrap. We tooknigh a hundred head of Sid Morton’s cattle and burnt himout.”

“And the blood?”

“Guess it must be his, or––Luke Tedby’s.” His facesuddenly darkened. “That mutton-headed gambler over onSuffering Creek did him up. I had to carry him to shelter––afterhe got away.”

But Jessie paid little attention. She was following up herown thought.

“It isn’t––Conroy’s?”

James’ eyes grew cold.

“That seems to worry you some,” he cried coldly. Thenhe put the thing aside with a laugh. “You’ll get used tothat sort of talk after you’ve been here awhile. Say, Jes––”

“I can never get used to––murder.”

The woman’s eyes were alight with a somber fire. Shehad no idea of whither her words and feelings were carryingher. All her best feelings were up in arms, and she, too, wastouched now with the reckless spirit which drove these people.There was no hope for her future. There was nohope whithersoever she looked. And now that she had seenher children were still safe from the life she had flung herselfinto, she cared very little what happened to her.

But the cruel despot, to whom life and death were of noaccount whatsoever, was not likely to deal tenderly long withthe woman he desired did she prove anything but amenable.Now her words stung him as they were meant to sting, andhis mouth hardened.

“You’re talking foolish,” he cried in that coldly metallicway she had heard him use before. “Conroy got all heneeded. Maybe he deserved more. Anyhow, ther’s onlyone man running this lay-out, and I’m surely that man.Say––” again he changed. This time it was a change backto something of the lover she knew, and at once he becameeven more hateful to her––“things missed fire at––theCreek. I didn’t get hands on your kids. I––”

“I’m glad.” Jessie could have shouted aloud her joy, butthe man’s look of surprise brought caution, and she qualifiedher words. “No; we’d best leave them, after all,” she said.“You see, these men––”

She looked fearlessly into his face. She was acting asonly a woman can act when the object of her affections isthreatened.

And her lover warmed all unsuspiciously. It would havebeen better for her had she only realized her power over him.But she was not clever. She was not even brave.

James nodded.

“Sure,” he said; and with that monosyllable dismissedthe subject from his mind for matters that gave him savagedelight. “Say, we’ve had a good round-up,” he went on––“adandy haul. But we’re going to do better––Oh yes,much better.” Then his smile died out. He had almostforgotten the woman in the contemplation of what he had inhis mind. This man was wedded to his villainies. Theycame before all else. Jessie was his; he was sure of her.She was his possession, and he took her for granted now.The excitement of his trade had once again become paramount.

“Guess Sufferin’ Creek has gone plumb crazy,” he wenton delightedly. “I’ve had boys around to keep me posted.They been spotting things. Old Minky has been sittin’ sotight I guessed I’d have to raid the store for his gold; an’now they’ve opened out. That buzzy-headed old fool’s goin’to send out a stage loaded down with dust. It startsWednesday morning, an’ he guesses it’s to win through toSpawn City. Gee! An’ they’re shoutin’ about it. Say,Jess, they say it’s to carry sixty thousand dollars. Well, itwon’t carry it far. That’s why I’m back here now. That’swhy I quit worrying with your kids when Wild Bill did upLuke. We hustled home to change our plugs, an’ are hittin’the trail again right away. Sixty thousand dollars! Gee!what a haul! Say, when I’ve taken that”––he moved astep nearer and dropped his voice––“we’re goin’ to clearout of this––you an’ me. Those guys out there ain’t nevergoing to touch a cent. You leave that to me. We’ll hit forNew Mexico, and to hell with the north country. Say, Jess,ain’t that fine? Fine?” he went on, with a laugh. “It’sfine as you are.”

She had no answer for him. And he went on quite heedlessly,lost in admiration of his own scheme, and joy at theprospect.

“We’ll settle down to an elegant little ranch, most respectablelike. You can go to church. Ha, ha! Yes, you cango to church all reg’lar. You can make clothes fer the poor,an’ go to sociables an’ things. An’ meanwhiles I can slipacross the border and gather up a few things––just to keepmy hand in––”

“What time are we gettin’ out?”

James swung round with the alertness of a panther. Oneof the men was standing in the doorway, a burly ruffianwhose face was turned to his leader, but whose cruel eyeswere rudely fixed on the woman.

“In ha’f-an-hour,” cried James, with a swift return to hisharsh command. “Tell the boys to vittle for three days an’roll a blanket. We’ll need ’em fer sleep. An’, say,” hecried, with sudden threat, “don’t you git around here againtill I call you. Get me?”

There was no mistaking his anger at the interruption.There was no mistaking his meaning. The man slunk away.But as James turned back to the woman his previous lightnesshad gone, and his ill-humor found savage expression.

“There’s someone else needing a lesson besides Conroy,”he snarled.

Jessie shivered.

“He didn’t mean harm,” she protested weakly.

“Harm? Harm? He was staring at you. You ain’t fersech scum as him to stare at. I’ll have to teach him.”

The man was lashing himself to that merciless fury Jessiehad once before witnessed, and now she foolishly strove toappease him. She laughed. It was a forced laugh, but itserved her purpose, for the man’s brow cleared instantly,and his thoughts diverted to a full realization of her presence,and all she meant to him.

“You can laugh,” he said, his eyes darkening with suddenlustful passion. “But I can’t have folks––starin’ at you.Say, Jess, you don’t know, you can’t think, how I feel aboutyou. You’re jest mine––mine.” His teeth clipped togetherwith the force of his emotion. The brute in himurged him as madly in his desire as it did in his harsher tempers.“I just don’t care for nothing else but you. An’––Igot you now. Here, you haven’t kissed me since I cameback. I’d forgot, thinking of that sixty thousand of gold-dust.I’m off again in ha’f-an-hour––an’ I won’t be backfor three days. Here––”

His arms were held out and he drew nearer. But nowthe woman drew back in unmistakable horror.

“Say,” he cried in a voice still passionate, yet half angry,“you don’t need to get away. Ther’s a wall back of you.”Then, as she still shrank back, and he saw the obvious terrorin her eyes, his swift-changing mood lost its warmth of passionand left it only angry. “Ther’s three other walls an’ adoor to this room, an’ I can easy shut the door.”

He reached out and caught her by one arm. He swungher to him as though she were a child. There was no escape.She struggled to free herself, but her strength was asthe strength of a babe to his, and in a moment she wascaught in his arms and hugged to his breast. She writhed tofree herself, but her efforts made no impression. And, havingpossession of her, the man laughed. It was not a pleasantlaugh. He looked down at her. Her head was thrownback to avoid him. His hot eyes grinned tantalizingly intoher face.

“It’s no use,” he said. “You got to kiss me. You’remine. No, no, don’t you bother to kick any. You can’t getaway. Now, Jess, kiss me. Kiss me good––good an’plenty.” His arms crushed her closer. “What, you won’t?You won’t kiss me? Ha, ha! Maybe that’s why you ranback into the house when I come along. Maybe that’s whyyou wouldn’t answer when I called. What’s come to you?”

He held her, waiting for a reply. But the woman wasbeyond speech in her horror and rage. She was no longerterrified. She was beside herself with fury and revolting.She hated the crushing arms about her––the arms of a murderer.That one word stood out in her mind, maddeningher. She would not kiss him. She could not. She gaspedand struggled. She wanted to shriek for help, but that, sheknew, was useless.

“Let me go!” she cried, her voice hoarse with a furyequal to anything he was capable of.

But she only held her the tighter; he only grinned the more.He, too, was furious. He, too, meant to have his way. Hewas determined she should submit.

Submission, however, was the farthest from her thoughts.He bent his head forward. It came nearer to her up-thrownchin.

“Let me go! Let me go, you––you––murderer!”

It was out. She had no longer any power of restraint.And as the word hissed upon the air the man’s whole bodyseemed to suddenly stiffen. His arms tightened, and shefelt her ribs bend under their terrific pressure.

“Murderer, eh?” she heard him cry, with an oath.“Murderer, eh? Now you shall kiss me. Kiss me, youwild-cat––kiss me!”

As he spoke one hand was lifted to the back of her head.He pressed it forward, and she was forced slowly, slowly,fighting every inch of the way to keep her face out of reachof his lips. His face drew nearer hers. She felt his hotbreath upon her cheeks. She shut her eyes to keep the sightof his hated, terrifying eyes out, but ever his lips camenearer.

“What’s come over you, you little fool?” he criedfiercely. “What is it? Now, by hell! whatever it is, youshall––you shall kiss me.”

With a sudden exertion of his great strength he crushedher face to his, and the next instant flung her from him witha fierce cry of pain and rage.

“You––!” he shouted, as she fell in a heap against thewall.

The blood was streaming from his cheek where her strongteeth had bitten deep into the flesh. His hand went up tothe mauled flesh, and murder glared out of his eyes as hecontemplated her huddled figure lying motionless wherehe had flung her. And for one second it looked as thoughhe intended to complete the work he had begun, and kill herwhere she lay, in the same manner in which he had treatedthe luckless Conroy.

He stared insanely at her for some moments. Then achange came over him, and he turned to the door.

“When I come back, my girl! When I come back!” hemuttered threateningly.

At the door he paused and looked back. But his look wasmercifully hidden from his victim by unconsciousness.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE GOLD-STAGE

Two days of excitement were quite sufficient to upset thenerves of Suffering Creek. The only excitement it was usedto was the sudden discovery of an extra good find of gold.The camp understood that. It was like an inspiration to thecreative worker. It stimulated the energies, it uplifted.Any other sort of excitement had a paralyzing effect. Andthus the excitement of the present Sunday and Monday entirelyupset the rest of the week’s work.

Everybody felt that the happenings of those days weremerely the forerunners of something yet to come, of somethingeven more startling. And the restlessness of uncertaintyas to its nature kept the population hanging about thecamp, fearful that, in their absence, things might occur, andthey would miss participation in them.

The inhabitants of Suffering Creek were a virile race,strongly human, full of interest in passing events, and menof appetite for any slices of life that might come their way.So, having “cashed in” to the “limit” all the gold-dust theypossessed, they felt they were entitled to spend a few days inwatching events, and a few dollars in passing the timeuntil such events, if any, should come within their range ofvision.

What events were expected it is doubtful if the mostinventive could have put into words. The general opinionexpressed––out of Minky’s hearing, of course, but to theaccompaniment of deep libations of his most execrablewhisky––was that, personally, that astute trader was, forsome unaccountable reason, rapidly qualifying for the “bug-house,”and that the only thing due from them was to displaytheir loyalty to him by humoring him to the extent of discountingall the “dust” they could lay hands on, and wishinghim well out of the trouble he seemed bent on laying up forhimself. Meanwhile they would take a holiday on the proceedsof their traffic, and, out of sheer good-fellowship,stand by to help, or at least applaud, when the dénouementcame.

Many of the shrewder men looked to Wild Bill to give akey to the situation. They knew him to be Minky’s closestfriend. Besides that, he was a man intensely “wide” andfar-seeing in matters pertaining to such a situation as atpresent existed.

But Wild Bill, in this case, was the blankest of blanks inthe lottery of their draw for information. Whether thisblankness was real or affected men could not make up theirminds. The gambler was so unlike his usual self. Thehard, rough, autocratic manner of the man seemed to haveundergone a subtle change. He went about full of genialityand a lightness his fellow-citizens had never before observedin him. And, besides, he had suddenly become the only manin the place who seemed to lack interest in the doings of theJames gang. Even beyond the bare facts of the outragedown by the river on Sunday morning, he could not becajoled into discussing that individual or his doings.

No, his immediate interest apparently lay in his newly purchasedhalf-claim. He spent the Monday afternoon therewatching the unwilling Sandy sweating at his labors. Andon the Tuesday he even passed him a helping hand. It didnot occur to these men that Bill kept away to avoid theircross-questionings. It only seemed to them that his new toyhad a greater fascination for him than those things whichmade for the welfare of the community; that his inexperiencedeyes were blinded to the facts which were patentenough to them: namely, that he had bought the most worthlessproperty in the district.

So they laughed, behind his back, and shrugged their greatshoulders pityingly, and their pity was also touched withresentment that his interest in Suffering Creek could be soeasily diverted. It was Joe Brand who handed them a mostexcellent laugh on the subject, though the laugh was ratherat than with him.

He was talking to Van and White and several other menat one of the tables in the store. Whisky had brightened hiseyes, which had been quietly smiling for some time as thetalk of Bill went round. Then he suddenly bent forwardand arrested the general attention.

“Say, boys,” he cried, “here’s a good one for you.What’s the diff’rence between Wild Bill and Minky?”

Van promptly guffawed.

“Gee!” he cried, “ther’ ain’t none. They’re sure both‘bug.’”

A great laugh greeted the retort, but Joe shook his head.

“That sure ain’t the answer, but it’s real bright,” headmitted reluctantly, while Van preened himself.

“Guess they’re both that wise they don’t know if they’recomin’ down or goin’ up,” he went on, seeking to add to thescore he felt he had made.

