s poker game in the store. His
whole mind had become absorbed by thoughts of this James, and though
he, personally, had never suffered through the stage-robber's
depredations, he found himself resenting the man's very existence.
There were no ethical considerations in his mind. His inspiration
was purely personal. And though he did not attempt to reduce his
hatred to reason, nor to analyze it in any way, the truth of its
existence lay in the fact of a deadly opposition to this sudden
rise to notoriety of a man of strength, and force of character
similar, in so many respects, to his own. Perhaps it was mere
jealousy; perhaps, all unknown to himself, there was some deeper
feeling underlying it. Whatever it was, he had a strong sympathy
with Scipio, and an unconquerable desire to have a hand in the
smoothing out of the little man's troubles.

He did not leave the barn, and scarcely even took his eyes off Gipsy's
empty stall, until nearly sundown. Then, as he heard the voices of
returning prospectors, he set to work on his evening task of grooming,
feeding, watering and bedding down his children for the night.

CHAPTER VII

SUNNY OAK TRIES HIS HAND

In the meantime Sunny Oak was executing his orders with a care for
detail quite remarkable in a man of his excessive indolence. It was a
curious fact, and one that told a great deal of his own character, as
well as that of the gambler. His implicit obedience to Wild Bill's
orders was born of a deeper knowledge of that individual than was
possessed by 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 knew Bill through sheer
observation, which had taught him to listen when the gambler spoke as
he would listen to a man in high authority over him--or to a man who,
without scruple, held him helpless under an irresistible threat. Which
power it was inspired his obedience he did not pause to consider. He
simply accepted the fact that when Bill ordered he preferred to
obey--it was so much easier.

"Hoboe"--the local term for one suffering from his indolent malady--as
he was, Sunny Oak was a man of some character. Originally this cloak
of indolence in which he wrapped himself had been assumed for some
subtle reason of his own. It was not the actual man. But so long had
he worn it now that he had almost forgotten the real attributes
enshrouded in its folds. As