The corners of Bill’s mouth wrinkled, but his eyes remained hard and commanding. Whatever feelings of an appreciative nature lay behind his lean face they were well hidden.
“You’d face James an’ all his gang––again? You’d face him if it sure meant––death?”
“The chance o’ death wouldn’t stop me if I could get her back.”
The quiet of the little man’s tone carried a conviction far greater than any outburst could have done.
“An’ she’s been––his?”
Scipio took a deep breath. His hands clenched. Just for a moment the whites of his eyes became bloodshot with some rush of tremendous feeling. It seemed as though he were about to break out into verbal expression of his agony of heart. But when he finally did speak it was in the same even tone, though his breath came hard and deep.
“I want her––whatever she is,” he said quietly.
Bill rose to his feet, and a passionate light shone in his sparkling eyes.
“Then take Minky’s mule an’ buckboard. Start right out fer James’ ranch before sun-up Wednesday mornin’, an’––you’ll sure get her. Come on.”
Scipio sprang to his feet, and a dozen hot questions leapt to his mind. An ocean of gratitude was struggling to pour from his inadequate tongue, but Bill would have none of it. He waved him aside and set off for their destination, and the other could only follow. But at the farther edge of the clearing again the gambler paused. This time a sudden thought had changed his plans. He turned abruptly, and without one particle of softening in his manner he ordered him back.