"Why, Zip," she cried, starting to her feet and coming quickly towards him, "what--what's the matter? What's wrong?" But the little man only shook his head dazedly, and his eyes wandered from her face to the two silently staring children, and then to the table so carefully laid for the midday meal. "Here, sit down," Jessie hurried on, darting towards a chair and setting it for him beside the stove. "You're sick, sure," she declared, peering into his pale face, as he silently, almost helplessly, obeyed her. "It's the sun," she went on. "That's what it is--driving in the sun all yesterday. It's--it's been too much for you." Again the man passed a hand across his brow. But this time he shook his head. "'Tain't the sun, Jess," he said vaguely. "It's--it's oil!" For a moment the woman stared. Then she turned to the gaping twins, and hustled them out of the room to play. Poor Zip's head had suddenly gone wrong, she believed, and-- But as she came back from the door she found that he had risen from the chair in which she had set him, and was standing looking at her, and through her, and beyond her, as though she were not there at all. And in an instant she was at his side, with an arm thrown protectingly about his shoulders. "Tell me, Zip--oh, tell me, dear, what's wrong? Surely--surely, after all that has gone--Oh, tell me! Don't keep me in suspense. Is--is it James?" she finished up in a terrified whisper. The mention of that detested name had instant effect. Scipio's face cleared, and the dazed look of his eyes vanished as if by magic. He shook his head. "James is dead," he said simply. And Jessie breathed a sigh of such relief that even he observed it, and it gladdened him. "Yes," he went on, "James is sure dead. Wild Bill done him up and his whole gang. But Bill's gone, too." "Bill, too?" Jessie murmured. Scipio nodded; and perplexity stole over his face again. "Yes. I--I don't seem to understand. Y'see, he done James up, an'--an' James done him up--sort o' mutual. Y'see, they told me the rights of it, but--but ther's so many things I--I don't seem to got room for them all in my head. It seems, too, that Bill had quite a piece of money. An' he's kind of given it to the kids. I--I don't--" "How much?" demanded the practical feminine. "Seventy thousand dollars," replied the bewildered man. "Seventy thou--Who told you?" "Why--Minky. Said he'd got it all. But--but that ain't the worst." "Worst?" Jessie was smiling now--smiling with that motherly, protecting confidence so wonderfully womanly. Scipio nodded; and his eyes sought hers for encouragement. "Ther's the oil, millions an' millions of it--gallons, I mean." "Oil? Millions of gallons? Oh, Zip, do--do be sensible." Jessie stood before him, and his worried look seemed to have found a reflection upon her handsome face.