could no longer resist. "And now get out of
here," he went on mercilessly, as Scipio's hand closed over the
wretched weapon, "or I'll hand you over to the boys. They'll show you
less mercy than I do. They're waiting out there," he cried, pointing
at the door, "for my orders. One word from me and they'll cut the
liver out of you with rawhides, and Abe Conroy'll see it's done right.
Get you right out of here, and if ever you come squealing around my
quarters again I'll have you strung up by your wretched neck till
you're dead--dead as a crushed worm--dead as is 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 the little man
by. He made no attempt to obey. The pistol hung in his tightly
gripping hand, and his underlip protruded obstinately.

"She's mine, you thief!" he cried. "Give her back to me."

It was the cry of a beaten man whose spirit is unquenchable.

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

"Here," cried James, his cruel eyes snapping, "take him out and set
him on his horse, and send him racing to hell after 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 buffeted and kicked into a state of
semi-unconsciousness. Nor did he rouse out of his stupor, until, sick
and sore in every limb, his poor yellow head aching and confused, he
found himself swaying dangerously about in the saddle, with Gipsy,
racing like a mad thing, under his helpless legs.

CHAPTER VI

SUNNY OAK PROTESTS

Wild Bill was gazing out across the camp dumps. His expression
suggested the contemplation of a problem of life and 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 made one think of a bright spring morning under cover of a
yellow fog.

"How am I to see to them pore kiddies?" the latter was complaining.
"I've had to do with cattle, an' mules, an' even hogs in my time, but
I sure don't guess you ken set them bits o