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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mysterious Rider, by Zane Grey
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Mysterious Rider
+
+Author: Zane Grey
+
+Release Date: November 3, 2004 [EBook #13937]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Rick Niles, Charlie Kirschner and the PG Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: That round-up showed a loss of one hundred head
+of stock. Belllounds received the amazing news with a roar.]
+
+THE
+
+MYSTERIOUS RIDER
+
+A NOVEL
+
+BY
+
+ZANE GREY
+
+AUTHOR OF
+
+THE MAN OF THE FOREST,
+THE U.P. TRAIL,
+RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE,
+THE DESERT OF WHEAT, ETC.
+
+1921
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+That round-up showed a loss of one hundred head
+of stock. Belllounds received the amazing
+news with a roar .............................. _Frontispiece_
+
+"I know why you're going. It's to see that club-footed
+cowboy Moore!... Don't let me
+catch you with him" ........................... _Facing p._ 98
+
+"I'm beginnin' to feel that I couldn't let her marry
+that Buster Jack," soliloquized Wade, as he
+rode along the grassy trail .........................  "   164
+
+"Jack Belllounds!" she cried. "You put the
+sheriff on that trail!" .............................  "   280
+
+
+
+
+THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+A September sun, losing some of its heat if not its brilliance, was
+dropping low in the west over the black Colorado range. Purple haze
+began to thicken in the timbered notches. Gray foothills, round and
+billowy, rolled down from the higher country. They were smooth,
+sweeping, with long velvety slopes and isolated patches of aspens that
+blazed in autumn gold. Splotches of red vine colored the soft gray of
+sage. Old White Slides, a mountain scarred by avalanche, towered with
+bleak rocky peak above the valley, sheltering it from the north.
+
+A girl rode along the slope, with gaze on the sweep and range and color
+of the mountain fastness that was her home. She followed an old trail
+which led to a bluff overlooking an arm of the valley. Once it had been
+a familiar lookout for her, but she had not visited the place of late.
+It was associated with serious hours of her life. Here seven years
+before, when she was twelve, she had made a hard choice to please her
+guardian--the old rancher whom she loved and called father, who had
+indeed been a father to her. That choice had been to go to school in
+Denver. Four years she had lived away from her beloved gray hills and
+black mountains. Only once since her return had she climbed to this
+height, and that occasion, too, was memorable as an unhappy hour. It
+had been three years ago. To-day girlish ordeals and griefs seemed back
+in the past: she was a woman at nineteen and face to face with the first
+great problem in her life.
+
+The trail came up back of the bluff, through a clump of aspens with
+white trunks and yellow fluttering leaves, and led across a level bench
+of luxuriant grass and wild flowers to the rocky edge.
+
+She dismounted and threw the bridle. Her mustang, used to being petted,
+rubbed his sleek, dark head against her and evidently expected like
+demonstration in return, but as none was forthcoming he bent his nose to
+the grass and began grazing. The girl's eyes were intent upon some
+waving, slender, white-and-blue flowers. They smiled up wanly, like pale
+stars, out of the long grass that had a tinge of gold.
+
+"Columbines," she mused, wistfully, as she plucked several of the
+flowers and held them up to gaze wonderingly at them, as if to see in
+them some revelation of the mystery that shrouded her birth and her
+name. Then she stood with dreamy gaze upon the distant ranges.
+
+"Columbine!... So they named me--those miners who found me--a baby--lost
+in the woods--asleep among the columbines." She spoke aloud, as if the
+sound of her voice might convince her.
+
+So much of the mystery of her had been revealed that day by the man she
+had always called father. Vaguely she had always been conscious of some
+mystery, something strange about her childhood, some relation never
+explained.
+
+"No name but Columbine," she whispered, sadly, and now she understood a
+strange longing of her heart.
+
+Scarcely an hour back, as she ran down the Wide porch of White Slides
+ranch-house, she had encountered the man who had taken care of her all
+her life. He had looked upon her as kindly and fatherly as of old, yet
+with a difference. She seemed to see him as old Bill Belllounds, pioneer
+and rancher, of huge frame and broad face, hard and scarred and
+grizzled, with big eyes of blue fire.
+
+"Collie," the old man had said, "I reckon hyar's news. A letter from
+Jack.... He's comin' home."
+
+Belllounds had waved the letter. His huge hand trembled as he reached to
+put it on her shoulder. The hardness of him seemed strangely softened.
+Jack was his son. Buster Jack, the range had always called him, with
+other terms, less kind, that never got to the ears of his father. Jack
+had been sent away three years ago, just before Columbine's return from
+school. Therefore she had not seen him for over seven years. But she
+remembered him well--a big, rangy boy, handsome and wild, who had made
+her childhood almost unendurable.
+
+"Yes--my son--Jack--he's comin' home," said Belllounds, with a break in
+his voice. "An', Collie--now I must tell you somethin'."
+
+"Yes, dad," she had replied, with strong clasp of the heavy hand on her
+shoulder.
+
+"Thet's just it, lass. I ain't your dad. I've tried to be a dad to you
+an' I've loved you as my own. But you're not flesh an' blood of mine.
+An' now I must tell you."
+
+The brief story followed. Seventeen years ago miners working a claim of
+Belllounds's in the mountains above Middle Park had found a child asleep
+in the columbines along the trail. Near that point Indians, probably
+Arapahoes coming across the mountains to attack the Utes, had captured
+or killed the occupants of a prairie-schooner. There was no other clue.
+The miners took the child to their camp, fed and cared for it, and,
+after the manner of their kind, named it Columbine. Then they brought it
+to Belllounds.
+
+"Collie," said the old rancher, "it needn't never have been told, an'
+wouldn't but fer one reason. I'm gettin' old. I reckon I'd never split
+my property between you an' Jack. So I mean you an' him to marry. You
+always steadied Jack. With a wife like you'll be--wal, mebbe Jack'll--"
+
+"Dad!" burst out Columbine. "Marry Jack!... Why I--I don't even remember
+him!"
+
+"Haw! Haw!" laughed Belllounds. "Wal, you dog-gone soon will. Jack's in
+Kremmlin', an' he'll be hyar to-night or to-morrow."
+
+"But--I--I don't l-love him," faltered Columbine.
+
+The old man lost his mirth; the strong-lined face resumed its hard cast;
+the big eyes smoldered. Her appealing objection had wounded him. She was
+reminded of how sensitive the old man had always been to any reflection
+cast upon his son.
+
+"Wal, thet's onlucky;" he replied, gruffly. "Mebbe you'll change. I
+reckon no girl could help a boy much, onless she cared for him. Anyway,
+you an' Jack will marry."
+
+He had stalked away and Columbine had ridden her mustang far up the
+valley slope where she could be alone. Standing on the verge of the
+bluff, she suddenly became aware that the quiet and solitude of her
+lonely resting-place had been disrupted. Cattle were bawling below her
+and along the slope of old White Slides and on the grassy uplands above.
+She had forgotten that the cattle were being driven down into the
+lowlands for the fall round-up. A great red-and-white-spotted herd was
+milling in the park just beneath her. Calves and yearlings were making
+the dust fly along the mountain slope; wild old steers were crashing in
+the sage, holding level, unwilling to be driven down; cows were running
+and lowing for their lost ones. Melodious and clear rose the clarion
+calls of the cowboys. The cattle knew those calls and only the wild
+steers kept up-grade.
+
+Columbine also knew each call and to which cowboy it belonged. They sang
+and yelled and swore, but it was all music to her. Here and there along
+the slope, where the aspen groves clustered, a horse would flash across
+an open space; the dust would fly, and a cowboy would peal out a lusty
+yell that rang along the slope and echoed under the bluff and lingered
+long after the daring rider had vanished in the steep thickets.
+
+"I wonder which is Wils," murmured Columbine, as she watched and
+listened, vaguely conscious of a little difference, a strange check in
+her remembrance of this particular cowboy. She felt the change, yet did
+not understand. One after one she recognized the riders on the slopes
+below, but Wilson Moore was not among them. He must be above her, then,
+and she turned to gaze across the grassy bluff, up the long, yellow
+slope, to where the gleaming aspens half hid a red bluff of
+mountain, towering aloft. Then from far to her left, high up a
+scrubby ridge of the slope, rang down a voice that thrilled her:
+"_Go--aloong--you-ooooo_." Red cattle dashed pell-mell down the slope,
+raising the dust, tearing the brush, rolling rocks, and letting out
+hoarse bawls.
+
+"_Whoop-ee_!" High-pitched and pealing came a clearer yell.
+
+Columbine saw a white mustang flash out on top of the ridge, silhouetted
+against the blue, with mane and tail flying. His gait on that edge of
+steep slope proved his rider to be a reckless cowboy for whom no heights
+or depths had terrors. She would have recognized him from the way he
+rode, if she had not known the slim, erect figure. The cowboy saw her
+instantly. He pulled the mustang, about to plunge down the slope, and
+lifted him, rearing and wheeling. Then Columbine waved her hand. The
+cowboy spurred his horse along the crest of the ridge, disappeared
+behind the grove of aspens, and came in sight again around to the right,
+where on the grassy bench he slowed to a walk in descent to the bluff.
+
+The girl watched him come, conscious of an unfamiliar sense of
+uncertainty in this meeting, and of the fact that she was seeing him
+differently from any other time in the years he had been a playmate, a
+friend, almost like a brother. He had ridden for Belllounds for years,
+and was a cowboy because he loved cattle well and horses better, and
+above all a life in the open. Unlike most cowboys, he had been to
+school; he had a family in Denver that objected to his wild range life,
+and often importuned him to come home; he seemed aloof sometimes and not
+readily understood.
+
+While many thoughts whirled through Columbine's mind she watched the
+cowboy ride slowly down to her, and she became more concerned with a
+sudden restraint. How was Wilson going to take the news of this forced
+change about to come in her life? That thought leaped up. It gave her a
+strange pang. But she and he were only good friends. As to that, she
+reflected, of late they had not been the friends and comrades they
+formerly were. In the thrilling uncertainty of this meeting she had
+forgotten his distant manner and the absence of little attentions she
+had missed.
+
+By this time the cowboy had reached the level, and with the lazy grace
+of his kind slipped out of the saddle. He was tall, slim, round-limbed,
+with the small hips of a rider, and square, though not broad shoulders.
+He stood straight like an Indian. His eyes were hazel, his features
+regular, his face bronzed. All men of the open had still, lean, strong
+faces, but added to this in him was a steadiness of expression, a
+restraint that seemed to hide sadness.
+
+"Howdy, Columbine!" he said. "What are you doing up here? You might get
+run over."
+
+"Hello, Wils!" she replied, slowly. "Oh, I guess I can keep out of the
+way."
+
+"Some bad steers in that bunch. If any of them run over here Pronto will
+leave you to walk home. That mustang hates cattle. And he's only half
+broke, you know."
+
+"I forgot you were driving to-day," she replied, and looked away from
+him. There was a moment's pause--long, it seemed to her.
+
+"What'd you come for?" he asked, curiously.
+
+"I wanted to gather columbines. See." She held out the nodding flowers
+toward him. "Take one.... Do you like them?"
+
+"Yes. I like columbine," he replied, taking one of them. His keen hazel
+eyes, softened, darkened. "Colorado's flower."
+
+"Columbine!... It is my name."
+
+"Well, could you have a better? It sure suits you."
+
+"Why?" she asked, and she looked at him again.
+
+"You're slender--graceful. You sort of hold your head high and proud.
+Your skin is white. Your eyes are blue. Not bluebell blue, but columbine
+blue--and they turn purple when you're angry."
+
+"Compliments! Wilson, this is new kind of talk for you," she said.
+
+"You're different to-day."
+
+"Yes, I am." She looked across the valley toward the westering sun, and
+the slight flush faded from her cheeks. "I have no right to hold my head
+proud. No one knows who I am--where I came from."
+
+"As if that made any difference!" he exclaimed.
+
+"Belllounds is not my dad. I have no dad. I was a waif. They found me in
+the woods--a baby--lost among the flowers. Columbine Belllounds I've
+always been. But that is not my name. No one can tell what my name
+really is."
+
+"I knew your story years ago, Columbine," he replied, earnestly.
+"Everybody knows. Old Bill ought to have told you long before this. But
+he loves you. So does--everybody. You must not let this knowledge sadden
+you.... I'm sorry you've never known a mother or a sister. Why, I could
+tell you of many orphans who--whose stories were different."
+
+"You don't understand. I've been happy. I've not longed for any--any one
+except a mother. It's only--"
+
+"What don't I understand?"
+
+"I've not told you all."
+
+"No? Well, go on," he said, slowly.
+
+Meaning of the hesitation and the restraint that had obstructed her
+thought now flashed over Columbine. It lay in what Wilson Moore might
+think of her prospective marriage to Jack Belllounds. Still she could
+not guess why that should make her feel strangely uncertain of the
+ground she stood on or how it could cause a constraint she had to fight
+herself to hide. Moreover, to her annoyance, she found that she was
+evading his direct request for the news she had withheld.
+
+"Jack Belllounds is coming home to-night or to-morrow," she said. Then,
+waiting for her companion to reply, she kept an unseeing gaze upon the
+scanty pines fringing Old White Slides. But no reply appeared to be
+forthcoming from Moore. His silence compelled her to turn to him. The
+cowboy's face had subtly altered; it was darker with a tinge of red
+under the bronze; and his lower lip was released from his teeth, even
+as she looked. He had his eyes intent upon the lasso he was coiling.
+Suddenly he faced her and the dark fire of his eyes gave her a shock.
+
+I've been expecting that shorthorn back for months." he said, bluntly.
+
+"You--never--liked Jack?" queried Columbine, slowly. That was not what
+she wanted to say, but the thought spoke itself.
+
+"I should smile I never did."
+
+"Ever since you and he fought--long ago--all over--"
+
+His sharp gesture made the coiled lasso loosen.
+
+"Ever since I licked him good--don't forget that," interrupted Wilson.
+The red had faded from the bronze.
+
+"Yes, you licked him," mused Columbine. "I remember that. And Jack's
+hated you ever since."
+
+"There's been no love lost."
+
+"But, Wils, you never before talked this way--spoke out so--against
+Jack," she protested.
+
+"Well, I'm not the kind to talk behind a fellow's back. But I'm not
+mealy-mouthed, either, and--and--"
+
+He did not complete the sentence and his meaning was enigmatic.
+Altogether Moore seemed not like himself. The fact disturbed Columbine.
+Always she had confided in him. Here was a most complex situation--she
+burned to tell him, yet somehow feared to--she felt an incomprehensible
+satisfaction in his bitter reference to Jack--she seemed to realize that
+she valued Wilson's friendship more than she had known, and now for some
+strange reason it was slipping from her.
+
+"We--we were such good friends--pards," said Columbine, hurriedly and
+irrelevantly.
+
+"Who?" He stared at her.
+
+"Why, you--and me."
+
+"Oh!" His tone softened, but there was still disapproval in his glance.
+"What of that?"
+
+"Something has happened to make me think I've missed you--lately--that's
+all."
+
+"Ahuh!" His tone held finality and bitterness, but he would not commit
+himself. Columbine sensed a pride in him that seemed the cause of his
+aloofness.
+
+"Wilson, why have you been different lately?" she asked, plaintively.
+
+"What's the good to tell you now?" he queried, in reply.
+
+That gave her a blank sense of actual loss. She had lived in dreams and
+he in realities. Right now she could not dispel her dream--see and
+understand all that he seemed to. She felt like a child, then, growing
+old swiftly. The strange past longing for a mother surged up in her like
+a strong tide. Some one to lean on, some one who loved her, some one to
+help her in this hour when fatality knocked at the door of her
+youth--how she needed that!
+
+"It might be bad for me--to tell me, but tell me, anyhow," she said,
+finally, answering as some one older than she had been an hour ago--to
+something feminine that leaped up. She did not understand this impulse,
+but it was in her.
+
+"No!" declared Moore, with dark red staining his face. He slapped the
+lasso against his saddle, and tied it with clumsy hands. He did not look
+at her. His tone expressed anger and amaze.
+
+"Dad says I must marry Jack," she said, with a sudden return to her
+natural simplicity.
+
+"I heard him tell that months ago," snapped Moore.
+
+"You did! Was that--why?" she whispered.
+
+"It was," he answered, ringingly.
+
+"But that was no reason for you to be--be--to stay away from me," she
+declared, with rising spirit.
+
+He laughed shortly.
+
+"Wils, didn't you like me any more after dad said that?" she queried.
+
+"Columbine, a girl nineteen years and about to--to get married--ought
+not be a fool," he replied, with sarcasm.
+
+"I'm not a fool," she rejoined, hotly.
+
+"You ask fool questions."
+
+"Well, you _didn't_ like me afterward or you'd never have mistreated
+me."
+
+"If you say I mistreated you--you say what's untrue," he replied, just
+as hotly.
+
+They had never been so near a quarrel before. Columbine experienced a
+sensation new to her--a commingling of fear, heat, and pang, it seemed,
+all in one throb. Wilson was hurting her. A quiver ran all over her,
+along her veins, swelling and tingling.
+
+"You mean I lie?" she flashed.
+
+"Yes, I do--if--"
+
+But before he could conclude she slapped his face. It grew pale then,
+while she began to tremble.
+
+"Oh--I didn't intend that. Forgive me," she faltered.
+
+He rubbed his cheek. The hurt had not been great, so far as the blow was
+concerned. But his eyes were dark with pain and anger.
+
+"Oh, don't distress yourself," he burst out. "You slapped me
+before--once, years ago--for kissing you. I--I apologize for saying you
+lied. You're only out of your head. So am I."
+
+That poured oil upon the troubled waters. The cowboy appeared to be
+hesitating between sudden flight and the risk of staying longer.
+
+"Maybe that's it," replied Columbine, with a half-laugh. She was not
+far from tears and fury with herself. "Let us make up--be
+friends again."
+
+Moore squared around aggressively. He seemed to fortify himself against
+something in her. She felt that. But his face grew harder and older than
+she had ever seen it.
+
+"Columbine, do you know where Jack Belllounds has been for these three
+years?" he asked, deliberately, entirely ignoring her overtures of
+friendship.
+
+"No. Somebody said Denver. Some one else said Kansas City. I never asked
+dad, because I knew Jack had been sent away. I've supposed he was
+working--making a man of himself."
+
+"Well, I hope to Heaven--for your sake--what you suppose comes true,"
+returned Moore, with exceeding bitterness.
+
+"Do _you_ know where he has been?" asked Columbine. Some strange feeling
+prompted that. There was a mystery here. Wilson's agitation seemed
+strange and deep.
+
+"Yes, I do." The cowboy bit that out through closing teeth, as if
+locking them against an almost overmastering temptation.
+
+Columbine lost her curiosity. She was woman enough to realize that there
+might well be facts which would only make her situation harder.
+
+"Wilson," she began, hurriedly, "I owe all I am to dad. He has cared for
+me--sent me to school. He has been so good to me. I've loved him always.
+It would be a shabby return for all his protection and love if--if I
+refused--"
+
+"Old Bill is the best man ever," interrupted Moore, as if to repudiate
+any hint of disloyalty to his employer. "Everybody in Middle Park and
+all over owes Bill something. He's sure good. There never was anything
+wrong with him except his crazy blindness about his son. Buster
+Jack--the--the--"
+
+Columbine put a hand over Moore's lips.
+
+"The man I must marry," she said, solemnly.
+
+"You must--you will?" he demanded.
+
+"Of course. What else could I do? I never thought of refusing."
+
+"Columbine!" Wilson's cry was so poignant, his gesture so violent, his
+dark eyes so piercing that Columbine sustained a shock that held her
+trembling and mute. "How can you love Jack Belllounds? You were twelve
+years old when you saw him last. How can you love him?"
+
+"I don't" replied Columbine.
+
+"Then how could you marry him?"
+
+"I owe dad obedience. It's his hope that I can steady Jack."
+
+"_Steady Jack!_" exclaimed Moore, passionately. "Why, you girl--you
+white-faced flower! _You_ with your innocence and sweetness steady that
+damned pup! My Heavens! He was a gambler and a drunkard. He--"
+
+"Hush!" implored Columbine.
+
+"He cheated at cards," declared the cowboy, with a scorn that placed
+that vice as utterly base.
+
+"But Jack was only a wild boy," replied Columbine, trying with brave
+words to champion the son of the man she loved as her father. "He has
+been sent away to work. He'll have outgrown that wildness. He'll come
+home a man."
+
+"Bah!" cried Moore, harshly.
+
+Columbine felt a sinking within her. Where was her strength? She, who
+could walk and ride so many miles, to become sick with an inward
+quaking! It was childish. She struggled to hide her weakness from him.
+
+"It's not like you to be this way," she said. "You used to be generous.
+Am I to blame? Did I choose my life?"
+
+Moore looked quickly away from her, and, standing with a hand on his
+horse, he was silent for a moment. The squaring of his shoulders bore
+testimony to his thought. Presently he swung up into the saddle. The
+mustang snorted and champed the bit and tossed his head, ready to bolt.
+
+"Forget my temper," begged the cowboy, looking down upon Columbine. "I
+take it all back. I'm sorry. Don't let a word of mine worry you. I was
+only jealous."
+
+"Jealous!" exclaimed Columbine, wonderingly.
+
+"Yes. That makes a fellow see red and green. Bad medicine! You never
+felt it."
+
+"What were you jealous of?" asked Columbine.
+
+The cowboy had himself in hand now and he regarded her with a grim
+amusement.
+
+"Well, Columbine, it's like a story," he replied. "I'm the fellow
+disowned by his family--a wanderer of the wilds--no good--and no
+prospects.... Now our friend Jack, he's handsome and rich. He has a
+doting old dad. Cattle, horses--ranches! He wins the girl. See!"
+
+Spurring his mustang, the cowboy rode away. At the edge of the slope he
+turned in the saddle. "I've got to drive in this bunch of cattle. It's
+late. You hurry home." Then he was gone. The stones cracked and rolled
+down under the side of the bluff.
+
+Columbine stood where he had left her: dubious, yet with the blood still
+hot in her cheeks.
+
+"Jealous?... He wins the girl?" she murmured in repetition to herself.
+"What ever could he have meant? He didn't mean--he didn't--"
+
+The simple, logical interpretation of Wilson's words opened Columbine's
+mind to a disturbing possibility of which she had never dreamed. That
+he might love her! If he did, why had he not said so? Jealous, maybe,
+but he did not love her! The next throb of thought was like a knock at a
+door of her heart--a door never yet opened, inside which seemed a
+mystery of feeling, of hope, despair, unknown longing, and clamorous
+voices. The woman just born in her, instinctive and self-preservative,
+shut that door before she had more than a glimpse inside. But then she
+felt her heart swell with its nameless burdens.
+
+Pronto was grazing near at hand. She caught him and mounted. It struck
+her then that her hands were numb with cold. The wind had ceased
+fluttering the aspens, but the yellow leaves were falling, rustling. Out
+on the brow of the slope she faced home and the west.
+
+A glorious Colorado sunset had just reached the wonderful height of its
+color and transformation. The sage slopes below her seemed rosy velvet;
+the golden aspens on the farther reaches were on fire at the tips; the
+foothills rolled clear and mellow and rich in the light; the gulf of
+distance on to the great black range was veiled in mountain purple; and
+the dim peaks beyond the range stood up, sunset-flushed and grand. The
+narrow belt of blue sky between crags and clouds was like a river full
+of fleecy sails and wisps of silver. Above towered a pall of dark cloud,
+full of the shades of approaching night.
+
+"Oh, beautiful!" breathed the girl, with all her worship of nature. That
+wild world of sunset grandeur and loneliness and beauty was hers. Over
+there, under a peak of the black range, was the place where she had been
+found, a baby, lost in the forest. She belonged to that, and so it
+belonged to her. Strength came to her from the glory of light on
+the hills.
+
+Pronto shot up his ears and checked his trot.
+
+"What is it, boy?" called Columbine. The trail was getting dark.
+Shadows were creeping up the slope as she rode down to meet them. The
+mustang had keen sight and scent. She reined him to a halt.
+
+All was silent. The valley had begun to shade on the far side and the
+rose and gold seemed fading from the nearer. Below, on the level floor
+of the valley, lay the rambling old ranch-house, with the cabins
+nestling around, and the corrals leading out to the soft hay-fields,
+misty and gray in the twilight. A single light gleamed. It was like
+a beacon.
+
+The air was cold with a nip of frost. From far on the other side of the
+ridge she had descended came the bawls of the last straggling cattle of
+the round-up. But surely Pronto had not shot up his ears for them. As if
+in answer a wild sound pealed down the slope, making the mustang jump.
+Columbine had heard it before.
+
+"Pronto, it's only a wolf," she soothed him.
+
+The peal was loud, rather harsh at first, then softened to a mourn,
+wild, lonely, haunting. A pack of coyotes barked in angry answer, a
+sharp, staccato, yelping chorus, the more piercing notes biting on the
+cold night air. These mountain mourns and yelps were music to Columbine.
+She rode on down the trail in the gathering darkness, less afraid of the
+night and its wild denizens than of what awaited her at White
+Slides Ranch.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+Darkness settled down like a black mantle over the valley. Columbine
+rather hoped to find Wilson waiting to take care of her horse, as used
+to be his habit, but she was disappointed. No light showed from the
+cabin in which the cowboys lived; he had not yet come in from the
+round-up. She unsaddled, and turned Pronto loose in the pasture.
+
+The windows of the long, low ranch-house were bright squares in the
+blackness, sending cheerful rays afar. Columbine wondered in trepidation
+if Jack Belllounds had come home. It required effort of will to approach
+the house. Yet since she must meet him, the sooner the ordeal was over
+the better. Nevertheless she tiptoed past the bright windows, and went
+all the length of the long porch, and turned around and went back, and
+then hesitated, fighting a slow drag of her spirit, an oppression upon
+her heart. The door was crude and heavy. It opened hard.
+
+Columbine entered a big room lighted by a lamp on the upper table and by
+blazing logs in a huge stone fireplace. This was the living-room, rather
+gloomy in the corners, and bare, but comfortable, for all simple needs.
+The logs were new and the chinks between them filled with clay, still
+white, showing that the house was of recent build.
+
+The rancher, Belllounds, sat in his easy-chair before the fire, his big,
+horny hands extended to the warmth. He was in his shirt-sleeves, a
+gray, bold-faced man, of over sixty years, still muscular and rugged.
+
+At Columbine's entrance he raised his drooping head, and so removed the
+suggestion of sadness in his posture.
+
+"Wal, lass, hyar you are," was his greeting. "Jake has been hollerin'
+thet chuck was ready. Now we can eat."
+
+"Dad--did--did your son come?" asked Columbine.
+
+"No. I got word jest at sundown. One of Baker's cowpunchers from up the
+valley. He rode up from Kremmlin' an' stopped to say Jack was
+celebratin' his arrival by too much red liquor. Reckon he won't be home
+to-night. Mebbe to-morrow."
+
+Belllounds spoke in an even, heavy tone, without any apparent feeling.
+Always he was mercilessly frank and never spared the truth. But
+Columbine, who knew him well, felt how this news flayed him. Resentment
+stirred in her toward the wayward son, but she knew better than to
+voice it.
+
+"Natural like, I reckon, fer Jack to feel gay on gettin' home. I ain't
+holdin' thet ag'in' him. These last three years must have been gallin'
+to thet boy."
+
+Columbine stretched her hands to the blaze.
+
+"It's cold, dad," she averred. "I didn't dress warmly, so I nearly
+froze. Autumn is here and there's frost in the air. Oh, the hills were
+all gold and red--the aspen leaves were falling. I love autumn, but it
+means winter is so near."
+
+"Wal, wal, time flies," sighed the old man. "Where'd you ride?"
+
+"Up the west slope to the bluff. It's far. I don't go there often."
+
+"Meet any of the boys? I sent the outfit to drive stock down from the
+mountain. I've lost a good many head lately. They're eatin' some weed
+thet poisons them. They swell up an' die. Wuss this year than
+ever before."
+
+"Why, that is serious, dad! Poor things! That's worse than eating
+loco.... Yes, I met Wilson Moore driving down the slope."
+
+"Ahuh! Wal, let's eat."
+
+They took seats at the table which the cook, Jake, was loading with
+steaming victuals. Supper appeared to be a rather sumptuous one this
+evening, in honor of the expected guest, who had not come. Columbine
+helped the old man to his favorite dishes, stealing furtive glances at
+his lined and shadowed face. She sensed a subtle change in him since the
+afternoon, but could not see any sign of it in his look or demeanor. His
+appetite was as hearty as ever.
+
+"So you met Wils. Is he still makin' up to you?" asked Belllounds,
+presently.
+
+"No, he isn't. I don't see that he ever did--that--dad," she replied.
+
+"You're a kid in mind an' a woman in body. Thet cowpuncher has been
+lovesick over you since you were a little girl. It's what kept him hyar
+ridin' fer me."
+
+"Dad, I don't believe it," said Columbine, feeling the blood at her
+temples. "You always imagined such things about Wilson, and the other
+boys as well."
+
+"Ahuh! I'm an old fool about wimmen, hey? Mebbe I was years ago. But I
+can see now.... Didn't Wils always get ory-eyed when any of the other
+boys shined up to you?"
+
+"I can't remember that he did," replied Columbine. She felt a desire to
+laugh, yet the subject was anything but amusing to her.
+
+"Wal, you've always been innocent-like. Thank the Lord you never leaned
+to tricks of most pretty lasses, makin' eyes at all the men. Anyway, a
+matter of three months ago I told Wils to keep away from you--thet you
+were not fer any poor cowpuncher."
+
+"You never liked him. Why? Was it fair, taking him as boys come?"
+
+"Wal, I reckon it wasn't," replied Belllounds, and as he looked up his
+broad face changed to ruddy color. "Thet boy's the best rider an' roper
+I've had in years. He ain't the bronco-bustin' kind. He never drank. He
+was honest an' willin'. He saves his money. He's good at handlin' stock.
+Thet boy will be a rich rancher some day."
+
+"Strange, then, you never liked him," murmured Columbine. She felt
+ashamed of the good it did her to hear Wilson praised.
+
+"No, it ain't strange. I have my own reasons," replied Belllounds,
+gruffly, as he resumed eating.
+
+Columbine believed she could guess the cause of the old rancher's
+unreasonable antipathy for this cowboy. Not improbably it was because
+Wilson had always been superior in every way to Jack Belllounds. The
+boys had been natural rivals in everything pertaining to life on the
+range. What Bill Belllounds admired most in men was paramount in Wilson
+and lacking in his own son.
+
+"Will you put Jack in charge of your ranches, now?" asked Columbine.
+
+"Not much. I reckon I'll try him hyar at White Slides as foreman. An' if
+he runs the outfit, then I'll see."
+
+"Dad, he'll never run the White Slides outfit," asserted Columbine.
+
+"Wal, it is a hard bunch, I'll agree. But I reckon the boys will stay,
+exceptin', mebbe, Wils. An' it'll be jest as well fer him to leave."
+
+"It's not good business to send away your best cowboy. I've heard you
+complain lately of lack of men."
+
+"I sure do need men," replied Belllounds, seriously. "Stock gettin' more
+'n we can handle. I sent word over the range to Meeker, hopin' to get
+some men there. What I need most jest now is a fellar who knows dogs an'
+who'll hunt down the wolves an' lions an' bears thet're livin' off
+my cattle."
+
+"Dad, you need a whole outfit to handle the packs of hounds you've got.
+Such an assortment of them! There must be a hundred. Only yesterday some
+man brought a lot of mangy, long-eared canines. It's funny. Why, dad,
+you're the laughing-stock of the range!'
+
+"Yes, an' the range'll be thankin' me when I rid it of all these
+varmints," declared Belllounds. "Lass, I swore I'd buy every dog fetched
+to me, until I had enough to kill off the coyotes an' lofers an' lions.
+I'll do it, too. But I need a hunter."
+
+"Why not put Wilson Moore in charge of the hounds? He's a hunter."
+
+"Wal, lass, thet might be a good idee," replied the rancher, nodding his
+grizzled head. "Say, you're sort of wantin' me to keep Wils on."
+
+"Yes, dad."
+
+"Why? Do you like him so much?"
+
+"I like him--of course. He has been almost a brother to me."
+
+"Ahuh! Wal, are you sure you don't like him more'n you
+ought--considerin' what's in the wind?"
+
+"Yes, I'm sure I don't," replied Columbine, with tingling cheeks.
+
+"Wal, I'm glad of thet. Reckon it'll be no great matter whether Wils
+stays or leaves. If he wants to I'll give him a job with the hounds."
+
+That evening Columbine went to her room early. It was a cozy little
+blanketed nest which she had arranged and furnished herself. There was a
+little square window cut through the logs and through which many a night
+the snow had blown in upon her bed. She loved her little isolated
+refuge. This night it was cold, the first time this autumn, and the
+lighted lamp, though brightening the room, did not make it appreciably
+warmer. There was a stone fireplace, but as she had neglected to bring
+in wood she could not start a fire. So she undressed, blew out the lamp,
+and went to bed. Columbine was soon warm, and the darkness of her little
+room seemed good to her. Sleep she felt never would come that night. She
+wanted to think; she could not help but think; and she tried to halt the
+whirl of her mind. Wilson Moore occupied the foremost place in her
+varying thoughts--a fact quite remarkable and unaccountable. She tried
+to change it. In vain! Wilson persisted--on his white mustang flying
+across the ridge-top--coming to her as never before--with his anger and
+disapproval--his strange, poignant cry, "Columbine!" that haunted
+her--with his bitter smile and his resignation and his mocking talk of
+jealousy. He persisted and grew with the old rancher's frank praise.
+
+"I must not think of him," she whispered. "Why, I'll be--be married
+soon.... Married!"
+
+That word transformed her thought, and where she had thrilled she now
+felt cold. She revolved the fact in mind.
+
+"It's true, I'll be married, because I ought--I must," she said, half
+aloud. "Because I can't help myself. I ought to want to--for dad's
+sake.... But I don't--I don't."
+
+She longed above all things to be good, loyal, loving, helpful, to show
+her gratitude for the home and the affection that had been bestowed upon
+a nameless waif. Bill Belllounds had not been under any obligation to
+succor a strange, lost child. He had done it because he was big, noble.
+Many splendid deeds had been laid at the old rancher's door. She was not
+of an ungrateful nature. She meant to pay. But the significance of the
+price began to dawn upon her.
+
+"It will change my whole life," she whispered, aghast.
+
+But how? Columbine pondered. She must go over the details of that
+change. No mother had ever taught her. The few women that had been in
+the Belllounds home from time to time had not been sympathetic or had
+not stayed long enough to help her much. Even her school life in Denver
+had left her still a child as regarded the serious problems of women.
+
+"If I'm his wife," she went on, "I'll have to be with him--I'll have to
+give up this little room--I'll never be free--alone--happy, any more."
+
+That was the first detail she enumerated. It was also the last.
+Realization came with a sickening little shudder. And that moment gave
+birth to the nucleus of an unconscious revolt.
+
+The coyotes were howling. Wild, sharp, sweet notes! They soothed her
+troubled, aching head, lulled her toward sleep, reminded her of the
+gold-and-purple sunset, and the slopes of sage, the lonely heights, and
+the beauty that would never change. On the morrow, she drowsily thought,
+she would persuade Wilson not to kill all the coyotes; to leave a few,
+because she loved them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Bill Belllounds had settled in Middle Park in 1860. It was wild country,
+a home of the Ute Indians, and a natural paradise for elk, deer,
+antelope, buffalo. The mountain ranges harbored bear. These ranges
+sheltered the rolling valley land which some explorer had named Middle
+Park in earlier days.
+
+Much of this inclosed table-land was prairie, where long grass and wild
+flowers grew luxuriantly. Belllounds was a cattleman, and he saw the
+possibilities there. To which end he sought the friendship of Piah,
+chief of the Utes. This noble red man was well disposed toward the white
+settlers, and his tribe, during those troublous times, kept peace with
+these invaders of their mountain home.
+
+In 1868 Belllounds was instrumental in persuading the Utes to relinquish
+Middle Park. The slopes of the hills were heavily timbered; gold and
+silver had been found in the mountains. It was a country that attracted
+prospectors, cattlemen, lumbermen. The summer season was not long enough
+to grow grain, and the nights too frosty for corn; otherwise Middle Park
+would have increased rapidly in population.
+
+In the years that succeeded the departure of the Utes Bill Belllounds
+developed several cattle-ranches and acquired others. White Slides Ranch
+lay some twenty-odd miles from Middle Park, being a winding arm of the
+main valley land. Its development was a matter of later years, and
+Belllounds lived there because the country was wilder. The rancher, as
+he advanced in years, seemed to want to keep the loneliness that had
+been his in earlier days. At the time of the return of his son to White
+Slides Belllounds was rich in cattle and land, but he avowed frankly
+that he had not saved any money, and probably never would. His hand was
+always open to every man and he never remembered an obligation. He
+trusted every one. A proud boast of his was that neither white man nor
+red man had ever betrayed his trust. His cowboys took advantage of him,
+his neighbors imposed upon him, but none were there who did not make
+good their debts of service or stock. Belllounds was one of the great
+pioneers of the frontier days to whom the West owed its settlement; and
+he was finer than most, because he proved that the Indians, if not
+robbed or driven, would respond to friendliness.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Belllounds was not seen at his customary tasks on the day he expected
+his son. He walked in the fields and around the corrals; he often paced
+up and down the porch, scanning the horizon below, where the road from
+Kremmling showed white down the valley; and part of the time he
+stayed indoors.
+
+It so happened that early in the afternoon he came out in time to see a
+buckboard, drawn by dust-and-lather-stained horses, pull into the yard.
+And then he saw his son. Some of the cowboys came running. There were
+greetings to the driver, who appeared well known to them.
+
+Jack Belllounds did not look at them. He threw a bag out of the
+buckboard and then clambered down slowly, to go toward the porch.
+
+"Wal, Jack--my son--I'm sure glad you're back home," said the old
+rancher, striding forward. His voice was deep and full, singularly rich.
+But that was the only sign of feeling he showed.
+
+"Howdy--dad!" replied the son, not heartily, as he put out his hand to
+his father's.
+
+Jack Belllounds's form was tall, with a promise of his father's bulk.
+But he did not walk erect; he slouched a little. His face was pale,
+showing he had not of late been used to sun and wind. Any stranger would
+have seen the resemblance of boy to man would have granted the handsome
+boldness, but denied the strength. The lower part of Jack Belllounds's
+face was weak.
+
+The constraint of this meeting was manifest mostly in the manner of the
+son. He looked ashamed, almost sullen. But if he had been under the
+influence of liquor at Kremmling, as reported the day before, he had
+entirely recovered.
+
+"Come on in," said the rancher.
+
+When they got into the big living-room, and Belllounds had closed the
+doors, the son threw down his baggage and faced his father aggressively.
+
+"Do they all know where I've been?" he asked, bitterly. Broken pride and
+shame flamed in his face.
+
+"Nobody knows. The secret's been kept." replied Belllounds.
+
+Amaze and relief transformed the young man. "Aw, now, I'm--glad--" he
+exclaimed, and he sat down, half covering his face with shaking hands.
+
+"Jack, we'll start over," said Belllounds, earnestly, and his big eyes
+shone with a warm and beautiful light. "Right hyar. We'll never speak of
+where you've been these three years. Never again!"
+
+Jack gazed up, then, with all the sullenness and shadow gone.
+
+"Father, you were wrong about--doing me good. It's done me harm. But
+now, if nobody knows--why, I'll try to forget it."
+
+"Mebbe I blundered," replied Belllounds, pathetically. "Yet, God knows I
+meant well. You sure were--But thet's enough palaver.... You'll go to
+work as foreman of White Slides. An' if you make a success of it I'll be
+only too glad to have you boss the ranch. I'm gettin' along in years,
+son. An' the last year has made me poorer. Hyar's a fine range, but I've
+less stock this year than last. There's been some rustlin' of cattle,
+an a big loss from wolves an' lions an' poison-weed.... What d'you
+say, son?"
+
+"I'll run White Slides," replied Jack, with a wave of his hand. "I
+hadn't hoped for such a chance. But it's due me. Who's in the outfit
+I know?"
+
+"Reckon no one, except Wils Moore."
+
+"Is that cowboy here yet? I don't want him."
+
+"Wal, I'll put him to chasin' varmints with the hounds. An' say, son,
+this outfit is bad. You savvy--it's bad. You can't run that bunch. The
+only way you can handle them is to get up early an' come back late.
+Sayin' little, but sawin' wood. Hard work."
+
+Jack Belllounds did not evince any sign of assimilating the seriousness
+of his father's words.
+
+"I'll show them," he said. "They'll find out who's boss. Oh, I'm aching
+to get into boots and ride and tear around."
+
+Belllounds stroked his grizzled beard and regarded his son with mingled
+pride and doubt. Not at this moment, most assuredly, could he get away
+from the wonderful fact that his only son was home.
+
+"Thet's all right, son. But you've been off the range fer three years.
+You'll need advice. Now listen. Be gentle with hosses. You used to be
+mean with a hoss. Some cowboys jam their hosses around an' make 'em
+pitch an' bite. But it ain't the best way. A hoss has got sense. I've
+some fine stock, an' don't want it spoiled. An' be easy an' quiet with
+the boys. It's hard to get help these days. I'm short on hands now....
+You'd do best, son, to stick to your dad's ways with hosses an' men."
+
+"Dad, I've seen you kick horses an' shoot at men" replied Jack.
+
+"Right, you have. But them was particular bad cases. I'm not advisin'
+thet way.... Son, it's close to my heart--this hope I have
+thet you'll--"
+
+The full voice quavered and broke. It would indeed have been a hardened
+youth who could not have felt something of the deep and unutterable
+affection in the old man. Jack Belllounds put an arm around his
+father's shoulder.
+
+"Dad, I'll make you proud of me yet. Give me a chance. And don't be sore
+if I can't do wonders right at first."
+
+"Son, you shall have every chance. An' thet reminds me. Do you remember
+Columbine?"
+
+"I should say so," replied Jack, eagerly. "They spoke of her in
+Kremmling. Where is she?"
+
+"I reckon somewheres about. Jack, you an' Columbine are to marry."
+
+"Marry! Columbine and me?" he ejaculated.
+
+"Yes. You're my son an' she's my adopted daughter. I won't split my
+property. An' it's right she had a share. A fine, strong, quiet, pretty
+lass, Jack, an' she'll make a good wife. I've set my heart on the idee."
+
+"But Columbine always hated me."
+
+"Wal, she was a kid then an' you teased her. Now she's a woman, an'
+willin' to please me. Jack, you'll not buck ag'in' this deal?"
+
+"That depends," replied Jack. "I'd marry `most any girl you wanted me
+to. But if Columbine were to flout me as she used to--why, I'd buck sure
+enough.... Dad, are you sure she knows nothing, suspects nothing of
+where you--you sent me?"
+
+"Son, I swear she doesn't."
+
+"Do you mean you'd want us to marry soon?"
+
+"Wal, yes, as soon as Collie would think reasonable. Jack, she's shy an'
+strange, an' deep, too. If you ever win her heart you'll be richer than
+if you owned all the gold in the Rockies. I'd say go slow. But
+contrariwise, it'd mebbe be surer to steady you, keep you home, if you
+married right off."
+
+"Married right off!" echoed Jack, with a laugh. "It's like a story. But
+wait till I see her."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At that very moment Columbine was sitting on the topmost log of a high
+corral, deeply interested in the scene before her.
+
+Two cowboys were in the corral with a saddled mustang. One of them
+carried a canvas sack containing tools and horseshoes. As he dropped it
+with a metallic clink the mustang snorted and jumped and rolled the
+whites of his eyes. He knew what that clink meant.
+
+"Miss Collie, air you-all goin' to sit up thar?" inquired the taller
+cowboy, a lean, supple, and powerful fellow, with a rough, red-blue
+face, hard as a rock, and steady, bright eyes.
+
+"I sure am, Jim," she replied, imperturbably.
+
+"But we've gotta hawg-tie him," protested the cowboy.
+
+"Yes, I know. And you're going to be gentle about it."
+
+Jim scratched his sandy head and looked at his comrade, a little gnarled
+fellow, like the bleached root of a tree. He seemed all legs.
+
+"You hear, you Wyomin' galoot," he said to Jim. "Them shoes goes on
+Whang right gentle."
+
+Jim grinned, and turned to speak to his mustang. "Whang, the law's laid
+down an' we wanta see how much hoss sense you hev."
+
+The shaggy mustang did not appear to be favorably impressed by this
+speech. It was a mighty distrustful look he bent upon the speaker.
+
+"Jim, seein' as how this here job's aboot the last Miss Collie will ever
+boss us on, we gotta do it without Whang turnin' a hair," drawled the
+other cowboy.
+
+"Lem, why is this the last job I'll ever boss you boys?" demanded
+Columbine, quickly.
+
+Jim gazed quizzically at her, and Lem assumed that blank, innocent face
+Columbine always associated with cowboy deviltry.
+
+"Wal, Miss Collie, we reckon the new boss of White Slides rode in
+to-day."
+
+"You mean Jack Belllounds came home," said Columbine. "Well, I'll boss
+you boys the same as always."
+
+"Thet'd be mighty fine for us, but I'm feared it ain't writ in the fatal
+history of White Slides," replied Jim.
+
+"Buster Jack will run over the ole man an' marry you," added Lem.
+
+"Oh, so that's your idea," rejoined Columbine, lightly. "Well, if such a
+thing did come to pass I'd be your boss more than ever."
+
+"I reckon no, Miss Collie, for we'll not be ridin' fer White Sides,"
+said Jim, simply.
+
+Columbine had sensed this very significance long before when the
+possibility of Buster Jack's return had been rumored. She knew cowboys.
+As well try to change the rocks of the hills!
+
+"Boys, the day you leave White Slides will be a sad one for me," sighed
+Columbine.
+
+"Miss Collie, we 'ain't gone yet," put in Lem, with awkward softness.
+"Jim has long hankered fer Wyomin' an' he jest talks thet way."
+
+Then the cowboys turned to the business in hand. Jim removed the saddle,
+but left the bridle on. This move, of course, deceived Whang. He had
+been broken to stand while his bridle hung, and, like a horse that would
+have been good if given a chance, he obeyed as best he could, shaking
+in every limb. Jim, apparently to hobble Whang, roped his forelegs
+together, low down, but suddenly slipped the rope over the knees. Then
+Whang knew he had been deceived. He snorted fire, let out a scream, and,
+rearing on his hind legs, he pawed the air savagely. Jim hauled on the
+rope while Whang screamed and fought with his forefeet high in the air.
+Then Jim, with a powerful jerk, pulled Whang down and threw him, while
+Lem, seizing the bridle, hauled him over on his side and sat upon his
+head. Whereupon Jim slipped the loop off one front hoof and pulled the
+other leg back across one of the hind ones, where both were secured by a
+quick hitch. Then the lasso was wound and looped around front and back
+hoofs together. When this had been done the mustang was rolled over on
+his other side, his free front hoof lassoed and pulled back to the hind
+one, where both were secured, as had been the others. This rendered the
+mustang powerless, and the shoeing proceeded.
+
+Columbine hated to sit by and watch it, but she always stuck to her
+post, when opportunity afforded, because she knew the cowboys would not
+be brutal while she was there.
+
+"Wal, he'll step high to-morrer," said Lem, as he got up from his seat
+on the head of Whang.
+
+"Ahuh! An', like a mule, he'll be my friend fer twenty years jest to get
+a chance to kick me." replied Jim.
+
+For Columbine, the most interesting moment of this incident was when the
+mustang raised his head to look at his legs, in order to see what had
+been done to them. There was something almost human in that look. It
+expressed intelligence and fear and fury.
+
+The cowboys released his legs and let him get up. Whang stamped his
+iron-shod hoofs.
+
+"It was a mean trick, Whang," said Columbine. "If I owned you that'd
+never be done to you."
+
+"I reckon you can have him fer the askin'," said Jim, as he threw on the
+saddle. "Nobody but me can ride him. Do you want to try?"
+
+"Not in these clothes," replied Columbine, laughing.
+
+"Wal, Miss Collie, you're shore dressed up fine to-day, fer some reason
+or other," said Lem, shaking his head, while he gathered up the tools
+from the ground.
+
+"Ahuh! An' here comes the reason," exclaimed Jim, in low, hoarse
+whisper.
+
+Columbine heard the whisper and at the same instant a sharp footfall on
+the gravel road. She quickly turned, almost losing her balance. And she
+recognized Jack Belllounds. The boy Buster Jack she remembered so well
+was approaching, now a young man, taller, heavier, older, with paler
+face and bolder look. Columbine had feared this meeting, had prepared
+herself for it. But all she felt when it came was annoyance at the fact
+that he had caught her sitting on top of the corral fence, with little
+regard for dignity. It did not occur to her to jump down. She merely sat
+straight, smoothed down her skirt, and waited.
+
+Jim led the mustang out of the corral and Lem followed. It looked as if
+they wanted to avoid the young man, but he prevented that.
+
+"Howdy, boys! I'm Jack Belllounds," he said, rather loftily. But his
+manner was nonchalant. He did not offer to shake hands.
+
+Jim mumbled something, and Lem said, "Hod do."
+
+"That's an ornery--looking bronc," went on Belllounds, and he reached
+with careless hand for the mustang. Whang jerked so hard that he pulled
+Jim half over.
+
+"Wal, he ain't a bronc, but I reckon he's all the rest." drawled Jim.
+
+Both cowboys seemed slow, careless. They were neither indifferent nor
+responsive. Columbine saw their keen, steady glances go over Belllounds.
+Then she took a second and less hasty look at him. He wore high-heeled,
+fancy-topped boots, tight-fitting trousers of dark material, a heavy
+belt with silver buckle, and a white, soft shirt, with wide collar, open
+at the neck. He was bareheaded.
+
+"I'm going to run White Slides," he said to the cowboys. "What're your
+names?"
+
+Columbine wanted to giggle, which impulse she smothered. The idea of any
+one asking Jim his name! She had never been able to find out.
+
+"My handle is Lemuel Archibawld Billings," replied Lem, blandly. The
+middle name was an addition no one had ever heard.
+
+Belllounds then directed his glance and steps toward the girl. The
+cowboys dropped their heads and shuffled on their way.
+
+"There's only one girl on the ranch," said Belllounds, "so you must be
+Columbine."
+
+"Yes. And you're Jack," she replied, and slipped off the fence. "I'm
+glad to welcome you home."
+
+She offered her hand, and he held it until she extricated it. There was
+genuine surprise and pleasure in his expression.
+
+"Well, I'd never have known you," he said, surveying her from head to
+foot. "It's funny. I had the clearest picture of you in mind. But you're
+not at all like I imagined. The Columbine I remember was thin,
+white-faced, and all eyes."
+
+"It's been a long time. Seven years," she replied. "But I knew you.
+You're older, taller, bigger, but the same Buster Jack."
+
+"I hope not," he said, frankly condemning that former self. "Dad needs
+me. He wants me to take charge here--to be a man. I'm back now. It's
+good to be home. I never was worth much. Lord! I hope I don't disappoint
+him again."
+
+"I hope so, too," she murmured. To hear him talk frankly, seriously,
+like this counteracted the unfavorable impression she had received. He
+seemed earnest. He looked down at the ground, where he was pushing
+little pebbles with the toe of his boot. She had a good opportunity to
+study his face, and availed herself of it. He did look like his father,
+with his big, handsome head, and his blue eyes, bolder perhaps from
+their prominence than from any direct gaze or fire. His face was pale,
+and shadowed by worry or discontent. It seemed as though a repressed
+character showed there. His mouth and chin were undisciplined. Columbine
+could not imagine that she despised anything she saw in the features of
+this young man. Yet there was something about him that held her aloof.
+She had made up her mind to do her part unselfishly. She would find the
+best in him, like him for it, be strong to endure and to help. Yet she
+had no power to control her vague and strange perceptions. Why was it
+that she could not feel in him what she liked in Jim Montana or Lem or
+Wilson Moore?
+
+"This was my second long stay away from home," said Belllounds. "The
+first was when I went to school in Kansas City. I liked that. I was
+sorry when they turned me out--sent me home.... But the last three years
+were hell."
+
+His face worked, and a shade of dark blood rippled over it.
+
+"Did you work?" queried Columbine.
+
+"Work! It was worse than work.... Sure I worked," he replied.
+
+Columbine's sharp glance sought his hands. They looked as soft and
+unscarred as her own. What kind of work had he done, if he told
+the truth?
+
+"Well, if you work hard for dad, learn to handle the cowboys, and never
+take up those old bad habits--"
+
+"You mean drink and cards? I swear I'd forgotten them for three
+years--until yesterday. I reckon I've the better of them."
+
+"Then you'll make dad and me happy. You'll be happy, too."
+
+Columbine thrilled at the touch of fineness coming out in him. There was
+good in him, whatever the mad, wild pranks of his boyhood.
+
+"Dad wants us to marry," he said, suddenly, with shyness and a strange,
+amused smile. "Isn't that funny? You and me--who used to fight like cat
+and dog! Do you remember the time I pushed you into the old mud-hole?
+And you lay in wait for me, behind the house, to hit me with a
+rotten cabbage?"
+
+"Yes, I remember," replied Columbine, dreamily. "It seems so long ago."
+
+"And the time you ate my pie, and how I got even by tearing off your
+little dress, so you had to run home almost without a stitch on?"
+
+"Guess I've forgotten that," replied Columbine, with a blush. "I must
+have been very little then."
+
+"You were a little devil.... Do you remember the fight I had with
+Moore--about you?"
+
+She did not answer, for she disliked the fleeting expression that
+crossed his face. He remembered too well.
+
+"I'll settle that score with Moore," he went on. "Besides, I won't have
+him on the ranch."
+
+"Dad needs good hands," she said, with her eyes on the gray sage slopes.
+Mention of Wilson Moore augmented the aloofness in her. An annoyance
+pricked along her veins.
+
+"Before we get any farther I'd like to know something. Has Moore ever
+made love to you?"
+
+Columbine felt that prickling augment to a hot, sharp wave of blood. Why
+was she at the mercy of strange, quick, unfamiliar sensations? Why did
+she hesitate over that natural query from Jack Belllounds?
+
+"No. He never has," she replied, presently.
+
+"That's damn queer. You used to like him better than anybody else. You
+sure hated me.... Columbine, have you outgrown that?"
+
+"Yes, of course," she answered. "But I hardly hated you."
+
+"Dad said you were willing to marry me. Is that so?"
+
+Columbine dropped her head. His question, kindly put, did not affront
+her, for it had been expected. But his actual presence, the meaning of
+his words, stirred in her an unutterable spirit of protest. She had
+already in her will consented to the demand of the old man; she was
+learning now, however, that she could not force her flesh to consent to
+a surrender it did not desire.
+
+"Yes, I'm willing," she replied, bravely.
+
+"Soon?" he flashed, with an eager difference in his voice.
+
+"If I had my way it'd not be--too soon," she faltered. Her downcast eyes
+had seen the stride he had made closer to her, and she wanted to run.
+
+"Why? Dad thinks it'd be good for me," went on Belllounds, now, with
+strong, self-centered thought. "It'd give me responsibility. I reckon I
+need it. Why not soon?"
+
+"Wouldn't it be better to wait awhile?" she asked. "We do not know each
+other--let alone care--"
+
+"Columbine, I've fallen in love with you." he declared, hotly.
+
+"Oh, how could you!" cried Columbine, incredulously.
+
+"Why, I always was moony over you--when we were kids," he said. "And now
+to meet you grown up like this--so pretty and sweet--such a--a
+healthy, blooming girl.... And dad's word that you'd be my wife
+soon--_mine_--why, I just went off my head at sight of you."
+
+Columbine looked up at him and was reminded of how, as a boy, he had
+always taken a quick, passionate longing for things he must and would
+have. And his father had not denied him. It might really be that Jack
+had suddenly fallen in love with her.
+
+"Would you want to take me without my--my love?" she asked, very low. "I
+don't love you now. I might some time, if you were good--if you made dad
+happy--if you conquered--"
+
+"Take you! I'd take you if you--if you hated me," he replied, now in the
+grip of passion.
+
+"I'll tell dad how I feel," she said, faintly, "and--and marry you when
+he says."
+
+He kissed her, would have embraced her had she not put him back.
+
+"Don't! Some--some one will see."
+
+"Columbine, we're engaged," he asserted, with a laugh of possession.
+"Say, you needn't look so white and scared. I won't eat you. But I'd
+like to.... Oh, you're a sweet girl! Here I was hating to come home. And
+look at my luck!"
+
+Then with a sudden change, that seemed significant of his character, he
+lost his ardor, dropped the half-bold, half-masterful air, and showed
+the softer side.
+
+"Collie, I never was any good," he said. "But I want to be better. I'll
+prove it. I'll make a clean breast of everything. I won't marry you with
+any secret between us. You might find out afterward and hate me.... Do
+you have any idea where I've been these last three years?"
+
+"No," answered Columbine.
+
+"I'll tell you right now. But you must promise never to mention it to
+any one--or throw it up to me--ever."
+
+He spoke hoarsely, and had grown quite white. Suddenly Columbine thought
+of Wilson Moore! He had known where Jack had spent those years. He had
+resisted a strong temptation to tell her. That was as noble in him as
+the implication of Jack's whereabouts had been base.
+
+"Jack, that is big of you," she replied, hurriedly. "I respect you--like
+you for it. But you needn't tell me. I'd rather you didn't. I'll take
+the will for the deed."
+
+Belllounds evidently experienced a poignant shock of amaze, of relief,
+of wonder, of gratitude. In an instant he seemed transformed.
+
+"Collie, if I hadn't loved you before I'd love you now. That was going
+to be the hardest job I ever had--to tell you my--my story. I meant it.
+And now I'll not have to feel your shame for me and I'll not feel I'm a
+cheat or a liar.... But I will tell you this--if you love me you'll make
+a man of me!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+The rancher thought it best to wait till after the round-up before he
+turned over the foremanship to his son. This was wise, but Jack did not
+see it that way. He showed that his old, intolerant spirit had, if
+anything, grown during his absence. Belllounds patiently argued with
+him, explaining what certainly should have been clear to a young man
+brought up in Colorado. The fall round-up was the most important time of
+the year, and during the strenuous drive the appointed foreman should
+have absolute control. Jack gave in finally with a bad grace.
+
+It was unfortunate that he went directly from his father's presence out
+to the corrals. Some of the cowboys who had ridden all the day before
+and stood guard all night had just come in. They were begrimed with
+dust, weary, and sleepy-eyed.
+
+"This hyar outfit won't see my tracks no more," said one, disgustedly.
+"I never kicked on doin' two men's work. But when it comes to rustlin'
+day and night, all the time, I'm a-goin' to pass."
+
+"Turn in, boys, and sleep till we get back with the chuck-wagon," said
+Wilson Moore. "We'll clean up that bunch to-day."
+
+"Ain't you tired, Wils?" queried Bludsoe, a squat, bow-legged cowpuncher
+who appeared to be crippled or very lame.
+
+"Me? Naw!" grunted Moore, derisively. "Blud, you sure ask fool
+questions.... Why, you--mahogany-colored, stump-legged, biped of a
+cowpuncher, I've had three hours' sleep in four nights!"
+
+"What's a biped?" asked Bludsoe, dubiously.
+
+Nobody enlightened him.
+
+"Wils, you-all air the only eddicated cowman I ever loved, but I'm a
+son-of-a-gun if we ain't agoin' to come to blows some day,"
+declared Bludsoe.
+
+"He shore can sling English," drawled Lem Billings. "I reckon he
+swallowed a dictionary onct."
+
+"Wal, he can sling a rope, too, an' thet evens up," added Jim Montana.
+
+Just at this moment Jack Belllounds appeared upon the scene. The cowboys
+took no notice of him. Jim was bandaging a leg of his horse; Bludsoe was
+wearily gathering up his saddle and trappings; Lem was giving his tired
+mustang a parting slap that meant much. Moore evidently awaited a fresh
+mount. A Mexican lad had come in out of the pasture leading several
+horses, one of which was the mottled white mustang that Moore rode most
+of the time.
+
+Belllounds lounged forward with interest as Moore whistled, and the
+mustang showed his pleasure. Manifestly he did not like the Mexican boy
+and he did like Moore.
+
+"Spottie, it's drag yearlings around for you to-day," said the cowboy,
+as he caught the mustang. Spottie tossed his head and stepped high until
+the bridle was on. When the saddle was thrown and strapped in place the
+mustang showed to advantage. He was beautiful, but not too graceful or
+sleek or fine-pointed or prancing to prejudice any cowboy against his
+qualities for work.
+
+Jack Belllounds admiringly walked all around the mustang a little too
+close to please Spottie.
+
+"Moore, he's a fair-to-middling horse," said Belllounds, with the air of
+judge of horseflesh. "What's his name?"
+
+"Spottie," replied Moore, shortly, as he made ready to mount.
+
+"Hold on, will you!" ordered Jack, peremptorily. "I like this horse. I
+want to look him over."
+
+When he grasped the bridle-reins out of the cowboy's hand Spottie jumped
+as if he had been shot at. Belllounds jerked at him and went closer. The
+mustang reared, snorting, plunging to get loose. Then Jack Belllounds
+showed the sudden temper for which he was noted. Red stained his
+pale cheeks.
+
+"Damn you--come down!" he shouted, infuriated at the mustang, and with
+both hands he gave a powerful lunge. Spottie came down, and stood there,
+trembling all over, his ears laid back, his eyes showing fright and
+pain. Blood dripped from his mouth where the bit had cut him.
+
+"I'll teach you to stand," said Belllounds, darkly. "Moore, lend me your
+spurs. I want to try him out."
+
+"I don't lend my spurs--or my horse, either," replied the cowboy,
+quietly, with a stride that put him within reach of Spottie.
+
+The other cowboys had dropped their trappings and stood at attention,
+with intent gaze and mute lips.
+
+"Is he your horse?" demanded Jack, with a quick flush.
+
+"I reckon so," replied Moore, slowly. "No one but me ever rode him."
+
+"Does my father own him or do you own him?"
+
+"Well, if that's the way you figure--he belongs to White Slides,"
+returned the cowboy. "I never bought him. I only raised him from a colt,
+broke him, and rode him."
+
+"I thought so. Moore, he's mine, and I'm going to ride him now. Lend me
+spurs, one of you cowpunchers."
+
+Nobody made any motion to comply. There seemed to be a suspense at hand
+that escaped Belllounds.
+
+"I'll ride him without spurs," he declared, presently, and again he
+turned to mount the mustang.
+
+"Belllounds, it'd be better for you not to ride him now," said Moore,
+coolly.
+
+"Why, I'd like to know?" demanded Belllounds, with the temper of one who
+did not tolerate opposition.
+
+"He's the only horse left for me to ride," answered the cowboy. "We're
+branding to-day. Hudson was hurt yesterday. He was foreman, and he
+appointed me to fill his place. I've got to rope yearlings. Now, if you
+get up on Spottie you'll excite him. He's high-strung, nervous. That'll
+be bad for him, as he hates cutting-out and roping."
+
+The reasonableness of this argument was lost upon Belllounds.
+
+"Moore, maybe it'd interest you to know that I'm foreman of White
+Slides," he asserted, not without loftiness.
+
+His speech manifestly decided something vital for the cowboy.
+
+"Ahuh!... I'm sure interested this minute," replied Moore, and then,
+stepping to the side of the mustang, with swift hands he unbuckled the
+cinch, and with one sweep he drew saddle and blanket to the ground.
+
+The action surprised Belllounds. He stared. There seemed something
+boyish in his lack of comprehension. Then his temper flamed.
+
+"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, with a strident note in his
+voice. "Put that saddle back."
