ld Bill's method of interrogation had a driving effect.

"She's mine, an'--I'm going to get her back." There was pity at the
man's obstinate assertion in every eye except Wild Bill's.

"Say, Zip, he'll kill you," said the gambler, after a pause.

"She's my wife. She's mine," retorted Scipio intensely. "An' I'll
shoot him dead if he refuses to hand her over."

"Say," the gambler went on, ignoring the man's protest--the idea of
Scipio shooting a man like James was too ludicrous--"you're up agin a
bad proposition, sure. James has stole 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 in the foothills with his gang of toughs
around him, an' you're goin' to make him hand back your wife. Say,
you're sure crazy. 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 watched Scipio's mild
face. There was more: there was sympathy and pity for him, feelings
in these men for which there was no other means of expression.

But Scipio was unmoved from his purpose. His underlip protruded
obstinately. His pale eyes were alight with purpose and misery.

"He's stole my--Jessie," he cried, "an' I want her back." Then, in a
moment, his whole manner changed, and his words came with an
irresistible pleading. Hard as was the gambler, the pathos of it
struck a chord in him the existence of 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 of bills from his hip pocket. "You
take 'em and keep 'em against the horse. It ain't sufficient, but it's
all I got. I'll pay the rest when I've made it, if your horse gets
hurted. I will, sure. Say," he added, with a happy inspiration, "I'll
give you a note on my claim--ha'f of it. You'll do it? You--"

Bill's face went suddenly scarlet. Something made him lower his
eyelids. It was as though he could not look on that eager face unmoved
any longer. Somehow he felt in a vague sort of way that poor Scipio's
spirit was altogether too big for his body. Bigger by far than that of
those sitting there ready to deride