uddenly thought of something he might have done. Surely he
might have brought Vada with him. What a pity he didn't think of it
before he started out. It was foolish of him, very foolish. But he had
been so full of Jessie. The thought of winning her back had quite put
everything else out of his head. Yes, it was a pity. The presence of
Vada would certainly have added to her happiness, she was so fond of
her children.

Then he remembered his instructions. Bill had said he must go alone.
He must go alone--and be prepared to fight for her. Bill was a
wonderful man. He seemed to be able to do anything he chose. And
somehow he felt sorry he had bluffed him into buying half his claim.
He could feel the roll of bills, the result of that transaction, in
his hip pocket, and the pressure of them impressed itself unpleasantly
upon his conscience. He felt sure he had no right to them. He must
really give them back to the gambler later. He felt that his attitude
was a swindle on a good man. Bill was certainly a good man, a brave
man, but he was no business man. He, Scipio, had the advantage of him
there.

The buckboard rumbled down to the grassy trail which stretched from
the foot of the hillside to the ranch-house. And now the pale-eyed
little man bethought him of the fight Bill had promised him.

Quite unperturbed he looked down at the fierce pair of revolvers
hanging at his waist. He was taking no chances this time. He had
borrowed these guns from Minky, the same as he had borrowed the mule
and buckboard. They were fine weapons, too. He had tried them. Oh, no,
if it came to shooting he would give a different account of himself
this time. Mr. James must look to himself. So must Abe Conroy. He
would have no mercy. And he frowned darkly down at the gigantic
weapons.

Now he considered carefully the buildings ahead. The ranch was
certainly a fine place. He found it in his heart to admire it, and
only felt pity that it was the house of such a pitiable scoundrel as
James. And yet he really felt sorry for James. Perhaps, after all, he
ought not to be too hard on the man. Of course, he was a wicked
scoundrel, but that might be merely misfortune. And, anyway, Jessie,
his Jessie, was a very beautiful woman.

His eyes wandered on to the distant hills, catching up the smaller
details of interest as they traveled. There were hundreds of cattle
grazing about, and horses, too. Then there were the fenced-in pastures
and the branding corral