But Bill silenced him without ceremony.
“Don’t yap,” he cried. “How ken I read this yer muck with you throwin’ hot air?”
Scipio desisted, and sat staring vacantly at the long ears of Minky’s mule. He was gazing on a mental picture of Jessie as he considered she must have looked when writing that letter. He saw her distress in her beautiful eyes. There were probably tears in her eyes, too, and the thought hurt him and made him shrink from it. He felt that her poor heart must have been breaking when she had written. Perhaps James had been cruel to her. Yes, he was sure to have been cruel to her. Such a blackguard as he was sure to be cruel to women-folk. No doubt she was longing to escape from him. She was sure to be. She would never have willingly gone away––
“Tosh!” cried Bill. And Scipio found the letter thrust out for him to take back.
“Eh?”
“I said ‘tosh!’” replied the gambler. “How’d you get that letter?”
“It was flung in through the window. It was tied to a stone.”
“Yes?”
“There was a wrappin’ to it.” Then Scipio’s eyes began to sparkle at the recollection. “It was wrote on by the feller James,” he went on in a low voice.
Then suddenly he turned, and his whole manner partook of an impotent heat.