But Joe felt he was being robbed of the fruits of his effort,and promptly insisted upon his riddle.

“What’s the diff’rence between Wild Bill an’ Minky?”he asked again, this time with added emphasis.

He waited impatiently until one of the men shook his head,when he snatched at the opportunity of firing his quip.

“Why,” he cried, with a shout of delight, “Bill’s put hisgold into a mudbank, an’ Minky’s jest yearnin’ to set his goldinto any old bank,” and fell back laughing furiously.

But he had his merriment to himself. Van, feeling hehad the company with him, sneered.

“Gee! that’s the worst ever,” he cried witheringly.

White spat out a chew of tobacco.

“I’d say you’re that bright you’d orter write comic Bibletrac’s,” he declared.

But even in his failure as a humorist Joe Brand gaveexpression to the general opinion of the two men who, uptill that time, had been accounted, to use a local expression,the “wisest guys west o’ Spawn City.”

Certainly, for the time being, the mighty had fallen, andtheir associates, in the persons of Sunny Oak, Toby Jenksand Sandy Joyce, had to stand by listening to remarksagainst their fellow Trust members which, though distinctlyoffensive, they yet, in justice, had to admit were perfectlywarranted on the face of things. Even Scipio, mild littleman as he was, had to endure considerable chaff, which worriedand annoyed him, as to the way in which he had succeededin bluffing so shrewd a “guy” as Wild Bill intopurchasing half his claim.

But these things were only sidelights on the feelings ofthe moment. Expectancy was at fever-heat, and each andevery man was wondering what was about to happen. Forthough their belief in Bill and Minky had received a jolt,long months of experience had sown in them an appreciationthat took a power of uprooting.

The Monday and Tuesday passed without development ofany sort. There were several conferences between the membersof the Trust, but these were really only meetings atwhich the lesser members received more minute instructionsfor the carrying out of their duties on the Wednesday. Noinformation otherwise was forthcoming for them from eitherMinky or the president, and all attempt to extort any waspromptly nipped in the bud by the latter without the leastcompunction or courtesy.

Sandy resented this attitude. Sunny complained of thelack of confidence. But Toby sat back immensely enjoyingthe chagrin of his two friends, and cordially swore that bothMinky and Bill knew a large-meshed sieve when they sawone.

Tuesday night was a memorable one on Suffering Creek.Never had there been such a gathering in Minky’s store; andhis heart must have been rejoiced to see the manner in whichso many of the dollars he had expended in the purchase ofgold-dust came fluttering back to their nest in his till. Thecamp appeared to have made up its mind to an orgy of thefinest brand. Drink flowed and overflowed. The store thatnight fairly swam in whisky. The flood set in the momentsupper was finished, and from that time until two o’clock inthe morning the lusty storekeeper never had a moment’s rest.

Men drank themselves drunk, and drank themselves soberagain. There was no poker or faro. No one wanted togamble. There was sufficient gamble in their minds on thesubject of to-morrow’s stage to satisfy them for the moment.Would it get through? That was the question. And thegeneral opinion was an emphatic denial.

How could it? Had not scouts been sent out inquiringof outlying settlers as to the prospect of a clear road? Hadnot information come in that James was abroad, had beenseen in a dozen different places in the district? Had not thebelief become general that the Spawn City trail was beingcarefully watched, and even patrolled, by this commonenemy? Everybody knew that these things were so. Thewhole of this stage business was simply flying in the face ofProvidence.

And amidst all the comment and talk Minky served therequirements of his customers, wrapped in sphinx-like reserve.His geniality never failed him. He had a pleasantword for everybody. And at every gibe, at every warning,he beamed and nodded, but otherwise could not be drawninto controversy. One remark, and one only, had he for alland sundry who chose him as a butt for their pleasantries.

“Wal,” he declared easily, “if I ladled out good UnitedStates currency, to feed that bum tough James an’ his crew o’hawks, seems to me its findin’ its way home right smart.”

It was quite true. He stood to win in every direction.Sooner or later every cent of money he had paid out in thepurchase of gold would find its way back to him, and go tohelp swell the fortune which was the effort of his life.These men had not the commercial instinct of Minky. And,furthermore, his meeting at night with the gambler, and itsresulting compact, was still a secret.

The popular laugh was for the moment against him, buthe continued to smile. And he knew that his smile wouldlast the longer. He would still be smiling when even theghost of their laugh had been laid to rest.

Sore heads were no deterrent next morning. Pillowswere deserted at an early hour. And those who had foundit convenient to pass the brief remainder of the night in theirheavy, clay-soiled boots had the advantage of breakfastingat the first hot rush of Birdie’s ministrations. And Birdie,with the understanding of her kind, had bestowed special attentionupon the quantity and quality of the coffee, leavingthe solid side of the meal almost unconsidered. It was herduty to sooth parching throats, and she knew her duty.

It was a glorious morning. The sun rose radiant in acloudless sky. The air was still, so still. But the mountainchill began to give way from the first moment that the greatarc of daylight lifted its dazzling crown above the horizon.The quiet of the morning was perfect. It almost seemed asif Nature itself had hushed to an expectant silence. Thewoe of the night-prowling coyote at the sight of the dawnfound no voice. The frogs upon the creek had not yet beguntheir morning song. Even the camp dogs, whose ceaseless“yap” made hideous all their waking hours, for somesubtle reason moved about in quest of their morning meal asthough their success depended upon the stealth of theirmovements.

Blear-eyed men appeared in their doorways half awake,and only just recovering from their overnight orgy. Theystood for some moments voiceless and thoughtful. Thenthe concentration upon the store began. It was strange tolook upon. It was an almost simultaneous movement.These half-dazed, wholly sick creatures moved with the precisionof a universally impelling force. The store mighthave been one huge magnet––perhaps it was––and thesedejected early risers mere atoms of steel.

But the store reached, that wonderfully revivifying hairof the tail, etc., partaken of, and a rapid change supervened.Quarts of coffee and some trifling solid further stimulatedjaded energies, and in less than an hour the memory that theday was Wednesday, and that the gold-stage was to set outupon its eventful journey, became the chief thought in everymind. Curiosity and excitement ran riot, and questions flewfrom lip to lip. How had Minky provided for the safeguardingof his gold? Had he arranged for an adequate escort?To whom was the gold to be entrusted?

The store was full of men. The veranda overflowed withthem. There were men of almost every nationality––fromhalf-breed Mexicans, popularly dubbed “gorl-durned Dagos,”to the stolid Briton, the virile New Yorker, the square-headedTeuton, the lithe, graceful prairie man from theSouthern States. But the usual noisy discussion of theworld’s affairs, as viewed from the hidden valley in whichlay Suffering Creek, had no vital interest just now. And,after the first rush of burning questions, a hush fell uponthe assembly, and it quickly composed itself, in various attitudesand positions of advantage, to await, in what patienceit could, the satisfying of its curiosity.

Soon the hush became oppressive. It almost became aburden. Men stirred uneasily under it; they chafed. Andat last Joe Brand found himself voicing something of thefeelings of everybody. He spoke in a whisper which, forthe life of him, he could not have raised to full voice. Hewas standing next to White, and he took him confidentiallyby the shoulder and spoke, leaning over till his lips were ona level with his ear.

“I allow funerals is joyous things an’ nigger lynchin’s isreal comic,” he declared hoarsely. “But fer real rollickin’merriment I never see the equal o’ this yer gatherin’. I suredon’t think it ’ud damp things any ef I was to give ’em aDoxology.”

The miner responded with a pensive smile.

“Mebbe you’re right ’bout funerals an’ nigger lynchin’s,”he whispered back, “but they’s jest a matter o’ livin’ an’dyin’. Y’see, Minky’s gamblin’ sixty thousand dollars o’good red gold.”

Brand nodded. And somehow he appreciated the pointand became easier.

Later on Minky appeared in the store, and almost automaticallyevery eye was turned expectantly upon him. Buthe had only come to ascertain if Wild Bill was about.

No, the gambler had not been seen. Someone jocularlysuggested that he and Zip were out visiting Sandy Joyceupon their claim. None of the three had been seen thatmorning. But the levity was allowed to pass without asmile, and Minky disappeared again into the back regions ofhis store.

After that the time passed even more slowly. The storeemptied; the men moved out into the sunlight to await thefirst sight of the stage. There was nothing else to do.Such was their saturation of the previous night that evendrink had no attraction at this early hour. So they sat orlounged about, gazing out at the distant upland across theriver. There lay the vanishing-point of the Spawn Citytrail, and beyond that they knew the danger-zone to lie. Itwas a danger-zone they all understood, and, hardy as theywere, they could not understand anyone mad enough to riska fortune of gold within its radius. Not one of them wouldhave faced it singly with so little as twenty dollars in hispocket, much less laboring under the burden of sixty thousanddollars. And yet somebody was going to do so to-day.

A pounding of hoofs and crunching of wheels suddenlyswept all apathy away. Every eye lit; every head turned.And in a moment Suffering Creek was on its feet, agog withthe intensest interest. For one brief moment the rattle andclatter continued. Then, from round the corner, with bitschamping and satin coats gleaming in the sun, their silver-mountedharness sparkling, Wild Bill’s treasured team of sixhorses swept into view. Round they swung, hitched to hiswell-known spring-cart, and in a second had drawn up witha flourish in front of the veranda.

A gasp of astonishment greeted this unexpected vision.Men stood gaping at the beaming choreman sitting perchedup on the driving-seat. It was the first time in his life hehad ever been allowed to handle the gambler’s equine children,and his joy and pride were written in every furrow ofhis age-lined features.

The man sat waiting, while the thoroughbreds pawed theground and reached restively at their bits. But they werelike babes to handle, for their manners were perfect. Theyhad been taught by a master-hand whose lessons had beenwell learned. And the picture they made was one that inspiredadmiration and envy in every eye and heart of thosewho now beheld them.

But these were not the only emotions the sight provoked.Blank astonishment and incredulous wonder stirred them,too. Bill’s horses! Bill’s cart! Where––where was thegambler himself? Was this the stage? Was Bill––?

The talk which had been so long suppressed now brokeout afresh. Everybody asked questions, but nobody answeredany. They crowded about the cart. They inspectedthe horses with eyes of admiration and wonder. No mancould have withstood the sight of the rope-like veins standingout through their velvet skin. They fondled them, andtalked to them as men will talk to horses. And it was onlywhen Minky suddenly appeared in their midst, bearing inhis arms an iron-clamped case which he deposited in thebody of the cart, that their attention was diverted, and theyremembered the purpose in hand.

The gold-chest deposited and made secure, the storekeeperturned to the crowd about him.

“Well, boys,” he said, with an amiable smile, “any moremail? Any you fellers got things you need to send to yoursisters––or somebody else’s sisters? You best get it readysharp. We’re startin’ at eight o’clock. After that you’llsure be too late. Y’see,” he added humorously, “we ain’tfiggered when the next stage goes.” He pulled out hisnickel silver timepiece. “It’s needin’ five minutes to schedule,”he went on officially, glancing keenly down the trail.Anyone sufficiently observant, and had they been quickenough, might have detected a shade of anxiety in his glance.He moved round to the side of the cart and spoke to theman in the driving-seat.

“It’s nigh eight. He ain’t here?” he said questioningly.

“Guess he’ll be right along, boss,” the little man returnedin a low voice.

Again the storekeeper glanced anxiously down the trail.Then he turned away with a slight sigh.

“Well, boys,” he said, with another attempt at jocularity,“if ther’ ain’t nuthin’ doin’, guess this mail’s sure closed.”

Passing again to the back of the cart, he gazed affectionatelyupon the gold-chest. Then he lifted his eyes just asVan voiced the question in everybody’s mind.

“You sure ain’t sendin’ pore old Danny with that stage?”he cried incredulously. “You sure ain’t sendin’ him ferJames to sift lead through? You ain’t lettin’ him driveBill’s horses?”

“He sure ain’t. Him drive my plugs? Him? Gee!Ther’ ain’t no one but me drives them hosses––not if Congresspassed it a law.”

The harsh, familiar voice of Wild Bill grated contemptuously.He had come up from his hut all unnoticed just intime to hear Van’s protesting inquiry. Now he stood witheyes only for his horses.

Daylight at last shone through the mist of doubt andpuzzlement which had kept the citizens of Suffering Creekin darkness so long. They looked at this lean, harsh figureand understood. Here was the driver of the stage, and,curiously, with this realization their doubts of its welfarelessened. All along they had been blaming Bill for his lackof interest in the affairs of the camp, and now––

They watched him with keen, narrowing eyes. Whatmad game was he contemplating? They noted his dress. Itwas different to that which he usually wore. His legs wereencased in sheepskin chaps. He was wearing a belt abouthis waist from which hung a heavy pair of guns. Andunder his black, shiny, short coat he was wearing a simplebuckskin shirt.

They watched him as he moved round his horses, examiningthe fit of the bridles and the fastenings of the harness.He looked to the buckles of the reins. He smoothed thesatin coats of his children with affectionate hand. Then ina moment they saw him spring into the cart.

