eeing the child chastised, he came at
the man with quiet fury. With one huge hand in Joe Hopper's collar,
he boxed his ears until he begged for mercy. "Now go," said Jack, as
he released him, "an' know hereafter how it feels for the strong to
beat the weak."

Of all things, Jack wanted to talk with Margaret Adams; but he could
never make up his mind to seek her out, though his love for this
woman was the love of his life. Often at night he would slip away
from the old preacher's cabin and his cot by Captain Tom's bed, to go
out and walk around her little cottage and see that all was safe.

James, her boy, peculiarly interested Jack, but it was some time
before he came to know him. He knew the boy was Richard Travis's son,
and that he alone had stood between him and his happiness. That but
for him--the son of his mother--he would never have been the outlaw
that he was, and even now but for this son he would marry her. But
outlaw that he was, Jack Bracken had no free-booting ideas of love.
Never did man revere purity in woman more than he--that one thing
barred Margaret Adams forever from his life, though not from his
heart.

He felt that he would hate James Adams; but instead he took to the
lad at once--his fine strange ways, his dignity, courage, his very
aloofness and the sorrow he saw there, drew him to the strange,
silent lad.

One day while at work in his shop he looked up and saw the boy
standing in the door watching him closely and with evident
admiration.

"Come in, my lad," said Jack, laying down his big hammer. "What is
yo' name?"

"Well, I don't know that that makes any difference," he replied
smiling, "I might ask you what is yours."

Jack flushed, but he pitied the lad.

He smiled: "I guess you an' I could easily understan' each other,
lad--what can I do for you?"

"I wanted you to fix my pistol for me, sir--and--and I haven't
anything to pay you."

Jack looked it over--the old duelling pistol. He knew at once it was
Colonel Jeremiah Travis's. The boy had gotten it somehow. The
hair-spring trigger was out of fix. Jack soon repaired it and said:

"Now, son, she's all right, and not a cent do I charge you."

"I didn't mean that," said the boy, flushing. "I have no money, but I
want to pay you, for I need this pistol--need it very badly."

"To shoot rabbits?" smiled Jack.

The boy did not smile. He ran his hand in his pocket and handed Jack
a thin gold ring, worn almost to a wire; but Jack p