[Illustration: That round-up showed a loss of one hundred headof 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 headof stock. Belllounds received the amazingnews with a roar . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . _Frontispiece_

"I know why you're going. It's to see that club-footedcowboy Moore!. .. Don't let mecatch you with him" . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. _Facing p. _ 98

"I'm beginnin' to feel that I couldn't let her marrythat Buster Jack, " soliloquized Wade, as herode along the grassy trail . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. " 164

"Jack Belllounds!" she cried. "You put thesheriff on that trail!" . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. " 280

THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER

CHAPTER I

A September sun, losing some of its heat if not its brilliance, wasdropping low in the west over the black Colorado range. Purple hazebegan to thicken in the timbered notches. Gray foothills, round andbillowy, rolled down from the higher country. They were smooth, sweeping, with long velvety slopes and isolated patches of aspens thatblazed in autumn gold. Splotches of red vine colored the soft gray ofsage. Old White Slides, a mountain scarred by avalanche, towered withbleak rocky peak above the valley, sheltering it from the north. 

A girl rode along the slope, with gaze on the sweep and range and colorof the mountain fastness that was her home. She followed an old trailwhich led to a bluff overlooking an arm of the valley. Once it had beena familiar lookout for her, but she had not visited the place of late. It was associated with serious hours of her life. Here seven yearsbefore, when she was twelve, she had made a hard choice to please herguardian--the old rancher whom she loved and called father, who hadindeed been a father to her. That choice had been to go to school inDenver. Four years she had lived away from her beloved gray hills andblack mountains. Only once since her return had she climbed to thisheight, and that occasion, too, was memorable as an unhappy hour. Ithad been three years ago. To-day girlish ordeals and griefs seemed backin the past: she was a woman at nineteen and face to face with the firstgreat problem in her life. 

The trail came up back of the bluff, through a clump of aspens withwhite trunks and yellow fluttering leaves, and led across a level benchof 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 likedemonstration in return, but as none was forthcoming he bent his nose tothe grass and began grazing. The girl's eyes were intent upon somewaving, slender, white-and-blue flowers. They smiled up wanly, like palestars, out of the long grass that had a tinge of gold. 

"Columbines, " she mused, wistfully, as she plucked several of theflowers and held them up to gaze wonderingly at them, as if to see inthem some revelation of the mystery that shrouded her birth and hername. Then she stood with dreamy gaze upon the distant ranges. 

"Columbine!. .. So they named me--those miners who found me--a baby--lostin the woods--asleep among the columbines. " She spoke aloud, as if thesound of her voice might convince her. 

So much of the mystery of her had been revealed that day by the man shehad always called father. Vaguely she had always been conscious of somemystery, something strange about her childhood, some relation neverexplained. 

"No name but Columbine, " she whispered, sadly, and now she understood astrange longing of her heart. 

Scarcely an hour back, as she ran down the Wide porch of White Slidesranch-house, she had encountered the man who had taken care of her allher life. He had looked upon her as kindly and fatherly as of old, yetwith a difference. She seemed to see him as old Bill Belllounds, pioneerand rancher, of huge frame and broad face, hard and scarred andgrizzled, with big eyes of blue fire. 

"Collie, " the old man had said, "I reckon hyar's news. A letter fromJack. .. . He's comin' home. "

Belllounds had waved the letter. His huge hand trembled as he reached toput it on her shoulder. The hardness of him seemed strangely softened. Jack was his son. Buster Jack, the range had always called him, withother terms, less kind, that never got to the ears of his father. Jackhad been sent away three years ago, just before Columbine's return fromschool. Therefore she had not seen him for over seven years. But sheremembered him well--a big, rangy boy, handsome and wild, who had madeher childhood almost unendurable. 

"Yes--my son--Jack--he's comin' home, " said Belllounds, with a break inhis voice. "An', Collie--now I must tell you somethin'. "

"Yes, dad, " she had replied, with strong clasp of the heavy hand on hershoulder. 

"Thet's just it, lass. I ain't your dad. I've tried to be a dad to youan' 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 ofBelllounds's in the mountains above Middle Park had found a child asleepin the columbines along the trail. Near that point Indians, probablyArapahoes coming across the mountains to attack the Utes, had capturedor 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 itto 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 splitmy property between you an' Jack. So I mean you an' him to marry. Youalways 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 rememberhim!"

"Haw! Haw!" laughed Belllounds. "Wal, you dog-gone soon will. Jack's inKremmlin', 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 wasreminded of how sensitive the old man had always been to any reflectioncast upon his son. 

"Wal, thet's onlucky;" he replied, gruffly. "Mebbe you'll change. Ireckon 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 thevalley slope where she could be alone. Standing on the verge of thebluff, she suddenly became aware that the quiet and solitude of herlonely resting-place had been disrupted. Cattle were bawling below herand along the slope of old White Slides and on the grassy uplands above. She had forgotten that the cattle were being driven down into thelowlands for the fall round-up. A great red-and-white-spotted herd wasmilling in the park just beneath her. Calves and yearlings were makingthe dust fly along the mountain slope; wild old steers were crashing inthe sage, holding level, unwilling to be driven down; cows were runningand lowing for their lost ones. Melodious and clear rose the clarioncalls of the cowboys. The cattle knew those calls and only the wildsteers kept up-grade. 

Columbine also knew each call and to which cowboy it belonged. They sangand yelled and swore, but it was all music to her. Here and there alongthe slope, where the aspen groves clustered, a horse would flash acrossan open space; the dust would fly, and a cowboy would peal out a lustyyell that rang along the slope and echoed under the bluff and lingeredlong after the daring rider had vanished in the steep thickets. 

"I wonder which is Wils, " murmured Columbine, as she watched andlistened, vaguely conscious of a little difference, a strange check inher remembrance of this particular cowboy. She felt the change, yet didnot understand. One after one she recognized the riders on the slopesbelow, 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, yellowslope, to where the gleaming aspens half hid a red bluff ofmountain, towering aloft. Then from far to her left, high up ascrubby 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 outhoarse bawls. 

"_Whoop-ee_!" High-pitched and pealing came a clearer yell. 

Columbine saw a white mustang flash out on top of the ridge, silhouettedagainst the blue, with mane and tail flying. His gait on that edge ofsteep slope proved his rider to be a reckless cowboy for whom no heightsor depths had terrors. She would have recognized him from the way herode, if she had not known the slim, erect figure. The cowboy saw herinstantly. He pulled the mustang, about to plunge down the slope, andlifted him, rearing and wheeling. Then Columbine waved her hand. Thecowboy spurred his horse along the crest of the ridge, disappearedbehind 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 ofuncertainty in this meeting, and of the fact that she was seeing himdifferently from any other time in the years he had been a playmate, afriend, almost like a brother. He had ridden for Belllounds for years, and was a cowboy because he loved cattle well and horses better, andabove all a life in the open. Unlike most cowboys, he had been toschool; 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 notreadily understood. 

While many thoughts whirled through Columbine's mind she watched thecowboy ride slowly down to her, and she became more concerned with asudden restraint. How was Wilson going to take the news of this forcedchange about to come in her life? That thought leaped up. It gave her astrange pang. But she and he were only good friends. As to that, shereflected, of late they had not been the friends and comrades theyformerly were. In the thrilling uncertainty of this meeting she hadforgotten his distant manner and the absence of little attentions shehad missed. 

By this time the cowboy had reached the level, and with the lazy graceof 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 featuresregular, his face bronzed. All men of the open had still, lean, strongfaces, but added to this in him was a steadiness of expression, arestraint that seemed to hide sadness. 

"Howdy, Columbine!" he said. "What are you doing up here? You might getrun over. "

"Hello, Wils!" she replied, slowly. "Oh, I guess I can keep out of theway. "

"Some bad steers in that bunch. If any of them run over here Pronto willleave you to walk home. That mustang hates cattle. And he's only halfbroke, you know. "

"I forgot you were driving to-day, " she replied, and looked away fromhim. 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 flowerstoward him. "Take one. .. . Do you like them?"

"Yes. I like columbine, " he replied, taking one of them. His keen hazeleyes, 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 columbineblue--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, andthe slight flush faded from her cheeks. "I have no right to hold my headproud. 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 inthe woods--a baby--lost among the flowers. Columbine Belllounds I'vealways been. But that is not my name. No one can tell what my namereally is. "

"I knew your story years ago, Columbine, " he replied, earnestly. "Everybody knows. Old Bill ought to have told you long before this. Buthe loves you. So does--everybody. You must not let this knowledge saddenyou. .. . I'm sorry you've never known a mother or a sister. Why, I couldtell you of many orphans who--whose stories were different. "

"You don't understand. I've been happy. I've not longed for any--any oneexcept 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 herthought now flashed over Columbine. It lay in what Wilson Moore mightthink of her prospective marriage to Jack Belllounds. Still she couldnot guess why that should make her feel strangely uncertain of theground she stood on or how it could cause a constraint she had to fightherself to hide. Moreover, to her annoyance, she found that she wasevading 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 thescanty pines fringing Old White Slides. But no reply appeared to beforthcoming from Moore. His silence compelled her to turn to him. Thecowboy's face had subtly altered; it was darker with a tinge of redunder the bronze; and his lower lip was released from his teeth, evenas 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 whatshe 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'shated you ever since. "

"There's been no love lost. "

"But, Wils, you never before talked this way--spoke out so--againstJack, " she protested. 

"Well, I'm not the kind to talk behind a fellow's back. But I'm notmealy-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--sheburned to tell him, yet somehow feared to--she felt an incomprehensiblesatisfaction in his bitter reference to Jack--she seemed to realize thatshe valued Wilson's friendship more than she had known, and now for somestrange reason it was slipping from her. 

"We--we were such good friends--pards, " said Columbine, hurriedly andirrelevantly. 

"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'sall. "

"Ahuh!" His tone held finality and bitterness, but he would not commithimself. Columbine sensed a pride in him that seemed the cause of hisaloofness. 

"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 andhe in realities. Right now she could not dispel her dream--see andunderstand all that he seemed to. She felt like a child, then, growingold swiftly. The strange past longing for a mother surged up in her likea strong tide. Some one to lean on, some one who loved her, some one tohelp her in this hour when fatality knocked at the door of heryouth--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--tosomething 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 thelasso against his saddle, and tied it with clumsy hands. He did not lookat her. His tone expressed anger and amaze. 

"Dad says I must marry Jack, " she said, with a sudden return to hernatural 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, " shedeclared, 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--oughtnot 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 mistreatedme. "

"If you say I mistreated you--you say what's untrue, " he replied, justas hotly. 

They had never been so near a quarrel before. Columbine experienced asensation 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 wasconcerned. But his eyes were dark with pain and anger. 

"Oh, don't distress yourself, " he burst out. "You slapped mebefore--once, years ago--for kissing you. I--I apologize for saying youlied. You're only out of your head. So am I. "

That poured oil upon the troubled waters. The cowboy appeared to behesitating between sudden flight and the risk of staying longer. 

"Maybe that's it, " replied Columbine, with a half-laugh. She was notfar from tears and fury with herself. "Let us make up--befriends again. "

Moore squared around aggressively. He seemed to fortify himself againstsomething in her. She felt that. But his face grew harder and older thanshe had ever seen it. 

"Columbine, do you know where Jack Belllounds has been for these threeyears?" he asked, deliberately, entirely ignoring her overtures offriendship. 

"No. Somebody said Denver. Some one else said Kansas City. I never askeddad, because I knew Jack had been sent away. I've supposed he wasworking--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 feelingprompted that. There was a mystery here. Wilson's agitation seemedstrange and deep. 

"Yes, I do. " The cowboy bit that out through closing teeth, as iflocking them against an almost overmastering temptation. 

Columbine lost her curiosity. She was woman enough to realize that theremight well be facts which would only make her situation harder. 

"Wilson, " she began, hurriedly, "I owe all I am to dad. He has cared forme--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 Irefused--"

"Old Bill is the best man ever, " interrupted Moore, as if to repudiateany hint of disloyalty to his employer. "Everybody in Middle Park andall over owes Bill something. He's sure good. There never was anythingwrong with him except his crazy blindness about his son. BusterJack--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, hisdark eyes so piercing that Columbine sustained a shock that held hertrembling and mute. "How can you love Jack Belllounds? You were twelveyears 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--youwhite-faced flower! _You_ with your innocence and sweetness steady thatdamned 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 placedthat vice as utterly base. 

"But Jack was only a wild boy, " replied Columbine, trying with bravewords to champion the son of the man she loved as her father. "He hasbeen sent away to work. He'll have outgrown that wildness. He'll comehome a man. "

"Bah!" cried Moore, harshly. 

Columbine felt a sinking within her. Where was her strength? She, whocould walk and ride so many miles, to become sick with an inwardquaking! 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 hishorse, he was silent for a moment. The squaring of his shoulders boretestimony to his thought. Presently he swung up into the saddle. Themustang snorted and champed the bit and tossed his head, ready to bolt. 

"Forget my temper, " begged the cowboy, looking down upon Columbine. "Itake it all back. I'm sorry. Don't let a word of mine worry you. I wasonly jealous. "

"Jealous!" exclaimed Columbine, wonderingly. 

"Yes. That makes a fellow see red and green. Bad medicine! You neverfelt it. "

"What were you jealous of?" asked Columbine. 

The cowboy had himself in hand now and he regarded her with a grimamusement. 

"Well, Columbine, it's like a story, " he replied. "I'm the fellowdisowned by his family--a wanderer of the wilds--no good--and noprospects. .. . Now our friend Jack, he's handsome and rich. He has adoting old dad. Cattle, horses--ranches! He wins the girl. See!"

Spurring his mustang, the cowboy rode away. At the edge of the slope heturned in the saddle. "I've got to drive in this bunch of cattle. It'slate. You hurry home. " Then he was gone. The stones cracked and rolleddown under the side of the bluff. 

Columbine stood where he had left her: dubious, yet with the blood stillhot 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'smind to a disturbing possibility of which she had never dreamed. Thathe 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 adoor of her heart--a door never yet opened, inside which seemed amystery of feeling, of hope, despair, unknown longing, and clamorousvoices. The woman just born in her, instinctive and self-preservative, shut that door before she had more than a glimpse inside. But then shefelt her heart swell with its nameless burdens. 

Pronto was grazing near at hand. She caught him and mounted. It struckher then that her hands were numb with cold. The wind had ceasedfluttering the aspens, but the yellow leaves were falling, rustling. Outon the brow of the slope she faced home and the west. 

