s. James must certainly be an excellent
rancher, even if he were a scoundrel.

But the place was very still. Strangely still, he thought. There was
not even one of the usual camp dogs to offer him its hostile welcome.
He could see none of the "hands" moving about. Perhaps they were--

Of course. For the moment he had forgotten that they were not simple
ranchers. He had forgotten they were man-hunters. They were probably
out on the trail pursuing their nefarious calling. And, of course,
Bill knew it. That was why he had told him to drive out on this
particular morning. Wonderful man, Bill!

Suddenly the distant neighing of a horse startled him, and he looked
across the woods beyond the house, the direction, he calculated,
whence the sound came. But there was no horse to be seen. Nothing
except the darkling cover of pine woods. It was strange. He was sure
the sound came from that direction. No; there was certainly nothing in
the shape of a horse out there. There wasn't even a cow. Perhaps it
was a "stray" amongst the trees. So he dismissed the matter from his
mind and chirruped at the old mule.

And now he came up to the ranch; and the stillness of the place became
even more pronounced. It really was astonishing. Surely there must be
somebody about. He pushed his guns well to the front, and drew his
prairie hat forward so that the brim shaded his pale eyes. He further
shifted his reins into his left hand, and sat with his right on the
butt of one of his weapons. Whatever was to come he was ready for it.
One thing he had made up his mind to; he would stand no nonsense from
anybody--certainly not from James or Conroy.

The old mule plodded on, and, with the instinct of its kind, headed in
the direction of the nearest corral. And Scipio was forced to abandon
his warlike attitude, and with both hands drag him away into the
direction of the house door. But somehow in those last moments he
entirely forgot that his mission was a fighting one, and sat shaking
the reins and chirruping noisily in the approved manner of any farmer
on a visit.

He stared up at the house as he came. His eyes were filled with
longing. He forgot the barns, the corrals as possible ambushes. He
forgot every thought of offense or defense. There was the abode of his
beloved Jessie, and all he wondered was in which part of it lay her
prison. He was overflowing with a love so great that there was no room
in either brain or body for any other thought or