+
+"Not much. It's my saddle. Cost sixty dollars at Kremmling last year.
+Good old hard-earned saddle!... And you can't ride it. Savvy?"
+
+"Yes, I savvy," replied Belllounds, violently. "Now you'll savvy what I
+say. I'll have you discharged."
+
+"Nope. Too late," said Moore, with cool, easy scorn. "I figured that.
+And I quit a minute ago--when you showed what little regard you had
+for a horse."
+
+"You quit!... Well, it's damned good riddance. I wouldn't have you in
+the outfit."
+
+"You couldn't have kept me, Buster Jack."
+
+The epithet must have been an insult to Belllounds. "Don't you dare call
+me that," he burst out, furiously.
+
+Moore pretended surprise. "Why not? It's your range name. We all get a
+handle, whether we like it or not. There's Montana and Blud and Lemme
+Two Bits. They call me Professor. Why should you kick on yours?"
+
+"I won't stand it now. Not from any one--especially not you."
+
+"Ahuh! Well, I'm afraid it'll stick," replied Moore, with sarcasm. "It
+sure suits you. Don't you bust everything you monkey with? Your old dad
+will sure be glad to see you bust the round-up to-day--and I reckon the
+outfit to-morrow."
+
+"You insolent cowpuncher!" shouted Belllounds, growing beside himself
+with rage. "If you don't shut up I'll bust your face."
+
+"Shut up!... Me? Nope. It can't be did. This is a free country, Buster
+Jack." There was no denying Moore's cool, stinging repetition of the
+epithet that had so affronted Belllounds.
+
+"I always hated you!" he rasped out, hoarsely. Striking hard at Moore,
+he missed, but a second effort landed a glancing blow on the
+cowboy's face.
+
+Moore staggered back, recovered his balance, and, hitting out shortly,
+he returned the blow. Belllounds fell against the corral fence, which
+upheld him.
+
+"Buster Jack--you're crazy!" cried the cowboy, his eyes flashing. "Do
+you think you can lick me--after where you've been these three years?"
+
+Like a maddened boy Belllounds leaped forward, this time his increased
+violence and wildness of face expressive of malignant rage. He swung his
+arms at random. Moore avoided his blows and planted a fist squarely on
+his adversary's snarling mouth. Belllounds fell with a thump. He got up
+with clumsy haste, but did not rush forward again. His big, prominent
+eyes held a dark and ugly look. His lower jaw wabbled as he panted for
+breath and speech at once.
+
+"Moore--I'll kill--you!" he hissed, with glance flying everywhere for a
+weapon. From ground to cowboys he looked. Bludsoe was the only one
+packing a gun. Belllounds saw it, and he was so swift in bounding
+forward that he got a hand on it before Bludsoe could prevent.
+
+"Let go! Give me--that gun! By God! I'll fix him!" yelled Belllounds, as
+Bludsoe grappled with him.
+
+There was a sharp struggle. Bludsoe wrenched the other's hands free,
+and, pulling the gun, he essayed to throw it. But Belllounds blocked his
+action and the gun fell at their feet.
+
+"Grab it!" sang out Bludsoe, ringingly. "Quick, somebody! The damned
+fool'll kill Wils."
+
+Lem, running in, kicked the gun just as Belllounds reached for it. When
+it rolled against the fence Jim was there to secure it. Lem likewise
+grappled with the struggling Belllounds.
+
+"Hyar, you Jack Belllounds," said Lem, "couldn't you see Wils wasn't
+packin' no gun? A-r'arin' like thet!... Stop your rantin' or we'll sure
+handle you rough."
+
+"The old man's comin'," called Jim, warningly.
+
+The rancher appeared. He strode swiftly, ponderously. His gray hair
+waved. His look was as stern as that of an eagle.
+
+"What the hell's goin' on?" he roared.
+
+The cowboys released Jack. That worthy, sullen and downcast, muttering
+to himself, stalked for the house.
+
+"Jack, stand your ground," called old Belllounds.
+
+But the son gave no heed. Once he looked back over his shoulder, and his
+dark glance saw no one save Moore.
+
+"Boss, thar's been a little argyment," explained Jim, as with swift hand
+he hid Bludsoe's gun. "Nuthin' much."
+
+"Jim, you're a liar," replied the old rancher.
+
+"Aw!" exclaimed Jim, crestfallen.
+
+"What're you hidin'?... You've got somethin' there. Gimme thet gun."
+
+Without more ado Jim handed the gun over.
+
+"It's mine, boss," put in Bludsoe.
+
+"Ahuh? Wal, what was Jim hidin' it fer?" demanded Belllounds.
+
+"Why, I jest tossed it to him--when I--sort of j'ined in with the
+argyment. We was tusslin' some an' I didn't want no gun."
+
+How characteristic of cowboys that they lied to shield Jack Belllounds!
+But it was futile to attempt to deceive the old rancher. Here was a man
+who had been forty years dealing with all kinds of men and events.
+
+"Bludsoe, you can't fool me," said old Bill, calmly. He had roared at
+them, and his eyes still flashed like blue fire, but he was calm and
+cool. Returning the gun to its owner, he continued: "I reckon you'd
+spare my feelin's an' lie about some trick of Jack's. Did he bust out?"
+
+"Wal, tolerable like," replied Bludsoe, dryly.
+
+"Ahuh! Tell me, then--an' no lies."
+
+Belllounds's shrewd eyes had rested upon Wilson Moore. The cowboy's
+face showed the red marks of battle and the white of passion.
+
+"I'm not going to lie, you can bet on that," he declared, forcefully.
+
+"Ahuh! I might hev knowed you an' Jack'd clash," said Belllounds,
+gruffly. "What happened?"
+
+"He hurt my horse. If it hadn't been for that there'd been no trouble."
+
+A light leaped up in the old man's bold eyes. He was a lover of horses.
+Many hard words, and blows, too, he had dealt cowboys for being brutal.
+
+"What'd he do?"
+
+"Look at Spottie's mouth."
+
+The rancher's way of approaching a horse was singularly different from
+his son's, notwithstanding the fact that Spottie knew him and showed no
+uneasiness. The examination took only a moment.
+
+"Tongue cut bad. Thet's a damn shame. Take thet bridle off.... There. If
+it'd been an ornery hoss, now.... Moore, how'd this happen?"
+
+"We just rode in," replied Wilson, hurriedly. "I was saddling Spottie
+when Jack came up. He took a shine to the mustang and wanted to ride
+him. When Spottie reared--he's shy with strangers--why, Jack gave a hell
+of a jerk on the bridle. The bit cut Spottie.... Well, that made me mad,
+but I held in. I objected to Jack riding Spottie. You see, Hudson was
+hurt yesterday and he appointed me foreman for to-day. I needed Spottie.
+But your son couldn't see it, and that made me sore. Jack said the
+mustang was his--"
+
+"His?" interrupted Belllounds.
+
+"Yes. He claimed Spottie. Well, he wasn't really mine, so I gave in.
+When I threw off the saddle, which _was_ mine, Jack began to roar. He
+said he was foreman and he'd have me discharged. But I said I'd quit
+already. We both kept getting sorer and I called him Buster Jack.... He
+hit me first. Then we fought. I reckon I was getting the best of him
+when he made a dive for Bludsoe's gun. And that's all."
+
+"Boss, as sure as I'm a born cowman," put in Bludsoe, "he'd hev plugged
+Wils if he'd got my gun. At thet he damn near got it!"
+
+The old man stroked his scant gray beard with his huge, steady hand,
+apparently not greatly concerned by the disclosure.
+
+"Montana, what do you say?" he queried, as if he held strong store by
+that quiet cowboy's opinion.
+
+"Wal, boss," replied Jim, reluctantly, "Buster Jack's temper was bad
+onct, but now it's plumb wuss."
+
+Whereupon Belllounds turned to Moore with a gesture and a look of a man
+who, in justice to something in himself, had to speak.
+
+"Wils, it's onlucky you clashed with Jack right off," he said. "But thet
+was to be expected. I reckon Jack was in the wrong. Thet hoss was yours
+by all a cowboy holds right an' square. Mebbe by law Spottie belonged to
+White Slides Ranch--to me. But he's yours now, fer I give him to you."
+
+"Much obliged, Belllounds. I sure do appreciate that," replied Moore,
+warmly. "It's what anybody'd gamble Bill Belllounds would do."
+
+"Ahuh! An' I'd take it as a favor if you'd stay on to-day an' get thet
+brandin' done:"
+
+"All right, I'll do that for you," replied Moore. "Lem, I guess you
+won't get your sleep till to-night. Come on."
+
+"Awl" sighed Lem, as he picked up his bridle.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Late that afternoon Columbine sat upon the porch, watching the sunset.
+It had been a quiet day for her, mostly indoors. Once only had she seen
+Jack, and then he was riding by toward the pasture, whirling a lasso
+round his head. Jack could ride like one born to the range, but he was
+not an adept in the use of a rope. Nor had Columbine seen the old
+rancher since breakfast. She had heard his footsteps, however, pacing
+slowly up and down his room.
+
+She was watching the last rays of the setting sun rimming with gold the
+ramparts of the mountain eastward, and burning a crown for Old White
+Slides peak. A distant bawl and bellow of cattle had died away. The
+branding was over for that fall. How glad she felt! The wind, beginning
+to grow cold as the sun declined, cooled her hot face. In the solitude
+of her room Columbine had cried enough that day to scald her cheeks.
+
+Presently, down the lane between the pastures, she saw a cowboy ride
+into view. Very slowly he came, leading another horse. Columbine
+recognized Lem a second before she saw that he was leading Pronto. That
+struck her as strange. Another glance showed Pronto to be limping.
+Apparently he could just get along, and that was all. Columbine ran out
+in dismay, reaching the corral gate before Lem did. At first she had
+eyes only for her beloved mustang.
+
+"Oh, Lem--Pronto's hurt!" she cried.
+
+"Wal, I should smile he is," replied Lem.
+
+But Lem was not smiling. And when he wore a serious face for Columbine
+something had indeed happened. The cowboy was the color of dust and so
+tired that he reeled.
+
+"Lem, he's all bloody!" exclaimed Columbine, as she ran toward Pronto.
+
+"Hyar, you jest wait," ordered Lem, testily. "Pronto's all cut up, an'
+you gotta hustle some linen an' salve."
+
+Columbine flew away to do his bidding, and so quick and violent was she
+that when she got back to the corral she was out of breath. Pronto
+whinnied as she fell, panting, on her knees beside Lem, who was
+examining bloody gashes on the legs of the mustang.
+
+"Wal, I reckon no great harm did," said Lem, with relief. "But he shore
+hed a close shave. Now you help me doctor him up."
+
+"Yes--I'll help," panted Columbine. "I've done this kind--of thing
+often--but never--to Pronto.... Oh, I was afraid--he'd been gored by
+a steer."
+
+"Wal, he come damn near bein'," replied Lem, grimly. "An' if it hedn't
+been fer ridin' you don't see every day, why thet ornery Texas steer'd
+hev got him."
+
+"Who was riding? Lem, was it you? Oh, I'll never be able to do enough
+for you!"
+
+"Wuss luck, it weren't me," said Lem.
+
+"No? Who, then?"
+
+"Wal, it was Wils, an' he made me swear to tell you nuthin'--leastways
+about him."
+
+"Wils! Did he save Pronto?... And didn't want you to tell me? Lem,
+something has happened. You're not like yourself."
+
+"Miss Collie, I reckon I'm nigh all in," replied Lem, wearily. "When I
+git this bandagin' done I'll fall right off my hoss."
+
+"But you're on the ground now, Lem," said Columbine, with a nervous
+laugh. "What happened?"
+
+"Did you hear about the argyment this mawnin'?"
+
+"No. What--who--"
+
+"You can ask Ole Bill aboot thet. The way Pronto was hurt come off like
+this. Buster Jack rode out to where we was brandin' an' jumped his hoss
+over a fence into the pasture. He hed a rope an' he got to chasin' some
+hosses over thar. One was Pronto, an' the son-of-a-gun somehow did git
+the noose over Pronto's head. But he couldn't hold it, or didn't want
+to, fer Pronto broke loose an' jumped the fence. This wasn't so bad as
+far as it went. But one of them bad steers got after Pronto. He run an'
+sure stepped on the rope, an' fell. The big steer nearly piled on him.
+Pronto broke some records then. He shore was scared. Howsoever he picked
+out rough ground an' run plumb into some dead brush. Reckon thar he got
+cut up. We was all a good ways off. The steer went bawlin' an' plungin'
+after Pronto. Wils yelled fer a rifle, but nobody hed one. Nor a
+six-shooter, either.... I'm goin' back to packin' a gun. Wal, Wils did
+some ridin' to git over thar in time to save Pronto."
+
+"Lem, that is not all," said Columbine, earnestly, as the cowboy
+concluded. Her knowledge of the range told her that Lem had narrated
+nothing so far which could have been cause for his cold, grim, evasive
+manner; and her woman's intuition divined a catastrophe.
+
+"Nope.... Wils's hoss fell on him."
+
+Lem broke that final news with all a cowboy's bluntness.
+
+"Was he hurt--_Lem_!" cried Columbine.
+
+"Say, Miss Collie," remonstrated Lem, "we're doctorin' up your hoss. You
+needn't drop everythin' an' grab me like thet. An' you're white as a
+sheet, too. It ain't nuthin' much fer a cowboy to hev a hoss fall
+on him."
+
+"Lem Billings, I'll hate you if you don't tell me quick," flashed
+Columbine, fiercely.
+
+"Ahuh! So thet's how the land lays," replied Lem, shrewdly. "Wal, I'm
+sorry to tell you thet Wils was bad hurt. Now, not _real_ bad!... The
+hoss fell on his leg an' broke it. I cut off his boot. His foot was all
+smashed. But thar wasn't any other hurt--honest! They're takin' him to
+Kremmlin'."
+
+"Ah!" Columbine's low cry sounded strangely in her ears, as if some one
+else had uttered it.
+
+"Buster Jack made two bursts this hyar day," concluded Lem,
+reflectively. "Miss Collie, I ain't shore how you're regardin' thet
+individool, but I'm tellin' you this, fer your own good. He's bad
+medicine. He has his old man's temper thet riles up at nuthin' an' never
+felt a halter. Wusser'n thet, he's spoiled an' he acts like a colt
+thet'd tasted loco. The idee of his ropin' Pronto right thar near the
+round-up! Any one would think he jest come West. Old Bill is no fool.
+But he wears blinders when he looks at his son. I'm predictin' bad days
+fer White Slides Ranch."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+Only one man at Meeker appeared to be attracted by the news that Rancher
+Bill Belllounds was offering employment. This was a little
+cadaverous-looking fellow, apparently neither young nor old, who said
+his name was Bent Wade. He had drifted into Meeker with two poor horses
+and a pack.
+
+"Whar you from?" asked the innkeeper, observing how Wade cared for his
+horses before he thought of himself. The query had to be repeated.
+
+"Cripple Creek. I was cook for some miners an' I panned gold between
+times," was the reply.
+
+"Humph! Thet oughter been a better-payin' job than any to be hed
+hereabouts."
+
+"Yes, got big pay there," said Wade, with a sigh.
+
+"What'd you leave fer?"
+
+"We hed a fight over the diggin's an' I was the only one left. I'll tell
+you...." Whereupon Wade sat down on a box, removed his old sombrero, and
+began to talk. An idler sauntered over, attracted by something. Then a
+miner happened by to halt and join the group.
+
+Next, old Kemp, the patriarch of the village, came and listened
+attentively. Wade seemed to have a strange magnetism, a magic tongue.
+
+He was small of stature, but wiry and muscular. His garments were old,
+soiled, worn. When he removed the wide-brimmed sombrero he exposed a
+remarkable face. It was smooth except for a drooping mustache, and
+pallid, with drops of sweat standing out on the high, broad forehead;
+gaunt and hollow-cheeked, with an enormous nose, and cavernous eyes set
+deep under shaggy brows. These features, however, were not so striking
+in themselves. Long, sloping, almost invisible lines of pain, the shadow
+of mystery and gloom in the deep-set, dark eyes, a sad harmony between
+features and expression, these marked the man's face with a record no
+keen eye could miss.
+
+Wade told a terrible tale of gold and blood and death. It seemed to
+relieve him. His face changed, and lost what might have been called its
+tragic light, its driven intensity.
+
+His listeners shook their heads in awe. Hard tales were common in
+Colorado, but this one was exceptional. Two of the group left without
+comment. Old Kemp stared with narrow, half-recognizing eyes at the
+new-comer.
+
+"Wal! Wal!" ejaculated the innkeeper. "It do beat hell what can
+happen!... Stranger, will you put up your hosses an' stay?"
+
+"I'm lookin' for work," replied Wade.
+
+It was then that mention was made of Belllounds sending to Meeker for
+hands.
+
+"Old Bill Belllounds thet settled Middle Park an' made friends with the
+Utes," said Wade, as if certain of his facts.
+
+"Yep, you have Bill to rights. Do you know him?"
+
+"I seen him once twenty years ago."
+
+"Ever been to Middle Park? Belllounds owns ranches there," said the
+innkeeper.
+
+"He ain't livin' in the Park now," interposed Kemp. "He's at White
+Slides, I reckon, these last eight or ten years. Thet's over the
+Gore Range."
+
+"Prospected all through that country," said Wade.
+
+"Wal, it's a fine part of Colorado. Hay an' stock country--too high fer
+grain. Did you mean you'd been through the Park?"
+
+"Once--long ago," replied Wade, staring with his great, cavernous eyes
+into space. Some memory of Middle Park haunted him.
+
+"Wal, then, I won't be steerin' you wrong," said the innkeeper. "I like
+thet country. Some people don't. An' I say if you can cook or pack or
+punch cows or 'most anythin' you'll find a bunk with Old Bill. I
+understand he was needin' a hunter most of all. Lions an' wolves bad!
+Can you hunt?"
+
+"Hey?" queried Wade, absently, as he inclined his ear. "I'm deaf on one
+side."
+
+"Are you a good man with dogs an' guns?" shouted his questioner.
+
+"Tolerable," replied Wade.
+
+"Then you're sure of a job."
+
+"I'll go. Much obliged to you."
+
+"Not a-tall. I'm doin' Belllounds a favor. Reckon you'll put up here
+to-night?"
+
+"I always sleep out. But I'll buy feed an' supplies," replied Wade, as
+he turned to his horses.
+
+Old Kemp trudged down the road, wagging his gray head as if he was
+contending with a memory sadly failing him. An hour later when Bent Wade
+rode out of town he passed Kemp, and hailed him. The old-timer suddenly
+slapped his leg: "By Golly! I knowed I'd met him before!"
+
+Later, he said with a show of gossipy excitement to his friend the
+innkeeper, "Thet fellar was Bent Wade!"
+
+"So he told me," returned the other.
+
+"But didn't you never hear of him? _Bent Wade?_"
+
+"Now you tax me, thet name do 'pear familiar. But dash take it, I can't
+remember. I knowed he was somebody, though. Hope I didn't wish a
+gun-fighter or outlaw on Old Bill. Who was he, anyhow?"
+
+"They call him Hell-Bent Wade. I seen him in Wyomin', whar he were a
+stage-driver. But I never heerd who he was an' what he was till years
+after. Thet was onct I dropped down into Boulder. Wade was thar, all
+shot up, bein' nussed by Sam Coles. Sam's dead now. He was a friend of
+Wade's an' knowed him fer long. Wal, I heerd all thet anybody ever heerd
+about him, I reckon. Accordin' to Coles this hyar Hell-Bent Wade was a
+strange, wonderful sort of fellar. He had the most amazin' ways. He
+could do anythin' under the sun better'n any one else. Bad with guns!
+He never stayed in one place fer long. He never hunted trouble, but
+trouble follered him. As I remember Coles, thet was Wade's queer
+idee--he couldn't shake trouble. No matter whar he went, always thar was
+hell. Thet's what gave him the name Hell-Bent.... An' Coles swore thet
+Wade was the whitest man he ever knew. Heart of gold, he said. Always
+savin' somebody, helpin' somebody, givin' his money or time--never
+thinkin' of himself a-tall.... When he began to tell thet story about
+Cripple Creek then my ole head begun to ache with rememberin'. Fer I'd
+heerd Bent Wade talk before. Jest the same kind of story he told hyar,
+only wuss. Lordy! but thet fellar has seen times. An' queerest of all is
+thet idee he has how hell's on his trail an' everywhere he roams it
+ketches up with him, an' thar he meets the man who's got to hear
+his tale!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sunset found Bent Wade far up the valley of White River under the shadow
+of the Flat Top Mountains. It was beautiful country. Grassy hills, with
+colored aspen groves, swelled up on his left, and across the brawling
+stream rose a league-long slope of black spruce, above which the bare
+red-and-gray walls of the range towered, glorious with the blaze of
+sinking sun. White patches of snow showed in the sheltered nooks. Wade's
+gaze rested longest on the colored heights.
+
+By and by the narrow valley opened into a park, at the upper end of
+which stood a log cabin. A few cattle and horses grazed in an inclosed
+pasture. The trail led by the cabin. As Wade rode up a bushy-haired man
+came out of the door, rifle in hand. He might have been going out to
+hunt, but his scrutiny of Wade was that of a lone settler in a
+wild land.
+
+"Howdy, stranger!" he said.
+
+"Good evenin'," replied Wade. "Reckon you're Blair an' I'm nigh the
+headwaters of this river?"
+
+"Yep, a matter of three miles to Trapper's Lake."
+
+"My name's Wade. I'm packin' over to take a job with Bill Belllounds."
+
+"Git down an' come in," returned Blair. "Bill's man stopped with me some
+time ago."
+
+"Obliged, I'm sure, but I'll be goin' on," responded Wade. "Do you
+happen to have a hunk of deer meat? Game powerful scarce comin' up
+this valley."
+
+"Lots of deer an' elk higher up. I chased a bunch of more'n thirty, I
+reckon, right out of my pasture this mornin'."
+
+Blair crossed to an open shed near by and returned with half a deer
+haunch, which he tied upon Wade's pack-horse.
+
+"My ole woman's ailin'. Do you happen to hev some terbaccer?
+
+"I sure do--both smokin' an' chewin', an' I can spare more chewin'. A
+little goes a long ways with me."
+
+"Wal, gimme some of both, most chewin'," replied Blair, with evident
+satisfaction.
+
+"You acquainted with Belllounds?" asked Wade, as he handed over the
+tobacco.
+
+"Wal, yes, everybody knows Bill. You'd never find a whiter boss in these
+hills."
+
+"Has he any family?"
+
+"Now, I can't say as to thet," replied Blair. "I heerd he lost a wife
+years ago. Mebbe he married ag'in. But Bill's gittin' along."
+
+"Good day to you, Blair," said Wade, and took up his bridle.
+
+"Good day an' good luck. Take the right-hand trail. Better trot up a
+bit, if you want to make camp before dark."
+
+Wade soon entered the spruce forest. Then he came to a shallow, roaring
+river. The horses drank the water, foaming white and amber around their
+knees, and then with splash and thump they forded it over the slippery
+rocks. As they cracked out upon the trail a covey of grouse whirred up
+into the low branches of spruce-trees. They were tame.
+
+"That's somethin' like," said Wade. "First birds I've seen this fall.
+Reckon I can have stew any day."
+
+He halted his horse and made a move to dismount, but with his eyes on
+the grouse he hesitated. "Tame as chickens, an' they sure are pretty."
+
+Then he rode on, leading his pack-horse. The trail was not steep,
+although in places it had washed out, thus hindering a steady trot. As
+he progressed the forest grew thick and darker, and the fragrance of
+pine and spruce filled the air. A dreamy roar of water rushing over
+rocks rang in the traveler's ears. It receded at times, then grew
+louder. Presently the forest shade ahead lightened and he rode out into
+a wide space where green moss and flags and flowers surrounded a
+wonderful spring-hole. Sunset gleams shone through the trees to color
+the wide, round pool. It was shallow all along the margin, with a deep,
+large green hole in the middle, where the water boiled up. Trout were
+feeding on gnats and playing on the surface, and some big ones left
+wakes behind them as they sped to deeper water. Wade had an appreciative
+eye for all this beauty, his gaze lingering longest upon the flowers.
+
+"Wild woods is the place for me," he soliloquized, as the cool wind
+fanned his cheeks and the sweet tang of evergreen tingled his nostrils.
+"But sure I'm most haunted in these lonely, silent places."
+
+Bent Wade had the look of a haunted man. Perhaps the consciousness he
+confessed was part of his secret.
+
+Twilight had come when again he rode out into the open. Trapper's Lake
+lay before him, a beautiful sheet of water, mirroring the black slopes
+and the fringed spruces and the flat peaks. Over all its gray,
+twilight-softened surface showed little swirls and boils and splashes
+where the myriads of trout were rising. The trail led out over open
+grassy shores, with a few pines straggling down to the lake, and clumps
+of spruces raising dark blurs against the background of gleaming lake.
+Wade heard a sharp crack of hoofs on rock, and he knew he had disturbed
+deer at their drinking; also he heard a ring of horns on the branch of a
+tree, and was sure an elk was slipping off through the woods. Across the
+lake he saw a camp-fire and a pale, sharp-pointed object that was a
+trapper's tent or an Indian's tepee.
+
+Selecting a camp-site for himself, he unsaddled his horse, threw the
+pack off the other, and, hobbling both animals, he turned them loose.
+His roll of bedding, roped in canvas tarpaulin, he threw under a
+spruce-tree. Then he opened his oxhide-covered packs and laid out
+utensils and bags, little and big. All his movements were methodical,
+yet swift, accurate, habitual. He was not thinking about what he was
+doing. It took him some little time to find a suitable log to split for
+fire-wood, and when he had started a blaze night had fallen, and the
+light as it grew and brightened played fantastically upon the
+isolating shadows.
+
+Lid and pot of the little Dutch oven he threw separately upon the
+sputtering fire, and while they heated he washed his hands, mixed the
+biscuits, cut slices of meat off the deer haunch, and put water on to
+boil. He broiled his meat on the hot, red coals, and laid it near on
+clean pine chips, while he waited for bread to bake and coffee to boil.
+The smell of wood-smoke and odorous steam from pots and the fragrance of
+spruce mingled together, keen, sweet, appetizing. Then he ate his simple
+meal hungrily, with the content of the man who had fared worse.
+
+After he had satisfied himself he washed his utensils and stowed them
+away, with the bags. Whereupon his movements acquired less dexterity and
+speed. The rest hour had come. Still, like the long-experienced man in
+the open, he looked around for more to do, and his gaze fell upon his
+weapons, lying on his saddle. His rifle was a Henry--shiny and smooth
+from long service and care. His small gun was a Colt's 45. It had been
+carried in a saddle holster. Wade rubbed the rifle with his hands, and
+then with a greasy rag which he took from the sheath. After that he held
+the rifle to the heat of the fire. A squall of rain had overtaken him
+that day, wetting his weapons. A subtle and singular difference seemed
+to show in the way he took up the Colt's. His action was slow, his look
+reluctant. The small gun was not merely a thing of steel and powder and
+ball. He dried it and rubbed it with care, but not with love, and then
+he stowed it away.
+
+Next Wade unrolled his bed under the spruce, with one end of the
+tarpaulin resting on the soft mat of needles. On top of that came the
+two woolly sheepskins, which he used to lie upon, then his blankets, and
+over all the other end of the tarpaulin.
+
+This ended his tasks for the day. He lighted his pipe and composed
+himself beside the camp-fire to smoke and rest awhile before going to
+bed. The silence of the wilderness enfolded lake and shore; yet
+presently it came to be a silence accentuated by near and distant
+sounds, faint, wild, lonely--the low hum of falling water, the splash of
+tiny waves on the shore, the song of insects, and the dismal hoot
+of owls.
+
+"Bill Belllounds--an' he needs a hunter," soliloquized Bent Wade, with
+gloomy, penetrating eyes, seeing far through the red embers. "That will
+suit me an' change my luck, likely. Livin' in the woods, away from
+people--I could stick to a job like that.... But if this White Slides is
+close to the old trail I'll never stay."
+
+He sighed, and a darker shadow, not from flickering fire, overspread his
+cadaverous face. Eighteen years ago he had driven the woman he loved
+away from him, out into the world with her baby girl. Never had he
+rested beside a camp-fire that that old agony did not recur! Jealous
+fool! Too late he had discovered his fatal blunder; and then had begun a
+search over Colorado, ending not a hundred miles across the wild
+mountains from where he brooded that lonely hour--a search ended by news
+of the massacre of a wagon-train by Indians.
+
+That was Bent Wade's secret.
+
+And no earthly sufferings could have been crueler than his agony and
+remorse, as through the long years he wandered on and on. The very good
+that he tried to do seemed to foment evil. The wisdom that grew out of
+his suffering opened pitfalls for his wandering feet. The wildness of
+men and the passion of women somehow waited with incredible fatality for
+that hour when chance led him into their lives. He had toiled, he had
+given, he had fought, he had sacrificed, he had killed, he had endured
+for the human nature which in his savage youth he had betrayed. Yet out
+of his supreme and endless striving to undo, to make reparation, to give
+his life, to find God, had come, it seemed to Wade in his abasement,
+only a driving torment.
+
+But though his thought and emotion fluctuated, varying, wandering, his
+memory held a fixed and changeless picture of a woman, fair and sweet,
+with eyes of nameless blue, and face as white as a flower.
+
+"Baby would have been--let's see--'most nineteen years old now--if she'd
+lived," he said. "A big girl, I reckon, like her mother.... Strange how,
+as I grow older, I remember better!"
+
+The night wind moaned through the spruces; dark clouds scudded across
+the sky, blotting out the bright stars; a steady, low roar of water came
+from the outlet of the lake. The camp-fire flickered and burned out, so
+that no sparks blew into the blackness, and the red embers glowed and
+paled and crackled. Wade at length got up and made ready for bed. He
+threw back tarpaulin and blankets, and laid his rifle alongside where he
+could cover it. His coat served for a pillow and he put the Colt's gun
+under that; then pulling off his boots, he slipped into bed, dressed as
+he was, and, like all men in the open, at once fell asleep.
+
+For Wade, and for countless men like him, who for many years had roamed
+the West, this sleeping alone in wild places held both charm and peril.
+But the fascination of it was only a vague realization, and the danger
+was laughed at.
+
+Over Bent Wade's quiet form the shadows played, the spruce boughs waved,
+the piny needles rustled down, the wind moaned louder as the night
+advanced. By and by the horses rested from their grazing; the insects
+ceased to hum; and the continuous roar of water dominated the solitude.
+If wild animals passed Wade's camp they gave it a wide berth.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sunrise found Wade on the trail, climbing high up above the lake, making
+for the pass over the range. He walked, leading his horses up a zigzag
+trail that bore the tracks of recent travelers. Although this country
+was sparsely settled, yet there were men always riding from camp to camp
+or from one valley town to another. Wade never tarried on a
+well-trodden trail.
+
+As he climbed higher the spruce-trees grew smaller, no longer forming a
+green aisle before him, and at length they became dwarfed and stunted,
+and at last failed altogether. Soon he was above timber-line and out
+upon a flat-topped mountain range, where in both directions the land
+rolled and dipped, free of tree or shrub, colorful with grass and
+flowers. The elevation exceeded eleven thousand feet. A whipping wind
+swept across the plain-land. The sun was pale-bright in the east, slowly
+being obscured by gray clouds. Snow began to fall, first in scudding,
+scanty flakes, but increasing until the air was full of a great, fleecy
+swirl. Wade rode along the rim of a mountain wall, watching a beautiful
+snow-storm falling into the brown gulf beneath him. Once as he headed
+round a break he caught sight of mountain-sheep cuddled under a
+protecting shelf. The snow-squall blew away, like a receding wall,
+leaving grass and flowers wet. As the dark clouds parted, the sun shone
+warmer out of the blue. Gray peaks, with patches of white, stood up
+above their black-timbered slopes.
+
+Wade soon crossed the flat-topped pass over the range and faced a
+descent, rocky and bare at first, but yielding gradually to the
+encroachment of green. He left the cold winds and bleak trails above
+him. In an hour, when he was half down the slope, the forest had become
+warm and dry, fragrant and still. At length he rode out upon the brow of
+a last wooded bench above a grassy valley, where a bright, winding
+stream gleamed in the sun. While the horses rested Wade looked about
+him. Nature never tired him. If he had any peace it emanated from the
+silent places, the solemn hills, the flowers and animals of the wild and
+lonely land.
+
+A few straggling pines shaded this last low hill above the valley. Grass
+grew luxuriantly there in the open, but not under the trees, where the
+brown needle-mats jealously obstructed the green. Clusters of columbines
+waved their graceful, sweet, pale-blue flowers that Wade felt a joy in
+seeing. He loved flowers--columbines, the glory of Colorado, came first,
+and next the many-hued purple asters, and then the flaunting spikes of
+paint-brush, and after them the nameless and numberless wild flowers
+that decked the mountain meadows and colored the grass of the aspen
+groves and peeped out of the edge of snow fields.
+
+"Strange how it seems good to live--when I look at a columbine--or watch
+a beaver at his work--or listen to the bugle of an elk!" mused Bent
+Wade. He wondered why, with all his life behind him, he could still find
+comfort in these things.
+
+Then he rode on his way. The grassy valley, with its winding stream,
+slowly descended and widened, and left foothill and mountain far behind.
+Far across a wide plain rose another range, black and bold against the
+blue. In the afternoon Wade reached Elgeria, a small hamlet, but
+important by reason of its being on the main stage line, and because
+here miners and cattlemen bought supplies. It had one street, so wide it
+appeared to be a square, on which faced a line of bold board houses with
+high, flat fronts. Wade rode to the inn where the stagecoaches made
+headquarters. It suited him to feed and rest his horses there, and
+partake of a meal himself, before resuming his journey.
+
+The proprietor was a stout, pleasant-faced little woman, loquacious and
+amiable, glad to see a stranger for his own sake rather than from
+considerations of possible profit. Though Wade had never before visited
+Elgeria, he soon knew all about the town, and the miners up in the
+hills, and the only happenings of moment--the arrival and departure
+of stages.
+
+"Prosperous place," remarked Wade. "I saw that. An' it ought to be
+growin'."
+
+"Not so prosperous fer me as it uster be," replied the lady. "We did
+well when my husband was alive, before our competitor come to town. He
+runs a hotel where miners can drink an' gamble. I don't.... But I reckon
+I've no cause to complain. I live."
+
+"Who runs the other hotel?"
+
+"Man named Smith. Reckon thet's not his real name. I've had people here
+who--but it ain't no matter."
+
+"Men change their names," replied Wade.
+
+"Stranger, air you packin' through or goin' to stay?"
+
+"On my way to White Slides Ranch, where I'm goin' to work for
+Belllounds. Do you know him?"
+
+"Know Belllounds? Me? Wal, he's the best friend I ever had when I was at
+Kremmlin'. I lived there several years. My husband had stock there. In
+fact, Bill started us in the cattle business. But we got out of there
+an' come here, where Bob died, an' I've been stuck ever since."
+
+"Everybody has a good word for Belllounds," observed Wade.
+
+"You'll never hear a bad one," replied the woman, with cheerful warmth.
+"Bill never had but one fault, an' people loved him fer thet."
+
+"What was it?"
+
+"He's got a wild boy thet he thinks the sun rises an' sets in. Buster
+Jack, they call him. He used to come here often. But Bill sent him away
+somewhere. The boy was spoiled. I saw his mother years ago--she's dead
+this long time--an' she was no wife fer Bill Belllounds. Jack took after
+her. An' Bill was thet woman's slave. When she died all his big heart
+went to the son, an' thet accounts. Jack will never be any good."
+
+Wade thoughtfully nodded his head, as if he understood, and was
+pondering other possibilities.
+
+"Is he the only child?"
+
+"There's a girl, but she's not Bill's kin. He adopted her when she was a
+baby. An' Jack's mother hated this child--jealous, we used to think,
+because it might grow up an' get some of Bill's money.'
+
+"What's the girl's name?" asked Wade.
+
+"Columbine. She was over here last summer with Old Bill. They stayed
+with me. It was then Bill had hard words with Smith across the street.
+Bill was resentin' somethin' Smith put in my way. Wal, the lass's the
+prettiest I ever seen in Colorado, an' as good as she's pretty. Old Bill
+hinted to me he'd likely make a match between her an' his son Jack. An'
+I ups an' told him, if Jack hadn't turned over a new leaf when he comes
+home, thet such a marriage would be tough on Columbine. Whew, but Old
+Bill was mad. He jest can't stand a word ag'in' thet Buster Jack."
+
+"Columbine Belllounds," mused Wade. "Queer name."
+
+"Oh, I've knowed three girls named Columbine. Don't you know the flower?
+It's common in these parts. Very delicate, like a sago lily,
+only paler."
+
+"Were you livin' in Kremmlin' when Belllounds adopted the girl?" asked
+Wade.
+
+"Laws no!" was the reply. "Thet was long before I come to Middle Park.
+But I heerd all about it. The baby was found by gold-diggers up in the
+mountains. Must have got lost from a wagon-train thet Indians set on
+soon after--so the miners said. Anyway, Old Bill took the baby an'
+raised her as his own."
+
+"How old is she now?" queried Wade, with a singular change in his tone.
+
+"Columbine's around nineteen."
+
+Bent Wade lowered his head a little, hiding his features under the old,
+battered, wide-brimmed hat. The amiable innkeeper did not see the tremor
+that passed over him, nor the slight stiffening that followed, nor the
+gray pallor of his face. She went on talking until some one called her.
+
+Wade went outdoors, and with bent head walked down the street, across a
+little river, out into green pasture-land. He struggled with an amazing
+possibility. Columbine Belllounds might be his own daughter. His heart
+leaped with joy. But the joy was short-lived. No such hope in this world
+for Bent Wade! This coincidence, however, left him with a strange,
+prophetic sense in his soul of a tragedy coming to White Slides Ranch.
+Wade possessed some power of divination, some strange gift to pierce the
+veil of the future. But he could not exercise this power at will; it
+came involuntarily, like a messenger of trouble in the dark night.
+Moreover, he had never yet been able to draw away from the fascination
+of this knowledge. It lured him on. Always his decision had been to go
+on, to meet this boding circumstance, or to remain and meet it, in the
+hope that he might take some one's burden upon his shoulders. He sensed
+it now, in the keen, poignant clairvoyance of the moment--the tangle of
+life that he was about to enter. Old Bill Belllounds, big and fine,
+victim of love for a wayward son; Buster Jack, the waster, the
+tearer-down, the destroyer, the wild youth at a wild time; Columbine,
+the girl of unknown birth, good and loyal, subject to a condition sure
+to ruin her. Wade's strange mind revolved a hundred outcomes to this
+conflict of characters, but not one of them was the one that was
+written. That remained dark. Never had he received so strong a call out
+of the unknown, nor had he ever felt such intense curiosity. Hope had
+long been dead in him, except the one that he might atone in some way
+for the wrong he had done his wife. So the pangs of emotion that
+recurred, in spite of reason and bitterness, were not recognized by him
+as lingering hopes. Wade denied the human in him, but he thrilled at the
+thought of meeting Columbine Belllounds. There was something here beyond
+all his comprehension.
+
+"It _might_--be true!" he whispered. "I'll know when I see her."
+
+Then he walked back toward the inn. On the way he looked into the
+barroom of the hotel run by Smith. It was a hard-looking place, half
+full of idle men, whose faces were as open pages to Bent Wade. Curiosity
+did not wholly control the impulse that made him wait at the door till
+he could have a look at the man Smith. Somewhere, at some time, Wade had
+met most of the veterans of western Colorado. So much he had traveled!
+But the impulse that held him was answered and explained when Smith came
+in--a burly man, with an ugly scar marring one eye. Bent Wade recognized
+Smith. He recognized the scar. For that scar was his own mark, dealt to
+this man, whose name was not Smith, and who had been as evil as he
+looked, and whose nomadic life was not due to remorse or love of travel.
+
+Wade passed on without being seen. This recognition meant less to him
+than it would have ten years ago, as he was not now the kind of man who
+hunted old enemies for revenge or who went to great lengths to keep out
+of their way. Men there were in Colorado who would shoot at him on
+sight. There had been more than one that had shot to his cost.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That night Wade camped in the foothills east of Elgeria, and upon the
+following day, at sunrise, his horses were breaking the frosty grass and
+ferns of the timbered range. This he crossed, rode down into a valley
+where a lonely cabin nestled, and followed an old, blazed trail that
+wound up the course of a brook. The water was of a color that made rock
+and sand and moss seem like gold. He saw no signs or tracks of game. A
+gray jay now and then screeched his approach to unseen denizens of the
+woods. The stream babbled past him over mossy ledges, under the dark
+shade of clumps of spruces, and it grew smaller as he progressed toward
+its source. At length it was lost in a swale of high, rank grass, and
+the blazed trail led on through heavy pine woods. At noon he reached the
+crest of the divide, and, halting upon an open, rocky eminence, he gazed
+down over a green and black forest, slow-descending to a great irregular
+park that was his destination for the night.
+
+Wade needed meat, and to that end, as he went on, he kept a sharp
+lookout for deer, especially after he espied fresh tracks crossing the
+trail. Slipping along ahead of his horses, that followed, him almost too
+closely to permit of his noiseless approach to game, he hunted all the
+way down to the great open park without getting a shot.
+
+This park was miles across and miles long, covered with tall, waving
+grass, and it had straggling arms that led off into the surrounding belt
+of timber. It sloped gently toward the center, where a round, green
+acreage of grass gave promise of water. Wade rode toward this, keeping
+somewhat to the right, as he wanted to camp at the edge of the woods.
+Soon he rode out beyond one of the projecting peninsulas of forest to
+find the park spreading wider in that direction. He saw horses grazing
+with elk, and far down at the notch, where evidently the park had outlet
+in a narrow valley, he espied the black, hump-shaped, shaggy forms of
+buffalo. They bobbed off out of sight. Then the elk saw or scented him,
+and they trotted away, the antlered bulls ahead of the cows. Wade
+wondered if the horses were wild. They showed great interest, but no
+fear. Beyond them was a rising piece of ground, covered with pine, and
+it appeared to stand aloft from the forest on the far side as well as
+upon that by which he was approaching. Riding a mile or so farther he
+ascertained that this bit of wooded ground resembled an island in a
+lake. Presently he saw smoke arising above the treetops.
+
+A tiny brook welled out of the green center of the park and meandered
+around to pass near the island of pines. Wade saw unmistakable signs of
+prospecting along this brook, and farther down, where he crossed it, he
+found tracks made that day.
+
+The elevated plot of ground appeared to be several acres in extent,
+covered with small-sized pines, and at the far edge there was a little
+log cabin. Wade expected to surprise a lone prospector at his evening
+meal. As he rode up a dog ran out of the cabin, barking furiously. A
+man, dressed in fringed buckskin, followed. He was tall, and had long,
+iron-gray hair over his shoulders. His bronzed and weather-beaten face
+was a mass of fine wrinkles where the grizzled hair did not hide them,
+and his shining, red countenance proclaimed an honest, fearless spirit.
+
+"Howdy, stranger!" he called, as Wade halted several rods distant. His
+greeting was not welcome, but it was civil. His keen scrutiny, however,
+attested to more than his speech.
+
+"Evenin', friend," replied Wade. "Might I throw my pack here?"
+
+"Sure. Get down," answered the other. "I calkilate I never seen you in
+these diggin's."
+
+"No. I'm Bent Wade, an' on my way to White Slides to work for
+Belllounds."
+
+"Glad to meet you. I'm new hereabouts, myself, but I know Belllounds. My
+name's Lewis. I was jest cookin' grub. An' it'll burn, too, if I don't
+rustle. Turn your hosses loose an' come in."
+
+Wade presented himself with something more than his usual methodical
+action. He smelled buffalo steak, and he was hungry. The cabin had been
+built years ago, and was a ramshackle shelter at best. The stone
+fireplace, however, appeared well preserved. A bed of red coals glowed
+and cracked upon the hearth.
+
+"Reckon I sure smelled buffalo meat," observed Wade, with much
+satisfaction. "It's long since I chewed a hunk of that."
+
+"All ready. Now pitch in.... Yes, thar's some buffalo left in here. Not
+hunted much. Thar's lots of elk an' herds of deer. After a little snow
+you'd think a drove of sheep had been trackin' around. An' some bear."
+
+Wade did not waste many words until he had enjoyed that meal. Later,
+while he helped his host, he recurred to the subject of game.
+
+"If there's so many deer then there's lions an' wolves."
+
+"You bet. I see tracks every day. Had a shot at a lofer not long ago.
+Missed him. But I reckon thar's more varmints over in the Troublesome
+country back of White Slides."
+
+"Troublesome! Do they call it that?" asked Wade, with a queer smile.
+
+"Sure. An' it is troublesome. Belllounds has been tryin' to hire a
+hunter. Offered me big wages to kill off the wolves an' lions."
+
+"That's the job I'm goin' to take."
+
+"Good!" exclaimed Lewis. "I'm sure glad. Belllounds is a nice fellar. I
+felt sort of cheap till I told him I wasn't really a hunter. You see,
+I'm prospectin' up here, an' pretendin' to be a hunter."
+
+"What do you make that bluff for?" queried Wade.
+
+"You couldn't fool any one who'd ever prospected for gold. I saw your
+signs out here."
+
+"Wal, you've sharp eyes, thet's all. Wade, I've some ondesirable
+neighbors over here. I'd just as lief they didn't see me diggin' gold.
+Lately I've had a hunch they're rustlin' cattle. Anyways, they've sold
+cattle in Kremmlin' thet came from over around Elgeria."
+
+"Wherever there's cattle there's sure to be some stealin'," observed
+Wade.
+
+"Wal, you needn't say anythin' to Belllounds, because mebbe I'm wrong.
+An' if I found out I was right I'd go down to White Slides an' tell it
+myself. Belllounds done some favors."
+
+"How far to White Slides?" asked Wade, with a puff on his pipe.
+
+"Roundabout trail, an' rough, but you'll make it in one day, easy.
+Beautiful country. Open, big peaks an' ranges, with valleys an' lakes.
+Never seen such grass!"
+
+"Did you ever see Belllounds's son?"
+
+"No. Didn't know he hed one. But I seen his gal the fust day I was thar.
+She was nice to me. I went thar to be fixed up a bit. Nearly chopped my
+hand off. The gal--Columbine, she's called--doctored me up. Fact is, I
+owe considerable to thet White Slides Ranch. There's a cowboy, Wils
+somethin', who rode up here with some medicine fer me--some they didn't
+have when I was thar. You'll like thet boy. I seen he was sweet on the
+gal an' I sure couldn't blame him."
+
+Bent Wade removed his pipe and let out a strange laugh, significant with
+its little note of grim confirmation.
+
+"What's funny about thet?" demanded Lewis, rather surprised.
+
+"I was only laughin'," replied Wade. "What you said about the cowboy
+bein' sweet on the girl popped into my head before you told it. Well,
+boys will be boys. I was young once an' had my day."
+
+Lewis grunted as he bent over to lift a red coal to light his pipe, and
+as he raised his head he gave Wade a glance of sympathetic curiosity.
+
+"Wal, I hope I'll see more of you," he said, as his guest rose,
+evidently to go.
+
+"Reckon you will, as I'll be chasin' hounds all over. An' I want a look
+at them neighbors you spoke of that might be rustlers.... I'll turn in
+now. Good night."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+Bent Wade rode out of the forest to look down upon the White Slides
+country at the hour when it was most beautiful.
+
+"Never seen the beat of that!" he exclaimed, as he halted.
+
+The hour was sunset, with the golden rays and shadows streaking ahead of
+him down the rolling sage hills, all rosy and gray with rich, strange
+softness. Groves of aspens stood isolated from one another--here
+crowning a hill with blazing yellow, and there fringing the brow of
+another with gleaming gold, and lower down reflecting the sunlight with
+brilliant red and purple. The valley seemed filled with a delicate haze,
+almost like smoke. White Slides Ranch was hidden from sight, as it lay
+in the bottomland. The gray old peak towered proud and aloof, clear-cut
+and sunset-flushed against the blue. The eastern slope of the valley was
+a vast sweep of sage and hill and grassy bench and aspen bench, on fire
+with the colors of autumn made molten by the last flashing of the sun.
+Great black slopes of forest gave sharp contrast, and led up to the
+red-walled ramparts of the mountain range.
+
+Wade watched the scene until the fire faded, the golden shafts paled and
+died, the rosy glow on sage changed to cold steel gray. Then he rode out
+upon the foothills. The trail led up and down slopes of sage. Grass grew
+thicker as he descended. Once he startled a great flock of
+prairie-chickens, or sage-hens, large gray birds, lumbering, swift
+fliers, that whirred up, and soon plumped down again into the sage.
+Twilight found him on a last long slope of the foothills, facing the
+pasture-land of the valley, with the ranch still five miles distant, now
+showing misty and dim in the gathering shadows.
+
+Wade made camp where a brook ran near an aspen thicket. He had no desire
+to hurry to meet events at White Slides Ranch, although he longed to see
+this girl that belonged to Belllounds. Night settled down over the quiet
+foothills. A pack of roving coyotes visited Wade, and sat in a
+half-circle in the shadows back of the camp-fire. They howled and
+barked. Nevertheless sleep visited Wade's tired eyelids the moment he
+lay down and closed them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Next morning, rather late, Wade rode down to White Slides Ranch. It
+looked to him like the property of a rich rancher who held to the old
+and proven customs of his generation. The corrals were new, but their
+style was old. Wade reflected that it would be hard for rustlers or
+horse-thieves to steal out of those corrals. A long lane led from the
+pasture-land, following the brook that ran through the corrals and by
+the back door of the rambling, comfortable-looking cabin. A cowboy was
+leading horses across a wide square between the main ranch-house and a
+cluster of cabins and sheds. He saw the visitor and waited.
+
+"Mornin'," said Wade, as he rode up.
+
+"Hod do," replied the cowboy.
+
+Then these two eyed each other, not curiously nor suspiciously, but with
+that steady, measuring gaze common to Western men.
+
+"My name's Wade," said the traveler. "Come from Meeker way. I'm lookin'
+for a job with Belllounds."
+
+"I'm Lem Billings," replied the other. "Ridin' fer White Slides fer
+years. Reckon the boss'll be glad to take you on."
+
+"Is he around?"
+
+"Sure. I jest seen him," replied Billings, as he haltered his horses to
+a post. "I reckon I ought to give you a hunch."
+
+"I'd take that as a favor."
+
+"Wal, we're short of hands," said the cowboy. "Jest got the round-up
+over. Hudson was hurt an' Wils Moore got crippled. Then the boss's son
+has been put on as foreman. Three of the boys quit. Couldn't stand him.
+This hyar son of Belllounds is a son-of-a-gun! Me an' pards of mine,
+Montana an' Bludsoe, are stickin' on--wal, fer reasons thet ain't
+egzactly love fer the boss. But Old Bill's the best of bosses.... Now
+the hunch is--thet if you git on hyar you'll hev to do two or three
+men's work."
+
+"Much obliged," replied Wade. "I don't shy at that."
+
+"Wal, git down an' come in," added Billings, heartily.
+
+He led the way across the square, around the corner of the ranch-house,
+and up on a long porch, where the arrangement of chairs and blankets
+attested to the hand of a woman. The first door was open, and from it
+issued voices; first a shrill, petulant boy's complaint, and then a
+man's deep, slow, patient reply.
+
+Lem Billings knocked on the door-jamb.
+
+"Wal, what's wanted?" called Belllounds.
+
+"Boss, thar's a man wantin' to see you," replied Lem.
+
+Heavy steps approached the doorway and it was filled with the large
+figure of the rancher. Wade remembered Belllounds and saw only a gray
+difference in years.
+
+"Good mornin', Lem, an' good moinin' to you, stranger," was the
+rancher's greeting, his bold, blue glance, honest and frank and keen,
+with all his long experience of men, taking Wade in with one flash.
+
+Lem discreetly walked to the end of the porch as another figure, that of
+the son who resembled the father, filled the doorway, with eyes less
+kind, bent upon the visitor.
+
+"My name's Wade. I'm over from Meeker way, hopin' to find a job with
+you," said Wade.
+
+"Glad to meet you," replied Belllounds, extending his huge hand to shake
+Wade's. "I need you, sure bad. What's your special brand of work?"
+
+"I reckon any kind."
+
+"Set down, stranger," replied Belllounds, pulling up a chair. He seated
+himself on a bench and leaned against the log wall. "Now, when a boy
+comes an' says he can do anythin', why I jest haw! haw! at him. But
+you're a man, Wade, an' one as has been there. Now I'm hard put fer
+hands. Jest speak out now fer yourself. No one else can speak fer you,
+thet's sure. An' this is bizness."
+
+"Any work with stock, from punchin' steers to doctorin' horses," replied
+Wade, quietly. "Am fair carpenter an' mason. Good packer. Know farmin'.
+Can milk cows an' make butter. I've been cook in many outfits. Read an'
+write an' not bad at figures. Can do work on saddles an' harness, an-"
+
+"Hold on!" yelled Belllounds, with a hearty laugh. "I ain't imposin' on
+no man, no matter how I need help. You're sure a jack of all range
+trades. An' I wish you was a hunter."
+
+"I was comin' to that. You didn't give me time."
+
+"Say, do you know hounds?" queried Belllounds, eagerly.
+
+"Yes. Was raised where everybody had packs. I'm from Kentucky. An' I've
+run hounds off an' on for years. I'll tell you--"
+
+Belllounds interrupted Wade.
+
+"By all that's lucky! An' last, can you handle guns? We 'ain't had a
+good shot on this range fer Lord knows how long. I used to hit plumb
+center with a rifle. My eyes are pore now. An' my son can't hit a flock
+of haystacks. An' the cowpunchers are 'most as bad. Sometimes right hyar
+where you could hit elk with a club we're out of fresh meat."
+
+"Yes, I can handle guns," replied Wade, with a quiet smile and a
+lowering of his head. "Reckon you didn't catch my name."
+
+"Wal--no, I didn't," slowly replied Belllounds, and his pause, with the
+keener look he bestowed upon Wade, told how the latter's query had
+struck home.
+
+"Wade--Bent Wade," said Wade, with quiet distinctness.
+
+"_Not Hell-Bent Wade!_" ejaculated Belllounds.
+
+"The same.... I ain't proud of the handle, but I never sail under false
+colors."
+
+"Wal, I'll be damned!" went on the rancher. "Wade, I've heerd of you fer
+years. Some bad, but most good, an' I reckon I'm jest as glad to meet
+you as if you'd been somebody else."
+
+"You'll give me the job?"
+
+"I should smile."
+
+"I'm thankin' you. Reckon I was some worried. Jobs are hard for me to
+get an' harder to keep."
+
+"Thet's not onnatural, considerin' the hell which's said to camp on your
+trail," replied Belllounds, dryly. "Wade, I can't say I take a hell of a
+lot of stock in such talk. Fifty years I've been west of the Missouri. I
+know the West an' I know men. Talk flies from camp to ranch, from
+diggin's to town, an' always some one adds a little more. Now I trust my
+judgment an' I trust men. No one ever betrayed me yet."
+
+"I'm that way, too," replied Wade. "But it doesn't pay, an' yet I still
+kept on bein' that way.... Belllounds, my name's as bad as good all over
+western Colorado. But as man to man I tell you--I never did a low-down
+trick in my life.... Never but once."
+
+"An' what was thet?" queried the rancher, gruffly.
+
+"I killed a man who was innocent," replied Wade, with quivering lips,
+"an'--an' drove the woman I loved to her death."
+
+"Aw! we all make mistakes some time in our lives," said Belllounds,
+hurriedly. "I made 'most as big a one as yours--so help me God!..."
+
+"I'll tell you--" interrupted Wade.
+
+"You needn't tell me anythin'," said Belllounds, interrupting in his
+turn. "But at thet some time I'd like to hear about the Lascelles outfit
+over on the Gunnison. I knowed Lascelles. An' a pardner of mine down in
+Middle Park came back from the Gunnison with the dog-gondest story I
+ever heerd. Thet was five years ago this summer. Of course I knowed your
+name long before, but this time I heerd it powerful strong. You got in
+thet mix-up to your neck.... Wal, what consarns me now is this. Is there
+any sense in the talk thet wherever you land there's hell to pay?"
+
+"Belllounds, there's no sense in it, but a lot of truth," confessed
+Wade, gloomily.
+
+"Ahuh!... Wal, Hell-Bent Wade, I'll take a chance on you," boomed the
+rancher's deep voice, rich with the intent of his big heart. "I've
+gambled all my life. An' the best friends I ever made were men I'd
+helped.... What wages do you ask?"
+
+"I'll take what you offer."
+
+"I'm payin' the boys forty a month, but thet's not enough fer you."
+
+"Yes, that'll do."
+
+"Good, it's settled," concluded Belllounds, rising. Then he saw his son
+standing inside the door. "Say, Jack, shake hands with Bent Wade, hunter
+an' all-around man. Wade, this's my boy. I've jest put him on as foreman
+of the outfit, an' while I'm at it I'll say thet you'll take orders from
+me an' not from him."
+
+Wade looked up into the face of Jack Belllounds, returned his brief
+greeting, and shook his limp hand. The contact sent a strange chill over
+Wade. Young Belllounds's face was marred by a bruise and shaded by a
+sullen light.
+
+"Get Billin's to take you out to thet new cabin an' sheds I jest had put
+up," said the rancher. "You'll bunk in the cabin.... Aw, I know. Men
+like you sleep in the open. But you can't do thet under Old White Slides
+in winter. Not much! Make yourself to home, an' I'll walk out after a
+bit an' we'll look over the dog outfit. When you see thet outfit you'll
+holler fer help."
+
+Wade bowed his thanks, and, putting on his sombrero, he turned away. As
+he did so he caught a sound of light, quick footsteps on the far end of
+the porch.
+
+"Hello, you-all!" cried a girl's voice, with melody in it that vibrated
+piercingly upon Wade's sensitive ears.
+
+"Mornin', Columbine," replied the rancher.
+
+Bent Wade's heart leaped up. This girlish voice rang upon the chord of
+memory. Wade had not the strength to look at her then. It was not that
+he could not bear to look, but that he could not bear the disillusion
+sure to follow his first glimpse of this adopted daughter of Belllounds.
+Sweet to delude himself! Ah! the years were bearing sterner upon his
+head! The old dreams persisted, sadder now for the fact that from long
+use they had become half-realities! Wade shuffled slowly across the
+green square to where the cowboy waited for him. His eyes were dim, and
+a sickness attended the sinking of his heart.
+
+"Wade, I ain't a bettin' fellar, but I'll bet Old Bill took you up,"
+vouchsafed Billings, with interest.
+
+"Glad to say he did," replied Wade. "You're to show me the new cabin
+where I'm to bunk."
+
+"Come along," said Lem, leading off. "Air you agoin' to handle stock or
+chase coyotes?"
+
+"My job's huntin'."
+
+"Wal, it may be thet from sunup to sundown, but between times you'll be
+sure busy otherwise, I opine," went on Lem. "Did you meet the
+boss's son?"
+
+"Yes, he was there. An' Belllounds made it plain I was to take orders
+from him an' not from his son."
+
+"Thet'll make your job a million times easier," declared Lem, as if to
+make up for former hasty pessimism. He led the way past some log cabins,
+and sheds with dirt roofs, and low, flat-topped barns, out across
+another brook where willow-trees were turning yellow. Then the new cabin
+came into view. It was small, with one door and one window, and a porch
+across the front. It stood on a small elevation, near the swift brook,
+and overlooking the ranch-house perhaps a quarter of a mile below. Above
+it, and across the brook, had been built a high fence constructed of
+aspen poles laced closely together. The sounds therefrom proclaimed this
+stockade to be the dog-pen.
+
+Lem helped Wade unpack and carry his outfit into the cabin. It contained
+one room, the corner of which was filled with blocks and slabs of pine,
+evidently left there after the construction of the cabin, and meant for
+fire-wood. The ample size of the stone fireplace attested to the
+severity of the winters.
+
+"Real sawed boards on the floor!" exclaimed Lem, meaning to impress the
+new-comer. "I call this a plumb good bunk."
+
+"Much too good for me," replied Wade.
+
+"Wal, I'll look after your hosses," said Lem. "I reckon you'll fix up
+your bunk. Take my hunch an' ask Miss Collie to find you some furniture
+an' sich like. She's Ole Bill's daughter, an' she makes up
+fer--fer--wal, fer a lot we hev to stand. I'll fetch the boys
+over later."
+
+"Do you smoke?" asked Wade. "I've somethin' fine I fetched up from
+Leadville."
+
+"Smoke! Me? I'll give you a hoss right now for a cigar. I git one onct a
+year, mebbe."
+
+"Here's a box I've been packin' for long," replied Wade, as he handed it
+up to Billings. "They're Spanish, all right. Too rich for my blood!"
+
+A box of gold could not have made that cowboy's eyes shine any brighter.
+
+"_Whoop-ee!_" he yelled. "Why, man, you're like the fairy in the kid's
+story! Won't I make the outfit wild? Aw, I forgot. Thar's only Jim an'
+Blud left. Wal, I'll divvy with them. Sure, Wade, you hit me right. I
+was dyin' fer a real smoke. An' I reckon what's mine is yours."
+
+Then he strode out of the cabin, whistling a merry cowboy tune.
+
+Wade was left sitting in the middle of the room on his roll of bedding,
+and for a long time he remained there motionless, with his head bent,
+his worn hands idly clasped. A heavy footfall outside aroused him from
+his meditation.
+
+"Hey, Wade!" called the cheery voice of Belllounds. Then the rancher
+appeared at the door. "How's this bunk suit you?"
+
+"Much too fine for an old-timer like me," replied Wade.
+
+"Old-timer! Say, you're young yet. Look at me. Sixty-eight last
+birthday! Wal, every dog has his day.... What're you needin' to fix this
+bunk comfortable like?"
+
+"Reckon I don't need much."
+
+"Wal, you've beddin' an' cook outfit. Go get a table, an' a chair an' a
+bench from thet first cabin. The boys thet had it are gone. Somethin'
+with a back to it, a rockin'-chair, if there's one. You'll find tools,
+an' boxes, an' stuff in the workshop, if you want to make a cupboard or
+anythin'."
+
+"How about a lookin'-glass?" asked Wade. "I had a piece, but I broke
+it."
+
+"Haw! Haw! Mebbe we can rustle thet, too. My girl's good on helpin' the
+boys fix up. Woman-like, you know. An' she'll fetch you some decorations
+on her own hook. Now let's take a look at the hounds."
+
+Belllounds led the way out toward the crude dog-corral, and the way he
+leaped the brook bore witness to the fact that he was still vigorous and
+spry. The door of the pen was made of boards hung on wire. As Belllounds
+opened it there came a pattering rush of many padded feet, and a chorus
+of barks and whines. Wade's surprised gaze took in forty or fifty dogs,
+mostly hounds, browns and blacks and yellows, all sizes--a motley,
+mangy, hungry pack, if he had ever seen one.
+
+"I swore I'd buy every hound fetched to me, till I'd cleaned up the
+varmints around White Slides. An' sure I was imposed on," explained
+the rancher.
+
+"Some good-lookin' hounds in the bunch," replied Wade. "An' there's
+hardly too many. I'll train two packs, so I can rest one when the
+other's huntin'."
+
+"Wal, I'll be dog-goned!" ejaculated Belllounds, with relief. "I sure
+thought you'd roar. All this rabble to take care of!"
+
+"No trouble after I've got acquainted," said Wade. "Have they been
+hunted any?"