A glorious Colorado sunset had just reached the wonderful height of itscolor and transformation. The sage slopes below her seemed rosy velvet;the golden aspens on the farther reaches were on fire at the tips; thefoothills rolled clear and mellow and rich in the light; the gulf ofdistance on to the great black range was veiled in mountain purple; andthe dim peaks beyond the range stood up, sunset-flushed and grand. Thenarrow belt of blue sky between crags and clouds was like a river fullof 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. Thatwild world of sunset grandeur and loneliness and beauty was hers. Overthere, under a peak of the black range, was the place where she had beenfound, a baby, lost in the forest. She belonged to that, and so itbelonged to her. Strength came to her from the glory of light onthe 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. Themustang 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 therose and gold seemed fading from the nearer. Below, on the level floorof the valley, lay the rambling old ranch-house, with the cabinsnestling around, and the corrals leading out to the soft hay-fields, misty and gray in the twilight. A single light gleamed. It was likea beacon. 

The air was cold with a nip of frost. From far on the other side of theridge she had descended came the bawls of the last straggling cattle ofthe round-up. But surely Pronto had not shot up his ears for them. As ifin 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, asharp, staccato, yelping chorus, the more piercing notes biting on thecold night air. These mountain mourns and yelps were music to Columbine. She rode on down the trail in the gathering darkness, less afraid of thenight and its wild denizens than of what awaited her at WhiteSlides Ranch. 

CHAPTER II

Darkness settled down like a black mantle over the valley. Columbinerather hoped to find Wilson waiting to take care of her horse, as usedto be his habit, but she was disappointed. No light showed from thecabin in which the cowboys lived; he had not yet come in from theround-up. She unsaddled, and turned Pronto loose in the pasture. 

The windows of the long, low ranch-house were bright squares in theblackness, sending cheerful rays afar. Columbine wondered in trepidationif Jack Belllounds had come home. It required effort of will to approachthe house. Yet since she must meet him, the sooner the ordeal was overthe better. Nevertheless she tiptoed past the bright windows, and wentall the length of the long porch, and turned around and went back, andthen hesitated, fighting a slow drag of her spirit, an oppression uponher heart. The door was crude and heavy. It opened hard. 

Columbine entered a big room lighted by a lamp on the upper table and byblazing logs in a huge stone fireplace. This was the living-room, rathergloomy in the corners, and bare, but comfortable, for all simple needs. The logs were new and the chinks between them filled with clay, stillwhite, 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, agray, bold-faced man, of over sixty years, still muscular and rugged. 

At Columbine's entrance he raised his drooping head, and so removed thesuggestion 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 thevalley. He rode up from Kremmlin' an' stopped to say Jack wascelebratin' his arrival by too much red liquor. Reckon he won't be hometo-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. ButColumbine, who knew him well, felt how this news flayed him. Resentmentstirred in her toward the wayward son, but she knew better than tovoice it. 

"Natural like, I reckon, fer Jack to feel gay on gettin' home. I ain'tholdin' 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 nearlyfroze. Autumn is here and there's frost in the air. Oh, the hills wereall gold and red--the aspen leaves were falling. I love autumn, but itmeans 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 themountain. I've lost a good many head lately. They're eatin' some weedthet poisons them. They swell up an' die. Wuss this year thanever before. "

"Why, that is serious, dad! Poor things! That's worse than eatingloco. .. . 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 withsteaming victuals. Supper appeared to be a rather sumptuous one thisevening, in honor of the expected guest, who had not come. Columbinehelped the old man to his favorite dishes, stealing furtive glances athis lined and shadowed face. She sensed a subtle change in him since theafternoon, but could not see any sign of it in his look or demeanor. Hisappetite 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 beenlovesick over you since you were a little girl. It's what kept him hyarridin' fer me. "

"Dad, I don't believe it, " said Columbine, feeling the blood at hertemples. "You always imagined such things about Wilson, and the otherboys as well. "

"Ahuh! I'm an old fool about wimmen, hey? Mebbe I was years ago. But Ican see now. .. . Didn't Wils always get ory-eyed when any of the otherboys shined up to you?"

"I can't remember that he did, " replied Columbine. She felt a desire tolaugh, yet the subject was anything but amusing to her. 

"Wal, you've always been innocent-like. Thank the Lord you never leanedto tricks of most pretty lasses, makin' eyes at all the men. Anyway, amatter of three months ago I told Wils to keep away from you--thet youwere 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 hisbroad face changed to ruddy color. "Thet boy's the best rider an' roperI've had in years. He ain't the bronco-bustin' kind. He never drank. Hewas 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 feltashamed 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'sunreasonable antipathy for this cowboy. Not improbably it was becauseWilson had always been superior in every way to Jack Belllounds. Theboys had been natural rivals in everything pertaining to life on therange. What Bill Belllounds admired most in men was paramount in Wilsonand 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' ifhe 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 youcomplain 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 getsome 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' offmy 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 someman 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 thesevarmints, " declared Belllounds. "Lass, I swore I'd buy every dog fetchedto 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 hisgrizzled 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 youought--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 Wilsstays 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 littleblanketed nest which she had arranged and furnished herself. There was alittle square window cut through the logs and through which many a nightthe snow had blown in upon her bed. She loved her little isolatedrefuge. This night it was cold, the first time this autumn, and thelighted lamp, though brightening the room, did not make it appreciablywarmer. There was a stone fireplace, but as she had neglected to bringin 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 littleroom seemed good to her. Sleep she felt never would come that night. Shewanted to think; she could not help but think; and she tried to halt thewhirl of her mind. Wilson Moore occupied the foremost place in hervarying thoughts--a fact quite remarkable and unaccountable. She triedto change it. In vain! Wilson persisted--on his white mustang flyingacross the ridge-top--coming to her as never before--with his anger anddisapproval--his strange, poignant cry, "Columbine!" that hauntedher--with his bitter smile and his resignation and his mocking talk ofjealousy. He persisted and grew with the old rancher's frank praise. 

"I must not think of him, " she whispered. "Why, I'll be--be marriedsoon. .. . Married!"

That word transformed her thought, and where she had thrilled she nowfelt cold. She revolved the fact in mind. 

"It's true, I'll be married, because I ought--I must, " she said, halfaloud. "Because I can't help myself. I ought to want to--for dad'ssake. .. . But I don't--I don't. "

She longed above all things to be good, loyal, loving, helpful, to showher gratitude for the home and the affection that had been bestowed upona nameless waif. Bill Belllounds had not been under any obligation tosuccor 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 notof an ungrateful nature. She meant to pay. But the significance of theprice 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 thatchange. No mother had ever taught her. The few women that had been inthe Belllounds home from time to time had not been sympathetic or hadnot stayed long enough to help her much. Even her school life in Denverhad 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 togive 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 gavebirth to the nucleus of an unconscious revolt. 

The coyotes were howling. Wild, sharp, sweet notes! They soothed hertroubled, aching head, lulled her toward sleep, reminded her of thegold-and-purple sunset, and the slopes of sage, the lonely heights, andthe 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 rangessheltered the rolling valley land which some explorer had named MiddlePark in earlier days. 

Much of this inclosed table-land was prairie, where long grass and wildflowers grew luxuriantly. Belllounds was a cattleman, and he saw thepossibilities there. To which end he sought the friendship of Piah, chief of the Utes. This noble red man was well disposed toward the whitesettlers, and his tribe, during those troublous times, kept peace withthese invaders of their mountain home. 

In 1868 Belllounds was instrumental in persuading the Utes to relinquishMiddle Park. The slopes of the hills were heavily timbered; gold andsilver had been found in the mountains. It was a country that attractedprospectors, cattlemen, lumbermen. The summer season was not long enoughto grow grain, and the nights too frosty for corn; otherwise Middle Parkwould have increased rapidly in population. 

In the years that succeeded the departure of the Utes Bill Bellloundsdeveloped several cattle-ranches and acquired others. White Slides Ranchlay some twenty-odd miles from Middle Park, being a winding arm of themain valley land. Its development was a matter of later years, andBelllounds lived there because the country was wilder. The rancher, ashe advanced in years, seemed to want to keep the loneliness that hadbeen his in earlier days. At the time of the return of his son to WhiteSlides Belllounds was rich in cattle and land, but he avowed franklythat he had not saved any money, and probably never would. His hand wasalways open to every man and he never remembered an obligation. Hetrusted every one. A proud boast of his was that neither white man norred man had ever betrayed his trust. His cowboys took advantage of him, his neighbors imposed upon him, but none were there who did not makegood their debts of service or stock. Belllounds was one of the greatpioneers of the frontier days to whom the West owed its settlement; andhe was finer than most, because he proved that the Indians, if notrobbed or driven, would respond to friendliness. 

 * * * * *

Belllounds was not seen at his customary tasks on the day he expectedhis son. He walked in the fields and around the corrals; he often pacedup and down the porch, scanning the horizon below, where the road fromKremmling showed white down the valley; and part of the time hestayed indoors. 

It so happened that early in the afternoon he came out in time to see abuckboard, drawn by dust-and-lather-stained horses, pull into the yard. And then he saw his son. Some of the cowboys came running. There weregreetings to the driver, who appeared well known to them. 

Jack Belllounds did not look at them. He threw a bag out of thebuckboard and then clambered down slowly, to go toward the porch. 

"Wal, Jack--my son--I'm sure glad you're back home, " said the oldrancher, 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 tohis father's. 

Jack Belllounds's form was tail, 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 wouldhave seen the resemblance of boy to man would have granted the handsomeboldness, but denied the strength. The lower part of Jack Belllounds'sface was weak. 

The constraint of this meeting was manifest mostly in the manner of theson. He looked ashamed, almost sullen. But if he had been under theinfluence of liquor at Kremmling, as reported the day before, he hadentirely recovered. 

"Come on in, " said the rancher. 

When they got into the big living-room, and Belllounds had closed thedoors, the son threw down his baggage and faced his father aggressively. 

"Do they all know where I've been?" he asked, bitterly. Broken pride andshame 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--" heexclaimed, and he sat down, half covering his face with shaking hands. 

"Jack, we'll start over, " said Belllounds, earnestly, and his big eyesshone with a warm and beautiful light. "Right hyar. We'll never speak ofwhere 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. Butnow, if nobody knows--why, I'll try to forget it. "

"Mebbe I blundered, " replied Belllounds, pathetically. "Yet, God knows Imeant well. You sure were--But thet's enough palaver. .. . You'll go towork as foreman of White Slides. An' if you make a success of it I'll beonly 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'veless 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'yousay, son?"

"I'll run White Slides, " replied Jack, with a wave of his hand. "Ihadn't hoped for such a chance. But it's due me. Who's in the outfitI 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. Theonly 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 seriousnessof his father's words. 

"I'll show them, " he said. "They'll find out who's boss. Oh, I'm achingto get into boots and ride and tear around. "

Belllounds stroked his grizzled beard and regarded his son with mingledpride and doubt. Not at this moment, most assuredly, could he get awayfrom 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 bemean with a hoss. Some cowboys jam their hosses around an' make 'empitch an' bite. But it ain't the best way. A hoss has got sense. I'vesome fine stock, an' don't want it spoiled. An' be easy an' quiet withthe 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 havethet you'll--"

The full voice quavered and broke. It would indeed have been a hardenedyouth who could not have felt something of the deep and unutterableaffection in the old man. Jack Belllounds put an arm around hisfather's shoulder. 

"Dad, I'll make you proud of me yet. Give me a chance. And don't be soreif I can't do wonders right at first. "

"Son, you shall have every chance. An' thet reminds me. Do you rememberColumbine?"

"I should say so, " replied Jack, eagerly. "They spoke of her inKremmling. 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 myproperty. An' it's right she had a share. A fine, strong, quiet, prettylass, 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 meto. But if Columbine were to flout me as she used to--why, I'd buck sureenough. .. . Dad, are you sure she knows nothing, suspects nothing ofwhere 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 thanif you owned all the gold in the Rockies. I'd say go slow. Butcontrariwise, it'd mebbe be surer to steady you, keep you home, if youmarried right off. "

"Married right off!" echoed Jack, with a laugh. "It's like a story. Butwait till I see her. "

 * * * * *

At that very moment Columbine was sitting on the topmost log of a highcorral, deeply interested in the scene before her. 

Two cowboys were in the corral with a saddled mustang. One of themcarried a canvas sack containing tools and horseshoes. As he dropped itwith a metallic clink the mustang snorted and jumped and rolled thewhites of his eyes. He knew what that clink meant. 

"Miss Collie, air you-all goin' to sit up thar?" inquired the tallercowboy, a lean, supple, and powerful fellow, with a rough, red-blueface, 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 gnarledfellow, like the bleached root of a tree. He seemed all legs. 

"You hear, you Wyomin' galoot, " he said to Jim. "Them shoes goes onWhang right gentle. "

Jim grinned, and turned to speak to his mustang. "Whang, the law's laiddown an' we wanta see how much hoss sense you hev. "

The shaggy mustang did not appear to be favorably impressed by thisspeech. 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 everboss us on, we gotta do it without Whang turnin' a hair, " drawled theother cowboy. 

"Lem, why is this the last job I'll ever boss you boys?" demandedColumbine, quickly. 

Jim gazed quizzically at her, and Lem assumed that blank, innocent faceColumbine always associated with cowboy deviltry. 

"Wal, Miss Collie, we reckon the new boss of White Slides rode into-day. "

"You mean Jack Belllounds came home, " said Columbine. "Well, I'll bossyou boys the same as always. "

"Thet'd be mighty fine for us, but I'm feared it ain't writ in the fatalhistory 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 athing 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 thepossibility 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, " sighedColumbine. 

"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 hadbeen broken to stand while his bridle hung, and, like a horse that wouldhave been good if given a chance, he obeyed as best he could, shakingin every limb. Jim, apparently to hobble Whang, roped his forelegstogether, low down, but suddenly slipped the rope over the knees. ThenWhang 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 therope while Whang screamed and fought with his forefeet high in the air. Then Jim, with a powerful jerk, pulled Whang down and threw him, whileLem, seizing the bridle, hauled him over on his side and sat upon hishead. Whereupon Jim slipped the loop off one front hoof and pulled theother leg back across one of the hind ones, where both were secured by aquick hitch. Then the lasso was wound and looped around front and backhoofs together. When this had been done the mustang was rolled over onhis other side, his free front hoof lassoed and pulled back to the hindone, where both were secured, as had been the others. This rendered themustang powerless, and the shoeing proceeded. 

Columbine hated to sit by and watch it, but she always stuck to herpost, when opportunity afforded, because she knew the cowboys would notbe brutal while she was there. 

"Wal, he'll step high to-morrer, " said Lem, as he got up from his seaton the head of Whang. 

"Ahuh! An', like a mule, he'll be my friend fer twenty years jest to geta chance to kick me. " replied Jim. 