Taking the reins from the choreman, he settled himselfinto the driving-seat, while the deposed charioteer clamberedstiffly to the ground.

Minky was at the wheel nearest to his friend. Thehorses, under the master-hand, had suddenly become restive.Bill bent over, and the storekeeper craned up towards him.

“Ther’ was two fellers hit the trail this morning,” thegambler said, with a short laugh. “I see ’em when I waswith Zip––’fore daylight.”

“You––you best quit it,” said Minky in serious, anxioustones. “We kin, maybe, hold the gold up against him here.It ain’t too late. It ain’t, sure.”

Bill’s face suddenly darkened. All the lightness whichthe prospect before him had inspired suddenly left it. Hiswords came so full of bitter hatred that the other wasstartled.

“Not for a million-dollar halo!” he cried, reaching outfor his long whip.

With a dexterous swing he set it cracking over his horses’backs. The high-strung beasts plunged at their bits, and theleaders started to rear. Again he swung out his whip, andthis time it flicked the plunging leaders. Instantly therewas a rush of feet and a scrunch of wheels. The “tugs”pulled taut, and the gush of eager nostrils hissed like steamupon the still air. There was a shout of farewell from theonlookers, and the gambler turned in his seat.

“So long, fellers,” he cried. “I’m makin’ Spawn Cityby daylight to-morrer––sure.”

The next moment he was lost in a cloud of dust, as thehorses raced down the hill.

CHAPTER XXX

ON THE SPAWN CITY TRAIL

Wild Bill’s lean hands clawed the reins with muscles ofsteel. For the moment his six horses occupied his everythought. They were pulling with the madness of high-bredracehorses. The trail lay before them, their master sat behind.What more could they want, but that liberty tostretch their willing bodies?

Down the hill and along the wood-lined trail that ranparallel to the sluggish creek they raced. The dust roseunder their feet, and the wheels of the cart left a fog behindthem. It rose in swirling clouds as though to shut offall retreat. Presently the road narrowed to a mere track,and the dark woods closed in. But there was no slackeningunder the hand of the gambler. Nor had the horses anydesire to slacken their headlong rush. The woods brokeand gave to a low bush, and in a moment the track openedupon Scipio’s claim.

Now, for the first time since the start as they swept acrossit, Bill permitted his gaze to wander from his charges. Helooked away at the mouth of the tunnel Sandy had spent somuch labor and such bitter cursing in the process of constructing;and a half-smile flitted across his hard face as hebeheld the oozy débris, the idle tools, the winch and buckets.The sight seemed to afford him amusement. There was asoftening, too, in his hard face. Maybe it was the result ofhis amusement. Maybe it was due to some thought of thelittle man with whom he was partners. But he seemed tofreeze up again as the claim passed, and the horses flounderedover the heavy trail beside the black, oily swamp beyond.It was bad driving here, and he steadied the racingcreatures down with voice and hand.

“Easy, Gipsy. Easy you, Pete. Now Maisie. So!Steady, boys. Easy!”

The harsh voice was hushed and gentle. He was speakingto creatures that were not merely horses to him, butsomething nearer, perhaps even dearer.

And the well-trained creatures responded at once, slowingto an easy trot, a pace which they kept until the ford of thecreek was reached. Here they dropped to a walk as theysplashed their way through the turgid stream. But themoment the wheels of the cart topped the opposite bank,they once more resumed their headlong gait.

At once the gambler sat up. He straightened his lean bodyas a man who opens his lungs to breathe in deep draughts offresh, bracing air. His narrow eyes stared out aside of himand beyond. His nostrils expanded, and his thin lips weretightly shut.

The camp was behind him. The trail, a hard, wide sandtrail, lay ahead. The wide, wild world was about him onevery hand, reminding him of days long gone by, remindinghim that to-day his instincts were still the same. The samefiery, militant spirit that had driven him from one end of hiscountry to the other still left him yearning for the ruthlessbattle of wild places and wilder men. The long months ofinactivity, the long days of peace, the longer nights of hisgambler’s craft, were for the moment gone. He was settingout, as in the old days, surrounded by all in life he cared for,offering a challenge to all the world, ready to grapple withwhatsoever the gods of war might choose to thrust in hisway.

The man’s spirits rose. The swift-flashing eyes brightened.His body felt to be bursting with a ravishing joy oflife. His purpose was his own. The joy was his alone.He had found excuse for satisfying his own greedy lust,a lust for battle which no overwhelming odds could diminish.He was a savage. He knew it; he gloried in it.Peace to him was a wearisome burden of which at all timeshe was ready to rid himself. So he was born. So he hadalways lived. So, he knew, he would die.

The trail rose with the upland. It rose with that gradationwhich so wears down the ardor of almost any horse.But the creatures Wild Bill was driving were made of unusualmettle. Their courage was the courage of the manbehind them. And only when his courage failed him wouldtheir spirit falter. They swept up the long stretch asthough the effort were a pastime. With ears pricked forward,nostrils gushing, their veins standing out like whipcordthrough their satin coats, they moved as though everystride were an expression of the joy of living. And theman’s steel muscles were held at tension to keep their gaitwithin the bounds of reason.

As they neared the hill-top he turned and glanced backover his shoulder. There lay the camp nestling on the farside of the creek. There stood Minky’s store, lording itover its lesser fellows with the arrogance of successfulcommerce. He could see a small patch of figures standingabout its veranda, and he knew that many eyes werewatching for a final sight of him at the moment when heshould vanish over the hill.

They were friendly eyes, too, he knew. They were theeyes of men who wished him well. But he doubted if thosegood wishes were for his own sake. He knew he was not aman whom men loved. And he smiled grimly as he glanceddown at the chest of gold in the body of the cart.

In a moment his eyes were looking out ahead again, andall thought of those he was leaving behind left his mind.

The hill-top passed, the horses swung down into a deep,long valley. It was in this valley, some six or seven milesfarther on, he had encountered Scipio in Minky’s buckboard.He thought of that meeting now, and rememberedmany things; and as recollection stirred his teeth shut tighttill his jaw muscles stood out like walnuts through his leancheeks. He had promised Scipio that day. Well, his mindwas easier than his feelings. He was confident. But hewas stirred to a nervous desire to be doing.

Nothing escaped his watchful eyes. Every tree, everybush, every rise and hollow passed under his closest scrutiny.But this was simply his way, a way that had longsince been forced into a habit. He did not anticipate anydevelopments yet. The battle-cry was yet to be sounded.He knew the men he was likely to deal with better than anyother class. He knew their ways, their subtleties. Whoshould know them better? Had not years of his life beenspent––?

He laughed aloud, but his laughter rang without mirth.And his horses, taking the sound to be a command, brokesuddenly into a gallop. It was the sympathy between manand beast asserting itself. They, too, possessed that nervousdesire to be doing. Something of the significance of thejourney was theirs, and their nerves were braced with thetemper of fine steel.

He steadied them down with the patience of a devotedfather for a pack of boisterous children. No harsh wordsdisturbed their sensitive ears. The certainty of their obediencemade it unnecessary to exert any display of violence.They promptly fell again into their racing trot, and the cartonce more ran smoothly over the hard beaten trail.

The higher reaches of the creek cut into the valley fromthe right, and the trail deviated to a rise of sandy ground.He had reached the point of his meeting with Scipio. Nordid he slacken his pace over the dust-laden patch. It waspassed in a choking cloud, and in a moment the rise wastopped and a wild, broken country spread out before him.

Five miles farther on he halted beside a small mountainstream and breathed his horses.

But his halt was of the briefest. He simply let the horsesstand in their harness. It was not time to feed, but heremoved their bits and let them nip up the bunches of sweetgrass about their feet. And as he did so he paused a momentat the head of each animal, muttering words of encouragement,and administering caresses with a hand whichbore in its touch an affection that no words of his couldhave conveyed.

Then he went back to the cart and made a few simpledispositions. One was to securely lash the gold-chest in itsplace; but its place he changed to the front of the cart.Another was to leave the lid of the foot-box, built againstthe dashboard, wide open, and to so secure it that it couldnot close again. Another was to adjust the lowered hoodof the cart in a certain way that it was raised head-high ashe sat in his driving-seat.

Then, with a grim satisfaction in his small eyes as heglanced over his simple preparations, he jumped to theground and replaced the bits in his horses’ mouths. In twominutes he was again rushing over the trail, but this timethrough a world of crag and forest as primitive and ruggedas was his own savage soul.

So the journey went on, over mountainous hills, and deepdown into valleys as dark as only mountain forests ofspruce and pine could make them. Over a broken roadthat set the light cart perilously bumping, speeding along theedges of precipices, with little more than inches to spare, ata pace that might well set the nerves jangling with everyjolt. Later a halt for feed and water, and on again, thewilling horses taking their rest only as the difficulties of thetrail reduced their pace to a laborious walk.

The man sat alert through it all. There was no questionin his mind. He knew what lay ahead of him somewhere inthose vast depths. He knew that what he looked for wascoming just as surely as the Day of Doom. He did not askwhen or where. That was not his way. It might comewhen it chose, for his part. He was ready and even yearningfor the moment of its coming.

So his eyes never rested for a moment. Scarce a glanceor thought did he give to his horses. Theirs it was to keepto the trail. Theirs it was to keep their pace. His was allother responsibility.

The sun was leaning towards the western crags, where, inthe distance, they raised their snow-crowned heads towardsthe heavens. The ruddy daylight was deepening to thatwarmth of color which belongs to day’s old age. The forestshadows appeared to deepen, those dark forests so far belowhim in the valleys. Here, where he was racing along at ahigh level, all was bright, the air was joyous. Below himlay the brooding stillness where lurked a hundred unknowndangers. There were only about fifteen more miles of thisbroken solitude, and beyond that stretched a world of waving,gracious grassland right on to the prairie city whitherhe was bound.

He stirred; his roving eyes abruptly concentrated. Onedistant spot on the rugged landscape held him. He cranedforward. The movement caused him to ease his hand uponthe reins. Instantly the horses sprang into a gallop. Sointent was he that for the moment the change passed unnoticed.He seemed only to have eyes and thought for thatdistant hill-top. Then of a sudden he realized the dangerousbreakneck speed, and turned his attention upon histeam.

The animals once more reduced to a sober pace, he turnedagain to the spot which held his interest; and his eyes grewbright with a smile that had nothing pleasant in it. He wasgrinning with a savage joy more fierce, more threatening,than the cruellest frown. The next time he bestirred himselfit was to swing his gun-holsters more handy to thefront of his body.

Later on his interest seemed to lessen. No longer wasthere that watchfulness in his eyes. Perhaps it was hedeemed there was no longer the necessity for it. Perhapswhat he had seen had satisfied his restless searching. Anyway,he now sat contemplating the shining backs of hishorses as they sped down the hill, and his eyes were friendlyas he watched the rolls of muscle writhing under their satincoats.

But when next he looked up his moment of gentleness hadpassed. His easier moods were never of long duration.One swift glance again at the distant hill, and then heturned from it and sat gazing at the dank, oozy prospect ofthe low-lying flat he was just entering with no sort offriendliness. The sharp hoofs of his team were flingingmud in every direction, and the rattle of the wheels haddeadened to a thick sucking as they sank into the blackmud. It was a heavy pull, but the speed was not checked.It only needed an extra effort, and this the willing teamreadily applied. He knew the spot well; and he knew thatbeyond lay the hill, the crest of which had so held his attentiona few minutes before.

His thoughts traveled no farther than that hill. For thetime at least there was nothing beyond. Later it would befor him to consider that. Just ahead of him lay the chancesand changes which went to make up such a life as his.This he knew. And somehow the thought stimulated hispulses to a fuller appreciation of things.

In a few moments he was nearing the far boundary of theflat, and the ascent of the hill was about to commence. Hesmiled. Yes, it was well calculated. The hill would haveto be taken at a walk. It was by far the steepest of thejourney. He remembered, too, that the crest of it wasreached by a final climb that became almost precipitous.He remembered, too, that the black woods that crowded itssides at the crest gave place to the skeleton trunks left bysome long-forgotten forest fire. Yes, it was the one spot onthe whole journey best calculated for what was to come.

The team no longer labored in the ooze. The ascent wasbegun. With heads held high, with ears pricked and nostrilsdistended they faced the big effort unflinchingly.

And the driver’s mind was calculating many things. Itwas moving with the swiftness of an able general’s in themidst of a big action. He glanced at the sky. Already thesun was hidden behind the western hills. Already the shadowswere lengthening and the gray of evening was falling.The profound woods, dense and ghostly, had closed in.The trail was so narrow that the dreary, weeping foliageoften swept the sides of the cart. But these things did notoccur to him. His mind was ahead, amongst those agedskeletons left by the raging fire-fiend.

