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. "Say," he cried, "ther' ain't no use fer you to get around further. You ken jest light back to the store, an' see to them kids. Don't you never let 'em out o' your sight till Wednesday come. Then hit out fer James' ranch." When Wild Bill eventually reached the claim, he found Sandy sitting on an upturned bucket amidst the most deplorable surroundings in which a gold prospector in quest of the precious metal could ever hope to find himself. The creek bank was some two hundred yards away, with a pronounced rising ground between him and it. Behind him was a great cut-faced rock of ironstone that certainly looked auriferous. The base of it lay in a definite hollow, reed-grown and oozy. Beyond him, to the right, following the river bank, the ground declined gradually towards a black-looking, turgid and overgrown swamp. While, from the direction in which the gambler approached, a low, dense, thorny bush grew, made up of branches almost skeleton in their lack of leaves. It was a forlorn and uninviting spot, calculated to dishearten anybody with a heart less big and an enthusiasm less vital than Scipio's. Bill stood for a moment surveying the scene before Sandy realized his presence. And that first glance set him snorting contemptuously. "Well, say--" he began. But words failed him, and he hurried across to his "hired" man. Sandy jumped up as he came near, and before the other could stop him had poured out his opinion of things in general, and that claim in particular, in a few well-chosen and effective words.