The reply caused a brief embarrassed pause. Then the gambler broke it with characteristic force. "An' fer that reason you're--carryin' a gun," he said, pointing at the man's bulging pocket. Sandy Joyce ceased stacking his "chips"; Toby squared his broad shoulders and drained an already empty glass. Minky blinked his astonishment, while Wild Bill thrust his long legs out and aggressively pushed his hat back on his head. It was at that moment that curiosity overcame Sunny Oak's habitual indolence, and his face appeared over the window-sill. "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." Scipio's simplicity and single-mindedness brought forth a sigh of intense feeling from his hearers. "How?" Wild Bill's method of interrogation had a driving effect. "She's mine, an'--I'm going to get her back." There was pity at the man's obstinate assertion in every eye except Wild Bill's. "Say, Zip, he'll kill you," said the gambler, after a pause. "She's my wife. She's mine," retorted Scipio intensely. "An' I'll shoot him dead if he refuses to hand her over." "Say," the gambler went on, ignoring the man's protest--the idea of Scipio shooting a man like James was too ludicrous--"you're up agin a bad proposition, sure. James has stole your--wife. He's stole more. He's a stage-robber." "A cattle-thief," broke in Sandy. "A 'bad man' of the worst," nodded Minky. "He's all these, an' more," went on Bill, scowling. "He's a low-down skunk, he's a pestilence, he's a murderer. You're goin' to hunt him back ther' to his own shack in the foothills with his gang of toughs around him, an' you're goin' to make him hand back your wife. Say, you're sure crazy. He'll kill you. He'll blow your carkis to hell, an' charge the devil freightage for doin' it." There was a look of agreement in the eyes that watched Scipio's mild face. There was more: there was sympathy and pity for him, feelings in these men for which there was no other means of expression.