Progress was slow. It was almost too slow for the man’seager nerves. He wanted to reach his goal. His lean bodythrilled with a profound joy. He lusted for the battlewhich he knew to lie ahead of him. But, even so, he gaveno outward sign. His face was set and harsh. His smalleyes bored through the gloom, thrusting to penetrate beyondevery bend in the winding road. Nothing escaped them.Each small fur that fled in terror at his approach was carefullynoted, for they told him things he wanted to know.

Now the final steep was reached. It was truly precipitous.The sharp hoofs of the team clawed their way up.Such was the struggle that even the man found himselfleaning forward, instinctively desiring to help the laboringanimals. The bends in the trail were sudden and at briefintervals. It was as though those responsible for the originalclearing of the road had realized the impossibility of adirect ascent, and had chosen the zigzag path as the onlymeans of surmounting the hill.

The moments passed. Bend followed bend. The man inthe cart found himself mechanically counting them. Twomore. One more. The summit was almost reached. Andbeyond? He sighed. Maybe it was the sigh of a manwhose nerves are relieved from their tension, knowing thatbeyond this last bend lay his goal. Maybe it was inspiredby sympathy for his struggling horses. Anyway, hiswhole manner underwent a change. The watchfulnessseemed to have gone from his eyes, his muscles to have relaxed.He leant back in his seat like a man full of weariness,and securely fastened his reins to an iron rail onthe side of the cart.

He was at the bend now. The leaders were abreast of it.They were past it. He––

There was a sharp rattle of firearms, and half-a-dozenbullets swept pinging their way over his head. A hoarsevoice shouted a command to halt. His horses plunged forward.But, quick as lightning, his hands flew to the reins,and he drew them up to a standstill in the open.

“Hands up!” shouted the same voice; and a horsemanappeared on each side of the team.

Then came an exhibition of the gambler as he was, as inthe old days he had always been known. It was all done inthe fraction of a second. Simultaneously his two gunsleapt from his holsters and two shots rang out. There wasan ominous echo from the woods. One horseman reeled inhis saddle, and the horse of the other man stumbled andfinally fell.

The next moment the man in the cart was crouchingdown, all but the crown of his head and his gleaming eyeswell sheltered by the loose-hanging canvas hood.

“I’m ’most allus ready to put my hands up!” he snarled.“Come on!”

CHAPTER XXXI

THE BATTLE

A shout of fury. A wild chorus of meaningless blasphemy.A thundering of hoofs. A shriek of pain––anappalling death-cry. The fight has begun––such a fight, inits wanton savagery, as might shame even the forest beasts.In a moment the human lusting for the blood of its fellowsis let loose, than which there is no more terrible madness onearth.

Yet there was a difference. There was a difference ofmotive widely separating the combatants; and it was a differencethat left the balance of offense doubtful.

To analyze the mental attitude of these people adequatelywould be well-nigh impossible. Their outlook possesseddistortions which changed with chameleon-like rapidity.On the one hand was a band of lawless ruffians, steeped totheir very souls in every sort of crime, in whose minds alllaw was anathema, in whose understanding all possessionwas a deliberate challenge, in whose hearts was no pity,no mercy, no feeling which belongs to the gentler side ofhuman life; to whose comprehension death has no meaninguntil its relentless grip is fixed, and they feel the last sparkof life crushing out of their own bodies. Then––But theanalysis becomes hopelessly chaotic.

On the other hand motive is perhaps even more difficultstill, though a shade less hopeless. The gambler was a manof strong thought, of strong forces. Nor was he devoid ofthe gentler feelings of life. Yet here lies the difficulty ofassociating the various sides of his character with his actions.He had set out for this encounter. He had yearnedfor it, as a child might yearn for a plaything. The contemplationof it gave him ecstasy. With an inhuman joy hedesired the lives of these men. Not one, but all; and oneeven more than all. Then, too, his purpose was in face ofoverwhelming odds––in face of almost a certainty of deathfor himself. Such actions have been performed before innoble cases, but here––?

Was it simply his purpose to yield himself a martyr to thepublic welfare? Was it that he truly desired to avenge awronged man? Was he setting himself up as the avengerof Sid Morton’s cruel death, a man in whom he had nointerest whatever? No. It would be absurd to believe thatthese things were the promptings responsible for his presentactions. Some hideous psychological twist was driving him.Some passion swayed him over which he had no controlwhatever. Some degeneracy was upsetting his mental balance,and forcing him against his better instincts. But,even so, his whole attitude was that of a man of clear, alertmind, of iron purpose, of a courage invincible.

Calm and cold Wild Bill crouched while, in the first rushof battle, the shots hailed about him. He reserved his fire,too, waiting for the effective moment with the patience ofa skillful general. His every shot must tell, and tell desperately.

Three times he was hit in as many seconds, but beyondhugging his flimsy shelter more closely he gave no sign.His purpose rose above all physical hurt or sense of pain.He was watching the movements of one man––of one manonly. His gleaming eyes pursued the figure of the outlawleader to the exclusion of all else. James was his quarry.The rest––well, the rest were merely incidental.

And, emboldened by his intended victim’s silence, Jamessuddenly changed his tactics. A long-ranged battle was littleenough to his savage taste. He ceased the ineffectivefire of his men and brought them together. Then in a moment,with the reckless abandon of his class, he headedthem and charged. They came, as before, with a brazenshout, and the air was hideous with a fresh outburst of blasphemy,while a rush of lead searched the fragile cart inevery direction.

But the din of voices, the crash of woodwork as thepanels of the cart were riddled by the wildly flung shots,was powerless to draw the defender. His guns wereready. He was ready for the purpose in his mind. Thatwas all. His fierce eyes lit with a murderous intent as hecalculated with certainty and exactness.

On they came. They drove their maddened horses withsavage spurs right up to the cart. It was the moment thegambler awaited. He leapt, and in a flash his tall figurewas confronting the leader of the attack. And as he rosehis arms were outstretched and his great guns belched theirmurderous fire. Two men rolled from their saddles with adeath-scream that died down to a hideous gurgle, as the racinghoofs trod the last atom of life out of their bodies. Hisguns belched a second time, and James’ throat was plowedopen, and the rich red blood spurted in a ghastly tide. Anothershot and another man fell forward, clutching hishorse’s mane while he was borne from the battle-field to thedim recesses of the forest by his uncontrolled and affrightedbeast.

But the gambler paid a high price for these successes––farhigher than he could really afford. Four times more hewas badly hit. Four times the hot slither of burning leadplowed its way amidst the life-channels of his body.And his retreat to cover was something almost in the natureof collapse.

But the spirit of the man admitted of no weakening. Itrose dominant over all physical sensation. He thrust asidethe cognizance of his hurts, and abandoned himself solely tohis purpose. James was still in the saddle, and the sight ofhis hated personality consumed him with rage and disgust atthe failure of his first attempt.

“Still around. Still around,” he muttered. And in amoment the battle was surging once more.

No longer was the leader of the attack moved by the irresponsiblebravado of his first attack. He was a ragingsavage, goaded by the desperate wounds he had received, andthe knowledge that he and all his force were being held atbay by one man. So he charged again, a headlong rush,howling as he came at the head of his four remaining supporters.

They came like an avalanche, their voices making hideousthe rapidly falling night, while the wounded defenderwaited, waited, all his purpose concentrated, husbanding hisebbing strength as a starving man might husband the lastcrumbs of food. He knew that not only his strength, buthis very life was slowly ebbing in the red tide that was fastsaturating every shred of his clothing.

Again they reached the cart. Again the maddened horseswere driven head on to the dreaded fortress. And instantlytheir quarry rose to his full height, a grim specterthrilling with a murderous purpose, his arms outstretched,his guns held low, that there should be no mistake this time.

The crash of battle was appalling. The scene was almostlost in the smoke cloud which hung over it. There was fireand cross-fire. There were exultant shouts and cries ofpain. And through it all the scuttling of rushing hoofs andchamping bits. A moment and the defender dropped. Butinstantly he rose again, gripping in his nervous hands thebutts of a pair of fresh guns snatched from his foot-box.Nor did he stir foot again, nor relax a muscle, till everyone of the twelve chambers was emptied.

Then, with an oath that carried with it all the pent-uphatred of a bitter heart, he flung both weapons in the directionwhither his last shot had gone, and, staggering back,dropped helplessly into the driving-seat behind him.

The smoke hung heavily and drifted slowly away uponthe still air. The sound of rushing hoofs receded and diedaway in the distance, and in a while a profound quietsettled upon the scene. The man lolled heavily in his seat,and his eyes closed. His face was a ghastly gray, his eyeswere sunken and his blackened lips hung agape. His armshung helplessly at his side, and his legs were stretched outin a pitiable attitude of uselessness.

The moments passed drearily. For a long time there wasno movement of any sort but the restless fidgeting of thehorses. They had stood through all the turmoil as theirmaster had long since trained them to stand. But now thatit was over their eager spirits were demanding the joy of thetrail again. It almost seemed as though, in their equineminds, they had a full realization of the meaning of thatbattle in the wild, as though sympathy between master andbeast had held them during that fierce ten minutes still andpassive, lest through any act of theirs they should cross thewill of the one being whom they acknowledged their lord.And now that it was over and the crisis passed, it seemed asif they understood that victory had been achieved, and theirduty once more lay upon the trail ahead of them.

At last the eyes of the man opened. The chafing of hishorses had penetrated to his numbing brain. Their fiercedepths were dull and lusterless as they rolled vaguelyaround. Yet there was intelligence in them, although it wasthe intelligence of a weary, fainting mind. They closedagain, as though the will behind them lacked in its support.And then followed a sigh, a deep, long sigh of exhaustion.

There was another pause, and presently there came abodily movement. The man stirred uneasily, in the mannerof one gathering his weakening forces for a supreme effortfrom which his whole body shrank. Again his eyes opened,and this time their depths were full of purpose. Suddenlyhis legs gathered under him and his arms drew up, and in amoment he staggered to his feet, his hands clutching supportupon the back of the seat.

He stared about him doubtfully, and his uncertainty waspitiful to behold. His eyes were only half open, as thoughthe effort of sustaining their lids was too great for his failingpowers. They wandered on over the scene, however,until they suddenly fixed themselves upon a spot where twofigures were stretched upon the ground. One was lyingupon its side with its knees drawn up as though asleep; theother was stretched upon its back, its arms flung out and itslegs lying across the other’s body. The dead eyes werestaring up at the darkened sky, glazed and motionless.

He stared down upon these figures for some time, and thesight seemed to put fresh strength into him; and at last,when he turned away, a pitiful attempt at triumph shone inhis dull eyes, and a ghostly smile flitted about the cornersof his sagging lips.

He had seen all he wanted to see. His work was done.James was dead. He knew death when he saw it, and hehad seen it shining in those staring eyes. James had passedover the one-way trail, and his had been the hand that hadsped him upon his journey.

Now he took a deep breath and stood swaying. Then heglanced with measuring eye at the foot-box at his feet. Hechanged his support, and, bending slowly, dragged a rawhiderope from inside it. The next moment he fell back uponthe seat. But his work had only begun. For some time hefumbled with the rope, passing it about his body and theiron stanchions of the back of the seat, and after awhile hadsucceeded in knotting it securely. Then, after a momentof hard breathing, he reached out and untied the reins fromthe rail of the cart and gathered them into his hands. Andas he did so his lips moved and his voice croaked brokenly.

“Come on, Gyp,” he mumbled hoarsely. “Come, gal.Hey––you, Pete. You, too––Maisie. Come on. Get on.”

It was the word his faithful friends had awaited.

Chilled and eager, they leapt at their bits, and the tracessnapped taut. They were off; and in their eager rush thereins were almost torn from the driver’s numbing fingers.Again he spoke, and in his halting words was a world of affectionand encouragement.

“Easy, children,” he said. “Easy, boys an’ gals. Ther’sure ain’t no hurry now. They’re dead––all––dead.Dead as––mutton.”

He clawed full possession of the reins again. And in amoment the cart was speeding down the long gradient thatwas to bear them on the prairie world beyond.

The man was lolling forward, straining on the rope thatheld his helpless body to the seat, and his eyes closedwearily. The speed of the team, the direction, these thingsmeant nothing to him now. The trail was well markedright in to Spawn City. There were no turnings. Thatwas all that mattered. These children of his would faithfullykeep on their way to the end. He knew these thingswithout thinking, and the knowledge left him indifferent.His only concern now was the gold. It was in the cart, andit must reach Spawn City. To that his honor was pledged.

The reins slipped through his fingers. He stirred uneasily.Then his eyes opened again. For a moment hissagging lips closed. He was summoning all his failingstrength. He clutched the reins in one hand, and with theother knotted them about his wrist. Then, with a gasp, hisleft hand dropped from his task, while his right arm washeld outstretched by the strain of the pulling horses uponthe reins.

There was now no longer any demand for further effort,and the drooping body lolled over against the side of thecart as though the man were seeking his rest. His headhung away at a helpless angle, and his legs straggled. Andthus the speeding team raced clear of the mountain worldand plunged through the darkness to the prairie beyond.