+
+"Some of the boys took out a bunch. But they split on deer tracks an'
+elk tracks an' Lord knows what all. Never put up a lion! Then again
+Billings took some out after a pack of coyotes, an' gol darn me if the
+coyotes didn't lick the hounds. An' wuss! Jack, my son, got it into his
+head thet he was a hunter. The other mornin' he found a fresh lion track
+back of the corral. An' he ups an' puts the whole pack of hounds on the
+trail. I had a good many more hounds in the pack than you see now. Wal,
+anyway, it was great to hear the noise thet pack made. Jack lost every
+blamed hound of them. Thet night an' next day an' the followin' they
+straggled in. But twenty some never did come back."
+
+Wade laughed. "They may come yet. I reckon, though, they've gone home
+where they came from. Are any of these hounds recommended?"
+
+"Every consarned one of them," declared Belllounds.
+
+"That's funny. But I guess it's natural. Do you know for sure whether
+you bought any good dogs?"
+
+"Yes, I gave fifty dollars for two hounds. Got them of a friend in
+Middle Park whose pack killed off the lions there. They're good dogs,
+trained on lion, wolf, an' bear."
+
+"Pick 'em out," said Wade.
+
+With a throng of canines crowding and fawning round him, and snapping at
+one another, it was difficult for the rancher to draw the two particular
+ones apart so they could be looked over. At length he succeeded, and
+Wade drove back the rest of the pack.
+
+"The big fellar's Sampson an' the other's Jim," said Belllounds.
+
+Sampson was a huge hound, gray and yellow, with mottled black marks,
+very long ears, and big, solemn eyes. Jim, a good-sized dog, but small
+in comparison with the other, was black all over, except around the nose
+and eyes. Jim had many scars. He was old, yet not past a vigorous age,
+and he seemed a quiet, dignified, wise hound, quite out of his element
+in that mongrel pack.
+
+"If they're as good as they look we're lucky," said Wade, as he tied the
+ends of his rope round their necks. "Now are there any more you know
+are good?"
+
+"Denver, come hyar!" yelled Belllounds. A white, yellow-spotted hound
+came wagging his tail. "I'll swear by Denver. An' there's one
+more--Kane. He's half bloodhound, a queer, wicked kind of dog. He keeps
+to himself.... Kane! Come hyar!"
+
+Belllounds tramped around the corral, and finally found the hound in
+question, asleep in a dusty hole. Kane was the only beautiful dog in the
+lot. If half of him was bloodhound the other half was shepherd, for his
+black and brown hair was inclined to curl, and his head had the fine
+thoroughbred contour of the shepherd. His ears, long and drooping and
+thin, betrayed the hound in him. Kane showed no disposition to be
+friendly. His dark eyes, sad and mournful, burned with the fires
+of doubt.
+
+Wade haltered Kane, Jim, and Sampson, which act almost precipitated a
+fight, and led them out of the corral. Denver, friendly and glad,
+followed at the rancher's heels.
+
+"I'll keep them with me an' make lead dogs out of them," said Wade.
+"Belllounds, that bunch hasn't had enough to eat. They're half starved."
+
+"Wal, thet's worried me more'n you'll guess," declared Belllounds, with
+irritation. "What do a lot of cow-punchin' fellars know about dogs? Why,
+they nearly ate Bludsoe up. He wouldn't feed 'em. An' Wils, who seemed
+good with dogs, was taken off bad hurt the other day. Lem's been tryin'
+to rustle feed fer them. Now we'll give back the dogs you don't want to
+keep, an' thet way thin out the pack."
+
+"Yes, we won't need `em all. An' I reckon I'll take the worry of this
+dog-pack off your mind."
+
+"Thet's your job, Wade. My orders are fer you to kill off the varmints.
+Lions, wolves, coyotes. An' every fall some ole silvertip gits bad, an'
+now an' then other bears. Whatever you need in the way of supplies jest
+ask fer. We send regular to Kremmlin'. You can hunt fer two months yet,
+barrin' an onusual early winter.... I'm askin' you--if my son tramps on
+your toes--I'd take it as a favor fer you to be patient. He's only a boy
+yet, an' coltish."
+
+Wade divined that was a favor difficult for Belllounds to ask. The old
+rancher, dominant and forceful and self-sufficient all his days, had
+begun to feel an encroachment of opposition beyond his control. If he
+but realized it, the favor he asked of Wade was an appeal.
+
+"Belllounds, I get along with everybody," Wade assured him. "An' maybe I
+can help your son. Before I'd reached here I'd heard he was wild, an' so
+I'm prepared."
+
+"If you'd do thet--wal, I'd never forgit it," replied the rancher,
+slowly. "Jack's been away fer three years. Only got back a week or so
+ago. I calkilated he'd be sobered, steadied, by--thet--thet work I put
+him to. But I'm not sure. He's changed. When he gits his own way he's
+all I could ask. But thet way he wants ain't always what it ought to be.
+An' so thar's been clashes. But Jack's a fine young man. An' he'll
+outgrow his temper an' crazy notions. Work'll do it."
+
+"Boys will be boys," replied Wade, philosophically. "I've not forgotten
+when I was a boy."
+
+"Neither hev I. Wal, I'll be goin', Wade. I reckon Columbine will be up
+to call on you. Bein' the only woman-folk in my house, she sort of runs
+it. An' she's sure interested in thet pack of hounds."
+
+Belllounds trudged away, his fine old head erect, his gray hair shining
+in the sun.
+
+Wade sat down upon the step of his cabin, pondering over the rancher's
+remarks about his son. Recalling the young man's physiognomy, Wade began
+to feel that it was familiar to him. He had seen Jack Belllounds before.
+Wade never made mistakes in faces, though he often had a task to recall
+names. And he began to go over the recent past, recalling all that he
+could remember of Meeker, and Cripple Creek, where he had worked for
+several months, and so on, until he had gone back as far as his last
+trip to Denver.
+
+"Must have been there," mused Wade, thoughtfully, and he tried to recall
+all the faces he had seen. This was impossible, of course, yet he
+remembered many. Then he visualized the places in Denver that for one
+reason or another had struck him particularly. Suddenly into one of
+these flashed the pale, sullen, bold face of Jack Belllounds.
+
+"It was _there!_" he exclaimed, incredulously. "Well!... If thet's not
+the strangest yet! Could I be mistaken? No. I saw him.... Belllounds
+must have known it--must have let him stay there.... Maybe put him
+there! He's just the kind of a man to go to extremes to reform his son."
+
+Singular as was this circumstance, Wade dwelt only momentarily on it. He
+dismissed it with the conviction that it was another strange happening
+in the string of events that had turned his steps toward White Slides
+Ranch. Wade's mind stirred to the probability of an early sight of
+Columbine Belllounds. He would welcome it, both as interesting and
+pleasurable, and surely as a relief. The sooner a meeting with her was
+over the better. His life had been one long succession of shocks, so
+that it seemed nothing the future held could thrill him, amaze him,
+torment him. And yet how well he knew that his heart was only the more
+responsive for all it had withstood! Perhaps here at White Slides he
+might meet with an experience dwarfing all others. It was possible; it
+was in the nature of events. And though he repudiated such a
+possibility, he fortified himself against a subtle divination that he
+might at last have reached the end of his long trail, where anything
+might happen.
+
+Three of the hounds lay down at Wade's feet. Kane, the bloodhound, stood
+watching this new master, after the manner of a dog who was a judge of
+men. He sniffed at Wade. He grew a little less surly.
+
+Wade's gaze, however, was on the path that led down along the border of
+the brook to disappear in the willows. Above this clump of yellowing
+trees could be seen the ranch-house. A girl with fair hair stepped off
+the porch. She appeared to be carrying something in her arms, and
+shortly disappeared behind the willows. Wade saw her and surmised that
+she was coming to his cabin. He did not expect any more or think any
+more. His faculties condensed to the objective one of sight.
+
+The girl, when she reappeared, was perhaps a hundred yards distant. Wade
+bent on her one keen, clear glance. Then his brain and his blood beat
+wildly. He saw a slender girl in riding-costume, lithe and strong, with
+the free step of one used to the open. It was this form, this step that
+struck Wade. "My--God! how like Lucy!" he whispered, and he tried to
+pierce the distance to see her face. It gleamed in the sunshine. Her
+fair hair waved in the wind. She was coming, but so slowly! All of Wade
+that was physical and emotional seemed to wait--clamped. The moment was
+age-long, with nothing beyond it. While she was still at a distance her
+face became distinct. And Wade sustained a terrible shock.... Then, as
+one in a dream, as in a blur of strained peering into a maze, he saw the
+face of his sweetheart, his wife, the Lucy of his early manhood. It
+moved him out of the past. Closer! Pang on pang quivered in his heart.
+Was this only a nightmare? Or had he at last gone mad! This girl raised
+her head. She was looking--she saw him. Terror mounted upon Wade's
+consciousness.
+
+"That's Lucy's face!" he gasped. "So help--me, God!... It's for this--I
+wandered here! She's my flesh an' blood--my Lucy's child--my own!"
+
+Fear and presentiment and blank amaze and stricken consciousness left
+him in the lightning-flash of divination that was recognition as well. A
+shuddering cataclysm enveloped him, a passion so stupendous that it
+almost brought oblivion.
+
+The three hounds leaped up with barks and wagging tails. They welcomed
+this visitor. Kane lost still more of his canine aloofness.
+
+Wade's breast heaved. The blue sky, the gray hills, the green willows,
+all blurred in his sight, that seemed to hold clear only the face
+floating closer.
+
+"I'm Columbine Belllounds," said a voice.
+
+It stilled the storm in Wade. It was real. It was a voice of twenty
+years ago. The burden on his breast lifted. Then flashed the spirit, the
+old self-control of a man whose life had held many terrible moments.
+
+"Mornin', miss. I'm glad to meet you," he replied, and there was no
+break, no tone unnatural in his greeting.
+
+So they gazed at each other, she with that instinctive look peculiar to
+women in its intuitive powers, but common to all persons who had lived
+far from crowds and to whom a new-comer was an event. Wade's gaze,
+intense and all-embracing, found that face now closer in resemblance to
+the imagined Lucy's--a pretty face, rather than beautiful, but strong
+and sweet--its striking qualities being a colorless fairness of skin
+that yet held a rose and golden tint, and the eyes of a rare and
+exquisite shade of blue.
+
+"Oh! Are you feeling ill?" she asked. "You look so--so pale."
+
+"No. I'm only tuckered out," replied Wade, easily, as he wiped the
+clammy drops from his brow. "It was a long ride to get here."
+
+"I'm the lady of the house," she said, with a smile. "I'm glad to
+welcome you to White Slides, and hope you'll like it."
+
+"Well, Miss Columbine, I reckon I will," he replied, returning the
+smile. "Now if I was younger I'd like it powerful much."
+
+She laughed at that. "Men are all alike, young or old."
+
+"Don't ever think so," said Wade, earnestly.
+
+"No? I guess you're right about that. I've fetched you up some things
+for your cabin. May I peep in?"
+
+"Come in," replied Wade, rising. "You must excuse my manners. It's long
+indeed since I had a lady caller."
+
+She went in, and Wade, standing on the threshold, saw her survey the
+room with a woman's sweeping glance.
+
+"I told dad to put some--"
+
+"Miss, your dad told me to go get them, an' I've not done it yet. But I
+will presently."
+
+"Very well. I'll leave these things and come back later," she replied,
+depositing a bundle upon the floor. "You won't mind if I try to--to make
+you a little comfortable. It's dreadful the way outdoor men live when
+they do get indoors."
+
+"I reckon I'll be slow in lettin' you see what a good housekeeper I am,"
+he replied. "Because then, maybe, I'll see more of you."
+
+"Weren't you a sad flatterer in your day?" she queried, archly.
+
+Her intonation, the tilt of her head, gave Wade such a pang that he
+could not answer. And to hide his momentary restraint he turned back to
+the hounds. Then she came out upon the porch.
+
+"I love hounds," she said, patting Denver, which caress immediately made
+Jim and Sampson jealous. "I've gotten on pretty well with these, but
+that Kane won't make up. Isn't he splendid? But he's afraid--no, not
+afraid of me, but he doesn't like me."
+
+"It's mistrust. He's been hurt. I reckon he'll get over that after a
+while."
+
+"You don't beat dogs?" she asked, eagerly.
+
+"No, miss. That's not the way to get on with hounds or horses."
+
+Her glance was a blue flash of pleasure.
+
+"How glad that makes me! Why, I quit coming here to see and feed the
+dogs because somebody was always kicking them around."
+
+Wade handed the rope to her. "You hold them, so when I come out with
+some meat they won't pile over me." He went inside, took all that was
+left of the deer haunch out of his pack, and, picking up his knife,
+returned to the porch. The hounds saw the meat and yelped. They pulled
+on the rope.
+
+"You hounds behave," ordered Wade, as he sat down on the step and began
+to cut the meat. "Jim, you're the oldest an' hungriest. Here.... Now
+you, Sampson. Here!"... The big hound snapped at the meat. Whereupon
+Wade slapped him. "Are you a pup or a wolf that you grab for it? Here."
+Sampson was slower to act, but he snapped again. Whereupon Wade hit him
+again, with open hand, not with violence or rancor, but a blow that
+meant Sampson must obey.
+
+Next time the hound did not snap. Denver had to be cuffed several times
+before he showed deference to this new master. But the bloodhound Kane
+refused to take any meat out of Wade's hand. He growled and showed his
+teeth, and sniffed hungrily.
+
+"Kane will have to be handled carefully," observed Wade. "He'd bite
+pretty quick."
+
+"But, he's so splendid," said the girl. "I don't like to think he's
+mean. You'll be good to him--try to win him?"
+
+"I'll do my best with him."
+
+"Dad's full of glee that he has a real hunter at White Slides at last.
+Now I'm glad, and sorry, too. I hate to think of little calves being
+torn and killed by lions and wolves. And it's dreadful to know bears eat
+grown-up cattle. But I love the mourn of a wolf and the yelp of a
+coyote. I can't help hoping you don't kill them all--quite."
+
+"It's not likely, miss," he replied. "I'll be pretty sure to clean out
+the lions an' drive off the bears. But the wolf family can't be
+exterminated. No animal so cunnin' as a wolf!... I'll tell you.... Some
+years ago I went to cook on a ranch north of Denver, on the edge of the
+plains. An' right off I began to hear stories about a big lobo--a wolf
+that was an old residenter. He'd been known for long, an' he got meaner
+an' wiser as he was hunted. His specialty got to be yearlings, an' the
+ranchers all over rose up in arms against him. They hired all the old
+hunters an' trappers in the country to kill him. No good! Old Lobo went
+right on pullin' down yearlings. Every night he'd get one or more. An'
+he was so cute an' so swift that he'd work on different ranches on
+different nights. Finally he killed eleven yearlings for my boss on one
+night. Eleven! Think of that. An' then I said to my boss, 'I reckon
+you'd better let me go kill that gray butcher.' An' my boss laughed at
+me. But he let me go. He'd have tried anythin'. I took a hunk of meat, a
+blanket, my gun, an' a pair of snow-shoes, an' I set out on old Lobo's
+tracks.... An', Miss Columbine, I _walked_ old Lobo to death in
+the snow!"
+
+"Why, how wonderful!" exclaimed the girl, breathless and glowing with
+interest. "Oh, it seems a pity such a splendid brute should be killed.
+Wild animals are cruel. I wish it were different."
+
+"Life is cruel, miss, an' I echo your wish," replied Wade, sadly.
+
+"You have had great experiences. Dad said to me, 'Collie, here at last
+is a man who can tell you enough stories!'... But I don't believe you
+ever could."
+
+"You like stories?" asked Wade, curiously.
+
+"Love them. All kinds, but I like adventure best. _I_ should have been a
+boy. Isn't it strange, I can't hurt anything myself or bear to see even
+a steer slaughtered? But you can't tell too bloody and terrible stories
+for me. Except I hate Indian stories. The very thought of Indians makes
+me shudder.... Some day I'll tell you a story."
+
+Wade could not find his tongue readily.
+
+"I must go now," she continued, and moved off the porch. Then she
+hesitated, and turned with a smile that was wistful and impulsive. "I--I
+believe we'll be good friends."
+
+"Miss Columbine, we sure will, if I can live up to my part," replied
+Wade.
+
+Her smile deepened, even while her gaze grew unconsciously penetrating.
+Wade felt how subtly they were drawn to each other. But she had no
+inkling of that.
+
+"It takes two to make a bargain," she replied, seriously. "I've my part.
+Good-by."
+
+Wade watched her lithe stride, and as she drew away the restraint he had
+put upon himself loosened. When she disappeared his feeling burst all
+bounds. Dragging the dogs inside, he closed the door. Then, like one
+broken and spent, he fell face against the wall, with the hoarsely
+whispered words, "I'm thankin' God!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+September's glory of gold and red and purple began to fade with the
+autumnal equinox. It rained enough to soak the frost-bitten leaves, and
+then the mountain winds sent them flying and fluttering and scurrying to
+carpet the dells and spot the pools in the brooks and color the trails.
+When the weather cleared and the sun rose bright again many of the aspen
+thickets were leafless and bare, and the willows showed stark against
+the gray sage hills, and the vines had lost their fire. Hills and
+valleys had sobered with subtle change that left them none the less
+beautiful.
+
+A mile or more down the road from White Slides, in a protected nook,
+nestled two cabins belonging to a cattleman named Andrews, who had
+formerly worked for Belllounds and had recently gone into the stock
+business for himself. He had a rather young wife, and several children,
+and a brother who rode for him. These people were the only neighbors of
+Belllounds for some ten miles on the road toward Kremmling.
+
+Columbine liked Mrs. Andrews and often rode or walked down there for a
+little visit and a chat with her friend and a romp with the children.
+
+Toward the end of September Columbine found herself combating a strong
+desire to go down to the Andrews ranch and try to learn some news about
+Wilson Moore. If anything had been heard at White Slides it certainly
+had not been told her. Jack Belllounds had ridden to Kremmling and back
+in one day, but Columbine would have endured much before asking him for
+information.
+
+She did, however, inquire of the freighter who hauled Belllounds's
+supplies, and the answer she got was awkwardly evasive. That nettled
+Columbine. Also it raised a suspicion which she strove to subdue.
+Finally it seemed apparent that Wilson Moore's name was not to be
+mentioned to her.
+
+First, in her growing resentment, she had an impulse to go to her new
+friend, the hunter Wade, and confide in him not only her longing to
+learn about Wilson, but also other matters that were growing daily more
+burdensome. How strange for her to feel that in some way Jack Belllounds
+had come between her and the old man she loved and called father!
+Columbine had not divined that until lately. She felt it now in the fact
+that she no longer sought the rancher as she used to, and he had
+apparently avoided her. But then, Columbine reflected, she might be
+entirely wrong, for when Belllounds did meet her at meal-times, or
+anywhere, he seemed just as affectionate as of old. Still he was not the
+same man. A chill, an atmosphere of shadow, had pervaded the once
+wholesome ranch. And so, feeling not yet well enough acquainted with
+Wade to confide so intimately in him, she stifled her impulses and
+resolved to make some effort herself to find out what she wanted
+to know.
+
+As luck would have it, when she started out to walk down to the Andrews
+ranch she encountered Jack Belllounds.
+
+"Where are you going?" he inquired, inquisitively.
+
+"I'm going to see Mrs. Andrews," she replied.
+
+"No, you're not!" he declared, quickly, with a flash.
+
+Columbine felt a queer sensation deep within her, a hot little gathering
+that seemed foreign to her physical being, and ready to burst out. Of
+late it had stirred in her at words or acts of Jack Belllounds. She
+gazed steadily at him, and he returned her look with interest. What he
+was thinking she had no idea of, but for herself it was a recurrence and
+an emphasis of the fact that she seemed growing farther away from this
+young man she had to marry. The weeks since his arrival had been the
+most worrisome she could remember.
+
+"I _am_ going," she replied, slowly.
+
+"No!" he replied, violently. "I won't have you running off down there
+to--to gossip with that Andrews woman."
+
+"Oh, _you_ won't?" inquired Columbine, very quietly. How little he
+understood her!
+
+"That's what I said."
+
+"You're not my boss yet, Mister Jack Belllounds," she flashed, her
+spirit rising. He could irritate her as no one else.
+
+"I soon will be. And what's a matter of a week or a month?" he went on,
+calming down a little.
+
+"I've promised, yes," she said, feeling her face blanch, "and I keep my
+promises.... But I didn't say when. If you talk like that to me it might
+be a good many weeks--or--or months before I name the day."
+
+"_Columbine!_" he cried, as she turned away. There was genuine distress
+in his voice. Columbine felt again an assurance that had troubled her.
+No matter how she was reacting to this new relation, it seemed a fearful
+truth that Jack was really falling in love with her. This time she did
+not soften.
+
+"I'll call dad to _make_ you stay home," he burst out again, his temper
+rising.
+
+Columbine wheeled as on a pivot.
+
+"If you do you've got less sense than I thought."
+
+[Illustration: "I know why you're going. It's to see that club-footed
+cowboy Moore!... Don't let me catch you with him."]
+
+Passion claimed him then.
+
+"I know why you're going. It's to see that club-footed cowboy Moore!...
+Don't let me catch you with him!"
+
+Columbine turned her back upon Belllounds and swung away, every pulse in
+her throbbing and smarting. She hurried on into the road. She wanted to
+run, not to get out of sight or hearing, but to fly from something, she
+knew not what.
+
+"Oh! it's more than his temper!" she cried, hot tears in her eyes. "He's
+mean--_mean_--MEAN! What's the use of me denying that--any more--just
+because I love dad?... My life will be wretched.... It _is_ wretched!"
+
+Her anger did not last long, nor did her resentment. She reproached
+herself for the tart replies that had inflamed Jack. Never again would
+she forget herself!
+
+"But he--he makes me furious," she cried, in sudden excuse for herself.
+"What did he say? 'That club-footed cowboy Moore'!... Oh, that was vile.
+He's heard, then, that poor Wilson has a bad foot, perhaps permanently
+crippled.... If it's true.... But why should he yell that he knew I
+wanted to see Wilson?... I did _not!_ I _do_ not.... Oh, but I do,
+I do!"
+
+And then Columbine was to learn straightway that she would forget
+herself again, that she had forgotten, and that a sadder, stranger truth
+was dawning upon her--she was discovering another Columbine within
+herself, a wilful, passionate, different creature who would no longer
+be denied.
+
+Almost before Columbine realized that she had started upon the visit she
+was within sight of the Andrews ranch. So swiftly had she walked! It
+behooved her to hide such excitement as had dominated her. And to that
+end she slowed her pace, trying to put her mind on other matters.
+
+The children saw her first and rushed upon her, so that when she
+reached the cabin door she could not well have been otherwise than rosy
+and smiling. Mrs. Andrews, ruddy and strong, looked the pioneer
+rancher's hard-working wife. Her face brightened at the advent of
+Columbine, and showed a little surprise and curiosity as well.
+
+"Laws, but it's good to see you, Columbine," was her greeting. "You
+'ain't been here for a long spell."
+
+"I've been coming, but just put it off," replied Columbine.
+
+And so, after the manner of women neighbors, they began to talk of the
+fall round-up, and the near approach of winter with its loneliness, and
+the children, all of which naturally led to more personal and
+interesting topics.
+
+"An' is it so, Columbine, that you're to marry Jack Belllounds?" asked
+Mrs. Andrews, presently.
+
+"Yes, I guess it is," replied Columbine, smiling.
+
+"Humph! I'm no relative of yours or even a particular, close friend, but
+I'd like to say--"
+
+"Please don't," interposed Columbine.
+
+"All right, my girl. I guess it's better I don't say anythin'. It's a
+pity, though, onless you love this Buster Jack. An' you never used to do
+that, I'll swan."
+
+"No, I don't love Jack--yet--as I ought to love a husband. But I'll try,
+and if--if I--I never do--still, it's my duty to marry him."
+
+"Some woman ought to talk to Bill Belllounds," declared Mrs. Andrews
+with a grimness that boded ill for the old rancher.
+
+"Did you know we had a new man up at the ranch?" asked Columbine,
+changing the subject.
+
+"You mean the hunter, Hell-Bent Wade?"
+
+"Yes. But I hate that ridiculous name," said Columbine.
+
+"It's queer, like lots of names men get in these parts. An' it'll stick.
+Wade's been here twice; once as he was passin' with the hounds, an' the
+other night. I like him, Columbine. He's true-blue, for all his strange
+name. My men-folks took to him like ducks to water."
+
+"I'm glad. I took to him almost like that," rejoined Columbine. "He has
+the saddest face I ever saw."
+
+"Sad? Wal, yes. That man has seen a good deal of what they tacked on to
+his name. I laughed when I seen him first. Little lame fellar,
+crooked-legged an' ragged, with thet awful homely face! But I forgot how
+he looked next time he came."
+
+"That's just it. He's not much to look at, but you forget his homeliness
+right off," replied Columbine, warmly. "You feel something behind all
+his--his looks."
+
+"Wal, you an' me are women, an' we feel different," replied Mrs.
+Andrews. "Now my men-folks take much store on what Wade can _do_. He
+fixed up Tom's gun, that's been out of whack for a year. He made our
+clock run ag'in, an' run better than ever. Then he saved our cow from
+that poison-weed. An' Tom gave her up to die."
+
+"The boys up home were telling me Mr. Wade had saved some of our cattle.
+Dad was delighted. You know he's lost a good many head of stock from
+this poison-weed. I saw so many dead steers on my last ride up the
+mountain. It's too bad our new man didn't get here sooner to save them.
+I asked him how he did it, and he said he was a doctor."
+
+"A cow-doctor," laughed Mrs. Andrews. "Wal, that's a new one on me.
+Accordin' to Tom, this here Wade, when he seen our sick cow, said she'd
+eat poison-weed--larkspur, I think he called it--an' then when she drank
+water it formed a gas in her stomach an' she swelled up turrible. Wade
+jest stuck his knife in her side a little an' let the gas out, and she
+got well."
+
+"Ughh!... What cruel doctoring! But if it saves the cattle, then it's
+good."
+
+"It'll save them if they can be got to right off," replied Mrs. Andrews.
+
+"Speaking of doctors," went on Columbine, striving to make her query
+casual, "do you know whether or not Wilson Moore had his foot treated by
+a doctor at Kremmling?"
+
+"He did not," answered Mrs. Andrews. "Wasn't no doctor there. They'd had
+to send to Denver, an', as Wils couldn't take that trip or wait so long,
+why, Mrs. Plummer fixed up his foot. She made a good job of it, too, as
+I can testify."
+
+"Oh, I'm--very thankful!" murmured Columbine. "He'll not be crippled
+or--or club-footed, then?"
+
+"I reckon not. You can see for yourself. For Wils's here. He was drove
+up night before last an' is stayin' with my brother-in-law--in the other
+cabin there."
+
+Mrs. Andrews launched all this swiftly, with evident pleasure, but with
+more of woman's subtle motive. Her eyes were bent with shrewd kindness
+upon the younger woman.
+
+"Here!" exclaimed Columbine, with a start, and for an instant she was at
+the mercy of conflicting surprise and joy and alarm. Alternately she
+flushed and paled.
+
+"Sure he's here," replied Mrs. Andrews, now looking out of the door. "He
+ought to be in sight somewheres. He's walkin' with a crutch."
+
+"Crutch!" cried Columbine, in dismay.
+
+"Yes, crutch, an' he made it himself.... I don't see him nowheres. Mebbe
+he went in when he see you comin'. For he's powerful sensitive about
+that crutch."
+
+"Then--if he's so--so sensitive, perhaps I'd better go," said Columbine,
+struggling with embarrassment and discomfiture. What if she happened to
+meet him! Would he imagine her purpose in coming there? Her heart began
+to beat unwontedly.
+
+"Suit yourself, lass," replied Mrs. Andrews, kindly. "I know you and
+Wils quarreled, for he told me. An' it's a pity.... Wal, if you must go,
+I hope you'll come again before the snow flies. Good-by."
+
+Columbine bade her a hurried good-by and ventured forth with misgivings.
+And almost around the corner of the second cabin, which she had to pass,
+and before she had time to recover her composure, she saw Wilson Moore,
+hobbling along on a crutch, holding a bandaged foot off the ground. He
+had seen her; he was hurrying to avoid a meeting, or to get behind the
+corrals there before she observed him.
+
+"Wilson!" she called, involuntarily. The instant the name left her lips
+she regretted it. But too late! The cowboy halted, slowly turned.
+
+Then Columbine walked swiftly up to him, suddenly as brave as she had
+been fearful. Sight of him had changed her.
+
+"Wilson Moore, you meant to avoid me," she said, with reproach.
+
+"Howdy, Columbine!" he drawled, ignoring her words.
+
+"Oh, I was so sorry you were hurt!" she burst out. "And now I'm so
+glad--you're--you're ... Wilson, you're thin and pale--you've suffered!"
+
+"It pulled me down a bit," he replied.
+
+Columbine had never before seen his face anything except bronzed and
+lean and healthy, but now it bore testimony to pain and strain and
+patient endurance. He looked older. Something in the fine, dark, hazel
+eyes hurt her deeply.
+
+"You never sent me word," she went on, reproachfully. "No one would tell
+me anything. The boys said they didn't know. Dad was angry when I asked
+him. I'd never have asked Jack. And the freighter who drove up--he lied
+to me. So I came down here to-day purposely to ask news of you, but I
+never dreamed you were here.... Now I'm glad I came."
+
+What a singular, darkly kind, yet strange glance he gave her!
+
+"That was like you, Columbine," he said. "I knew you'd feel badly about
+my accident. But how could I send word to you?"
+
+"You saved--Pronto," she returned, with a strong tremor in her voice. "I
+can't thank you enough."
+
+"That was a funny thing. Pronto went out of his head. I hope he's all
+right."
+
+"He's almost well. It took some time to pick all the splinters out of
+him. He'll be all right soon--none the worse for that--that cowboy trick
+of Mister Jack Belllounds."
+
+Columbine finished bitterly. Moore turned his thoughtful gaze away from
+her.
+
+"I hope Old Bill is well," he remarked, lamely.
+
+"Have you told your folks of your accident?" asked Columbine, ignoring
+his remark.
+
+"No."
+
+"Oh, Wilson, you ought to have sent for them, or have written at least."
+
+"Me? To go crying for them when I got in trouble? I couldn't see it that
+way."
+
+"Wilson, you'll be going--home--soon--to Denver--won't you?" she
+faltered.
+
+"No," he replied, shortly.
+
+"But what will you do? Surely you can't work--not so soon?"
+
+"Columbine, I'll never--be able to ride again--like I used to," he said,
+tragically. "I'll ride, yes, but never the old way."
+
+"Oh!" Columbine's tone, and the exquisite softness and tenderness with
+which she placed a hand on the rude crutch would have been enlightening
+to any one but these two absorbed in themselves. "I can't bear to
+believe that."
+
+"I'm afraid it's true. Bad smash, Columbine! I just missed being
+club-footed."
+
+"You should have care. You should have.... Wilson, do you intend to stay
+here with the Andrews?"
+
+"Not much. They have troubles of their own. Columbine, I'm going to
+homestead one hundred and sixty acres."
+
+"Homestead!" she exclaimed, in amaze. "Where?"
+
+"Up there under Old White Slides. I've long intended to. You know that
+pretty little valley under the red bluff. There's a fine spring. You've
+been there with me. There by the old cabin built by prospectors?"
+
+"Yes, I know. It's a pretty place--fine valley, but Wils, you can't
+_live_ there," she expostulated.
+
+"Why not, I'd like to know?"
+
+"That little cubby-hole! It's only a tiny one-room cabin, roof all gone,
+chinks open, chimney crumbling.... Wilson, you don't mean to tell me you
+want to live there alone?"
+
+"Sure. What'd you think?" he replied, with sarcasm.
+
+"Expect me to _marry_ some girl? Well, I wouldn't, even if any one would
+have a cripple."
+
+"Who--who will take care of you?" she asked, blushing furiously.
+
+"I'll take care of myself," he declared. "Good Lord! Columbine, I'm not
+an invalid yet. I've got a few friends who'll help me fix up the cabin.
+And that reminds me. There's a lot of my stuff up in the bunk-house at
+White Slides. I'm going to drive up soon to haul it away."
+
+"Wilson Moore, do you mean it?" she asked, with grave wonder. "Are you
+going to homestead near White Slides Ranch--and _live_ there--when--"
+
+She could not finish. An overwhelming disaster, for which she had no
+name, seemed to be impending.
+
+"Yes, I am," he replied. "Funny how things turn out, isn't it?"
+
+"It's very--very funny," she said, dazedly, and she turned slowly away
+without another word.
+
+"Good-by, Columbine," he called out after her, with farewell, indeed, in
+his voice.
+
+All the way home Columbine was occupied with feelings that swayed her to
+the exclusion of rational consideration of the increasing perplexity of
+her situation. And to make matters worse, when she arrived at the ranch
+it was to meet Jack Belllounds with a face as black as a thunder-cloud.
+
+"The old man wants to see you," he announced, with an accent that
+recalled his threat of a few hours back.
+
+"Does he?" queried Columbine, loftily. "From the courteous way you speak
+I imagine it's important."
+
+Belllounds did not deign to reply to this. He sat on the porch, where
+evidently he had awaited her return, and he looked anything but happy.
+
+"Where is dad?" continued Columbine.
+
+Jack motioned toward the second door, beyond which he sat, the one that
+opened into the room the rancher used as a kind of office and storeroom.
+As Columbine walked by Jack he grasped her skirt.
+
+"Columbine! you're angry?" he said, appealingly.
+
+"I reckon I am," replied Columbine.
+
+"Don't go in to dad when you're that way," implored Jack. "He's angry,
+too--and--and--it'll only make matters worse."
+
+From long experience Columbine could divine when Jack had done something
+in the interest of self and then had awakened to possible consequences.
+She pulled away from him without replying, and knocked on the
+office door.
+
+"Come in," called the rancher.
+
+Columbine went in. "Hello, dad! Do you want me?"
+
+Belllounds sat at an old table, bending over a soiled ledger, with a
+stubby pencil in his huge hand. When he looked up Columbine gave a
+little start.
+
+"Where've you been?" he asked, gruffly.
+
+"I've been calling on Mrs. Andrews," replied Columbine.
+
+"Did you go thar to see her?"
+
+"Why--certainly!" answered Columbine, with a slow break in her speech.
+
+"You didn't go to meet Wilson Moore?"
+
+"No."
+
+"An' I reckon you'll say you hadn't heerd he was there?"
+
+"I had not," flashed Columbine.
+
+"Wal, _did_ you see him?"
+
+"Yes, sir, I did, but quite by accident."
+
+"Ahuh! Columbine, are you lyin' to me?"
+
+The hot blood flooded to Columbine's cheeks, as if she had been struck a
+blow.
+
+"_Dad_!" she cried, in hurt amaze.
+
+Belllounds seemed thick, imponderable, as if something had forced a
+crisis in him and his brain was deeply involved. The habitual, cool,
+easy, bold, and frank attitude in the meeting of all situations seemed
+to have been encroached upon by a break, a bewilderment, a lessening of
+confidence.
+
+"Wal, are you lyin'?" he repeated, either blind to or unaware of her
+distress.
+
+"I could not--lie to you," she faltered, "even--if--I wanted to."
+
+The heavy, shadowed gaze of his big eyes was bent upon her as if she had
+become a new and perplexing problem.
+
+"But you seen Moore?"
+
+"Yes--sir." Columbine's spirit rose.
+
+"An' talked with him?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Lass, I ain't likin' thet, an' I ain't likin' the way you look an'
+speak."
+
+"I am sorry. I can't help either."
+
+"What'd this cowboy say to you?"
+
+"We talked mostly about his injured foot."
+
+"An' what else?" went on Belllounds, his voice rising.
+
+"About--what he meant to do now."
+
+"Ahuh! An' thet's homesteadin' the Sage Creek Valley?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Did you want him to do thet?"
+
+"I! Indeed I didn't."
+
+"Columbine, not so long ago you told me this fellar wasn't sweet on you.
+An' do you still say that to me--are you still insistin' he ain't in
+love with you?"
+
+"He never said so--I never believed it ... and now I'm sure--he isn't!"
+
+"Ahuh! Wal, thet same day you was jest as sure you didn't care anythin'
+particular fer him. Are you thet sure now?"
+
+"No!" whispered Columbine, very low. She trembled with a suggestion of
+unknown forces. Not to save a new and growing pride would she evade any
+question from this man upon whom she had no claim, to whom she owed her
+life and her bringing up. But something cold formed in her.
+
+Belllounds, self-centered and serious as he strangely was, seemed to
+check his probing, either from fear of hearing more from her or from an
+awakening of former kindness. But her reply was a shock to him, and,
+throwing down his pencil with the gesture of a man upon whom decision
+was forced, he rose to tower over her.
+
+"You've been like a daughter to me. I've done all I knowed how fer you.
+I've lived up to the best of my lights. An' I've loved you," he said,
+sonorously and pathetically. "You know what my hopes are--fer the
+boy--an' fer you.... We needn't waste any more talk. From this minnit
+you're free to do as you like. Whatever you do won't make any change in
+my carin' fer you.... But you gotta decide. Will you marry Jack or not?"
+
+"I promised you--I would. I'll keep my word," replied Columbine,
+steadily.
+
+"So far so good," went on the rancher. "I'm respectin' you fer what you
+say.... An' now, _when_ will you marry him?"
+
+The little room drifted around in Columbine's vague, blank sight. All
+seemed to be drifting. She had no solid anchor.
+
+"Any--day you say--the sooner the--better," she whispered.
+
+"Wal, lass, I'm thankin' you," he replied, with voice that sounded afar
+to her. "An' I swear, if I didn't believe it's best fer Jack an' you,
+why I'd never let you marry.... So we'll set the day. October first!
+Thet's the day you was fetched to me a baby--more'n seventeen
+years ago."
+
+"October--first--then, dad," she said, brokenly, and she kissed him as
+if in token of what she knew she owed him. Then she went out, closing
+the door behind her.
+
+Jack, upon seeing her, hastily got up, with more than concern in his
+pale face.
+
+"Columbine!" he cried, hoarsely. "How you look!... Tell me. What
+happened? Girl, don't tell me you've--you've--"
+
+"Jack Belllounds," interrupted Columbine, in tragic amaze at this truth
+about to issue from her lips, "I've promised to marry you--on
+October first."
+
+He let out a shout of boyish exultation and suddenly clasped her in his
+arms. But there was nothing boyish in the way he handled her, in the
+almost savage evidence of possession. "Collie, I'm mad about you," he
+began, ardently. "You never let me tell you. And I've grown worse and
+worse. To-day I--when I saw you going down there--where that Wilson
+Moore is--I got terribly jealous. I was sick. I'd been glad to kill
+him!... It made me see how I loved you. Oh, I didn't know. But now ...
+Oh, I'm mad for you!" He crushed her to him, unmindful of her struggles;
+his face and neck were red; his eyes on fire. And he began trying to
+kiss her mouth, but failed, as she struggled desperately. His kisses
+fell upon cheek and ear and hair.
+
+"Let me--go!" panted Columbine. "You've no--no--Oh, you might have
+waited." Breaking from him, she fled, and got inside her room with the
+door almost closed, when his foot intercepted it.
+
+Belllounds was half laughing his exultation, half furious at her escape,
+and altogether beside himself.
+
+"No," she replied, so violently that it appeared to awake him to the
+fact that there was some one besides himself to consider.
+
+"Aw!" He heaved a deep sigh. "All right. I won't try to get in. Only
+listen.... Collie, don't mind my--my way of showing you how I felt. Fact
+is, I went plumb off my head. Is that any wonder, you--you darling--when
+I've been so scared you'd never have me? Collie, I've felt that you were
+the one thing in the world I wanted most and would never get. But
+now.... October first! Listen. I promise you I'll not drink any
+more--nor gamble--nor nag dad for money. I don't like his way of running
+the ranch, but I'll do it, as long as he lives. I'll even try to
+tolerate that club-footed cowboy's brass in homesteading a ranch right
+under my nose. I'll--I'll do anything you ask of me."
+
+"Then--please--go away!" cried Columbine, with a sob.
+
+When he was gone Columbine barred the door and threw herself upon her
+bed to shut out the light and to give vent to her surcharged emotions.
+She wept like a girl whose youth was ending; and after the paroxysm had
+passed, leaving her weak and strangely changed, she tried to reason out
+what had happened to her. Over and over again she named the appeal of
+the rancher, the sense of her duty, the decision she had reached, and
+the disgust and terror inspired in her by Jack Belllounds's reception of
+her promise. These were facts of the day and they had made of her a
+palpitating, unhappy creature, who nevertheless had been brave to face
+the rancher and confess that which she had scarce confessed to herself.
+But now she trembled and cringed on the verge of a catastrophe that
+withheld its whole truth.
+
+"I begin to see now," she whispered, after the thought had come and gone
+and returned to change again. "If Wilson had--cared for me I--I might
+have--cared, too.... But I do--care--something. I couldn't lie to dad.
+Only I'm not sure--how much. I never dreamed of--of _loving_ him, or any
+one. It's so strange. All at once I feel old. And I can't understand
+these--these feelings that shake me."
+
+So Columbine brooded over the trouble that had come to her, never
+regretting her promise to the old rancher, but growing keener in the
+realization of a complexity in her nature that sooner or later would
+separate the life of her duty from the life of her desire. She seemed
+all alone, and when this feeling possessed her a strange reminder of the
+hunter Wade flashed up. She stifled another impulse to confide in him.
+Wade had the softness of a woman, and his face was a record of the
+trials and travails through which he had come unhardened, unembittered.
+Yet how could she tell her troubles to him? A stranger, a rough man of
+the wilds, whose name had preceded him, notorious and deadly, with that
+vital tang of the West in its meaning! Nevertheless, Wade drew her, and
+she thought of him until the recurring memory of Jack Belllounds's rude
+clasp again crept over her with an augmenting disgust and fear. Must she
+submit to that? Had she promised that? And then Columbine felt the
+dawning of realities.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+Columbine was awakened in the gray dawn by the barking of coyotes. She
+dreaded the daylight thus heralded. Never before in her life had she
+hated the rising of the sun. Resolutely she put the past behind her and
+faced the future, believing now that with the great decision made she
+needed only to keep her mind off what might have been, and to attend
+to her duty.
+
+At breakfast she found the rancher in better spirits than he had been
+for weeks. He informed her that Jack had ridden off early for Kremmling,
+there to make arrangements for the wedding on October first.
+
+"Jack's out of his head," said Belllounds. "Wal, thet comes only onct in
+a man's life. I remember ... Jack's goin' to drive you to Kremmlin' an'
+ther take stage fer Denver. I allow you'd better put in your best licks
+on fixin' up an' packin' the clothes you'll need. Women-folk naturally
+want to look smart on weddin'-trips."
+
+"Dad!" exclaimed Columbine, in dismay. "I never thought of clothes. And
+I don't want to leave White Slides."
+
+"But, lass, you're goin' to be married!" expostulated Belllounds.
+
+"Didn't it occur to Jack to take me to Kremmling? I can't make new
+dresses out of old ones."
+
+"Wal, I reckon neither of us thought of thet. But you can buy what you
+like in Denver."
+
+Columbine resigned herself. After all, what did it matter to her? The
+vague, haunting dreams of girlhood would never come true. So she went to
+her wardrobe and laid out all her wearing apparel. Taking stock of it
+this way caused her further dismay, for she had nothing fit to wear in
+which either to be married or to take a trip to Denver. There appeared
+to be nothing to do but take the rancher's advice, and Columbine set
+about refurbishing her meager wardrobe. She sewed all day.
+
+What with self-control and work and the passing of hours, Columbine
+began to make some approach to tranquillity. In her simplicity she even
+began to hope that being good and steadfast and dutiful would earn her a
+little meed of happiness. Some haunting doubt of this flashed over her
+mind like a swift shadow of a black wing, but she dispelled that as she
+had dispelled the fear and disgust which often rose up in her mind.
+
+To Columbine's surprise and to the rancher's concern the prospective
+bridegroom did not return from Kremmling on the second day. When night
+came Belllounds reluctantly gave up looking for him.
+
+Jack's non-appearance suited Columbine, and she would have been glad to
+be let alone until October first, which date now seemed appallingly
+close. On the afternoon of Jack's third day of absence from the ranch
+Columbine rode out for some needed exercise. Pronto not being available,
+she rode another mustang and one that kept her busy. On the way back to
+the ranch she avoided the customary trail which led by the cabins of
+Wade and the cowboys. Columbine had not seen one of her friends since
+the unfortunate visit to the Andrews ranch. She particularly shrank from
+meeting Wade, which feeling was in strange contrast to her
+former impulses.
+
+As she rode around the house she encountered Wilson Moore seated in a
+light wagon. Her mustang reared, almost unseating her. But she handled
+him roughly, being suddenly surprised and angry at this unexpected
+meeting with the cowboy.
+
+"Howdy, Columbine!" greeted Wilson, as she brought the mustang to his
+feet. "You're sure learning to handle a horse--since I left this here
+ranch. Wonder who's teaching you! I never could get you to rake even
+a bronc!"
+
+The cowboy had drawled out his admiring speech, half amused and half
+satiric.
+
+"I'm--mad!" declared Columbine. "That's why."
+
+"What're you mad at?" queried Wilson.
+
+She did not reply, but kept on gazing steadily at him. Moore still
+looked pale and drawn, but he had improved since last she saw him.
+
+"Aren't you going to speak to a fellow?" he went on.
+
+"How are you, Wils?" she asked.
+
+"Pretty good for a club-footed has-been cow puncher."
+
+"I wish you wouldn't call yourself such names," rejoined Columbine,
+peevishly. "You're not a club-foot. I hate that word!"
+
+"Me, too. Well, joking aside, I'm better. My foot is fine. Now, if I
+don't hurt it again I'll sure never be a club-foot."
+
+"You must be careful," she said, earnestly.
+
+"Sure. But it's hard for me to be idle. Think of me lying still all day
+with nothing to do but read! That's what knocked me out. I wouldn't have
+minded the pain if I could have gotten about.... Columbine, I've
+moved in!"
+
+"What! Moved in?" she queried, blankly.
+
+"Sure. I'm in my cabin on the hill. It's plumb great. Tom Andrews and
+Bert and your hunter Wade fixed up the cabin for me. That Wade is sure a
+good fellow. And say! what he can do with his hands! He's been kind to
+me. Took an interest in me, and between you and me he sort of
+cheered me up."
+
+"Cheered you up! Wils, were you unhappy?" she asked, directly.
+
+"Well, rather. What'd you expect of a cowboy who'd crippled
+himself--and lost his girl?"
+
+Columbine felt the smart of tingling blood in her face, and she looked
+from Wilson to the wagon. It contained saddles, blankets, and other
+cowboy accoutrements for which he had evidently come.
+
+"That's a double misfortune," she replied, evenly. "It's too bad both
+came at once. It seems to me if I were a cowboy and--and felt so toward
+a girl, I'd have let her know."
+
+"This girl I mean knew, all right," he said, nodding his head.
+
+"She didn't--she didn't!" cried Columbine.
+
+"How do you know?" he queried, with feigned surprise. He was bent upon
+torturing her.
+
+"You meant me. I'm the girl you lost!"
+
+"Yes, you are--God help me!" replied Moore, with genuine emotion.
+
+"But you--you never told me--you never told me," faltered Columbine, in
+distress.
+
+"Never told you what? That you were my girl?"
+
+"No--no. But that you--you cared--"
+
+"Columbine Belllounds, I told you--let you see--in every way under the
+sun," he flashed at her.
+
+"Let me see--what?" faltered Columbine, feeling as if the world were
+about to end.
+
+"That I loved you."
+
+"Oh!... Wilson!" whispered Columbine, wildly.
+
+"Yes--loved you. Could you have been so innocent--so blind you never
+knew? I can't believe it."
+
+"But I never dreamed you--you--" She broke off dazedly, overwhelmed by a
+tragic, glorious truth.
+
+"Collie!... Would it have made any difference?"
+
+"Oh, all the difference in the world!" she wailed.
+
+"What difference?" he asked, passionately.
+
+Columbine gazed wide-eyed and helpless at the young man. She did not
+know how to tell him what all the difference in the world really was.
+
+Suddenly Wilson turned away from her to listen. Then she heard rapid
+beating of hoofs on the road.
+
+"That's Buster Jack," said the cowboy. "Just my luck! There wasn't any
+one here when I arrived. Reckon I oughtn't have stayed. Columbine, you
+look pretty much upset."
+
+"What do I care how I look!" she exclaimed, with a sharp resentment
+attending this abrupt and painful break in her agitation.
+
+Next moment Jack Belllounds galloped a foam-lashed horse into the
+courtyard and hauled up short with a recklessness he was noted for. He
+swung down hard and violently cast the reins from him.
+
+"Ahuh! I gambled on just this," he declared, harshly.
+
+Columbine's heart sank. His gaze was fixed on her face, with its
+telltale evidences of agitation.
+
+"What've you been crying about?" he demanded.
+
+"I haven't been," she retorted.
+
+His bold and glaring eyes, hot with sudden temper, passed slowly from
+her to the cowboy. Columbine became aware then that Jack was under the
+influence of liquor. His heated red face grew darker with a
+sneering contempt.
+
+"Where's dad?" he asked, wheeling toward her.
+
+"I don't know. He's not here," replied Columbine, dismounting. The leap
+of thought and blood to Jack's face gave her a further sinking of the
+heart. The situation unnerved her.
+
+Wilson Moore had grown a shade paler. He gathered up his reins, ready to
+drive off.
+
+"Belllounds, I came up after my things I'd left in the bunk," he said,
+coolly. "Happened to meet Columbine and stopped to chat a minute."
+
+"That's what _you_ say," sneered Belllounds. "You were making love to
+Columbine. I saw that in her face. You know it--and she knows it--and I
+know it.... You're a liar!"
+
+"Belllounds, I reckon I am," replied Moore, turning white. "I did tell
+Columbine what I thought she knew--what I ought to have told long ago."
+
+"Ahuh! Well, I don't want to hear it. But I'm going to search that
+wagon."
+
+"What!" ejaculated the cowboy, dropping his reins as if they stung him.
+
+"You just hold on till I see what you've got in there," went on
+Belllounds, and he reached over into the wagon and pulled at a saddle.
+
+"Say, do you mean anything?... This stuff's mine, every strap of it.
+Take your hands off."
+
+Belllounds leaned on the wagon and looked up with insolent, dark intent.
+
+"Moore, I wouldn't trust you. I think you'd steal anything you got your
+hands on."
+
+Columbine uttered a passionate little cry of shame and protest.
+
+"Jack, how dare you!"
+
+"You shut up! Go in the house!" he ordered.
+
+"You insult me," she replied, in bitter humiliation.
+
+"Will you go in?" he shouted.
+
+"No, I won't."
+
+"All right, look on, then. I'd just as lief have you." Then he turned to
+the cowboy. "Moore, show up that wagon-load of stuff unless you want me
+to throw it out in the road."
+
+"Belllounds, you know I can't do that," replied Moore, coldly. "And I'll
+give you a hunch. You'd better shut up yourself and let me drive on....
+If not for her sake, then for your own."
+
+Belllounds grasped the reins, and with a sudden jerk pulled them out of
+the cowboy's hands.
+
+"You damn club-foot! Your gift of gab doesn't go with me," yelled
+Belllounds, as he swung up on the hub of the wheel. But it was manifest
+that his desire to search the wagon was only a pretense, for while he
+pulled at this and that his evil gaze was on the cowboy, keen to meet
+any move that might give excuse for violence. Moore evidently read this,
+for, gazing at Columbine, he shook his head, as if to acquaint her with
+a situation impossible to help.
+
+"Columbine, please hand me up the reins," he said. "I'm lame, you know.
+Then I'll be going."
+
+Columbine stepped forward to comply, when Belllounds, leaping down from
+the wheel, pushed her hack with masterful hand. Opposition to him was
+like waving a red flag in the face of a bull. Columbine recoiled from
+his look as well as touch.
+
+"You keep out of this or I'll teach you who's boss here," he said,
+stridently.
+
+"You're going too far!" burst out Columbine.
+
+Meanwhile Wilson had laboriously climbed down out of the wagon, and,
+utilizing his crutch, he hobbled to where Belllounds had thrown the
+reins, and stooped to pick them up. Belllounds shoved Columbine farther
+back, and then he leaped to confront the cowboy.
+
+"I've got you now, Moore," he said, hoarse and low. Stripped of all
+pretense, he showed the ungovernable nature of his temper. His face grew
+corded and black. The hand he thrust out shook like a leaf. "You
+smooth-tongued liar! I'm on to your game. I know you'd put her against
+me. I know you'd try to win her--less than a week before her
+wedding-day.... But it's not for that I'm going to beat hell out of you!
+It's because I hate you! Ever since I can remember my father held you up
+to me! And he sent me to--to--he sent me away because of you. By God!
+that's why I hate you!"
+
+All that was primitive and violent and base came out with strange
+frankness in Belllounds's tirade. Only when calm could his mind be
+capable of hidden calculation. The devil that was in him now
+seemed rampant.
+
+"Belllounds, you're mighty brave to stack up this way against a
+one-legged man," declared the cowboy, with biting sarcasm.
+
+"If you had two club-feet I'd only be the gladder," yelled Belllounds,
+and swinging his arm, he slapped Moore so that it nearly toppled him
+over. Only the injured foot, coming down hard, saved him.
+
+When Columbine saw that, and then how Wilson winced and grew deathly
+pale, she uttered a low cry, and she seemed suddenly rooted to the spot,
+weak, terrified at what was now inevitable, and growing sick and cold
+and faint.
+
+"It's a damn lucky thing for you I'm not packing a gun," said Moore,
+grimly. "But you knew--or you'd never hit me--you coward."
+
+"I'll make you swallow that," snarled Belllounds, and this time he swung
+his fist, aiming a heavy blow at Moore.
+
+Then the cowboy whirled aloft the heavy crutch. "If you hit at me again
+I'll let out what little brains you've got. God knows that's little
+enough!... Belllounds, I'm going to call you to your face--before this
+girl your bat-eyed old man means to give you. You're not drunk. You're
+only ugly--mean. You've got a chance now to lick me because I'm
+crippled. And you're going to make the most of it. Why, you cur, I could
+come near licking you with only one leg. But if you touch me again I'll
+brain you!... You never were any good. You're no good now. You never
+will be anything but Buster Jack--half dotty, selfish as hell,
+bull-headed and mean!... And that's the last word I'll ever waste
+on you."
+
+"I'll kill you!" bawled Belllounds, black with fury.
+
+Moore wielded the crutch menacingly, but as he was not steady on his
+feet he was at the disadvantage his adversary had calculated upon.
+Belllounds ran around the cowboy, and suddenly plunged in to grapple
+with him. The crutch descended, but to little purpose. Belllounds's
+heavy onslaught threw Moore to the ground. Before he could rise
+Belllounds pounced upon him.
+
+Columbine saw all this dazedly. As Wilson fell she closed her eyes,
+fighting a faintness that almost overcame her. She heard wrestling,
+threshing sounds, and sodden thumps, and a scattering of gravel. These
+noises seemed at first distant, then grew closer. As she gazed again
+with keener perception, Moore's horse plunged away from the fiercely
+struggling forms that had rolled almost under his feet. During the
+ensuing moments it was an equal battle so far as Columbine could tell.
+Repelled, yet fascinated, she watched. They beat each other, grappled
+and rolled over, first one on top, then the other. But the advantage of
+being uppermost presently was Belllounds's. Moore was weakening. That
+became noticeable more and more after each time he had wrestled and
+rolled about. Then Belllounds, getting this position, lay with his
+weight upon Moore, holding him down, and at the same time kicking with
+all his might. He was aiming to disable the cowboy by kicking the
+injured foot. And he was succeeding. Moore let out a strangled cry, and
+struggled desperately. But he was held and weighted down. Belllounds
+raised up now and, looking backward, he deliberately and furiously
+kicked Moore's bandaged foot; once, twice, again and again, until the
+straining form under him grew limp. Columbine, slowly freezing with
+horror, saw all this. She could not move. She could not scream. She
+wanted to rush in and drag Jack off of Wilson, to hurt him, to kill him,
+but her muscles were paralyzed. In her agony she could not even look
+away. Belllounds got up astride his prostrate adversary and began to
+beat him brutally, swinging heavy, sodden blows. His face then was
+terrible to see. He meant murder.
+
+Columbine heard approaching voices and the thumping of hasty feet. That
+unclamped her cloven tongue. Wildly she screamed. Old Bill Belllounds
+appeared, striding off the porch. And the hunter Wade came running
+down the path.
+
+"Dad! he's killing Wilson!" cried Columbine.
+
+"Hyar, you devil!" roared the rancher.
+
+Jack Belllounds got up. Panting, disheveled, with hair ruffled and face
+distorted, he was not a pleasant sight for even the father. Moore lay
+unconscious, with ghastly, bloody features, and his bandaged foot showed
+great splotches of red.
+
+"My Gawd, son!" gasped Old Bill. "You didn't pick on this hyar crippled
+boy?"
+
+The evidence was plain, in Moore's quiet, pathetic form, in the panting,
+purple-faced son. Jack Belllounds did not answer. He was in the grip of
+a passion that had at last been wholly unleashed and was still
+unsatisfied. Yet a malignant and exultant gratification showed in
+his face.
+
+"That--evens us--up, Moore," he panted, and stalked away.
+
+By this time Wade reached the cowboy and knelt beside him. Columbine
+came running to fall on her knees. The old rancher seemed stricken.
+
+"Oh--Oh! it was terrible--" cried Columbine. "Oh--he's so white--and the
+blood--"
+
+"Now, lass, that's no way for a woman," said Wade, and there was
+something in his kind tone, in his look, in his presence, that calmed
+Columbine. "I'll look after Moore. You go get some water an' a towel."
+
+Columbine rose to totter into the house. She saw a red stain on the hand
+she had laid upon the cowboy's face, and with a strange, hot, bursting
+sensation, strong and thrilling, she put that red place to her lips.
+Running out with the things required by Wade, she was in time to hear
+the rancher say, "Looks hurt bad, to me."
+
+"Yes, I reckon," replied Wade.
+
+While Columbine held Moore's head upon her lap the hunter bathed the
+bloody face. It was battered and bruised and cut, and in some places, as
+fast as Wade washed away the red, it welled out again.
+
+Columbine watched that quiet face, while her heart throbbed and swelled
+with emotions wholly beyond her control and understanding. When at last
+Wilson opened his eyes, fluttering at first, and then wide, she felt a
+surge that shook her whole body. He smiled wanly at her, and at Wade,
+and then his gaze lifted to Belllounds.
+
+"I guess--he licked me," he said, in weak voice. "He kept kicking my
+sore foot--till I fainted. But he licked me--all right."
+
+"Wils, mebbe he did lick you," replied the old rancher, brokenly, "but
+I reckon he's damn little to be proud of--lickin' a crippled
+man--thet way."
+
+"Boss, Jack'd been drinking," said Moore, weakly. "And he sure had--some
+excuse for going off his head. He caught me--talking sweet to
+Columbine ... and then--I called him all the names--I could lay my
+tongue to."
+
+"Ahuh!" The old man seemed at a loss for words, and presently he turned
+away, sagging in the shoulders, and plodded into the house.
+
+The cowboy, supported by Wade on one side, with Columbine on the other,
+was helped to an upright position, and with considerable difficulty was
+gotten into the wagon. He tried to sit up, but made a sorry showing
+of it.
+
+"I'll drive him home an' look after him," said Wade. "Now, Miss Collie,
+you're upset, which ain't no wonder. But now you brace. It might have
+been worse. Just you go to your room till you're sure of
+yourself again."
+
+Moore smiled another wan smile at her. "I'm sorry," he said.
+
+"What for? Me?" she asked.
+
+"I mean I'm sorry I was so infernal unlucky--running into you--and
+bringing all this distress--to you. It was my fault. If I'd only
+kept--my mouth shut!"
+
+"You need not be sorry you met me," she said, with her eyes straight
+upon his. "I'm glad.... But oh! if your foot is badly hurt I'll
+never--never--'
+
+"Don't say it," interrupted Wilson.
+
+"Lass, you're bent on doin' somethin'," said Wade, in his gentle voice.
+
+"Bent?" she echoed, with something deep and rich in her voice. "Yes, I'm
+bent--_bent_ like your name--to speak my mind!"
+
+Then she ran toward the house and up on the porch, to enter the
+living-room with heaving breast and flashing eyes. Manifestly the
+rancher was berating his son. The former gaped at sight of her and the
+latter shrank.
+
+"Jack Belllounds," she cried, "you're not half a man.... You're a coward
+and a brute!"
+
+One tense moment she stood there, lightning scorn and passion in her
+gaze, and then she rushed out, impetuously, as she had come.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+Columbine did not leave her room any more that day. What she suffered
+there she did not want any one to know. What it cost her to conquer
+herself again she had only a faint conception of. She did conquer,
+however, and that night made up the sleep she had lost the night before.
+
+Strangely enough, she did not feel afraid to face the rancher and his
+son. Recent happenings had not only changed her, but had seemed to give
+her strength. When she presented herself at the breakfast-table Jack was
+absent. The old rancher greeted her with more thar usual solicitude.
+
+"Jack's sick," he remarked, presently.
+
+"Indeed," replied Columbine.
+
+"Yes. He said it was the drinkin' he's not accustomed to. Wal, I reckon
+it was what you called him. He didn't take much store on what I called
+him, which was wuss.... I tell you, lass, Jack's set his heart so hard
+on you thet it's turrible."
+
+"Queer way he has of showing the--the affections of his heart," replied
+Columbine, shortly.
+
+"Thet was the drink," remonstrated the old man, pathetic and earnest in
+his motive to smooth over the quarrel.
+
+"But he promised me he would not drink any more."
+
+Belllounds shook his gray old head sadly.
+
+"Ahuh! Jack fires up an' promises anythin'. He means it at the time.
+But the next hankerin' thet comes over him wipes out the promise. I
+know.... But he's had good excuse fer this break. The boys in town began
+celebratin' fer October first. Great wonder Jack didn't come home
+clean drunk."
+
+"Dad, you're as good as gold," said Columbine, softening. How could she
+feel hard toward him?
+
+"Collie, then you're not agoin' back on the ole man?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I was afeared you'd change your mind about marryin' Jack."
+
+"When I promised I meant it. I didn't make it on conditions."
+
+"But, lass, promises can be broke," he said, with the sonorous roll in
+his voice.
+
+"I never yet broke one of mine."
+
+"Wal, I hev. Not often, mebbe, but I hev.... An', lass, it's reasonable.
+Thar's times when a man jest can't live up to what he swore by. An' fer
+a girl--why, I can see how easy she'd change an' grow overnight. It's
+only fair fer me to say that no matter what you think you owe me you
+couldn't be blamed now fer dislikin' Jack."
+
+"Dad, if by marrying Jack I can help him to be a better son to you, and
+more of a man, I'll be glad," she replied.
+
+"Lass, I'm beginnin' to see how big an' fine you are," replied
+Belllounds, with strong feeling. "An' it's worryin' me.... My neighbors
+hev always accused me of seein' only my son. Only Buster Jack! I was
+blind an' deaf as to him!... Wal, I'm not so damn blind as I used to be.
+The scales are droppin' off my ole eyes.... But I've got one hope left
+as far as Jack's concerned. Thet's marryin' him to you. An' I'm
+stickin' to it."
+
+"So will I stick to it, dad," she replied. "I'll go through with October
+first!"
+
+Columbine broke off, vouchsafing no more, and soon left the
+breakfast-table, to take up the work she had laid out to do. And she
+accomplished it, though many times her hands dropped idle and her eyes
+peered out of her window at the drab slides of the old mountain.
