“He’s stole from me,” said Scipio in a low tone.
“What’s he stole?” demanded the gambler savagely.
“My wife.”
The stillness of the room remained unbroken for some moments. Actions came far easier to these men than mere words. Scipio’s words had a paralyzing effect upon their powers of speech, and each was busy with thoughts which they were powerless to interpret into words. “Lord” James was a name they had reason to hate. It was a name synonymous with theft, and even worse––to them. He had stolen from their community, which was unforgivable, but this––this was something new to them, something which did not readily come into their focus. Wild Bill was the first to recover himself.
“How d’you know?” he asked.
“She wrote telling me.”
“She went ’cos she notioned it?” inquired Sandy.
“He’s stole her––he’s stole my Jessie,” said Scipio sullenly.
“An’ you’re goin’ to fetch her back?” Bill’s question whipped the still air.
“Sure––she’s mine.”