The moon rose in all its cold splendor. The stars dimmedbefore its frigid smile. The black vault of the heavens litwith a silvery sheen, embracing the prairie world beneath itsbejeweled pall.

The sea of grass lay shadowed in the moonlit dusk. But,in sharp relief, a white ribbon-like trail split it from end toend, like some forlorn creature with white outspread armsyearning in desolation––yearning for the bustle and rush ofbusy life which it is denied, yearning to be relieved from sodesperate a solitude.

The vastness and silence dwarfs even thought. Thethings which are great, which have significance, which havemeaning to the human mind are lost in such a world. Lifeitself becomes infinitesimal.

There is something moving in a tiny ebullition of dustalong the white trail. It looks so small. It moves soslowly, crawling, seemingly, at a snail’s pace. It is almostmicroscopical in the vastness.

Yet it is only these things by comparison. It is neithersmall, nor is it traveling at a snail’s pace. It is a cart drawnby six horses, racing as though pursued by all the demons ofthe nether world.

And in the driving-seat is a curious, stiffly swaying figure.It is strangely inanimate. Yet it suggests something that noordinary human figure could suggest. It is in its huddledattitude, its ghastly face, its staring, unseeing eyes, whichgaze out in every direction, as the jolting of the cart turnsand twists the body from side to side. There is somethingcolossal, something strangely stirring in the suggestion ofpurpose in the figure. There is something to inspire wonderin the most sluggish mind. It tells a story of some sortof heroism. It tells a story of a master mind triumphingover bodily weakness and suffering. It tells a story ofsuperlative defiance––the defiance of death.

The early risers of Spawn City were gathered in a stupefiedcrowd outside the principal hotel in the place. Sixjaded horses, drawing a light spring-cart, had just pulled up.The poor creatures were utterly spent, and stood withdrooping heads and distended nostrils, gasping and steaming,their weary legs tottering beneath them. Their greateyes were yearning and sunken, and their small ears layback, indifferent to every sound or movement about them.Their last buoyancy has been expended. They have runtheir mad race till their hearts are nigh bursting.

But the horses were of the least interest to the onlookers.It was the dusty spring-cart that interested their curiousminds––the cart, and the still and silent driver, who madeno attempt to leave his seat. They stood gaping, not daringto disturb the ghastly figure, not daring even to approach ittoo closely. Their minds were thrilling with a morbidhorror which held them silent.

But at last there came a diversion. A burly, rough-cladman pushed his way through the crowd, and his keen eyesflashed a quick look over the whole outfit. He was thesheriff, and had been hurriedly summoned.

“Wild Bill!” he muttered. “Them’s sure his plugs,too,” he added, as though seeking corroboration.

There was certainly doubt in his tone, and surprise, too;and he came to the side of the cart and gazed up into theawful face drooping forward over the outstretched arm tofurther convince himself. What he beheld caused him toclick his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It was hisonly means of giving expression to the wave of horror thatswept over him.

With a leap he sprang into the seat, and began releasingthe knotted reins from the stiffened arm. So tight had theknots been drawn that it took some moments. Then heturned, and with difficulty removed the rawhide from aboutthe middle of the huddled figure. Then he hailed some ofthe onlookers.

“Ho, you, Joe! You, too, Lalor, an’ Ned! Stand by,lads, an’ bear a hand,” he cried authoritatively. “GuessI’ll pass it out.”

Then he stood up, staring down at the stiffened body; andwonder looked out of his puzzled eyes.

“Gee! if it ain’t Wild Bill the gambler, an’––an’ he mustha’ bin dead nigh six hours.”

CHAPTER XXXII

A MAN’S LOVE

It was with strangely mixed feelings that Scipio droveMinky’s old mule down the shelving trail leading into thesecret valley where stood James’ ranch-house. The recollectionof his first visit to the place was a sort of nightmarewhich clung desperately in the back cells of memory. Thedreadful incidents leading up to it and surrounding it couldnever be forgotten. Every detail of his headlong journey inquest of the man who had wronged him, every detail of histerrible discomfiture, would cling in his memory so longas he had life.

But, in spite of memory, in spite of his wrongs, his heart-burnings,the desolation of the past weeks, his heart rosebuoyantly as he came within sight of the place in which hestill persisted in telling himself that his Jessie was held aprisoner against her will. That was his nature. Nooptimism was too big for him. No trouble was so greatthat hope could altogether be crushed out of his heart.

He looked out over the splendid valley extending formiles on either hand of him, and somehow he was glad.Somehow the glorious sunlight, so softened by the shadowedforest which covered the hillsides, so gentle beneath thecrowding hills which troughed in the bed of waving grass,sent his simple spirit soaring to heights of anticipatory delightwhich, a few days back, had seemed beyond his reach.

At that moment, in spite of all that had gone before, theplace was very, very beautiful to him, life was wonderful,his very existence was a joy. For was not Jessie waitingfor him beyond, in that ranch-house? Was not she waitingfor his coming, that she might return with him to theirhome? Was she not presently to be seated beside him uponthe rickety old seat of Minky’s buckboard? And his finalthought caused him to glance regretfully down at the frayedcushion, wishing cordially that he could have afforded hergreater comfort.

Ah, well, perhaps she would not mind just for this once.And, after all, she would be with him, which was the greatthing. Wild Bill had promised him that; and he had everyconfidence in Wild Bill.

Then he suddenly thought of something he might havedone. Surely he might have brought Vada with him.What a pity he didn’t think of it before he started out. Itwas foolish of him, very foolish. But he had been so fullof Jessie. The thought of winning her back had quite puteverything else out of his head. Yes, it was a pity. Thepresence of Vada would certainly have added to her happiness,she was so fond of her children.

Then he remembered his instructions. Bill had said hemust go alone. He must go alone––and be prepared tofight for her. Bill was a wonderful man. He seemed tobe able to do anything he chose. And somehow he feltsorry he had bluffed him into buying half his claim. Hecould feel the roll of bills, the result of that transaction, inhis hip pocket, and the pressure of them impressed itself unpleasantlyupon his conscience. He felt sure he had no rightto them. He must really give them back to the gambler later.He felt that his attitude was a swindle on a good man.Bill was certainly a good man, a brave man, but he was nobusiness man. He, Scipio, had the advantage of him there.

The buckboard rumbled down to the grassy trail whichstretched from the foot of the hillside to the ranch-house.And now the pale-eyed little man bethought him of the fightBill had promised him.

Quite unperturbed he looked down at the fierce pair ofrevolvers hanging at his waist. He was taking no chancesthis time. He had borrowed these guns from Minky, thesame as he had borrowed the mule and buckboard. Theywere fine weapons, too. He had tried them. Oh, no, if itcame to shooting he would give a different account of himselfthis time. Mr. James must look to himself. So mustAbe Conroy. He would have no mercy. And he frowneddarkly down at the gigantic weapons.

Now he considered carefully the buildings ahead. Theranch was certainly a fine place. He found it in his heartto admire it, and only felt pity that it was the house of sucha pitiable scoundrel as James. And yet he really felt sorryfor James. Perhaps, after all, he ought not to be too hardon the man. Of course, he was a wicked scoundrel, butthat might be merely misfortune. And, anyway, Jessie, hisJessie, was a very beautiful woman.

His eyes wandered on to the distant hills, catching up thesmaller details of interest as they traveled. There werehundreds of cattle grazing about, and horses, too. Thenthere were the fenced-in pastures and the branding corrals.James must certainly be an excellent rancher, even if hewere a scoundrel.

But the place was very still. Strangely still, he thought.There was not even one of the usual camp dogs to offer himits hostile welcome. He could see none of the “hands”moving about. Perhaps they were––

Of course. For the moment he had forgotten that theywere not simple ranchers. He had forgotten they wereman-hunters. They were probably out on the trail pursuingtheir nefarious calling. And, of course, Bill knew it.That was why he had told him to drive out on this particularmorning. Wonderful man, Bill!

Suddenly the distant neighing of a horse startled him, andhe looked across the woods beyond the house, the direction,he calculated, whence the sound came. But there was nohorse to be seen. Nothing except the darkling cover of pinewoods. It was strange. He was sure the sound came fromthat direction. No; there was certainly nothing in theshape of a horse out there. There wasn’t even a cow.Perhaps it was a “stray” amongst the trees. So he dismissedthe matter from his mind and chirruped at the oldmule.

And now he came up to the ranch; and the stillness ofthe place became even more pronounced. It really wasastonishing. Surely there must be somebody about. Hepushed his guns well to the front, and drew his prairie hatforward so that the brim shaded his pale eyes. He furthershifted his reins into his left hand, and sat with his right onthe butt of one of his weapons. Whatever was to come hewas ready for it. One thing he had made up his mind to;he would stand no nonsense from anybody––certainly notfrom James or Conroy.

The old mule plodded on, and, with the instinct of itskind, headed in the direction of the nearest corral. AndScipio was forced to abandon his warlike attitude, and withboth hands drag him away into the direction of the housedoor. But somehow in those last moments he entirely forgotthat his mission was a fighting one, and sat shaking thereins and chirruping noisily in the approved manner of anyfarmer on a visit.

He stared up at the house as he came. His eyes werefilled with longing. He forgot the barns, the corrals as possibleambushes. He forgot every thought of offense or defense.There was the abode of his beloved Jessie, and allhe wondered was in which part of it lay her prison. Hewas overflowing with a love so great that there was noroom in either brain or body for any other thought or feeling.

But Jessie was nowhere to be seen, and a shadow of disappointmentclouded his face as he halted the only too willingbeast and clambered down between the spidery wheels.Nor did he wait to secure his faithful servitor, or to thinkof anything practical at all. He hustled up to the opendoorway, and, pushing his head in through it, called tillthe echoes of the place rang––

“Ho, Jess! Ho, you, Jess! It’s me––Zip! I come tofetch you to home.”

The echoes died away and the place became still again.And somehow the quiet of it set him bristling. His handsflew to his guns and remained there while he stood listening.But no answer came, and his redundant hope slowly ebbed,leaving a muddy shore of apprehension.

Then, with one glance back over his shoulder, he movedinto the building with much the stealth of a thief. In theliving-room he stood and stared about him uncertainly. Itwas the same room he had been in before, and he rememberedits every detail. Suddenly he pushed the evil of thoserecollections aside and called again––

“Ho, Jess! Ho-o-o!”

But the confidence had gone from his tone, and his callsuggested an underlying doubt.

Again came the echoes. Again they died. Then––yes––therewas a sound that had nothing to do with echoes.Again––yes––sure. It was the sound of someone movingin an upper room. He listened attentively, and again hiseyes brightened with ready hope.

“Jess! Jess!” he called.

And this time there was an answer.

Without a moment’s hesitation, without a second’sthought, he dashed through an open doorway and ran up thenarrow flight of stairs beyond.

At last, at last! His Jessie! He had heard her voice.He had heard the music he had longed for, craved for,prayed for. Was there anything in the world that matteredelse? Was there anything in the world that could keephim from her now? No, not now. His love permeatedhis whole being. There was no thought in his mind ofwhat she had done. There was no room in his simple heartfor anything but the love he could not help, and would nothave helped if he could. There was no obstacle now, beit mountain or stream, that he could not bridge to reach hisJessie. His love was his life, and his life belonged to––Jessie.

He reached the top of the stairs, and a door stood openbefore him. He did not pause to consider what lay beyond.His instinct guided him. His love led him whitherit would, and it led him straight into the presence hedesired more than all the world. It led him straight toJessie.

For the fraction of a second he became aware of a visionof womanhood, to him the most perfect in all the world.He saw the well-loved face, now pale and drawn with sufferingand remorse. He saw the shadowed eyes full of anaffrighted, hunted expression. And, with a cry that bore inits depth all the love of a heart as big as his small body, heran forward to clasp her in his arms.

But Jessie’s voice arrested him half-way. It thrilled withhysterical denial, with suffering, regret, horror. And socommanding was it that he had no power to defy its mandate.

“No, no,” she shrilled. “Keep back––back. Youmust not come near me. I am not fit for you to touch.”

“Not fit––?”

Scipio stared helplessly at her, his eyes settling uncertainlyupon her hands as though he expected to find uponthem signs of some work she might have been engagedupon––some work that left her, as she had said, unfit totouch. His comprehension was never quick. His imaginationwas his weakest point.

Then his eyes came to her well-loved face again, and heshook his head.

“You––you got me beat, Jess. I––”

“Ah, Zip, Zip!” Suddenly Jessie’s hands went up toher face and her eyes were hidden. It was the movementof one who fears to witness the hatred, the loathing, thescorn which her own accusing mind assures her she merits.It was the movement of one whose heart was torn by remorseand shame, whose eyes were open to her sins, andwho realizes that earthly damnation is her future lot. Herbosom heaved, and dry sobs choked her. And the littleman, who had come so far to claim her, stood perplexed andtroubled.

At last he struggled out a few words, longing to console,but scarcely understanding how to go about it. All heunderstood was that she was ill and suffering.