For Columbine, the most interesting moment of this incident was when themustang raised his head to look at his legs, in order to see what hadbeen done to them. There was something almost human in that look. Itexpressed intelligence and fear and fury. 

The cowboys released his legs and let him get up. Whang stamped hisiron-shod hoofs. 

"It was a mean trick, Whang, " said Columbine. "If I owned you that'dnever be done to you. "

"I reckon you can have him fer the askin', " said Jim, as he threw on thesaddle. "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 reasonor other, " said Lem, shaking his head, while he gathered up the toolsfrom the ground. 

"Ahuh! An' here comes the reason, " exclaimed Jim, in low, hoarsewhisper. 

Columbine heard the whisper and at the same instant a sharp footfall onthe gravel road. She quickly turned, almost losing her balance. And sherecognized Jack Belllounds. The boy Buster Jack she remembered so wellwas approaching, now a young man, taller, heavier, older, with palerface and bolder look. Columbine had feared this meeting, had preparedherself for it. But all she felt when it came was annoyance at the factthat he had caught her sitting on top of the corral fence, with littleregard for dignity. It did not occur to her to jump down. She merely satstraight, smoothed down her skirt, and waited. 

Jim led the mustang out of the corral and Lem followed. It looked as ifthey wanted to avoid the young man, but he prevented that. 

"Howdy, boys! I'm Jack Belllounds, " he said, rather loftily. But hismanner 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 reachedwith careless hand for the mustang. Whang jerked so hard that he pulledJim 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 norresponsive. 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 heavybelt with silver buckle, and a white, soft shirt, with wide collar, openat the neck. He was bareheaded. 

"I'm going to run White Slides, " he said to the cowboys. "What're yournames?"

Columbine wanted to giggle, which impulse she smothered. The idea of anyone asking Jim his name! She had never been able to find out. 

"My handle is Lemuel Archibawld Billings, " replied Lem, blandly. Themiddle name was an addition no one had ever heard. 

Belllounds then directed his glance and steps toward the girl. Thecowboys dropped their heads and shuffled on their way. 

"There's only one girl on the ranch, " said Belllounds, "so you must beColumbine. "

"Yes. And you're Jack, " she replied, and slipped off the fence. "I'mglad to welcome you home. "

She offered her hand, and he held it until she extricated it. There wasgenuine surprise and pleasure in his expression. 

"Well, I'd never have known you, " he said, surveying her from head tofoot. "It's funny. I had the clearest picture of you in mind. But you'renot 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 needsme. He wants me to take charge here--to be a man. I'm back now. It'sgood to be home. I never was worth much. Lord! I hope I don't disappointhim again. "

"I hope so, too, " she murmured. To hear him talk frankly, seriously, like this counteracted the unfavorable impression she had received. Heseemed earnest. He looked down at the ground, where he was pushinglittle pebbles with the toe of his boot. She had a good opportunity tostudy his face, and availed herself of it. He did look like his father, with his big, handsome head, and his blue eyes, bolder perhaps fromtheir prominence than from any direct gaze or fire. His face was pale, and shadowed by worry or discontent. It seemed as though a repressedcharacter showed there. His mouth and chin were undisciplined. Columbinecould not imagine that she despised anything she saw in the features ofthis 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 thebest in him, like him for it, be strong to endure and to help. Yet shehad no power to control her vague and strange perceptions. Why was itthat she could not feel in him what she liked in Jim Montana or Lem orWilson Moore?

"This was my second long stay away from home, " said Belllounds. "Thefirst was when I went to school in Kansas City. I liked that. I wassorry when they turned me out--sent me home. .. . But the last three yearswere 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 andunscarred as her own. What kind of work had he done, if he toldthe truth?

"Well, if you work hard for dad, learn to handle the cowboys, and nevertake up those old bad habits--"

"You mean drink and cards? I swear I'd forgotten them for threeyears--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 wasgood 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 catand 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 arotten 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 yourlittle dress, so you had to run home almost without a stitch on?"

"Guess I've forgotten that, " replied Columbine, with a blush. "I musthave been very little then. "

"You were a little devil. .. . Do you remember the fight I had withMoore--about you?"

She did not answer, for she disliked the fleeting expression thatcrossed his face. He remembered too well. 

"I'll settle that score with Moore, " he went on. "Besides, I won't havehim 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 annoyancepricked along her veins. 

"Before we get any farther I'd like to know something. Has Moore evermade love to you?"

Columbine felt that prickling augment to a hot, sharp wave of blood. Whywas she at the mercy of strange, quick, unfamiliar sensations? Why didshe 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. Yousure 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 affronther, for it had been expected. But his actual presence, the meaning ofhis words, stirred in her an unutterable spirit of protest. She hadalready in her will consented to the demand of the old man; she waslearning now, however, that she could not force her flesh to consent toa 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 eyeshad 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, withstrong, self-centered thought. "It'd give me responsibility. I reckon Ineed it. Why not soon?"

"Wouldn't it be better to wait awhile?" she asked. "We do not know eachother--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 nowto meet you grown up like this--so pretty and sweet--such a--ahealthy, blooming girl. .. . And dad's word that you'd be my wifesoon--_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 hadalways taken a quick, passionate longing for things he must and wouldhave. And his father had not denied him. It might really be that Jackhad suddenly fallen in love with her. 

"Would you want to take me without my--my love?" she asked, very low. "Idon't love you now. I might some time, if you were good--if you made dadhappy--if you conquered--"

"Take you! I'd take you if you--if you hated me, " he replied, now in thegrip of passion. 

"I'll tell dad how I feel, " she said, faintly, "and--and marry you whenhe 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'dlike to. .. . Oh, you're a sweet girl! Here I was hating to come home. Andlook at my luck!"

Then with a sudden change, that seemed significant of his character, helost his ardor, dropped the half-bold, half-masterful air, and showedthe softer side. 

"Collie, I never was any good, " he said. "But I want to be better. I'llprove it. I'll make a clean breast of everything. I won't marry you withany secret between us. You might find out afterward and hate me. .. . Doyou 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 toany one--or throw it up to me--ever. "

He spoke hoarsely, and had grown quite white. Suddenly Columbine thoughtof Wilson Moore! He had known where Jack had spent those years. He hadresisted a strong temptation to tell her. That was as noble in him asthe implication of Jack's whereabouts had been base. 

"Jack, that is big of you, " she replied, hurriedly. "I respect you--likeyou for it. But you needn't tell me. I'd rather you didn't. I'll takethe 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 goingto 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 acheat or a liar. .. . But I will tell you this--if you love me you'll makea man of me!"

CHAPTER III

The rancher thought it best to wait till after the round-up before heturned over the foremanship to his son. This was wise, but Jack did notsee it that way. He showed that his old, intolerant spirit had, ifanything, grown during his absence. Belllounds patiently argued withhim, explaining what certainly should have been clear to a young manbrought up in Colorado. The fall round-up was the most important time ofthe year, and during the strenuous drive the appointed foreman shouldhave absolute control. Jack gave in finally with a bad grace. 

It was unfortunate that he went directly from his father's presence outto the corrals. Some of the cowboys who had ridden all the day beforeand stood guard all night had just come in. They were begrimed withdust, 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, " saidWilson Moore. "We'll clean up that bunch to-day. "

"Ain't you tired, Wils?" queried Bludsoe, a squat, bow-legged cowpuncherwho appeared to be crippled or very lame. 

"Me? Naw!" grunted Moore, derisively. "Blud, you sure ask foolquestions. .. . Why, you--mahogany-colored, stump-legged, biped of acowpuncher, 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 ason-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 heswallowed 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 cowboystook no notice of him. Jim was bandaging a leg of his horse; Bludsoe waswearily gathering up his saddle and trappings; Lem was giving his tiredmustang a parting slap that meant much. Moore evidently awaited a freshmount. A Mexican lad had come in out of the pasture leading severalhorses, one of which was the mottled white mustang that Moore rode mostof the time. 

Belllounds lounged forward with interest as Moore whistled, and themustang showed his pleasure. Manifestly he did not like the Mexican boyand 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 untilthe bridle was on. When the saddle was thrown and strapped in place themustang showed to advantage. He was beautiful, but not too graceful orsleek or fine-pointed or prancing to prejudice any cowboy against hisqualities for work. 

Jack Belllounds admiringly walked all around the mustang a little tooclose to please Spottie. 

"Moore, he's a fair-to-middling horse, " said Belllounds, with the air ofjudge 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. Iwant to look him over. "

When he grasped the bridle-reins out of the cowboy's hand Spottie jumpedas if he had been shot at. Belllounds jerked at him and went closer. Themustang reared, snorting, plunging to get loose. Then Jack Bellloundsshowed the sudden temper for which he was noted. Red stained hispale cheeks. 

"Damn you--come down!" he shouted, infuriated at the mustang, and withboth hands he gave a powerful lunge. Spottie came down, and stood there, trembling all over, his ears laid back, his eyes showing fright andpain. Blood dripped from his mouth where the bit had cut him. 

"I'll teach you to stand, " said Belllounds, darkly. "Moore, lend me yourspurs. 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 mespurs, one of you cowpunchers. "

Nobody made any motion to comply. There seemed to be a suspense at handthat escaped Belllounds. 

"I'll ride him without spurs, " he declared, presently, and again heturned 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 whodid not tolerate opposition. 

"He's the only horse left for me to ride, " answered the cowboy. "We'rebranding to-day. Hudson was hurt yesterday. He was foreman, and heappointed me to fill his place. I've got to rope yearlings. Now, if youget up on Spottie you'll excite him. He's high-strung, nervous. That'llbe 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 WhiteSlides, " 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 thecinch, and with one sweep he drew saddle and blanket to the ground. 

The action surprised Belllounds. He stared. There seemed somethingboyish in his lack of comprehension. Then his temper flamed. 

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, with a strident note in hisvoice. "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 Isay. 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 hadfor a horse. "

"You quit!. .. Well, it's damned good riddance. I wouldn't have you inthe outfit. "

"You couldn't have kept me, Buster Jack. "

The epithet must have been an insult to Belllounds. "Don't you dare callme that, " he burst out, furiously. 

Moore pretended surprise. "Why not? It's your range name. We all get ahandle, whether we like it or not. There's Montana and Blud and LemmeTwo 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. "Itsure suits you. Don't you bust everything you monkey with? Your old dadwill sure be glad to see you bust the round-up to-day--and I reckon theoutfit to-morrow. "

"You insolent cowpuncher!" shouted Belllounds, growing beside himselfwith 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, BusterJack. " There was no denying Moore's cool, stinging repetition of theepithet 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 thecowboy's face. 

Moore staggered back, recovered his balance, and, hitting out shortly, he returned the blow. Belllounds fell against the corral fence, whichupheld him. 

"Buster Jack--you're crazy!" cried the cowboy, his eyes flashing. "Doyou think you can lick me--after where you've been these three years?"

Like a maddened boy Belllounds leaped forward, this time his increasedviolence and wildness of face expressive of malignant rage. He swung hisarms at random. Moore avoided his blows and planted a fist squarely onhis adversary's snarling mouth. Belllounds fell with a thump. He got upwith clumsy haste, but did not rush forward again. His big, prominenteyes held a dark and ugly look. His lower jaw wabbled as he panted forbreath and speech at once. 

"Moore--I'll kill--you!" he hissed, with glance flying everywhere for aweapon. From ground to cowboys he looked. Bludsoe was the only onepacking a gun. Belllounds saw it, and he was so swift in boundingforward 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, asBludsoe 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 hisaction and the gun fell at their feet. 

"Grab it!" sang out Bludsoe, ringingly. "Quick, somebody! The damnedfool'll kill Wils. "

Lem, running in, kicked the gun just as Belllounds reached for it. Whenit rolled against the fence Jim was there to secure it. Lem likewisegrappled with the struggling Belllounds. 

"Hyar, you Jack Belllounds, " said Lem, "couldn't you see Wils wasn'tpackin' no gun? A-r'arin' like thet!. .. Stop your rantin' or we'll surehandle you rough. "

"The old man's comin', " called Jim, warningly. 

The rancher appeared. He strode swiftly, ponderously. His gray hairwaved. 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, mutteringto 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 hisdark glance saw no one save Moore. 

"Boss, thar's been a little argyment, " explained Jim, as with swift handhe 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 theargyment. 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 manwho 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 atthem, and his eyes still flashed like blue fire, but he was calm andcool. Returning the gun to its owner, he continued: "I reckon you'dspare 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'sface 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 fromhis son's, notwithstanding the fact that Spottie knew him and showed nouneasiness. The examination took only a moment. 

"Tongue cut bad. Thet's a damn shame. Take thet bridle off. .. . There. Ifit'd been an ornery hoss, now. .. . Moore, how'd this happen?"

"We just rode in, " replied Wilson, hurriedly. "I was saddling Spottiewhen Jack came up. He took a shine to the mustang and wanted to ridehim. When Spottie reared--he's shy with strangers--why, Jack gave a hellof 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 washurt 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 themustang 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. Hesaid he was foreman and he'd have me discharged. But I said I'd quitalready. We both kept getting sorer and I called him Buster Jack. .. . Hehit me first. Then we fought. I reckon I was getting the best of himwhen 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 pluggedWils 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 bythat quiet cowboy's opinion. 

"Wal, boss, " replied Jim, reluctantly, "Buster Jack's temper was badonct, but now it's plumb wuss. "

Whereupon Belllounds turned to Moore with a gesture and a look of a manwho, in justice to something in himself, had to speak. 

"Wils, it's onlucky you clashed with Jack right off, " he said. "But thetwas to be expected. I reckon Jack was in the wrong. Thet hoss was yoursby all a cowboy holds right an' square. Mebbe by law Spottie belonged toWhite 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 thetbrandin' done:"

"All right, I'll do that for you, " replied Moore. "Lem, I guess youwon'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 seenJack, and then he was riding by toward the pasture, whirling a lassoround his head. Jack could ride like one born to the range, but he wasnot an adept in the use of a rope. Nor had Columbine seen the oldrancher since breakfast. She had heard his footsteps, however, pacingslowly up and down his room. 

She was watching the last rays of the setting sun rimming with gold theramparts of the mountain eastward, and burning a crown for Old WhiteSlides peak. A distant bawl and bellow of cattle had died away. Thebranding was over for that fall. How glad she felt! The wind, beginningto grow cold as the sun declined, cooled her hot face. In the solitudeof her room Columbine had cried enough that day to scald her cheeks. 

