ate, it flew before him
in every direction, either belittled or exaggerated as individual
temperament prompted.

At one ranch the news was brought in from the trail by a hard-faced
citizen who had little imagination, but much knowledge of the
country.

"Say, fellers," he cried, as he swung out of the saddle at the
bunkhouse door, "ther's a tow-headed sucker on the trail lookin' fer
the James outfit. Guess he wants to shoot 'em up. He's a sawed-off
mutt, an' don't look a heap like scarin' a jack-rabbit. I told him he
best git back to hum, an' git busy fixin' his funeral right, so he
wouldn't have no trouble later."

"Wher's he from?" someone asked.

"Sufferin' Creek," replied the cowpuncher, "an' seems to me he's got
more grit than savvee."

And this opinion was more or less the general one. The little man rode
like one possessed, and it was as well that of all his six treasured
horses Wild Bill had lent him his black beauty, Gipsy. She was quite
untiring, and, with her light weight burden, she traveled in a spirit
of sheer delight.

At every homestead or ranch Scipio only paused to make inquiries and
then hurried on. The information he received was of the vaguest. James
or some of his gang were often seen in the remoter parts of the lower
foothills, but this was all. At one farm he had a little better luck,
however. Here he was told that the farmer had received an intimation
that if he wished to escape being burnt out he must be prepared to
hand over four hundred dollars when called upon by the writer to do
so; and the message was signed "James."

"So ye see," said the farmer--a man named Nicholls--despondently,
"he's som'eres skulkin' around hyar."

"Seems like it," acquiesced Scipio.

Then, of a sudden, a suspicion flashed through the other's mind, and
the man-hunter spent an uncomfortable few seconds.

"Say, you're lookin' fer him?" the farmer questioned harshly. Then he
leant forward, his eyes lighting with sudden anger. "If I tho't you
was--"

But Scipio's mild blue eyes, and his simple reply had a pacific effect
at once.

"I'm looking for him because he's stole my wife. And I'm goin' on
chasin' till I find him."

There was such mild sincerity in his visitor's manner that it was
impossible for the farmer to retain his suspicion.

"What you goin' to do about that four hundred?" inquired Scipio
later.

"He'll get no dollars out o' me. I ain't got 'em," replied Nicholls
hopelessly. Then his temp