I don't guess I'll have to
use that gun, but I jest brought it along to scare him to his senses,
if he needs it. Maybe though he won't need it when he sees me come
along--y'see, I'm Jessie's husband--guess that'll fix him sure."

"Guess you got James sized up good," observed the man, with his eyes
fixed ahead. "No, I don't see you'll need that gun."

They rode on, Scipio's spirits rising with every yard they traveled.
He knew he was nearing his wife with every passing moment. He had no
doubts, no fears. So long as he could reach her side he felt that all
would be well. In spite of her letter it never entered his head that
she cared for the man she had gone off with. He blamed James, and it
was no mere figure of speech when he said that he believed he had
"stolen" her. He believed such to be the case. He believed she had
gone unwillingly. In his mind it was a case of abduction. Again and
again he thanked Providence that he had fallen in with this man,
Conroy. He was a good fellow, he told himself, a good friend. And his
ideas were so coincident with his own about James.

They were approaching the higher hills. Towering, broken crags loomed
ahead darkly in the gathering gloom. The vast riven facets cut the
sky-line, and black patches of pine forests, and spruce, gave a
ghostly, threatening outlook. They must have been riding over two
hours when Scipio realized they were passing over a narrow cattle
track on the summit of a wooded hill. Then presently their horses
began a steep shelving descent which required great caution to
negotiate. And as they proceeded the darkness closed in upon them,
until they appeared to be making an almost precipitate descent into a
vast black pit. There was no light here at all except for the stars
above, for the last glow of twilight was completely shut off by the
great wall they were now leaving behind them.

No word was spoken. Each man was busy with his horse, and the animals
themselves were stumbling and floundering as they picked their
uncertain way. A quarter of an hour of this went by, then, suddenly,
ahead, still farther down the slope, two or three dim lights shone up
at them like will-o'-the-wisps. They seemed to dance about before
Scipio's eyes as they rode. Nor, as he pointed them out to his
companion, did he realize that this peculiarity was due to the motion
of his mare under him.

"Yep," replied Conroy dryly. "Them's James' lights."

"He's got a large place," said Scipio,