he shifted
the saddle, and refastened the cinchas. Then he altered the stirrups,
and passed on to the mare's bridle--Scipio watching him all the while
without a word. But when the gambler had finished he glanced 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 wholly harsh, had no
other meaning in them. Then he went on, as Scipio scrambled into the
saddle, "You don't need to worry any 'bout things here. Your
kiddies'll be seen to proper 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 lazy slob, Sunny
Oak. Ther' won't be no harm--" He flicked the restive mare, which
bounded off with the spring of a gazelle. "Ease your hand to her," he
called out, so as to drown Scipio's further protestations of
gratitude, "ease your hand, you blamed little fule. That's it. Now let
her go."

And the mare raced off in a cloud of dust.

CHAPTER V

HUSBAND AND LOVER

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

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

An ordinary man would probably have hugged such a story to himself. He
would have resorted to covert probing and excuse in extracting
information. But then it is doubtful if, under such circumstances, his
purpose would have been so strong, so absolutely invincible as
Scipio's. As it was, with single-minded simplicity, Scipio saw no
reason for subterfuge, he saw no reason for disguising the tragedy
which had befallen him. And so he shed his story broadcast amongst the
settlers of the district until, by means of that wonderful prairie
telegraphy, which needs no instruments to oper