"If you're set on makin' James' shanty, you best come right along. Only"--he hesitated for the barest fraction of a second--"y'see, I'm out after this cattle racket, an' I guess I owe it to my folks to git their bizness thro' without no chance of upset. See?" Scipio nodded. He saw the man's drift, and thought it quite splendid of him. "Now, I got to spy out things," the man went on, "an' if you get right up ther' first it'll likely upset things fer me--you goin' ther' to hold him up as it were." His smile was more pronounced. "Now I guess I'll show you where his lay-out is if you'll sure give me your promise to let me hunt around fer ha'f-an-hour around his corrals--'fore you butt in. Then I'll get right back to you an' you can go up, an'--shoot him to hell, if you notion that fancy." Scipio almost beamed his thanks. The man's kindness seemed a noble thing to him. "You're a real bully fellow," he said. "Guess we'll start right now?" The man turned and his shrewd eyes fixed themselves piercingly on the little man's face. "Yes," he said shortly, "we'll get on." He led the way, his horse slightly in advance of the mare, and for some time he made no attempt to break the silence that had fallen. The twilight was rapidly passing into the deeper shadows of night, but he rode amongst the hills as though he were traveling a broad open trail. There was no hesitation, no questioning glance as to his direction. He might have been traveling a trail that he had been accustomed to all his life. At last, however, he glanced round at his companion. "Say, what you goin' to do when--you get there?" he asked. "Fetch my wife back," replied Scipio earnestly. "What'll James be doin'?" "He can't keep her--she's mine." "That's so. But--if he notions to keep her?" Scipio was silent for some moments. His pale eyes were staring straight ahead of him out into the growing darkness. "Maybe, I'll have to shoot him," he said at last, as though there could be no question about the matter. The man nodded. "Got useful guns?" he inquired casually. "Got one." "Ah, what is it? Magazine?" Scipio pulled his antique possession out of his pocket and handed it over for the man's inspection. "It's all right," he said. "Guess the sights ain't good over a distance, but at close range it'll make a nasty hole." 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.