Presently, down the lane between the pastures, she saw a cowboy rideinto view. Very slowly he came, leading another horse. Columbinerecognized Lem a second before she saw that he was leading Pronto. Thatstruck her as strange. Another glance showed Pronto to be limping. Apparently he could just get along, and that was all. Columbine ran outin dismay, reaching the corral gate before Lem did. At first she hadeyes 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 Columbinesomething had indeed happened. The cowboy was the color of dust and sotired 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 shethat when she got back to the corral she was out of breath. Prontowhinnied as she fell, panting, on her knees beside Lem, who wasexamining bloody gashes on the legs of the mustang. 

"Wal, I reckon no great harm did, " said Lem, with relief. "But he shorehed a close shave. Now you help me doctor him up. "

"Yes--I'll help, " panted Columbine. "I've done this kind--of thingoften--but never--to Pronto. .. . Oh, I was afraid--he'd been gored bya steer. "

"Wal, he come damn near bein', " replied Lem, grimly. "An' if it hedn'tbeen fer ridin' you don't see every day, why thet ornery Texas steer'dhev got him. "

"Who was riding? Lem, was it you? Oh, I'll never be able to do enoughfor 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'--leastwaysabout 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 Igit this bandagin' done I'll fall right off my hoss. "

"But you're on the ground now, Lem, " said Columbine, with a nervouslaugh. "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 likethis. Buster Jack rode out to where we was brandin' an' jumped his hossover a fence into the pasture. He hed a rope an' he got to chasin' somehosses over thar. One was Pronto, an' the son-of-a-gun somehow did gitthe noose over Pronto's head. But he couldn't hold it, or didn't wantto, fer Pronto broke loose an' jumped the fence. This wasn't so bad asfar 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 pickedout rough ground an' run plumb into some dead brush. Reckon thar he gotcut 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 asix-shooter, either. .. . I'm goin' back to packin' a gun. Wal, Wils didsome ridin' to git over thar in time to save Pronto. "

"Lem, that is not all, " said Columbine, earnestly, as the cowboyconcluded. Her knowledge of the range told her that Lem had narratednothing so far which could have been cause for his cold, grim, evasivemanner; 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. Youneedn't drop everythin' an' grab me like thet. An' you're white as asheet, too. It ain't nuthin' much fer a cowboy to hev a hoss fallon him. "

"Lem Billings, I'll hate you if you don't tell me quick, " flashedColumbine, fiercely. 

"Ahuh! So thet's how the land lays, " replied Lem, shrewdly. "Wal, I'msorry to tell you thet Wils was bad hurt. Now, not _real_ bad!. .. Thehoss fell on his leg an' broke it. I cut off his boot. His foot was allsmashed. But thar wasn't any other hurt--honest! They're takin' him toKremmlin'. "

"Ah!" Columbine's low cry sounded strangely in her ears, as if some oneelse had uttered it. 

"Buster Jack made two bursts this hyar day, " concluded Lem, reflectively. "Miss Collie, I ain't shore how you're regardin' thetindividool, but I'm tellin' you this, fer your own good. He's badmedicine. He has his old man's temper thet riles up at nuthin' an' neverfelt a halter. Wusser'n thet, he's spoiled an' he acts like a coltthet'd tasted loco. The idee of his ropin' Pronto right thar near theround-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 daysfer White Slides Ranch. "

CHAPTER IV

Only one man at Meeker appeared to be attracted by the news that RancherBill Belllounds was offering employment. This was a littlecadaverous-looking fellow, apparently neither young nor old, who saidhis name was Bent Wade. He had drifted into Meeker with two poor horsesand a pack. 

"Whar you from?" asked the innkeeper, observing how Wade cared for hishorses before he thought of himself. The query had to be repeated. 

"Cripple Creek. I was cook for some miners an' I panned gold betweentimes, " was the reply. 

"Humph! Thet oughter been a better-payin' job than any to be hedhereabouts. "

"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 tellyou. .. . " Whereupon Wade sat down on a box, removed his old sombrero, andbegan to talk. An idler sauntered over, attracted by something. Then aminer happened by to halt and join the group. 

Next, old Kemp, the patriarch of the village, came and listenedattentively. 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 aremarkable face. It was smooth except for a drooping mustache, andpallid, with drops of sweat standing out on the high, broad forehead;gaunt and hollow-cheeked, with an enormous nose, and cavernous eyes setdeep under shaggy brows. These features, however, were not so strikingin themselves. Long, sloping, almost invisible lines of pain, the shadowof mystery and gloom in the deep-set, dark eyes, a sad harmony betweenfeatures and expression, these marked the man's face with a record nokeen eye could miss. 

Wade told a terrible tale of gold and blood and death. It seemed torelieve him. His face changed, and lost what might have been called itstragic light, its driven intensity. 

His listeners shook their heads in awe. Hard tales were common inColorado, but this one was exceptional. Two of the group left withoutcomment. Old Kemp stared with narrow, half-recognizing eyes at thenew-comer. 

"Wal! Wal!" ejaculated the innkeeper. "It do beat hell what canhappen!. .. 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 forhands. 

"Old Bill Belllounds thet settled Middle Park an' made friends with theUtes, " 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 theinnkeeper. 

"He ain't livin' in the Park now, " interposed Kemp. "He's at WhiteSlides, I reckon, these last eight or ten years. Thet's over theGore Range. "

"Prospected all through that country, " said Wade. 

"Wal, it's a fine part of Colorado. Hay an' stock country--too high fergrain. Did you mean you'd been through the Park?"

"Once--long ago, " replied Wade, staring with his great, cavernous eyesinto space. Some memory of Middle Park haunted him. 

"Wal, then, I won't be steerin' you wrong, " said the innkeeper. "I likethet country. Some people don't. An' I say if you can cook or pack orpunch cows or 'most anythin' you'll find a bunk with Old Bill. Iunderstand 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 oneside. "

"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 hereto-night?"

"I always sleep out. But I'll buy feed an' supplies, " replied Wade, ashe turned to his horses. 

Old Kemp trudged down the road, wagging his gray head as if he wascontending with a memory sadly failing him. An hour later when Bent Waderode out of town he passed Kemp, and hailed him. The old-timer suddenlyslapped his leg: "By Golly! I knowed I'd met him before!"

Later, he said with a show of gossipy excitement to his friend theinnkeeper, "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'tremember. I knowed he was somebody, though. Hope I didn't wish agun-fighter or outlaw on Old Bill. Who was he, anyhow?"

"They call him Hell-Bent Wade. I seen him in Wyomin', whar he were astage-driver. But I never heerd who he was an' what he was till yearsafter. Thet was onct I dropped down into Boulder. Wade was thar, allshot up, bein' nussed by Sam Coles. Sam's dead now. He was a friend ofWade's an' knowed him fer long. Wal, I heerd all thet anybody ever heerdabout him, I reckon. Accordin' to Coles this hyar Hell-Bent Wade was astrange, wonderful sort of fellar. He had the most amazin' ways. Hecould 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, buttrouble follered him. As I remember Coles, thet was Wade's queeridee--he couldn't shake trouble. No matter whar he went, always thar washell. Thet's what gave him the name Hell-Bent. .. . An' Coles swore thetWade was the whitest man he ever knew. Heart of gold, he said. Alwayssavin' somebody, helpin' somebody, givin' his money or time--neverthinkin' of himself a-tall. .. . When he began to tell thet story aboutCripple Creek then my ole head begun to ache with rememberin'. Fer I'dheerd 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 isthet idee he has how hell's on his trail an' everywhere he roams itketches up with him, an' thar he meets the man who's got to hearhis tale!"

 * * * * *

Sunset found Bent Wade far up the valley of White River under the shadowof the Flat Top Mountains. It was beautiful country. Grassy hills, withcolored aspen groves, swelled up on his left, and across the brawlingstream rose a league-long slope of black spruce, above which the barered-and-gray walls of the range towered, glorious with the blaze ofsinking sun. White patches of snow showed in the sheltered nooks. Wade'sgaze rested longest on the colored heights. 

By and by the narrow valley opened into a park, at the upper end ofwhich stood a log cabin. A few cattle and horses grazed in an inclosedpasture. The trail led by the cabin. As Wade rode up a bushy-haired mancame out of the door, rifle in hand. He might have been going out tohunt, but his scrutiny of Wade was that of a lone settler in awild land. 

"Howdy, stranger!" he said. 

"Good evenin', " replied Wade. "Reckon you're Blair an' I'm nigh theheadwaters 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 sometime ago. "

"Obliged, I'm sure, but I'll be goin' on, " responded Wade. "Do youhappen to have a hunk of deer meat? Game powerful scarce comin' upthis valley. "

"Lots of deer an' elk higher up. I chased a bunch of more'n thirty, Ireckon, right out of my pasture this mornin'. "

Blair crossed to an open shed near by and returned with half a deerhaunch, 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'. Alittle goes a long ways with me. "

"Wal, gimme some of both, most chewin', " replied Blair, with evidentsatisfaction. 

"You acquainted with Belllounds?" asked Wade, as he handed over thetobacco. 

"Wal, yes, everybody knows Bill. You'd never find a whiter boss in thesehills. "

"Has he any family?"

"Now, I can't say as to thet, " replied Blair. "I heerd he lost a wifeyears 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 abit, if you want to make camp before dark. "

Wade soon entered the spruce forest. Then he came to a shallow, roaringriver. The horses drank the water, foaming white and amber around theirknees, and then with splash and thump they forded it over the slipperyrocks. As they cracked out upon the trail a covey of grouse whirred upinto 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 onthe 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. Ashe progressed the forest grew thick and darker, and the fragrance ofpine and spruce filled the air. A dreamy roar of water rushing overrocks rang in the traveler's ears. It receded at times, then grewlouder. Presently the forest shade ahead lightened and he rode out intoa wide space where green moss and flags and flowers surrounded awonderful spring-hole. Sunset gleams shone through the trees to colorthe 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 werefeeding on gnats and playing on the surface, and some big ones leftwakes behind them as they sped to deeper water. Wade had an appreciativeeye for all this beauty, his gaze lingering longest upon the flowers. 

"Wild woods is the place for me, " he soliloquized, as the cool windfanned 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 heconfessed was part of his secret. 

Twilight had come when again he rode out into the open. Trapper's Lakelay before him, a beautiful sheet of water, mirroring the black slopesand the fringed spruces and the flat peaks. Over all its gray, twilight-softened surface showed little swirls and boils and splasheswhere the myriads of trout were rising. The trail led out over opengrassy shores, with a few pines straggling down to the lake, and clumpsof spruces raising dark blurs against the background of gleaming lake. Wade heard a sharp crack of hoofs on rock, and he knew he had disturbeddeer at their drinking; also he heard a ring of horns on the branch of atree, and was sure an elk was slipping off through the woods. Across thelake he saw a camp-fire and a pale, sharp-pointed object that was atrapper's tent or an Indian's tepee. 

Selecting a camp-site for himself, he unsaddled his horse, threw thepack off the other, and, hobbling both animals, he turned them loose. His roll of bedding, roped in canvas tarpaulin, he threw under aspruce-tree. Then he opened his oxhide-covered packs and laid oututensils and bags, little and big. All his movements were methodical, yet swift, accurate, habitual. He was not thinking about what he wasdoing. It took him some little time to find a suitable log to split forfire-wood, and when he had started a blaze night had fallen, and thelight as it grew and brightened played fantastically upon theisolating shadows. 

Lid and pot of the little Dutch oven he threw separately upon thesputtering fire, and while they heated he washed his hands, mixed thebiscuits, cut slices of meat off the deer haunch, and put water on toboil. He broiled his meat on the hot, red coals, and laid it near onclean 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 ofspruce mingled together, keen, sweet, appetizing. Then he ate his simplemeal hungrily, with the content of the man who had fared worse. 

After he had satisfied himself he washed his utensils and stowed themaway, with the bags. Whereupon his movements acquired less dexterity andspeed. The rest hour had come. Still, like the long-experienced man inthe open, he looked around for more to do, and his gaze fell upon hisweapons, lying on his saddle. His rifle was a Henry--shiny and smoothfrom long service and care. His small gun was a Colt's 45. It had beencarried in a saddle holster. Wade rubbed the rifle with his hands, andthen with a greasy rag which he took from the sheath. After that he heldthe rifle to the heat of the fire. A squall of rain had overtaken himthat day, wetting his weapons. A subtle and singular difference seemedto show in the way he took up the Colt's. His action was slow, his lookreluctant. The small gun was not merely a thing of steel and powder andball. He dried it and rubbed it with care, but not with love, and thenhe stowed it away. 

Next Wade unrolled his bed under the spruce, with one end of thetarpaulin resting on the soft mat of needles. On top of that came thetwo woolly sheepskins, which he used to lie upon, then his blankets, andover all the other end of the tarpaulin. 

This ended his tasks for the day. He lighted his pipe and composedhimself beside the camp-fire to smoke and rest awhile before going tobed. The silence of the wilderness enfolded lake and shore; yetpresently it came to be a silence accentuated by near and distantsounds, faint, wild, lonely--the low hum of falling water, the splash oftiny waves on the shore, the song of insects, and the dismal hootof owls. 

"Bill Belllounds--an' he needs a hunter, " soliloquized Bent Wade, withgloomy, penetrating eyes, seeing far through the red embers. "That willsuit me an' change my luck, likely. Livin' in the woods, away frompeople--I could stick to a job like that. .. . But if this White Slides isclose to the old trail I'll never stay. "

He sighed, and a darker shadow, not from flickering fire, overspread hiscadaverous face. Eighteen years ago he had driven the woman he lovedaway from him, out into the world with her baby girl. Never had herested beside a camp-fire that that old agony did not recur! Jealousfool! Too late he had discovered his fatal blunder; and then had begun asearch over Colorado, ending not a hundred miles across the wildmountains from where he brooded that lonely hour--a search ended by newsof 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 andremorse, as through the long years he wandered on and on. The very goodthat he tried to do seemed to foment evil. The wisdom that grew out ofhis suffering opened pitfalls for his wandering feet. The wildness ofmen and the passion of women somehow waited with incredible fatality forthat hour when chance led him into their lives. He had toiled, he hadgiven, he had fought, he had sacrificed, he had killed, he had enduredfor the human nature which in his savage youth he had betrayed. Yet outof his supreme and endless striving to undo, to make reparation, to givehis 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, hismemory 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'dlived, " 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 acrossthe sky, blotting out the bright stars; a steady, low roar of water camefrom the outlet of the lake. The camp-fire flickered and burned out, sothat no sparks blew into the blackness, and the red embers glowed andpaled and crackled. Wade at length got up and made ready for bed. Hethrew back tarpaulin and blankets, and laid his rifle alongside where hecould cover it. His coat served for a pillow and he put the Colt's gununder that; then pulling off his boots, he slipped into bed, dressed ashe 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 roamedthe West, this sleeping alone in wild places held both charm and peril. But the fascination of it was only a vague realization, and the dangerwas 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 nightadvanced. By and by the horses rested from their grazing; the insectsceased 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, makingfor the pass over the range. He walked, leading his horses up a zigzagtrail that bore the tracks of recent travelers. Although this countrywas sparsely settled, yet there were men always riding from camp to campor from one valley town to another. Wade never tarried on awell-trodden trail. 