“Say, Jess, you mustn’t to cry,” he said wistfully.“Ther’ ain’t nothin’ to set you cryin’. Ther’ sure ain’t––”

But a woman’s hysteria was a thing unknown to him, andhis gentle attempt was swept aside in a torrent of insensatedenial.

“No, no! Don’t come near me,” she cried in a harsh,strident tone. “Leave me. Leave me to my misery.Don’t dare to come here mocking me. Don’t dare to accuseme. Who are you to accuse? You are no better thanme. You have no right to come here as my judge. You,with your smooth ways, your quiet sneers. Don’t you dare!Don’t you dare! I’m no longer your wife, so you have noright. I’m his––his. Do you understand? I’m his. Ishall live the life I choose, and you shall not molest me.I know you. You’ve come to accuse me, to tell me all Iam, to tax me with my shame. It’s cruel––cruel. Oh,God, help me––help me!”

The woman’s voice died out in a piteous wail that smotestraight to the heart of the little man who stood shakingbefore her hysterical outbreak. He knew not what to do.His love prompted him to go to her and crush her to hissimple, loving heart, but somehow he found himself unableto do anything but gaze with longing eyes upon the heart-brokenfigure, as she leant upon the foot-rail of the bed.

He stirred. And in the moments that passed while hiseyes were fixed upon her rich, heaving bosom, his mindgroping vaguely, he became aware of everything about him.He knew he was in her bedroom. He knew that the furnishingswere good. He knew that the sunlight was pouringin through the open window, and that a broad band ofdazzling light was shining upon her lustrous dark hair. Heknew all these things in the same way that he knew she wassuffering so that she came near breaking his own sympatheticheart.

But though his intellect failed him, and he had no idea ofwhat he ought to say or do, words came at last and tumbledheadlong from his lips, just as they were inspired, all unconsidered,by his heart.

“Say, Jessie gal,” he cried in a softly persuasive tone,“won’t you come to home––an’––an’ help me out?Won’t you, gal?”

But he was given no time to complete his appeal. Thewoman suddenly raised her face, and once more broke out inhysterical fury.

“Home? Home? With you?” she cried. “Ha, ha!That’s too good! Home, with you to forever remind mewhat I am? For you to sneer at me, and point me to yourfriends for what I am? Never, never! Go you back whereyou came from. I’m not a wife. Do you hear? God helpme, I’m––” And she buried her face again upon her arms.

“Won’t you come to home, gal?” the man persisted.“Won’t you? I’m so desp’rit lonesome. An’ the kids, too.Gee! they’re jest yearnin’ an’ yearnin’ for you––nigh as badas me.”

He took a step towards her with his arms outstretched.All his soul was in his mild eyes. And presently Jessieraised her head again. She stood staring at the wall oppositeher. It was as though she dared not face him. Her eyeswere burning, but they were less wild, and a sudden hopethrilled the man’s heart. He hurried on, fearful lest the oldstorm should break out again––

“Y’see, Jess, ther’ ain’t nuthin’ to our pore little shackon the ‘dumps’ without you. Ther’ sure ain’t. Then ther’smy claim. I sold ha’f. An’––an’ I got money now––I––”

The woman’s eyes turned slowly upon him. They werered with unshed tears. Their expression was curious.There was doubt and shrinking in them. It almost seemedas if she were wondering if all the past days of regret andlonging had turned her brain, and she were listening to wordsconjured by a distorted fancy, some insane delusion. Shecould not believe. But Scipio continued, and his voice wasreal enough.

“I––know I ain’t much of a feller for the likes of you,Jess,” he said earnestly. “I ain’t quick. I ain’t jest bright.But I do love you, my dear. I love you so I can’t thinknothin’ else. I want you to home, Jess, that bad, I thankGod ev’ry day He give you to me. I want you so bad itdon’t seem you ever bin away from me. I want you that badI can’t remember the last week or so. You’ll come––tohome, gal––now? Think––jest think o’ them bits o’ twins.You wait till you see ’em laff when they get eyes on you.Say, they’re that bonny an’ bright. They’re jest like you,wi’ their eyes all a-sparklin’, an’ their cheeks that rosy.Gee! they’re jest a-yearnin’ an’ a-callin’ fer their mam––sameas me.”

The little man had moved another step nearer. His armswere still outstretched, and his quaint face was all aglowwith the warmth and love that stirred him. Somewhere inthe back of his dull head he knew that he was pleading forsomething more than his life. He had no subtlety in hismanner or his words. It was just his heart talking for himand guiding him.

And in the woman had risen a sudden hope. It was astruggling ray of light in the blackness of her despair. Itwas a weak struggling flicker––just a flicker. And even asit rose its power was dashed again in the profundity of hersuffering. She could not grasp the hand held out––she couldnot see it. She could not believe the words her ears heard.

“No, no, don’t mock at me,” she cried, with a suddenreturn to her old wildness. “It is cruel, cruel! Leave me.For pity’s sake go. How can you stand there taunting meso? How can I go with you? How can I face my childrennow? Do you know what I am? No, no, of course youdon’t. You could never understand. You, with your foolish,simple mind. Shall I tell you what I am? Shall I sayit? Shall I––”

But the man’s hand went up and held her silent.

“You don’t need to say nothing, Jess,” he said in hismildest tone. “You don’t need to, sure. Whatever youare, you’re all the world to me––jest all.”

With a sudden cry the woman’s head dropped upon heroutspread arms, and the merciful tears, so long denied her,gushed forth. Her body heaved, and it seemed to the distraughtman that her poor heart must be breaking. He didnot know what those tears meant to her. He did not knowthat the victory of his love was very, very near. Only hesaw her bowed in passionate distress, and he had no thoughtof how to comfort her.

He waited, waited. But the flood once broken loose mustneeds spend itself. Such is the way with women, of whomhe had so small an understanding. He turned away to thewindow. He stared with unseeing eyes at the fair pictureof the beautiful valley. The moments passed––long, drearymoments rapidly changing to minutes. And then at last thestorm began to die down, and he turned again towards herand drew a step nearer.

“Jess––Jess,” he murmured.

Then he took another hesitating step.

But his words seemed to have started her tears afresh, andinto his eyes came that painful perplexity again.

Again he ventured, and his step this time brought himclose to her side.

“Jess, gal––Jess,” he pleaded, with infinite tenderness.

And as the woman continued to sob he stole one arm gentlyabout her waist. She made no move. Only her shakingbody calmed, and her tears became more silent.

He strove to draw her towards him, but she clung to thebed-rail with almost child-like persistence, as though shedared not permit herself the hope his encircling arms inspired.But she had not rebuffed him, so with some assertionhe thrust his other arm about her, and, exerting force,deliberately turned her towards him.

“Say, don’t you to cry, lass,” he whispered softly.“Don’t you, now. It jest makes me sore right through. Itjest makes me feel all of a choke, an’––an’ I want to cry, too.Say, gal, I love you good. I do, Jess––I sure do. Ther’ain’t nothin’ in the world I wouldn’t do to stop them tears.Come to home, gal––come to home.”

And as he finished speaking he drew her dark head downto his breast, and laid his thin cheek against her wealth ofhair. And, pressing her to the home that was for all timehers, his own eyes filled with tears which slowly rolled downhis cheeks and mingled themselves with hers.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE REASON WHY

When Scipio turned his back upon the valley it was withthe intention of resting his old mule at the place of thefriendly farmer whom he had encountered on his first memorablevisit to James’ secret abode. From thence, after anight’s rest, he would start late next day, and make the creeksoon after sundown. For the sake of Jessie he had no desireto make a daylight entry into the camp.

The old mule certainly needed rest. And, besides, it waspleasant to prolong the journey. Moments such as the presentwere scarce enough in life. And though Jessie was withhim for all time now, he greedily hugged to himself thesehours alone with her, when there was nothing but the fairblue sky and waving grass, the hills and valleys, to witnesshis happiness, none of the harshness of life to obtrude uponhis perfect joy; nothing, not even the merest duties of dailylife, to mar the delicious companionship which his wife’slong-desired presence afforded him. The whole journey wasto be a sort of honeymoon, a thousand times sweeter for themisery and unhappiness through which they had both passed.

He thought of nothing else. The very existence of Jamesand his gang had passed from his recollection. He had nomind for dangers of any sort. He had no mind for anythingor anybody but his Jessie, his beautiful Jessie––his wife.

Had he had the least curiosity or interest in other matters,there were many things, strange things, about the recoveryof his wife which might have set him wondering. For instance,he might have speculated as to the desertion of theranch––the absence of dogs, the absence of all those signswhich tell of a busy enterprise––things which could not beadequately accounted for by the mere absence of the head ofit, even though he were accompanied by his fighting men.He might have glanced about among the barns and corrals,or––he might even have questioned his Jessie.

Had he done either of these things a certain amount ofenlightenment would undoubtedly have penetrated to hisunsuspicious mind. He must inevitably have detected thehand or hands of his earthly guardian angels in the mannerin which his path had been cleared of all obstructions.

Had he been less occupied with his own happiness, withthe joy of having Jessie once more beside him, and chancedto look back into the valley as he left it forever, he wouldcertainly have received enlightenment. But he never knewwhat had been done for him, he never knew the subtleworking for his welfare.

Thus it was, all unobserved by him, the moment he wasat sufficient distance from the ranch, three horsemen suddenlyappeared from amidst the most adjacent point of theforest on the far side of the valley and galloped across to thehouse. They ran their horses to cover amongst the buildingsand dismounted, immediately vanishing into one of the barns.

And as they disappeared a good deal of laughter, a gooddeal of forceful talk, came from the place which had swallowedthem up. Then, after awhile, the three reappearedin the open, and with them came an old choreman, whosejoints ached, and whose villainous temper had seriously sufferedunder the harsh bonds which had held him secure frominterference with Scipio for so long.

The men herded him out before them, quite heedless ofhis bitter vituperation and blasphemy. And when they haddriven him forth Sunny Oak pointed out to him the retreatingbuckboard as it vanished over the far hillside.

“Ther’ they go, you miser’ble old son of a moose,” hecried with a laugh. “Ther’ they go. An’ I guess whenJames gits around ag’in you’ll likely pay a mighty finereck’nin’. An’ I’ll sure say I won’t be a heap sorry neither.You’ve give me a power o’ trouble comin’ along out here.I ain’t had no sort o’ rest fer hours an’ hours, an’ I hate folksthat sets me busy.”

“You’re a pizenous varmint, sure,” added Sandy, feelingthat Sunny must not be allowed all the talk. “An’ yourlangwidge is that bad I’ll need to git around a Bible-classag’in to disinfect my ears.”

“You sure will,” agreed Toby, with one of his fatuousgrins. “I never see any feller who needed disinfectin’more.” Then he turned upon the evil-faced choreman andadded his morsel of admonition. “Say, old man, as youhope to git buried yourself when James gits around ag’in, Iguess you best go an’ dig that miser’ble cur o’ yours under,’fore he gits pollutin’ the air o’ this yer valley, same as youare at the moment. He’s cost me a goodish scrap, but Idon’t grudge it him noways. Scrappin’s an elegant pastime,sure––when you come out right end of it.”

After that, cowed but furious, the old man was allowed todepart, and the three guardians of Scipio’s person deliberatelyreturned to their charge. Their instructions werequite clear, even though they only partially understood theconditions making their work necessary. Scipio must besafeguarded. They were to form an invisible escort, clearinghis road for him and making his journey safe. So theyswung into the saddle and rode hot-foot on the trail of theirunconscious charge.

For the most part they rode silently. Already the journeyhad been long and tiresomely uneventful, and Sunny Oakparticularly reveled in an impotent peevishness which heldhim intensely sulky. The widower, too, was feeling anythingbut amiable. What with his recent futile work on aclaim which was the ridicule of the camp, and now the discomfortof a dreary journey, his feelings towards Wild Billwere none too cordial. Perhaps Toby was the most cheerfulof the three. The matters of the Trust had been a pleasantbreak in the daily routine of dispossessing himself of remittancesfrom his friends in the East. And the unusualeffort made him feel good.

They had reached the crown of the hill bordering thevalley, where the trail debouched upon the prairie beyond,and the effort of easing his horse, as the struggling beastclawed its way up the shelving slope, at last set loose thetide of the loafer’s ill-temper. He suddenly turned upon hiscompanions, his angry face dirty and sweating.

“Say,” he cried, “of all the blamed fules I’d say we threewas the craziest ever pupped.”

Sandy turned inquiring, contemptuous eyes in his direction.He always adopted a defensive attitude when Sunnyopened out. Toby only grinned and waited for what wasto come.

“Meanin’?” inquired Sandy in his coldest manner.