+
+Later, when she went out to ride, she saw the cowboy Lem working in the
+blacksmith shop.
+
+"Wal, Miss Collie, air you-all still hangin' round this hyar ranch?" he
+asked, with welcoming smile.
+
+"Lem, I'm almost ashamed now to face my good friends, I've neglected
+them so long," she replied.
+
+"Aw, now, what're friends fer but to go to?... You're lookin' pale, I
+reckon. More like thet thar flower I see so much on the hills."
+
+"Lem, I want to ride Pronto. Do you think he's all right, now?"
+
+"I reckon some movin' round will do Pronto good. He's eatin' his haid
+off."
+
+The cowboy went with her to the pasture gate and whistled Pronto up. The
+mustang came trotting, evidently none the worse for his injuries, and
+eager to resume the old climbs with his mistress. Lem saddled him,
+paying particular attention to the cinch.
+
+"Reckon we'd better not cinch him tight," said Lem. "You jest be careful
+an' remember your saddle's loose."
+
+"All right, Lem," replied Columbine, as she mounted. "Where are the boys
+this morning?"
+
+"Blud an' Jim air repairin' fence up the crick."
+
+"And where's Ben?"
+
+"Ben? Oh, you mean Wade. Wal, I 'ain't seen him since yestidday. He was
+skinnin' a lion then, over hyar on the ridge. Thet was in the mawnin'. I
+reckon he's around, fer I seen some of the hounds."
+
+"Then, Lem--you haven't heard about the fight yesterday between Jack and
+Wilson Moore?"
+
+Lem straightened up quickly. "Nope, I 'ain't heerd a word."
+
+"Well, they fought, all right," said Columbine, hurriedly. "I saw it. I
+was the only one there. Wilson was badly used up before dad and Ben got
+there. Ben drove off with him."
+
+"But, Miss Collie, how'd it come off? I seen Wils the other day. Was up
+to his homestead. An' the boy jest manages to rustle round on a crutch.
+He couldn't fight."
+
+"That was just it. Jack saw his opportunity, and he forced Wilson to
+fight--accused him of stealing. Wils tried to avoid trouble. Then Jack
+jumped him. Wilson fought and held his own until Jack began to kick his
+injured foot. Then Wilson fainted and--and Jack beat him."
+
+Lem dropped his head, evidently to hide his expression. "Wal, dog-gone
+me!" he ejaculated. "Thet's too bad."
+
+Columbine left the cowboy and rode up the lane toward Wade's cabin. She
+did not analyze her deliberate desire to tell the truth about that
+fight, but she would have liked to proclaim it to the whole range and to
+the world. Once clear of the house she felt free, unburdened, and to
+talk seemed to relieve some congestion of her thoughts.
+
+The hounds heralded Columbine's approach with a deep and booming chorus.
+Sampson and Jim lay upon the porch, unleashed. The other hounds were
+chained separately in the aspen grove a few rods distant. Sampson
+thumped the boards with his big tail, but he did not get up, which
+laziness attested to the fact that there had been a lion chase the day
+before and he was weary and stiff. If Wade had been at home he would
+have come out to see what had occasioned the clamor. As Columbine rode
+by she saw another fresh lion-pelt pegged upon the wall of the cabin.
+
+She followed the brook. It had cleared since the rains and was shining
+and sparkling in the rough, swift places, and limpid and green in the
+eddies. She passed the dam made by the solitary beaver that inhabited
+the valley. Freshly cut willows showed how the beaver was preparing for
+the long winter ahead. Columbine remembered then how greatly pleased
+Wade had been to learn about this old beaver; and more than once Wade
+had talked about trapping some younger beavers and bringing them there
+to make company for the old fellow.
+
+The trail led across the brook at a wide, shallow place, where the
+splashing made by Pronto sent the trout scurrying for deeper water.
+Columbine kept to that trail, knowing that it led up into Sage Valley,
+where Wilson Moore had taken up the homestead property. Fresh horse
+tracks told her that Wade had ridden along there some time earlier.
+Pronto shied at the whirring of sage-hens. Presently Columbine
+ascertained they were flushed by the hound Kane, that had broken loose
+and followed her. He had done so before, and the fact had not
+displeased her.
+
+"Kane! Kane! come here!" she called. He came readily, but halted a rod
+or so away, and made an attempt at wagging his tail, a function
+evidently somewhat difficult for him. When she resumed trotting he
+followed her.
+
+Old White Slides had lost all but the drabs and dull yellows and greens,
+and of course those pale, light slopes that had given the mountain its
+name. Sage Valley was only one of the valleys at its base. It opened out
+half a mile wide, dominated by the looming peak, and bordered on the far
+side by an aspen-thicketed slope. The brook babbled along under the edge
+of this thicket. Cattle and horses grazed here and there on the rich,
+grassy levels, Columbine was surprised to see so many cattle and
+wondered to whom they belonged. All of Belllounds's stock had been
+driven lower down for the winter. There among the several horses that
+whistled at her approach she espied the white mustang Belllounds had
+given to Moore. It thrilled her to see him. And next, she suffered a
+pang to think that perhaps his owner might never ride him again. But
+Columbine held her emotions in abeyance.
+
+The cabin stood high upon a level terrace, with clusters of aspens
+behind it, and was sheltered from winter blasts by a gray cliff,
+picturesque and crumbling, with its face overgrown by creeping vines and
+colorful shrubs, Wilson Moore could not have chosen a more secluded and
+beautiful valley for his homesteading adventure. The little gray cabin,
+with smoke curling from the stone chimney, had lost its look of
+dilapidation and disuse, yet there was nothing new that Columbine could
+see. The last quarter of the ascent of the slope, and the few rods
+across the level terrace, seemed extraordinarily long to Columbine. As
+she dismounted and tied Pronto her heart was beating and her breath was
+coming fast.
+
+The door of the cabin was open. Kane trotted past the hesitating
+Columbine and went in.
+
+"You son-of-a-hound-dog!" came to Columbine's listening ears in Wade's
+well-known voice. "I'll have to beat you--sure as you're born."
+
+"I heard a horse," came in a lower voice, that was Wilson's.
+
+"Darn me if I'm not gettin' deafer every day," was the reply.
+
+Then Wade appeared in the doorway.
+
+"It's nobody but Miss Collie," he announced, as he made way for her to
+enter.
+
+"Good morning!" said Columbine, in a voice that had more than
+cheerfulness in it.
+
+"_Collie!_... Did you come to see me?"
+
+She heard this incredulous query just an instant before she saw Wilson
+at the far end of the room, lying under the light of a window. The
+inside of the cabin seemed vague and unfamiliar.
+
+"I surely did," she replied, advancing. "How are you?"
+
+"Oh, I'm all right. Tickled to death, right now. Only, I hate to have
+you see this battered mug of mine."
+
+"You needn't--care," said Columbine, unsteadily. And indeed, in that
+first glance she did not see him clearly. A mist blurred her sight and
+there was a lump in her throat. Then, to recover herself, she looked
+around the cabin.
+
+"Well--Wils Moore--if this isn't fine!" she ejaculated, in amaze and
+delight. Columbine sustained an absolute surprise. A magic hand had
+transformed the interior of that rude old prospector's abode. A
+carpenter and a mason and a decorator had been wonderfully at work. From
+one end to the other Columbine gazed; from the big window under which
+Wilson lay on a blanketed couch to the open fireplace where Wade grinned
+she looked and looked, and then up to the clean, aspen-poled roof and
+down to the floor, carpeted with deer hides. The chinks between the logs
+of the walls were plastered with red clay; the dust and dirt were gone;
+the place smelled like sage and wood-smoke and fragrant, frying meat.
+Indeed, there were a glowing bed of embers and a steaming kettle and a
+smoking pot; and the way the smoke and steam curled up into the gray old
+chimney attested to its splendid draught. In each corner hung a
+deer-head, from the antlers of which depended accoutrements of a
+cowboy--spurs, ropes, belts, scarfs, guns. One corner contained
+cupboard, ceiling high, with new, clean doors of wood, neatly made; and
+next to it stood a table, just as new. On the blank wall beyond that
+were pegs holding saddles, bridles, blankets, clothes.
+
+"He did it--all this inside," burst out Moore, delighted with her
+delight. "Quicker than a flash! Collie, isn't this great? I don't mind
+being down on my back. And he says they call him Hell-Bent Wade. I call
+him Heaven-Sent Wade!"
+
+When Columbine turned to the hunter, bursting with her pleasure and
+gratitude, he suddenly dropped the forked stick he used as a lift, and
+she saw his hand shake when he stooped to recover it. How strangely that
+struck her!
+
+"Ben, it's perfectly possible that you've been sent by Heaven," she
+remarked, with a humor which still held gravity in it.
+
+"Me! A good angel? That'd be a new job for Bent Wade," he replied, with
+a queer laugh. "But I reckon I'd try to live up to it."
+
+There were small sprigs of golden aspen leaves and crimson oak leaves on
+the wall above the foot of Wilson's bed. Beneath them, on pegs, hung a
+rifle. And on the window-sill stood a glass jar containing columbines.
+They were fresh. They had just been picked. They waved gently in the
+breeze, sweetly white and blue, strangely significant to the girl.
+
+Moore laughed defiantly.
+
+"Wade thought to fetch these flowers in," he explained. "They're his
+favorites as well as mine. It won't be long now till the frost kills
+them ... and I want to be happy while I may!"
+
+Again Columbine felt that deep surge within her, beyond her control,
+beyond her understanding, but now gathering and swelling, soon to be
+reckoned with. She did not look at Wilson's face then. Her downcast gaze
+saw that his right hand was bandaged, and she touched it with an
+unconscious tenderness.
+
+"Your hand! Why is it all wrapped up?"
+
+The cowboy laughed with grim humor.
+
+"Have you seen Jack this morning?"
+
+"No," she replied, shortly.
+
+"Well, if you had, you'd know what happened to my fist."
+
+"Did you hurt it on him?" she asked, with a queer little shudder that
+was not unpleasant.
+
+"Collie, I busted that fist on his handsome face."
+
+"Oh, it was dreadful!" she murmured. "Wilson, he meant to kill you."
+
+"Sure. And I'd cheerfully have killed him."
+
+"You two must never meet again," she went on.
+
+"I hope to Heaven we never do," replied Moore, with a dark earnestness
+that meant more than his actual words.
+
+"Wilson, will you avoid him--for my sake?" implored Columbine,
+unconsciously clasping the bandaged hand.
+
+"I will. I'll take the back trails. I'll sneak like a coyote. I'll hide
+and I'll watch.... But, Columbine Belllounds, if he ever corners
+me again--"
+
+"Why, you'll leave him to Hell-Bent Wade," interrupted the hunter, and
+he looked up from where he knelt, fixing those great, inscrutable eyes
+upon the cowboy. Columbine saw something beyond his face, deeper than
+the gloom, a passion and a spirit that drew her like a magnet. "An' now,
+Miss Collie," he went on, "I reckon you'll want to wait on our invalid.
+He's got to be fed."
+
+"I surely will," replied Columbine, gladly, and she sat down on the
+edge of the bed. "Ben, you fetch that box and put his dinner on it."
+
+While Wade complied, Columbine, shyly aware of her nearness to the
+cowboy, sought to keep up conversation. "Couldn't you help yourself with
+your left hand?" she inquired.
+
+"That's one worse," he answered, taking it from under the blanket, where
+it had been concealed.
+
+"Oh!" cried Columbine, in dismay.
+
+"Broke two bones in this one," said Wilson, with animation. "Say,
+Collie, our friend Wade is a doctor, too. Never saw his beat!"
+
+"And a cook, too, for here's your dinner. You must sit up," ordered
+Columbine.
+
+"Fold that blanket and help me up on it," replied Moore.
+
+How strange and disturbing for Columbine to bend over him, to slip her
+arms under him and lift him! It recalled a long-forgotten motherliness
+of her doll-playing days. And her face flushed hot.
+
+"Can't you move?" she asked, suddenly becoming aware of how dead a
+weight the cowboy appeared.
+
+"Not--very much," he replied. Drops of sweat appeared on his bruised
+brow. It must have hurt him to move.
+
+"You said your foot was all right."
+
+"It is," he returned. "It's still on my leg, as I know darned well."
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Columbine, dubiously. Without further comment she began
+to feed him.
+
+"It's worth getting licked to have this treat," he said.
+
+"Nonsense!" she rejoined.
+
+"I'd stand it again--to have you come here and feed me.... But not from
+_him_."
+
+"Wilson, I never knew you to be facetious before. Here, take this."
+
+Apparently he did not see her outstretched hand.
+
+"Collie, you've changed. You're older. You're a woman, now--and the
+prettiest--"
+
+"Are you going to eat?" demanded Columbine.
+
+"Huh!" exclaimed the cowboy, blankly. "Eat? Oh yes, sure. I'm powerful
+hungry. And maybe Heaven-Sent Wade can't cook!"
+
+But Columbine had trouble in feeding him. What with his helplessness,
+and his propensity to watch her face instead of her hands, and her own
+mounting sensations of a sweet, natural joy and fitness in her proximity
+to him, she was hard put to it to show some dexterity as a nurse. And
+all the time she was aware of Wade, with his quiet, forceful presence,
+hovering near. Could he not see her hands trembling? And would he not
+think that weakness strange? Then driftingly came the thought that she
+would not shrink from Wade's reading her mind. Perhaps even now he
+understood her better than she understood herself.
+
+"I can't--eat any more," declared Moore, at last.
+
+"You've done very well for an invalid," observed Columbine. Then,
+changing the subject, she asked, "Wilson, you're going to stay
+here--winter here, dad would call it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Are those your cattle down in the valley?"
+
+"Sure. I've got near a hundred head. I saved my money and bought
+cattle."
+
+"That's a good start for you. I'm glad. But who's going to take care of
+you and your stock until you can work again?"
+
+"Why, my friend there, Heaven-Sent Wade," replied Moore, indicating the
+little man busy with the utensils on the table, and apparently
+hearing nothing.
+
+"Can I fetch you anything to eat--or read?" she inquired.
+
+"Fetch yourself," he replied, softly.
+
+"But, boy, how could I fetch you anything without fetching myself?"
+
+"Sure, that's right. Then fetch me some jam and a book--to-morrow. Will
+you?"
+
+"I surely will."
+
+"That's a promise. I know your promises of old."
+
+"Then good-by till to-morrow. I must go. I hope you'll be better."
+
+"I'll stay sick in bed till you stop coming."
+
+Columbine left rather precipitously, and when she got outdoors it seemed
+that the hills had never been so softly, dreamily gray, nor their
+loneliness so sweet, nor the sky so richly and deeply blue. As she
+untied Pronto the hunter came out with Kane at his heels.
+
+"Miss Collie, if you'll go easy I'll ketch my horse an' ride down with
+you," he said.
+
+She mounted, and walked Pronto out to the trail, and slowly faced the
+gradual descent. It was really higher up there than she had surmised.
+And the view was beautiful. The gray, rolling foothills, so exquisitely
+colored at that hour, and the black-fringed ranges, one above the other,
+and the distant peaks, sunset-flushed across the purple, all rose open
+and clear to her sight, so wildly and splendidly expressive of the
+Colorado she loved.
+
+At the foot of the slope Wade joined her.
+
+"Lass, I'm askin' you not to tell Belllounds that I'm carin' for Wils,"
+he said, in his gentle, persuasive way.
+
+"I won't. But why not tell dad? He wouldn't mind. He'd do that sort of
+thing himself."
+
+"Reckon he would. But this deal's out of the ordinary. An' Wils's not in
+as good shape as he thinks. I'm not takin' any chances. I don't want to
+lose my job, an' I don't want to be hindered from attendin' to
+this boy."
+
+They had ridden as far as the first aspen grove when Wade concluded this
+remark. Columbine halted her horse, causing her companion to do
+likewise. Her former misgivings were augmented by the intelligence of
+Wade's sad, lined face.
+
+"Ben, tell me," she whispered, with a hand going to his arm.
+
+"Miss Collie, I'm a sort of doctor in my way. I studied some medicine
+an' surgery. An' I know. I wouldn't tell you this if it wasn't that I've
+got to rely on you to help me."
+
+"I will--but go on--tell me," interposed Columbine trying to fortify
+herself.
+
+"Wils's foot is all messed up. Buster Jack kicked it all out of shape.
+An' it's a hundred times worse than ever. I'm afraid of blood-poisonin'
+an' gangrene. You know gangrene is a dyin' an' rottin' of the flesh....
+I told the boy straight out that he'd better let me cut his foot off.
+An' he swore he'd keep his foot or die! Well, if gangrene does set in we
+can't save his leg, an' maybe not his life."
+
+"Oh, it can't be as bad as all that!" cried Columbine. "Oh, I knew--I
+knew there was something.... Ben, you mean even at best now--he'll be
+a--" She broke off, unable to finish.
+
+"Miss Collie, in any case Wils'll never ride again--not like a cowboy."
+
+That for Columbine seemed the worst and the last straw. Hot tears
+blinded her, hot blood gushed over her, hot heart-beats throbbed in
+her throat.
+
+"Poor boy! That'll--ruin him," she cried. "He loved--a horse. He loved
+to ride. He was the--best rider of them all. And now he's ruined! He'll
+be lame--a cripple--club-footed!... All because of that Jack Belllounds!
+The brute--the coward! I hate him! Oh, I _hate_ him!... And I've got to
+marry him--on October first! Oh, God pity me!"
+
+Blindly Columbine reeled out of her saddle and slowly dropped to the
+grass, where she burst into a violent storm of sobs and tears. It shook
+her every fiber. It was hopeless, terrible grief. The dry grass received
+her flood of tears and her incoherent words.
+
+Wade dismounted and, kneeling beside her, placed a gentle hand upon her
+heaving shoulder, but he spoke no word. By and by, when the storm had
+begun to subside, he raised her head.
+
+"Lass, nothin' is ever so bad as it seems," he said, softly. "Come, sit
+up. Let me talk to you."
+
+"Oh, Ben, something terrible _has_ happened," she cried. "It's in _me_!
+I don't know what it is. But it'll kill me."
+
+"I know," he replied, as her head fell upon his shoulder. "Miss Collie,
+I'm an old fellow that's had everythin' happen to him, an' I'm livin'
+yet, tryin' to help people along. No one dies so easy. Why, you're a
+fine, strong girl--an' somethin' tells me you was made for happiness. I
+know how things turn out. Listen--"
+
+"But, Ben--you don't know--about me," she sobbed. "I've told
+you--I--hate Jack Belllounds. But I've--got to marry him!... His father
+raised me--from a baby. He brought me up. I owe him--my life.... I've no
+relation--no mother--no father! No one loves me--for myself!"
+
+"Nobody loves you!" echoed Wade, with an exquisite tone of repudiation.
+"Strange how people fool themselves! Lass, you're huggin' your troubles
+too hard. An' you're wrong. Why, everybody loves you! Lem an' Jim--why
+you just brighten the hard world they live in. An' that poor, hot-headed
+Jack--he loves you as well as he can love anythin'. An' the old man--no
+daughter could be loved more.... An' I--I love you, lass, just like--as
+if you--might have been my own. I'm goin' to be the friend--the brother
+you need. An' I reckon I can come somewheres near bein' a mother, if
+you'll let me."
+
+Something, some subtle power or charm, stole over Columbine, assuaging
+her terrible sense of loss, of grief. There was tenderness in this man's
+hands, in his voice, and through them throbbed strong and passionate
+life and spirit.
+
+"Do you really love me--_love_ me?" she whispered, somehow comforted,
+somehow feeling that what he offered was what she had missed as a child.
+"And you want to be all that for me?"
+
+"Yes, lass, an' I reckon you'd better try me."
+
+"Oh, how good you are! I felt that--the very first time I was with you.
+I've wanted to come to you--to tell you my troubles. I love dad and he
+loves me, but he doesn't understand. Dad is wrapped up in his son. I've
+had no one. I never had any one."
+
+"You have some one now," returned Wade, with a rich, deep mellowness in
+his voice that soothed Columbine and made her wonder. "An' because I've
+been through so much I can tell you what'll help you.... Lass, if a
+woman isn't big an' brave, how will a man ever be? There's more in women
+than in men. Life has given you a hard knock, placin' you here--no real
+parents--an' makin' you responsible to a man whose only fault is blinded
+love for his son. Well, you've got to meet it, face it, with what a
+woman has more of than any man. Courage! Suppose you do hate this
+Buster Jack. Suppose you do love this poor, crippled Wilson Moore....
+Lass, don't look like that! Don't deny. You do love that boy.... Well,
+it's hell. But you can never tell what'll happen when you're honest and
+square. If you feel it your duty to pay your debt to the old man you
+call dad--to pay it by marryin' his son, why do it, an' be a woman.
+There's nothin' as great as a woman can be. There's happiness that comes
+in strange, unheard-of ways. There's more in this life than what you
+want most. _You_ didn't place yourself in this fix. So if you meet it
+with courage an' faithfulness to yourself, why, it'll not turn out as
+you dread.... Some day, if you ever think you're broken-hearted, I'll
+tell you my story. An' then you'll not think your lot so hard. For I've
+had a broken heart an' ruined life, an' yet I've lived on an' on,
+findin' happiness I never dreamed would come, fightin' or workin'. An'
+how I found the world beautiful, an' how I love the flowers an' hills
+an' wild things so well--that, just that would be enough to live for!...
+An' think, lass, of what a wonderful happiness will come to me in
+showin' all this to you. That'll be the crownin' glory. An' if it's that
+much to me, then you be sure there's nothin' on earth I won't do
+for you."
+
+Columbine lifted her tear-stained face with a light of inspiration.
+
+"Oh, Wilson was right!" she murmured. "You are Heaven-sent! And I'm
+going to love you!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+A new spirit, or a liberation of her own, had fired Columbine, and was
+now burning within her, unquenchable and unutterable. Some divine spark
+had penetrated into that mysterious depth of her, to inflame and to
+illumine, so that when she arose from this hour of calamity she felt
+that to the tenderness and sorrow and fidelity in her soul had been
+added the lightning flash of passion.
+
+"Oh, Ben--shall I be able to hold onto this?" she cried, flinging wide
+her arms, as if to embrace the winds of heaven.
+
+"This what, lass?" he asked.
+
+"This--this _woman!_" she answered, passionately, with her hands
+sweeping back to press her breast.
+
+"No woman who wakes ever goes back to a girl again," he said, sadly.
+
+"I wanted to die--and now I want to live--to fight.... Ben, you've
+uplifted me. I was little, weak, miserable.... But in my dreams, or in
+some state I can't remember or understand, I've waited for your very
+words. I was ready. It's as if I knew you in some other world, before I
+was born on this earth; and when you spoke to me here, so
+wonderfully--as my mother might have spoken--my heart leaped up in
+recognition of you and your call to my womanhood!... Oh, how strange and
+beautiful!"
+
+"Miss Collie," he replied, slowly, as he bent to his saddle-straps,
+"you're young, an' you've no understandin' of what's strange an'
+terrible in life. An' beautiful, too, as you say.... Who knows? Maybe in
+some former state I was somethin' to you. I believe in that. Reckon I
+can't say how or what. Maybe we were flowers or birds. I've a weakness
+for that idea."
+
+"Birds! I like the thought, too," replied Columbine. "I love most birds.
+But there are hawks, crows, buzzards!"
+
+"I reckon. Lass, there's got to be balance in nature. If it weren't for
+the ugly an' the evil, we wouldn't know the beautiful an' good.... An'
+now let's ride home. It's gettin' late."
+
+"Ben, ought I not go back to Wilson right now?" she asked, slowly.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"To tell him--something--and why I can't come to-morrow, or ever
+afterward," she replied, low and tremulously.
+
+Wade pondered over her words. It seemed to Columbine that her sharpened
+faculties sensed something of hostility, of opposition in him.
+
+"Reckon to-morrow would be better," he said, presently. "Wilson's had
+enough excitement for one day."
+
+"Then I'll go to-morrow," she returned.
+
+In the gathering, cold twilight they rode down the trail in silence.
+
+"Good night, lass," said Wade, as he reached his cabin. "An' remember
+you're not alone any more."
+
+"Good night, my friend," she replied, and rode on.
+
+Columbine encountered Jim Montana at the corrals, and it was not too
+dark for her to see his foam-lashed horse. Jim appeared non-committal,
+almost surly. But Columbine guessed that he had ridden to Kremmling and
+back in one day, on some order of Jack's.
+
+"Miss Collie, I'll tend to Pronto," he offered. "An' yore supper'll be
+waitin'."
+
+A bright fire blazed on the living-room hearth. The rancher was reading
+by its light.
+
+"Hello, rosy-cheeks!" greeted the rancher, with unusual amiability.
+"Been ridin' ag'in' the wind, hey? Wal, if you ain't pretty, then my
+eyes are pore!"
+
+"It's cold, dad," she replied, "and the wind stings. But I didn't ride
+fast nor far.... I've been up to see Wilson Moore."
+
+"Ahuh! Wal, how's the boy?" asked Belllounds, gruffly.
+
+"He said he was all right, but--but I guess that's not so," responded
+Columbine.
+
+"Any friends lookin' after him?"
+
+"Oh yes--he must have friends--the Andrewses and others. I'm glad to say
+his cabin is comfortable. He'll be looked after."
+
+"Wal, I'm glad to hear thet. I'll send Lem or Wade up thar an' see if we
+can do anythin' fer the boy."
+
+"Dad--that's just like you," replied Columbine, with her hand seeking
+his broad shoulder.
+
+"Ahuh! Say, Collie, hyar's letters from 'most everybody in Kremmlin'
+wantin' to be invited up fer October first. How about askin' 'em?"
+
+"The more the merrier," replied Columbine.
+
+"Wal, I reckon I'll not ask anybody."
+
+"Why not, dad?"
+
+"No one can gamble on thet son of mine, even on his weddin'-day,"
+replied Belllounds, gloomily.
+
+"Dad, What'd Jack do to-day?"
+
+"I'm not sayin' he did anythin'," answered the rancher.
+
+"Dad, you can gamble on me."
+
+"Wal, I should smile," he said, putting his big arm around her. "I wish
+you was Jack an' Jack was you."
+
+At that moment the young man spoken of slouched into the room, with his
+head bandaged, and took a seat at the supper-table.
+
+"Wal, Collie, let's go an' get it," said the rancher, cheerily. "I can
+always eat, anyhow."
+
+"I'm hungry as a bear," rejoined Columbine, as she took her seat, which
+was opposite Jack.
+
+"Where 'ye you been?" he asked, curiously.
+
+"Why, good evening, Jack! Did you finally notice me?... I've been riding
+Pronto, the first time since he was hurt. Had a lovely ride--up through
+Sage Valley."
+
+Jack glowered at her with the one unbandaged eye, and growled something
+under his breath, and then began to stab meat and potatoes with
+his fork.
+
+"What's the matter, Jack? Aren't you well?" asked Columbine, with a
+solicitude just a little too sweet to be genuine.
+
+"Yes, I'm well," snapped Jack.
+
+"But you look sick. That is, what I can see of your face looks sick.
+Your mouth droops at the corners. You're very pale--and red in spots.
+And your one eye glows with unearthly woe, as if you were not long for
+this world!"
+
+The amazing nature of this speech, coming from the girl who had always
+been so sweet and quiet and backward, was attested to by the
+consternation of Jack and the mirth of his father.
+
+"Are you making fun of me?" demanded Jack.
+
+"Why, Jack! Do you think I would make fun of you? I only wanted to say
+how queer you look.... Are you going to be married with one eye?"
+
+Jack collapsed at that, and the old man, after a long stare of
+open-mouthed wonder, broke out: "Haw! Haw! Haw!... By Golly! lass--I'd
+never believed thet was in you.... Jack, be game an' take your
+medicine.... An' both of you forgive an' forget. Thar'll be quarrels
+enough, mebbe, without rakin' over the past."
+
+When alone again Columbine reverted to a mood vastly removed from her
+apparent levity with the rancher and his son. A grave and
+inward-searching thought possessed her, and it had to do with the
+uplift, the spiritual advance, the rise above mere personal welfare,
+that had strangely come to her through Bent Wade. From their first
+meeting he had possessed a singular attraction for her that now, in the
+light of the meaning of his life, seemed to Columbine to be the man's
+nobility and wisdom, arising out of his travail, out of the terrible
+years that had left their record upon his face.
+
+And so Columbine strove to bind forever in her soul the spirit which had
+arisen in her, interpreting from Wade's rude words of philosophy that
+which she needed for her own light and strength.
+
+She appreciated her duty toward the man who had been a father to her.
+Whatever he asked that would she do. And as for the son she must live
+with the rest of her life, her duty there was to be a good wife, to bear
+with his faults, to strive always to help him by kindness, patience,
+loyalty, and such affection as was possible to her. Hate had to be
+reckoned with, and hate, she knew, had no place in a good woman's heart.
+It must be expelled, if that were humanly possible. All this was hard,
+would grow harder, but she accepted it, and knew her mind.
+
+Her soul was her own, unchangeable through any adversity. She could be
+with that alone always, aloof from the petty cares and troubles common
+to people. Wade's words had thrilled her with their secret, with their
+limitless hope of an unknown world of thought and feeling. Happiness, in
+the ordinary sense, might never be hers. Alas for her dreams! But there
+had been given her a glimpse of something higher than pleasure and
+contentment. Dreams were but dreams. But she could still dream of what
+had been, of what might have been, of the beauty and mystery of life, of
+something in nature that called sweetly and irresistibly to her. Who
+could rob her of the rolling, gray, velvety hills, and the purple peaks
+and the black ranges, among which she had been found a waif, a little
+lost creature, born like a columbine under the spruces?
+
+Love, sudden-dawning, inexplicable love, was her secret, still
+tremulously new, and perilous in its sweetness. That only did she fear
+to realize and to face, because it was an unknown factor, a threatening
+flame. Her sudden knowledge of it seemed inextricably merged with the
+mounting, strong, and steadfast stream of her spirit.
+
+"I'll go to him. I'll tell him," she murmured. "He shall have _that!_...
+Then I must bid him--good-by--forever!"
+
+To tell Wilson would be sweet; to leave him would be bitter. Vague
+possibilities haunted her. What might come of the telling? How dark
+loomed the bitterness! She could not know what hid in either of these
+acts until they were fulfilled. And the hours became long, and sleep far
+off, and the quietness of the house a torment, and the melancholy wail
+of coyotes a reminder of happy girlhood, never to return.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When next day the long-deferred hour came Columbine selected a horse
+that she could run, and she rode up the winding valley swift as the
+wind. But at the aspen grove, where Wade's keen, gentle voice had given
+her secret life, she suffered a reaction that made her halt and ascend
+the slope very slowly and with many stops.
+
+Sight of Wade's horse haltered near the cabin relieved Columbine
+somewhat of a gathering might of emotion. The hunter would be inside and
+so she would not be compelled at once to confess her secret. This
+expectancy gave impetus to her lagging steps. Before she reached the
+open door she called out.
+
+"Collie, you're late," answered Wilson, with both joy and reproach, as
+she entered. The cowboy lay upon his bed, and he was alone in the room.
+
+"Oh!... Where is Ben?" exclaimed Columbine.
+
+"He was here. He cooked my dinner. We waited, but you never came. The
+dinner got cold. I made sure you'd backed out--weren't coming at
+all--and I couldn't eat.... Wade said he knew you'd come. He went off
+with the hounds, somewhere ... and oh, Collie, it's all right now!"
+
+Columbine walked to his bedside and looked down upon him with a feeling
+as if some giant hand was tugging at her heart. He looked better. The
+swelling and redness of his face were less marked. And at that moment no
+pain shadowed his eyes. They were soft, dark, eloquent. If Columbine had
+not come with her avowed resolution and desire to unburden her heart she
+would have found that look in his eyes a desperately hard one to resist.
+Had it ever shone there before? Blind she had been.
+
+"You're better," she said, happily.
+
+"Sure--_now_. But I had a bad night. Didn't sleep till near daylight.
+Wade found me asleep.... Collie, it's good of you to come. You look
+so--so wonderful! I never saw your face glow like that. And your
+eyes--oh!"
+
+"You think I'm pretty, then?" she asked, dreamily, not occupied at all
+with that thought.
+
+He uttered a contemptuous laugh.
+
+"Come closer," he said, reaching for her with a clumsy bandaged hand.
+
+Down upon her knees Columbine fell. Both hands flew to cover her face.
+And as she swayed forward she shook violently, and there escaped her
+lips a little, muffled sound.
+
+"Why--Collie!" cried Moore, astounded. "Good Heavens! Don't cry! I--I
+didn't mean anything. I only wanted to feel you--touch your hand."
+
+"Here," she answered, blindly holding out her hand, groping for his till
+she found it. Her other was still pressed to her eyes. One moment longer
+would Columbine keep her secret--hide her eyes--revel in the unutterable
+joy and sadness of this crisis that could come to a woman only once.
+
+"What in the world?" ejaculated the cowboy, now bewildered. But he
+possessed himself of the trembling hand offered. "Collie, you act so
+strange.... You're not crying!... Am I only locoed, or flighty, or what?
+Dear, look at me."
+
+Columbine swept her hand from her eyes with a gesture of utter
+surrender.
+
+"Wilson, I'm ashamed--and sad--and gloriously happy," she said, with
+swift breathlessness.
+
+"Why?" he asked.
+
+"Because of--of something I have to tell you," she whispered.
+
+"What is that?"
+
+She bent over him.
+
+"Can't you guess?"
+
+He turned pale, and his eyes burned with intense fire.
+
+"I won't guess ... I daren't guess."
+
+"It's something that's been true for years--forever, it seems--something
+I never dreamed of till last night," she went on, softly.
+
+"Collie!" he cried. "Don't torture me!"
+
+"Do you remember long ago--when we quarreled so dreadfully--because you
+kissed me?" she asked.
+
+"Do you think I could kiss _you_--and live to forget?"
+
+"I love you!" she whispered, shyly, feeling the hot blood burn her.
+
+That whisper transformed Wilson Moore. His arm flashed round her neck
+and pulled her face down to his, and, holding her in a close embrace, he
+kissed her lips and cheeks and wet eyes, and then again her lips,
+passionately and tenderly.
+
+Then he pressed her head down upon his breast.
+
+"My God! I can't believe! Say it again!" he cried, hoarsely.
+
+Columbine buried her flaming face in the blanket covering him, and her
+hands clutched it tightly. The wildness of his joy, the strange strength
+and power of his kisses, utterly changed her. Upon his breast she lay,
+without desire to lift her face. All seemed different, wilder, as she
+responded to his appeal: "Yes, I love you! Oh, I love--love--love you!"
+
+"Dearest!... Lift your face.... It's true now. I know. It's proved. But
+let me look at you."
+
+Columbine lifted herself as best she could. But she was blinded by tears
+and choked with utterance that would not come, and in the grip of a
+shuddering emotion that was realization of loss in a moment when she
+learned the supreme and imperious sweetness of love.
+
+"Kiss me, Columbine," he demanded.
+
+Through blurred eyes she saw his face, white and rapt, and she bent to
+it, meeting his lips with her first kiss which was her last.
+
+"Again, Collie--again!" he begged.
+
+"No--no more," she whispered, very low, and encircling his neck with her
+arms she hid her face and held him convulsively, and stifled the sobs
+that shook her.
+
+Then Moore was silent, holding her with his free hand, breathing hard,
+and slowly quieting down. Columbine felt then that he knew that there
+was something terribly wrong, and that perhaps he dared not voice his
+fear. At any rate, he silently held her, waiting. That silent wait grew
+unendurable for Columbine. She wanted to prolong this moment that was to
+be all she could ever surrender. But she dared not do so, for she knew
+if he ever kissed her again her duty to Belllounds would vanish like
+mist in the sun.
+
+To release her hold upon him seemed like a tearing of her heartstrings.
+She sat up, she wiped the tears from her eyes, she rose to her feet, all
+the time striving for strength to face him again.
+
+A loud voice ringing from the cliffs outside, startled Columbine. It
+came from Wade calling the hounds. He had returned, and the fact
+stirred her.
+
+"I'm to marry Jack Belllounds on October first."
+
+The cowboy raised himself up as far as he was able. It was agonizing for
+Columbine to watch the changing and whitening of his face!
+
+"No--no!" he gasped.
+
+"Yes, it's true," she replied, hopelessly.
+
+"_No!_" he exclaimed, hoarsely.
+
+"But, Wilson, I tell you yes. I came to tell you. It's true--oh, it's
+true!"
+
+"But, girl, you said you love me," he declared, transfixing her with
+dark, accusing eyes.
+
+"That's just as terribly true."
+
+He softened a little, and something of terror and horror took the place
+of anger.
+
+Just then Wade entered the cabin with his soft tread, hesitated, and
+then came to Columbine's side. She could not unrivet her gaze from Moore
+to look at her friend, but she reached out with trembling hand to him.
+Wade clasped it in a horny palm.
+
+Wilson fought for self-control in vain.
+
+"Collie, if you love me, how can you marry Jack Belllounds?" he
+demanded.
+
+"I must."
+
+"Why must you?"
+
+"I owe my life and my bringing up to his father. He wants me to do it.
+His heart is set upon my helping Jack to become a man.... Dad loves me,
+and I love him. I must stand by him. I must repay him. It is my duty."
+
+"You've a duty to yourself--as a woman!" he rejoined, passionately.
+"Belllounds is wrapped up in his son. He's blind to the shame of such a
+marriage. But you're not."
+
+"Shame?" faltered Columbine.
+
+"Yes. The shame of marrying one man when you love another. You can't
+love two men.... You'll give yourself. You'll be his _wife_! Do you
+understand what that means?"
+
+"I--I think--I do," replied Columbine, faintly. Where had vanished all
+her wonderful spirit? This fire-eyed boy was breaking her heart with
+his reproach.
+
+"But you'll bear his children," cried Wilson. "Mother of--them--when you
+love me!... Didn't you think of that?"
+
+"Oh no--I never did--I never did!" wailed Columbine.
+
+"Then you'll think before it's too late?" he implored, wildly. "Dearest
+Collie, think! You won't ruin yourself! You won't? Say you won't!"
+
+"But--Oh, Wilson, what can I say? I've got to marry him."
+
+"Collie, I'll kill him before he gets you."
+
+"You mustn't talk so. If you fought again--if anything terrible
+happened, it'd kill me."
+
+"You'd be better off!" he flashed, white as a sheet.
+
+Columbine leaned against Wade for support. She was fast weakening in
+strength, although her spirit held. She knew what was inevitable. But
+Wilson's agony was rending her.
+
+"Listen," began the cowboy again. "It's your life--your happiness--your
+soul.... Belllounds is crazy over that spoiled boy. He thinks the sun
+rises and sets in him.... But Jack Belllounds is no good on this earth!
+Collie dearest, don't think that's my jealousy. I am horribly jealous.
+But I know him. He's not worth you! No man is--and he the least. He'll
+break your heart, drag you down, ruin your health--kill you, as sure as
+you stand there. I want you to know I could prove to you what he is. But
+don't make me. Trust me, Collie. Believe me."
+
+"Wilson, I do believe you," cried Columbine. "But it doesn't make any
+difference. It only makes my duty harder."
+
+"He'll treat you like he treats a horse or a dog. He'll beat you--"
+
+"He never will! If he ever lays a hand on me--"
+
+"If not that, he'll tire of you. Jack Belllounds never stuck to anything
+in his life, and never will. It's not in him. He wants what he can't
+have. If he gets it, then right off he doesn't want it. Oh, I've known
+him since he was a kid.... Columbine, you've a mistaken sense of duty.
+No girl need sacrifice her all because some man found her a lost baby
+and gave her a home. A woman owes more to herself than to any one."
+
+"Oh, that's true, Wilson. I've thought it all.... But you're
+unjust--hard. You make no allowance for--for some possible good in every
+one. Dad swears I can reform Jack. Maybe I can. I'll pray for it."
+
+"Reform Jack Belllounds! How can you save a bad egg? That damned coward!
+Didn't he prove to you what he was when he jumped on me and kicked my
+broken foot till I fainted?... What do you want?"
+
+"Don't say any more--please," cried Columbine. "Oh, I'm so sorry.... I
+oughtn't have come.... Ben, take me home."
+
+"But, Collie, I love you," frantically urged Wilson. "And he--he may
+love you--but he's--Collie--he's been--"
+
+Here Moore seemed to bite his tongue, to hold back speech, to fight
+something terrible and desperate and cowardly in himself.
+
+Columbine heard only his impassioned declaration of love, and to that
+she vibrated.
+
+"You speak as if this was one--sided," she burst out, as once more the
+gush of hot blood surged over her. "You don't love me any more than I
+love you. Not as much, for I'm a woman!... I love with all my heart
+and soul!"
+
+Moore fell back upon the bed, spent and overcome.
+
+"Wade, my friend, for God's sake do something," he whispered, appealing
+to the hunter as if in a last hope. "Tell Collie what it'll mean for her
+to marry Belllounds. If that doesn't change her, then tell her what
+it'll mean to me. I'll never go home. I'll never leave here. If she
+hadn't told me she loved me then, I might have stood anything. But now I
+can't. It'll kill me, Wade."
+
+"Boy, you're talkin' flighty again," replied Wade. "This mornin' when I
+come you were dreamin' an' talkin'--clean out of your head.... Well,
+now, you an' Collie listen. You're right an' she's right. I reckon I
+never run across a deal with two people fixed just like you. But that
+doesn't hinder me from feelin' the same about it as I'd feel about
+somethin' I was used to."
+
+He paused, and, gently releasing Columbine, he went to Moore, and retied
+his loosened bandage, and spread out the disarranged blankets. Then he
+sat down on the edge of the bed and bent over a little, running a
+roughened hand through the scant hair that had begun to silver upon his
+head. Presently he looked up, and from that sallow face, with its lines
+and furrows, and from the deep, inscrutable eyes, there fell a light
+which, however sad and wise in its infinite understanding of pain and
+strife, was still ruthless and unquenchable in its hope.
+
+"Wade, for God's sake save Columbine!" importuned Wilson.
+
+"Oh, if you only could!" cried Columbine, impelled beyond her power to
+resist by that prayer.
+
+"Lass, you stand by your convictions," he said, impressively. "An'
+Moore, you be a man an' don't make it so hard for her. Neither of you
+can do anythin'.... Now there's old Belllounds--he'll never change. He
+might r'ar up for this or that, but he'll never change his cherished
+hopes for his son.... But Jack might change! Lookin' back over all the
+years I remember many boys like this Buster Jack, an' I remember how in
+the nature of their doin's they just hanged themselves. I've a queer
+foresight about people whose trouble I've made my own. It's somethin'
+that never fails. When their trouble's goin' to turn out bad then I feel
+a terrible yearnin' to tell the story of Hell-Bent Wade. That foresight
+of trouble gave me my name.... But it's not operatin' here.... An' so,
+my young friends, you can believe me when I say somethin' will happen.
+As far as October first is concerned, or any time near, Collie isn't
+goin' to marry Jack Belllounds."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+One day Wade remarked to Belllounds: "You can never tell what a dog is
+until you know him. Dogs are like men. Some of 'em look good, but
+they're really bad. An' that works the other way round. If a dog's born
+to run wild an' be a sheep-killer, that's what he'll be. I've known dogs
+that loved men as no humans could have loved them. It doesn't make any
+difference to a dog if his master is a worthless scamp."
+
+"Wal, I reckon most of them hounds I bought had no good masters, judgin'
+from the way they act," replied the rancher.
+
+"I'm developin' a first-rate pack," said Wade. "Jim hasn't any faults
+exceptin' he doesn't bay enough. Sampson's not as true-nosed as Jim, but
+he'll follow Jim, an' he has a deep, heavy bay you can hear for miles.
+So that makes up for Jim's one fault. These two hounds hang together,
+an' with them I'm developin' others. Denver will split off of bear or
+lion tracks when he jumps a deer. I reckon he's not young enough to be
+cured of that. Some of the younger hounds are comin' on fine. But
+there's two dogs in the bunch that beat me all hollow."
+
+"Which ones?" asked Belllounds.
+
+"There's that bloodhound, Kane," replied the hunter. "He's sure a queer
+dog. I can't win him. He minds me now because I licked him, an' once
+good an' hard when he bit me.... But he doesn't cotton to me worth a
+damn. He's gettin' fond of Miss Columbine, an' I believe might make a
+good watch-dog for her. Where'd he come from, Belllounds?"
+
+"Wal, if I don't disremember he was born in a prairie-schooner, comin'
+across the plains. His mother was a full-blood, an' come from
+Louisiana."
+
+"That accounts for an instinct I see croppin' out in Kane," rejoined
+Wade. "He likes to trail a man. I've caught him doin' it. An' he doesn't
+take to huntin' lions or bear. Why, the other day, when the hounds treed
+a lion an' went howlin' wild, Kane came up, an' he looked disgusted an'
+went off by himself. He hunts by himself, anyhow. First off I thought he
+might be a sheep-killer. But I reckon not. He can trail men, an' that's
+about all the good he is. His mother must have been a slave-hunter, an'
+Kane inherits that trailin' instinct."
+
+"Ahuh! Wal, train him on trailin' men, then. I've seen times when a dog
+like thet'd come handy. An' if he takes to Collie an' you approve of
+him, let her have him. She's been coaxin' me fer a dog."
+
+"That isn't a bad idea. Miss Collie walks an' rides alone a good deal,
+an' she never packs a gun."
+
+"Funny about thet," said Belllounds. "Collie is game in most ways, but
+she'd never kill anythin'.... Wade, you ain't thinkin' she ought to stop
+them lonesome walks an' rides?"
+
+"No, sure not, so long as she doesn't go too far away."
+
+"Ahuh! Wal, supposin' she rode up out of the valley, west on the Black
+Range?"
+
+"That won't do, Belllounds," replied Wade, seriously. "But Miss Collie's
+not goin' to, for I've cautioned her. Fact is I've run across some
+hard-lookin' men between here an' Buffalo Park. They're not hunters or
+prospectors or cattlemen or travelers."
+
+"Wal, you don't say!" rejoined Belllounds. "Now, Wade, are you
+connectin' up them strangers with the stock I missed on this last
+round-up?"
+
+"Reckon I can't go as far as that," returned Wade. "But I didn't like
+their looks."
+
+"Thet comin' from you, Wade, is like the findin's of a jury.... It's
+gettin' along toward October. Snow'll be flyin' soon. You don't reckon
+them strangers will winter in the woods?"
+
+"No, I don't. Neither does Lewis. You recollect him?"
+
+"Yes, thet prospector who hangs out around Buffalo Park, lookin' fer
+gold. He's been hyar. Good fellar, but crazy on gold."
+
+"I've met Lewis several times, one place and another. I lost the hounds
+day before yesterday. They treed a lion an' Lewis heard the racket, an'
+he stayed with them till I come up. Then he told me some interestin'
+news. You see he's been worryin' about this gang thet's rangin' around
+Buffalo Park, an' he's tried to get a line on them. Somebody took a shot
+at him in the woods. He couldn't swear it was one of that outfit, but he
+could swear he wasn't near shot by accident. Now Lewis says these men
+pack to an' fro from Elgeria, an' he has a hunch they're in cahoots with
+Smith, who runs a place there. You know Smith?"
+
+"No, I don't, an' haven't any wish to," declared Belllounds, shortly.
+"He always looked shady to me. An' he's not been square with friends of
+mine in Elgeria. But no one ever proved him crooked, whatever was
+thought. Fer my part, I never missed a guess in my life. Men don't have
+scars on their face like his fer nothin'."
+
+"Boss, I'm confidin' what I want kept under your hat," said Wade,
+quietly. "I knew Smith. He's as bad as the West makes them. I gave him
+that scar.... An' when he sees me he's goin' for his gun."
+
+"Wal, I'll be darned! Doesn't surprise me. It's a small world.... Wade,
+I'll keep my mouth shut, sure. But what's your game?"
+
+"Lewis an' I will find out if there is any connection between Smith an'
+this gang of strangers--an' the occasional loss of a few head of stock."
+
+"Ahuh! Wal, you have my good will, you bet.... Sure thar's been some
+rustlin' of cattle. Not enough to make any rancher holler, an' I reckon
+there never will be any more of thet in Colorado. Still, if we get the
+drop on some outfit we sure ought to corral them."
+
+"Boss, I'm tellin' you--"
+
+"Wade, you ain't agoin' to start thet tellin' hell-bent happenin's to
+come hyar at White Slides?" interrupted Belllounds, plaintively.
+
+"No, I reckon I've no hunch like that now," responded Wade, seriously.
+"But I was about to say that if Smith is in on any rustlin' of cattle
+he'll be hard to catch, an' if he's caught there'll be shootin' to pay.
+He's cunnin' an' has had long experience. It's not likely he'd work
+openly, as he did years ago. If he's stealin' stock or buyin' an'
+sellin' stock that some one steals for him, it's only on a small scale,
+an' it'll be hard to trace."
+
+"Wal, he might be deep," said Belllounds, reflectively. "But men like
+thet, no matter how deep or cunnin' they are, always come to a bad end.
+Jest works out natural.... Had you any grudge ag'in' Smith?"
+
+"What I give him was for somebody else, an' was sure little enough. He's
+got the grudge against me."
+
+"Ahuh! Wal, then, don't you go huntin' fer trouble. Try an' make White
+Slides one place thet'll disprove your name. All the same, don't shy at
+sight of anythin' suspicious round the ranch."
+
+The old man plodded thoughtfully away, leaving the hunter likewise in a
+brown study.
+
+"He's gettin' a hunch that I'll tell him of some shadow hoverin' black
+over White Slides," soliloquized Wade. "Maybe--maybe so. But I don't see
+any yet.... Strange how a man will say what he didn't start out to say.
+Now, I started to tell him about that amazin' dog Fox."
+
+Fox was the great dog of the whole pack, and he had been absolutely
+overlooked, which fact Wade regarded with contempt for himself.
+Discovery of this particular dog came about by accident. Somewhere in
+the big corral there was a hole where the smaller dogs could escape, but
+Wade had been unable to find it. For that matter the corral was full of
+holes, not any of which, however, it appeared to Wade, would permit
+anything except a squirrel to pass in and out.
+
+One day when the hunter, very much exasperated, was prowling around and
+around inside the corral, searching for this mysterious vent, a rather
+small dog, with short gray and brown woolly hair, and shaggy brows half
+hiding big, bright eyes, came up wagging his stump of a tail.
+
+"Well, what do you know about it?" demanded Wade. Of course he had
+noticed this particular dog, but to no purpose. On this occasion the dog
+repeated so unmistakably former overtures of friendship that Wade gave
+him close scrutiny. He was neither young nor comely nor thoroughbred,
+but there was something in his intelligent eyes that struck the hunter
+significantly. "Say, maybe I overlooked somethin'? But there's been a
+heap of dogs round here an' you're no great shucks for looks. Now, if
+you're talkin' to me come an' find that hole."
+
+Whereupon Wade began another search around the corral. It covered nearly
+an acre of ground, and in some places the fence-poles had been sunk near
+rocks. More than once Wade got down upon his hands and knees to see if
+he could find the hole. The dog went with him, watching with knowing
+eyes that the hunter imagined actually laughed at him. But they were
+glad eyes, which began to make an appeal. Presently, when Wade came to a
+rough place, the dog slipped under a shelving rock, and thence through a
+half-concealed hole in the fence; and immediately came back through to
+wag his stump of a tail and look as if the finding of that hole was
+easy enough.
+
+"You old fox," declared Wade, very much pleased, as he patted the dog.
+"You found it for me, didn't you? Good dog! Now I'll fix that hole, an'
+then you can come to the cabin with me. An' your name's Fox."
+
+That was how Fox introduced himself to Wade, and found his opportunity.
+The fact that he was not a hound had operated against his being taken
+out hunting, and therefore little or no attention had been paid him.
+Very shortly Fox showed himself to be a dog of superior intelligence.
+The hunter had lived much with dogs and had come to learn that the
+longer he lived with them the more there was to marvel at and love.
+
+Fox insisted so strongly on being taken out to hunt with the hounds that
+Wade, vowing not to be surprised at anything, let him go. It happened to
+be a particularly hard day on hounds because of old tracks and
+cross-tracks and difficult ground. Fox worked out a labyrinthine trail
+that Sampson gave up and Jim failed on. This delighted Wade, and that
+night he tried to find out from Andrews, who sold the dog to Belllounds,
+something about Fox. All the information obtainable was that Andrews
+suspected the fellow from whom he had gotten Fox had stolen him.
+Belllounds had never noticed him at all. Wade kept the possibilities of
+Fox to himself and reserved his judgment, and every day gave the dog
+another chance to show what he knew.
+
+[Illustration: "I'm beginnin' to feel that I couldn't let her marry that
+Buster Jack," soliloquized Wade, as he rode along the grassy trail.]
+
+Long before the end of that week Wade loved Fox and decided that he was
+a wonderful animal. Fox liked to hunt, but it did not matter what he
+hunted. That depended upon the pleasure of his master. He would find
+hobbled horses that were hiding out and standing still to escape
+detection. He would trail cattle. He would tree squirrels and point
+grouse. Invariably he suited his mood to the kind of game he hunted. If
+put on an elk track, or that of deer, he would follow it, keeping well
+within sight of the hunter, and never uttering a single bark or yelp;
+and without any particular eagerness he would stick until he had found
+the game or until he was called off. Bear and cat tracks, however,
+roused the savage instinct in him, and transformed him. He yelped at
+every jump on a trail, and whenever his yelp became piercing and
+continuous Wade well knew the quarry was in sight. He fought bear like a
+wise old dog that knew when to rush in with a snap and when to keep
+away. When lions or wildcats were treed Fox lost much of his ferocity
+and interest. Then the matter of that particular quarry was ended. His
+most valuable characteristic, however, was his ability to stick on the
+track upon which he was put. Wade believed if he put Fox on the trail of
+a rabbit, and if a bear or lion were to cross that trail ahead of him,
+Fox would stick to the rabbit. Even more remarkable was it that Fox
+would not steal a piece of meat and that he would fight the other dogs
+for being thieves.
+
+Fox and Kane, it seemed to the hunter in his reflective foreshadowing
+of events at White Slides, were destined to play most important parts.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Upon a certain morning, several days before October first--which date
+rankled in the mind of Wade--he left Moore's cabin, leading a
+pack-horse. The hounds he had left behind at the ranch, but Fox
+accompanied him.
+
+"Wade, I want some elk steak," old Belllounds had said the day before.
+"Nothin' like a good rump steak! I was raised on elk meat. Now hyar,
+more'n a week ago I told you I wanted some. There's elk all around. I
+heerd a bull whistle at sunup to-day. Made me wish I was young ag'in!...
+You go pack in an elk."
+
+"I haven't run across any bulls lately," Wade had replied, but he did
+not mention that he had avoided such a circumstance. The fact was Wade
+admired and loved the elk above all horned wild animals. So strange was
+his attitude toward elk that he had gone meat-hungry many a time with
+these great stags bugling near his camp.
+
+As he climbed the yellow, grassy mountain-side, working round above the
+valley, his mind was not centered on the task at hand, but on Wilson
+Moore, who had come to rely on him with the unconscious tenacity of a
+son whose faith in his father was unshakable. The crippled cowboy kept
+his hope, kept his cheerful, grateful spirit, obeyed and suffered with a
+patience that was fine. There had been no improvement in his injured
+foot. Wade worried about that much more than Moore. The thing that
+mostly occupied the cowboy was the near approach of October first, with
+its terrible possibility for him. He did not talk about it, except when
+fever made him irrational, but it was plain to Wade how he prayed and
+hoped and waited in silence. Strange how he trusted Wade to avert
+catastrophe of Columbine's marriage! Yet such trust seemed familiar to
+Wade, as he reflected over past years. Had he not wanted such trust--had
+he not invited it?
+
+For twenty years no happiness had come to Wade in any sense comparable
+to that now secretly his, as he lived near Columbine Belllounds,
+divining more and more each day how truly she was his own flesh and the
+image of the girl he had loved and married and wronged. Columbine was
+his daughter. He saw himself in her. And Columbine, from being strongly
+attracted to him and trusting in him and relying upon him, had come to
+love him. That was the most beautiful and terrible fact of his
+life--beautiful because it brought back the past, her babyhood, and his
+barren years, and gave him this sudden change, where he lived
+transported with the sense and the joy of his possession. It was
+terrible because she was unhappy, because she was chained to duty and
+honor, because ruin faced her, and lastly because Wade began to have the
+vague, gloomy intimations of distant tragedy. Far off, like a cloud on
+the horizon, but there! Long ago he had learned the uselessness of
+fighting his morbid visitations. But he clung to hope, to faith in life,
+to the victory of the virtuous, to the defeat of evil. A thousand proofs
+had strengthened him in that clinging.
+
+There were personal dread and poignant pain for Wade in Columbine
+Belllounds's situation. After all, he had only his subtle and intuitive
+assurance that matters would turn out well for her in the end. To trust
+that now, when the shadow began to creep over his own daughter, seemed
+unwise--a juggling with chance.
+
+"I'm beginnin' to feel that I couldn't let her marry that Buster Jack,"
+soliloquized Wade, as he rode along the grassy trail. "Fust off, seein'
+how strong was her sense of duty an' loyalty, I wasn't so set against
+it. But somethin's growin' in me. Her love for that crippled boy, now,
+an' his for her! Lord! they're so young an' life must be so hot an' love
+so sweet! I reckon that's why I couldn't let her marry Jack.... But, on
+the other hand, there's the old man's faith in his son, an' there's
+Collie's faith in herself an' in life. Now I believe in that. An' the
+years have proved to me there's hope for the worst of men.... I haven't
+even had a talk with this Buster Jack. I don't know him, except by
+hearsay. An' I'm sure prejudiced, which's no wonder, considerin' where I
+saw him in Denver.... I reckon, before I go any farther, I'd better meet
+this Belllounds boy an' see what's in him."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was characteristic of Wade that this soliloquy abruptly ended his
+thoughtful considerations for the time being. This was owing to the fact
+that he rested upon a decision, and also because it was time he began to
+attend to the object of his climb.
+
+Bench after bench he had ascended, and the higher he got the denser and
+more numerous became the aspen thickets and the more luxuriant the
+grass. Presently the long black slope of spruce confronted him, with its
+edge like a dark wall. He entered the fragrant forest, where not a twig
+stirred nor a sound pervaded the silence. Upon the soft, matted earth
+the hoofs of the horses made no impression and scarcely a
+perceptible thud.
+
+Wade headed to the left, avoiding rough, rocky defiles of weathered
+cliff and wind-fallen trees, and aimed to find easy going up to the
+summit of the mountain bluff far above. This was new forest to him,
+consisting of moderate-sized spruce-trees growing so closely together
+that he had to go carefully to keep from snapping dead twigs. Fox
+trotted on in the lead, now and then pausing to look up at his master,
+as if for instructions.
+
+A brightening of the dark-green gloom ahead showed the hunter that he
+was approaching a large glade or open patch, where the sunlight fell
+strongly. It turned out to be a swale, or swampy place, some few acres
+in extent, and directly at the foot of a last steep, wooded slope. Here
+Fox put his nose into the air and halted.
+
+"What're you scentin', Fox, old boy?" asked Wade, with low voice, as he
+peered ahead. The wind was in the wrong direction for him to approach
+close to game without being detected. Fox wagged his stumpy tail and
+looked up with knowing eyes. Wade proceeded cautiously. The swamp was a
+rank growth of long, weedy grasses and ferns, with here and there a
+green-mossed bog half hidden and a number of dwarf oak-trees. Wade's
+horse sank up to his knees in the mire. On the other side showed fresh
+tracks along the wet margin of the swale.
+
+"It's elk, all right," said Wade, as he dismounted. "Heard us comin'.
+Now, Fox, stick your nose in that track. An' go slow."
+
+With rifle ready Wade began the ascent of the slope on foot, leading his
+horse. An old elk trail showed a fresh track. Fox accommodated his pace
+to that of the toiling hunter. The ascent was steep and led up through
+dense forest. At intervals, when Wade halted to catch his breath and
+listen, he heard faint snapping of dead branches far above. At length he
+reached the top of the mountain, to find a wide, open space, with heavy
+forest in front, and a bare, ghastly, burned-over district to his right.
+Fox growled, and appeared about to dash forward. Then, in an opening
+through the forest, Wade espied a large bull elk, standing at gaze,
+evidently watching him. He was a gray old bull, with broken antlers.
+Wade made no move to shoot, and presently the elk walked out of sight.
+
+"Too old an' tough, Fox," explained the hunter to the anxious dog. But
+perhaps that was not all Wade's motive in sparing him.
+
+Once more mounted, Wade turned his attention to the burned district. It
+was a dreary, hideous splotch, a blackened slash in the green cover of
+the mountain. It sloped down into a wide hollow and up another bare
+slope. The ground was littered with bleached logs, trees that had been
+killed first by fire and then felled by wind. Here and there a lofty,
+spectral trunk still withstood the blasts. Across the hollow sloped a
+considerable area where all trees were dead and still standing--a
+melancholy sight. Beyond, and far round and down to the left, opened up
+a slope of spruce and bare ridge, where a few cedars showed dark, and
+then came black, spear-tipped forest again, leading the eye to the
+magnificent panorama of endless range on range, purple in the distance.
+
+Wade found patches of grass where beds had been recently occupied.
+
+"Mountain-sheep, by cracky!" exclaimed the hunter. "An' fresh tracks,
+too!... Now I wonder if it wouldn't do to kill a sheep an' tell
+Belllounds I couldn't find any elk."
+
+The hunter had no qualms about killing mountain-sheep, but he loved the
+lordly stags and would have lied to spare them. He rode on, with keen
+gaze shifting everywhere to catch a movement of something in this
+wilderness before him. If there was any living animal in sight it did
+not move. Wade crossed the hollow, wended a circuitous route through the
+upstanding forest of dead timber, and entered a thick woods that skirted
+the rim of the mountain. Presently he came out upon the open rim, from
+which the depths of green and gray yawned mightily. Far across, Old
+White Slides loomed up, higher now, with a dignity and majesty
+unheralded from below.
+
+Wade found fresh sheep tracks in the yellow clay of the rim, small as
+little deer tracks, showing that they had just been made by ewes and
+lambs. Not a ram track in the group!
+
+"Well, that lets me out," said Wade, as he peered under the bluff for
+sight of the sheep. They had gone over the steep rim as if they had
+wings. "Beats hell how sheep can go down without fallin'! An' how they
+can hide!"
+
+He knew they were near at hand and he wasted time peering to spy them
+out. Nevertheless, he could not locate them. Fox waited impatiently for
+the word to let him prove how easily he could rout them out, but this
+permission was not forthcoming.
+
+"We're huntin' elk, you Jack-of-all-dogs," reprovingly spoke the hunter
+to Fox.
+
+So they went on around the rim, and after a couple of miles of travel
+came to the forest, and then open heads of hollows that widened and
+deepened down. Here was excellent pasture and cover for elk. Wade left
+the rim to ride down these slow-descending half-open ridges, where
+cedars grew and jack-pines stood in clumps, and little grassy-bordered
+brooks babbled between. He saw tracks where a big buck deer had crossed
+ahead of him, and then he flushed a covey of grouse that scared the
+horses, and then he saw where a bear had pulled a rotten log to pieces.
+Fox did not show any interest in these things.
+
+By and by Wade descended to the junction of these hollows, where three
+tiny brooklets united to form a stream of pure, swift, clear water,
+perhaps a foot deep and several yards wide.
+
+"I reckon this's the head of the Troublesome," said Wade. "Whoever named
+this brook had no sense.... Yet here, at its source, it's gatherin'
+trouble for itself. That's the way of youth."
