out as sure as my name's
Wild Bill!"

CHAPTER XXV

WILD BILL FIRES A BOMB

When Wild Bill returned to his hut later on in the afternoon he was
consumed by a cold, hard rage, such as comes but rarely in the life of
any man. There was no demonstrativeness: he had no words to give it
expression. It was the rage of a man who coldly, calmly collects every
faculty of brain and body into one great concentration for harm to its
object. It was a moment when every evil thought and feeling was drawn
into a cruel longing for harm--harm calculated to be of the most
merciless description.

Neither of the companions who had joined him in the pursuit of the
man they had discovered lurking down at the river had any real
understanding of what lay in the back of the gambler's mind. His
outburst there had been the first volcanic rage which had lit the
fires of hate now burning so deep down in his intolerant heart.
That outburst they had understood. That was the man as they knew
him. But this other man they knew nothing of. This was the real man
who returned to his hut, silent and ghastly, with implacable hatred
burning in his heart.

All three had hurriedly and silently returned to the store from their
futile chase. Bill offered no explanation, and his manner was so
forbidding that even the intrepid Sandy had found no use for the
questions he would so gladly have put.

When they arrived, Scipio and Sunny, with the twins, had reached the
place just before them. But they were lost sight of in the rush that
was made to tell the gambler of the happenings at Sid Morton's ranch.
Nor had he any choice but to listen to the luridly narrated facts.
However, his choice did fall in with their desires, and, after the
first brief outline, told with all the imagination this varied
collection of beings was capable of, he found himself demanding, as
eagerly as they were waiting to tell, every detail of the matter, and
even went so far as to examine the body of the dead rancher, roughly
laid out in the barn on a bed of hay. He listened almost without
comment, which was unusual in him. His manner displayed no heat. He
was cold, critical, and his only words were to ask sharp and
definitely pointed questions. Then, having given Minky instructions
for the safeguarding of the children, he departed without even
mentioning his own adventure down at the river.

But if he neglected to do so, it was otherwise with his friends, the
other members of