As he climbed higher the spruce-trees grew smaller, no longer forming agreen aisle before him, and at length they became dwarfed and stunted, and at last failed altogether. Soon he was above timber-line and outupon a flat-topped mountain range, where in both directions the landrolled and dipped, free of tree or shrub, colorful with grass andflowers. The elevation exceeded eleven thousand feet. A whipping windswept across the plain-land. The sun was pale-bright in the east, slowlybeing obscured by gray clouds. Snow began to fall, first in scudding, scanty flakes, but increasing until the air was full of a great, fleecyswirl. Wade rode along the rim of a mountain wall, watching a beautifulsnow-storm falling into the brown gulf beneath him. Once as he headedround a break he caught sight of mountain-sheep cuddled under aprotecting shelf. The snow-squall blew away, like a receding wall, leaving grass and flowers wet. As the dark clouds parted, the sun shonewarmer out of the blue. Gray peaks, with patches of white, stood upabove their black-timbered slopes. 

Wade soon crossed the flat-topped pass over the range and faced adescent, rocky and bare at first, but yielding gradually to theencroachment of green. He left the cold winds and bleak trails abovehim. In an hour, when he was half down the slope, the forest had becomewarm and dry, fragrant and still. At length he rode out upon the brow ofa last wooded bench above a grassy valley, where a bright, windingstream gleamed in the sun. While the horses rested Wade looked abouthim. Nature never tired him. If he had any peace it emanated from thesilent places, the solemn hills, the flowers and animals of the wild andlonely land. 

A few straggling pines shaded this last low hill above the valley. Grassgrew luxuriantly there in the open, but not under the trees, where thebrown needle-mats jealously obstructed the green. Clusters of columbineswaved their graceful, sweet, pale-blue flowers that Wade felt a joy inseeing. He loved flowers--columbines, the glory of Colorado, came first, and next the many-hued purple asters, and then the flaunting spikes ofpaint-brush, and after them the nameless and numberless wild flowersthat decked the mountain meadows and colored the grass of the aspengroves and peeped out of the edge of snow fields. 

"Strange how it seems good to live--when I look at a columbine--or watcha beaver at his work--or listen to the bugle of an elk!" mused BentWade. He wondered why, with all his life behind him, he could still findcomfort 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 theblue. In the afternoon Wade reached Elgeria, a small hamlet, butimportant by reason of its being on the main stage line, and becausehere miners and cattlemen bought supplies. It had one street, so wide itappeared to be a square, on which faced a line of bold board houses withhigh, flat fronts. Wade rode to the inn where the stagecoaches madeheadquarters. It suited him to feed and rest his horses there, andpartake of a meal himself, before resuming his journey. 

The proprietor was a stout, pleasant-faced little woman, loquacious andamiable, glad to see a stranger for his own sake rather than fromconsiderations of possible profit. Though Wade had never before visitedElgeria, he soon knew all about the town, and the miners up in thehills, and the only happenings of moment--the arrival and departureof stages. 

"Prosperous place, " remarked Wade. "I saw that. An' it ought to begrowin'. "

"Not so prosperous fer me as it uster be, " replied the lady. "We didwell when my husband was alive, before our competitor come to town. Heruns a hotel where miners can drink an' gamble. I don't. .. . But I reckonI'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 herewho--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 forBelllounds. Do you know him?"

"Know Belllounds? Me? Wal, he's the best friend I ever had when I was atKremmlin'. I lived there several years. My husband had stock there. Infact, Bill started us in the cattle business. But we got out of therean' 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. BusterJack, they call him. He used to come here often. But Bill sent him awaysomewhere. The boy was spoiled. I saw his mother years ago--she's deadthis long time--an' she was no wife fer Bill Belllounds. Jack took afterher. An' Bill was thet woman's slave. When she died all his big heartwent to the son, an' thet accounts. Jack will never be any good. "

Wade thoughtfully nodded his head, as if he understood, and waspondering other possibilities. 

"Is he the only child?"

"There's a girl, but she's not Bill's kin. He adopted her when she was ababy. 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 stayedwith 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 theprettiest I ever seen in Colorado, an' as good as she's pretty. Old Billhinted 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 comeshome, thet such a marriage would be tough on Columbine. Whew, but OldBill 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?" askedWade. 

"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 themountains. Must have got lost from a wagon-train thet Indians set onsoon 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 tremorthat passed over him, nor the slight stiffening that followed, nor thegray 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 alittle river, out into green pasture-land. He struggled with an amazingpossibility. Columbine Belllounds might be his own daughter. His heartleaped with joy. But the joy was short-lived. No such hope in this worldfor 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 theveil of the future. But he could not exercise this power at will; itcame involuntarily, like a messenger of trouble in the dark night. Moreover, he had never yet been able to draw away from the fascinationof this knowledge. It lured him on. Always his decision had been to goon, to meet this boding circumstance, or to remain and meet it, in thehope that he might take some one's burden upon his shoulders. He sensedit now, in the keen, poignant clairvoyance of the moment--the tangle oflife that he was about to enter. Old Bill Belllounds, big and fine, victim of love for a wayward son; Buster Jack, the waster, thetearer-down, the destroyer, the wild youth at a wild time; Columbine, the girl of unknown birth, good and loyal, subject to a condition sureto ruin her. Wade's strange mind revolved a hundred outcomes to thisconflict of characters, but not one of them was the one that waswritten. That remained dark. Never had he received so strong a call outof the unknown, nor had he ever felt such intense curiosity. Hope hadlong been dead in him, except the one that he might atone in some wayfor the wrong he had done his wife. So the pangs of emotion thatrecurred, in spite of reason and bitterness, were not recognized by himas lingering hopes. Wade denied the human in him, but he thrilled at thethought of meeting Columbine Belllounds. There was something here beyondall 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 thebarroom of the hotel run by Smith. It was a hard-looking place, halffull of idle men, whose faces were as open pages to Bent Wade. Curiositydid not wholly control the impulse that made him wait at the door tillhe could have a look at the man Smith. Somewhere, at some time, Wade hadmet most of the veterans of western Colorado. So much he had traveled!But the impulse that held him was answered and explained when Smith camein--a burly man, with an ugly scar marring one eye. Bent Wade recognizedSmith. He recognized the scar. For that scar was his own mark, dealt tothis man, whose name was not Smith, and who had been as evil as helooked, and whose nomadic life was not due to remorse or love of travel. 

Wade passed on without being seen. This recognition meant less to himthan it would have ten years ago, as he was not now the kind of man whohunted old enemies for revenge or who went to great lengths to keep outof their way. Men there were in Colorado who would shoot at him onsight. There had been more than one that had shot to his cost. 

 * * * * *

That night Wade camped in the foothills east of Elgeria, and upon thefollowing day, at sunrise, his horses were breaking the frosty grass andferns of the timbered range. This he crossed, rode down into a valleywhere a lonely cabin nestled, and followed an old, blazed trail thatwound up the course of a brook. The water was of a color that made rockand sand and moss seem like gold. He saw no signs or tracks of game. Agray jay now and then screeched his approach to unseen denizens of thewoods. The stream babbled past him over mossy ledges, under the darkshade of clumps of spruces, and it grew smaller as he progressed towardits source. At length it was lost in a swale of high, rank grass, andthe blazed trail led on through heavy pine woods. At noon he reached thecrest of the divide, and, halting upon an open, rocky eminence, he gazeddown over a green and black forest, slow-descending to a great irregularpark that was his destination for the night. 

Wade needed meat, and to that end, as he went on, he kept a sharplookout for deer, especially after he espied fresh tracks crossing thetrail. Slipping along ahead of his horses, that followed, him almost tooclosely to permit of his noiseless approach to game, he hunted all theway down to the great open park without getting a shot. 

This park was miles across and miles long, covered with tall, wavinggrass, and it had straggling arms that led off into the surrounding beltof timber. It sloped gently toward the center, where a round, greenacreage of grass gave promise of water. Wade rode toward this, keepingsomewhat 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 tofind the park spreading wider in that direction. He saw horses grazingwith elk, and far down at the notch, where evidently the park had outletin a narrow valley, he espied the black, hump-shaped, shaggy forms ofbuffalo. They bobbed off out of sight. Then the elk saw or scented him, and they trotted away, the antlered bulls ahead of the cows. Wadewondered if the horses were wild. They showed great interest, but nofear. Beyond them was a rising piece of ground, covered with pine, andit appeared to stand aloft from the forest on the far side as well asupon that by which he was approaching. Riding a mile or so farther heascertained that this bit of wooded ground resembled an island in alake. Presently he saw smoke arising above the treetops. 

A tiny brook welled out of the green center of the park and meanderedaround to pass near the island of pines. Wade saw unmistakable signs ofprospecting along this brook, and farther down, where he crossed it, hefound 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 littlelog cabin. Wade expected to surprise a lone prospector at his eveningmeal. As he rode up a dog ran out of the cabin, barking furiously. Aman, dressed in fringed buckskin, followed. He was tall, and had long, iron-gray hair over his shoulders. His bronzed and weather-beaten facewas 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. Hisgreeting 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 inthese diggin's. "

"No. I'm Bent Wade, an' on my way to White Slides to work forBelllounds. "

"Glad to meet you. I'm new hereabouts, myself, but I know Belllounds. Myname's Lewis. I was jest cookin' grub. An' it'll burn, too, if I don'trustle. Turn your hosses loose an' come in. "

Wade presented himself with something more than his usual methodicalaction. He smelled buffalo steak, and he was hungry. The cabin had beenbuilt years ago, and was a ramshackle shelter at best. The stonefireplace, however, appeared well preserved. A bed of red coals glowedand cracked upon the hearth. 

"Reckon I sure smelled buffalo meat, " observed Wade, with muchsatisfaction. "It's long since I chewed a hunk of that. "

"All ready. Now pitch in. .. . Yes, thar's some buffalo left in here. Nothunted much. Thar's lots of elk an' herds of deer. After a little snowyou'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 Troublesomecountry 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 ahunter. 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. Ifelt 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 yoursigns out here. "

"Wal, you've sharp eyes, thet's all. Wade, I've some ondesirableneighbors 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 soldcattle in Kremmlin' thet came from over around Elgeria. "

"Wherever there's cattle there's sure to be some stealin', " observedWade. 

"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 itmyself. 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 myhand off. The gal--Columbine, she's called--doctored me up. Fact is, Iowe considerable to thet White Slides Ranch. There's a cowboy, Wilssomethin', who rode up here with some medicine fer me--some they didn'thave when I was thar. You'll like thet boy. I seen he was sweet on thegal an' I sure couldn't blame him. "

Bent Wade removed his pipe and let out a strange laugh, significant withits 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 cowboybein' 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, andas 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 lookat them neighbors you spoke of that might be rustlers. .. . I'll turn innow. Good night. "

CHAPTER V

Bent Wade rode out of the forest to look down upon the White Slidescountry 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 ofhim down the rolling sage hills, all rosy and gray with rich, strangesoftness. Groves of aspens stood isolated from one another--herecrowning a hill with blazing yellow, and there fringing the brow ofanother with gleaming gold, and lower down reflecting the sunlight withbrilliant red and purple. The valley seemed filled with a delicate haze, almost like smoke. White Slides Ranch was hidden from sight, as it layin the bottomland. The gray old peak towered proud and aloof, clear-cutand sunset-flushed against the blue. The eastern slope of the valley wasa vast sweep of sage and hill and grassy bench and aspen bench, on firewith 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 thered-walled ramparts of the mountain range. 

Wade watched the scene until the fire faded, the golden shafts paled anddied, the rosy glow on sage changed to cold steel gray. Then he rode outupon the foothills. The trail led up and down slopes of sage. Grass grewthicker as he descended. Once he startled a great flock ofprairie-chickens, or sage-hens, large gray birds, lumbering, swiftfliers, that whirred up, and soon plumped down again into the sage. Twilight found him on a last long slope of the foothills, facing thepasture-land of the valley, with the ranch still five miles distant, nowshowing misty and dim in the gathering shadows. 

Wade made camp where a brook ran near an aspen thicket. He had no desireto hurry to meet events at White Slides Ranch, although he longed to seethis girl that belonged to Belllounds. Night settled down over the quietfoothills. A pack of roving coyotes visited Wade, and sat in ahalf-circle in the shadows back of the camp-fire. They howled andbarked. Nevertheless sleep visited Wade's tired eyelids the moment helay down and closed them. 

 * * * * *

Next morning, rather late, Wade rode down to White Slides Ranch. Itlooked to him like the property of a rich rancher who held to the oldand proven customs of his generation. The corrals were new, but theirstyle was old. Wade reflected that it would be hard for rustlers orhorse-thieves to steal out of those corrals. A long lane led from thepasture-land, following the brook that ran through the corrals and bythe back door of the rambling, comfortable-looking cabin. A cowboy wasleading horses across a wide square between the main ranch-house and acluster 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 withthat 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 feryears. 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 toa 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-upover. Hudson was hurt an' Wils Moore got crippled. Then the boss's sonhas 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'tegzactly love fer the boss. But Old Bill's the best of bosses. .. . Nowthe hunch is--thet if you git on hyar you'll hev to do two or threemen'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 blanketsattested to the hand of a woman. The first door was open, and from itissued voices; first a shrill, petulant boy's complaint, and then aman'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 largefigure of the rancher. Wade remembered Belllounds and saw only a graydifference in years. 

"Good mornin', Lem, an' good moinin' to you, stranger, " was therancher'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 ofthe son who resembled the father, filled the doorway, with eyes lesskind, bent upon the visitor. 

"My name's Wade. I'm over from Meeker way, hopin' to find a job withyou, " said Wade. 