+
+The grass grew thickly and luxuriantly and showed signs of recent
+grazing. Elk had been along the brook that morning. There were many
+tracks, like cow tracks, only smaller, deeper, and more oval; and there
+were beds where elk had lain, and torn-up places where bulls had plowed
+and stamped with heavy hoofs.
+
+Fox trailed the herd to higher ground, where evidently they had entered
+the woods. Here Wade tied his horses, and, whispering to Fox, he
+proceeded stealthily through this strip of spruce. He came out to an
+open point, taking care, however, to keep well screened, from which he
+had a glimpse of a parklike hollow, grassy and watered. Working round to
+better vantage, he soon espied what had made Fox stand so stiff and
+bristling. A herd of elk were trooping up the opposite slope, scarcely a
+hundred yards distant. They had heard or scented him, but did not appear
+alarmed. They halted to look back. The hunter's quick estimate credited
+nearly two dozen to the herd, mostly cows. A magnificent bull, with
+wide-spreading antlers, and black head and shoulders and gray hind
+quarters, stalked out from the herd, and stood an instant, head aloft,
+splendidly significant of the wild. Then he trotted into the woods, his
+antlers noiselessly spreading the green. Others trotted off likewise.
+Wade raised his rifle and looked through the sight at the bull, and let
+him pass. Then he saw another over his rifle, and another. Reluctant and
+forced, he at last aimed and pulled trigger. The heavy Henry boomed out
+in the stillness. Fox dashed down with eager barks. When the smoke
+cleared away Wade saw the opposite slope bare except for one fallen elk.
+
+Then he returned to his horses, and brought them back to where Fox
+perched beside the dead quarry.
+
+"Well, Fox, that stag'll never bugle any more of a sunrise," said Wade.
+"Strange how we're made so we have to eat meat! I'd 'a' liked it
+otherwise."
+
+He cut up the elk, and packed all the meat the horse could carry, and
+hung the best of what was left out of the reach of coyotes. Mounting
+once more, he ascended to the rim and found a slope leading down to the
+west. Over the basin country below he had hunted several days. This way
+back to the ranch was longer, he calculated, but less arduous for man
+and beast. His pack-horse would have hard enough going in any event.
+From time to time Wade halted to rest the burdened pack-animal. At
+length he came to a trail he had himself made, which he now proceeded to
+follow. It led out of the basin, through burned and boggy ground and
+down upon the forest slope, thence to the grassy and aspened uplands.
+One aspen grove, where he had rested before, faced the west, and, for
+reasons hard to guess, had suffered little from frost. All the leaves
+were intact, some still green, but most of them a glorious gold against
+the blue. It was a large grove, sloping gently, carpeted with yellow
+grass and such a profusion of purple asters as Wade had never seen in
+his flower-loving life. Here he dismounted and sat against an
+aspen-tree. His horses ruthlessly cropped the purple blossoms.
+
+Nature in her strong prodigality had outdone herself here. Pale white
+the aspen-trees shone, and above was the fluttering, quivering canopy of
+gold tinged with green, and below clustered the asters, thick as stars
+in the sky, waving, nodding, swaying gracefully to each little autumn
+breeze, lilac-hued and lavender and pale violet, and all the shades of
+exquisite purple.
+
+Wade lingered, his senses predominating. This was one of those moments
+that colored his lonely wanderings. Only to see was enough. He would
+have shut out the encroaching thoughts of self, of others, of life, had
+that been wholly possible. But here, after the first few moments of
+exquisite riot of his senses, where fragrance of grass and blossom
+filled the air, and blaze of gold canopied the purple, he began to think
+how beautiful the earth was, how Nature hid her rarest gifts for those
+who loved her most, how good it was to live, if only for these
+blessings. And sadness crept into his meditations because all this
+beauty was ephemeral, all the gold would soon be gone, and the asters,
+so pale and pure and purple, would soon be like the glory of a dream
+that had passed.
+
+Yet still followed the saving thought that frost and winter must again
+yield to sun, and spring, summer, autumn would return with the flowers
+of their season, in that perennial birth so gracious and promising. The
+aspen leaves would quiver and slowly gild, the grass would wave in the
+wind, the asters would bloom, lifting star-pale faces to the sky. Next
+autumn, and every year, and forever, as long as the sun warmed
+the earth!
+
+It was only man who would not always return to the haunts he loved.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+When Bent Wade desired opportunities they seemed to gravitate to him.
+
+Upon riding into the yard of White Slides Ranch he espied Jack
+Belllounds sitting in idle, moping posture on the porch. Something in
+his dejected appearance roused Wade's pity. No one else was in sight, so
+the hunter took advantage of the moment.
+
+"Hey, Belllounds, will you give me a lift with this meat?" called Wade.
+
+"Sure," replied Jack, readily enough, and he got up. Wade led the
+pack-horse to the door of the store-cabin, which stood back of the
+kitchen and was joined to it by a roof. There, with Jack's assistance,
+he unloaded the meat and hung it up on pegs. This done, Wade set to work
+with knife in hand.
+
+"I reckon a little trimmin' will improve the looks of this carcass,"
+observed Wade.
+
+"Wade, we never had any one round except dad who could cut up a steer or
+elk," said Jack. "But you've got him beat."
+
+"I'm pretty handy at most things."
+
+"Handy!... I wish I could do just one thing as well as you. I can ride,
+but that's all. No one ever taught me anything."
+
+"You're a young fellow yet, an' you've time, if you only take kindly to
+learnin'. I was past your age when I learned most I know."
+
+The hunter's voice and his look, and that fascination which subtly hid
+in his presence, for the first time seemed to find the response of
+interest in young Belllounds.
+
+"I can't stick, dad says, and he swears at me," replied Belllounds. "But
+I'll bet I could learn from you."
+
+"Reckon you could. Why can't you stick to anythin'?"
+
+"I don't know. I've been as enthusiastic over work as over riding
+mustangs. To ride came natural, but in work, when I do it wrong, then
+I hate it."
+
+"Ahuh! That's too bad. You oughtn't to hate work. Hard work makes for
+what I reckon you like in a man, but don't understand. As I look back
+over my life--an' let me say, young fellar, it's been a tough one--what
+I remember most an' feel best over are the hardest jobs I ever did, an'
+those that cost the most sweat an' blood."
+
+As Wade warmed to his subject, hoping to sow a good seed in Belllounds's
+mind, he saw that he was wasting his earnestness. Belllounds did not
+keep to the train of thought. His mind wandered, and now he was
+examining Wade's rifle.
+
+"Old Henry forty-four," he said. "Dad has one. Also an old needle-gun.
+Say, can I go hunting with you?"
+
+"Glad to have you. How do you handle a rifle?"
+
+"I used to shoot pretty well before I went to Denver," he replied.
+"Haven't tried since I've been home.... Suppose you let me take a shot
+at that post?" And from where he stood in the door he pointed to a big
+hitching-post near the corral gate.
+
+The corral contained horses, and in the pasture beyond were cattle, any
+of which might be endangered by such a shot. Wade saw that the young man
+was in earnest, that he wanted to respond to the suggestion in his mind.
+Consequences of any kind did not awaken after the suggestion.
+
+"Sure. Go ahead. Shoot low, now, a little below where you want to hit,"
+said Wade.
+
+Belllounds took aim and fired. A thundering report shook the cabin. Dust
+and splinters flew from the post.
+
+"I hit it!" he exclaimed, in delight. "I was sure I wouldn't, because I
+aimed 'way under."
+
+"Reckon you did. It was a good shot."
+
+Then a door slammed and Old Bill Belllounds appeared, his hair
+upstanding, his look and gait proclaiming him on the rampage.
+
+"Jack! What'n hell are you doin'?" he roared, and he stamped up to the
+door to see his son standing there with the rifle in his hands. "By
+Heaven! If it ain't one thing it's another!"
+
+"Boss, don't jump over the traces," said Wade. "I'll allow if I'd known
+the gun would let out a bellar like that I'd not have told Jack to
+shoot. Reckon it's because we're under the open roof that it made the
+racket. I'm wantin' to clean the gun while it's hot."
+
+"Ahuh! Wal, I was scared fust, harkin' back to Indian days, an' then I
+was mad because I figgered Jack was up to mischief.... Did you fetch in
+the meat?"
+
+"You bet. An' I'd like a piece for myself," replied Wade.
+
+"Help yourself, man. An' say, come down an' eat with us fer supper."
+
+"Much obliged, boss. I sure will."
+
+Then the old rancher trudged back to the house.
+
+"Wade, it was bully of you!" exclaimed Jack, gratefully. "You see how
+quick dad's ready to jump me? I'll bet he thought I'd picked a
+shooting-scrape with one of the cowboys."
+
+"Well, he's gettin' old an' testy," replied Wade. "You ought to humor
+him. He'll not be here always."
+
+Belllounds answered to that suggestion with a shadowing of eyes and look
+of realization, affection, remorse. Feelings seemed to have a quick rise
+and play in him, but were not lasting. Wade casually studied him,
+weighing his impressions, holding them in abeyance for a sum
+of judgment.
+
+"Belllounds, has anybody told you about Wils Moore bein' bad hurt?"
+abruptly asked the hunter.
+
+"He is, is he?" replied Jack, and to his voice and face came sudden
+change. "How bad?"
+
+"I reckon he'll be a cripple for life," answered Wade, seriously, and
+now he stopped in his work to peer at Belllounds. The next moment might
+be critical for that young man.
+
+"Club-footed!... He won't lord it over the cowboys any more--or ride
+that white mustang!" The softer, weaker expression of his face, that
+which gave him some title to good looks, changed to an ugliness hard for
+Wade to define, since it was neither glee, nor joy, nor gratification
+over his rival's misfortune. It was rush of blood to eyes and skin, a
+heated change that somehow to Wade suggested an anxious, selfish hunger.
+Belllounds lacked something, that seemed certain. But it remained to be
+proved how deserving he was of Wade's pity.
+
+"Belllounds, it was a dirty trick--your jumpin' Moore," declared Wade,
+with deliberation.
+
+"The hell you say!" Belllounds flared up, with scarlet in his face, with
+sneer of amaze, with promise of bursting rage. He slammed down the gun.
+
+"Yes, the hell I say," returned the hunter. "They call me Hell-Bent
+Wade!"
+
+"Are you friends with Moore?" asked Belllounds, beginning to shake.
+
+"Yes, I'm that with every one. I'd like to be friends with you."
+
+"I don't want you. And I'm giving you notice--you won't last long at
+White Slides."
+
+"Neither will you!"
+
+Belllounds turned dead white, not apparently from fury or fear, but from
+a shock that had its birth within the deep, mysterious, emotional
+reachings of his mind. He was utterly astounded, as if confronting a
+vague, terrible premonition of the future. Wade's swift words, like the
+ring of bells, had not been menacing, but prophetic.
+
+"Young fellar, you need to be talked to, so if you've got any sense at
+all it'll get a wedge in your brain," went on Wade. "I'm a stranger
+here. But I happen to be a man who sees through things, an' I see how
+your dad handles you wrong. You don't know who I am an' you don't care.
+But if you'll listen you'll learn what might help you.... No boy can
+answer to all his wild impulses without ruinin' himself. It's not
+natural. There are other people--people who have wills an' desires, same
+as you have. You've got to live with people. Here's your dad an' Miss
+Columbine, an' the cowboys, an' me, an' all the ranchers, so down to
+Kremmlin' an' other places. These are the people you've got to live
+with. You can't go on as you've begun, without ruinin' yourself an' your
+dad an' the--the girl.... It's never too late to begin to be better. I
+know that. But it gets too late, sometimes, to save the happiness of
+others. Now I see where you're headin' as clear as if I had pictures of
+the future. I've got a gift that way.... An', Belllounds, you'll not
+last. Unless you begin to control your temper, to forget yourself, to
+kill your wild impulses, to be kind, to learn what love is--you'll never
+last!... In the very nature of things, one comin' after another like
+your fights with Moore, an' your scarin' of Pronto, an' your drinkin'
+at Kremmlin', an' just now your r'arin' at me--it's in the very nature
+of life that goin' on so you'll sooner or later meet with hell! You've
+got to change, Belllounds. No half-way, spoiled-boy changin', but the
+straight right-about-face of a man!... It means you must see you're no
+good an' have a change of heart. Men have revolutions like that. I was
+no good. I did worse than you'll ever do, because you're not big enough
+to be really bad, an' yet I've turned out worth livin'.... There, I'm
+through, an' I'm offerin' to be your friend an' to help you."
+
+Belllounds stood with arms spread outside the door, still astounded,
+still pale; but as the long admonition and appeal ended he exploded
+stridently. "Who the hell are _you?_... If I hadn't been so
+surprised--if I'd had a chance to get a word in--I'd shut your trap! Are
+you a preacher masquerading here as hunter? Let me tell you, I won't be
+talked to like that--not by any man. Keep your advice an' friendship to
+yourself."
+
+"You don't want me, then?"
+
+"No," Belllounds snapped.
+
+"Reckon you don't need either advice or friend, hey?"
+
+"No, you owl-eyed, soft-voiced fool!" yelled Belllounds.
+
+It was then Wade felt a singular and familiar sensation, a cold,
+creeping thing, physical and elemental, that had not visited him since
+he had been at White Slides.
+
+"I reckoned so," he said, with low and gloomy voice, and he knew, if
+Belllounds did not know, that he was not acquiescing with the other's
+harsh epithet, but only greeting the advent of something in himself.
+
+Belllounds shrugged his burly shoulders and slouched away.
+
+Wade finished his dressing of the meat. Then he rode up to spend an hour
+with Moore. When he returned to his cabin he proceeded to change his
+hunter garb for the best he owned. It was a proof of his unusual
+preoccupation that he did this before he fed the hounds. It was sunset
+when he left his cabin. Montana Jim and Lem hailed as he went by. Wade
+paused to listen to their good-natured raillery.
+
+"See hyar, Bent, this ain't Sunday," said Lem.
+
+"You're spruced up powerful fine. What's it fer?" added Montana.
+
+"Boss asked me down to supper.'
+
+"Wal, you lucky son-of-a-gun! An' hyar we've no invite," returned Lem.
+"Say, Wade, I heerd Buster Jack roarin' at you. I was ridin' in by the
+storehouse.... 'Who the hell are you?' was what collared my attention,
+an' I had to laugh. An' I listened to all he said. So you was offerin'
+him advice an' friendship?"
+
+"I reckon."
+
+"Wal, all I say is thet you was wastin' yore breath," declared Lem.
+"You're a queer fellar, Wade."
+
+"Queer? Aw, Lem, he ain't queer," said Montana. "He's jest white. Wade,
+I feel the same as you. I'd like to do somethin' fer thet locoed
+Buster Jack."
+
+"Montana, you're the locoed one," rejoined Lem. "Buster Jack knows what
+he's doin'. He can play a slicker hand of poker than you."
+
+"Wal, mebbe. Wade, do you play poker?"
+
+"I'd hate to take your money," replied Wade.
+
+"You needn't be so all-fired kind about thet. Come over to-night an'
+take some of it. Buster Jack invited himself up to our bunk. He's
+itchin' fer cards. So we says shore. Blud's goin' to sit in. Now you
+come an' make it five-handed."
+
+"Wouldn't young Belllounds object to me?"
+
+"What? Buster Jack shy at gamblin' with you? Not much. He's a born
+gambler. He'd bet with his grandmother an' he'd cheat the coppers off a
+dead nigger's eyes."
+
+"Slick with cards, eh?" inquired Wade.
+
+"Naw, Jack's not slick. But he tries to be. An' we jest go him one
+slicker."
+
+"Wouldn't Old Bill object to this card-playin'?"
+
+"He'd be ory-eyed. But, by Golly! we're not leadin' Jack astray. An' we
+ain't hankerin' to play with him. All the same a little game is
+welcome enough."
+
+"I'll come over," replied Wade, and thoughtfully turned away.
+
+When he presented himself at the ranch-house it was Columbine who let
+him in. She was prettily dressed, in a way he had never seen her before,
+and his heart throbbed. Her smile, her voice added to her nameless
+charm, that seemed to come from the past. Her look was eager and
+longing, as if his presence might bring something welcome to her.
+
+Then the rancher stalked in. "Hullo, Wade! Supper's 'most ready. What's
+this trouble you had with Jack? He says he won't eat with you."
+
+"I was offerin' him advice," replied Wade.
+
+"What on?"
+
+"Reckon on general principles."
+
+"Humph! Wal, he told me you harangued him till you was black in the
+face, an'--"
+
+"Jack had it wrong. He got black in the face," interrupted Wade.
+
+"Did you say he was a spoiled boy an' thet he was no good an' was
+headin' plumb fer hell?"
+
+"That was a little of what I said," returned Wade, gently.
+
+"Ahuh! How'd thet come about?" queried Belllounds, gruffly. A slight
+stiffening and darkening overcast his face.
+
+Wade then recalled and recounted the remarks that had passed between him
+and Jack; and he did not think he missed them very far. He had a great
+curiosity to see how Belllounds would take them, and especially the
+young man's scornful rejection of a sincerely offered friendship. All
+the time Wade was talking he was aware of Columbine watching him, and
+when he finished it was sweet to look at her.
+
+"Wade, wasn't you takin' a lot on yourself?" queried the rancher,
+plainly displeased.
+
+"Reckon I was. But my conscience is beholden to no man. If Jack had met
+me half-way that would have been better for him. An' for me, because I
+get good out of helpin' any one."
+
+His reply silenced Belllounds. No more was said before supper was
+announced, and then the rancher seemed taciturn. Columbine did the
+serving, and most all of the talking. Wade felt strangely at ease. Some
+subtle difference was at work in him, transforming him, but the moment
+had not yet come for him to question himself. He enjoyed the supper. And
+when he ventured to look up at Columbine, to see her strong, capable
+hands and her warm, blue glance, glad for his presence, sweetly
+expressive of their common secret and darker with a shadow of meaning
+beyond her power to guess, then Wade felt havoc within him, the strife
+and pain and joy of the truth he never could reveal. For he could never
+reveal his identity to her without betraying his baseness to her mother.
+Otherwise, to hear her call him father would have been earning that
+happiness with a lie. Besides, she loved Belllounds as her father, and
+were this trouble of the present removed she would grow still closer to
+the old man in his declining days. Wade accepted the inevitable, She
+must never know. If she might love him it must be as the stranger who
+came to her gates, it must be through the mysterious affinity between
+them and through the service he meant to render.
+
+Wade did not linger after the meal was ended despite the fact that
+Belllounds recovered his cordiality. It was dark when he went out.
+Columbine followed him, talking cheerfully. Once outside she squeezed
+his hand and whispered, "How's Wilson?"
+
+The hunter nodded his reply, and, pausing at the porch step, he pressed
+her hand to make his assurance stronger. His reward was instant. In the
+bright starlight she stood white and eloquent, staring down at him with
+dark, wide eyes.
+
+Presently she whispered: "Oh, my friend! It wants only three days till
+October first!"
+
+"Lass, it might be a thousand years for all you need worry," he replied,
+his voice low and full. Then it seemed, as she flung up her arms, that
+she was about to embrace him. But her gesture was an appeal to the
+stars, to Heaven above, for something she did not speak.
+
+Wade bade her good night and went his way.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The cowboys and the rancher's son were about to engage in a game of
+poker when Wade entered the dimly lighted, smoke-hazed room. Montana Jim
+was sticking tallow candles in the middle of a rude table; Lem was
+searching his clothes, manifestly for money; Bludsoe shuffled a greasy
+deck of cards, and Jack Belllounds was filling his pipe before a fire of
+blazing logs on the hearth.
+
+"Dog-gone it! I hed more money 'n thet," complained Lem. "Jim, you rode
+to Kremmlin' last. Did you take my money?"
+
+"Wal, come to think of it, I reckon I did," replied Jim, in surprise at
+the recollection.
+
+"An' whar's it now?"
+
+"Pard, I 'ain't no idee. I reckon it's still in Kremmlin'. But I'll pay
+you back."
+
+"I should smile you will. Pony up now."
+
+"Bent Wade, did you come over calkilated to git skinned?" queried
+Bludsoe.
+
+"Boys, I was playin' poker tolerable well in Missouri when you all was
+nursin'," replied Wade, imperturbably.
+
+"I heerd he was a card-sharp," said Jim. "Wal, grab a box or a chair to
+set on an' let's start. Come along, Jack; you don't look as keen to play
+as usual."
+
+Belllounds stood with his back to the fire and his manner did not
+compare favorably with that of the genial cowboys.
+
+"I prefer to play four-handed," he said.
+
+This declaration caused a little check in the conversation and put an
+end to the amiability. The cowboys looked at one another, not
+embarrassed, but just a little taken aback, as if they had forgotten
+something that they should have remembered.
+
+"You object to my playin'?" asked Wade, quietly.
+
+"I certainly do," replied Belllounds.
+
+"Why, may I ask?"
+
+"For all I know, what Montana said about you may be true," returned
+Belllounds, insolently.
+
+Such a remark flung in the face of a Westerner was an insult. The
+cowboys suddenly grew stiff, with steady eyes on Wade. He, however, did
+not change in the slightest.
+
+"I might be a card-sharp at that," he replied, coolly. "You fellows play
+without me. I'm not carin' about poker any more. I'll look on."
+
+Thus he carried over the moment that might have been dangerous. Lem
+gaped at him; Montana kicked a box forward to sit upon, and his action
+was expressive; Bludsoe slammed the cards down on the table and favored
+Wade with a comprehending look. Belllounds pulled a chair up to
+the table.
+
+"What'll we make the limit?" asked Jim.
+
+"Two bits," replied Lem, quickly.
+
+Then began an argument. Belllounds was for a dollar limit. The cowboys
+objected.
+
+"Why, Jack, if the ole man got on to us playin' a dollar limit he'd fire
+the outfit," protested Bludsoe.
+
+This reasonable objection in no wise influenced the old man's son. He
+overruled the good arguments, and then hinted at the cowboys' lack of
+nerve. The fun faded out of their faces. Lem, in fact, grew red.
+
+"Wal, if we're agoin' to gamble, thet's different," he said, with a cold
+ring in his voice, as he straddled a box and sat down. "Wade, lemme
+some money."
+
+Wade slipped his hand into his pocket and drew forth a goodly handful of
+gold, which he handed to the cowboy. Not improbably, if this large
+amount had been shown earlier, before the change in the sentiment, Lem
+would have looked aghast and begged for mercy. As it was, he accepted it
+as if he were accustomed to borrowing that much every day. Belllounds
+had rendered futile the easy-going, friendly advances of the cowboys, as
+he had made it impossible to play a jolly little game for fun.
+
+The game began, with Wade standing up, looking on. These boys did not
+know what a vast store of poker knowledge lay back of Wade's inscrutable
+eyes. As a boy he had learned the intricacies of poker in the country
+where it originated; and as a man he had played it with piles of yellow
+coins and guns on the table. His eagerness to look on here, as far as
+the cowboys were concerned, was mere pretense. In Belllounds's case,
+however, he had a profound interest. Rumors had drifted to him from time
+to time, since his advent at White Slides, regarding Belllounds's
+weakness for gambling. It might have been cowboy gossip. Wade held that
+there was nothing in the West as well calculated to test a boy, to prove
+his real character, as a game of poker.
+
+Belllounds was a feverish better, an exultant winner, a poor loser. His
+understanding of the game was rudimentary. With him, the strong feeling
+beginning to be manifested to Wade was not the fun of matching wits and
+luck with his antagonists, nor a desire to accumulate money--for his
+recklessness disproved that--but the liberation of the gambling passion.
+Wade recognized that when he met it. And Jack Belllounds was not in any
+sense big. He was selfish and grasping in the numberless little ways
+common to the game, and positive about his own rights, while doubtful of
+the claims of others. His cheating was clumsy and crude. He held out
+cards, hiding them in his palm; he shuffled the deck so he left aces at
+the bottom, and these he would slip off to himself, and he was so blind
+that he could not detect his fellow-player in tricks as transparent as
+his own. Wade was amazed and disgusted. The pity he had felt for
+Belllounds shifted to the old father, who believed in his son with
+stubborn and unquenchable faith.
+
+"Haven't you got something to drink?" Jack asked of his companions.
+
+"Nope. Whar'd we git it?" replied Jim.
+
+Belllounds evidently forgot, for presently he repeated the query. The
+cowboys shook their heads. Wade knew they were lying, for they did have
+liquor in the cabin. It occurred to him, then, to offer to go to his own
+cabin for some, just to see what this young man would say. But he
+refrained.
+
+The luck went against Belllounds and so did the gambling. He was not a
+lamb among wolves, by any means, but the fleecing he got suggested that.
+According to Wade he was getting what he deserved. No cowboys, even such
+good-natured and fine fellows as these, could be expected to be subjects
+for Belllounds's cupidity. And they won all he had.
+
+"I'll borrow," he said, with feverish impatience. His face was pale,
+clammy, yet heated, especially round the swollen bruises; his eyes stood
+out, bold, dark, rolling and glaring, full of sullen fire. But more than
+anything else his mouth betrayed the weakling, the born gambler, the
+self-centered, spoiled, intolerant youth. It was here his bad
+blood showed.
+
+"Wal, I ain't lendin' money," replied Lem, as he assorted his winnings.
+"Wade, here's what you staked me, an' much obliged."
+
+"I'm out, an' I can't lend you any," said Jim.
+
+Bludsoe had a good share of the profits of that quick game, but he made
+no move to lend any of it. Belllounds glared impatiently at them.
+
+"Hell! you took my money. I'll have satisfaction," he broke out, almost
+shouting.
+
+"We won it, didn't we?" rejoined Lem, cool and easy. "An' you can have
+all the satisfaction you want, right now or any time."
+
+Wade held out a handful of money to Belllounds.
+
+"Here," he said, with his deep eyes gleaming in the dim room. Wade had
+made a gamble with himself, and it was that Belllounds would not even
+hesitate to take money.
+
+"Come on, you stingy cowpunchers," he called out, snatching the money
+from Wade. His action then, violent and vivid as it was, did not reveal
+any more than his face.
+
+But the cowboys showed amaze, and something more. They fell straightway
+to gambling, sharper and fiercer than before, actuated now by the
+flaming spirit of this son of Belllounds. Luck, misleading and alluring,
+favored Jack for a while, transforming him until he was radiant,
+boastful, exultant. Then it changed, as did his expression. His face
+grew dark.
+
+"I tell you I want drink," he suddenly demanded. "I know damn well you
+cowpunchers have some here, for I smelled it when I came in."
+
+"Jack, we drank the last drop," replied Jim, who seemed less stiff than
+his two bunk-mates.
+
+"I've some very old rye," interposed Wade, looking at Jim, but
+apparently addressing all. "Fine stuff, but awful strong an' hot!...
+Makes a fellow's blood dance."
+
+"Go get it!" Belllounds's utterance was thick and full, as if he had
+something in his mouth.
+
+Wade looked down into the heated face, into the burning eyes; and
+through the darkness of passion that brooked no interference with its
+fruition he saw this youth's stark and naked soul. Wade had seen into
+the depths of many such abysses.
+
+"See hyar, Wade," broke in Jim, with his quiet force, "never mind
+fetchin' thet red-hot rye to-night. Some other time, mebbe, when Jack
+wants more satisfaction. Reckon we've got a drop or so left."
+
+"All right, boys," replied Wade, "I'll be sayin' good night."
+
+He left them playing and strode out to return to his cabin. The night
+was still, cold, starlit, and black in the shadows. A lonesome coyote
+barked, to be answered by a wakeful hound. Wade halted at his porch,
+and lingered there a moment, peering up at the gray old peak, bare and
+star-crowned.
+
+"I'm sorry for the old man," muttered the hunter, "but I'd see Jack
+Belllounds in hell before I'd let Columbine marry him."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+October first was a holiday at White Slides Ranch. It happened to be a
+glorious autumn day, with the sunlight streaming gold and amber over the
+grassy slopes. Far off the purple ranges loomed hauntingly.
+
+Wade had come down from Wilson Moore's cabin, his ears ringing with the
+crippled boy's words of poignant fear.
+
+Fox favored his master with unusually knowing gaze. There was not going
+to be any lion-chasing or elk-hunting this day. Something was in the
+wind. And Fox, as a privileged dog, manifested his interest and wonder.
+
+Before noon a buckboard with team of sweating horses halted in the yard
+of the ranch-house. Besides the driver it contained two women whom
+Belllounds greeted as relatives, and a stranger, a pale man whose dark
+garb proclaimed him a minister.
+
+"Come right in, folks," welcomed Belllounds, with hearty excitement.
+
+It was Wade who showed the driver where to put the horses. Strangely,
+not a cowboy was in sight, an omission of duty the rancher had noted.
+Wade might have informed him where they were.
+
+The door of the big living-room stood open, and from it came the sound
+of laughter and voices. Wade, who had returned to his seat on the end of
+the porch, listened to them, while his keen gaze seemed fixed down the
+lane toward the cabins. How intent must he have been not to hear
+Columbine's step behind him!
+
+"Good morning, Ben," she said.
+
+Wade wheeled as if internal violence had ordered his movement.
+
+"Lass, good mornin'," he replied. "You sure look sweet this October
+first--like the flower for which you're named."
+
+"My friend, it _is_ October first--my marriage day!" murmured Columbine.
+
+Wade felt her intensity, and he thrilled to the brave, sweet resignation
+of her face. Hope and faith were unquenchable in her, yet she had
+fortified herself to the wreck of dreams and love.
+
+"I'd seen you before now, but I had some job with Wils, persuadin' him
+that we'd not have to offer you congratulations yet awhile," replied
+Wade, in his slow, gentle voice.
+
+"_Oh!_" breathed Columbine.
+
+Wade saw her full breast swell and the leaping blood wave over her pale
+face. She bent to him to see his eyes. And for Wade, when she peered
+with straining heart and soul, all at once to become transfigured, that
+instant was a sweet and all-fulfilling reward for his years of pain.
+
+"You drive me mad!" she whispered.
+
+The heavy tread of the rancher, like the last of successive steps of
+fate in Wade's tragic expectancy, sounded on the porch.
+
+"Wal, lass, hyar you are," he said, with a gladness deep in his voice.
+"Now, whar's the boy?"
+
+"Dad--I've not--seen Jack since breakfast," replied Columbine,
+tremulously.
+
+"Sort of a laggard in love on his weddin'-day," rejoined the rancher.
+His gladness and forgetfulness were as big as his heart. "Wade, have you
+seen Jack?"
+
+"No--I haven't," replied the hunter, with slow, long-drawn utterance.
+"But--I see--him now."
+
+Wade pointed to the figure of Jack Belllounds approaching from the
+direction of the cabins. He was not walking straight.
+
+Old man Belllounds shot out his gray head like a striking eagle.
+
+"What the hell?" he muttered, as if bewildered at this strange, uneven
+gait of his son. "Wade, what's the matter with Jack?"
+
+Wade did not reply. That moment had its sorrow for him as well as
+understanding of the wonder expressed by Columbine's cold little hand
+trembling in his.
+
+The rancher suddenly recoiled.
+
+"So help me Gawd--he's drunk!" he gasped, in a distress that unmanned
+him.
+
+Then the parson and the invited relatives came out upon the porch, with
+gay voices and laughter that suddenly stilled when old Belllounds cried,
+brokenly: "Lass--go--in--the house."
+
+But Columbine did not move, and Wade felt her shaking as she leaned
+against him.
+
+The bridegroom approached. Drunk indeed he was; not hilariously, as one
+who celebrated his good fortune, but sullenly, tragically,
+hideously drunk.
+
+Old Belllounds leaped off the porch. His gray hair stood up like the
+mane of a lion. Like a giant's were his strides. With a lunge he met his
+reeling son, swinging a huge fist into the sodden red face. Limply Jack
+fell to the ground.
+
+"Lay there, you damned prodigal!" he roared, terrible in his rage. "You
+disgrace me--an' you disgrace the girl who's been a daughter to me!...
+if you ever have another weddin'-day it'll not be me who sets it!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+November was well advanced before there came indications that winter was
+near at hand.
+
+One morning, when Wade rode up to Moore's cabin, the whole world seemed
+obscured in a dense gray fog, through which he could not see a rod ahead
+of him. Later, as he left, the fog had lifted shoulder-high to the
+mountains, and was breaking to let the blue sky show. Another morning it
+was worse, and apparently thicker and grayer. As Wade climbed the trail
+up toward the mountain-basin, where he hunted most these days, he
+expected the fog to lift. But it did not. The trail under the hoofs of
+the horse was scarcely perceptible to him, and he seemed lost in a
+dense, gray, soundless obscurity.
+
+Suddenly Wade emerged from out the fog into brilliant sunshine. In amaze
+he halted. This phenomenon was new to him. He was high up on the
+mountain-side, the summit of which rose clear-cut and bold into the sky.
+Below him spread what resembled a white sea. It was an immense
+cloud-bank, filling all the valleys as if with creamy foam or snow,
+soft, thick, motionless, contrasting vividly with the blue sky above.
+Old White Slides stood out, gray and bleak and brilliant, as if it were
+an island rock in a rolling sea of fleece. Far across this strange,
+level cloud-floor rose the black line of the range. Wade watched the
+scene with a kind of rapture. He was alone on the heights. There was not
+a sound. The winds were stilled. But there seemed a mighty being awake
+all around him, in the presence of which Wade felt how little were his
+sorrows and hopes.
+
+Another day brought dull-gray scudding clouds, and gusts of wind and
+squalls of rain, and a wailing through the bare aspens. It grew colder
+and bleaker and darker. Rain changed to sleet and sleet to snow. That
+night brought winter.
+
+Next morning, when Wade plodded up to Moore's cabin, it was through two
+feet of snow. A beautiful glistening white mantle covered valley and
+slope and mountain, transforming all into a world too dazzlingly
+brilliant for the unprotected gaze of man.
+
+When Wade pushed open the door of the cabin and entered he awakened the
+cowboy.
+
+"Mornin', Wils," drawled Wade, as he slapped the snow from boots and
+legs. "Summer has gone, winter has come, an' the flowers lay in their
+graves! How are you, boy?"
+
+Moore had grown paler and thinner during his long confinement in bed. A
+weary shade shone in his face and a shadow of pain in his eyes. But the
+spirit of his smile was the same as always.
+
+"Hello, Bent, old pard!" replied Moore. "I guess I'm fine. Nearly froze
+last night. Didn't sleep much."
+
+"Well, I was worried about that," said the hunter. "We've got to arrange
+things somehow."
+
+"I heard it snowing. Gee! how the wind howled! And I'm snowed in?"
+
+"Sure are. Two feet on a level. It's good I snaked down a lot of
+fire-wood. Now I'll set to work an' cut it up an' stack it round the
+cabin. Reckon I'd better sleep up here with you, Wils."
+
+"Won't Old Bill make a kick?"
+
+"Let him kick. But I reckon he doesn't need to know anythin' about it.
+It is cold in here. Well, I'll soon warm it up.... Here's some letters
+Lem got at Kremmlin' the other day. You read while I rustle some
+grub for you."
+
+Moore scanned the addresses on the several envelopes and sighed.
+
+"From home! I hate to read them."
+
+"Why?" queried Wade.
+
+"Oh, because when I wrote I didn't tell them I was hurt. I feel like a
+liar."
+
+"It's just as well, Wils, because you swear you'll not go home."
+
+"Me? I should smile not.... Bent--I--I--hoped Collie might answer the
+note you took her from me."
+
+"Not yet. Wils, give the lass time."
+
+"Time? Heavens! it's three weeks and more."
+
+"Go ahead an' read your letters or I'll knock you on the head with one
+of these chunks," ordered Wade, mildly.
+
+The hunter soon had the room warm and cheerful, with steaming breakfast
+on the red-hot coals. Presently, when he made ready to serve Moore, he
+was surprised to find the boy crying over one of the letters.
+
+"Wils, what's the trouble?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, nothing. I--I--just feel bad, that's all," replied Moore.
+
+"Ahuh! So it seems. Well, tell me about it?"
+
+"Pard, my father--has forgiven me."
+
+"The old son-of-a-gun! Good! What for? You never told me you'd done
+anythin'."
+
+"I know--but I did--do a lot. I was sixteen then. We quarreled. And I
+ran off up here to punch cows. But after a while I wrote home to mother
+and my sister. Since then they've tried to coax me to come home. This
+letter's from the old man himself. Gee!... Well, he says he's had to
+knuckle. That he's ready to forgive me. But I must come home and take
+charge of his ranch. Isn't that great?... Only I can't go. And I
+couldn't--I couldn't ever ride a horse again--if I did go."
+
+"Who says you couldn't?" queried Wade. "I never said so. I only said
+you'd never be a bronco-bustin' cowboy again. Well, suppose you're not?
+You'll be able to ride a little, if I can save that leg.... Boy, your
+letter is damn good news. I'm sure glad. That will make Collie happy."
+
+The cowboy had a better appetite that morning, which fact mitigated
+somewhat the burden of Wade's worry. There was burden enough, however,
+and Wade had set this day to make important decisions about Moore's
+injured foot. He had dreaded to remove the last dressing because
+conditions at that time had been unimproved. He had done all he could to
+ward off the threatened gangrene.
+
+"Wils, I'm goin' to look at your foot an' tell you things," declared
+Wade, when the dreaded time could be put off no longer.
+
+"Go ahead.... And, pard, if you say my leg has to be cut off--why just
+pass me my gun!"
+
+The cowboy's voice was gay and bantering, but his eyes were alight with
+a spirit that frightened the hunter.
+
+"Ahuh!... I know how you feel. But, boy, I'd rather live with one leg
+an' be loved by Collie Belllounds than have nine legs for some
+other lass."
+
+Wilson Moore groaned his helplessness.
+
+"Damn you, Bent Wade! You always say what kills me!... Of course I
+would!"
+
+"Well, lie quiet now, an' let me look at this poor, messed-up foot."
+
+Wade's deft fingers did not work with the usual precision and speed
+natural to them. But at last Moore's injured member lay bare, discolored
+and misshapen. The first glance made the hunter quicker in his
+movements, closer in his scrutiny. Then he yelled his joy.
+
+"Boy, it's better! No sign of gangrene! We'll save your leg!"
+
+"Pard, I never feared I'd lose that. All I've feared was that I'd be
+club-footed.... Let me look," replied the cowboy, and he raised himself
+on his elbow. Wade lifted the unsightly foot.
+
+"My God, it's crooked!" cried Moore, passionately. "Wade, it's healed.
+It'll stay that way always! I can't move it!... Oh, but Buster Jack's
+ruined me!"
+
+The hunter pushed him back with gentle hands. "Wils, it might have been
+worse."
+
+"But I never gave up hope," replied Moore, in poignant grief. "I
+couldn't. But _now!_... How can you look at that--that club-foot, and
+not swear?"
+
+"Well, well, boy, cussin' won't do any good. Now lay still an' let me
+work. You've had lots of good news this mornin'. So I think you can
+stand to hear a little bad news."
+
+"What! Bad news?" queried Moore, with a start.
+
+"I reckon. Now listen.... The reason Collie hasn't answered your note is
+because she's been sick in bed for three weeks."
+
+"Oh no!" exclaimed the cowboy, in amaze and distress.
+
+"Yes, an' I'm her doctor," replied Wade, with pride. "First off they had
+Mrs. Andrews. An' Collie kept askin' for me. She was out of her head,
+you know. An' soon as I took charge she got better."
+
+"Heavens! Collie ill and you never told me!" cried Moore. "I can't
+believe it. She's so healthy and strong. What ailed her, Bent?"
+
+"Well, Mrs. Andrews said it was nervous breakdown. An' Old Bill was
+afraid of consumption. An' Jack Belllounds swore she was only shammin'."
+
+The cowboy cursed violently.
+
+"Here--I won't tell you any more if you're goin' to cuss that way an'
+jerk around," protested Wade.
+
+"I--I'll shut up," appealed Moore.
+
+"Well, that puddin'-head Jack is more'n you called him, if you care to
+hear my opinion.... Now, Wils, the fact is that none of them know what
+ails Collie. But I know. She'd been under a high strain leadin' up to
+October first. An' the way that weddin'-day turned out--with Old Bill
+layin' Jack cold, an' with no marriage at all--why, Collie had a shock.
+An' after that she seemed pale an' tired all the time an' she didn't eat
+right. Well, when Buster Jack got over that awful punch he'd got from
+the old man he made up to Collie harder than ever. She didn't tell me
+then, but I saw it. An' she couldn't avoid him, except by stayin' in her
+room, which she did a good deal. Then Jack showed a streak of bein'
+decent. He surprised everybody, even Collie. He delighted Old Bill. But
+he didn't pull the wool over my eyes. He was like a boy spoilin' for a
+new toy, an' he got crazy over Collie. He's sure terribly in love with
+her, an' for days he behaved himself in a way calculated to make up for
+his drinkin' too much. It shows he can behave himself when he wants to.
+I mean he can control his temper an' impulse. Anyway, he made himself so
+good that Old Bill changed his mind, after what he swore that day, an'
+set another day for the weddin'. Right off, then, Collie goes down on
+her back.... They didn't send for me very soon. But when I did get to
+see her, an' felt the way she grabbed me--as if she was drownin'--then I
+knew what ailed her. It was love."
+
+"Love!" gasped Moore, breathlessly.
+
+"Sure. Jest love for a dog-gone lucky cowboy named Wils Moore!... Her
+heart was breakin', an' she'd have died but for me! Don't imagine, Wils,
+that people can't die of broken hearts. They do. I know. Well, all
+Collie needed was me, an' I cured her ravin' and made her eat, an' now
+she's comin' along fine."
+
+"Wade, I've believed in Heaven since you came down to White Slides,"
+burst out Moore, with shining eyes. "But tell me--what did you
+tell her?"
+
+"Well, my particular medicine first off was to whisper in her ear that
+she'd never have to marry Jack Belllounds. An' after that I gave her
+daily doses of talk about you."
+
+"Pard! She loves me--still?" he whispered.
+
+"Wils, hers is the kind that grows stronger with time. I know."
+
+Moore strained in his intensity of emotion, and he clenched his fists
+and gritted his teeth.
+
+"Oh God! this's hard on me!" he cried. "I'm a man. I love that girl more
+than life. And to know she's suffering for love of me--for fear of that
+marriage being forced upon her--to know that while I lie here a helpless
+cripple--it's almost unbearable."
+
+"Boy, you've got to mend now. We've the best of hope now--for you--for
+her--for everythin'."
+
+"Wade, I think I love you, too," said the cowboy. "You're saving me from
+madness. Somehow I have faith in you--to do whatever you want. But how
+could you tell Collie she'd never have to marry Buster Jack?"
+
+"Because I know she never will," replied Wade, with his slow, gentle
+smile.
+
+"You _know_ that?"
+
+"Sure."
+
+"How on earth can you prevent it? Belllounds will never give up
+planning that marriage for his son. Jack will nag Collie till she can't
+call her soul her own. Between them they will wear her down. My friend,
+_how_ can you prevent it?"
+
+"Wils, fact is, I haven't reckoned out how I'm goin' to save Collie. But
+that's no matter. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. I will do
+it. You can gamble on me, Wils. You must use that hope an' faith to help
+you get well. For we mustn't forget that you're in more danger
+than Collie."
+
+"I _will_ gamble on you--my life--my very soul," replied Moore,
+fervently. "By Heaven! I'll be the man I might have been. I'll rise out
+of despair. I'll even reconcile myself to being a cripple."
+
+"An', Wils, will you rise above hate?" asked Wade, softly.
+
+"Hate! Hate of whom?"
+
+"Jack Belllounds."
+
+The cowboy stared, and his lean, pale face contracted.
+
+"Pard, you wouldn't--you couldn't expect me to--to forgive him?"
+
+"No. I reckon not. But you needn't hate him. I don't. An' I reckon I've
+some reason, more than you could guess.... Wils, hate is a poison in the
+blood. It's worse for him who feels it than for him against whom it
+rages. I know.... Well, if you put thought of Jack out of your
+mind--quit broodin' over what he did to you--an' realize that he's not
+to blame, you'll overcome your hate. For the son of Old Bill is to be
+pitied. Yes, Jack Belllounds needs pity. He was ruined before he was
+born. He never should have been born. An' I want you to understand that,
+an' stop hatin' him. Will you try?"
+
+"Wade, you're afraid I'll kill him?" whispered Moore.
+
+"Sure. That's it. I'm afraid you might. An' consider how hard that
+would be for Columbine. She an' Jack were raised sister an' brother,
+almost. It would be hard on her. You see, Collie has a strange an'
+powerful sense of duty to Old Bill. If you killed Jack it would likely
+kill the old man, an' Collie would suffer all her life. You couldn't
+cure her of that. You want her to be happy."
+
+"I do--I do. Wade, I swear I'll never kill Buster Jack. And for Collie's
+sake I'll try not to hate him."
+
+"Well, that's fine. I'm sure glad to hear you promise that. Now I'll go
+out an' chop some wood. We mustn't let the fire go out any more."
+
+"Pard, I'll write another note--a letter to Collie. Hand me the
+blank-book there. And my pencil.... And don't hurry with the wood."
+
+Wade went outdoors with his two-bladed ax and shovel. The wood-pile was
+a great mound of snow. He cleaned a wide space and a path to the side of
+the cabin. Working in snow was not unpleasant for him. He liked the
+cleanness, the whiteness, the absolute purity of new-fallen snow. The
+air was crisp and nipping, the frost crackled under his feet, the smoke
+from his pipe seemed no thicker than the steam from his breath, the ax
+rang on the hard aspens. Wade swung this implement like a born woodsman.
+The chips flew and the dead wood smelled sweet. Some logs he chopped
+into three-foot pieces; others he chopped and split. When he tired a
+little of swinging the ax he carried the cut pieces to the cabin and
+stacked them near the door. Now and then he would halt a moment to gaze
+away across the whitened slopes and rolling hills. The sense of his
+physical power matched something within, and his heart warmed with more
+than the vigorous exercise.
+
+When he had worked thus for about two hours and had stacked a pile of
+wood almost as large as the cabin he considered it sufficient for the
+day. So he went indoors. Moore was so busily and earnestly writing that
+he did not hear Wade come in. His face wore an eloquent glow.
+
+"Say, Wils, are you writin' a book?" he inquired.
+
+"Hello! Sure I am. But I'm 'most done now.... If Columbine doesn't
+answer _this_ ..."
+
+"By the way, I'll have two letters to give her, then--for I never gave
+her the first one," replied Wade.
+
+"You son-of-a-gun!"
+
+"Well, hurry along, boy. I'll be goin' now. Here's a pole I've fetched
+in. You keep it there, where you can reach it, an' when the fire needs
+more wood you roll one of these logs on. I'll be up to-night before
+dark, an' if I don't fetch you a letter it'll be because I can't
+persuade Collie to write."
+
+"Pard, if you bring me a letter I'll obey you--I'll lie still--I'll
+sleep--I'll stand anything."
+
+"Ahuh! Then I'll fetch one," replied Wade, as he took the little book
+and deposited it in his pocket. "Good-by, now, an' think of your good
+news that come with the snow."
+
+"Good-by, Heaven-Sent Hell-Bent Wade!" called Moore. "It's no joke of a
+name any more. It's a fact."
+
+Wade plodded down through the deep snow, stepping in his old tracks, and
+as he toiled on his thoughts were deep and comforting. He was thinking
+that if he had his life to live over again he would begin at once to
+find happiness in other people's happiness. Upon arriving at his cabin
+he set to work cleaning a path to the dog corral. The snow had drifted
+there and he had no easy task. It was well that he had built an inclosed
+house for the hounds to winter in. Such a heavy snow as this one would
+put an end to hunting for the time being. The ranch had ample supply of
+deer, bear, and elk meat, all solidly frozen this morning, that would
+surely keep well until used. Wade reflected that his tasks round the
+ranch would be feeding hounds and stock, chopping wood, and doing such
+chores as came along in winter-time. The pack of hounds, which he had
+thinned out to a smaller number, would be a care on his hands. Kane had
+become a much-prized possession of Columbine's and lived at the house,
+where he had things his own way, and always greeted Wade with a look of
+disdain and distrust. Kane would never forgive the hand that had hurt
+him. Sampson and Jim and Fox, of course, shared Wade's cabin, and
+vociferously announced his return.
+
+Early in the afternoon Wade went down to the ranch-house. The snow was
+not so deep there, having blown considerably in the open places. Some
+one was pounding iron in the blacksmith shop; horses were cavorting in
+the corrals; cattle were bawling round the hay-ricks in the barn-yard.
+
+The hunter knocked on Columbine's door.
+
+"Come in," she called.
+
+Wade entered, to find her alone. She was sitting up in bed, propped up
+with pillows, and she wore a warm, woolly jacket or dressing-gown. Her
+paleness was now marked, and the shadows under her eyes made them appear
+large and mournful.
+
+"Ben Wade, you don't care for me any more!" she exclaimed,
+reproachfully.
+
+"Why not, lass?" he asked.
+
+"You were so long in coming," she replied, now with petulance. "I guess
+now I don't want you at all."
+
+"Ahuh! That's the reward of people who worry an' work for others. Well,
+then, I reckon I'll go back an' not give you what I brought."
+
+He made a pretense of leaving, and he put a hand to his pocket as if to
+insure the safety of some article. Columbine blushed. She held out her
+hands. She was repentant of her words and curious as to his.
+
+"Why, Ben Wade, I count the minutes before you come," she said. "What'd
+you bring me?"
+
+"Who's been in here?" he asked, going forward. "That's a poor fire. I'll
+have to fix it."
+
+"Mrs. Andrews just left. It was good of her to drive up. She came in the
+sled, she said. Oh, Ben, it's winter. There was snow on my bed when I
+woke up. I think I am better to-day. Jack hasn't been in here yet!"
+
+At this Wade laughed, and Columbine followed suit.
+
+"Well, you look a little sassy to-day, which I take is a good sign,"
+said Wade. "I've got some news that will come near to makin' you well."
+
+"Oh, tell it quick!" she cried.
+
+"Wils won't lose his leg. It's gettin' well. An' there was a letter from
+his father, forgivin' him for somethin' he never told me."
+
+"My prayers were answered!" whispered Columbine, and she closed her eyes
+tight.
+
+"An' his father wants him to come home to run the ranch," went on Wade.
+
+"Oh!" Her eyes popped open with sudden fright. "But he can't--he won't
+go?"
+
+"I reckon not. He wouldn't if he could. But some day he will, an' take
+you home with him."
+
+Columbine covered her face with her hands, and was silent a moment.
+
+"Such prophecies! They--they--" She could not conclude.
+
+"Ahuh! I know. The strange fact is, lass, that they all come true. I
+wish I had all happy ones, instead of them black, croakin' ones that
+come like ravens.... Well, you're better to-day?"
+
+"Yes. Oh yes. Ben, what have you got for me?"
+
+"You're in an awful hurry. I want to talk to you, an' if I show what
+I've got then there will be no talkin'. You say Jack hasn't been
+in to-day?"
+
+"Not yet, thank goodness."
+
+"How about Old Bill?"
+
+"Ben, you never call him my dad. I wish you would. When you _don't_ it
+always reminds me that he's really _not_ my dad."
+
+"Ahuh! Well, well!" replied Wade, with his head bowed. "It is just queer
+I can never remember.... An' how was he to-day?"
+
+"For a wonder he didn't mention poor me. He was full of talk about going
+to Kremmling. Means to take Jack along. Do you know, Ben, dad can't fool
+me. He's afraid to leave Jack here alone with me. So dad talked a lot
+about selling stock an' buying supplies, and how he needed Jack to go,
+and so forth. I'm mighty glad he means to take him. But my! won't
+Jack be sore."
+
+"I reckon. It's time he broke out."
+
+"And now, dear Ben--what have you got for me? I know it's from Wilson,"
+she coaxed.
+
+"Lass, would you give much for a little note from Wils?" asked Wade,
+teasingly.
+
+"Would I? When I've been hoping and praying for just that!"
+
+"Well, if you'd give so much for a note, how much would you give me for
+a whole bookful that took Wils two hours to write?"
+
+"Ben! Oh, I'd--I'd give--" she cried, wild with delight. "I'd _kiss_
+you!"
+
+"You mean it?" he queried, waving the book aloft.
+
+"Mean it? Come here!"
+
+There was fun in this for Wade, but also a deep and beautiful emotion
+that quivered through him. Bending over her, he placed the little book
+in her hand. He did not see clearly, then, as she pulled him lower and
+kissed him on the cheek, generously, with sweet, frank gratitude and
+affection.
+
+Moments strong and all-satisfying had been multiplying for Bent Wade of
+late. But this one magnified all. As he sat back upon the chair he
+seemed a little husky of voice.
+
+"Well, well, an' so you kissed ugly old Bent Wade?"
+
+"Yes, and I've wanted to do it before," she retorted. The dark
+excitation in her eyes, the flush of her pale cheeks, made her
+beautiful then.
+
+"Lass, now you read your letter an' answer it. You can tear out the
+pages. I'll sit here an' be makin' out to be readin' aloud out of this
+book here, if any one happens in sudden-like!"
+
+"Oh, how you think of everything!"
+
+The hunter sat beside her pretending to be occupied with the book he had
+taken from the table when really he was stealing glances at her face.
+Indeed, she was more than pretty then. Illness and pain had enhanced the
+sweetness of her expression. As she read on it was manifest that she had
+forgotten the hunter's presence. She grew pink, rosy, scarlet, radiant.
+And Wade thrilled with her as she thrilled, loved her more and more as
+she loved. Moore must have written words of enchantment. Wade's hungry
+heart suffered a pang of jealousy, but would not harbor it. He read in
+her perusal of that letter what no other dreamed of, not even the girl
+herself; and it was certitude of tragic and brief life for her if she
+could not live for Wilson Moore. Those moments of watching her were
+unutterably precious to Wade. He saw how some divine guidance had
+directed his footsteps to this home. How many years had it taken him to
+get there! Columbine read and read and reread--a girl with her first
+love-letter. And for Wade, with his keen eyes that seemed to see the
+senses and the soul, there shone something infinite through her rapture.
+Never until that unguarded moment had he divined her innocence, nor had
+any conception been given him of the exquisite torture of her maiden
+fears or the havoc of love fighting for itself. He learned then much of
+the mystery and meaning of a woman's heart.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+Dear Wilson,--The note and letter from you have taken my breath away. I
+couldn't tell--I wouldn't dare tell, how they made me feel.
+
+"Your good news fills me with joy. And when Ben told me you wouldn't
+lose your leg--that you would get well--then my eyes filled and my heart
+choked me, and I thanked God, who'd answered my prayers. After all the
+heartache and dread, it's so wonderful to find things not so terrible as
+they seemed. Oh, I am thankful! You have only to take care of yourself
+now, to lie patiently and wait, and obey Ben, and soon the time will
+have flown by and you will be well again. Maybe, after all, your foot
+will not be so bad. Maybe you can ride again, if not so wonderfully as
+before, then well enough to ride on your father's range and look after
+his stock. For, Wilson dear, you'll have to go home. It's your duty.
+Your father must be getting old now. He needs you. He has forgiven
+you--you bad boy! And you are very lucky. It almost kills me to think of
+your leaving White Slides. But that is selfish. I'm going to learn to be
+like Ben Wade. He never thinks of himself.
+
+"Rest assured, Wilson, that I will never marry Jack Belllounds. It seems
+years since that awful October first. I gave my word then, and I would
+have lived up to it. But I've changed. I'm older. I see things
+differently. I love dad as well. I feel as sorry for Jack Belllounds. I
+still think I might help him. I still believe in my duty to his father.
+But I can't marry him. It would be a sin. I have no right to marry a man
+whom I do not love. When it comes to thought of his touching me, then I
+hate him. Duty toward dad is one thing, and I hold it high, but that is
+not reason enough for a woman to give herself. Some duty to myself is
+higher than that. It's hard for me to tell you--for me to understand.
+Love of you has opened my eyes. Still I don't think it's love of you
+that makes me selfish. I'm true to something in me that I never knew
+before. I could marry Jack, loving you, and utterly sacrifice myself, if
+it were right. But it would be wrong. I never realized this until you
+kissed me. Since then the thought of anything that approaches personal
+relations--any hint of intimacy with Jack fills me with disgust.
+
+"So I'm not engaged to Jack Belllounds, and I'm never going to be. There
+will be trouble here. I feel it. I see it coming. Dad keeps at me
+persistently. He grows older. I don't think he's failing, but then
+there's a loss of memory, and an almost childish obsession in regard to
+the marriage he has set his heart on. Then his passion for Jack seems
+greater as he learns little by little that Jack is not all he might be.
+Wilson, I give you my word; I believe if dad ever really sees Jack as I
+see him or you see him, then something dreadful will happen. In spite of
+everything dad still believes in Jack. It's beautiful and terrible.
+That's one reason why I've wanted to help Jack. Well, it's not to be.
+Every day, every hour, Jack Belllounds grows farther from me. He and his
+father will try to persuade me to consent to this marriage. They may
+even try to force me. But in that way I'll be as hard and as cold as Old
+White Slides. No! Never! For the rest, I'll do my duty to dad. I'll
+stick to him. I could not engage myself to you, no matter how much I
+love you. And that's more every minute!... So don't mention taking me
+to your home--don't ask me again. Please, Wilson; your asking shook my
+very soul! Oh, how sweet that would be--your wife!... But if dad turns
+me away--I don't think he would. Yet he's so strange and like iron for
+all concerning Jack. If ever he turned me out I'd have no home. I'm a
+waif, you know. Then--then, Wilson ... Oh, it's horrible to be in the
+position I'm in. I won't say any more. You'll understand, dear.
+
+"It's your love that awoke me, and it's Ben Wade who has saved me.
+Wilson, I love him almost as I do dad, only strangely. Do you know I
+believe he had something to do with Jack getting drunk that awful
+October first. I don't mean Ben would stoop to get Jack drunk. But he
+might have cunningly put that opportunity in Jack's way. Drink is Jack's
+weakness, as gambling is his passion. Well, I know that the liquor was
+some fine old stuff which Ben gave to the cowboys. And it's significant
+now how Jack avoids Ben. He hates him. He's afraid of him. He's jealous
+because Ben is so much with me. I've heard Jack rave to dad about this.
+But dad is just to others, if he can't be to his son.
+
+"And so I want you to know that it's Ben Wade who has saved me. Since
+I've been sick I've learned more of Ben. He's like a woman. He
+understands. I never have to tell him anything. You, Wilson, were
+sometimes stupid or stubborn (forgive me) about little things that girls
+feel but can't explain. Ben knows. I tell you this because I want you to
+understand how and why I love him. I think I love him most for his
+goodness to you. Dear boy, if I hadn't loved you before Ben Wade came
+I'd have fallen in love with you since, just listening to his talk of
+you. But this will make you conceited. So I'll go on about Ben. He's our
+friend. Why, Wilson, that sweetness, softness, gentleness about him,
+the heart that makes him love us, that must be only the woman in him. I
+don't know what a mother would feel like, but I do know that I seem
+strangely happier since I've confessed my troubles to this man. It was
+Lem who told me how Ben offered to be a friend to Jack. And Jack flouted
+him. I've a queer notion that the moment Jack did this he turned his
+back on a better life.
+
+"To repeat, then, Ben Wade is our friend, and to me something more that
+I've tried to explain. Maybe telling you this will make you think more
+of him and listen to his advice. I hope so. Did any boy and girl ever
+before so need a friend? I need that something he instils in me. If I
+lost it I'd be miserable. And, Wilson, I'm such a coward. I'm so weak. I
+have such sinkings and burnings and tossings. Oh, I'm only a woman! But
+I'll die fighting. That is what Ben Wade instils into me. While there
+was life this strange little man would never give up hope. He makes me
+feel that he knows more than he tells. Through him I shall get the
+strength to live up to my convictions, to be true to myself, to be
+faithful to you.
+
+     "With love,
+          "COLUMBINE."
+
+     "December 3d.
+
+"DEAREST COLLIE,--Your last was only a note, and I told Wade if he
+didn't fetch more than a note next time there would be trouble round
+this bunk-house. And then he brought your letter!
+
+"I'm feeling exuberant (I think it's that) to-day. First time I've been
+up. Collie, I'm able to get up! WHOOPEE! I walk with a crutch, and don't
+dare put my foot down. Not that it hurts, but that my boss would have a
+fit! I'm glad you've stopped heaping praise upon our friend Ben.
+Because now I can get over my jealousy and be half decent. He's the
+whitest man I ever knew.
+
+"Now listen, Collie. I've had ideas lately. I've begun to eat and get
+stronger and to feel good. The pain is gone. And to think I swore to
+Wade I'd forgive Jack Belllounds and never hate him--or kill him!...
+There, that's letting the cat out of the bag, and it's done now. But no
+matter. The truth is, though, that I never could stop hating Jack while
+the pain lasted. Now I could shake hands with him and smile at him.
+
+"Well, as I said, I've ideas. They're great. Grab hold of the pommel now
+so you won't get thrown! I'm going to pitch!... When I get well--able to
+ride and go about, which Ben says will be in the spring--I'll send for
+my father to come to White Slides. He'll come. Then I'll tell him
+everything, and if Ben and I can't win him to our side then _you_ can.
+Father never could resist you. When he has fallen in love with you,
+which won't take long, then we'll go to old Bill Belllounds and lay the
+case before him. Are you still in the saddle, Collie?
+
+"Well, if you are, be sure to get a better hold, for I'm going to run
+some next. Ben Wade approved of my plan. He says Belllounds can be
+brought to reason. He says he can make him see the ruin for everybody
+were you forced to marry Jack. Strange, Collie, how Wade included
+himself with, you, me, Jack, and the old man, in the foreshadowed ruin!
+Wade is as deep as the canon there. Sometimes when he's thoughtful he
+gives me a creepy feeling. At others, when he comes out with one of his
+easy, cool assurances that we are all right--that we will get each
+other--why, then something grim takes possession of me. I believe him,
+I'm happy, but there crosses my mind a fleeting realization--not of what
+our friend is now, but what he has been. And it disturbs me, chills me.
+I don't understand it. For, Collie, though I understand your feeling of
+what he is, I don't understand mine. You see, I'm a man. I've been a
+cowboy for ten years and more. I've seen some hard experiences and
+worked with a good many rough boys and men. Cowboys, Indians, Mexicans,
+miners, prospectors, ranchers, hunters--some of whom were bad medicine.
+So I've come to see men as you couldn't see them. And Bent Wade has been
+everything a man could be. He seems all men in one. And despite all his
+kindness and goodness and hopefulness, there is the sense I have of
+something deadly and terrible and inevitable in him.
+
+"It makes my heart almost stop beating to know I have this man on my
+side. Because I sense in him the man element, the physical--oh, I can't
+put it in words, but I mean something great in him that can't be beaten.
+What he says _must_ come true!... And so I've already begun to dream and
+to think of you as my wife. If you ever are--no! _when_ you are, then I
+will owe it to Bent Wade. No man ever owed another for so precious a
+gift. But, Collie, I can't help a little vague dread--of what, I don't
+know, unless it's a sense of the possibilities of Hell--Bent Wade....
+Dearest, I don't want to worry you or frighten you, and I can't follow
+out my own gloomy fancies. Don't you mind too much what I think. Only
+you must realize that Wade is the greatest factor in our hopes of the
+future. My faith in him is so unshakable that it's foolish. Next to you
+I love him best. He seems even dearer to me than my own people. He has
+made me look at life differently. Likewise he has inspired you. But you,
+dearest Columbine, are only a sensitive, delicate girl, a frail and
+tender thing like the columbine flowers of the hills. And for your own
+sake you must not be blind to what Wade is capable of. If you keep on
+loving him and idealizing him, blind to what has made him great, that
+is, blind to the tragic side of him, then if he did something terrible
+here for you and for me the shock would be bad for you. Lord knows I
+have no suspicions of Wade. I have no clear ideas at all. But I do know
+that for you he would not stop at anything. He loves you as much as I
+do, only differently. Such power a pale, sweet-faced girl has over the
+lives of men!
