rn in."

It was at that moment that something white lying at his feet caught
his eye. Instantly he remembered it, and, stooping, picked it up. How
strange it was the difference of his feelings as he lifted the outer
wrapping of Jessie's letter now. There was something almost reverent
in the way he handled the paper.

He closed the door and secured it, and went across to the lamp, where
he stood looking down at the stained and dirty covering. He turned it
over, his thoughts abstracted and busy with the woman who had folded
it ready for its journey to him. Yes, she had folded it, she had sent
it, she--

Suddenly his abstraction passed, and he bent over the disfiguring
finger-marks. There was writing upon the paper, and the writing was
not in Jessie's hand. He raised it closer to his eyes and began to
read. And, with each word he made out, his faculties became more and
more angrily concentrated.

"You'll hand the kid over at once. I'll be on the Spawn City trail
ten miles out. If you ain't there with the kid noon to-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 to his brain.

He had forgotten James until now. He had forgotten the traitor
responsible for his undoing. So much was Jessie in his life that James
had counted for little when he thought of her. But now the scoundrel
swept all other thoughts pell-mell out of his head. He was suddenly
ablaze with a rage such as he had never before experienced. All that
was human in him was in a state of fierce resentment. He hated James,
and desired with all his small might to do him a bodily hurt. Yes, he
could even delight in killing him. He would show him no mercy. He
would revel in witnessing his death agonies. This man had not only
wronged him. He had killed also the spiritual purity of the mother of
his children. Oh, how he hated him. And now--now he had dared to
threaten. He, stained to his very heart's core with villainy, had
dared to interfere in a matter which concerned a mother's pure love
for her children. The thought maddened him, and he crushed the paper
in his hand and ground it under his heel.

He would not do it. He could not. He had forgotten the association to
which he was sending the innocent Vada. No, no. Innocent little Vada.
Jessie must do without her.

He flung himself into a