"Glad to meet you, " replied Belllounds, extending his huge hand to shakeWade'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 seatedhimself on a bench and leaned against the log wall. "Now, when a boycomes an' says he can do anythin', why I jest haw! haw! at him. Butyou're a man, Wade, an' one as has been there. Now I'm hard put ferhands. 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, " repliedWade, 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' onno man, no matter how I need help. You're sure a jack of all rangetrades. 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'verun 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 agood shot on this range fer Lord knows how long. I used to hit plumbcenter with a rifle. My eyes are pore now. An' my son can't hit a flockof haystacks. An' the cowpunchers are 'most as bad. Sometimes right hyarwhere 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 alowering of his head. "Reckon you didn't catch my name. "

"Wal--no, I didn't, " slowly replied Belllounds, and his pause, with thekeener look he bestowed upon Wade, told how the latter's query hadstruck 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 falsecolors. "

"Wal, I'll be damned!" went on the rancher. "Wade, I've heerd of you feryears. Some bad, but most good, an' I reckon I'm jest as glad to meetyou 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 toget an' harder to keep. "

"Thet's not onnatural, considerin' the hell which's said to camp on yourtrail, " replied Belllounds, dryly. "Wade, I can't say I take a hell of alot of stock in such talk. Fifty years I've been west of the Missouri. Iknow the West an' I know men. Talk flies from camp to ranch, fromdiggin's to town, an' always some one adds a little more. Now I trust myjudgment 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 stillkept on bein' that way. .. . Belllounds, my name's as bad as good all overwestern Colorado. But as man to man I tell you--I never did a low-downtrick 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 histurn. "But at thet some time I'd like to hear about the Lascelles outfitover on the Gunnison. I knowed Lascelles. An' a pardner of mine down inMiddle Park came back from the Gunnison with the dog-gondest story Iever heerd. Thet was five years ago this summer. Of course I knowed yourname long before, but this time I heerd it powerful strong. You got inthet mix-up to your neck. .. . Wal, what consarns me now is this. Is thereany 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, " confessedWade, gloomily. 

"Ahuh!. .. Wal, Hell-Bent Wade, I'll take a chance on you, " boomed therancher's deep voice, rich with the intent of his big heart. "I'vegambled all my life. An' the best friends I ever made were men I'dhelped. .. . 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 sonstanding inside the door. "Say, Jack, shake hands with Bent Wade, hunteran' all-around man. Wade, this's my boy. I've jest put him on as foremanof the outfit, an' while I'm at it I'll say thet you'll take orders fromme an' not from him. "

Wade looked up into the face of Jack Belllounds, returned his briefgreeting, and shook his limp hand. The contact sent a strange chill overWade. Young Belllounds's face was marred by a bruise and shaded by asullen light. 

"Get Billin's to take you out to thet new cabin an' sheds I jest had putup, " said the rancher. "You'll bunk in the cabin. .. . Aw, I know. Menlike you sleep in the open. But you can't do thet under Old White Slidesin winter. Not much! Make yourself to home, an' I'll walk out after abit an' we'll look over the dog outfit. When you see thet outfit you'llholler fer help. "

Wade bowed his thanks, and, putting on his sombrero, he turned away. Ashe did so he caught a sound of light, quick footsteps on the far end ofthe porch. 

"Hello, you-all!" cried a girl's voice, with melody in it that vibratedpiercingly upon Wade's sensitive ears. 

"Mornin', Columbine, " replied the rancher. 

Bent Wade's heart leaped up. This girlish voice rang upon the chord ofmemory. Wade had not the strength to look at her then. It was not thathe could not bear to look, but that he could not bear the disillusionsure to follow his first glimpse of this adopted daughter of Belllounds. Sweet to delude himself! Ah! the years were bearing sterner upon hishead! The old dreams persisted, sadder now for the fact that from longuse they had become half-realities! Wade shuffled slowly across thegreen square to where the cowboy waited for him. His eyes were dim, anda 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 cabinwhere I'm to bunk. "

"Come along, " said Lem, leading off. "Air you agoin' to handle stock orchase coyotes?"

"My job's huntin'. "

"Wal, it may be thet from sunup to sundown, but between times you'll besure busy otherwise, I opine, " went on Lem. "Did you meet theboss's son?"

"Yes, he was there. An' Belllounds made it plain I was to take ordersfrom him an' not from his son. "

"Thet'll make your job a million times easier, " declared Lem, as if tomake up for former hasty pessimism. He led the way past some log cabins, and sheds with dirt roofs, and low, flat-topped barns, out acrossanother brook where willow-trees were turning yellow. Then the new cabincame into view. It was small, with one door and one window, and a porchacross the front. It stood on a small elevation, near the swift brook, and overlooking the ranch-house perhaps a quarter of a mile below. Aboveit, and across the brook, had been built a high fence constructed ofaspen poles laced closely together. The sounds therefrom proclaimed thisstockade to be the dog-pen. 

Lem helped Wade unpack and carry his outfit into the cabin. It containedone room, the corner of which was filled with blocks and slabs of pine, evidently left there after the construction of the cabin, and meant forfire-wood. The ample size of the stone fireplace attested to theseverity of the winters. 

"Real sawed boards on the floor!" exclaimed Lem, meaning to impress thenew-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 upyour bunk. Take my hunch an' ask Miss Collie to find you some furniturean' sich like. She's Ole Bill's daughter, an' she makes upfer--fer--wal, fer a lot we hev to stand. I'll fetch the boysover later. "

"Do you smoke?" asked Wade. "I've somethin' fine I fetched up fromLeadville. "

"Smoke! Me? I'll give you a hoss right now for a cigar. I git one onct ayear, mebbe. "

"Here's a box I've been packin' for long, " replied Wade, as he handed itup 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'sstory! 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. Iwas 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 fromhis meditation. 

"Hey, Wade!" called the cheery voice of Belllounds. Then the rancherappeared 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 lastbirthday! Wal, every dog has his day. .. . What're you needin' to fix thisbunk comfortable like?"

"Reckon I don't need much. "

"Wal, you've beddin' an' cook outfit. Go get a table, an' a chair an' abench 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 oranythin'. "

"How about a lookin'-glass?" asked Wade. "I had a piece, but I brokeit. "

"Haw! Haw! Mebbe we can rustle thet, too. My girl's good on helpin' theboys fix up. Woman-like, you know. An' she'll fetch you some decorationson 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 heleaped the brook bore witness to the fact that he was still vigorous andspry. The door of the pen was made of boards hung on wire. As Bellloundsopened it there came a pattering rush of many padded feet, and a chorusof 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 thevarmints around White Slides. An' sure I was imposed on, " explainedthe rancher. 

"Some good-lookin' hounds in the bunch, " replied Wade. "An' there'shardly too many. I'll train two packs, so I can rest one when theother's huntin'. "

"Wal, I'll be dog-goned!" ejaculated Belllounds, with relief. "I surethought you'd roar. All this rabble to take care of!"

"No trouble after I've got acquainted, " said Wade. "Have they beenhunted 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 againBillings took some out after a pack of coyotes, an' gol darn me if thecoyotes didn't lick the hounds. An' wuss! Jack, my son, got it into hishead thet he was a hunter. The other mornin' he found a fresh lion trackback of the corral. An' he ups an' puts the whole pack of hounds on thetrail. 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 everyblamed hound of them. Thet night an' next day an' the followin' theystraggled in. But twenty some never did come back. "

Wade laughed. "They may come yet. I reckon, though, they've gone homewhere 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 whetheryou bought any good dogs?"

"Yes, I gave fifty dollars for two hounds. Got them of a friend inMiddle 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 atone another, it was difficult for the rancher to draw the two particularones apart so they could be looked over. At length he succeeded, andWade 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 smallin comparison with the other, was black all over, except around the noseand 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 elementin that mongrel pack. 

"If they're as good as they look we're lucky, " said Wade, as he tied theends of his rope round their necks. "Now are there any more you knoware good?"

"Denver, come hyar!" yelled Belllounds. A white, yellow-spotted houndcame wagging his tail. "I'll swear by Denver. An' there's onemore--Kane. He's half bloodhound, a queer, wicked kind of dog. He keepsto himself. .. . Kane! Come hyar!"

Belllounds tramped around the corral, and finally found the hound inquestion, asleep in a dusty hole. Kane was the only beautiful dog in thelot. If half of him was bloodhound the other half was shepherd, for hisblack and brown hair was inclined to curl, and his head had the finethoroughbred contour of the shepherd. His ears, long and drooping andthin, betrayed the hound in him. Kane showed no disposition to befriendly. His dark eyes, sad and mournful, burned with the firesof doubt. 

Wade haltered Kane, Jim, and Sampson, which act almost precipitated afight, 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, withirritation. "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 seemedgood 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 tokeep, an' thet way thin out the pack. "

"Yes, we won't need `em all. An' I reckon I'll take the worry of thisdog-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 jestask 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 onyour toes--I'd take it as a favor fer you to be patient. He's only a boyyet, an' coltish. "

Wade divined that was a favor difficult for Belllounds to ask. The oldrancher, dominant and forceful and self-sufficient all his days, hadbegun to feel an encroachment of opposition beyond his control. If hebut realized it, the favor he asked of Wade was an appeal. 

"Belllounds, I get along with everybody, " Wade assured him. "An' maybe Ican help your son. Before I'd reached here I'd heard he was wild, an' soI'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 soago. I calkilated he'd be sobered, steadied, by--thet--thet work I puthim to. But I'm not sure. He's changed. When he gits his own way he'sall 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'lloutgrow his temper an' crazy notions. Work'll do it. "

"Boys will be boys, " replied Wade, philosophically. "I've not forgottenwhen I was a boy. "

"Neither hev I. Wal, I'll be goin', Wade. I reckon Columbine will be upto call on you. Bein' the only woman-folk in my house, she sort of runsit. An' she's sure interested in thet pack of hounds. "

Belllounds trudged away, his fine old head erect, his gray hair shiningin the sun. 

Wade sat down upon the step of his cabin, pondering over the rancher'sremarks about his son. Recalling the young man's physiognomy, Wade beganto 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 recallnames. And he began to go over the recent past, recalling all that hecould remember of Meeker, and Cripple Creek, where he had worked forseveral months, and so on, until he had gone back as far as his lasttrip to Denver. 

"Must have been there, " mused Wade, thoughtfully, and he tried to recallall the faces he had seen. This was impossible, of course, yet heremembered many. Then he visualized the places in Denver that for onereason or another had struck him particularly. Suddenly into one ofthese flashed the pale, sullen, bold face of Jack Belllounds. 

"It was _there!_" he exclaimed, incredulously. "Well!. .. If thet's notthe strangest yet! Could I be mistaken? No. I saw him. .. . Bellloundsmust have known it--must have let him stay there. .. . Maybe put himthere! 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. Hedismissed it with the conviction that it was another strange happeningin the string of events that had turned his steps toward White SlidesRanch. Wade's mind stirred to the probability of an early sight ofColumbine Belllounds. He would welcome it, both as interesting andpleasurable, and surely as a relief. The sooner a meeting with her wasover the better. His life had been one long succession of shocks, sothat 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 moreresponsive for all it had withstood! Perhaps here at White Slides hemight meet with an experience dwarfing all others. It was possible; itwas in the nature of events. And though he repudiated such apossibility, he fortified himself against a subtle divination that hemight at last have reached the end of his long trail, where anythingmight happen. 

Three of the hounds lay down at Wade's feet. Kane, the bloodhound, stoodwatching this new master, after the manner of a dog who was a judge ofmen. He sniffed at Wade. He grew a little less surly. 

Wade's gaze, however, was on the path that led down along the border ofthe brook to disappear in the willows. Above this clump of yellowingtrees could be seen the ranch-house. A girl with fair hair stepped offthe porch. She appeared to be carrying something in her arms, andshortly disappeared behind the willows. Wade saw her and surmised thatshe was coming to his cabin. He did not expect any more or think anymore. His faculties condensed to the objective one of sight. 

The girl, when she reappeared, was perhaps a hundred yards distant. Wadebent on her one keen, clear glance. Then his brain and his blood beatwildly. He saw a slender girl in riding-costume, lithe and strong, withthe free step of one used to the open. It was this form, this step thatstruck Wade. "My--God! how like Lucy!" he whispered, and he tried topierce the distance to see her face. It gleamed in the sunshine. Herfair hair waved in the wind. She was coming, but so slowly! All of Wadethat was physical and emotional seemed to wait--clamped. The moment wasage-long, with nothing beyond it. While she was still at a distance herface became distinct. And Wade sustained a terrible shock. .. . Then, asone in a dream, as in a blur of strained peering into a maze, he saw theface of his sweetheart, his wife, the Lucy of his early manhood. Itmoved 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 raisedher head. She was looking--she saw him. Terror mounted upon Wade'sconsciousness. 

"That's Lucy's face!" he gasped. "So help--me, God!. .. It's for this--Iwandered here! She's my flesh an' blood--my Lucy's child--my own!"

Fear and presentiment and blank amaze and stricken consciousness lefthim in the lightning-flash of divination that was recognition as well. Ashuddering cataclysm enveloped him, a passion so stupendous that italmost brought oblivion. 

The three hounds leaped up with barks and wagging tails. They welcomedthis 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 facefloating closer. 

"I'm Columbine Belllounds, " said a voice. 

It stilled the storm in Wade. It was real. It was a voice of twentyyears ago. The burden on his breast lifted. Then flashed the spirit, theold 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 nobreak, no tone unnatural in his greeting. 

So they gazed at each other, she with that instinctive look peculiar towomen in its intuitive powers, but common to all persons who had livedfar 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 tothe imagined Lucy's--a pretty face, rather than beautiful, but strongand sweet--its striking qualities being a colorless fairness of skinthat yet held a rose and golden tint, and the eyes of a rare andexquisite 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 theclammy 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 towelcome you to White Slides, and hope you'll like it. "

"Well, Miss Columbine, I reckon I will, " he replied, returning thesmile. "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 thingsfor your cabin. May I peep in?"

"Come in, " replied Wade, rising. "You must excuse my manners. It's longindeed since I had a lady caller. "

She went in, and Wade, standing on the threshold, saw her survey theroom 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 Iwill 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 makeyou a little comfortable. It's dreadful the way outdoor men live whenthey 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 hecould not answer. And to hide his momentary restraint he turned back tothe hounds. Then she came out upon the porch. 

"I love hounds, " she said, patting Denver, which caress immediately madeJim and Sampson jealous. "I've gotten on pretty well with these, butthat Kane won't make up. Isn't he splendid? But he's afraid--no, notafraid of me, but he doesn't like me. "

"It's mistrust. He's been hurt. I reckon he'll get over that after awhile. "

"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 thedogs because somebody was always kicking them around. "

Wade handed the rope to her. "You hold them, so when I come out withsome meat they won't pile over me. " He went inside, took all that wasleft 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 pulledon the rope. 

"You hounds behave, " ordered Wade, as he sat down on the step and beganto cut the meat. "Jim, you're the oldest an' hungriest. Here. .. . Nowyou, Sampson. Here!". .. The big hound snapped at the meat. WhereuponWade 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 himagain, with open hand, not with violence or rancor, but a blow thatmeant Sampson must obey. 