+
+"Good-by for this time.
+
+     "Faithfully,
+          "WILSON."
+
+     "January 10th.
+
+"DEAR WILSON,--In every letter I tell you I'm better! Why, pretty soon
+there'll be nothing left to say about my health. I've been up and around
+now for days, but only lately have I begun to gain. Since Jack has been
+away I'm getting fat. I eat, and that's one reason I suppose. Then I
+move around more.
+
+"You ask me to tell you all I do. Goodness! I couldn't and I wouldn't.
+You are getting mighty bossy since you're able to hobble around, as you
+call it. But you can't boss _me!_ However, I'll be nice and tell you a
+little. I don't work very much. I've helped dad with his accounts, all
+so hopelessly muddled since he let Jack keep the books. I read a good
+deal. Your letters are worn out! Then, when it snows, I sit by the
+window and watch. I love to see the snowflakes fall, so fleecy and white
+and soft! But I don't like the snowy world after the storm has passed. I
+shiver and hug the fire. I must have Indian in me. On moonlit nights to
+look out at Old White Slides, so cold and icy and grand, and over the
+white hills and ranges, makes me shudder. I don't know why. It's all
+beautiful. But it seems to me like death.... Well, I sit idly a lot and
+think of you and how terribly big my love has grown, and ... but that's
+all about that!
+
+"As you know, Jack has been gone since before New Year's Day. He said he
+was going to Kremmling. But dad heard he went to Elgeria. Well, I didn't
+tell you that dad and Jack quarreled over money. Jack kept up his good
+behavior for so long that I actually believed he'd changed for the
+better. He kept at me, not so much on the marriage question, but to love
+him. Wilson, he nearly drove me frantic with his lovemaking. Finally I
+got mad and I pitched into him. Oh, I convinced him! Then he came back
+to his own self again. Like a flash he was Buster Jack once more. "You
+can go to hell!" he yelled at me. And such a look!... Well, he went out,
+and that's when he quarreled with dad. It was about money. I couldn't
+help but hear some of it. I don't know whether or not dad gave Jack
+money, but I think he didn't. Anyway, Jack went.
+
+"Dad was all right for a few days. Really, he seemed nicer and kinder
+for Jack's absence. Then all at once he sank into the glooms. I couldn't
+cheer him up. When Ben Wade came in after supper dad always got him to
+tell some of those terrible stories. You know what perfectly terrible
+stories Ben can tell. Well, dad had to hear the worst ones. And poor me,
+I didn't want to listen, but I couldn't resist. Ben _can_ tell stories.
+And oh, what he's lived through!
+
+"I got the idea it wasn't Jack's absence so much that made dad sit by
+the hour before the fire, staring at the coals, sighing, and looking so
+God-forsaken. My heart just aches for dad. He broods and broods. He'll
+break out some day, and then I don't want to be here. There doesn't seem
+to be any idea when Jack will come home. He might never come. But Ben
+says he will. He says Jack hates work and that he couldn't be gambler
+enough or wicked enough to support himself without working. Can't you
+hear Ben Wade say that? 'I'll tell you,' he begins, and then comes a
+prophecy of trouble or evil. And, on the other hand, think how he used
+to say: 'Wait! Don't give up! Nothin' is ever so bad as it seems at
+first! Be true to what your heart says is right! It's never too late!
+Love is the only good in life! Love each other and wait and trust! It'll
+all come right in the end!'... And, Wilson, I'm bound to confess that
+both his sense of calamity and his hope of good seem infallible. Ben
+Wade is supernatural. Sometimes, just for a moment, I dare to let myself
+believe in what he says--that our dream will come true and I'll be
+yours. Then oh! oh! oh! joy and stars and bells and heaven! I--I ... But
+what _am_ I writing? Wilson Moore, this is quite enough for to-day. Take
+care you don't believe I'm so--so _very_ much in love.
+
+     "Ever,
+          "COLUMBINE."
+
+     "_February_ ----.
+
+"DEAREST COLLIE,--I don't know the date, but spring's coming. To-day I
+kicked Bent Wade with my once sore foot. It didn't hurt me, but hurt
+Wade's feelings. He says there'll be no holding me soon. I should say
+not. I'll eat you up. I'm as hungry as the mountain-lion that's been
+prowling round my cabin of nights. He's sure starved. Wade tracked him
+to a hole in the cliff.
+
+"Collie, I can get around first rate. Don't need my crutch any more. I
+can make a fire and cook a meal. Wade doesn't think so, but I do. He
+says if I want to hold your affection, not to let you eat anything I
+cook. I can rustle around, too. Haven't been far yet. My stock has
+wintered fairly well. This valley is sheltered, you know. Snow hasn't
+been too deep. Then I bought hay from Andrews. I'm hoping for spring
+now, and the good old sunshine on the gray sage hills. And summer, with
+its columbines! Wade has gone back to his own cabin to sleep. I miss
+him. But I'm glad to have the nights alone once more. I've got a future
+to plan! Read that over, Collie.
+
+"To-day, when Wade came with your letter, he asked me, sort of queer,
+'Say, Wils, do you know how many letters I've fetched you from Collie?'
+I said, 'Lord, no, I don't, but they're a lot.' Then he said there were
+just forty-seven letters. Forty-seven! I couldn't believe it, and told
+him he was crazy. I never had such good fortune. Well, he made me count
+them, and, dog-gone it, he was right. Forty-seven wonderful love-letters
+from the sweetest girl on earth! But think of Wade remembering every
+one! It beats me. He's beyond understanding.
+
+"So Jack Belllounds still stays away from White Slides. Collie, I'm sure
+sorry for his father. What it would be to have a son like Buster Jack!
+My God! But for your sake I go around yelling and singing like a locoed
+Indian. Pretty soon spring will come. Then, you wild-flower of the
+hills, you girl with the sweet mouth and the sad eyes--then I'm coming
+after you! And all the king's horses and all the king's men can never
+take you away from me again!
+
+     "Your faithful
+          "WILSON."
+
+     "March 19th.
+
+"DEAREST WILSON,--Your last letters have been read and reread, and kept
+under my pillow, and have been both my help and my weakness during these
+trying days since Jack's return.
+
+"It has not been that I was afraid to write--though, Heaven knows, if
+this letter should fall into the hands of dad it would mean trouble for
+me, and if Jack read it--I _am_ afraid to think of that! I just have not
+had the heart to write you. But all the time I knew I must write and
+that I would. Only, now, what to say tortures me. I am certain that
+confiding in you relieves me. That's why I've told you so much. But of
+late I find it harder to tell what I know about Jack Belllounds. I'm in
+a queer state of mind, Wilson dear. And you'll wonder, and you'll be
+sorry to know I haven't seen much of Ben lately--that is, not to talk
+to. It seems I can't _bear_ his faith in me, his hope, his love--when
+lately matters have driven me into torturing doubt.
+
+"But lest you might misunderstand, I'm going to try to tell you
+something of what is on my mind, and I want you to read it to Ben. He
+has been hurt by my strange reluctance to be with him.
+
+"Jack came home on the night of March second. You'll remember that day,
+so gloomy and dark and dreary. It snowed and sleeted and rained. I
+remember how the rain roared on the roof. It roared so loud we didn't
+hear the horse. But we heard heavy boots on the porch outside the
+living-room, and the swish of a slicker thrown to the floor. There was a
+bright fire. Dad looked up with a wild joy. All of a sudden he changed.
+He blazed. He recognized the heavy tread of his son. If I ever pitied
+and loved him it was then. I thought of the return of the Prodigal
+Son!... There came a knock on the door. Then dad recovered. He threw it
+open wide. The streaming light fell upon Jack Belllounds, indeed, but
+not as I knew him. He entered. It was the first time I ever saw Jack
+look in the least like a man. He was pale, haggard, much older, sullen,
+and bold. He strode in with a 'Howdy, folks,' and threw his wet hat on
+the floor, and walked to the fire. His boots were soaked with water and
+mud. His clothes began to steam.
+
+"When I looked at dad I was surprised. He seemed cool and bright, with
+the self-contained force usual for him when something critical is about
+to happen.
+
+"'Ahuh! So you come back,' he said.
+
+"'Yes, I'm home,' replied Jack.
+
+"'Wal, it took you quite a spell to get hyar.'
+
+"'Do you want me to stay?'
+
+"This question from Jack seemed to stump dad. He stared. Jack had
+appeared suddenly, and his manner was different from that with which he
+used to face dad. He had something up his sleeve, as the cowboys say. He
+wore an air of defiance and indifference.
+
+"'I reckon I do,' replied dad, deliberately. 'What do you mean by askin'
+me thet?'
+
+"'I'm of age, long ago. You can't make me stay home. I can do as I
+like.'
+
+"'Ahuh! I reckon you think you can. But not hyar at White Slides. If you
+ever expect to get this property you'll not do as you like.'
+
+"'To hell with that. I don't care whether I ever get it or not.'
+
+"Dad's face went as white as a sheet. He seemed shocked. After a moment
+he told me I'd better go to my room. I was about to go when Jack said:
+'No, let her stay. She'd best hear now what I've got to say. It
+concerns her.'
+
+"'So ho! Then you've got a heap to say?' exclaimed dad, queerly. 'All
+right, you have your say first.'
+
+"Jack then began to talk in a level and monotonous voice, so unlike him
+that I sat there amazed. He told how early in the winter, before he left
+the ranch, he had found out that he was honestly in love with me. That
+it had changed him--made him see he had never been any good--and
+inflamed him with the resolve to be better. He had tried. He had
+succeeded. For six weeks he had been all that could have been asked of
+any young man. I am bound to confess that he was!... Well, he went on to
+say how he had fought it out with himself until he absolutely _knew_ he
+could control himself. The courage and inspiration had come from his
+love for me. That was the only good thing he'd ever felt. He wanted dad
+and he wanted me to understand absolutely, without any doubt, that he
+had found a way to hold on to his good intentions and good feelings. And
+that was for _me!_... I was struck all a-tremble at the truth. It was
+true! Well, then he forced me to a decision. Forced me, without ever
+hinting of this change, this possibility in him. I had told him I
+_couldn't_ love him. Never! Then he said I could go to hell and he gave
+up. Failing to get money from dad he stole it, without compunction and
+without regret! He had gone to Kremmling, then to Elgeria.
+
+"'I let myself go,' he said, without shame, 'and I drank and gambled.
+When I was drunk I didn't remember Collie. But when I was sober I did.
+And she haunted me. That grew worse all the time. So I drank to forget
+her.... The money lasted a great deal longer than I expected. But that
+was because I won as much as I lost, until lately. Then I borrowed a
+good deal from those men I gambled with, but mostly from ranchers who
+knew my father would be responsible.... I had a shooting-scrape with a
+man named Elbert, in Smith's place at Elgeria. We quarreled over cards.
+He cheated. And when I hit him he drew on me. But he missed. Then I shot
+him.... He lived three days--and died. That sobered me. And once more
+there came to me truth of what I might have been. I went back to
+Kremmling. And I tried myself out again. I worked awhile for Judson, who
+was the rancher I had borrowed most from. At night I went into town and
+to the saloons, where I met my gambling cronies. I put myself in the
+atmosphere of drink and cards. And I resisted both. I could make myself
+indifferent to both. As soon as I was sure of myself I decided to come
+home. And here I am.'
+
+"This long speech of Jack's had a terrible effect upon me. I was stunned
+and sick. But if it did that to me _what_ did it do to dad? Heaven
+knows, I can't tell you. Dad gave a lurch, and a great heave, as if at
+the removal of a rope that had all but strangled him.
+
+"Ahuh-huh!' he groaned. 'An' now you're hyar--what's thet mean?'
+
+"It means that it's not yet too late,' replied Jack. 'Don't
+misunderstand me. I'm not repenting with that side of me which is bad.
+But I've sobered up. I've had a shock. I see my ruin. I still love you,
+dad, despite--the cruel thing you did to me. I'm your son and I'd like
+to make up to you for all my shortcomings. And so help me Heaven! I can
+do that, and will do it, if Collie will marry me. Not only marry
+me--that'd not be enough--but love me--I'm crazy for her love. It's
+terrible.'
+
+"You spoiled weaklin'!' thundered dad. 'How 'n hell can I believe you?'
+
+"Because I know it,' declared Jack, standing right up to his father,
+white and unflinching.
+
+"Then dad broke out in such a rage that I sat there scared so stiff I
+could not move. My heart beat thick and heavy. Dad got livid of face,
+his hair stood up, his eyes rolled. He called Jack every name I ever
+heard any one call him, and then a thousand more. Then he cursed him.
+Such dreadful curses! Oh, how sad and terrible to hear dad!
+
+"Right you are!' cried Jack, bitter and hard and ringing of voice.
+'Right, by God! But am I all to blame? Did I bring myself here on this
+earth!... There's something wrong in me that's not all my fault.... You
+can't shame me or scare me or hurt me. I could fling in your face those
+damned three years of hell you sent me to! But what's the use for you to
+roar at me or for me to reproach you? I'm ruined unless you give me
+Collie--make her love me. That will save me. And I want it for your sake
+and hers--not for my own. Even if I do love her madly I'm not wanting
+her for that. I'm no good. I'm not fit to touch her.... I've just come
+to tell you the truth. I feel for Collie--I'd do for Collie--as you did
+for my mother! Can't you understand? I'm your son. I've some of you in
+me. And I've found out what it is. Do you and Collie want to take me
+at my word?'
+
+"I think it took dad longer to read something strange and convincing in
+Jack than it took me. Anyway, dad got the stunning consciousness that
+Jack _knew_ by some divine or intuitive power that his reformation was
+inevitable, if I loved him. Never have I had such a distressing and
+terrible moment as that revelation brought to me! I felt the truth. I
+could save Jack Belllounds. No woman is ever fooled at such critical
+moments of life. Ben Wade once said that I could have reformed Jack were
+it possible to love him. Now the truth of that came home to me, and
+somehow it was overwhelming.
+
+"Dad received this truth--and it was beyond me to realize what it meant
+to him. He must have seen all his earlier hopes fulfilled, his pride
+vindicated, his shame forgotten, his love rewarded. Yet he must have
+seen all that, as would a man leaning with one foot over a bottomless
+abyss. He looked transfigured, yet conscious of terrible peril. His
+great heart seemed to leap to meet this last opportunity, with all
+forgiveness, with all gratitude; but his will yielded with a final and
+irrevocable resolve. A resolve dark and sinister!
+
+"He raised his huge fists higher and higher, and all his body lifted and
+strained, towering and trembling, while his face was that of a righteous
+and angry god.
+
+"'My son, I take your word!' he rolled out, his voice filling the room
+and reverberating through the house. 'I give you Collie!... She will be
+yours!... But, by the love I bore your mother--I swear--if you ever
+steal again--I'll kill you!'
+
+"I can't say any more--
+
+     "COLUMBINE."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+Spring came early that year at White Slides Ranch. The snow melted off
+the valleys, and the wild flowers peeped from the greening grass while
+yet the mountain domes were white. The long stone slides were glistening
+wet, and the brooks ran full-banked, noisy and turbulent and roily.
+
+Soft and fresh of color the gray old sage slopes came out from under
+their winter mantle; the bleached tufts of grass waved in the wind and
+showed tiny blades of green at the roots; the aspens and oaks, and the
+vines on fences and cliffs, and the round-clumped, brook-bordering
+willows took on a hue of spring.
+
+The mustangs and colts in the pastures snorted and ran and kicked and
+cavorted; and on the hillsides the cows began to climb higher, searching
+for the tender greens, bawling for the new-born calves. Eagles shrieked
+the release of the snow-bound peaks, and the elks bugled their piercing
+calls. The grouse-cocks spread their gorgeous brown plumage in parade
+before their twittering mates, and the jays screeched in the woods, and
+the sage-hens sailed along the bosom of the gray slopes.
+
+Black bears, and browns, and grizzlies came out of their winter's sleep,
+and left huge, muddy tracks on the trails; the timber wolves at dusk
+mourned their hungry calls for life, for meat, for the wildness that was
+passing; the coyotes yelped at sunset, joyous and sharp and impudent.
+
+But winter yielded reluctantly its hold on the mountains. The black,
+scudding clouds, and the squalls of rain and sleet and snow, whitening
+and melting and vanishing, and the cold, clear nights, with crackling
+frost, all retarded the work of the warming sun. The day came, however,
+when the greens held their own with the grays; and this was the
+assurance of nature that spring could not be denied, and that summer
+would follow.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Bent Wade was hiding in the willows along the trail that followed one of
+the brooks. Of late, on several mornings, he had skulked like an Indian
+under cover, watching for some one. On this morning, when Columbine
+Belllounds came riding along, he stepped out into the trail in front
+of her.
+
+"Oh, Ben! you startled me!" she exclaimed, as she held hard on the
+frightened horse.
+
+"Good mornin', Collie," replied Wade. "I'm sorry to scare you, but I'm
+particular anxious to see you. An' considerin' how you avoid me these
+days, I had to waylay you in regular road-agent style."
+
+Wade gazed up searchingly at her. It had been some time since he had
+been given the privilege and pleasure of seeing her close at hand. He
+needed only one look at her to confirm his fears. The pale, sweet,
+resolute face told him much.
+
+"Well, now you've waylaid me, what do you want?" she queried,
+deliberately.
+
+"I'm goin' to take you to see Wils Moore," replied Wade, watching her
+closely.
+
+"No!" she cried, with the red staining her temples.
+
+"Collie, see here. Did I ever oppose anythin' you wanted to do?"
+
+"Not--yet," she said.
+
+"I reckon you expect me to?"
+
+She did not answer that. Her eyes drooped, and she nervously twisted the
+bridle reins.
+
+"Do you doubt my--my good intentions toward you--my love for you?" he
+asked, in gentle and husky voice.
+
+"Oh, Ben! No! No! It's that I'm afraid of your love for me! I can't
+bear--what I have to bear--if I see you, if I listen to you."
+
+"Then you've weakened? You're no proud, high-strung, thoroughbred girl
+any more? You're showin' yellow?"
+
+"Ben Wade, I deny that," she answered, spiritedly, with an uplift of her
+head. "It's not weakness, but strength I've found."
+
+"Ahuh! Well, I reckon I understand. Collie, listen. Wils let me read
+your last letter to him."
+
+"I expected that. I think I told him to. Anyway, I wanted you to
+know--what--what ailed me."
+
+"Lass, it was a fine, brave letter--written by a girl facin' an upheaval
+of conscience an' soul. But in your own trouble you forget the effect
+that letter might have on Wils Moore."
+
+"Ben!... I--I've lain awake at night--Oh, was he hurt?"
+
+"Collie, I reckon if you don't see Wils he'll kill himself or kill
+Buster Jack," replied Wade, gravely.
+
+"I'll see--him!" she faltered. "But oh, Ben--you don't mean that Wilson
+would be so base--so cowardly?"
+
+"Collie, you're a child. You don't realize the depths to which a man can
+sink. Wils has had a long, hard pull this winter. My nursin' an' your
+letters have saved his life. He's well, now, but that long, dark spell
+of mind left its shadow on him. He's morbid."
+
+"What does he--want to see me--for?" asked Columbine, tremulously.
+There were tears in her eyes. "It'll only cause more pain--make
+matters worse."
+
+"Reckon I don't agree with you. Wils just wants an' needs to _see_ you.
+Why, he appreciated your position. I've heard him cry like a woman over
+it an' our helplessness. What ails him is lovesickness, the awful
+feelin' which comes to a man who believes he has lost his
+sweetheart's love."
+
+"Poor boy! So he imagines I don't love him any more? Good Heavens! How
+stupid men are!... I'll see him, Ben. Take me to him."
+
+For answer, Wade grasped the bridle of her horse and, turning him, took
+a course leading away behind the hill that lay between them and the
+ranch-house. The trail was narrow and brushy, making it necessary for
+him to walk ahead of the horse. So the hunter did not speak to her or
+look at her for some time. He plodded on with his eyes downcast.
+Something tugged at Wade's mind, an old, familiar, beckoning thing,
+vague and mysterious and black, a presage of catastrophe. But it was
+only an opening wedge into his mind. It had not entered. Gravity and
+unhappiness occupied him. His senses, nevertheless, were alert. He heard
+the low roar of the flooded brook, the whir of rising grouse ahead, the
+hoofs of deer on stones, the song of spring birds. He had an eye also
+for the wan wild flowers in the shaded corners. Presently he led the
+horse out of the willows into the open and up a low-swelling, long slope
+of fragrant sage. Here he dropped back to Columbine's side and put his
+hand upon the pommel of her saddle. It was not long until her own hand
+softly fell upon his and clasped it. Wade thrilled under the warm touch.
+How well he knew her heart! When she ceased to love any one to whom she
+had given her love then she would have ceased to breathe.
+
+"Lass, this isn't the first mornin' I've waited for you," he said,
+presently. "An' when I had to go back to Wils without you--well, it
+was hard."
+
+"Then he wants to see me--so badly?" she asked.
+
+"Reckon you've not thought much about him or me lately," said Wade.
+
+"No. I've tried to put you out of my mind. I've had so much to think
+of--why, even the sleepless nights have flown!"
+
+"Are you goin' to confide in me--as you used to?"
+
+"Ben, there's nothing to confide. I'm just where I left off in that
+letter to Wilson. And the more I think the more muddled I get."
+
+Wade greeted this reply with a long silence. It was enough to feel her
+hand upon his and to have the glad comfort and charm of her presence
+once more. He seemed to have grown older lately. The fragrant breath of
+the sage slopes came to him as something precious he must feel and love
+more. A haunting transience mocked him from these rolling gray hills.
+Old White Slides loomed gray and dark up into the blue, grim and stern
+reminder of age and of fleeting time. There was a cloud on
+Wade's horizon.
+
+"Wils is waitin' down there," said Wade, pointing to a grove of aspens
+below. "Reckon it's pretty close to the house, an' a trail runs along
+there. But Wils can't ride very well yet, an' this appeared to be the
+best place."
+
+"Ben, I don't care if dad or Jack know I've met Wilson. I'll tell them,"
+said Columbine.
+
+"Ahuh! Well, if I were you I wouldn't," he replied.
+
+They went down the slope and entered the grove. It was an open, pretty
+spot, with grass and wild flowers, and old, bleached logs, half sunny
+and half shady under the new-born, fluttering aspen leaves. Wade saw
+Moore sitting on his horse. And it struck the hunter significantly that
+the cowboy should be mounted when an hour back he had left him sitting
+disconsolately on a log. Moore wanted Columbine to see him first, after
+all these months of fear and dread, mounted upon his horse. Wade heard
+Columbine's glad little cry, but he did not turn to look at her then.
+But when they reached the spot where Moore stood Wade could not resist
+the desire to see the meeting between the lovers.
+
+Columbine, being a woman, and therefore capable of hiding agitation,
+except in moments of stress, met that trying situation with more
+apparent composure than the cowboy. Moore's long, piercing gaze took the
+rose out of Columbine's cheeks.
+
+"Oh, Wilson! I'm so happy to see you on your horse again!" she
+exclaimed. "It's too good to be true. I've prayed for that more than
+anything else. Can you get up into your saddle like you used to? Can you
+ride well again?... Let me see your foot."
+
+Moore held out a bulky foot. He wore a shoe, and it was slashed.
+
+"I can't wear a boot," he explained.
+
+"Oh, I see!" exclaimed Columbine, slowly, with her glad smile fading.
+"You can't put that--that foot in a stirrup, can you?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But--it--it will--you'll be able to wear a boot soon," she implored.
+
+"Never again, Collie," he said, sadly.
+
+And then Wade perceived that, like a flash, the old spirit leaped up in
+Columbine. It was all he wanted to see.
+
+"Now, folks," he said, "I reckon two's company an' three's a crowd. I'll
+go off a little ways an' keep watch."
+
+"Ben, you stay here," replied Columbine, hurriedly.
+
+"Why, Collie? Are you afraid--or ashamed to be with me alone?" asked
+Moore, bitterly.
+
+Columbine's eyes flashed. It was seldom they lost their sweet
+tranquillity. But now they had depth and fire.
+
+"No, Wilson, I'm neither afraid nor ashamed to be with you alone," she
+declared. "But I can be as natural--as much myself with Ben here as I
+could be alone. Why can't you be? If dad and Jack heard of our meeting
+the fact of Ben's presence might make it look different to them. And why
+should I heap trouble upon my shoulders?"
+
+"I beg pardon, Collie," said the cowboy. "I've just been afraid of--of
+things."
+
+"My horse is restless," returned Columbine. "Let's get off and talk."
+
+So they dismounted. It warmed Wade's gloomy heart to see the woman-look
+in Columbine's eyes as she watched the cowboy get off and walk. For a
+crippled man he did very well. But that moment was fraught with meaning
+for Wade. These unfortunate lovers, brave and fine in their suffering,
+did not realize the peril they invited by proximity. But Wade knew. He
+pitied them, he thrilled for them, he lived their torture with them.
+
+"Tell me--everything," said Columbine, impulsively.
+
+Moore, with dragging step, approached an aspen log that lay off the
+ground, propped by the stump, and here he leaned for support. Columbine
+laid her gloves on the log.
+
+"There's nothing to tell that you don't know," replied Moore. "I wrote
+you all there was to write, except"--here he dropped his head--"except
+that the last three weeks have been hell."
+
+"They've not been exactly heaven for me," replied Columbine, with a
+little laugh that gave Wade a twinge.
+
+Then the lovers began to talk about spring coming, about horses and
+cattle, and feed, about commonplace ranch matters not interesting to
+them, but which seemed to make conversation and hide their true
+thoughts. Wade listened, and it seemed to him that he could read
+their hearts.
+
+"Lass, an' you, Wils--you're wastin' time an' gettin' nowhere,"
+interposed Wade. "Now let me go, so's you'll be alone."
+
+"You stay right there," ordered Moore.
+
+"Why, Ben, I'm ashamed to say that I actually forgot you were here,"
+said Columbine.
+
+"Then I'll remind you," rejoined the hunter. "Collie, tell us about Old
+Bill an' Jack."
+
+"Tell you? What?"
+
+"Well, I've seen changes in both. So has Wils, though Wils hasn't seen
+as much as he's heard from Lem an' Montana an' the Andrews boys."
+
+"Oh!..." Columbine choked a little over her exclamation of
+understanding. "Dad has gotten a new lease on life, I guess. He's happy,
+like a boy sometimes, an' good as gold.... It's all because of the
+change in Jack. That is remarkable. I've not been able to believe my own
+eyes. Since that night Jack came home and had the--the understanding
+with dad he has been another person. He has left me alone. He treats me
+with deference, but not a familiar word or look. He's kind. He offers
+the little civilities that occur, you know. But he never intrudes upon
+me. Not one word of the past! It is as if he would earn my respect, and
+have that or nothing.... Then he works as he never worked before--on
+dad's books, in the shop, out on the range. He seems obsessed with some
+thought all the time. He talks little. All the old petulance, obstinacy,
+selfishness, and especially his sudden, queer impulses, and bull-headed
+tenacity--all gone! He has suffered physical distress, because he never
+was used to hard work. And more, he's suffered terribly for the want of
+liquor. I've heard him say to dad: 'It's hell--this burning thirst. I
+never knew I had it. I'll stand it, if it kills me.... But wouldn't it
+be easier on me to take a drink now and then, at these bad times?'...
+And dad said: 'No, son. Break off for keeps! This taperin' off is no
+good way to stop drinkin'. Stand the burnin'. An' when it's gone you'll
+be all the gladder an' I'll be all the prouder.'... I have not forgotten
+all Jack's former failings, but I am forgetting them, little by little.
+For dad's sake I'm overjoyed. For Jack's I am glad. I'm convinced now
+that he's had his lesson--that he's sowed his wild oats--that he has
+become a man."
+
+Moore listened eagerly, and when she had concluded he thoughtfully bent
+his head and began to cut little chips out of the log with his knife.
+
+"Collie, I've heard a good deal of the change in Jack," he said,
+earnestly. "Honest Injun, I'm glad--glad for his father's sake, for his
+own, and for yours. The boys think Jack's locoed. But his reformation is
+not strange to me. If I were no good--just like he was--well, I could
+change as greatly for--for you."
+
+Columbine hastily averted her face. Wade's keen eyes, apparently hidden
+under his old hat, saw how wet her lashes were, how her lips trembled.
+
+"Wilson, you think then--you believe Jack will last--will stick to his
+new ways?" she queried, hurriedly.
+
+"Yes, I do," he replied, nodding.
+
+"How good of you! Oh! Wilson, it's like you to be noble--splendid. When
+you might have--when it'd have been so natural for you to doubt--to
+scorn him!"
+
+"Collie, I'm honest about that. And now you be just as honest. Do you
+think Jack will stand to his colors? Never drink--never gamble--never
+fly off the handle again?"
+
+"Yes, I honestly believe that--providing he gets--providing I--"
+
+Her voice trailed off faintly.
+
+Moore wheeled to address the hunter.
+
+"Pard, what do you think? Tell me now. Tell us. It will help me, and
+Collie, too. I've asked you before, but you wouldn't--Tell us now, do
+you believe Buster Jack will live up to his new ideals?"
+
+Wade had long parried that question, because the time to answer it had
+not come till this moment.
+
+"No," he replied, gently.
+
+Columbine uttered a little cry.
+
+"Why not?" demanded Moore, his face darkening.
+
+"Reckon there are reasons that you young folks wouldn't think of, an'
+couldn't know."
+
+"Wade, it's not like you to be hopeless for any man," said Moore.
+
+"Yes, I reckon it is, sometimes," replied Wade, wagging his head
+solemnly. "Young folks, I'm grantin' all you say as to Jack's
+reformation, except that it's permanent. I'm grantin' he's sincere--that
+he's not playin' a part--that his vicious instincts are smothered under
+a noble impulse to be what he ought to be. It's no trick. Buster Jack
+has all but done the impossible."
+
+"Then why isn't his sincerity and good work to be permanent?" asked
+Moore, impatiently, and his gesture was violent.
+
+"Wils, his change is not moral force. It's passion."
+
+The cowboy paled. Columbine stood silent, with intent eyes upon the
+hunter. Neither of them seemed to understand him well enough to
+make reply.
+
+"Love can work marvels in any man," went on Wade. "But love can't change
+the fiber of a man's heart. A man is born so an' so. He loves an' hates
+an' feels accordin' to the nature. It'd be accordin' to nature for Jack
+Belllounds to stay reformed if his love for Collie lasted. An' that's
+the point. It can't last. Not in a man of his stripe."
+
+"Why not?" demanded Moore.
+
+"Because Jack's love will never be returned--satisfied. It takes a man
+of different caliber to love a woman who'll never love him. Jack's
+obsessed by passion now. He'd perform miracles. But that's not possible.
+The miracle necessary here would be for him to change his moral force,
+his blood, the habits of his mind. That's beyond his power."
+
+Columbine flung out an appealing hand.
+
+"Ben, I could pretend to love him--I might _make_ myself love him, if
+that would give him the power."
+
+"Lass, don't delude yourself. You can't do that," replied Wade.
+
+"How do you know what I can do?" she queried, struggling with her
+helplessness.
+
+"Why, child, I know you better than you know yourself."
+
+"Wilson, he's right, he's right!" she cried. "That's why it's so
+terrible for me now. He knows my very heart. He reads my soul.... I can
+_never_ love Jack Belllounds. Nor _ever_ pretend love!"
+
+"Collie, if Ben knows you so well, you ought to listen to him, as you
+used to," said Moore, touching her hand with infinite sympathy.
+
+Wade watched them. His pity and affection did not obstruct the ruthless
+expression of his opinions or the direction of his intentions.
+
+"Lass, an' you, Wils, listen," he said, with all his gentleness. "It's
+bad enough without you makin' it worse. Don't blind yourselves. That's
+the hell with so many people in trouble. It's hard to see clear when
+you're sufferin' and fightin'. But _I_ see clear.... Now with just a
+word I could fetch this new Jack Belllounds back to his Buster
+Jack tricks!"
+
+"Oh, Ben! No! No! No!" cried Columbine, in a distress that showed how
+his force dominated her.
+
+Moore's face turned as white as ashes.
+
+Wade divined then that Moore was aware of what he himself knew about
+Jack Belllounds. And to his love for Moore was added an
+infinite respect.
+
+"I won't unless Collie forces me to," he said, significantly.
+
+This was the critical moment, and suddenly Wade answered to it without
+restraint. He leaped up, startling Columbine.
+
+"Wils, you call me pard, don't you? I reckon you never knew me. Why, the
+game's `most played out, an' I haven't showed my hand!... I'd see Jack
+Belllounds in hell before I'd let him have Collie. An' if she carried
+out her strange an' lofty idea of duty--an' married him right this
+afternoon--I could an' I would part them before night!"
+
+He ended that speech in a voice neither had ever heard him use before.
+And the look of him must have been in harmony with it. Columbine,
+wide-eyed and gasping, seemed struck to the heart. Moore's white face
+showed awe and fear and irresponsible primitive joy. Wade turned away
+from them, the better to control the passion that had mastered him. And
+it did not subside in an instant. He paced to and fro, his head bowed.
+Presently, when he faced around, it was to see what he had expected
+to see.
+
+Columbine was clasped in Moore's arms.
+
+"Collie, you didn't--you haven't--promised to marry him--again!"
+
+"No, oh--no! I haven't! I was only--only trying to--to make up my mind.
+Wilson, don't look at me so terribly!"
+
+"You'll not agree again? You'll not set another day?" demanded Moore,
+passionately. He strained her to him, yet held her so he could see her
+face, thus dominating her with both strength and will. His face was
+corded now, and darkly flushed. His jaw quivered. "You'll never marry
+Jack Belllounds! You'll not let sudden impulse--sudden persuasion or
+force change you? Promise! Swear you'll never marry him. Swear!"
+
+"Oh, Wilson, I promise--I swear!" she cried. "Never! I'm yours. It would
+be a sin. I've been mad to--to blind myself."
+
+"You love me! You love me!" he cried, in a sudden transport.
+
+"Oh, yes, yes! I do."
+
+"Say it then! Say it--so I'll never doubt--never suffer again!"
+
+"I love you, Wilson! I--I love you--unutterably," the whispered. "I love
+you--so--I'm broken-hearted now. I'll never live without you. I'll
+die--I love you so!"
+
+"You--you flower--you angel!" he whispered in return. "You woman! You
+precious creature! I've been crazed at loss of you!"
+
+Wade paced out of earshot, and this time he remained away for a
+considerable time. He lived again moments of his own past, unforgetable
+and sad. When at length he returned toward the young couple they were
+sitting apart, composed once more, talking earnestly. As he neared them
+Columbine rose to greet him with wonderful eyes, in which reproach
+blended with affection.
+
+"Ben, so this is what you've done!" she exclaimed.
+
+"Lass, I'm only a humble instrument, an' I believe God guides me right,"
+replied the hunter.
+
+"I love you more, it seems, for what you make me suffer," she said, and
+she kissed him with a serious sweetness. "I'm only a leaf in the storm.
+But--let what will come.... Take me home."
+
+They said good-by to Wilson, who sat with head bowed upon his hands. His
+voice trembled as he answered them. Wade found the trail while Columbine
+mounted. As they went slowly down the gentle slope, stepping over the
+numerous logs fallen across the way, Wade caught out of the tail of his
+eye a moving object along the outer edge of the aspen grove above them.
+It was the figure of a man, skulking behind the trees. He disappeared.
+Wade casually remarked to Columbine that now she could spur the pony and
+hurry on home. But Columbine refused. When they got a little farther on,
+out of sight of Moore and somewhat around to the left, Wade espied the
+man again. He carried a rifle. Wade grew somewhat perturbed.
+
+"Collie, you run on home," he said, sharply.
+
+"Why? You've complained of not seeing me. Now that I want to be with you
+... Ben, you see some one!"
+
+Columbine's keen faculties evidently sensed the change in Wade, and the
+direction of his uneasy glance convinced her.
+
+"Oh, there's a man!... Ben, it is--yes, it's Jack," she exclaimed,
+excitedly.
+
+"Reckon you'd have it better if you say Buster Jack," replied Wade, with
+his tragic smile.
+
+"Ah!" whispered Columbine, as she gazed up at the aspen slope, with eyes
+lighting to battle.
+
+"Run home, Collie, an' leave him to me," said Wade.
+
+"Ben, you mean he--he saw us up there in the grove? Saw me in Wilson's
+arms--saw me kissing him?"
+
+"Sure as you're born, Collie. He watched us. He saw all your
+love-makin'. I can tell that by the way he walks. It's Buster Jack
+again! Alas for the new an' noble Jack! I told you, Collie. Now you run
+on an' leave him to me."
+
+Wade became aware that she turned at his last words and regarded him
+attentively. But his gaze was riveted on the striding form of
+Belllounds.
+
+"Leave him to you? For what reason, my friend?" she asked.
+
+"Buster Jack's on the rampage. Can't you see that? He'll insult you.
+He'll--"
+
+"I will not go," interrupted Columbine, and, halting her pony, she
+deliberately dismounted.
+
+Wade grew concerned with the appearance of young Belllounds, and it was
+with a melancholy reminder of the infallibility of his presentiments. As
+he and Columbine halted in the trail, Belllounds's hurried stride
+lengthened until he almost ran. He carried the rifle forward in a most
+significant manner. Black as a thunder-cloud was his face. Alas for the
+dignity and pain and resolve that had only recently showed there!
+
+Belllounds reached them. He was frothing at the mouth. He cocked the
+rifle and thrust it toward Wade, holding low down.
+
+"You--meddling sneak! If you open your trap I'll bore you!" he shouted,
+almost incoherently.
+
+Wade knew when danger of life loomed imminent. He fixed his glance upon
+the glaring eyes of Belllounds.
+
+"Jack, seein' I'm not packin' a gun, it'd look sorta natural, along with
+your other tricks, if you bored me."
+
+His gentle voice, his cool mien, his satire, were as giant's arms to
+drag Belllounds back from murder. The rifle was raised, the hammer
+reset, the butt lowered to the ground, while Belllounds, snarling and
+choking, fought for speech.
+
+"I'll get even--with you," he said, huskily. "I'm on to your game now.
+I'll fix you later. But--I'll do you harm now if you mix in with this!"
+
+Then he wheeled to Columbine, and as if he had just recognized her, a
+change that was pitiful and shocking convulsed his face. He leaned
+toward her, pointing with shaking, accusing hand.
+
+"I saw you--up there. I watched--you," he panted.
+
+Columbine faced him, white and mute.
+
+"It was you--wasn't it?" he yelled.
+
+"Yes, of course it was."
+
+She might have struck him, for the way he flinched.
+
+"What was that--a trick--a game--a play all fixed up for my benefit?"
+
+"I don't understand you," she replied.
+
+"Bah! You--you white-faced cat!... I saw you! Saw you in Moore's arms!
+Saw him hug you--kiss you!... Then--I saw--you put up your arms--round
+his neck--kiss him--kiss him--kiss him!... I saw all that--didn't I?"
+
+"You must have, since you say so," she returned, with perfect composure.
+
+"But _did_ you?" he almost shrieked, the blood cording and bulging red,
+as if about to burst the veins of temples and neck.
+
+"Yes, I did," she flashed. There was primitive woman uppermost in her
+now, and a spirit no man might provoke with impunity.
+
+"_You love him?_" he asked, very low, incredulously, with almost insane
+eagerness for denial in his query.
+
+Then Wade saw the glory of her--saw her mother again in that proud,
+fierce uplift of face, that flamed red and then blazed white--saw hate
+and passion and love in all their primal nakedness.
+
+"Love him! Love Wilson Moore? Yes, you fool! I love him! Yes! _Yes!_
+YES!"
+
+That voice would have pierced the heart of a wooden image, so Wade
+thought, as all his strung nerves quivered and thrilled.
+
+Belllounds uttered a low cry of realization, and all his instinctive
+energy seemed on the verge of collapse. He grew limp, he sagged, he
+tottered. His sensorial perceptions seemed momentarily blunted.
+
+Wade divined the tragedy, and a pang of great compassion overcame him.
+Whatever Jack Belllounds was in character, he had inherited his father's
+power to love, and he was human. Wade felt the death in that stricken
+soul, and it was the last flash of pity he ever had for Jack Belllounds.
+
+"You--you--" muttered Belllounds, raising a hand that gathered speed and
+strength in the action. The moment of a great blow had passed, like a
+storm-blast through a leafless tree. Now the thousand devils of his
+nature leaped into ascendancy. "You!--" He could not articulate. Dark
+and terrible became his energy. It was like a resistless current forced
+through leaping thought and leaping muscle.
+
+He struck her on the mouth, a cruel blow that would have felled her but
+for Wade: and then he lunged away, bowed and trembling, yet with fierce,
+instinctive motion, as if driven to run with the spirit of his rage.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+Wade noticed that after her trying experience with him and Wilson and
+Belllounds Columbine did not ride frequently.
+
+He managed to get a word or two with her whenever he went to the
+ranch-house, and he needed only look at her to read her sensitive mind.
+All was well with Columbine, despite her trouble. She remained upheld in
+spirit, while yet she seemed to brood over an unsolvable problem. She
+had said, "But--let what will come!"--and she was waiting.
+
+Wade hunted for more than lions and wolves these days. Like an Indian
+scout who scented peril or heard an unknown step upon his trail, Wade
+rode the hills, and spent long hours hidden on the lonely slopes,
+watching with somber, keen eyes. They were eyes that knew what they were
+looking for. They had marked the strange sight of the son of Bill
+Belllounds, gliding along that trail where Moore had met Columbine,
+sneaking and stooping, at last with many a covert glance about, to kneel
+in the trail and compare the horse tracks there with horseshoes he took
+from his pocket. That alone made Bent Wade eternally vigilant. He kept
+his counsel. He worked more swiftly, so that he might have leisure for
+his peculiar seeking. He spent an hour each night with the cowboys,
+listening to their recounting of the day and to their homely and shrewd
+opinions. He haunted the vicinity of the ranch-house at night, watching
+and listening for that moment which was to aid him in the crisis that
+was impending. Many a time he had been near when Columbine passed from
+the living-room to her corner of the house. He had heard her sigh and
+could almost have touched her.
+
+Buster Jack had suffered a regurgitation of the old driving and
+insatiate temper, and there was gloom in the house of Belllounds.
+Trouble clouded the old man's eyes.
+
+May came with the spring round-up. Wade was called to use a rope and
+brand calves under the order of Jack Belllounds, foreman of White
+Slides. That round-up showed a loss of one hundred head of stock, some
+branded steers, and yearlings, and many calves, in all a mixed herd.
+Belllounds received the amazing news with a roar. He had been ready for
+something to roar at. The cowboys gave as reasons winter-kill, and
+lions, and perhaps some head stolen since the thaw. Wade emphatically
+denied this. Very few cattle had fallen prey to the big cats, and none,
+so far as he could find, had been frozen or caught in drifts. It was the
+young foreman who stunned them all. "Rustled," he said, darkly. "There's
+too many loafers and homesteaders in these hills!" And he stalked out to
+leave his hearers food for reflection.
+
+Jack Belllounds drank, but no one saw him drunk, and no one could tell
+where he got the liquor. He rode hard and fast; he drove the cowboys one
+way while he went another; he had grown shifty, cunning, more intolerant
+than ever. Some nights he rode to Kremmling, or said he had been there,
+when next day the cowboys found another spent and broken horse to turn
+out. On other nights he coaxed and bullied them into playing poker. They
+won more of his money than they cared to count.
+
+Columbine confided to Wade, with mournful whisper, that Jack paid no
+attention to her whatever, and that the old rancher attributed this
+coldness, and Jack's backsliding, to her irresponsiveness and her
+tardiness in setting the wedding-day that must be set. To this Wade had
+whispered in reply, "Don't ever forget what I said to you an' Wils
+that day!"
+
+So Wade upheld Columbine with his subtle dominance, and watched over
+her, as it were, from afar. No longer was he welcome in the big
+living-room. Belllounds reacted to his son's influence.
+
+Twice in the early mornings Wade had surprised Jack Belllounds in the
+blacksmith shop. The meetings were accidental, yet Wade ever remembered
+how coincidence beckoned him thither and how circumstance magnified
+strange reflections. There was no reason why Jack should not be
+tinkering in the blacksmith shop early of a morning. But Wade followed
+an uncanny guidance. Like his hound Fox, he never split on trails. When
+opportunity afforded he went into the shop and looked it over with eyes
+as keen as the nose of his dog. And in the dust of the floor he had
+discovered little circles with dots in the middle, all uniform in size.
+Sight of them did not shock him until they recalled vividly the little
+circles with dots in the earthen floor of Wilson Moore's cabin. Little
+marks made by the end of Moore's crutch! Wade grinned then like a wolf
+showing his fangs. And the vitals of a wolf could no more strongly have
+felt the instinct to rend.
+
+For Wade, the cloud on his horizon spread and darkened, gathered
+sinister shape of storm, harboring lightning and havoc. It was the cloud
+in his mind, the foreshadowing of his soul, the prophetic sense of like
+to like. Where he wandered there the blight fell!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Significant was the fact that Belllounds hired new men. Bludsoe had
+quit. Montana Jim grew surly these days and packed a gun. Lem Billings
+had threatened to leave. New and strange hands for Jack Belllounds to
+direct had a tendency to release a strain and tide things over.
+
+Every time the old rancher saw Wade he rolled his eyes and wagged his
+head, as if combating superstition with an intelligent sense of justice.
+Wade knew what troubled Belllounds, and it strengthened the gloomy mood
+that, like a poison lichen, seemed finding root.
+
+Every day Wade visited his friend Wilson Moore, and most of their
+conversation centered round that which had become a ruling passion for
+both. But the time came when Wade deviated from his gentleness of speech
+and leisure of action.
+
+"Bent, you're not like you were," said Moore, once, in surprise at the
+discovery. "You're losing hope and confidence."
+
+"No. I've only somethin' on my mind."
+
+"What?"
+
+"I reckon I'm not goin' to tell you now."
+
+"You've got _hell_ on your mind!" flashed the cowboy, in grim
+inspiration.
+
+Wade ignored the insinuation and turned the conversation to another
+subject.
+
+"Wils, you're buyin' stock right along?"
+
+"Sure am. I saved some money, you know. And what's the use to hoard it?
+I'll buy cheap. In five years I'll have five hundred, maybe a thousand
+head. Wade, my old dad will be pleased to find out I've made the start
+I have."
+
+"Well, it's a fine start, I'll allow. Have you picked up any unbranded
+stock?"
+
+"Sure I have. Say, pard, are you worrying about this two-bit rustler
+work that's been going on?"
+
+"Wils, it ain't two bits any more. I reckon it's gettin' into the
+four-bit class."
+
+"I've been careful to have my business transactions all in writing,"
+said Moore. "It makes these fellows sore, because some of them can't
+write. And they're not used to it. But I'm starting this game in my
+own way."
+
+"Have you sold any stock?"
+
+"Not yet. But the Andrews boys are driving some thirty-odd head to
+Kremmling for me to be sold."
+
+"Ahuh! Well, I'll be goin'," Wade replied, and it was significant of his
+state of mind that he left his young friend sorely puzzled. Not that
+Wade did not see Moore's anxiety! But the drift of events at White
+Slides had passed beyond the stage where sympathetic and inspiring hope
+might serve Wade's purpose. Besides, his mood was gradually changing as
+these events, like many fibers of a web, gradually closed in toward a
+culminating knot.
+
+That night Wade lounged with the cowboys and new hands in front of the
+little storehouse where Belllounds kept supplies for all. He had lounged
+there before in the expectation of seeing the rancher's son. And this
+time anticipation was verified. Jack Belllounds swaggered over from the
+ranch-house. He met civility and obedience now where formerly he had
+earned but ridicule and opposition. So long as he worked hard himself
+the cowboys endured. The subtle change in him seemed of sterner stuff.
+The talk, as usual, centered round the stock subjects and the banter and
+gossip of ranch-hands. Wade selected an interval when there was a lull
+in the conversation, and with eyes that burned under the shadow of his
+broad-brimmed sombrero he watched the son of Belllounds.
+
+"Say, boys, Wils Moore has begun sellin' cattle," remarked Wade,
+casually. "The Andrews brothers are drivin' for him."
+
+"Wal, so Wils's spread-eaglin' into a real rancher!" ejaculated Lem
+Billings. "Mighty glad to hear it. Thet boy shore will git rich."
+
+Wade's remark incited no further expressions of interest. But it was
+Jack Belllounds's secret mind that Wade wished to pierce. He saw the
+leaping of a thought that was neither interest nor indifference nor
+contempt, but a creative thing which lent a fleeting flash to the face,
+a slight shock to the body. Then Jack Belllounds bent his head, lounged
+there for a little while longer, lost in absorption, and presently he
+strolled away.
+
+Whatever that mounting thought of Jack Belllounds's was it brought
+instant decision to Wade. He went to the ranch-house and knocked upon
+the living-room door. There was a light within, sending rays out through
+the windows into the semi-darkness. Columbine opened the door and
+admitted Wade. A bright fire crackled in the hearth. Wade flashed a
+reassuring look at Columbine.
+
+"Evenin', Miss Collie. Is your dad in?"
+
+"Oh, it's you, Ben!" she replied, after her start. "Yes, dad's here."
+
+The old rancher looked up from his reading. "Howdy, Wade! What can I do
+fer you?"
+
+"Belllounds, I've cleaned out the cats an' most of the varmints on your
+range. An' my work, lately, has been all sorts, not leavin' me any time
+for little jobs of my own. An' I want to quit."
+
+"Wade, you've clashed with Jack!" exclaimed the rancher, jerking erect.
+
+"Nothin' of the kind. Jack an' me haven't had words a good while. I'm
+not denyin' we might, an' probably would clash sooner or later. But
+that's not my reason for quittin'."
+
+Manifestly this put an entirely different complexion upon the matter.
+Belllounds appeared immensely relieved.
+
+"Wal, all right. I'll pay you at the end of the month. Let's see, thet's
+not long now. You can lay off to-morrow."
+
+Wade thanked him and waited for further remarks. Columbine had fixed
+big, questioning eyes upon Wade, which he found hard to endure. Again he
+tried to flash her a message of reassurance. But Columbine did not lose
+her look of blank wonder and gravity.
+
+"Ben! Oh, you're not going to leave White Slides?" she asked.
+
+"Reckon I'll hang around yet awhile," he replied.
+
+Belllounds was wagging his head regretfully and ponderingly.
+
+"Wal, I remember the day when no man quit me. Wal, wal!--times change.
+I'm an old man now. Mebbe, mebbe I'm testy. An' then thar's thet boy!"
+
+With a shrug of his broad shoulders he dismissed what seemed an
+encroachment of pessimistic thought.
+
+"Wade, you're packin' off, then, on the trail? Always on the go, eh?"
+
+"No, I'm not hurryin' off," replied Wade.
+
+"Wal, might I ask what you're figgerin' on?"
+
+"Sure. I'm considerin' a cattle deal with Moore. He's a pretty keen boy
+an' his father has big ranchin' interests. I've saved a little money an'
+I'm no spring chicken any more. Wils has begun to buy an' sell stock, so
+I reckon I'll go in with him."
+
+"Ahuh!" Belllounds gave a grunt of comprehension. He frowned, and his
+big eyes set seriously upon the blazing fire. He grasped complications
+in this information.
+
+"Wal, it's a free country," he said at length, and evidently his
+personal anxieties were subjected to his sense of justice. "Owin' to the
+peculiar circumstances hyar at my range, I'd prefer thet Moore an' you
+began somewhar else. Thet's natural. But you've my good will to start on
+an' I hope I've yours."
+
+"Belllounds, you've every man's good will," replied Wade. "I hope you
+won't take offense at my leavin'. You see I'm on Wils Moore's side
+in--in what you called these peculiar circumstances. He's got nobody
+else. An' I reckon you can look back an' remember how you've taken sides
+with some poor devil an' stuck to him. Can't you?"
+
+"Wal, I reckon I can. An' I'm not thinkin' less of you fer speakin' out
+like thet."
+
+"All right. Now about the dogs. I turn the pack over to you, an' it's a
+good one. I'd like to buy Fox."
+
+"Buy nothin', man. You can have Fox, an' welcome."
+
+"Much obliged," returned the hunter, as he turned to go. "Fox will sure
+be help for me. Belllounds, I'm goin' to round up this outfit that's
+rustlin' your cattle. They're gettin' sort of bold."
+
+"Wade, you'll do thet on your own hook?" asked the rancher, in surprise.
+
+"Sure. I like huntin' men more than other varmints. Then I've a personal
+interest. You know the hint about homesteaders hereabouts reflects some
+on Wils Moore."
+
+"Stuff!" exploded the rancher, heartily. "Do you think any cattleman in
+these hills would believe Wils Moore a rustler?"
+
+"The hunch has been whispered," said Wade. "An' you know how all
+ranchers say they rustled a little on the start."
+
+"Aw, hell! Thet's different. Every new rancher drives in a few unbranded
+calves an' keeps them. But stealin' stock--thet's different. An' I'd as
+soon suspect my own son of rustlin' as Wils Moore."
+
+Belllounds spoke with a sincere and frank ardor of defense for a young
+man once employed by him and known to be honest. The significance of the
+comparison he used had not struck him. His was the epitome of a
+successful rancher, sure in his opinions, speaking proudly and
+unreflectingly of his own son, and being just to another man.
+
+Wade bowed and backed out of the door. "Sure that's what I'd reckon
+you'd say, Belllounds.... I'll drop in on you if I find any sign in the
+woods. Good night."
+
+Columbine went with him to the end of the porch, as she had used to go
+before the shadow had settled over the lives of the Belllounds.
+
+"Ben, you're up to something," she whispered, seizing him with hands
+that shook.
+
+"Sure. But don't you worry," he whispered back.
+
+"Do they hint that Wilson is a rustler?" she asked, intensely.
+
+"Somebody did, Collie."
+
+"How vile! Who? Who?" she demanded, and her face gleamed white.
+
+"Hush, lass! You're all a-tremble," he returned, warily, and he held her
+hands.
+
+"Ben, they're pressing me hard to set another wedding-day. Dad is angry
+with me now. Jack has begun again to demand. Oh, I'm afraid of him! He
+has no respect for me. He catches at me with hands like claws. I have to
+jerk away.... Oh, Ben, Ben! dear friend, what on earth shall I do?"
+
+"Don't give in. Fight Jack! Tell the old man you must have time. Watch
+your chance when Jack is away an' ride up the Buffalo Park trail an'
+look for me."
+
+Wade had to release his hands from her clasp and urge her gently back.
+How pale and tragic her face gleamed!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wade took his horses, his outfit, and the dog Fox, and made his abode
+with Wilson Moore. The cowboy hailed Wade's coming with joy and pestered
+him with endless questions.
+
+From that day Wade haunted the hills above White Slides, early and late,
+alone with his thoughts, his plans, more and more feeling the suspense
+of happenings to come. It was on a June day when Jack Belllounds rode to
+Kremmling that Wade met Columbine on the Buffalo Park trail. She needed
+to see him, to find comfort and strength. Wade far exceeded his own
+confidence in his effort to uphold her. Columbine was in a strange
+state, not of vacillation between two courses, but of a standstill, as
+if her will had become obstructed and waited for some force to upset the
+hindrance. She did not inquire as to the welfare of Wilson Moore, and
+Wade vouchsafed no word of him. But she importuned the hunter to see her
+every day or no more at all. And Wade answered her appeal and her need
+by assuring her that he would see her, come what might. So she was to
+risk more frequent rides.
+
+During the second week of June Wade rode up to visit the prospector,
+Lewis, and learned that which complicated the matter of the rustlers.
+Lewis had been suspicious, and active on his own account. According to
+the best of his evidence and judgment there had been a gang of rough men
+come of late to Gore Peak, where they presumably were prospecting. This
+gang was composed of strangers to Lewis. They had ridden to his cabin,
+bought and borrowed of him, and, during his absence, had stolen from
+him. He believed they were in hiding, probably being guilty of some
+depredation in another locality. They gave both Kremmling and Elgeria a
+wide berth. On the other hand, the Smith gang from Elgeria rode to and
+fro, like ranchers searching for lost horses. There were only three in
+this gang, including Smith. Lewis had seen these men driving unbranded
+stock. And lastly, Lewis casually imparted the information, highly
+interesting to Wade, that he had seen Jack Belllounds riding through the
+forest. The prospector did not in the least, however, connect the
+appearance of the son of Belllounds with the other facts so peculiarly
+interesting to Wade. Cowboys and hunters rode trails across the range,
+and though they did so rather infrequently, there was nothing unusual
+about encountering them.
+
+Wade remained all night with Lewis, and next morning rode six miles
+along the divide, and then down into a valley, where at length he found
+a cabin described by the prospector. It was well hidden in the edge of
+the forest, where a spring gushed from under a low cliff. But for water
+and horse tracks Wade would not have found it easily. Rifle in hand, and
+on foot, he slipped around in the woods, as a hunter might have, to
+stalk drinking deer. There were no smoke, no noise, no horses anywhere
+round the cabin, and after watching awhile Wade went forward to look at
+it. It was an old ramshackle hunter's or prospector's cabin, with dirt
+floor, a crumbling fireplace and chimney, and a bed platform made of
+boughs. Including the door, it had three apertures, and the two smaller
+ones, serving as windows, looked as if they had been intended for
+port-holes as well. The inside of the cabin was large and unusually well
+lighted, owing to the windows and to the open chinks between the logs.
+Wade saw a deck of cards lying bent and scattered in one corner, as if
+a violent hand had flung them against the wall. Strange that Wade's
+memory returned a vivid picture of Jack Belllounds in just that act of
+violence! The only other thing around the place which earned scrutiny
+from Wade was a number of horseshoe tracks outside, with the left front
+shoe track familiar to him. He examined the clearest imprints very
+carefully. If they had not been put there by Wilson Moore's white
+mustang, Spottie, then they had been made by a horse with a strangely
+similar hoof and shoe. Spottie had a hoof malformed, somewhat in the
+shape of a triangle, and the iron shoe to fit it always had to be bent,
+so that the curve was sharp and the ends closer together than those of
+his other shoes.
+
+Wade rode down to White Slides that day, and at the evening meal he
+casually asked Moore if he had been riding Spottie of late.
+
+"Sure. What other horse could I ride? Do you think I'm up to trying one
+of those broncs?" asked Moore, in derision.
+
+"Reckon you haven't been leavin' any tracks up Buffalo Park way?"
+
+The cowboy slammed down his knife. "Say, Wade, are you growing dotty?
+Good Lord! if I'd ridden that far--if I was able to do it--wouldn't you
+hear me yell?"
+
+"Reckon so, come to think of it. I just saw a track like Spottie's, made
+two days ago."
+
+"Well, it wasn't his, you can gamble on that," returned the cowboy.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wade spent four days hiding in an aspen grove, on top of one of the
+highest foothills above White Slides Ranch. There he lay at ease, like
+an Indian, calm and somber, watching the trails below, waiting for what
+he knew was to come.
+
+On the fifth morning he was at his post at sunrise. A casual remark of
+one of the new cowboys the night before accounted for the early hour of
+Wade's reconnoiter. The dawn was fresh and cool, with sweet odor of sage
+on the air; the jays were squalling their annoyance at this early
+disturber of their grove; the east was rosy above the black range and
+soon glowed with gold and then changed to fire. The sun had risen. All
+the mountain world of black range and gray hill and green valley, with
+its shining stream, was transformed as if by magic color. Wade sat down
+with his back to an aspen-tree, his gaze down upon the ranch-house and
+the corrals. A lazy column of blue smoke curled up toward the sky, to be
+lost there. The burros were braying, the calves were bawling, the colts
+were whistling. One of the hounds bayed full and clear.
+
+The scene was pastoral and beautiful. Wade saw it clearly and whole.
+Peace and plenty, a happy rancher's home, the joy of the dawn and the
+birth of summer, the rewards of toil--all seemed significant there. But
+Wade pondered on how pregnant with life that scene was--nature in its
+simplicity and freedom and hidden cruelty, and the existence of people,
+blindly hating, loving, sacrificing, mostly serving some noble aim, and
+yet with baseness among them, the lees with the wine, evil intermixed
+with good.
+
+By and by the cowboys appeared on their spring mustangs, and in twos and
+threes they rode off in different directions. But none rode Wade's way.
+The sun rose higher, and there was warmth in the air. Bees began to hum
+by Wade, and fluttering moths winged uncertain flight over him.
+
+At the end of another hour Jack Belllounds came out of the house, gazed
+around him, and then stalked to the barn where he kept his horses. For a
+little while he was not in sight; then he reappeared, mounted on a white
+horse, and he rode into the pasture, and across that to the hay-field,
+and along the edge of this to the slope of the hill. Here he climbed to
+a small clump of aspens. This grove was not so far from Wilson Moore's
+cabin; in fact, it marked the boundary-line between the rancher's range
+and the acres that Moore had acquired. Jack vanished from sight here,
+but not before Wade had made sure he was dismounting.
+
+"Reckon he kept to that grassy ground for a reason of his own--and
+plainer to me than any tracks," soliloquized Wade, as he strained his
+eyes. At length Belllounds came out of the grove, and led his horse
+round to where Wade knew there was a trail leading to and from Moore's
+cabin. At this point Jack mounted and rode west. Contrary to his usual
+custom, which was to ride hard and fast, he trotted the white horse as a
+cowboy might have done when going out on a day's work. Wade had to
+change his position to watch Belllounds, and his somber gaze followed
+him across the hill, down the slope, along the willow-bordered brook,
+and so on to the opposite side of the great valley, where Jack began to
+climb in the direction of Buffalo Park.
+
+After Belllounds had disappeared and had been gone for an hour, Wade
+went down on the other side of the hill, found his horse where he had
+left him, in a thicket, and, mounting, he rode around to strike the
+trail upon which Belllounds had ridden. The imprint of fresh horse
+tracks showed clear in the soft dust. And the left front track had been
+made by a shoe crudely triangular in shape, identical with that peculiar
+to Wilson Moore's horse.
+
+"Ahuh!" muttered Wade, in greeting to what he had expected to see.
+"Well, Buster Jack, it's a plain trail now--damn your crooked soul!"
+
+The hunter took up that trail, and he followed it into the woods. There
+he hesitated. Men who left crooked trails frequently ambushed them, and
+Belllounds had made no effort to conceal his tracks. Indeed, he had
+chosen the soft, open ground, even after he had left the trail to take
+to the grassy, wooded benches. There were cattle here, but not as many
+as on the more open aspen slopes across the valley. After deliberating a
+moment, Wade decided that he must risk being caught trailing Belllounds.
+But he would go slowly, trusting to eye and ear, to outwit this
+strangely acting foreman of White Slides Ranch.
+
+To that end he dismounted and took the trail. Wade had not followed it
+far before he became convinced that Belllounds had been looking in the
+thickets for cattle; and he had not climbed another mile through the
+aspens and spruce before he discovered that Belllounds was driving
+cattle. Thereafter Wade proceeded more cautiously. If the long grass had
+not been wet he would have encountered great difficulty in trailing
+Belllounds. Evidence was clear now that he was hiding the tracks of the
+cattle by keeping to the grassy levels and slopes which, after the sun
+had dried them, would not leave a trace. There were stretches where even
+the keen-eyed hunter had to work to find the direction taken by
+Belllounds. But here and there, in other localities, there showed faint
+signs of cattle and horse tracks.