“Meanin’? Gee! it don’t need a mule’s intellec’ to getmy meanin’,” said the loafer witheringly. “Wot, in thename o’ glory, would I mean but this doggone ride we’retakin’? Say, here’s us three muttons chasin’ glory on thetail o’ two soppy lambs that ain’t got savvee enough between’em to guess the north end of a hoss when he’s goin’ south.An’, wot’s more, we’re doin’ it like a lot o’ cluckin’ henschasin’ a brood o’ fule chicks. I tell you it jest makes mesick. An’ ef I don’t git six weeks’ rest straight on end afterthis is thro’ I’ll be gettin’ plumb ‘bug,’ or––or the colic, orsuthin’ ornery bum. I’ve done. Sufferin’ Creek ain’t noplace fer a peace-lovin’ feller like me, whose doin’ all heknows to git thro’ life easy an’ without breakin’ up a natterallydelicate constitootion. I’m done. I quit.”

Sandy’s face was a study in sneers. Not because he didnot agree with the sentiments, but Sunny always irritatedhim. But Toby only grinned the harder, and for once, whilethe widower was preparing an adequate retort, contrived toforestall him.

“Seems to me, Sunny, you ain’t got a heap o’ kick comin’to you,” he said in his slow way. “I allow you come inthis racket because you notioned it. Mebbe you’ll say whyyou did it, else?”

This unexpected challenge from Toby had the effect ofdiverting the widower’s thoughts. He left the considerationof the snub he had been preparing for the loafer for somefuture time, and waited for the other’s reply. But Sunnywas roused, and stared angrily round upon the grinning faceof his questioner.

“Guess that ain’t no affair of yours, anyway,” he snorted.“I don’t stand fer questions from no remittance guy. Gee!things is gittin’ pretty low-down when it comes to that.”

“Maybe a remittance man ain’t a first-class callin’,” saidToby, his grin replaced by a hot flush. “But if it comes tothat I’d say a lazy loafin’ bum ain’t a heap o’ credit nowaysneither. Howsum, them things don’t alter matters any.An’ I, fer one, is sick o’ your grouse––’cos that’s all it is.Say, you’re settin’ ther’ on top o’ that hoss like a badly sculpturedimage that needs a week’s bathin’, an’ talkin’ like theno-account fule most fellers guess you to be. Wal, show usyou ain’t none o’ them things, show us you got some sort ofa man inside your hide, an’ tell us straight why you’re out onthis doggone trail when you’re yearnin’ fer your blankets.”

The attack was so unexpected that for once Sunny had noreply ready. And Sandy positively beamed upon the challenger.And so they rode on for a few moments. ThenToby broke the silence impatiently.

“Wal?” he inquired, his face wreathed in a grin that hadnone of the amiability usual to it.

Sunny turned; and it was evident all his good-nature wasrestored. He had suddenly realized that to be baited by thefatuous Toby was almost refreshing, and he spoke withoutany sort of animosity. It would certainly have been differenthad the challenge come from the hectoring widower.

“Why for do I do it––an’ hate it? Say, that’s jest one o’them things a feller can’t tell. Y’see, a feller grouses thro’life, a-worritin’ hisself ’cos things don’t seem right by hisway o’ thinkin’. That’s natteral. He guesses he wants todo things one way, then sudden-like, fer no reason he kensee, he gits doin’ ’em another. That’s natteral, too. Y’see,ther’s two things, it seems to me, makes a feller act. One’shis fool head, an’ the other––well, I don’t rightly know whatthe other is, ’cep’ it’s his stummick. Anyways, that’s how itis. My head makes me want to go one way, an’ my feet gitsme goin’ another. So it is with this lay-out. An’ I guess,ef you was sure to git to rock-bottom o’ things, I’d say we’reall doin’ this thing ’cos Wild Bill said so.”

He finished up with a chuckle that thoroughly upset theequilibrium of the widower, and set him jumping at thechance of retort.

“Guess you’re scairt to death o’ Wild Bill,” he sneered.

“Wal,” drawled Sunny easily, “I guess he’s a feller wuthbein’ scairt of––which is more than you are.”

Sandy snorted defiantly. But a further wordy war wasaverted by the remittance man.

“Ther’s more of a man to you than I allowed, Sunny,” hesaid sincerely. “There sure is. Bill’s a man, whatever elsehe is. He’s sure the best man I’ve seen on Sufferin’ Creek.But you’re wrong ’bout him bein’ the reason of us worritin’ourselves sick on this yer trail. It ain’t your head whichneeds re-decoratin’, neither. Nor it ain’t your stummick,which, I allow, ain’t the most wholesome part of you.Neither it ain’t your splay feet. You missed it, Sunny, an’I allus tho’t you was a right smart guy. The reason you’reon this doggone trail chasin’ glory wot don’t never gitaround, is worryin’ along in a buckboard ahead of us, behindole Minky’s mule, an’ he’s hoofin’ to home at an expressslug’s gait. That’s the reason you’re on the trail, an’ nothin’else. You’re jest a lazy, loafin’, dirty bum as ’ud make mudout of a fifty-gallon bath o’ boilin’ soapsuds if you was setin it, but you was mighty sore seein’ pore Zip kicked to deathby his rotten luck. An’ feelin’ that always you kind o’ fergotto be tired. That’s why you’re on this doggone trail. ’Cosyour fool heart ain’t as dirty as your carkis.”

And as he fired his last word Toby dashed his spurs intothe flanks of his jaded horse, and galloped out of reach of thetide of vituperation he knew full well to be flowing in hiswake.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE LUCK OF SCIPIO

Suffering Creek was again in a state of ferment. Itseemed as if there were nothing but one excitement afteranother in the place now. No sooner was the matter of thegold-stage passed than a fresh disturbance was upon them.And again the established industry of the place was completelyat a standstill. Human nature could no more withstandthe infection that was ravaging the camp than keepcool under a political argument. The thing that had happenednow was tremendous.

Staid miners, old experienced hands whose lives werewedded to their quest of gold, whose interest in affairs wasonly taken from a standpoint of their benefit, or otherwise,to the gold interest, were caught in the feverish tide, andsent hurtling along with the rushing flood. Men whosepulses usually only received a quickening from the news of afresh gold discovery now found themselves gaping with thewonder of it all, and asking themselves how it was this thinghad happened, and if, indeed, it had happened, or were theydreaming.

The whole thing was monstrous, stupendous, and here,happening in their midst, practically all Suffering Creek wereout of it. But in spite of this the fever of excitement raged,and no one was wholly impervious to it. Opinions ran riot––opinionshastily conceived and expressed without consideration,which is the way of people whose nerves have beensuddenly strung tight by a matter of absorbing interest.Men who knew nothing of the nature of things which couldproduce so astonishing a result found themselves dissectingcauses and possibilities which did not exist, and never couldexist. They hastily proceeded to lay down their own lawupon the subject with hot emphasis. They felt it necessaryto do this to disguise their lack of knowledge and restoretheir personal standing. For the latter, they felt, had beensorely shaken by this sudden triumph of those whom theyhad so lately ridiculed.

And what was this wonderful thing that had happened?What was it that had set these hardened men crazy withexcitement? It had come so suddenly, so mysteriously. Ithad come during the hours of darkness, when weary menhugged their blankets, and dreamed their dreams of the craftwhich made up their whole world.

There was no noise, no epoch-making upheaval, no blatanttrumpetings to herald its coming. And the discovery wasmade by a single man on his way to his work just after thegreat golden sun had risen.

He was trailing his way along the creek bank over the roadwhich led eventually to Spawn City. He was slouchingalong the wood-lined track at that swinging, laborious gaitof a heavy-booted man. And his way lay across the oozyclaim of Scipio.

But he never reached the claim. Long before he came inview of it he found himself confronted with a sluggishstream progressing slowly along the beaten sand of the trail.For a moment he believed that the creek had, for somefreakish reason, suddenly overflowed its banks. But thisthought was swiftly swept aside, and he stood snuffing theair like some warhorse, and gaping at the stream as itlapped about his feet.

It came on slowly but irresistibly. And ahead of him, andamongst the trailside bush, he beheld nothing but this risingflood. Then of a sudden something of its meaning penetratedhis dazed comprehension, and, turning abruptly, hestarted to run for the higher ground. He sped swiftlythrough the surrounding bush, dodging tree-trunks, andthreading his way circuitously in the direction where stoodthe great cut bank of quartz which backed Scipio’s claim.The smell of the air had told him its tale, and he knew thathe had made a wonderful, an astounding discovery. Andwith this knowledge had come the thought of his own possibleadvantage. Eagerly he began to seek the source of theflood.

But his hopes were completely dashed the moment hereached the bank overlooking Scipio’s claim. There lay thesource of the flood, right in the heart of the little man’sdespised land. A great gusher of coal-oil was belching fromthe mouth of the shaft which Sandy Joyce had been at workupon, and the whole clearing, right from the oozy swampbeyond to the higher ground of the river bank, stealing itsway along trail and through bush, lay a vast shallow lake ofraw coal-oil.

The disappointed man waited just sufficiently long torealize the magnitude of Scipio’s luck, and then set off at arun for the camp.

And in half-an-hour the camp was in a raging fever. Inhalf-an-hour nearly the whole of Suffering Creek had set outfor the claim, that they might see for themselves this wonderfulthing that had happened. In half-an-hour the wholething was being explained in theory by everybody to everybodyelse. In half-an-hour everybody was inquiring forScipio, and each and all were desirous of being first to conveythe news.

And when it was discovered that Scipio was from home,and knew nothing of his good fortune, a fresh thought cameto every mind. What had become of him? They learnedthat he had borrowed Minky’s buckboard, and had drivenaway. And immediately in the public mind crept an unexpressedquestion. Had Zip abandoned the place in theface of his ill-luck, and, if so, what about this gigantic oilfind?

However, there was nothing to be done at present but wait.The flow of oil could not be checked, and the tremendouswaste must go on. The gusher would flow on until thepressure below lessened, and after that it would die down,and require pumps to further exhaust it.

So the camp resigned itself to a contemplation of thiswonderful new industry that had sprung up unsought in theirmidst; and the luck of Scipio was upon everybody’s lips.Nor was there only the wonder of it in every mind, for, afterthe first feelings of envy and covetousness had passed away,the humor of the thing became apparent. And it was JoeBrand, in the course of discussing the matter with Minky,who first drew attention to the queer pranks which fortunesometimes plays.

“Say, don’t it lick creation?” he cried. “Can you beatit? No, sirree. It’s the best ever––it sure is. Say, here’sthe worstest mule-head ever got foothold on this yer continentsets out to chase gold in a place no one outside a bug-housewould ever find time to git busy, an’ may I be skinnedalive an’ my bones grilled fer a cannibal’s supper if he don’tfind sech a fortune in ile as ’ud set all the whole blamedworld’s ile market hatin’ itself. Gee!”

And Minky nodded his head. He also smiled slyly uponthose who stood about him.

“Ther’ sure is elegant humor to most things in thisyer life,” he said dryly. “Which ’minds me Wild Billbo’t ha’f o’ that claim o’ Zip’s ’fore he set out fer SpawnCity.”

And at his words somehow a curious thoughtfulness fellupon his hearers. Nor was there any responsive smileamong them. The humor he spoke of seemed to have passedthem by, leaving them quite untouched by its point. Andpresently they drifted away, joining other groups, where thereminder that Bill had been derided by the whole camp forhis absurd purchase had an equally damping effect.

But the day was to be more eventful even than the promiseof the morning had suggested. And the second surprisecame about noon.

Excitement was still raging. Half the camp was down atZip’s claim watching the miracle of the oil gusher, and theother half was either on their way thither or returning fromit. Some of them were gathering the raw oil in cans andtubs, others were hurrying to do so. And none of themquite knew why they were doing it, or what, if any, the usethey could put the stuff to. They were probably inspired bythe fact that there was the stuff going to waste by the hundredsof gallons, and they felt it incumbent upon them tosave what they could. Anyway, it was difficult to tear themselvesaway from the fascinations of Nature’s prodigal outburst,and so, as being the easiest and most pleasurablecourse, they abandoned themselves to it.

So it was that Minky found his store deserted. Helounged idly out on to the veranda and propped himselfagainst one of the posts. And, standing there, his thoughtfuleyes roamed, subtly attracted to the spot where Zip’s luckhad demonstrated itself.

He stood there for some time watching the hurrying figuresof the miners as they moved to and fro, but his mindwas far away. Somehow Zip’s luck, in spite of the excessivefigures which extravagant minds had estimated it at, onlytook second place with him. He was thinking of the manwho had journeyed to Spawn City. He was worrying abouthim, his one and only friend.

He had understood something of that self-imposed taskwhich the gambler had undertaken, though its full significancehad never quite been his. Now he felt that in someway he was responsible. Now he felt that the journeyshould never have been taken. He felt that he should haverefused to ship his gold. And yet he knew full well that hisrefusal would have been quite useless. Wild Bill was a manwhom opposition only drove the harder, and he would havecontrived a means of carrying out his purpose, no matterwhat barred his way.

However, even with this assurance he still felt uncomfortablyregretful. His responsibility was no less, and for thelife of him he could not rise to enthusiasm over this luck ofScipio’s. It would have been different if Bill had been thereto discuss the matter with him.

And as the moments passed his spirits fell lower andlower, until at last a great depression weighed him down.