Next time the hound did not snap. Denver had to be cuffed several timesbefore he showed deference to this new master. But the bloodhound Kanerefused to take any meat out of Wade's hand. He growled and showed histeeth, and sniffed hungrily. 

"Kane will have to be handled carefully, " observed Wade. "He'd bitepretty quick. "

"But, he's so splendid, " said the girl. "I don't like to think he'smean. 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 beingtorn and killed by lions and wolves. And it's dreadful to know bears eatgrown-up cattle. But I love the mourn of a wolf and the yelp of acoyote. 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 outthe lions an' drive off the bears. But the wolf family can't beexterminated. No animal so cunnin' as a wolf!. .. I'll tell you. .. . Someyears ago I went to cook on a ranch north of Denver, on the edge of theplains. An' right off I began to hear stories about a big lobo--a wolfthat was an old residenter. He'd been known for long, an' he got meaneran' wiser as he was hunted. His specialty got to be yearlings, an' theranchers all over rose up in arms against him. They hired all the oldhunters an' trappers in the country to kill him. No good! Old Lobo wentright 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 ondifferent nights. Finally he killed eleven yearlings for my boss on onenight. Eleven! Think of that. An' then I said to my boss, 'I reckonyou'd better let me go kill that gray butcher. ' An' my boss laughed atme. But he let me go. He'd have tried anythin'. I took a hunk of meat, ablanket, my gun, an' a pair of snow-shoes, an' I set out on old Lobo'stracks. .. . An', Miss Columbine, I _walked_ old Lobo to death inthe snow!"

"Why, how wonderful!" exclaimed the girl, breathless and glowing withinterest. "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 lastis a man who can tell you enough stories!'. .. But I don't believe youever could. "

"You like stories?" asked Wade, curiously. 

"Love them. All kinds, but I like adventure best. _I_ should have been aboy. Isn't it strange, I can't hurt anything myself or bear to see evena steer slaughtered? But you can't tell too bloody and terrible storiesfor me. Except I hate Indian stories. The very thought of Indians makesme 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 shehesitated, and turned with a smile that was wistful and impulsive. "I--Ibelieve we'll be good friends. "

"Miss Columbine, we sure will, if I can live up to my part, " repliedWade. 

Her smile deepened, even while her gaze grew unconsciously penetrating. Wade felt how subtly they were drawn to each other. But she had noinkling 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 hadput upon himself loosened. When she disappeared his feeling burst allbounds. Dragging the dogs inside, he closed the door. Then, like onebroken and spent, he fell face against the wall, with the hoarselywhispered words, "I'm thankin' God!"

CHAPTER VI

September's glory of gold and red and purple began to fade with theautumnal equinox. It rained enough to soak the frost-bitten leaves, andthen the mountain winds sent them flying and fluttering and scurrying tocarpet 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 aspenthickets were leafless and bare, and the willows showed stark againstthe gray sage hills, and the vines had lost their fire. Hills andvalleys had sobered with subtle change that left them none the lessbeautiful. 

A mile or more down the road from White Slides, in a protected nook, nestled two cabins belonging to a cattleman named Andrews, who hadformerly worked for Belllounds and had recently gone into the stockbusiness for himself. He had a rather young wife, and several children, and a brother who rode for him. These people were the only neighbors ofBelllounds for some ten miles on the road toward Kremmling. 

Columbine liked Mrs. Andrews and often rode or walked down there for alittle visit and a chat with her friend and a romp with the children. 

Toward the end of September Columbine found herself combating a strongdesire to go down to the Andrews ranch and try to learn some news aboutWilson Moore. If anything had been heard at White Slides it certainlyhad not been told her. Jack Belllounds had ridden to Kremmling and backin one day, but Columbine would have endured much before asking him forinformation. 

She did, however, inquire of the freighter who hauled Belllounds'ssupplies, and the answer she got was awkwardly evasive. That nettledColumbine. Also it raised a suspicion which she strove to subdue. Finally it seemed apparent that Wilson Moore's name was not to bementioned to her. 

First, in her growing resentment, she had an impulse to go to her newfriend, the hunter Wade, and confide in him not only her longing tolearn about Wilson, but also other matters that were growing daily moreburdensome. How strange for her to feel that in some way Jack Bellloundshad 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 factthat she no longer sought the rancher as she used to, and he hadapparently avoided her. But then, Columbine reflected, she might beentirely wrong, for when Belllounds did meet her at meal-times, oranywhere, he seemed just as affectionate as of old. Still he was not thesame man. A chill, an atmosphere of shadow, had pervaded the oncewholesome ranch. And so, feeling not yet well enough acquainted withWade to confide so intimately in him, she stifled her impulses andresolved to make some effort herself to find out what she wantedto know. 

As luck would have it, when she started out to walk down to the Andrewsranch 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 gatheringthat seemed foreign to her physical being, and ready to burst out. Oflate it had stirred in her at words or acts of Jack Belllounds. Shegazed steadily at him, and he returned her look with interest. What hewas thinking she had no idea of, but for herself it was a recurrence andan emphasis of the fact that she seemed growing farther away from thisyoung man she had to marry. The weeks since his arrival had been themost worrisome she could remember. 

"I _am_ going, " she replied, slowly. 

"No!" he replied, violently. "I won't have you running off down thereto--to gossip with that Andrews woman. "

"Oh, _you_ won't?" inquired Columbine, very quietly. How little heunderstood her!

"That's what I said. "

"You're not my boss yet, Mister Jack Belllounds, " she flashed, herspirit 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 mypromises. .. . But I didn't say when. If you talk like that to me it mightbe a good many weeks--or--or months before I name the day. "

"_Columbine!_" he cried, as she turned away. There was genuine distressin his voice. Columbine felt again an assurance that had troubled her. No matter how she was reacting to this new relation, it seemed a fearfultruth that Jack was really falling in love with her. This time she didnot soften. 

"I'll call dad to _make_ you stay home, " he burst out again, his temperrising. 

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-footedcowboy 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 inher throbbing and smarting. She hurried on into the road. She wanted torun, not to get out of sight or hearing, but to fly from something, sheknew not what. 

"Oh! it's more than his temper!" she cried, hot tears in her eyes. "He'smean--_mean_--MEAN! What's the use of me denying that--any more--justbecause I love dad?. .. My life will be wretched. .. . It _is_ wretched!"

Her anger did not last long, nor did her resentment. She reproachedherself for the tart replies that had inflamed Jack. Never again wouldshe 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 permanentlycrippled. .. . If it's true. .. . But why should he yell that he knew Iwanted 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 forgetherself again, that she had forgotten, and that a sadder, stranger truthwas dawning upon her--she was discovering another Columbine withinherself, a wilful, passionate, different creature who would no longerbe denied. 

Almost before Columbine realized that she had started upon the visit shewas within sight of the Andrews ranch. So swiftly had she walked! Itbehooved her to hide such excitement as had dominated her. And to thatend she slowed her pace, trying to put her mind on other matters. 

The children saw her first and rushed upon her, so that when shereached the cabin door she could not well have been otherwise than rosyand smiling. Mrs. Andrews, ruddy and strong, looked the pioneerrancher's hard-working wife. Her face brightened at the advent ofColumbine, 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 thefall round-up, and the near approach of winter with its loneliness, andthe children, all of which naturally led to more personal andinteresting topics. 

"An' is it so, Columbine, that you're to marry Jack Belllounds?" askedMrs. Andrews, presently. 

"Yes, I guess it is, " replied Columbine, smiling. 

"Humph! I'm no relative of yours or even a particular, close friend, butI'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 apity, though, onless you love this Buster Jack. An' you never used to dothat, 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. Andrewswith 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' theother night. I like him, Columbine. He's true-blue, for all his strangename. My men-folks took to him like ducks to water. "

"I'm glad. I took to him almost like that, " rejoined Columbine. "He hasthe saddest face I ever saw. "

"Sad? Wal, yes. That man has seen a good deal of what they tacked on tohis name. I laughed when I seen him first. Little lame fellar, crooked-legged an' ragged, with thet awful homely face! But I forgot howhe looked next time he came. "

"That's just it. He's not much to look at, but you forget his homelinessright off, " replied Columbine, warmly. "You feel something behind allhis--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_. Hefixed up Tom's gun, that's been out of whack for a year. He made ourclock run ag'in, an' run better than ever. Then he saved our cow fromthat 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 fromthis poison-weed. I saw so many dead steers on my last ride up themountain. 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'deat poison-weed--larkspur, I think he called it--an' then when she drankwater it formed a gas in her stomach an' she swelled up turrible. Wadejest stuck his knife in her side a little an' let the gas out, and shegot well. "

"Ughh!. .. What cruel doctoring! But if it saves the cattle, then it'sgood. "

"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 querycasual, "do you know whether or not Wilson Moore had his foot treated bya doctor at Kremmling?"

"He did not, " answered Mrs. Andrews. "Wasn't no doctor there. They'd hadto 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, asI can testify. "

"Oh, I'm--very thankful!" murmured Columbine. "He'll not be crippledor--or club-footed, then?"

"I reckon not. You can see for yourself. For Wils's here. He was droveup night before last an' is stayin' with my brother-in-law--in the othercabin there. "

Mrs. Andrews launched all this swiftly, with evident pleasure, but withmore of woman's subtle motive. Her eyes were bent with shrewd kindnessupon the younger woman. 

"Here!" exclaimed Columbine, with a start, and for an instant she was atthe mercy of conflicting surprise and joy and alarm. Alternately sheflushed and paled. 

"Sure he's here, " replied Mrs. Andrews, now looking out of the door. "Heought 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. Mebbehe went in when he see you comin'. For he's powerful sensitive aboutthat crutch. "

"Then--if he's so--so sensitive, perhaps I'd better go, " said Columbine, struggling with embarrassment and discomfiture. What if she happened tomeet him! Would he imagine her purpose in coming there? Her heart beganto beat unwontedly. 

"Suit yourself, lass, " replied Mrs. Andrews, kindly. "I know you andWils 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. Hehad seen her; he was hurrying to avoid a meeting, or to get behind thecorrals there before she observed him. 

"Wilson!" she called, involuntarily. The instant the name left her lipsshe regretted it. But too late! The cowboy halted, slowly turned. 

Then Columbine walked swiftly up to him, suddenly as brave as she hadbeen 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 soglad--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 andlean and healthy, but now it bore testimony to pain and strain andpatient endurance. He looked older. Something in the fine, dark, hazeleyes hurt her deeply. 

"You never sent me word, " she went on, reproachfully. "No one would tellme anything. The boys said they didn't know. Dad was angry when I askedhim. I'd never have asked Jack. And the freighter who drove up--he liedto me. So I came down here to-day purposely to ask news of you, but Inever 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 aboutmy accident. But how could I send word to you?"

"You saved--Pronto, " she returned, with a strong tremor in her voice. "Ican't thank you enough. "

"That was a funny thing. Pronto went out of his head. I hope he's allright. "

"He's almost well. It took some time to pick all the splinters out ofhim. He'll be all right soon--none the worse for that--that cowboy trickof Mister Jack Belllounds. "

Columbine finished bitterly. Moore turned his thoughtful gaze away fromher. 

"I hope Old Bill is well, " he remarked, lamely. 

"Have you told your folks of your accident?" asked Columbine, ignoringhis 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 thatway. "

"Wilson, you'll be going--home--soon--to Denver--won't you?" shefaltered. 

"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 withwhich she placed a hand on the rude crutch would have been enlighteningto any one but these two absorbed in themselves. "I can't bear tobelieve that. "

"I'm afraid it's true. Bad smash, Columbine! I just missed beingclub-footed. "

"You should have care. You should have. .. . Wilson, do you intend to stayhere with the Andrews?"

"Not much. They have troubles of their own. Columbine, I'm going tohomestead one hundred and sixty acres. "

"Homestead!" she exclaimed, in amaze. "Where?"

"Up there under Old White Slides. I've long intended to. You know thatpretty little valley under the red bluff. There's a fine spring. You'vebeen 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 youwant 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 wouldhave 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 notan 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 atWhite Slides. I'm going to drive up soon to haul it away. "

"Wilson Moore, do you mean it?" she asked, with grave wonder. "Are yougoing to homestead near White Slides Ranch--and _live_ there--when--"

She could not finish. An overwhelming disaster, for which she had noname, 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 awaywithout another word. 

"Good-by, Columbine, " he called out after her, with farewell, indeed, inhis voice. 

All the way home Columbine was occupied with feelings that swayed her tothe exclusion of rational consideration of the increasing perplexity ofher situation. And to make matters worse, when she arrived at the ranchit 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 thatrecalled his threat of a few hours back. 

"Does he?" queried Columbine, loftily. "From the courteous way you speakI imagine it's important. "

Belllounds did not deign to reply to this. He sat on the porch, whereevidently 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 thatopened 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 somethingin the interest of self and then had awakened to possible consequences. She pulled away from him without replying, and knocked on theoffice 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 astubby pencil in his huge hand. When he looked up Columbine gave alittle 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 ablow. 

"_Dad_!" she cried, in hurt amaze. 

Belllounds seemed thick, imponderable, as if something had forced acrisis in him and his brain was deeply involved. The habitual, cool, easy, bold, and frank attitude in the meeting of all situations seemedto have been encroached upon by a break, a bewilderment, a lessening ofconfidence. 

"Wal, are you lyin'?" he repeated, either blind to or unaware of herdistress. 

"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 hadbecome 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 inlove 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 ofunknown forces. Not to save a new and growing pride would she evade anyquestion from this man upon whom she had no claim, to whom she owed herlife and her bringing up. But something cold formed in her. 

Belllounds, self-centered and serious as he strangely was, seemed tocheck his probing, either from fear of hearing more from her or from anawakening of former kindness. But her reply was a shock to him, and, throwing down his pencil with the gesture of a man upon whom decisionwas 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 theboy--an' fer you. .. . We needn't waste any more talk. From this minnityou're free to do as you like. Whatever you do won't make any change inmy 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 yousay. .. . An' now, _when_ will you marry him?"

The little room drifted around in Columbine's vague, blank sight. Allseemed 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 afarto 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 seventeenyears ago. "

"October--first--then, dad, " she said, brokenly, and she kissed him asif in token of what she knew she owed him. Then she went out, closingthe door behind her. 

Jack, upon seeing her, hastily got up, with more than concern in hispale face. 