+
+The morning passed, with Wade slowly climbing to the edge of the black
+timber. Then, in a hollow where a spring gushed forth, he saw the tracks
+of a few cattle that had halted to drink, and on top of these the tracks
+of a horse with a crooked left front shoe. The rider of this horse had
+dismounted. There was an imprint of a cowboy's boot, and near it little
+sharp circles with dots in the center.
+
+"Well, I'll be damned!" ejaculated Wade. "I call that mighty cunnin'.
+Here they are--proofs as plain as writin'--that Wils Moore rustled Old
+Bill's cattle!... Buster Jack, you're not such a fool as I thought....
+He's made somethin' like the end of Wils's crutch. An' knowin' how Wils
+uses that every time he gets off his horse, why, the dirty pup carried
+his instrument with him an' made these tracks!"
+
+Wade left the trail then, and, leading his horse to a covert of spruce,
+he sat down to rest and think. Was there any reason for following
+Belllounds farther? It did not seem needful to take the risk of being
+discovered. The forest above was open. No doubt Belllounds would drive
+the cattle somewhere and turn them over to his accomplices.
+
+"Buster Jack's outbusted himself this time, sure," soliloquized Wade.
+"He's double-crossin' his rustler friends, same as he is Moore. For he's
+goin' to blame this cattle-stealin' onto Wils. An' to do that he's
+layin' his tracks so he can follow them, or so any good trailer can. It
+doesn't concern me so much now who're his pards in this deal. Reckon
+it's Smith an' some of his gang."
+
+Suddenly it dawned upon Wade that Jack Belllounds was stealing cattle
+from his father. "Whew!" he whistled softly. "Awful hard on the old man!
+Who's to tell him when all this comes out? Aw, I'd hate to do it. I
+wouldn't. There's some things even I'd not tell."
+
+Straightway this strange aspect of the case confronted Wade and gripped
+his soul. He seemed to feel himself changing inwardly, as if a gray,
+gloomy, sodden hand, as intangible as a ghostly dream, had taken him
+bodily from himself and was now leading him into shadows, into drear,
+lonely, dark solitude, where all was cold and bleak; and on and on over
+naked shingles that marked the world of tragedy. Here he must tell his
+tale, and as he plodded on his relentless leader forced him to tell his
+tale anew.
+
+Wade recognized this as his black mood. It was a morbid dominance of the
+mind. He fought it as he would have fought a devil. And mastery still
+was his. But his brow was clammy and his heart was leaden when he had
+wrested that somber, mystic control from his will.
+
+"Reckon I'd do well to take up this trail to-morrow an' see where it
+leads," he said, and as a gloomy man, burdened with thought, he retraced
+his way down the long slope, and over the benches, to the grassy slopes
+and aspen groves, and thus to the sage hills.
+
+It was dark when he reached the cabin, and Moore had supper almost
+ready.
+
+"Well, old-timer, you look fagged out," called out the cowboy, cheerily.
+"Throw off your boots, wash up, and come and get it!"
+
+"Pard Wils, I'm not reboundin' as natural as I'd like. I reckon I've
+lived some years before I got here, an' a lifetime since."
+
+"Wade, you have a queer look, lately," observed Moore, shaking his head
+solemnly. "Why, I've seen a dying man look just like you--now--round the
+mouth--but most in the eyes!"
+
+"Maybe the end of the long trail is White Slides Ranch," replied Wade,
+sadly and dreamily, as if to himself.
+
+"If Collie heard you say that!" exclaimed Moore, in anxious concern.
+
+"Collie an' you will hear me say a lot before long," returned Wade.
+"But, as it's calculated to make you happy--why, all's well. I'm tired
+an' hungry."
+
+Wade did not choose to sit round the fire that night, fearing to invite
+interrogation from his anxious friend, and for that matter from his
+other inquisitively morbid self.
+
+Next morning, though Wade felt rested, and the sky was blue and full of
+fleecy clouds, and the melody of birds charmed his ear, and over all the
+June air seemed thick and beating with the invisible spirit he loved, he
+sensed the oppression, the nameless something that presaged catastrophe.
+
+Therefore, when he looked out of the door to see Columbine swiftly
+riding up the trail, her fair hair flying and shining in the sunlight,
+he merely ejaculated, "Ahuh!"
+
+"What's that?" queried Moore, sharp to catch the inflection.
+
+"Look out," replied Wade, as he began to fill his pipe.
+
+"Heavens! It's Collie! Look at her riding! Uphill, too!"
+
+Wade followed him outdoors. Columbine was not long in arriving at the
+cabin, and she threw the bridle and swung off in the same motion,
+landing with a light thud. Then she faced them, pale, resolute, stern,
+all the sweetness gone to bitter strength--another and a strange
+Columbine.
+
+"I've not slept a wink!" she said. "And I came as soon as I could get
+away."
+
+Moore had no word for her, not even a greeting. The look of her had
+stricken him. It could have only one meaning.
+
+"Mornin', lass," said the hunter, and he took her hand. "I couldn't tell
+you looked sleepy, for all you said. Let's go into the cabin."
+
+So he led Columbine in, and Moore followed. The girl manifestly was in a
+high state of agitation, but she was neither trembling nor frightened
+nor sorrowful. Nor did she betray any lack of an unflinching and
+indomitable spirit. Wade read the truth of what she imagined was her
+doom in the white glow of her, in the matured lines of womanhood that
+had come since yesternight, in the sustained passion of her look.
+
+"Ben! Wilson! The worst has come!" she announced.
+
+Moore could not speak. Wade held Columbine's hand in both of his.
+
+"Worst! Now, Collie, that's a terrible word. I've heard it many times.
+An' all my life the worst's been comin'. An' it hasn't come yet.
+You--only twenty years old--talkin' wild--the worst has come!... Tell me
+your trouble now an' I'll tell you where you're wrong."
+
+"Jack's a thief--a cattle-thief!" rang Columbine's voice, high and
+clear.
+
+"Ahuh! Well, go on," said Wade.
+
+"Jack has taken money from rustlers--_for cattle stolen from his
+father!_"
+
+Wade felt the lift of her passion, and he vibrated to it.
+
+"Reckon that's no news to me," he replied.
+
+Then she quivered up to a strong and passionate delivery of the thing
+that had transformed her.
+
+"I'M GOING TO MARRY JACK BELLLOUNDS!"
+
+Wilson Moore leaped toward her with a cry, to be held back by Wade's
+hand.
+
+"Now, Collie," he soothed, "tell us all about it."
+
+Columbine, still upheld by the strength of her spirit, related how she
+had ridden out the day before, early in the afternoon, in the hope of
+meeting Wade. She rode over the sage hills, along the edges of the aspen
+benches, everywhere that she might expect to meet or see the hunter,
+but as he did not appear, and as she was greatly desirous of talking
+with him, she went on up into the woods, following the line of the
+Buffalo Park trail, though keeping aside from it. She rode very slowly
+and cautiously, remembering Wade's instructions. In this way she
+ascended the aspen benches, and the spruce-bordered ridges, and then the
+first rise of the black forest. Finally she had gone farther than ever
+before and farther than was wise.
+
+When she was about to turn back she heard the thud of hoofs ahead of
+her. Pronto shot up his ears. Alarmed and anxious, Columbine swiftly
+gazed about her. It would not do for her to be seen. Yet, on the other
+hand, the chances were that the approaching horse carried Wade. It was
+lucky that she was on Pronto, for he could be trusted to stand still and
+not neigh. Columbine rode into a thick clump of spruces that had long,
+shelving branches, reaching down. Here she hid, holding Pronto
+motionless.
+
+Presently the sound of hoofs denoted the approach of several horses.
+That augmented Columbine's anxiety. Peering out of her covert, she
+espied three horsemen trotting along the trail, and one of them was Jack
+Belllounds. They appeared to be in strong argument, judging from
+gestures and emphatic movements of their heads. As chance would have it
+they halted their horses not half a dozen rods from Columbine's place of
+concealment. The two men with Belllounds were rough-looking, one of
+them, evidently a leader, having a dark face disfigured by a
+horrible scar.
+
+Naturally they did not talk loud, and Columbine had to strain her ears
+to catch anything. But a word distinguished here and there, and
+accompanying actions, made transparent the meaning of their presence and
+argument. The big man refused to ride any farther. Evidently he had
+come so far without realizing it. His importunities were for "more head
+of stock." His scorn was for a "measly little bunch not worth the risk."
+His anger was for Belllounds's foolhardiness in "leavin' a trail."
+Belllounds had little to say, and most of that was spoken in a tone too
+low to be heard. His manner seemed indifferent, even reckless. But he
+wanted "money." The scar-faced man's name was "Smith." Then Columbine
+gathered from Smith's dogged and forceful gestures, and his words, "no
+money" and "bigger bunch," that he was unwilling to pay what had been
+agreed upon unless Belllounds promised to bring a larger number of
+cattle. Here Belllounds roundly cursed the rustler, and apparently
+argued that course "next to impossible." Smith made a sweeping movement
+with his arm, pointing south, indicating some place afar, and part of
+his speech was "Gore Peak." The little man, companion of Smith, got into
+the argument, and, dismounting from his horse, he made marks upon the
+smooth earth of the trail. He was drawing a rude map showing direction
+and locality. At length, when Belllounds nodded as if convinced or now
+informed, this third member of the party remounted, and seemed to have
+no more to say. Belllounds pondered sullenly. He snatched a switch from
+off a bough overhead and flicked his boot and stirrup with it, an action
+that made his horse restive. Smith leered and spoke derisively, of which
+speech Columbine heard, "Aw hell!" and "yellow streak," and "no one'd
+ever," and "son of Bill Belllounds," and "rustlin' stock." Then this
+scar-faced man drew out a buckskin bag. Either the contempt or the gold,
+or both, overbalanced vacillation in the weak mind of Jack Belllounds,
+for he lifted his head, showing his face pale and malignant, and without
+trace of shame or compunction he snatched the bag of gold, shouted a
+hoarse, "All right, damn you!" and, wheeling the white mustang, he
+spurred away, quickly disappearing.
+
+The rustlers sat their horses, gazing down the trail, and Smith wagged
+his dark head doubtfully. Then he spoke quite distinctly, "I ain't
+a-trustin' thet Belllounds pup!" and his comrade replied, "Boss, we
+ain't stealin' the stock, so what th' hell!" Then they turned their
+horses and trotted out of sight and hearing up the timbered slope.
+
+Columbine was so stunned, and so frightened and horrified, that she
+remained hidden there for a long time before she ventured forth. Then,
+heading homeward, she skirted the trail and kept to the edge of the
+forest, making a wide detour over the hills, finally reaching the ranch
+at sunset. Jack did not appear at the evening meal. His father had one
+of his spells of depression and seemed not to have noticed her absence.
+She lay awake all night thinking and praying.
+
+Columbine concluded her narrative there, and, panting from her agitation
+and hurry, she gazed at the bowed figure of Moore, and then at Wade.
+
+"I _had_ to tell you this shameful secret," she began again. "I'm
+forced. If you do not help me, if something is not done, there'll be a
+horrible--end to all!"
+
+"We'll help you, but how?" asked Moore, raising a white face.
+
+"I don't know yet. I only _feel_--I only _feel_ what may happen, if I
+don't prevent it.... Wilson, you must go home--at least for a while."
+
+"It'll not look right for Wils to leave White Slides now," interposed
+Wade, positively.
+
+"But why? Oh, I fear--"
+
+"Never mind now, lass. It's a good reason. An' you mustn't fear
+anythin'. I agree with you--we've got to prevent this--this that's goin'
+to happen."
+
+"Oh, Ben, my dear friend, we must prevent it--you _must!_"
+
+"Ahuh!... So I was figurin'."
+
+"Ben, you must go to Jack an' tell him--show him the peril--frighten him
+terribly--so that he will not do--do this shameful thing again."
+
+"Lass, I reckon I could scare Jack out of his skin. But what good would
+that do?"
+
+"It'll stop this--this madness.... Then I'll marry him--and keep him
+safe--after that!"
+
+"Collie, do you think marryin' Buster Jack will stop his bustin' out?"
+
+"Oh, I _know_ it will. He had conquered over the evil in him. I saw
+that. I felt it. He conquered over his baser nature for love of me.
+Then--when he heard--from my own lips--that I loved Wilson--why, then he
+fell. He didn't care. He drank again. He let go. He sank. And now he'll
+ruin us all. Oh, it looks as if he meant it that way!... But I can
+change him. I will marry him. I will love him--or I will _live a lie!_ I
+will make him think I love him!"
+
+Wilson Moore, deadly pale, faced her with flaming eyes.
+
+"Collie, _why?_ For God's sake, explain why you will shame your
+womanhood and ruin me--all for that coward--that thief?"
+
+Columbine broke from Wade and ran to Wilson, as if to clasp him, but
+something halted her and she stood before him.
+
+"Because dad will kill him!" she cried.
+
+"My God! what are you saying?" exclaimed Moore, incredulously. "Old Bill
+would roar and rage, but hurt that boy of his--never!"
+
+"Wils, I reckon Collie is right. You haven't got Old Bill figured. I
+know," interposed Wade, with one of his forceful gestures.
+
+"Wilson, listen, and don't set your heart against me. For I _must_ do
+this thing," pleaded Columbine. "I heard dad swear he'd kill Jack. Oh,
+I'll never forget! He was terrible! If he ever finds out that Jack stole
+from his own father--stole cattle like a common rustler, and sold them
+for gold to gamble and drink with--he will kill him!... That's as true
+as fate.... Think how horrible that would be for me! Because I'm to
+blame here, mostly. I fell in love with _you_, Wilson Moore, otherwise I
+could have saved Jack already.
+
+"But it's not that I think of myself. Dad has loved me. He has been as a
+father to me. You know he's not my real father. Oh, if I only had a real
+one!... And I owe him so much. But then it's not because I owe him or
+because I love him. It's because of his own soul!... That splendid,
+noble old man, who has been so good to every one--who had only one
+fault, and that love of his son--must he be let go in blinded and insane
+rage at the failure of his life, the ruin of his son--must he be allowed
+to kill his own flesh and blood?... It would be _murder!_ It would damn
+dad's soul to everlasting torment. No! No! I'll not let that be!"
+
+"Collie--how about--your own soul?" whispered Moore, lifting himself as
+if about to expend a tremendous breath.
+
+"That doesn't matter," she replied.
+
+"Collie--Collie--" he stammered, but could not go on.
+
+Then it seemed to Wade that they both turned to him unconscious of the
+inevitableness of his relation to this catastrophe, yet looking to him
+for the spirit, the guidance that became habitual to them. It brought
+the warm blood back to Wade's cold heart. It was his great reward. How
+intensely and implacably did his soul mount to that crisis!
+
+"Collie, I'll never fail you," he said, and his gentle voice was deep
+and full. "If Jack can be scared into haltin' in his mad ride to
+hell--then I'll do it. I'm not promisin' so much for him. But I'll swear
+to you that Old Belllounds's hands will never be stained with his
+son's blood!"
+
+"Oh, Ben! Ben!" she cried, in passionate gratitude. "I'll love
+you--bless you all my life!"
+
+"Hush, lass! I'm not one to bless.... An' now you must do as I say. Go
+home an' tell them you'll marry Jack in August. Say August thirteenth."
+
+"So long! Oh, why put it off? Wouldn't it be better--safer, to settle it
+all--once and forever?"
+
+"No man can tell everythin'. But that's my judgment."
+
+"Why August thirteenth?" she queried, with strange curiosity. "An
+unlucky date!"
+
+"Well, it just happened to come to my mind--that date," replied Wade, in
+his slow, soft voice of reminiscence. "I was married on August
+thirteenth--twenty-one years ago.... An', Collie, my wife looked
+somethin' like you. Isn't that strange, now? It's a little world.... An'
+she's been gone eighteen years!"
+
+"Ben, I never dreamed you ever had a wife," said Columbine, softly, with
+her hands going to his shoulder. "You must tell me of her some day....
+But now--if you want time--if you think it best--I'll not marry Jack
+till August thirteenth."
+
+"That'll give me time," replied Wade. "I'm thinkin' Jack ought to
+be--reformed, let's call it--before you marry him. If all you say is
+true--why we can turn him round. Your promise will do most.... So,
+then, it's settled?"
+
+"Yes--dear--friends," faltered the girl, tremulously, on the verge of a
+breakdown, now that the ordeal was past.
+
+Wilson Moore stood gazing out of the door, his eyes far away on the gray
+slopes.
+
+"Queer how things turn out," he said, dreamily. "August thirteenth!...
+That's about the time the columbines blow on the hills.... And I always
+meant columbine-time--"
+
+Here he sharply interrupted himself, and the dreamy musing gave way to
+passion. "But I mean it yet! I'll--I'll die before I give up hope
+of you!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+Wade, watching Columbine ride down the slope on her homeward way, did
+some of the hardest thinking he had yet been called upon to do. It was
+not necessary to acquaint Wilson Moore with the deeper and more subtle
+motives that had begun to actuate him. It would not utterly break the
+cowboy's spirit to live in suspense. Columbine was safe for the present.
+He had insured her against fatality. Time was all he needed. Possibility
+of an actual consummation of her marriage to Jack Belllounds did not
+lodge for an instant in Wade's consciousness. In Moore's case, however,
+the present moment seemed critical. What should he tell Moore--what
+should he conceal from him?
+
+"Son, come in here," he called to the cowboy.
+
+"Pard, it looks--bad!" said Moore, brokenly.
+
+Wade looked at the tragic face and cursed under his breath.
+
+"Buck up! It's never as bad as it looks. Anyway, we _know_ now what to
+expect, an' that's well."
+
+Moore shook his head. "Couldn't you see how like steel Collie was?...
+But I'm on to you, Wade. You think by persuading Collie to put that
+marriage off that we'll gain time. You're gambling with time. You swear
+Buster Jack will hang himself. You won't quit fighting this deal."
+
+"Buster Jack has slung the noose over a tree, an' he's about ready to
+slip his head into it," replied Wade.
+
+"Bah!... You drive me wild," cried Moore, passionately. "How can you?
+Where's all that feeling you seemed to have for me? You nursed me--you
+saved my leg--and my life. You must have cared about me. But now--you
+talk about that dolt--that spoiled old man's pet--that damned cur, as if
+you believed he'd ruin himself. No such luck! no such hope!... Every day
+things grow worse. Yet the worse they grow the stronger you seem! It's
+all out of proportion. It's dreams. Wade, I hate to say it, but I'm sure
+you're not always--just right in your mind."
+
+"Wils, now ain't that queer?" replied Wade, sadly. "I'm agreein' with
+you."
+
+"Aw!" Moore shook himself savagely and laid an affectionate and
+appealing arm on his friend's shoulder. "Forgive me, pard!... It's me
+who's out of his head.... But my heart's broken."
+
+"That's what you think," rejoined Wade, stoutly. "But a man's heart
+can't break in a day. I know.... An' the God's truth is Buster Jack will
+hang himself!"
+
+Moore raised his head sharply, flinging himself back from his friend so
+as to scrutinize his face. Wade felt the piercing power of that gaze.
+
+"Wade, what do you mean?"
+
+"Collie told us some interestin' news about Jack, didn't she? Well, she
+didn't know what I know. Jack Belllounds had laid a cunnin' an' devilish
+trap to prove you guilty of rustlin' his father's cattle."
+
+"Absurd!" ejaculated Moore, with white lips.
+
+"I'd never given him credit for brains to hatch such a plot," went on
+Wade. "Now listen. Not long ago Buster Jack made a remark in front of
+the whole outfit, includin' his father, that the homesteaders on the
+range were rustlin' cattle. It fell sort of flat, that remark. But no
+one could calculate on his infernal cunnin'. I quit workin' for
+Belllounds that night, an' I've put my time in spyin' on the boy. In my
+day I've done a good deal of spyin', but I've never run across any one
+slicker than Buster Jack. To cut it short--he got himself a
+white-speckled mustang that's a dead ringer for Spottie. He measured the
+tracks of your horse's left front foot--the bad hoof, you know, an' he
+made a shoe exactly the same as Spottie wears. Also, he made some kind
+of a contraption that's like the end of your crutch. These he packs with
+him. I saw him ride across the pasture to hide his tracks, climb up the
+sage for the same reason, an' then hide in that grove of aspens over
+there near the trail you use. Here, you can bet, he changed shoes on the
+left front foot of his horse. Then he took to the trail, an' he left
+tracks for a while, an' then he was careful to hide them again. He stole
+his father's stock an' drove it up over the grassy benches where even
+you or I couldn't track him next day. But up on top, when it suited him,
+he left some horse tracks, an' in the mud near a spring-hole he gets off
+his horse, steppin' with one foot--an' makin' little circles with dots
+like those made by the end of your crutch. Then 'way over in the woods
+there's a cabin where he meets his accomplices. Here he leaves the same
+horse tracks an' crutch tracks.... Simple as a b c, Wils, when you see
+how he did it. But I'll tell you straight--if I hadn't been suspicious
+of Buster Jack--that trick of his would have made you a rustler!"
+
+"Damn him!" hissed the cowboy, in utter consternation and fury.
+
+"Ahuh! That's my sentiment exactly."
+
+"I swore to Collie I'd never kill him!"
+
+"Sure you did, son. An' you've got to keep that oath. I pin you down to
+it. You can't break faith with Collie.... An' you don't want his bad
+blood on your hands."
+
+"No! No!" he replied, violently. "Of course I don't. I won't. But God!
+how sweet it would be to tear out his lying tongue--to--"
+
+"I reckon it would. Only don't talk about that," interrupted Wade,
+bluntly. "You see, now, don't you, how he's about hanged himself."
+
+"No, pard, I don't. We can't squeal that on him, any more than we can
+squeal what Collie told us."
+
+"Son, you're young in dealin' with crooked men. You don't get the drift
+of motives. Buster Jack is not only robbin' his father an' hatchin' a
+dirty trap for you, but he's double-crossin' the rustlers he's sellin'
+the cattle to. He's riskin' their necks. He's goin' to find _your_
+tracks, showin' you dealt with them. Sure, he won't give them away, an'
+he's figurin' on their gettin' out of it, maybe by leavin' the range, or
+a shootin'-fray, or some way. The big thing with Jack is that he's goin'
+to accuse you of rustlin' an' show your tracks to his father. Well,
+that's a risk he's given the rustlers. It happens that I know this
+scar-face Smith. We've met before. Now it's easy to see from what Collie
+heard that Smith is not trustin' Buster Jack. So, all underneath this
+Jack Belllounds's game, there's forces workin' unbeknown to him, beyond
+his control, an' sure to ruin him."
+
+"I see. I see. By Heaven! Wade, nothing else but ruin seems possible!...
+But suppose it works out his way!... What then? What of Collie?"
+
+"Son, I've not got that far along in my reckonin'," replied Wade.
+
+"But for my sake--think. If Buster Jack gets away with his trick--if he
+doesn't hang himself by some blunder or fit of temper or spree--what
+then of Collie?"
+
+Wade could not answer this natural and inevitable query for the reason
+that he had found it impossible of consideration.
+
+"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," he replied.
+
+"Wade, you've said that before. It helped me. But now I need more than a
+few words from the Bible. My faith is low. I ... oh, I tried to pray
+because Collie told me she had prayed! But what are prayers? We're
+dealing with a stubborn, iron-willed old man who idolizes his son; we're
+dealing with a crazy boy, absolutely self-centered, crafty, and vicious,
+who'll stop at nothing. And, lastly, we're dealing with a girl who's so
+noble and high-souled that she'll sacrifice her all--her life to pay her
+debt. If she were really Bill Belllounds's daughter she'd _never_ marry
+Jack, saying, of course, that he was not her brother.... Do you know
+that it will _kill_ her, if she marries him?"
+
+"Ahuh! I reckon it would," replied Wade, with his head bowed. Moore
+roused his gloomy forebodings. He did not care to show this feeling or
+the effect the cowboy's pleading had upon him.
+
+"Ah! so you admit it? Well, then, what of Collie?"
+
+"_If_ she marries him--she'll have to die, I suppose," replied Wade.
+
+Then Wilson Moore leaped at his friend and with ungentle hands lifted
+him, pushed him erect.
+
+"Damn you, Wade! You're not square with me! You don't tell me all!" he
+cried, hoarsely.
+
+"Now, Wils, you're set up. I've told you all I know. I swear that."
+
+"But you couldn't stand the thought of Collie dying for that brute! You
+couldn't! Oh, I know. I can feel some things that are hard to tell. So,
+you're either out of your head or you've something up your sleeve. It's
+hard to explain how you affect me. One minute I'm ready to choke you
+for that damned strangeness--whatever it is. The next minute I feel
+it--I trust it, myself.... Wade, you're not--you _can't_ be infallible!"
+
+"I'm only a man, Wils, an' your friend. I reckon you do find me queer.
+But that's no matter. Now let's look at this deal--each from his own
+side of the fence. An' each actin' up to his own lights! You do what
+your conscience dictates, always thinkin' of Collie--not of yourself!
+An' I'll live up to my principles. Can we do more?"
+
+"No, indeed, Wade, we can't," replied Moore, eloquently.
+
+"Well, then, here's my hand. I've talked too much, I reckon. An' the
+time for talkin' is past."
+
+In silence Moore gripped the hand held out to him, trying to read Wade's
+mind, apparently once more uplifted and strengthened by that which he
+could not divine.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wade's observations during the following week brought forth the fact
+that Jack Belllounds was not letting any grass grow under his feet. He
+endeavored to fulfil his agreement with Smith, and drove a number of
+cattle by moonlight. These were part of the stock that the rancher had
+sold to buyers at Kremmling, and which had been collected and held in
+the big, fenced pasture down the valley next to the Andrews ranch. The
+loss was not discovered until the cattle had been counted at Kremmling.
+Then they were credited to loss by straying. In driving a considerable
+herd of half-wild steers, with an inadequate force of cowboys, it was no
+unusual thing to lose a number.
+
+Wade, however, was in possession of the facts not later than the day
+after this midnight steal in the moonlight. He was forced to
+acknowledge that no one would have believed it possible for Jack
+Belllounds to perform a feat which might well have been difficult for
+the best of cowboys. But Jack accomplished it and got back home before
+daylight. And Wade was bound to admit that circumstantial evidence
+against Wilson Moore, which, of course, Jack Belllounds would soon
+present, would be damning and apparently irrefutable.
+
+Waiting for further developments, Wade closely watched the ranch-house,
+which duty interfered with his attention to the outlying trails. What he
+did not want to miss was being present when Jack Belllounds accused
+Wilson Moore of rustling cattle.
+
+So it chanced that Wade was chatting with the cowboys one Sunday
+afternoon when Jack, accompanied by three strangers, all mounted on
+dusty, tired horses, rode up to the porch and dismounted.
+
+Lem Billings manifested unusual excitement.
+
+"Montana, ain't thet Sheriff Burley from Kremmlin'?" he queried.
+
+"Shore looks like him.... Yep, thet's him. Now, what's doin'?"
+
+The cowboys exchanged curious glances, and then turned to Wade.
+
+"Bent, what do you make of thet?" asked Lem, as he waved his hand toward
+the house. "Buster Jack ridin' up with Sheriff Burley."
+
+The rancher, Belllounds, who was on the porch, greeted the visitors, and
+then they all went into the house.
+
+"Boys, it's what I've been lookin' for," replied Wade.
+
+"Shore. Reckon we all have idees. An' if my idee is correct I'm agoin'
+to git pretty damn sore pronto," declared Lem.
+
+They were all silent for a few moments, meditating over this singular
+occurrence, and watching the house. Presently Old Bill Belllounds strode
+out upon the porch, and, walking out into the court, he peered around as
+if looking for some one. Then he espied the little group of cowboys.
+
+"Hey!" he yelled. "One of you boys ride up an' fetch Wils Moore down
+hyar!"
+
+"All right, boss," called Lem, in reply, as he got up and gave a hitch
+to his belt.
+
+The rancher hurried back, head down, as if burdened.
+
+"Wade, I reckon you want to go fetch Wils?" queried Lem.
+
+"If it's all the same to you. I'd rather not," replied Wade.
+
+"By Golly! I don't blame you. Boys, shore'n hell, Burley's after Wils."
+
+"Wal, suppos'n' he is," said Montana. "You can gamble Wils ain't agoin'
+to run. I'd jest like to see him face thet outfit. Burley's a pretty
+square fellar. An' he's no fool."
+
+"It's as plain as your nose, Montana, an' thet's shore big enough,"
+returned Lem, with a hard light in his eyes. "Buster Jack's busted out,
+an' he's figgered Wils in some deal thet's rung in the sheriff. Wal,
+I'll fetch Wils." And, growling to himself, the cowboy slouched off
+after his horse.
+
+Wade got up, deliberate and thoughtful, and started away.
+
+"Say, Bent, you're shore goin' to see what's up?" asked Montana, in
+surprise.
+
+"I'll be around, Jim," replied Wade, and he strolled off to be alone. He
+wanted to think over this startling procedure of Jack Belllounds's. Wade
+was astonished. He had expected that an accusation would be made
+against Moore by Jack, and an exploitation of such proofs as had been
+craftily prepared, but he had never imagined Jack would be bold enough
+to carry matters so far. Sheriff Burley was a man of wide experience,
+keen, practical, shrewd. He was also one of the countless men Wade had
+rubbed elbows with in the eventful past. It had been Wade's idea that
+Jack would be satisfied to face his father with the accusation of Moore,
+and thus cover his tracks. Whatever Old Belllounds might have felt over
+the loss of a few cattle, he would never have hounded and arrested a
+cowboy who had done well by him. Burley, however, was a sheriff, and a
+conscientious one, and he happened to be particularly set
+against rustlers.
+
+Here was a complication of circumstances. What would Jack Belllounds
+insist upon? How would Columbine take this plot against the honor and
+liberty of Wilson Moore? How would Moore himself react to it? Wade
+confessed that he was helpless to solve these queries, and there seemed
+to be a further one, insistent and gathering--what was to be his own
+attitude here? That could not be answered, either, because only a future
+moment, over which he had no control, and which must decide events, held
+that secret. Worry beset Wade, but he still found himself proof against
+the insidious gloom ever hovering near, like his shadow.
+
+He waited near the trail to intercept Billings and Moore on their way to
+the ranch-house; and to his surprise they appeared sooner than it would
+have been reasonable to expect them. Wade stepped out of the willows and
+held up his hand. He did not see anything unusual in Moore's appearance.
+
+"Wils, I reckon we'd do well to talk this over," said Wade.
+
+"Talk what over?" queried the cowboy, sharply.
+
+[Illustration: "Jack Belllounds!" she cried. "You put the sheriff on
+that trail!"]
+
+"Why, Old Bill's sendin' for you, an' the fact of Sheriff Burley bein'
+here."
+
+"Talk nothing. Let's see what they want, and then talk. Pard, you
+remember the agreement we made not long ago?"
+
+"Sure. But I'm sort of worried, an' maybe--"
+
+"You needn't worry about me. Come on," interrupted Moore. "I'd like you
+to be there. And, Lem, fetch the boys."
+
+"I shore will, an' if you need any backin' you'll git it."
+
+When they reached the open Lem turned off toward the corrals, and Wade
+walked beside Moore's horse up to the house.
+
+Belllounds appeared at the door, evidently having heard the sound of
+hoofs.
+
+"Hello, Moore! Get down an' come in," he said, gruffly.
+
+"Belllounds, if it's all the same to you I'll take mine in the open,"
+replied the cowboy, coolly.
+
+The rancher looked troubled. He did not have the ease and force habitual
+to him in big moments.
+
+"Come out hyar, you men," he called in the door.
+
+Voices, heavy footsteps, the clinking of spurs, preceded the appearance
+of the three strangers, followed by Jack Belllounds. The foremost was a
+tall man in black, sandy-haired and freckled, with clear gray eyes, and
+a drooping mustache that did not hide stern lips and rugged chin. He
+wore a silver star on his vest, packed a gun in a greasy holster worn
+low down on his right side, and under his left arm he carried a package.
+
+It suited Wade, then, to step forward; and if he expected surprise and
+pleasure to break across the sheriff's stern face he certainly had not
+reckoned in vain.
+
+"Wal, I'm a son-of-a-gun!" ejaculated Burley, bending low, with quick
+movement, to peer at Wade.
+
+"Howdy, Jim. How's tricks?" said Wade, extending his hand, and the smile
+that came so seldom illumined his sallow face.
+
+"Hell-Bent Wade, as I'm a born sinner!" shouted the sheriff, and his
+hand leaped out to grasp Wade's and grip it and wring it. His face
+worked. "My Gawd! I'm glad to see you, old-timer! Wal, you haven't
+changed at all!... Ten years! How time flies! An' it's shore you?"
+
+"Same, Jim, an' powerful glad to meet you," replied Wade.
+
+"Shake hands with Bridges an' Lindsay," said Burley, indicating his two
+comrades. "Stockmen from Grand Lake.... Boys, you've heerd me talk about
+him. Wade an' I was both in the old fight at Blair's ranch on the
+Gunnison. An' I've shore reason to recollect him!... Wade, what're you
+doin' up in these diggin's?"
+
+"Drifted over last fall, Jim, an' have been huntin' varmints for
+Belllounds," replied Wade. "Cleaned the range up fair to middlin'. An'
+since I quit Belllounds I've been hangin' round with my young pard here,
+Wils Moore, an' interestin' myself in lookin' up cattle tracks."
+
+Burley's back was toward Belllounds and his son, so it was impossible
+for them to see the sudden little curious light that gleamed in his eyes
+as he looked hard at Wade, and then at Moore.
+
+"Wils Moore. How d'ye do? I reckon I remember you, though I don't ride
+up this way much of late years."
+
+The cowboy returned the greeting civilly enough, but with brevity.
+
+Belllounds cleared his throat and stepped forward. His manner showed he
+had a distasteful business at hand.
+
+"Moore, I sent for you on a serious matter, I'm sorry to say."
+
+"Well, here I am. What is it?" returned the cowboy, with clear, hazel
+eyes, full of fire, steady on the old rancher's.
+
+"Jack, you know, is foreman of White Slides now. An' he's made a charge
+against you."
+
+"Then let him face me with it," snapped Moore.
+
+Jack Belllounds came forward, hands in his pockets, self-possessed, even
+a little swaggering, and his pale face and bold eyes showed the gravity
+of the situation and his mastery over it.
+
+Wade watched this meeting of the rivals and enemies with an attention
+powerfully stimulated by the penetrating scrutiny Burley laid upon them.
+Jack did not speak quickly. He looked hard into the tense face of Moore.
+Wade detected a vibration of Jack's frame and a gleam of eye that showed
+him not wholly in control of exultation and revenge. Fear had not
+struck him yet.
+
+"Well, Buster Jack, what's the charge?" demanded Moore, impatiently.
+
+The old name, sharply flung at Jack by this cowboy, seemed to sting and
+reveal and inflame. But he restrained himself as with roving glance he
+searched Moore's person for sight of a weapon. The cowboy was unarmed.
+
+"I accuse you of stealing my father's cattle," declared Jack, in low,
+husky accents. After he got the speech out he swallowed hard.
+
+Moore's face turned a dead white. For a fleeting instant a red and
+savage gleam flamed in his steady glance. Then it vanished.
+
+The cowboys, who had come up, moved restlessly. Lem Billings dropped his
+head, muttering. Montana Jim froze in his tracks.
+
+Moore's dark eyes, scornful and piercing, never moved from Jack's face.
+It seemed as if the cowboy would never speak again.
+
+"You call me thief! You?" at length he exclaimed.
+
+"Yes, I do," replied Belllounds, loudly.
+
+"Before this sheriff and your father you accuse me of stealing cattle?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you accuse me before this man who saved my life, who _knows_
+me--before Hell-Bent Wade?" demanded Moore, as he pointed to the hunter.
+
+Mention of Wade in that significant tone of passion and wonder was not
+without effect upon Jack Belllounds.
+
+"What in hell do I care for Wade?" he burst out, with the old
+intolerance. "Yes, I accuse you. Thief, rustler!... And for all I know
+your precious Hell-Bent Wade may be--"
+
+He was interrupted by Burley's quick and authoritative interference.
+
+"Hyar, young man, I'm allowin' for your natural feelin's," he said,
+dryly, "but I advise you to bite your tongue. I ain't acquainted with
+Mister Moore, but I happen to know Wade. Do you savvy?... Wal, then, if
+you've any more to say to Moore get it over."
+
+"I've had my say," replied Belllounds, sullenly.
+
+"On what grounds do you accuse me?" demanded Moore.
+
+"I trailed you. I've got my proofs."
+
+Burley stepped off the porch and carefully laid down his package.
+
+"Moore, will you get off your hoss?" he asked. And when the cowboy had
+dismounted and limped aside the sheriff continued, "Is this the hoss you
+ride most?"
+
+"He's the only one I have."
+
+Burley sat down upon the edge of the porch and, carefully unwrapping the
+package, he disclosed some pieces of hard-baked yellow mud. The smaller
+ones bore the imprint of a circle with a dot in the center, very clearly
+defined. The larger piece bore the imperfect but reasonably clear track
+of a curiously shaped horseshoe, somewhat triangular. The sheriff placed
+these pieces upon the ground. Then he laid hold of Moore's crutch, which
+was carried like a rifle in a sheath hanging from the saddle, and,
+drawing it forth, he carefully studied the round cap on the end. Next he
+inserted this end into both the little circles on the pieces of mud.
+They fitted perfectly. The cowboys bent over to get a closer view, and
+Billings was wagging his head. Old Belllounds had an earnest eye for
+them, also. Burley's next move was to lift the left front foot of
+Moore's horse and expose the bottom to view. Evidently the white mustang
+did not like these proceedings, but he behaved himself. The iron shoe on
+this hoof was somewhat triangular in shape. When Burley held the larger
+piece of mud, with its imprint, close to the hoof, it was not possible
+to believe that this iron shoe had not made the triangular-shaped track.
+
+Burley let go of the hoof and laid the pieces of mud down. Slowly the
+other men straightened up. Some one breathed hard.
+
+"Moore, what do them tracks look like to you?" asked the sheriff.
+
+"They look like mine," replied the cowboy.
+
+"They are yours."
+
+"I'm not denying that."
+
+"I cut them pieces of mud from beside a water-hole over hyar under Gore
+Peak. We'd trailed the cattle Belllounds lost, an' then we kept on
+trailin' them, clear to the road that goes over the ridge to
+Elgeria.... Now Bridges an' Lindsay hyar bought stock lately from
+strange cattlemen who didn't give no clear idee of their range. Jest
+buyin' an' sellin', they claimed.... I reckon the extra hoss tracks we
+run across at Gore Peak connects up them buyers an' sellers with whoever
+drove Belllounds's cattle up thar.... Have you anythin' more to say?"
+
+"No. Not here," replied Moore, quietly.
+
+"Then I'll have to arrest you an' take you to Kremmlin' fer trial."
+
+"All right. I'll go."
+
+The old rancher seemed genuinely shocked. Red tinged his cheek and a
+flame flared in his eyes.
+
+"Wils, you done me dirt," he said, wrathfully. "An' I always swore by
+you.... Make a clean breast of the whole damn bizness, if you want me to
+treat you white. You must have been locoed or drunk, to double-cross me
+thet way. Come on, out with it."
+
+"I've nothing to say," replied Moore.
+
+"You act amazin' strange fer a cowboy I've knowed to lean toward
+fightin' at the drop of a hat. I tell you, speak out an' I'll do right
+by you.... I ain't forgettin' thet White Slides gave you a hard knock.
+An' I was young once an' had hot blood."
+
+The old rancher's wrathful pathos stirred the cowboy to a
+straining-point of his unnatural, almost haughty composure. He seemed
+about to break into violent utterance. Grief and horror and anger seemed
+at the back of his trembling lips. The look he gave Belllounds was
+assuredly a strange one, to come from a cowboy who was supposed to have
+stolen his former employer's cattle. Whatever he might have replied was
+cut off by the sudden appearance of Columbine.
+
+"Dad, I heard you!" she cried, as she swept upon them, fearful and
+wide-eyed. "What has Wilson Moore done--that you'll do right by him?"
+
+"Collie, go back in the house," he ordered.
+
+"No. There's something wrong here," she said, with mounting dread in the
+swift glance she shot from man to man. "Oh! You're--Sheriff Burley!"
+she gasped.
+
+"I reckon I am, miss, an' if young Moore's a friend of yours I'm sorry I
+came," replied Burley.
+
+Wade himself reacted subtly and thrillingly to the presence of the girl.
+She was alive, keen, strung, growing white, with darkening eyes of blue
+fire, beginning to grasp intuitively the meaning here.
+
+"My friend! He _was_ more than that--not long ago.... What has he done?
+Why are you here?"
+
+"Miss, I'm arrestin' him."
+
+"Oh!... For what?"
+
+"Rustlin' your father's cattle."
+
+For a moment Columbine was speechless. Then she burst out, "Oh, there's
+a terrible mistake!"
+
+"Miss Columbine, I shore hope so," replied Burley, much embarrassed and
+distressed. Like most men of his kind, he could not bear to hurt a
+woman. "But it looks bad fer Moore.... See hyar! There! Look at the
+tracks of his hoss--left front foot-shoe all crooked. Thet's his hoss's.
+He acknowledges thet. An', see hyar. Look at the little circles an'
+dots.... I found these 'way over at Gore Peak, with the tracks of the
+stolen cattle. An' no _other_ tracks, Miss Columbine!"
+
+"Who put you on that trail?" she asked, piercingly.
+
+"Jack, hyar. He found it fust, an' rode to Kremmlin' fer me."
+
+"Jack! Jack Belllounds!" she cried, bursting into wild and furious
+laughter. Like a tigress she leaped at Jack as if to tear him to pieces.
+"You put the sheriff on that trail! You accuse Wilson Moore of stealing
+dad's cattle!"
+
+"Yes, and I proved it," replied Jack, hoarsely.
+
+"You! _You_ proved it? So that's your revenge?... But you're to reckon
+with me, Jack Belllounds! You villain! You devil! You--" Suddenly she
+shrank back with a strong shudder. She gasped. Her face grew ghastly
+white. "_Oh, my God!_ ... horrible--unspeakable!"... She covered her
+face with her hands, and every muscle of her seemed to contract until
+she was stiff. Then her hands shot out to Moore.
+
+"Wilson Moore, what have _you_ to say--to this sheriff--to Jack
+Belllounds--to _me?_"
+
+Moore bent upon her a gaze that must have pierced her soul, so like it
+was to a lightning flash of love and meaning and eloquence.
+
+"Collie, they've got the proof. I'll take my medicine.... Your dad is
+good. He'll be easy on me!'
+
+"_You lie!_" she whispered. "And I will tell why you lie!"
+
+Moore did not show the shame and guilt that should have been natural
+with his confession. But he showed an agony of distress. His hand sought
+Wade and dragged at him.
+
+It did not need this mute appeal to tell Wade that in another moment
+Columbine would have flung the shameful truth into the face of Jack
+Belllounds. She was rising to that. She was terrible and beautiful
+to see.
+
+"Collie," said Wade, with that voice he knew had strange power over her,
+with a clasp of her outflung hand, "no more! This is a man's game. It's
+not for a woman to judge. Not here! It's Wils's game--an' it's _mine_.
+I'm his friend. Whatever his trouble or guilt, I take it on my
+shoulders. An' it will be as if it were not!"
+
+Moaning and wringing her hands, Columbine staggered with the burden of
+the struggle in her.
+
+"I'm quite--quite mad--or dreaming. Oh, Ben!" she cried.
+
+"Brace up, Collie. It's sure hard. Wils, your friend and playmate so
+many years--it's hard to believe! We all understand, Collie. Now you go
+in, an' don't listen to any more or look any more."
+
+He led her down the porch to the door of her room, and as he pushed it
+open he whispered, "I will save you, Collie, an' Wils, an' the old man
+you call dad!"
+
+Then he returned to the silent group in the yard.
+
+"Jim, if I answer fer Wils Moore bein' in Kremmlin' the day you say,
+will you leave him with me?"
+
+"Wal, I shore will, Wade," replied Burley, heartily.
+
+"I object to that," interposed Jack Belllounds, stridently. "He
+confessed. He's got to go to jail."
+
+"Wal, my hot-tempered young fellar, thar ain't any jail nearer 'n
+Denver. Did you know that?" returned Burley, with his dry, grim humor.
+"Moore's under arrest. An' he'll be as well off hyar with Wade as with
+me in Kremmlin', an' a damn sight happier."
+
+The cowboy had mounted, and Wade walked beside him as he started
+homeward. They had not progressed far when Wade's keen ears caught the
+words, "Say, Belllounds, I got it figgered thet you an' your son don't
+savvy this fellar Wade."
+
+"Wal, I reckon not," replied the old rancher.
+
+And his son let out a peal of laughter, bitter and scornful and
+unsatisfied.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+Gore Peak was the highest point of the black range that extended for
+miles westward from Buffalo Park. It was a rounded dome, covered with
+timber and visible as a landmark from the surrounding country. All along
+the eastern slope of that range an unbroken forest of spruce and pine
+spread down to the edge of the valley. This valley narrowed toward its
+source, which was Buffalo Park. A few well-beaten trails crossed that
+country, one following Red Brook down to Kremmling; another crossing
+from the Park to White Slides; and another going over the divide down to
+Elgeria. The only well-known trail leading to Gore Peak was a branch-off
+from the valley, and it went round to the south and more accessible side
+of the mountain.
+
+All that immense slope of timbered ridges, benches, ravines, and swales
+west of Buffalo Park was exceedingly wild and rough country. Here the
+buffalo took to cover from hunters, and were safe until they ventured
+forth into the parks again. Elk and deer and bear made this forest
+their home.
+
+Bent Wade, hunter now for bigger game than wild beasts of the range,
+left his horse at Lewis's cabin and penetrated the dense forest alone,
+like a deer-stalker or an Indian in his movements. Lewis had acted as
+scout for Wade, and had ridden furiously down to Sage Valley with news
+of the rustlers. Wade had accompanied him back to Buffalo Park that
+night, riding in the dark. There were urgent reasons for speed. Jack
+Belllounds had ridden to Kremmling, and the hunter did not believe he
+would return by the road he had taken.
+
+Fox, Wade's favorite dog, much to his disgust, was left behind with
+Lewis. The bloodhound, Kane, accompanied Wade. Kane had been ill-treated
+and then beaten by Jack Belllounds, and he had left White Slides to take
+up his home at Moore's cabin. And at last he had seemed to reconcile
+himself to the hunter, not with love, but without distrust. Kane never
+forgave; but he recognized his friend and master. Wade carried his rifle
+and a buckskin pouch containing meat and bread. His belt, heavily
+studded with shells, contained two guns, both now worn in plain sight,
+with the one on the right side hanging low. Wade's character seemed to
+have undergone some remarkable change, yet what he represented then was
+not unfamiliar.
+
+He headed for the concealed cabin on the edge of the high valley, under
+the black brow of Gore Peak. It was early morning of a July day, with
+summer fresh and new to the forest. Along the park edges the birds and
+squirrels were holding carnival. The grass was crisp and bediamonded
+with sparkling frost. Tracks of game showed sharp in the white patches.
+Wade paused once, listening. Ah! That most beautiful of forest melodies
+for him--the bugle of an elk. Clear, resonant, penetrating, with these
+qualities held and blended by a note of wildness, it rang thrillingly
+through all Wade's being. The hound listened, but was not interested. He
+kept close beside the hunter or at his heels, a stealthily stepping,
+warily glancing hound, not scenting the four-footed denizens of the
+forest. He expected his master to put him on the trail of men.
+
+The distance from the Park to Gore Peak, as a crow would have flown, was
+not great. But Wade progressed slowly; he kept to the dense parts of
+the forest; he avoided the open aisles, the swales, the glades, the high
+ridges, the rocky ground. When he came to the Elgeria trail he was not
+disappointed to find it smooth, untrodden by any recent travel. Half a
+mile farther on through the forest, however, he encountered tracks of
+three horses, made early the day before. Still farther on he found
+cattle and horse tracks, now growing old and dim. These tracks, pointed
+toward Elgeria, were like words of a printed page to Wade.
+
+About noon he climbed a rocky eminence that jutted out from a
+slow-descending ridge, and from this vantage-point he saw down the
+wavering black and green bosom of the mountain slope. A narrow valley,
+almost hidden, gleamed yellow in the sunlight. At the edge of this
+valley a faint column of blue smoke curled upward.
+
+"Ahuh!" muttered the hunter, as he looked. The hound whined and pushed a
+cool nose into Wade's hand.
+
+Then Wade resumed his noiseless and stealthy course through the woods.
+He began a descent, leading off somewhat to the right of the point where
+the smoke had arisen. The presence of the rustlers in the cabin was of
+importance, yet not so paramount as another possibility. He expected
+Jack Belllounds to be with them or meet them there, and that was the
+thing he wanted to ascertain. When he got down below the little valley
+he swung around to the left to cross the trail that came up from the
+main valley, some miles still farther down. He found it, and was not
+surprised to see fresh horse tracks, made that morning. He recognized
+those tracks. Jack Belllounds was with the rustlers, come, no doubt, to
+receive his pay.
+
+Then the change in Wade, and the actions of a trailer of men, became
+more singularly manifest. He reverted to some former habit of mind and
+body. He was as slow as a shadow, absolutely silent, and the gaze that
+roved ahead and all around must have taken note of every living thing,
+of every moving leaf or fern or bough. The hound, with hair curling up
+stiff on his back, stayed close to Wade, watching, listening, and
+stepping with him. Certainly Wade expected the rustlers to have some one
+of their number doing duty as an outlook. So he kept uphill, above the
+cabin, and made his careful way through the thicket coverts, which at
+that place were dense and matted clumps of jack-pine and spruce. At last
+he could see the cabin and the narrow, grassy valley just beyond. To his
+relief the horses were unsaddled and grazing. No man was in sight. But
+there might be a dog. The hunter, in his slow advance, used keen and
+unrelaxing vigilance, and at length he decided that if there had been a
+dog he would have been tied outside to give an alarm.
+
+Wade had now reached his objective point. He was some eighty paces from
+the cabin, in line with an open aisle down which he could see into the
+cleared space before the door. On his left were thick, small spruces,
+with low-spreading branches, and they extended all the way to the cabin
+on that side, and in fact screened two walls of it. Wade knew exactly
+what he was going to do. No longer did he hesitate. Laying down his
+rifle, he tied the hound to a little spruce, patting him and whispering
+for him to stay there and be still.
+
+Then Wade's action in looking to his belt-guns was that of a man who
+expected to have recourse to them speedily and by whom the necessity was
+neither regretted nor feared. Stooping low, he entered the thicket of
+spruces. The soft, spruce-matted ground, devoid of brush or twig, did
+not give forth the slightest sound of step, nor did the brushing of the
+branches against his body. In some cases he had to bend the boughs.
+Thus, swiftly and silently, with the gliding steps of an Indian, he
+approached the cabin till the brown-barked logs loomed before him,
+shutting off the clearer light.
+
+He smelled a mingling of wood and tobacco smoke; he heard low, deep
+voices of men; the shuffling and patting of cards; the musical click of
+gold. Resting on his knees a moment the hunter deliberated. All was
+exactly as he had expected. Luck favored him. These gamblers would be
+absorbed in their game. The door of the cabin was just around the
+corner, and he could glide noiselessly to it or gain it in a few leaps.
+Either method would serve. But which he must try depended upon the
+position of the men inside and that of their weapons.
+
+Rising silently, Wade stepped up to the wall and peeped through a chink
+between the logs. The sunshine streamed through windows and door. Jack
+Belllounds sat on the ground, full in its light, back to the wall. He
+was in his shirt-sleeves. The gambling fever and the grievous soreness
+of a loser shone upon his pale face. Smith sat with back to Wade,
+opposite Belllounds. The other men completed the square. All were close
+enough together to reach comfortably for the cards and gold before them.
+Wade's keen eyes took this in at a single glance, and then steadied
+searchingly for smaller features of the scene. Belllounds had no weapon.
+Smith's belt and gun lay in the sunlight on the hard, clay floor, out of
+reach except by violent effort. The other two rustlers both wore their
+weapons. Wade gave a long scrutiny to the faces of these comrades of
+Smith, and evidently satisfied himself as to what he had to expect
+from them.
+
+Wade hesitated; then stooping low, he softly swept aside the intervening
+boughs of spruce, glided out of the thicket into the open. Two noiseless
+bounds! Another, and he was inside the door!
+
+"Howdy, rustlers! Don't move!" he called.
+
+The surprise of his appearance, or his voice, or both, stunned the four
+men. Belllounds dropped his cards, and his jaw dropped at the same
+instant. These were absolutely the only visible movements.
+
+"I'm in talkin' humor, an' the longer you listen the longer you'll have
+to live," said Wade. "But don't move!"
+
+"We ain't movin'," burst out Smith. "Who're you, an' what d'ye want?"
+
+It was singular that the rustler leader had not had a look at Wade,
+whose movements had been swift and who now stood directly behind him.
+Also it was obvious that Smith was sitting very stiff-necked and
+straight. Not improbably he had encountered such situations before.
+
+"Who're you?" he shouted, hoarsely.
+
+"You ought to know me." The voice was Wade's, gentle, cold, with depth
+and ring in it.
+
+"I've heerd your voice somewhars--I'll gamble on thet."
+
+"Sure. You ought to recognize my voice, Cap," returned Wade.
+
+The rustler gave a violent start--a start that he controlled instantly.
+
+"Cap! You callin' me thet?"
+
+"Sure. We're old friends--_Cap Folsom!_"
+
+In the silence, then, the rustler's hard breathing could be heard; his
+neck bulged red; only the eyes of his two comrades moved; Belllounds
+began to recover somewhat from his consternation. Fear had clamped him
+also, but not fear of personal harm or peril. His mind had not yet
+awakened to that.
+
+"You've got me pat! But who're you?" said Folsom, huskily.
+
+Wade kept silent.
+
+"Who'n hell is thet man?" yelled the rustler It was not a query to his
+comrades any more than to the four winds. It was a furious questioning
+of a memory that stirred and haunted, and as well a passionate and
+fearful denial.
+
+"His name's Wade," put in Belllounds, harshly. "He's the friend of Wils
+Moore. He's the hunter I told you about--worked for my father
+last winter."
+
+"Wade?... What? _Wade!_ You never told me his name. It ain't--it
+ain't--"
+
+"Yes, it is, Cap," interrupted Wade. "It's the old boy that spoiled your
+handsome mug--long ago."
+
+"_Hell-Bent Wade!_" gasped Folsom, in terrible accents. He shook all
+over. An ashen paleness crept into his face. Instinctively his right
+hand jerked toward his gun; then, as in his former motion, froze in
+the very act.
+
+"Careful, Cap!" warned Wade. "It'd be a shame not to hear me talk a
+little.... Turn around now an' greet an old pard of the Gunnison days."
+
+Folsom turned as if a resistless, heavy force was revolving his head.
+
+"By Gawd!... Wade!" he ejaculated. The tone of his voice, the light in
+his eyes, must have been a spiritual acceptance of a dreadful and
+irrefutable fact--perhaps the proximity of death. But he was no coward.
+Despite the hunter's order, given as he stood there, gun drawn and
+ready, Folsom wheeled back again, savagely to throw the deck of cards in
+Belllounds's face. He cursed horribly.... "You spoiled brat of a rich
+rancher! Why'n hell didn't you tell me thet varmint-hunter was Wade."
+
+"I did tell you," shouted Belllounds, flaming of face.
+
+"You're a liar! You never said Wade--W-a-d-e, right out, so I'd hear it.
+An' I'd never passed by Hell-Bent Wade."
+
+"Aw, that name made me tired," replied Belllounds, contemptuously.
+
+"Haw! Haw! Haw!" bawled the rustler. "Made you tired, hey? Think you're
+funny? Wal, if you knowed how many men thet name's made tired--an' tired
+fer keeps--you'd not think it so damn funny."
+
+"Say, what're you giving me? That Sheriff Burley tried to tell me and
+dad a lot of rot about this Wade. Why, he's only a little, bow-legged,
+big-nosed meddler--a man with a woman's voice--a sneaking cook and
+camp-doctor and cow-milker, and God only knows what else."
+
+"Boy, you're correct. God only knows what else!... It's the _else_
+you've got to learn. An' I'll gamble you'll learn it.... Wade, have you
+changed or grown old thet you let a pup like this yap such talk?"
+
+"Well, Cap, he's very amusin' just now, an' I want you-all to enjoy him.
+Because, if you don't force my hand I'm goin' to tell you some
+interestin' stuff about this Buster Jack.... Now, will you be quiet an'
+listen--an' answer for your pards?"
+
+"Wade, I answer fer no man. But, so far as I've noticed, my pards ain't
+hankerin' to make any loud noise," Folsom replied, indicating his
+comrades, with sarcasm.
+
+The red-bearded one, a man of large frame and gaunt face, wicked and
+wild-looking, spoke out, "Say, Smith, or whatever the hell's yore right
+handle--is this hyar a game we're playin'?"
+
+"I reckon. An' if you turn a trick you'll be damn lucky," growled
+Folsom.
+
+The other rustler did not speak. He was small, swarthy-faced, with
+sloe-black eyes and matted hair, evidently a white man with Mexican
+blood. Keen, strung, furtive, he kept motionless, awaiting events.
+
+"Buster Jack, these new pards of yours are low-down rustlers, an' one of
+them's worse, as I could prove," said Wade, "but compared with you
+they're all gentlemen."
+
+Belllounds leered. But he was losing his bravado. Something began to
+dawn upon his obtuse consciousness.
+
+"What do I care for you or your gabby talk?" he flashed, sullenly.
+
+"You'll care when I tell these rustlers how you double-crossed them."
+
+Belllounds made a spring, like that of a wolf in a trap; but when
+half-way up he slipped. The rustler on his right kicked him, and he
+sprawled down again, back to the wall.
+
+"Buster, look into this!" called Wade, and he leveled the gun that
+quivered momentarily, like a compass needle, and then crashed fire and
+smoke. The bullet spat into a log. But it had cut the lobe of
+Belllounds's ear, bringing blood. His face turned a ghastly, livid hue.
+All in a second terror possessed him--shuddering, primitive terror
+of death.
+
+Folsom haw-hawed derisively and in crude delight. "Say, Buster Jack,
+don't get any idee thet my ole pard Wade was shootin' at your head.
+Aw, no!"
+
+The other rustlers understood then, if Belllounds had not, that the
+situation was in control of a man not in any sense ordinary.
+
+"Cap, did you know Buster Jack accused my friend, Wils Moore, of
+stealin' these cattle you're sellin'?" asked Wade, deliberately.
+
+"What cattle did you say?" asked the rustler, as if he had not heard
+aright.
+
+"The cattle Buster Jack stole from his father an' sold to you."
+
+"Wal, now! Bent Wade at his old tricks! I might have knowed it, once I
+seen you.... Naw, I'd no idee Belllounds blamed thet stealin' on to
+any one."
+
+"He did."
+
+"Ahuh! Wal, who's this Wils Moore?"
+
+"He's a cowboy, as fine a youngster as ever straddled a horse. Buster
+Jack hates him. He licked Jack a couple of times an' won the love of a
+girl that Jack wants."
+
+"Ho! Ho! Quite romantic, I declare.... Say, thar's some damn queer
+notions I'm gettin' about you, Buster Jack."
+
+Belllounds lay propped against the wall, sagging there, laboring of
+chest, sweating of face. The boldness of brow held, because it was
+fixed, but that of his eyes had gone; and his mouth and chin showed
+craven weakness. He stared in dread suspense at Wade.
+
+"Listen. An' all of you sit tight," went on Wade, swiftly. "Jack stole
+the cattle from his father. He's a thief at heart. But he had a double
+motive. He left a trail--he left tracks behind. He made a crooked
+horseshoe, like that Wils Moore's horse wears, an' he put that on his
+own horse. An' he made a contraption--a little iron ring with a dot in
+it, an' he left the crooked shoe tracks, an' he left the little
+ring tracks--"
+
+"By Gawd! I seen them funny tracks!" ejaculated Folsom. "At the
+water-hole an' right hyar in front of the cabin. I seen them. I knowed
+Jack made them, somehow, but I didn't think. His white hoss has a
+crooked left front shoe."
+
+"Yes, he has, when Jack takes off the regular shoe an' nails on the
+crooked one.... Men, I followed those tracks They lead up here to your
+cabin. Belllounds made them with a purpose.... An' he went to Kremmlin'
+to get Sheriff Burley. An' he put him wise to the rustlin' of cattle to
+Elgeria. An' he fetched him up to White Slides to accuse Wils Moore.
+An' he trailed his own tracks up here, showin' Burley the crooked horse
+track an' the little circle--that was supposed to be made by the end of
+Moore's crutch--an' he led Burley with his men right to this cabin an'
+to the trail where you drove the cattle over the divide.... An' then he
+had Burley dig out some cakes of mud holdin' these tracks, an' they
+fetched them down to White Slides. Buster Jack blamed the stealin' on to
+Moore. An' Burley arrested Moore. The trial comes off next week at
+Kremmlin'."
+
+"Damn me!" exclaimed Folsom, wonderingly. "A man's never too old to
+learn! I knowed this pup was stealin' from his own father, but I
+reckoned he was jest a natural-born, honest rustler, with a hunch fer
+drink an' cards."
+
+"Well, he's double-crossed you, Cap. An' if I hadn't rounded you up your
+chances would have been good for swingin'."
+
+"Ahuh! Wade, I'd sure preferred them chances of swingin' to your
+over-kind interferin' in my bizness. Allus interferin', Wade, thet's
+your weakness!... But gimmie a gun!"
+
+"I reckon not, Cap."
+
+"Gimme a gun!" roared the rustler. "Lemme sit hyar an' shoot the eyes
+outen this--lyin' pup of a Belllounds!... Wade, put a gun in my hand--a
+gun with two shells--or only one. You can stand with your gun at my
+head.... Let me kill this skunk!"
+
+For all Belllounds could tell, death was indeed close. No trace of a
+Belllounds was apparent about him then, and his face was a horrid
+spectacle for a man to be forced to see. A froth foamed over his hanging
+lower lip.
+
+"Cap, I ain't trustin' you with a gun just this particular minute," said
+Wade.
+
+Folsom then bawled his curses to his comrades.
+
+"----! Kill him! Throw your guns an' bore him--right in them bulgin'
+eyes!... I'm tellin' you--we've gotta fight, anyhow. We're agoin' to
+cash right hyar. But kill him first!"
+
+Neither of Folsom's lieutenants yielded to the fierce exhortation of
+their leader or to their own evilly expressed passions. It was Wade who
+dominated them. Then ensued a silence fraught with suspense, growing
+more charged every long instant. The balance here seemed about to
+be struck.
+
+"Wade, I've been a gambler all my life, an' a damn smart one, if I do
+say it myself," declared the rustler leader, his voice inharmonious with
+the facetiousness of his words. "An' I'll make a last bet."
+
+"Go ahead, Cap. What'll you bet?" answered the cold voice, still gentle,
+but different now in its inflection.
+
+"By Gawd! I'll bet all the gold hyar that Hell-Bent Wade wouldn't shoot
+any man in the back!"
+
+"You win!"
+
+Slowly and stiffly the rustler rose to his feet. When he reached his
+height he deliberately swung his leg to kick Belllounds in the face.
+
+"Thar! I'd like to have a reckonin' with you, Buster Jack," he said. "I
+ain't dealin' the cards hyar. But somethin' tells me thet, shaky as I am
+in my boots, I'd liefer be in mine than yours."
+
+With that, and expelling a heavy breath, he wrestled around to confront
+the hunter.
+
+"Wade. I've no hunch to your game, but it's slower'n I recollect you."
