Having made the old mule snug for the night on the leeward side of the house, he prepared to go to bed. There was just one remaining duty to perform, however, before he was free to do so. He must set things ready for breakfast on the morrow. To this end he lit the lamp. In five minutes his preparations were made, and, after one final look round, he passed over to the door to secure it. He stood for a moment drinking in the cool night air. Yes, he felt happier than he had done for days. Nor could he have said why. It was surely something to do with Jessie's letter, and yet the letter seemed to offer little enough for hope. He was going to part with Vada, a thought which filled him with dismay, and yet there was hope in his heart. But then where the head might easily enough fail his heart had accepted responsibility. There was a note in the woman's appeal which struck a responsive chord in his own credulous heart, and somehow he felt that his parting with Vada was not to be for long. He felt that Jessie would eventually come back to him. He felt, though he did not put the thought into words, that no woman could feel as she did about her children, and be utterly dead to all the old affection that had brought them into the world. He turned away at last. The air was good to breathe to-night, the world was good after all. Yes, it was better than he had thought it. There was much to be done to-morrow, so he would "turn in." It was at that moment that something white lying at his feet caught his eye. Instantly he remembered it, and, stooping, picked it up. How strange it was the difference of his feelings as he lifted the outer wrapping of Jessie's letter now. There was something almost reverent in the way he handled the paper. He closed the door and secured it, and went across to the lamp, where he stood looking down at the stained and dirty covering. He turned it over, his thoughts abstracted and busy with the woman who had folded it ready for its journey to him. Yes, she had folded it, she had sent it, she-- Suddenly his abstraction passed, and he bent over the disfiguring finger-marks. There was writing upon the paper, and the writing was not in Jessie's hand. He raised it closer to his eyes and began to read. And, with each word he made out, his faculties became more and more angrily concentrated. "You'll hand the kid over at once. I'll be on the Spawn City trail ten miles out. If you ain't there with the kid noon to-morrow there's going to be bad trouble. James." "James! James!" Scipio almost gasped the name. His pale eyes were hot and furious, and the blood surged to his brain.