It was in the midst of this depression, when, for the hundredthtime, he had wished that his friend had never startedout on his wild enterprise, that he suddenly found himselfstaring out across the river at the Spawn City trail. Hestared for some moments, scarcely comprehending that atwhich he looked. Then suddenly he became aware of ahorseman racing down the slope towards the river, andin a moment mind and body were alert, and he stoodwaiting.

Minky was still standing on his veranda. But he was nolonger leaning against the post; he was holding a letter in hishand which he had just finished reading. It was a painful-lookingdocument for all its neat, clear writing. It wasstained with patches of dark red that were almost brown,and the envelope he held in his other hand was almostunrecognizable for the same hideous stain that completelycovered it.

The man who had delivered it was resting on the edge ofthe veranda. He had told his story; and now he sat chewing,and watching his weary horse tethered at the hitching-posta few yards away.

“An’ he drove that cart fer six hours––dead?” Minkyasked, without removing his eyes from the blood-stainedletter.

“That’s sure how I sed,” returned the messenger, andwent stolidly on with his chewing. The other breatheddeeply.

Then he read the letter over again. He read it slowly, soas to miss no word or meaning it might contain. And,curiously, as he read a feeling of wonder filled him at theexcellence of the writing and composition. He did not seemto remember having seen Bill’s writing before. And herethe rough, hard-living gambler was displaying himself a manof considerable education. It was curious. All the yearsof their friendship had passed without him discovering thathis gambling friend was anything but an illiterate ruffian ofthe West, with nothing but a great courage, a powerfulpersonality and a moderately honest heart to recommendhim.

My Dear Minky,

“I’m dead––dead as mutton. Whether I’m cookedmutton, or raw, I can’t just say. Anyway, I’m dead––oryou wouldn’t get this letter.

“Now this letter is not to express regrets, or to sentimentalize.You’ll agree that’s not my way. Death doesn’tworry me any. No, this letter is just a ‘last will and testament,’as the lawyers have it. And I’m sending it to you becauseI know you’ll see things fixed right for me. You see,I put everything into your hands for two reasons: you’rehonest, and you’re my friend. Now, seeing you’re rich andprosperous I leave you nothing out of my wad. But I’d liketo hand you a present of my team––if they’re still alive––teamand harness and cart. And you’ll know, seeing I alwayshad a notion the sun, moon and stars rose and set in myhorses, the spirit in which I give them to you, and the regardI had for our friendship. Be good to them, old friend.

For the rest, my dollars, and anything else I’ve got, I’dlike Zip’s kids to have. They’re bright kids, and I’ve gota notion for them. And, seeing Zip’s their father, maybedollars will be useful to them. You can divide thingsequally between them.

“And in conclusion you can tell Zip if he can do a goodturn, which I don’t suppose he’ll be able to, to either SunnyOak, or Sandy Joyce, or Toby Jenks, he’d best do it.Because he owes them something he’ll probably never hearabout.

“This is the last will and testament, as the lawyers say, of

“Your old friend,
Wild Bill.
“(A no-account gambler, late of Abilene.)”

Minky looked up from the letter again, and his eyes wereshadowed. He felt that that letter contained more of thegambler’s heart than he would ever have allowed himself todisplay in life.

And into his mind came many memories––memories thatstirred him deeply. He was thinking of the days when hehad first encountered Bill years ago, when the name of WildBill was a terror throughout Texas and the neighboringStates. And he smiled as he remembered how a perturbedGovernment had been forced, for their own peace of mind,and for the sake of the peace of the country, to put this“terror” on the side of law and order, and make him asheriff of the county. And then, too, he remembered thetrouble Bill was always getting into through mixing up hisprivate feuds with his public duties. Still, he was a greatsheriff, and never was such order kept in the county.

He turned again to the man at his side.

“An’ he got thro’ with the gold?” he inquired slowly.

“Jest as I sed,” retorted the weary messenger. “Guess Ihelped sheriff to deposit it in the bank.”

“And he’s dead?”

The man stirred impatiently and spat.

“Dead––as mutton.”

Minky sighed.

“An’ you come along the Spawn City trail?” he askedpresently.

“I ain’t got wings.”

“An’ you saw––?”

“The birds flappin’ around––nigh chokin’ with humanmeat.”

The man laughed cynically.

“Did you recognize––?”

“I see James. He was dead––as mutton, too––an’ allhis gang. Gee! It must ’a’ bin a hell of a scrap.”

The man spat out a stream of tobacco juice and rubbedhis hands.

“It sure must,” agreed Minky. And he passed into thestore.

It was dark when Scipio urged the old mule up the bankat the fork of the creek. He was very weary, and Jessiewas asleep beside him, with her head pillowed upon hisshoulder. His arm was about her, supporting her, and hesat rigid, lest the bumping of the rattling vehicle shouldwaken her. The position for him was trying, but he neverwavered. Cramped and weary as he was, he strove by everymeans in his power to leave her undisturbed.

And as he passed the river three ghostly figures ambleddown to the bank, and, after drinking their horses, likewisepassed over. But while Scipio kept to the trail, they vanishedamidst the woods. Their task was over, and theysought the shortest route to their homes.

And so Scipio came to his claim. And such was his stateof mind, so was he taken up with the happiness which thepresence of his wife beside him gave him, and such was hisdelight in looking forward to the days to come, that he sawnothing of that which lay about him.

The air to him was sweet with all the perfumes his thankfulheart inspired in his thoughts. His road was a path ofroses. The reek of oil was beyond his simple ken. Nor didhe heed the slush, slush of his mule’s feet, as the old beastfloundered through the lake of oil spread out on all sidesabout him. The gurgling, the sadly bubbling gusher, even,might have been one of the fairy sounds of night, for allthought he gave to it.

No; blind to all things practical as he always was, how wasit possible that Scipio, leaving Suffering Creek a poor, strugglingprospector, should realize by these outward signs thathe had returned to it, possibly, a millionaire?

CHAPTER XXXV

HOME

Scipio stood in the doorway of his hut with a hopelesslydazed look in his pale eyes and a perplexed frown upon hisbrow. He had just returned from Minky’s store, whitherhe had been to fetch his twins home. He had brought themwith him, leading them, one in each hand. And at sight oftheir mother they had torn themselves free from theirfather’s detaining hands and rushed at her.

Jessie, strangely subdued, but with a wonderful light ofhappiness in her eyes, was in the midst of “turning out” thebedroom. She had spent the whole morning cleaning andgarnishing with a vigor, with a heartwhole enjoyment, suchas never in all her married life had she displayed before.And now, as the children rushed at her, their piping voicesshrieking their joyous greeting, she hugged them to herbosom as though she would squeeze their precious lives outof them. She laughed and cried at the same time in a waythat only women in the throes of unspeakable joy can. Herwords, too, were incoherent, as incoherent as the babble ofthe children themselves. It was a sight of mother-loverarely to be witnessed, a sight which, under normal conditions,must have filled the simple heart of Scipio with a joyand happiness quite beyond words.

But just now it left him untouched, and as he silentlylooked on he passed one hand helplessly across his forehead.He pushed his hat back so that his stubby fingers could rakeamongst his yellow hair. And Jessie, suddenly looking upfrom the two heads nestling so close against her bosom,realized the trouble in her husband’s face. Her realizationcame with a swiftness that would have been impossible inthose old days of discontent.

“Why, Zip,” she cried, starting to her feet and comingquickly towards him, “what––what’s the matter? What’swrong?”

But the little man only shook his head dazedly, and hiseyes wandered from her face to the two silently staring children,and then to the table so carefully laid for the middaymeal.

“Here, sit down,” Jessie hurried on, darting towards achair and setting it for him beside the stove. “You’re sick,sure,” she declared, peering into his pale face, as he silently,almost helplessly, obeyed her. “It’s the sun,” she went on.“That’s what it is––driving in the sun all yesterday. It’s––it’sbeen too much for you.”

Again the man passed a hand across his brow. But thistime he shook his head.

“’Tain’t the sun, Jess,” he said vaguely. “It’s––it’soil!”

For a moment the woman stared. Then she turned to thegaping twins, and hustled them out of the room to play.Poor Zip’s head had suddenly gone wrong, she believed,and––

But as she came back from the door she found that he hadrisen from the chair in which she had set him, and was standinglooking at her, and through her, and beyond her, asthough she were not there at all. And in an instant she wasat his side, with an arm thrown protectingly about hisshoulders.

“Tell me, Zip––oh, tell me, dear, what’s wrong? Surely––surely,after all that has gone––Oh, tell me! Don’tkeep me in suspense. Is––is it James?” she finished up ina terrified whisper.

The mention of that detested name had instant effect.Scipio’s face cleared, and the dazed look of his eyes vanishedas if by magic. He shook his head.

“James is dead,” he said simply. And Jessie breathed asigh of such relief that even he observed it, and it gladdenedhim. “Yes,” he went on, “James is sure dead. Wild Billdone him up and his whole gang. But Bill’s gone, too.”

“Bill, too?” Jessie murmured.

Scipio nodded; and perplexity stole over his face again.

“Yes. I––I don’t seem to understand. Y’see, he doneJames up, an’––an’ James done him up––sort o’ mutual.Y’see, they told me the rights of it, but––but ther’s so manythings I––I don’t seem to got room for them all in myhead. It seems, too, that Bill had quite a piece of money.An’ he’s kind of given it to the kids. I––I don’t––”

“How much?” demanded the practical feminine.

“Seventy thousand dollars,” replied the bewildered man.

“Seventy thou––Who told you?”

“Why––Minky. Said he’d got it all. But––but thatain’t the worst.”

“Worst?”

Jessie was smiling now––smiling with that motherly, protectingconfidence so wonderfully womanly.

Scipio nodded; and his eyes sought hers for encouragement.

“Ther’s the oil, millions an’ millions of it––gallons, Imean.”

“Oil? Millions of gallons? Oh, Zip, do––do be sensible.”

Jessie stood before him, and his worried look seemed tohave found a reflection upon her handsome face.

“It isn’t me. It ain’t my fault. It sure ain’t, Jess,” hedeclared wistfully. “I’ve seen it. It’s there. My poreclaim’s jest drowned with it. I’ll never find that gold now––notif I was to pump a year. It’s just bubbling up an’ upout o’ the bowels of the earth, an’––an’ Minky says I’ll haveto set up pumps an’ things, an’ he’s goin’ to help me. So isSunny Oak, an’ Toby, an’ Sandy, an’ he sez we’ll find thegold sure if we pump the oil. Sez it’s there, an’ I’ll be richas Rockefeller an’ all them millionaires. But I can’t seem tosee it, if the gold’s drownded in that messy, smelly oil.Maybe you ken see. You’re quicker’n me. You––”

But Jessie never let him finish.

“Oil?” she cried, her eyes swimming with tears of joyand gentle affection for the simple soul so incapable of graspinganything but his own single purpose. “Oil?” she cried.“Oh, Zip, don’t you understand? Don’t you see? It’s oil––coal-oil.You’ve been searching for gold and found oil.And there’s millions of dollars in coal-oil.”

But the little man’s face dropped.

“Seems a pity,” he said dispiritedly. “I could ’a’ sworether’ was gold there––I sure could. I’d have found it, too––ifthe oil hadn’t washed us out. Bill thought so, too; an’Bill was right smart. Guess we’ll find it, though, after wepumped the oil.”

Suddenly the woman reached out both arms and laid herhands upon his diminutive shoulders. Her eyes had grownvery tender.

“Zip,” she cried gently, “Zip, I think God has been verygood to me. He’s been kinder to me than He has been toyou. You deserve His goodness; I don’t. And yet He’sgiven me a man with a heart of––of gold. He’s given mea man whose love I have trampled under-foot and flungaway. He’s given me a man who, by his own simple honesty,his goodness, has shown me the road to perfect happiness.He’s given me all this in return for a sin that cannever be wiped out––”

But suddenly Scipio freed himself from the gentle graspof her restraining hands, and caught her in his arms.

“Don’t you––don’t you to say it, Jess,” he cried, all hisgreat love shining in his eyes. His perplexity and regretwere all gone now, and only had he thought of his love.“Don’t you to say nuthin’ against yourself. You’re my wife––myJessie. An’ as long as I’ve got life I don’t wantnothin’ else––but my Jessie. Say, gal, I do love you.”

“And––and––oh, if you can only believe me, Zip, I loveyou.”

The man reached up and drew the woman’s face down tohis, and kissed her on the lips.

“It don’t matter ’bout not finding that gold now,” hecried, and kissed her again.

“No, it––”

“Say, momma, ain’t it dinner yet?”

“Ess, me want din-din.”

The man and woman sprang guiltily apart before thewondering eyes of their children, and the next moment bothof the small creatures were caught up and hugged in lovingarms.

“Why, sure, kiddies,” cried Scipio, his face wreathed inhappy smiles. “Momma’s got dinner all fixed––so comeright along.”

THE END

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The Twins of Suffering Creek (2024)

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