+
+"Why, Cap, I was in a talkin' humor," replied Wade.
+
+"Hell! You're up to some dodge. What'd you care fer my learnin' thet
+pup had double-crossed me? You won't let me kill him."
+
+"I reckon I wanted him to learn what real men thought of him."
+
+"Ahuh! Wal, an' now I've onlightened him, what's the next deal?"
+
+"You'll all go to Kremmlin' with me an' I'll turn you over to Sheriff
+Burley."
+
+That was the gauntlet thrown down by Wade. It was not unexpected, and
+acceptance seemed a relief. Folsom's eyeballs became living fire with
+the desperate gleam of the reckless chances of life. Cutthroat he might
+have been, but he was brave, and he proved the significance of
+Wade's attitude.
+
+"Pards, hyar's to luck!" he rang out, hoarsely, and with pantherish
+quickness he leaped for his gun.
+
+A tense, surcharged instant--then all four men, as if released by some
+galvanized current of rapidity, flashed into action. Guns boomed in
+unison. Spurts of red, clouds of smoke, ringing reports, and hoarse
+cries filled the cabin. Wade had fired as he leaped. There was a
+thudding patter of lead upon the walls. The hunter flung himself
+prostrate behind the bough framework that had served as bedstead. It was
+made of spruce boughs, thick and substantial. Wade had not calculated
+falsely in estimating it as a bulwark of defense. Pulling his second
+gun, he peeped from behind the covert.
+
+Smoke was lifting, and drifting out of door and windows. The atmosphere
+cleared. Belllounds sagged against the wall, pallid, with protruding
+eyes of horror on the scene before him. The dark-skinned little man lay
+writhing. All at once a tremor stilled his convulsions. His body relaxed
+limply. As if by magic his hand loosened on the smoking gun. Folsom was
+on his knees, reeling and swaying, waving his gun, peering like a
+drunken man for some lost object. His temple appeared half shot away, a
+bloody and horrible sight.
+
+"Pards, I got him!" he said, in strange, half-strangled whisper. "I got
+him!... Hell-Bent Wade! My respects! I'll meet you--thar!"
+
+His reeling motion brought his gaze in line with Belllounds. The
+violence of his start sent drops of blood flying from his gory temple.
+
+"Ahuh! The cards run--my way. Belllounds, hyar's to your--lyin' eyes!"
+
+The gun wavered and trembled and circled. Folsom strained in last
+terrible effort of will to aim it straight. He fired. The bullet tore
+hair from Belllounds's head, but missed him. Again the rustler aimed,
+and the gun wavered and shook. He pulled trigger. The hammer clicked
+upon an empty chamber. With low and gurgling cry of baffled rage Folsom
+dropped the gun and sank face forward, slowly stretching out.
+
+The red-bearded rustler had leaped behind the stone chimney that all but
+hid his body. The position made it difficult for him to shoot because
+his gun-hand was on the inside, and he had to press his body tight to
+squeeze it behind the corner of ragged stone. Wade had the advantage. He
+was lying prone with his right hand round the corner of the framework.
+An overhang of the bough-ends above protected his head when he peeped
+out. While he watched for a chance to shoot he loaded his empty gun with
+his left hand. The rustler strained and writhed his body, twisting his
+neck, and suddenly darting out his head and arm, he shot. His bullet
+tore the overhang of boughs above Wade's face. And Wade's answering
+shot, just a second too late, chipped the stone corner where the
+rustler's face had flashed out. The bullet, glancing, hummed out of the
+window. It was a close shave. The rustler let out a hissing,
+inarticulate cry. He was trapped. In his effort to press in closer he
+projected his left elbow beyond the corner of the chimney. Wade's quick
+shot shattered his arm.
+
+There was no asking or offering of quarter here. This was the old feud
+of the West--of the vicious and the righteous in strife--both reared in
+the same stern school. The rustler gave his body such contortion that he
+was twisted almost clear around, with his right hand over his left
+shoulder. He punched the muzzle of his gun into a crack between two
+stones, and he pried to open them. The dry clay cement crumbled, the
+crack widened. Sighting along the barrel he aimed it with the narrow
+strip of Wades shoulder that was visible above the framework. Then he
+shot and hit. Wade shrank flatter and closer, hiding himself to better
+advantage. The rustler made his great blunder then, for in that moment
+he might have rushed out and killed his adversary. But, instead, he shot
+again--another time--a third. And his heavy bullets tore and splintered
+the boughs dangerously close to the hunter's head. Then came an awkward,
+almost hopeless task for the rustler, in maintaining his position while
+reloading his gun. He did it, and his panting attested to the labor and
+pain it cost him.
+
+So much, in fact, that he let his knee protrude. Wade fired, breaking
+that knee. The rustler sagged in his tracks, his hip stuck out to afford
+a target for the remorseless Wade. Still the doomed man did not cry out,
+though it was evident that he could not now keep his body from sagging
+into sight of the hunter. Then with a desperate courage worthy of a
+better cause, and with a spirit great in its defeat, the rustler plunged
+out from his hiding-place, gun extended. His red beard, his gaunt face,
+fierce and baleful, his wabbling plunge that was really a fall, made a
+sight which was terrible. He hopped out of that fall. His gun began to
+blaze. But it only matched the blazes of Wade's. And the rustler pitched
+headlong over the framework, falling heavily against the wall beyond.
+
+Then there was silence for a long moment. Wade stirred, as if to look
+around. Belllounds also stirred, and gulped, as if to breathe. The three
+prostrate rustlers lay inert, their positions singularly tragic and
+settled. The smoke again began to lift, to float out of the door and
+windows. In another moment the big room seemed less hazy.
+
+Wade rose, not without effort, and he had a gun in each hand. Those
+hands were bloody; there was blood on his face, and his left shoulder
+was red. He approached Belllounds.
+
+Wade was terrible then--terrible with a ruthlessness that was no
+pretense. To Belllounds it must have represented death--a bloody death
+which he was not prepared to meet.
+
+"Come out of your trance, you pup rustler!" yelled Wade.
+
+"For God's sake, don't kill me!" implored Belllounds, stricken with
+terror.
+
+"Why not? Look around! My busy day, Buster!... An' for that Cap Folsom
+it's been ten years comin'.... I'm goin' to shoot you in the belly an'
+watch you get sick to your stomach!"
+
+Belllounds, with whisper, and hands, and face, begged for his life in an
+abjectness of sheer panic.
+
+"What!" roared the hunter. "Didn't you know I come to kill you?"
+
+"Yes--yes! I've seen--that. It's awful!... I never harmed you.... Don't
+kill me! Let me live, Wade. I swear to God I'll--I'll never do it
+again.... For dad's sake--for Collie's sake--don't kill me!"
+
+"I'm Hell-Bent Wade!... You wouldn't listen to them--when they wanted to
+tell you who I am!"
+
+Every word of Wade's drove home to this boy the primal meaning of sudden
+death. It inspired him with an unutterable fear. That was what clamped
+his brow in a sweaty band and upreared his hair and rolled his eyeballs.
+His magnified intelligence, almost ghastly, grasped a hope in Wade's
+apparent vacillation and in the utterance of the name of Columbine.
+Intuition, a subtle sense, inspired him to beg in that name.
+
+"Swear you'll give up Collie!" demanded Wade, brandishing his guns with
+bloody hands.
+
+"Yes--yes! My God, I'll do anything!" moaned Belllounds.
+
+"Swear you'll tell your father you'd had a change of heart. You'll give
+Collie up!... Let Moore have her!"
+
+"I swear!... But if you tell dad--I stole his cattle--he'll do for me!"
+
+"We won't squeal that. I'll save you if you give up the girl. Once more,
+Buster Jack--try an' make me believe you'll square the deal."
+
+Belllounds had lost his voice. But his mute, fluttering lips were
+infinite proof of the vow he could not speak. The boyishness, the
+stunted moral force, replaced the manhood in him then. He was only a
+factor in the lives of others, protected even from this Nemesis by the
+greatness of his father's love.
+
+"Get up, an' take my scarf," said Wade, "an' bandage these bullet-holes
+I got."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+Wade's wounds were not in any way serious, and with Belllounds's
+assistance he got to the cabin of Lewis, where weakness from loss of
+blood made it necessary that he remain. Belllounds went home.
+
+The next day Wade sent Lewis with pack-horse down to the rustler's
+cabin, to bury the dead men and fetch back their effects. Lewis returned
+that night, accompanied by Sheriff Burley and two deputies, who had been
+busy on their own account. They had followed horse tracks from the
+water-hole under Gore Peak to the scene of the fight, and had arrived to
+find Lewis there. Burley had appropriated the considerable amount of
+gold, which he said could be identified by cattlemen who had bought the
+stolen cattle.
+
+When opportunity afforded Burley took advantage of it to speak to Wade
+when the others were out of earshot.
+
+"Thar was another man in thet cabin when the fight come off," announced
+the sheriff. "An' he come up hyar with you."
+
+"Jim, you're locoed," replied Wade.
+
+The sheriff laughed, and his shrewd eyes had a kindly, curious gleam.
+
+"Next you'll be givin' me a hunch thet you're in a fever an' out of your
+head."
+
+"Jim, I'm not as clear-headed as I might be."
+
+"Wal, tell me or not, jest as you like. I seen his tracks--follered
+them. An' Wade, old pard, I've reckoned long ago thar's a nigger in the
+wood-pile."
+
+"Sure. An' you know me. I'd take it friendly of you to put Moore's trial
+off fer a while--till I'm able to ride to Krernmlin'. Maybe then I can
+tell you a story."
+
+Burley threw up his hands in genuine apprehension. "Not much! You ain't
+agoin' to tell _me_ no story!... But I'll wait on you, an' welcome.
+Reckon I owe you a good deal on this rustler round-up. Wade, thet must
+have been a man-sized fight, even fer you. I picked up twenty-six empty
+shells. An' the little half-breed had one empty shell an' five loaded
+ones in his gun. You must have got him quick. Hey?"
+
+"Jim, I'm observin' you're a heap more curious than ever, an' you always
+was an inquisitive cuss," complained Wade. "I don't recollect what
+happened."
+
+"Wal, wal, have it your own way," replied Burley, with good nature.
+"Now, Wade, I'll pitch camp hyar in the park to-night, an' to-morrer
+I'll ride down to White Slides on my way to Kremmlin'. What're you
+wantin' me to tell Belllounds?"
+
+The hunter pondered a moment.
+
+"Reckon it's just as well that you tell him somethin'.... You can say
+the rustlers are done for an' that he'll get his stock back. I'd like
+you to tell him that the rustlers were more to blame than Wils Moore.
+Just say that an' nothin' else about Wils. Don't mention about your
+suspectin' there was another man around when the fight come off.... Tell
+the cowboys that I'll be down in a few days. An' if you happen to get a
+chance for a word alone with Miss Collie, just say I'm not bad hurt an'
+that all will be well."
+
+"Ahuh!" Burley grunted out the familiar exclamation. He did not say any
+more then, but he gazed thoughtfully down upon the pale hunter, as if
+that strange individual was one infinitely to respect, but never to
+comprehend.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Wade's wounds healed quickly; nevertheless, it was more than several
+days before he felt spirit enough to undertake the ride. He had to
+return to White Slides, but he was reluctant to do so. Memory of Jack
+Belllounds dragged at him, and when he drove it away it continually
+returned. This feeling was almost equivalent to an augmentation of his
+gloomy foreboding, which ever hovered on the fringe of his
+consciousness. But one morning he started early, and, riding very
+slowly, with many rests, he reached the Sage Valley cabin before sunset.
+Moore saw him coming, yelled his delight and concern, and almost lifted
+him off the horse. Wade was too tired to talk much, but he allowed
+himself to be fed and put to bed and worked over.
+
+"Boot's on the other foot now, pard," said Moore, with delight at the
+prospect of returning service. "Say, you're all shot up! And it's I
+who'll be nurse!"
+
+"Wils, I'll be around to-morrow," replied the hunter. "Have you heard
+any news from down below?"
+
+"Sure. I've met Lem every night."
+
+Then he related Burley's version of Wade's fight with the rustlers in
+the cabin. From the sheriff's lips the story gained much. Old Bill
+Belllounds had received the news in a singular mood; he offered no
+encomiums to the victor; contrary to his usual custom of lauding every
+achievement of labor or endurance, he now seemed almost to regret the
+affray. Jack Belllounds had returned from Kremmling and he was present
+when Burley brought news of the rustlers. What he thought none of the
+cowboys vouchsafed to say, but he was drunk the next day, and he lost a
+handful of gold to them. Never had he gambled so recklessly. Indeed, it
+was as if he hated the gold he lost. Little had been seen of Columbine,
+but little was sufficient to make the cowboys feel concern.
+
+Wade made scarcely any comment upon this news from the ranch; next day,
+however, he was up, and caring for himself, and he told Moore about the
+fight and how he had terrorized Belllounds and exhorted the
+promises from him.
+
+"Never in God's world will Buster Jack live up to those promises!" cried
+Moore, with absolute conviction. "I know him, Ben. He meant them when he
+made them. He'd swear his soul away--then next day he'd lie or forget
+or betray."
+
+"I'm not believin' that till I know," replied the hunter, gloomily. "But
+I'm afraid of him.... I've known bad men to change. There's a grain of
+good in all men--somethin' divine. An' it comes out now an' then. Men
+rise on steppin'-stones of their dead selves to higher things!... This
+is Belllounds's chance for the good in him. If it's not there he will do
+as you say. If it is--that scare he had will be the turnin'-point in his
+life. I'm hopin', but I'm afraid."
+
+"Ben, you wait and see," said Moore, earnestly. "Heaven knows I'm not
+one to lose hope for my fellowmen--hope for the higher things you've
+taught me.... But human nature is human nature. Jack _can't_ give Collie
+up, just the same as I _can't_. That's self-preservation as well
+as love."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The day came when Wade walked down to White Slides. There seemed to be a
+fever in his blood, which he tried to convince himself was a result of
+his wounds instead of the condition of his mind. It was Sunday, a day of
+sunshine and squall, of azure-blue sky, and great, sailing, purple
+clouds. The sage of the hills glistened and there was a sweetness in
+the air.
+
+The cowboys made much of Wade. But the old rancher, seeing him from the
+porch, abruptly went into the house. No one but Wade noticed this
+omission of courtesy. Directly, Columbine appeared, waving her hand, and
+running to meet him.
+
+"Dad saw you. He told me to come out and excuse him.... Oh, Ben, I'm so
+happy to see you! You don't look hurt at all. What a fight you had!...
+Oh, I was sick! But let me forget that.... How are you? And how's Wils?"
+
+Thus she babbled until out of breath.
+
+"Collie, it's sure good to see you," said Wade, feeling the old, rich
+thrill at her presence. "I'm comin' on tolerable well. I wasn't bad
+hurt, but I bled a lot. An' I reckon I'm older 'n I was when packin'
+gun-shot holes was nothin'. Every year tells. Only a man doesn't know
+till after.... An' how are you, Collie?"
+
+Her blue eyes clouded, and a tremor changed the expression of her sweet
+lips.
+
+"I am unhappy, Ben," she said. "But what could we expect? It might be
+worse. For instance, you might have been killed. I've much to be
+thankful for."
+
+"I reckon so. We all have.... I fetched a message from Wils, but I
+oughtn't tell it."
+
+"Please do," she begged, wistfully.
+
+"Well, Wils says, tell Collie I love her every day more an' more, an'
+that my love keeps up my courage an' my belief in God, an' if she ever
+marries Jack Belllounds she can come up to visit my grave among the
+columbines on the hill."
+
+Strange how Wade experienced comfort in thus torturing her! She was
+rosy at the beginning of his speech and white at its close. "Oh, it's
+true! it's true!" she whispered. "It'll kill him, as it will me!"
+
+"Cheer up, Columbine," said Wade. "It's a long time till August
+thirteenth.... An' now tell me, why did Old Bill run when he saw
+me comin'?"
+
+"Ben, I suspect dad has the queerest notion you want to tell him some
+awful bloody story about the rustlers."
+
+"Ahuh! Well, not yet.... An' how's Jack Belllounds actin' these days?"
+
+Wade felt the momentousness of that query, but it seemed her face had
+been telltale enough, without confirmation of words.
+
+"My friend, somehow I hate to tell you. You're always so hopeful, so
+ready to think good instead of evil.... But Jack has been rough with me,
+almost brutal. He was drunk once. Every day he drinks, sometimes a
+little, sometimes more. But drink changes him. And it's dragging dad
+down. Dad doesn't say so, yet I feel he's afraid of what will come
+next.... Jack has nagged me to marry him right off. He wanted to the day
+he came back from Kremmling. He's eager to leave White Slides. Dad knows
+that, also, and it worries him. But of course I refused."
+
+The presence of Columbine, so vivid and sweet and stirring, and all
+about her the sunlight, the golden gleams on the sage hills, and Wade's
+heart and brain and spirit sustained a subtle transformation. It was as
+if what had been beautiful with light had suddenly, strangely darkened.
+Then Wade imagined he stood alone in a gloomy house, which was his own
+heart, and he was listening to the arrival of a tragic messenger whose
+foot sounded heavy on the stairs, whose hand turned slowly upon the
+knob, whose gray presence opened the door and crossed the threshold.
+
+"Buster Jack didn't break off with you, Collie?" asked the hunter.
+
+"Break off with me!... No, indeed! Whatever possessed you to say that?"
+
+"An' he didn't offer to give you up to Wils Moore?"
+
+"Ben, are you crazy?" cried Columbine.
+
+"Collie; listen. I'll tell you." The old urge knocked at Wade's mind.
+"Buster Jack was in the cabin, gamblin' with the rustlers, when I
+cornered them. You remember I meant to scare Buster Jack within an inch
+of his life? Well, I made use of my opportunity. I worked up the
+rustlers. Then I told Jack I'd give away his secret. He made to jump an'
+run, I reckon. But he hadn't the nerve. I shot a piece out of his ear,
+just to begin the fun. An' then I told the rustlers how Jack had
+double-crossed them. Folsom, the boss rustler, roared like a mad steer.
+He was wild to kill Jack. He begged for a gun to shoot out Jack's eyes.
+An' so were the other rustlers burnin' to kill him. Bad outfit. There
+was a fight, which, I'm bound to confess, was not short an' sweet. There
+was a lot of shootin'. An' in a cabin gun-shots almost lift the roof.
+Folsom was on his knees, dyin', wavin' his gun, whisperin' in fiendish
+glee that he had done for me. When he saw Jack an' remembered he shook
+so with fury that he scattered blood all over. An' he took long aim at
+Jack, tryin' to steady his gun. He couldn't, an' he missed, an' then
+fell over dead with his head on Jack's knees. That left the red-bearded
+rustler, who had hid behind the chimney. Jack watched the rest of that
+fight, an' for a youngster it must have been nerve-rackin'. I broke the
+rustler's arm, an' then his knee, an' then I got him in the hip two more
+times before he hobbled out to his finish. He'd shot me up
+considerable, so that when I braced Jack I must have been a hair-raisin'
+sight. I made Jack believe I meant to murder him. He begged an' cried,
+an' he got to prayin' for his life for your sake. It was sickenin', but
+it was what I wanted. So then I made him swear he'd free you an' give
+you up to Moore."
+
+"Oh! Oh, Ben, how awful!" whispered Columbine, shuddering. "How _could_
+you tell me such a horrible story?"
+
+"Reckon I wanted you to know how Jack come to make the promises an' what
+they were."
+
+"Promises! What are promises or oaths to Jack Belllounds?" she cried, in
+passionate contempt. "You wasted your breath. Coward--liar that he is!"
+
+"Ahuh!" Wade looked straight ahead of him as if he saw some expected and
+unpleasant thing far in the distance. Then with irresistible steps,
+neither swift nor slow, but ponderous, he strode to the porch and
+mounted the steps.
+
+"Why, Ben, where are you going?" called Columbine, in surprise, as she
+followed him.
+
+He did not answer. He approached the closed door of the living-room.
+
+"Ben!" cried Columbine, in alarm.
+
+But he had no reply for her--indeed, no thought of her. Without
+knocking, he opened the door with rude and powerful hand, and, striding
+in, closed it after him.
+
+Bill Belllounds was standing, back against the great stone chimney, arms
+folded, a stolid and grim figure, apparently fortified against an
+intrusion he had expected.
+
+"Wal, what do you want?" he asked, gruffly. He had sensed catastrophe in
+the first sight of the hunter.
+
+"Belllounds, I reckon I want a hell of a lot," replied Wade. "An' I'm
+askin' you to see we're not disturbed."
+
+"Bar the door."
+
+Wade dropped the bar in place, and then, removing his sombrero, he wiped
+his moist brow.
+
+"Do you see an enemy in me?" he asked, curiously.
+
+"Speakin' out fair, Wade, there ain't any reason I can see that you're
+an enemy to me," replied Belllounds. "But I feel somethin'. It ain't
+because I'm takin' my son's side. It's more than that. A queer feelin',
+an' one I never had before. I got it first when you told the story of
+the Gunnison feud."
+
+"Belllounds, we can't escape our fates. An' it was written long ago I
+was to tell you a worse an' harder story than that."
+
+"Wal, mebbe I'll listen an' mebbe I won't. I ain't promisin', these
+days."
+
+"Are you goin' to make Collie marry Jack?" demanded the hunter.
+
+"She's willin'."
+
+"You know that's not true. Collie's willin' to sacrifice love, honor,
+an' life itself, to square her debt to you."
+
+The old rancher flushed a burning red, and in his eyes flared a spirit
+of earlier years.
+
+"Wade, you can go too far," he warned. "I'm appreciatin' your
+good-heartedness. It sort of warms me toward you.... But this is my
+business. You've no call to interfere. You've done that too much
+already. An' I'm reckonin' Collie would be married to Jack now if it
+hadn't been for you."
+
+"Ahuh!... That's why I'm thankin' God I happened along to White Slides.
+Belllounds, your big mistake is thinkin' your son is good enough for
+this girl. An' you're makin' mistakes about me. I've interfered here,
+an' you may take my word for it I had the right."
+
+"Strange talk, Wade, but I'll make allowances."
+
+"You needn't. I'll back my talk.... But, first, I'm askin' you--an' if
+this talk hurts, I'm sorry--why don't you give some of your love for
+your no-good Buster Jack to Collie?"
+
+Belllounds clenched his huge fists and glared. Anger leaped within him.
+He recognized in Wade an outspoken, bitter adversary to his cherished
+hopes for his son and his stubborn, precious pride.
+
+"By Heaven! Wade, I'll--"
+
+"Belllounds, I can make you swallow that kind of talk," interrupted
+Wade. "It's man to man now. An' I'm a match for you any day. Savvy?...
+Do you think I'm damn fool enough to come here an' brace you unless I
+knew that. Talk to me as you'd talk about some other man's son."
+
+"It ain't possible," rejoined the rancher, stridently.
+
+"Then listen to me first.... Your son Jack, to say the least, will ruin
+Collie. Do you see that?"
+
+"By Gawd! I'm afraid so," groaned Belllounds, big in his humiliation.
+"But it's my one last bet, an' I'm goin' to play it."
+
+"Do you know marryin' him will _kill_ her?"
+
+"What!... You're overdoin' your fears, Wade. Women don't die so easy."
+
+"Some of them die, an' Collie's one that will, _if_ she ever marries
+Jack."
+
+"_If_!... Wal, she's goin' to."
+
+"We don't agree," said Wade, curtly.
+
+"Are you runnin' my family?"
+
+"No. But I'm runnin' a large-sized _if_ in this game. You'll admit that
+presently.... Belllounds, you make me mad. You don't meet me man to
+man. You're not the Bill Belllounds of old. Why, all over this state of
+Colorado you're known as the whitest of the white. Your name's a byword
+for all that's square an' big an' splendid. But you're so blinded by
+your worship of that wild boy that you're another man in all pertainin'
+to him. I don't want to harp on his short-comm's. I'm for the girl. She
+doesn't love him. She can't. She will only drag herself down an' die of
+a broken heart.... Now, I'm askin' you, before it's too late--give up
+this marriage."
+
+"Wade! I've shot men for less than you've said!" thundered the rancher,
+beside himself with rage and shame.
+
+"Ahuh! I reckon you have. But not men like me.... I tell you, straight
+to your face, it's a fool deal you're workin'--a damn selfish one--a
+dirty job, to put on an innocent, sweet girl--an' as sure as you stand
+there, if you do it, you'll ruin four lives!"
+
+"Four!" exclaimed Belllounds. But any word would have expressed his
+humiliation.
+
+"I should have said three, leavin' Jack out. I meant Collie's an' yours
+an' Wils Moore's."
+
+"Moore's is about ruined already, I've a hunch."
+
+"You can get hunches you never dreamed of, Belllounds, old as you are.
+An' I'll give you one presently.... But we drift off. Can't you
+keep cool?"
+
+"Cool! With you rantin' hell-bent for election? Haw! Raw!... Wade,
+you're locoed. You always struck me queer.... An' if you'll excuse me,
+I'm gettin' tired of this talk. We're as far apart as the poles. An' to
+save what good feelin's we both have, let's quit."
+
+"You don't love Collie, then?" queried Wade, imperturbably.
+
+"Yes, I do. That's a fool idee of yours. It puts me out of patience."
+
+"Belllounds, you're not her real father."
+
+The rancher gave a start, and he stared as he had stared before, fixedly
+and perplexedly at Wade.
+
+"No, I'm not."
+
+"If she _were_ your real daughter--your own flesh an' blood--an' Jack
+Belllounds was _my_ son, would you let her marry him?"
+
+"Wal, Wade, I reckon I wouldn't."
+
+"Then how can you expect my consent to her marriage with your son?"
+
+"WHAT!" Belllounds lunged over to Wade, leaned down, shaken by
+overwhelming amaze.
+
+"Collie is my daughter!"
+
+A loud expulsion of breath escaped Belllounds. Lower he leaned, and
+looked with piercing gaze into the face and eyes that in this moment
+bore strange resemblance to Columbine.
+
+"So help me Gawd!... That's the secret?... Hell-Bent Wade! An' you've
+been on my trail!"
+
+He staggered to his big chair and fell into it. No trace of doubt showed
+in his face. The revelation had struck home because of its very
+greatness.
+
+Wade took the chair opposite. His likeness to Columbine had faded now.
+It had been love, a spirit, a radiance, a glory. It was gone. And Wade's
+face became the emblem of tragedy.
+
+"Listen, Belllounds. I'll tell you!... The ways of God are inscrutable.
+I've been twenty years tryin' to atone for the wrong I did Collie's
+mother. I've been a prospector for the trouble of others. I've been a
+bearer of their burdens. An' if I can save Collie's happiness an' her
+soul, I reckon I won't be denied the peace of meetin' her mother in the
+other world.... I recognized Collie the moment I laid eyes on her. She
+favors her mother in looks, an' she has her mother's sensitiveness, her
+fire an' pride, an' she even has her voice. It's low an' sweet--alto,
+they used to call it.... But I'd recognized Collie as my own if I'd been
+blind an' deaf.... It's over eighteen years ago that we had the trouble.
+I was no boy, but I was terribly in love with Lucy. An' she loved me
+with a passion I never learned till too late. We came West from
+Missouri. She was born in Texas. I had a rovin' disposition an' didn't
+stick long at any kind of work. But I was lookin' for a ranch. My wife
+had some money an' I had high hopes. We spent our first year of married
+life travelin' through Kansas. At Dodge I got tied up for a while. You
+know, in them days Dodge was about the wildest camp on the plains. My
+wife's brother run a place there. He wasn't much good. But she thought
+he was perfect. Strange how blood-relations can't see the truth about
+their own people! Anyway, her brother Spencer had no use for me, because
+I could tell how slick he was with the cards an' beat him at his own
+game. Spencer had a gamblin' pard, a cowboy run out of Texas, one Cap
+Fol--But no matter about his name. One night they were fleecin' a
+stranger an' I broke into the game, winnin' all they had. The game ended
+in a fight, with bloodshed, but nobody killed. That set Spencer an' his
+pard Cap against me. The stranger was a planter from Louisiana. He'd
+been an officer in the rebel army. A high-strung, handsome Southerner,
+fond of wine an' cards an' women. Well, he got to payin' my wife a good
+deal of attention when I was away, which happened to be often. She never
+told me. I was jealous those days.
+
+"My little girl you call Columbine was born there durin' a long absence
+of mine. When I got home Lucy an' the baby were gone. Also the
+Southerner!... Spencer an' his pard Cap, an' others they had in the
+deal, proved to me, so it seemed, that the little girl was not really
+mine!... An' so I set out on a hunt for my wife an' her lover. I found
+them. An' I killed him before her eyes. But she was innocent, an' so was
+he, as came out too late. He'd been, indeed, her friend. She scorned me.
+She told me how her brother Spencer an' his friends had established
+guilt of mine that had driven her from me.
+
+"I went back to Dodge to have a little quiet smoke with these men who
+had ruined me. They were gone. The trail led to Colorado. Nearly a year
+later I rounded them all up in a big wagon-train post north of Denver.
+Another brother of my wife's, an' her father, had come West, an' by
+accident or fate we all met there. We had a family quarrel. My wife
+would not forgive me--would not speak to me, an' her people backed her
+up. I made the great mistake to take her father an' other brothers to
+belong to the same brand as Spencer. In this I wronged them an' her.
+
+"What I did to them, Belllounds, is one story I'll never tell to any man
+who might live to repeat it. But it drove my wife near crazy. An' it
+made me Hell-Bent Wade!... She ran off from me there, an' I trailed her
+all over Colorado. An' the end of that trail was not a hundred miles
+from where we stand now. The last trace I had was of the burnin' of a
+prairie-schooner by Arapahoes as they were goin' home from a foray on
+the Utes.... The little girl might have toddled off the trail. But I
+reckon she was hidden or dropped by her mother, or some one fleein' for
+life. Your men found her in the columbines."
+
+Belllounds drew a long, deep breath.
+
+"What a man never expects always comes true.... Wade, the lass is yours.
+I can see it in the way you look at me. I can feel it.... She's been
+like my own. I've done my best, accordin' to my conscience. An' I've
+loved her, for all they say I couldn't see aught but Jack.... You'll
+take her away from me?"
+
+"No. Never," was the melancholy reply.
+
+"What! Why not?"
+
+"Because she loves you.... I could never reveal myself to Collie. I
+couldn't win her love with a lie. An' I'd have to lie, to be false as
+hell.... False to her mother an' to Collie an' to all I hold high! I'd
+have to tell Collie the truth--the wrong I did her mother--the _hell_ I
+visited upon her mother's people.... She'd fear me."
+
+"Ahuh!... An' you'll never change--I reckon that!" exclaimed Belllounds.
+
+"No. I changed once, eighteen years ago. I can't go back.... I can't
+undo all I hoped was good."
+
+"You think Collie'd fear you?"
+
+"She'd never _love_ me as she does you, or as she loves me even now.
+That is my rock of refuge."
+
+"She'd hate you, Wade."
+
+"I reckon. An' so she must never know."
+
+"Ahuh!... Wal, wal, life is a hell of a deal! Wade, if you could live
+yours over again, knowin' what you know now, an' that you'd love an'
+suffer the same--would you want to do it?"
+
+"Yes. I love life, with all it brings. I wouldn't have the joy without
+the pain. But I reckon only men who've come to our years would want it
+over again."
+
+"Wal, I'm with you thar. I'd take what came. Rain an' sun!... But all
+this you tell, an' the hell you hint at, ain't changin' this hyar deal
+of Jack's an' Collie's. Not one jot!... If she remains my adopted
+daughter she marries my son.... Wade, I'm haltered like the north star
+in that."
+
+"Belllounds, will you take a day to think it over?" appealed Wade.
+
+"Ahuh! But that won't change me."
+
+"Won't it change you to know that if you force this marriage you'll lose
+all?"
+
+"All! Ain't that more queer talk?"
+
+"I mean lose all--your son, your adopted daughter--his chance of
+reformin', her hope of happiness. These ought to be all in life left
+to you."
+
+"Wal, they are. But I can't see your argument. You're beyond me, Wade.
+You're holdin' back, like you did with your hell-bent story."
+
+Ponderously, as if the burden and the doom of the world weighed him
+down, the hunter got up and fronted Belllounds.
+
+"When I'm driven to tell I'll come.... But, once more, old man, choose
+between generosity an' selfishness. Between blood tie an' noble loyalty
+to your good deed in its beginnin'.... Will you give up this marriage
+for your son--so that Collie can have the man she loves?"
+
+"You mean your young pard an' two-bit of a rustler--Wils Moore?"
+
+"Wils Moore, yes. My friend, an' a man, Belllounds, such as you or I
+never was."
+
+"No!" thundered the rancher, purple in the face.
+
+With bowed head and dragging step Wade left the room.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+By slow degrees of plodding steps, and periods of abstracted lagging,
+the hunter made his way back to Moore's cabin. At his entrance the
+cowboy leaped up with a startled cry.
+
+"Oh, Wade!... Is Collie dead?" he cried.
+
+Such was the extent of calamity he imagined from the somber face of
+Wade.
+
+"No. Collie's well."
+
+"Then, man, what on earth's happened?"
+
+"Nothin' yet.... But somethin' is goin' on in my mind.... Moore, I'd
+like you to let me alone."
+
+At sunset Wade was pacing the aspen grove on the hill. There was
+sunlight and shade under the trees, a rosy gold on the sage slopes, a
+purple-and-violet veil between the black ranges and the sinking sun.
+
+Twilight fell. The stars came out white and clear. Night cloaked the
+valley with dark shadows and the hills with its obscurity. The blue
+vault overhead deepened and darkened. The hunter patrolled his beat, and
+hours were moments to him. He heard the low hum of the insects, the
+murmur of running water, the rustle of the wind. A coyote cut the keen
+air with high-keyed, staccato cry. The owls hooted, with dismal and
+weird plaint, one to the other. Then a wolf mourned. But these sounds
+only accentuated the loneliness and wildness of the silent night.
+
+Wade listened to them, to the silence. He felt the wildness and
+loneliness of the place, the breathing of nature; he peered aloft at the
+velvet blue of the mysterious sky with its deceiving stars. All that had
+been of help to him through days of trial was now as if it had never
+been. When he lifted his eyes to the great, dark peak, so bold and
+clear-cut against the sky, it was not to receive strength again. Nature
+in its cruelty mocked him. His struggle had to do with the most perfect
+of nature's works--man.
+
+Wade was now in passionate strife with the encroaching mood that was a
+mocker of his idealism. Many times during the strange, long martyrdom of
+his penance had he faced this crisis, only to go down to defeat before
+elemental instincts. His soul was steeped in gloom, but his
+intelligence had not yet succumbed to passion. The beauty of
+Columbine's character and the nobility of Moore's were not illusions to
+Wade. They were true. These two were of the finest fiber of human
+nature. They loved. They represented youth and hope--a progress through
+the ages toward a better race. Wade believed in the good to be, in the
+future of men. Nevertheless, all that was fine and worthy in Columbine
+and Moore was to go unrewarded, unfulfilled, because of the selfish
+pride of an old man and the evil passion of the son. It was a conflict
+as old as life. Of what avail were Columbine's high sense of duty,
+Moore's fine manhood, the many victories they had won over the headlong
+and imperious desires of love? What avail were Wade's good offices, his
+spiritual teaching, his eternal hope in the order of circumstances
+working out to good? These beautiful characteristics of virtue were not
+so strong as the unchangeable passion of old Belllounds and the vicious
+depravity of his son. Wade could not imagine himself a god, proving that
+the wages of sin was death. Yet in his life he had often been an
+impassive destiny, meting out terrible consequences. Here he was
+incalculably involved. This was the cumulative end of years of mounting
+plots, tangled and woven into the web of his pain and his remorse and
+his ideal. But hope was dying. That was his strife-realization against
+the morbid clairvoyance of his mind. He could not help Jack Belllounds
+to be a better man. He could not inspire the old rancher to a
+forgetfulness of selfish and blinded aims. He could not prove to Moore
+the truth of the reward that came from unflagging hope and unassailable
+virtue. He could not save Columbine with his ideals.
+
+The night wore on, and Wade plodded under the rustling aspens. The
+insects ceased to hum, the owls to hoot, the wolves to mourn. The
+shadows of the long spruces gradually merged into the darkness of night.
+Above, infinitely high, burned the pale stars, wise and cold, aloof and
+indifferent, eyes of other worlds of mystery.
+
+In those night hours something in Wade died, but his idealism,
+unquenchable and inexplicable, the very soul of the man, saw its
+justification and fulfilment in the distant future.
+
+The gray of the dawn stole over the eastern range, and before its opaque
+gloom the blackness of night retreated, until valley and slope and grove
+were shrouded in spectral light, where all seemed unreal.
+
+And with it the gray-gloomed giant of Wade's mind, the morbid and
+brooding spell, had gained its long-encroaching ascendancy. He had again
+found the man to whom he must tell his story. Tragic and irrevocable
+decree! It was his life that forced him, his crime, his remorse, his
+agony, his endless striving. How true had been his steps! They had led,
+by devious and tortuous paths, to the home of his daughter.
+
+Wade crouched under the aspens, accepting this burden as a man being
+physically loaded with tremendous weights. His shoulders bent to them.
+His breast was sunken and labored. All his muscles were cramped. His
+blood flowed sluggishly. His heart beat with slow, muffled throbs in his
+ears. There was a creeping cold in his veins, ice in his marrow, and
+death in his soul. The giant that had been shrouded in gray threw off
+his cloak, to stand revealed, black and terrible. And it was he who
+spoke to Wade, in dreadful tones, like knells. Bent Wade--man of
+misery--who could find no peace on earth--whose presence unknit the
+tranquil lives of people and poisoned their blood and marked them for
+doom! Wherever he wandered there followed the curse! Always this had
+been so. He was the harbinger of catastrophe. He who preached wisdom
+and claimed to be taught by the flowers, who loved life and hated
+injustice, who mingled with his kind, ever searching for that one who
+needed him, he must become the woe and the bane and curse of those he
+would only serve! Insupportable and pitiful fate! The fiends of the past
+mocked him, like wicked ghouls, voiceless and dim. The faces of the men
+he had killed were around him in the gray gloom, pale, drifting visages
+of distortion, accusing him, claiming him. Likewise, these gleams of
+faces were specters of his mind, a procession eternal, mournful, and
+silent, wending their way on and on through the regions of his thought.
+All were united, all drove him, all put him on the trail of catastrophe.
+They foreshadowed the future, they inclosed events, they lured him with
+his endless illusions. He was in the vortex of a vast whirlpool, not of
+water or of wind, but of life. Alas! he seemed indeed the very current
+of that whirlpool, a monstrous force, around which evil circled and
+lurked and conquered. Wade--who had the ill-omened croak of the
+raven--Wade--who bent his driven steps toward hell!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the brilliant sunlight of the summer morning Wade bent his resistless
+steps down toward White Slides Ranch. The pendulum had swung. The hours
+were propitious. Seemingly, events that already cast their shadows
+waited for him. He saw Jack Belllounds going out on the fast and furious
+ride which had become his morning habit.
+
+Columbine intercepted Wade. The shade of woe and tragedy in her face
+were the same as he had pictured there in his gloomy vigil of the night.
+
+"My friend, I was coming to you.... Oh, I can bear no more!"
+
+Her hair was disheveled, her dress disordered, the hands she
+tremblingly held out bore discolored marks. Wade led her into the
+seclusion of the willow trail.
+
+"Oh, Ben!... He fought me--like--a beast!" she panted.
+
+"Collie, you needn't tell me more," said Wade, gently. "Go up to Wils.
+Tell him."
+
+"But I must tell you. I can bear--no more.... He fought me--hurt me--and
+when dad heard us--and came--Jack lied.... Oh, the dog!... Ben, his
+father believed--when Jack swore he was only mad--only trying to shake
+me--for my indifference and scorn.... But, my God!--Jack meant...."
+
+"Collie, go up to Wils," interposed the hunter.
+
+"I want to see Wils. I need to--I must. But I'm afraid.... Oh, it will
+make things worse!"
+
+"Go!"
+
+She turned away, actuated by more than her will.
+
+"_Collie!_" came the call, piercingly and strangely after her.
+Bewildered, startled by the wildness of that cry, she wheeled. But Wade
+was gone. The shaking of the willows attested to his hurry.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Old Belllounds braced his huge shoulders against the wall in the
+attitude of a man driven to his last stand.
+
+"Ahuh!" he rolled, sonorously. "So hyar you are again?... Wal, tell your
+worst, Hell-Bent Wade, an' let's have an end to your croakin'."
+
+Belllounds had fortified himself, not with convictions or with
+illusions, but with the last desperate courage of a man true to himself.
+
+"I'll tell you...." began the hunter.
+
+And the rancher threw up his hands in a mockery that was furious, yet
+with outward shrinking.
+
+"Just now, when Buster Jack fought with Collie, he meant bad by her!"
+
+"Aw, no!... He was jest rude--tryin' to be masterful.... An' the lass's
+like a wild filly. She needs a tamin' down."
+
+Wade stretched forth a lean and quivering hand that seemed the symbol of
+presaged and tragic truth.
+
+"Listen, Belllounds, an' I'll tell you.... No use tryin' to hatch a
+rotten egg! There's no good in your son. His good intentions he paraded
+for virtues, believin' himself that he'd changed. But a flip of the wind
+made him Buster Jack again.... Collie would sacrifice her life for duty
+to you--whom she loves as her father. Wils Moore sacrificed his honor
+for Collie--rather than let you learn the truth.... But they call me
+Hell-Bent Wade, an' I will tell you!"
+
+The straining hulk of Belllounds crouched lower, as if to gather impetus
+for a leap. Both huge hands were outspread as if to ward off attack from
+an unseen but long-dreaded foe. The great eyes rolled. And underneath
+the terror and certainty and tragedy of his appearance seemed to surge
+the resistless and rising swell of a dammed-up, terrible rage.
+
+"I'll tell you ..." went on the remorseless voice. "I watched your
+Buster Jack. I watched him gamble an' drink. I trailed him. I found the
+little circles an' the crooked horse tracks--made to trap Wils Moore....
+A damned cunnin' trick!... Burley suspects a nigger in the wood-pile.
+Wils Moore knows the truth. He lied for Collie's sake an' yours. He'd
+have stood the trial--an' gone to jail to save Collie from what she
+dreaded.... Belllounds, your son was in the cabin gamblin' with the
+rustlers when I cornered them.... I offered to keep Jack's secret if
+he'd swear to give Collie up. He swore on his knees, beggin' in her
+name!... An' he comes back to bully her, an' worse.... Buster Jack!...
+He's the thorn in your heart, Belllounds. He's the rustler who stole
+your cattle!... Your pet son--a sneakin' thief!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+Jack Belllounds came riding down the valley trail. His horse was in a
+lather of sweat. Both hair and blood showed on the long spurs this son
+of a great pioneer used in his pleasure rides. He had never loved
+a horse.
+
+At a point where the trail met the brook there were thick willow
+patches, with open, grassy spots between. As Belllounds reached this
+place a man stepped out of the willows and laid hold of the bridle. The
+horse shied and tried to plunge, but an iron arm held him.
+
+"Get down, Buster," ordered the man.
+
+It was Wade.
+
+Belllounds had given as sharp a start as his horse. He was sober, though
+the heated red tinge of his face gave indication of a recent use of the
+bottle. That color quickly receded. Events of the last month had left
+traces of the hardening and lowering of Jack Belllounds's nature.
+
+"Wha-at?... Let go of that bridle!" he ejaculated.
+
+Wade held it fast, while he gazed up into the prominent eyes, where fear
+shone and struggled with intolerance and arrogance and quickening gleams
+of thought.
+
+"You an' I have somethin' to talk over," said the hunter.
+
+Belllounds shrank from the low, cold, even voice, that evidently
+reminded him of the last time he had heard it.
+
+"No, we haven't," he declared, quickly. He seemed to gather assurance
+with his spoken thought, and conscious fear left him. "Wade, you took
+advantage of me that day--when you made me swear things. I've changed my
+mind.... And as for that deal with the rustlers, I've got my story. It's
+as good as yours. I've been waiting for you to tell my father. You've
+got some reason for not telling him. I've a hunch it's Collie. I'm on to
+you, and I've got my nerve back. You can gamble I--"
+
+He had grown excited when Wade interrupted him.
+
+"Will you get off that horse?"
+
+"No, I won't," replied Belllounds, bluntly.
+
+With swift and powerful lunge Wade pulled Belllounds down, sliding him
+shoulders first into the grass. The released horse shied again and moved
+away. Buster Jack raised himself upon his elbow, pale with rage and
+alarm. Wade kicked him, not with any particular violence.
+
+"Get up!" he ordered.
+
+The kick had brought out the rage in Belllounds at the expense of the
+amaze and alarm.
+
+"Did you kick _me?_" he shouted.
+
+"Buster, I was only handin' you a bunch of flowers--some columbines, as
+your taste runs," replied Wade, contemptuously.
+
+"I'll--I'll--" returned Buster Jack, wildly, bursting for expression.
+His hand went to his gun.
+
+"Go ahead, Buster. Throw your gun on me. That'll save maybe a hell of a
+lot of talk."
+
+It was then Jack Belllounds's face turned livid. Comprehension had
+dawned upon him.
+
+"You--you want me to fight you?" he queried, in hoarse accents.
+
+"I reckon that's what I meant."
+
+No affront, no insult, no blow could have affected Buster Jack as that
+sudden knowledge.
+
+"Why--why--you're crazy! Me fight you--a gunman," he stammered. "No--no.
+It wouldn't be fair. Not an even break!... No, I'd have no chance
+on earth!"
+
+"I'll give you first shot," went on Wade, in his strange, monotonous
+voice.
+
+"Bah! You're lying to me," replied Belllounds, with pale grimace. "You
+just want me to get a gun in my hand--then you'll drop me, and claim an
+even break."
+
+"No. I'm square. You saw me play square with your rustler pard. He was a
+lifelong enemy of mine. An' a gun-fighter to boot!... Pull your gun an'
+let drive. I'll take my chances."
+
+Buster Jack's eyes dilated. He gasped huskily. He pulled his gun, but
+actually did not have strength or courage enough to raise it. His arm
+shook so that the gun rattled against his chaps.
+
+"No nerve, hey? Not half a man!... Buster Jack, why don't you finish
+game? Make up for your low-down tricks. At the last try to be worthy of
+your dad. In his day he was a real man.... Let him have the consolation
+that you faced Hell-Bent Wade an' died in your boots!"
+
+"I--can't--fight you!" panted Belllounds. "I know now!... I saw you
+throw a gun! It wouldn't be fair!"
+
+"But I'll make you fight me," returned Wade, in steely tones. "I'm
+givin' you a chance to dig up a little manhood. Askin' you to meet me
+man to man! Handin' you a little the best of it to make the odds
+even!... Once more, will you be game?"
+
+"Wade, I'll not fight--I'm going--" replied Belllounds, and he moved as
+if to turn.
+
+"Halt!..." Wade leaped at the white Belllounds. "If you run I'll break a
+leg for you--an' then I'll beat your miserable brains out!... Have you
+no sense? Can't you recognize what's comin'?... _I'm goin' to kill you,
+Buster Jack!_"
+
+"My God!" whispered the other, understanding fully at last.
+
+"Here's where you pay for your dirty work. The time comes to every man.
+You've a choice, not to live--for you'll never get away from Hell-Bent
+Wade--but to rise above yourself at last."
+
+"But what for? Why do you want to kill me? I never harmed you."
+
+"Columbine is my daughter!" replied the hunter.
+
+"Ah!" breathed Belllounds.
+
+"She loves Wils Moore, who's as white a man as you are black."
+
+Across the pallid, convulsed face of Belllounds spread a slow, dull
+crimson.
+
+"Aha, Buster Jack! I struck home there," flashed Wade, his voice rising.
+"That gives your eyes the ugly look.... I hate them lyin', bulgin' eyes
+of yours. An' when my time comes to shoot I'm goin' to put them
+both out."
+
+"By Heaven! Wade, you'll have to kill me if you ever expect that
+club-foot Moore to get Collie!"
+
+"He'll get her," replied Wade, triumphantly. "Collie's with him now. I
+sent her. I told her to tell Wils how you tried to force her--"
+
+Belllounds began to shake all over. A torture of jealous hate and deadly
+terror convulsed him.
+
+"Buster, did you ever think you'd get her kisses--as Wils's gettin'
+right now?" queried the hunter. "Good Lord! the conceit of some men!...
+Why, you poor, weak-minded, cowardly pet of a blinded old man--you
+conceited ass--you selfish an' spoiled boy!... Collie never had any use
+for you. An' now she hates you."
+
+"It was you who made her!" yelled Belllounds, foaming at the mouth.
+
+"Sure," went on the deliberate voice, ringing with scorn. "An' only a
+little while ago she called you a dog.... I reckon she meant a different
+kind of a dog than the hounds over there. For to say they were like you
+would be an insult to them.... Sure she hates you, an' I'll gamble right
+now she's got her arms around Wils's neck!"
+
+"----!" hissed Belllounds.
+
+"Well, you've got a gun in your hand," went on the taunting voice.
+"Ahuh!... Have it your way. I'm warmin' up now, an' I'd like to tell
+you ..."
+
+"Shut up!" interrupted the other, frantically. The blood in him was
+rising to a fever heat. But fear still clamped him. He could not raise
+the gun and he seemed in agony.
+
+"Your father knows you're a thief," declared Wade, with remorseless,
+deliberate intent. "I told him how I watched you--trailed you--an'
+learned the plot you hatched against Wils Moore.... Buster Jack busted
+himself at last, stealin' his own father's cattle.... I've seen some
+ragin' men in my day, but Old Bill had them beaten. You've disgraced
+him--broken his heart--embittered the end of his life.... An' he'd mean
+for you what I mean now!"
+
+"He'd never--harm me!" gasped Buster Jack, shuddering.
+
+"He'd kill you--you white-livered pup!" cried Wade, with terrible force.
+"Kill you before he'd let you go to worse dishonor!... An' I'm goin' to
+save him stainin' his hands."
+
+"I'll kill _you!_" burst out Belllounds, ending in a shriek. But this
+was not the temper that always produced heedless action in him. It was
+hate. He could not raise the gun. His intelligence still dominated his
+will. Yet fury had mitigated his terror.
+
+"You'll be doin' me a service, Buster.... But you're mighty slow at
+startin'. I reckon I'll have to play my last trump to make you fight.
+Oh, by God! I can tell you!... Belllounds, there're dead men callin' me
+now. Callin' me not to murder you in cold blood! I killed one man
+once--a man who wouldn't fight--an innocent man! I killed him with my
+bare hands, an' if I tell you my story--an' how I killed him--an' that
+I'll do the same for you.... You'll save me that, Buster. No man with a
+gun in his hands could face what he knew.... But save me more. Save me
+the tellin'!"
+
+"No! No! I won't listen!"
+
+"Maybe I won't have to," replied Wade, mournfully. He paused, breathing
+heavily. The sober calm was gone.
+
+Belllounds lowered the half-raised gun, instantly answering to the
+strange break in Wade's strained dominance.
+
+"Don't tell me--any more! I'll not listen!... I won't fight! Wade,
+you're crazy! Let me off an' I swear--"
+
+"Buster, I told Collie you were three years in jail!" suddenly
+interrupted Wade.
+
+A mortal blow dealt Belllounds would not have caused such a shock of
+amaze, of torture. The secret of the punishment meted out to him by his
+father! The hideous thing which, instead of reforming, had ruined him!
+All of hell was expressed in his burning eyes.
+
+"Ahuh!... I've known it long!" cried Wade, tragically. "Buster Jack,
+you're the man who must hear my story.... _I'll tell you_...."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the aspen grove up the slope of Sage Valley Columbine and Wilson were
+sitting on a log. Whatever had been their discourse, it had left Moore
+with head bowed in his hands, and with Columbine staring with sad eyes
+that did not see what they looked at. Columbine's mind then seemed a
+dull blank. Suddenly she started.
+
+"Wils!" she cried. "Did you hear--anything?"
+
+"No," he replied, wearily raising his head.
+
+"I thought I heard a shot," said Columbine. "It--it sort of made me
+jump. I'm nervous."
+
+Scarcely had she finished speaking when two clear, deep detonations rang
+out. Gun-shots!
+
+"There!... Oh, Wils! Did you hear?"
+
+"Hear!" whispered Moore. He grew singularly white. "Yes--yes!...
+Collie--"
+
+"Wils," she interrupted, wildly, as she began to shake. "Just a little
+bit ago--I saw Jack riding down the trail!"
+
+"Collie!... Those two shots came from Wade's guns I'd know it among a
+thousand!... Are you sure you heard a shot before?"
+
+"Oh, something dreadful has happened! Yes, I'm sure. Perfectly sure. A
+shot not so loud or heavy."
+
+"My God!" exclaimed Moore, staring aghast at Columbine.
+
+"Maybe that's what Wade meant. I never saw through him."
+
+"Tell me. Oh, I don't understand!" wailed Columbine, wringing her hands.
+
+Moore did not explain what he meant. For a crippled man, he made quick
+time in getting to his horse and mounting.
+
+"Collie, I'll ride down there. I'm afraid something has happened.... I
+never understood him!... I forgot he was Hell-Bent Wade! If there's been
+a--a fight or any trouble--I'll ride back and meet you."
+
+Then he rode down the trail.
+
+Columbine had come without her horse, and she started homeward on foot.
+Her steps dragged. She knew something dreadful had happened. Her heart
+beat slowly and painfully; there was an oppression upon her breast; her
+brain whirled with contending tides of thought. She remembered Wade's
+face. How blind she had been! It exhausted her to walk, though she went
+so slowly. There seemed to be a chill and a darkening in the atmosphere,
+an unreality in the familiar slopes and groves, a strangeness and shadow
+upon White Slides Valley.
+
+Moore did not return to meet her. His white horse grazed in the pasture
+opposite the first clump of willows, where Sage Valley merged into the
+larger valley. Then she saw other horses, among them Lem Billings's bay
+mustang. Columbine faltered on, when suddenly she recognized the horse
+Jack had ridden--a sorrel, spent and foam-covered, standing saddled,
+with bridle down and riderless--then certainty of something awful
+clamped her with horror. Men's husky voices reached her throbbing ears.
+Some one was running. Footsteps thudded and died away. Then she saw Lem
+Billings come out of the willows, look her way, and hurry toward her.
+His awkward, cowboy gait seemed too slow for his earnestness. Columbine
+felt the piercing gaze of his eyes as her own became dim.
+
+"Miss Collie, thar's been--turrible fight!" he panted.
+
+"Oh, Lem!... I know. It was Ben--and Jack," she cried.
+
+"Shore. Your hunch's correct. An' it couldn't be no wuss!"
+
+Columbine tried to see his face, the meaning that must have accompanied
+his hoarse voice; but she seemed going blind.
+
+"Then--then--" she whispered, reaching out for Lem.
+
+"Hyar, Miss Collie," he said, in great concern, as he took kind and
+gentle hold of her. "Reckon you'd better wait. Let me take you home."
+
+"Yes. But tell--tell me first," she cried, frantically. She could not
+bear suspense, and she felt her senses slipping away from her.
+
+"My Gawd! who'd ever have thought such hell would come to White Slides!"
+exclaimed Lem, with strong emotion. "Miss Collie, I'm powerful sorry fer
+you. But mebbe it's best so.... They're both dead!... Wade just died
+with his head on Wils's lap. But Jack never knowed what hit him. He was
+shot plumb center--both his eyes shot out!... Wade was shot low down....
+Montana an' me agreed thet Jack throwed his gun first an' Wade killed
+him after bein' mortal shot himself."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Late that afternoon, as Columbine lay upon her bed, the strange
+stillness of the house was disturbed by a heavy tread. It passed out of
+the living-room and came down the porch toward her door. Then followed
+a knock.
+
+"Dad!" she called, swiftly rising.
+
+Belllounds entered, leaving the door ajar. The sunlight streamed in.
+
+"Wal, Collie, I see you're bracin' up," he said.
+
+"Oh yes, dad, I'm--I'm all right," she replied, eager to help or comfort
+him.
+
+The old rancher seemed different from the man of the past months. The
+pallor of a great shock, the havoc of spent passion, the agony of
+terrible hours, showed in his face. But Old Bill Belllounds had come
+into his own again--back to the calm, iron pioneer who had lived all
+events, over whom storm of years had broken, whose great spirit had
+accepted this crowning catastrophe as it had all the others, who saw his
+own life clearly, now that its bitterest lesson was told.
+
+"Are you strong enough to bear another shock, my lass, an' bear it
+now--so to make an end--so to-morrer we can begin anew?" he asked, with
+the voice she had not heard for many a day. It was the voice that told
+of consideration for her.
+
+"Yes, dad," she replied, going to him.
+
+"Wal, come with me. I want you to see Wade."
+
+He led her out upon the porch, and thence into the living-room, and from
+there into the room where lay the two dead men, one on each side.
+Blankets covered the prone, quiet forms.
+
+Columbine had meant to beg to see Wade once before he was laid away
+forever. She dreaded the ordeal, yet strangely longed for it. And here
+she was self-contained, ready for some nameless shock and uplift, which
+she divined was coming as she had divined the change in Belllounds.
+
+Then he stripped back the blanket, disclosing Wade's face. Columbine
+thrilled to the core of her heart. Death was there, white and cold and
+merciless, but as it had released the tragic soul, the instant of
+deliverance had been stamped on the rugged, cadaverous visage, by a
+beautiful light; not of peace, nor of joy, nor of grief, but of hope!
+Hope had been the last emotion of Hell-Bent Wade.
+
+"Collie, listen," said the old rancher, in deep and trembling tones.
+"When a man's dead, what he's been comes to us with startlin' truth.
+Wade was the whitest man I ever knew. He had a queer idee--a twist in
+his mind--an' it was thet his steps were bent toward hell. He imagined
+thet everywhere he traveled there he fetched hell. But he was wrong. His
+own trouble led him to the trouble of others. He saw through life. An'
+he was as big in his hope fer the good as he was terrible in his dealin'
+with the bad. I never saw his like.... He loved you, Collie, better
+than you ever knew. Better than Jack, or Wils, or me! You know what the
+Bible says about him who gives his life fer his friend. Wal, Wade was my
+friend, an' Jack's, only we never could see!... An' he was Wils's
+friend. An' to you he must have been more than words can tell.... We all
+know what child's play it would have been fer Wade to kill Jack without
+bein' hurt himself. But he wouldn't do it. So he spared me an' Jack, an'
+I reckon himself. Somehow he made Jack fight an' die like a man. God
+only knows how he did that. But it saved me from--from hell--an' you an'
+Wils from misery.... Wade could have taken you from me an' Jack. He had
+only to tell you his secret, an' he wouldn't. He saw how you loved me,
+as if you were my real child.... But. Collie, lass, it was _he_ who was
+your father!"
+
+With bursting heart Columbine fell upon her knees beside that cold,
+still form.
+
+Belllounds softly left the room and closed the door behind him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+Nature was prodigal with her colors that autumn. The frosts came late,
+so that the leaves did not gradually change their green. One day, as if
+by magic, there was gold among the green, and in another there was
+purple and red. Then the hilltops blazed with their crowns of aspen
+groves; and the slopes of sage shone mellow gray in the sunlight; and
+the vines on the stone fences straggled away in lines of bronze; and the
+patches of ferns under the cliffs faded fast; and the great rock slides
+and black-timbered reaches stood out in their somber shades.
+
+Columbines bloomed in all the dells among the spruces, beautiful stalks
+with heavy blossoms, the sweetest and palest of blue-white flowers.
+Motionless they lifted their faces to the light. Out in the aspen
+groves, where the grass was turning gold, the columbines blew gracefully
+in the wind, nodding and swaying. The most exquisite and finest of these
+columbines hid in the shaded nooks, star-sweet in the silent gloom of
+the woods.
+
+Wade's last few whispered words to Moore had been interpreted that the
+hunter desired to be buried among the columbines in the aspen grove on
+the slope above Sage Valley. Here, then, had been made his grave.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One day Belllounds sent Columbine to fetch Moore down to White Slides.
+It was a warm, Indian-summer afternoon, and the old rancher sat out on
+the porch in his shirt-sleeves. His hair was white now, but no other
+change was visible in him. No restraint attended his greeting to
+the cowboy.
+
+"Wils, I reckon I'd be glad if you'd take your old job as foreman of
+White Slides," he said.
+
+"Are you asking me?" queried Moore, eagerly.
+
+"Wal, I reckon so."
+
+"Yes, I'll come," replied the cowboy.
+
+"What'll your dad say?"
+
+"I don't know. That worries me. He's coming to visit me. I heard from
+him again lately, and he means to take stage for Kremmling soon."
+
+"Wal, that's fine. I'll be glad to see him.... Wils, you're goin' to be
+a big cattleman before you know it. Hey, Collie?"
+
+"If you say so, dad, it'll come true," replied Columbine, with her hand
+on his shoulder.
+
+"Wils, you'll be runnin' White Slides Ranch before long, unless Collie
+runs you. Haw! Haw!"
+
+Collie could not reply to this startling announcement from the old
+rancher, and Moore appeared distressed with embarrassment.
+
+"Wal, I reckon you young folks had better ride down to Kremmlin' an' get
+married."
+
+This kindly, matter-of-fact suggestion completely stunned the cowboy,
+and all Columbine could do was to gaze at the rancher.
+
+"Say, I hope I ain't intrudin' my wishes on a young couple that's got
+over dyin' fer each other," dryly continued Belllounds, with his
+huge smile.
+
+"Dad!" cried Columbine, and then she threw her arms around him and
+buried her head on his shoulder.
+
+"Wal, wal, I reckon that answers that," he said, holding her close.
+"Moore, she's yours, with my blessin' an' all I have.... An' you must
+understand I'm glad things have worked out to your good an' to Collie's
+happiness.... Life's not over fer me yet. But I reckon the storms are
+past, thank God!... We learn as we live. I'd hold it onworthy not to
+look forward an' to hope. I'm wantin' peace an' quiet now, with
+grandchildren around me in my old age.... So ride along to Kremmlin' an'
+hurry home."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The evening of the day Columbine came home to White Slides the bride of
+Wilson Moore she slipped away from the simple festivities in her honor
+and climbed to the aspen grove on the hill to spend a little while
+beside the grave of her father.
+
+The afterglow of sunset burned dull gold and rose in the western sky,
+rendering glorious the veil of purple over the ranges. Down in the
+lowlands twilight had come, softly gray. The owls were hooting; a coyote
+barked; from far away floated the mourn of a wolf.
+
+Under the aspens it was silent and lonely and sad. The leaves quivered
+without any sound of rustling. Columbine's heart was full of a happiness
+that she longed to express somehow, there beside this lonely grave. It
+was what she owed the strange man who slept here in the shadows. Grief
+abided with her, and always there would be an eternal remorse and
+regret. Yet she had loved him. She had been his, all unconsciously. His
+life had been terrible, but it had been great. As the hours of quiet
+thinking had multiplied, Columbine had grown in her divination of Wade's
+meaning. His had been the spirit of man lighting the dark places; his
+had been the ruthless hand against all evil, terrible to destroy.
+
+Her father! After all, how closely was she linked to the past! How
+closely protected, even in the hours of most helpless despair! Thus she
+understood him. Love was the food of life, and hope was its
+spirituality, and beauty was its reward to the seeing eye. Wade had
+lived these great virtues, even while he had earned a tragic name.
+
+"I will live them. I will have faith and hope and love, for I am his
+daughter," she said. A faint, cool breeze strayed through the aspens,
+rustling the leaves whisperingly, and the slender columbines, gleaming
+pale in the twilight, lifted their sweet faces.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mysterious Rider, by Zane Grey
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