Conroy took the weapon in his hand. His keen eyes noted the age of the pattern. He also saw the battered condition of the sights, and the clumsy, rusted, protruding hammer. It was six-chambered, and he knew that it must be all of forty years old. One of the earliest pattern revolvers. The sight of it filled him with cruel amusement, but he kept a serious face.
“I ’lows that should bring James to his senses,” he observed, as he handed it back to its owner.
Scipio read his answer as approval, and warmed towards him.
“I’d say so,” he said, returning his antiquity to his pocket. “You see, a gun’s li’ble to rattle a feller like James. A man who can get around when a feller’s back’s turned, an’ make love to his wife, ain’t much of a man, is he? I mean he hasn’t much grit. He’s a coward sure. If he’d got grit he wouldn’t do it. Well, that’s how I figger ’bout this James. He’s mean, an’ a cowardly dog. I don’t guess I’ll have to use that gun, but I jest brought it along to scare him to his senses, if he needs it. Maybe though he won’t need it when he sees me come along––y’see, I’m Jessie’s husband––guess that’ll fix him sure.”
“Guess you got James sized up good,” observed the man, with his eyes fixed ahead. “No, I don’t see you’ll need that gun.”
They rode on, Scipio’s spirits rising with every yard they traveled. He knew he was nearing his wife with every passing moment. He had no doubts, no fears. So long as he could reach her side he felt that all would be well. In spite of her letter it never entered his head that she cared for the man she had gone off with. He blamed James, and it was no mere figure of speech when he said that he believed he had “stolen” her. He believed such to be the case. He believed she had gone unwillingly. In his mind it was a case of abduction. Again and again he thanked Providence that he had fallen in with this man, Conroy. He was a good fellow, he told himself, a good friend. And his ideas were so coincident with his own about James.
They were approaching the higher hills. Towering, broken crags loomed ahead darkly in the gathering gloom. The vast riven facets cut the sky-line, and black patches of pine forests, and spruce, gave a ghostly, threatening outlook. They must have been riding over two hours when Scipio realized they were passing over a narrow cattle track on the summit of a wooded hill. Then presently their horses began a steep shelving descent which required great caution to negotiate. And as they proceeded the darkness closed in upon them, until they appeared to be making an almost precipitate descent into a vast black pit. There was no light here at all except for the stars above, for the last glow of twilight was completely shut off by the great wall they were now leaving behind them.
No word was spoken. Each man was busy with his horse, and the animals themselves were stumbling and floundering as they picked their uncertain way. A quarter of an hour of this went by, then, suddenly, ahead, still farther down the slope, two or three dim lights shone up at them like will-o’-the-wisps. They seemed to dance about before Scipio’s eyes as they rode. Nor, as he pointed them out to his companion, did he realize that this peculiarity was due to the motion of his mare under him.
“Yep,” replied Conroy dryly. “Them’s James’ lights.”
“He’s got a large place,” said Scipio, with some awe in his tone.