"Columbine!" he cried, hoarsely. "How you look!. .. Tell me. Whathappened? Girl, don't tell me you've--you've--"

"Jack Belllounds, " interrupted Columbine, in tragic amaze at this truthabout to issue from her lips, "I've promised to marry you--onOctober first. "

He let out a shout of boyish exultation and suddenly clasped her in hisarms. But there was nothing boyish in the way he handled her, in thealmost savage evidence of possession. "Collie, I'm mad about you, " hebegan, ardently. "You never let me tell you. And I've grown worse andworse. To-day I--when I saw you going down there--where that WilsonMoore is--I got terribly jealous. I was sick. I'd been glad to killhim!. .. 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 tokiss her mouth, but failed, as she struggled desperately. His kissesfell upon cheek and ear and hair. 

"Let me--go!" panted Columbine. "You've no--no--Oh, you might havewaited. " Breaking from him, she fled, and got inside her room with thedoor 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 thefact that there was some one besides himself to consider. 

"Aw!" He heaved a deep sigh. "All right. I won't try to get in. Onlylisten. .. . Collie, don't mind my--my way of showing you how I felt. Factis, I went plumb off my head. Is that any wonder, you--you darling--whenI've been so scared you'd never have me? Collie, I've felt that you werethe one thing in the world I wanted most and would never get. Butnow. .. . October first! Listen. I promise you I'll not drink anymore--nor gamble--nor nag dad for money. I don't like his way of runningthe ranch, but I'll do it, as long as he lives. I'll even try totolerate that club-footed cowboy's brass in homesteading a ranch rightunder 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 herbed 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 hadpassed, leaving her weak and strangely changed, she tried to reason outwhat had happened to her. Over and over again she named the appeal ofthe rancher, the sense of her duty, the decision she had reached, andthe disgust and terror inspired in her by Jack Belllounds's reception ofher promise. These were facts of the day and they had made of her apalpitating, unhappy creature, who nevertheless had been brave to facethe rancher and confess that which she had scarce confessed to herself. But now she trembled and cringed on the verge of a catastrophe thatwithheld its whole truth. 

"I begin to see now, " she whispered, after the thought had come and goneand returned to change again. "If Wilson had--cared for me I--I mighthave--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 anyone. It's so strange. All at once I feel old. And I can't understandthese--these feelings that shake me. "

So Columbine brooded over the trouble that had come to her, neverregretting her promise to the old rancher, but growing keener in therealization of a complexity in her nature that sooner or later wouldseparate the life of her duty from the life of her desire. She seemedall alone, and when this feeling possessed her a strange reminder of thehunter 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 thetrials and travails through which he had come unhardened, unembittered. Yet how could she tell her troubles to him? A stranger, a rough man ofthe wilds, whose name had preceded him, notorious and deadly, with thatvital tang of the West in its meaning! Nevertheless, Wade drew her, andshe thought of him until the recurring memory of Jack Belllounds's rudeclasp again crept over her with an augmenting disgust and fear. Must shesubmit to that? Had she promised that? And then Columbine felt thedawning of realities. 

CHAPTER VII

Columbine was awakened in the gray dawn by the barking of coyotes. Shedreaded the daylight thus heralded. Never before in her life had shehated the rising of the sun. Resolutely she put the past behind her andfaced the future, believing now that with the great decision made sheneeded only to keep her mind off what might have been, and to attendto her duty. 

At breakfast she found the rancher in better spirits than he had beenfor 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 ina 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 lickson fixin' up an' packin' the clothes you'll need. Women-folk naturallywant to look smart on weddin'-trips. "

"Dad!" exclaimed Columbine, in dismay. "I never thought of clothes. AndI 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 newdresses out of old ones. "

"Wal, I reckon neither of us thought of thet. But you can buy what youlike in Denver. "

Columbine resigned herself. After all, what did it matter to her? Thevague, haunting dreams of girlhood would never come true. So she went toher wardrobe and laid out all her wearing apparel. Taking stock of itthis way caused her further dismay, for she had nothing fit to wear inwhich either to be married or to take a trip to Denver. There appearedto be nothing to do but take the rancher's advice, and Columbine setabout refurbishing her meager wardrobe. She sewed all day. 

What with self-control and work and the passing of hours, Columbinebegan to make some approach to tranquillity. In her simplicity she evenbegan to hope that being good and steadfast and dutiful would earn her alittle meed of happiness. Some haunting doubt of this flashed over hermind like a swift shadow of a black wing, but she dispelled that as shehad dispelled the fear and disgust which often rose up in her mind. 

To Columbine's surprise and to the rancher's concern the prospectivebridegroom did not return from Kremmling on the second day. When nightcame Belllounds reluctantly gave up looking for him. 

Jack's non-appearance suited Columbine, and she would have been glad tobe let alone until October first, which date now seemed appallinglyclose. On the afternoon of Jack's third day of absence from the ranchColumbine rode out for some needed exercise. Pronto not being available, she rode another mustang and one that kept her busy. On the way back tothe ranch she avoided the customary trail which led by the cabins ofWade and the cowboys. Columbine had not seen one of her friends sincethe unfortunate visit to the Andrews ranch. She particularly shrank frommeeting Wade, which feeling was in strange contrast to herformer impulses. 

As she rode around the house she encountered Wilson Moore seated in alight wagon. Her mustang reared, almost unseating her. But she handledhim roughly, being suddenly surprised and angry at this unexpectedmeeting with the cowboy. 

"Howdy, Columbine!" greeted Wilson, as she brought the mustang to hisfeet. "You're sure learning to handle a horse--since I left this hereranch. Wonder who's teaching you! I never could get you to rake evena bronc!"

The cowboy had drawled out his admiring speech, half amused and halfsatiric. 

"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 stilllooked 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 Idon'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 daywith nothing to do but read! That's what knocked me out. I wouldn't haveminded the pain if I could have gotten about. .. . Columbine, I'vemoved in!"

"What! Moved in?" she queried, blankly. 

"Sure. I'm in my cabin on the hill. It's plumb great. Tom Andrews andBert and your hunter Wade fixed up the cabin for me. That Wade is sure agood fellow. And say! what he can do with his hands! He's been kind tome. Took an interest in me, and between you and me he sort ofcheered me up. "

"Cheered you up! Wils, were you unhappy?" she asked, directly. 

"Well, rather. What'd you expect of a cowboy who'd crippledhimself--and lost his girl?"

Columbine felt the smart of tingling blood in her face, and she lookedfrom Wilson to the wagon. It contained saddles, blankets, and othercowboy accoutrements for which he had evidently come. 

"That's a double misfortune, " she replied, evenly. "It's too bad bothcame at once. It seems to me if I were a cowboy and--and felt so towarda 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 upontorturing 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, indistress. 

"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 thesun, " he flashed at her. 

"Let me see--what?" faltered Columbine, feeling as if the world wereabout to end. 

"That I loved you. "

"Oh!. .. Wilson!" whispered Columbine, wildly. 

"Yes--loved you. Could you have been so innocent--so blind you neverknew? I can't believe it. "

"But I never dreamed you--you--" She broke off dazedly, overwhelmed by atragic, 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 notknow how to tell him what all the difference in the world really was. 

Suddenly Wilson turned away from her to listen. Then she heard rapidbeating of hoofs on the road. 

"That's Buster Jack, " said the cowboy. "Just my luck! There wasn't anyone here when I arrived. Reckon I oughtn't have stayed. Columbine, youlook pretty much upset. "

"What do I care how I look!" she exclaimed, with a sharp resentmentattending this abrupt and painful break in her agitation. 

Next moment Jack Belllounds galloped a foam-lashed horse into thecourtyard and hauled up short with a recklessness he was noted for. Heswung 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 itstelltale 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 fromher to the cowboy. Columbine became aware then that Jack was under theinfluence of liquor. His heated red face grew darker with asneering contempt. 

"Where's dad?" he asked, wheeling toward her. 

"I don't know. He's not here, " replied Columbine, dismounting. The leapof thought and blood to Jack's face gave her a further sinking of theheart. The situation unnerved her. 

Wilson Moore had grown a shade paler. He gathered up his reins, ready todrive 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 toColumbine. I saw that in her face. You know it--and she knows it--and Iknow it. .. . You're a liar!"

"Belllounds, I reckon I am, " replied Moore, turning white. "I did tellColumbine 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 thatwagon. "

"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 onBelllounds, 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 yourhands 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 tothe cowboy. "Moore, show up that wagon-load of stuff unless you want meto throw it out in the road. "

"Belllounds, you know I can't do that, " replied Moore, coldly. "And I'llgive 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 ofthe cowboy's hands. 

"You damn club-foot! Your gift of gab doesn't go with me, " yelledBelllounds, as he swung up on the hub of the wheel. But it was manifestthat his desire to search the wagon was only a pretense, for while hepulled at this and that his evil gaze was on the cowboy, keen to meetany move that might give excuse for violence. Moore evidently read this, for, gazing at Columbine, he shook his head, as if to acquaint her witha 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 fromthe wheel, pushed her hack with masterful hand. Opposition to him waslike waving a red flag in the face of a bull. Columbine recoiled fromhis 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 thereins, and stooped to pick them up. Belllounds shoved Columbine fartherback, and then he leaped to confront the cowboy. 

"I've got you now, Moore, " he said, hoarse and low. Stripped of allpretense, he showed the ungovernable nature of his temper. His face grewcorded and black. The hand he thrust out shook like a leaf. "Yousmooth-tongued liar! I'm on to your game. I know you'd put her againstme. I know you'd try to win her--less than a week before herwedding-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 upto 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 strangefrankness in Belllounds's tirade. Only when calm could his mind becapable of hidden calculation. The devil that was in him nowseemed rampant. 

"Belllounds, you're mighty brave to stack up this way against aone-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 himover. Only the injured foot, coming down hard, saved him. 

When Columbine saw that, and then how Wilson winced and grew deathlypale, she uttered a low cry, and she seemed suddenly rooted to the spot, weak, terrified at what was now inevitable, and growing sick and coldand 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 swunghis fist, aiming a heavy blow at Moore. 

Then the cowboy whirled aloft the heavy crutch. "If you hit at me againI'll let out what little brains you've got. God knows that's littleenough!. .. Belllounds, I'm going to call you to your face--before thisgirl your bat-eyed old man means to give you. You're not drunk. You'reonly ugly--mean. You've got a chance now to lick me because I'mcrippled. And you're going to make the most of it. Why, you cur, I couldcome near licking you with only one leg. But if you touch me again I'llbrain you!. .. You never were any good. You're no good now. You neverwill be anything but Buster Jack--half dotty, selfish as hell, bull-headed and mean!. .. And that's the last word I'll ever wasteon you. "

"I'll kill you!" bawled Belllounds, black with fury. 

Moore wielded the crutch menacingly, but as he was not steady on hisfeet he was at the disadvantage his adversary had calculated upon. Belllounds ran around the cowboy, and suddenly plunged in to grapplewith him. The crutch descended, but to little purpose. Belllounds'sheavy onslaught threw Moore to the ground. Before he could riseBelllounds 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. Thesenoises seemed at first distant, then grew closer. As she gazed againwith keener perception, Moore's horse plunged away from the fiercelystruggling forms that had rolled almost under his feet. During theensuing moments it was an equal battle so far as Columbine could tell. Repelled, yet fascinated, she watched. They beat each other, grappledand rolled over, first one on top, then the other. But the advantage ofbeing uppermost presently was Belllounds's. Moore was weakening. Thatbecame noticeable more and more after each time he had wrestled androlled about. Then Belllounds, getting this position, lay with hisweight upon Moore, holding him down, and at the same time kicking withall his might. He was aiming to disable the cowboy by kicking theinjured foot. And he was succeeding. Moore let out a strangled cry, andstruggled desperately. But he was held and weighted down. Bellloundsraised up now and, looking backward, he deliberately and furiouslykicked Moore's bandaged foot; once, twice, again and again, until thestraining form under him grew limp. Columbine, slowly freezing withhorror, saw all this. She could not move. She could not scream. Shewanted 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 lookaway. Belllounds got up astride his prostrate adversary and began tobeat him brutally, swinging heavy, sodden blows. His face then wasterrible to see. He meant murder. 

Columbine heard approaching voices and the thumping of hasty feet. Thatunclamped her cloven tongue. Wildly she screamed. Old Bill Bellloundsappeared, striding off the porch. And the hunter Wade came runningdown 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 facedistorted, he was not a pleasant sight for even the father. Moore layunconscious, with ghastly, bloody features, and his bandaged foot showedgreat splotches of red. 

"My Gawd, son!" gasped Old Bill. "You didn't pick on this hyar crippledboy?"

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 ofa passion that had at last been wholly unleashed and was stillunsatisfied. Yet a malignant and exultant gratification showed inhis face. 

"That--evens us--up, Moore, " he panted, and stalked away. 

By this time Wade reached the cowboy and knelt beside him. Columbinecame running to fall on her knees. The old rancher seemed stricken. 

"Oh--Oh! it was terrible--" cried Columbine. "Oh--he's so white--and theblood--"

"Now, lass, that's no way for a woman, " said Wade, and there wassomething in his kind tone, in his look, in his presence, that calmedColumbine. "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 handshe had laid upon the cowboy's face, and with a strange, hot, burstingsensation, strong and thrilling, she put that red place to her lips. Running out with the things required by Wade, she was in time to hearthe rancher say, "Looks hurt bad, to me. "

"Yes, I reckon, " replied Wade. 

While Columbine held Moore's head upon her lap the hunter bathed thebloody face. It was battered and bruised and cut, and in some places, asfast as Wade washed away the red, it welled out again. 

Columbine watched that quiet face, while her heart throbbed and swelledwith emotions wholly beyond her control and understanding. When at lastWilson opened his eyes, fluttering at first, and then wide, she felt asurge 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 mysore foot--till I fainted. But he licked me--all right. "

"Wils, mebbe he did lick you, " replied the old rancher, brokenly, "butI reckon he's damn little to be proud of--lickin' a crippledman--thet way. "

"Boss, Jack'd been drinking, " said Moore, weakly. "And he sure had--someexcuse for going off his head. He caught me--talking sweet toColumbine . .. And then--I called him all the names--I could lay mytongue to. "

"Ahuh!" The old man seemed at a loss for words, and presently he turnedaway, 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 wasgotten into the wagon. He tried to sit up, but made a sorry showingof 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 havebeen worse. Just you go to your room till you're sure ofyourself 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--andbringing all this distress--to you. It was my fault. If I'd onlykept--my mouth shut!"

"You need not be sorry you met me, " she said, with her eyes straightupon his. "I'm glad. .. . But oh! if your foot is badly hurt I'llnever--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'mbent--_bent_ like your name--to speak my mind!"

Then she ran toward the house and up on the porch, to enter theliving-room with heaving breast and flashing eyes. Manifestly therancher was berating his son. The former gaped at sight of her and thelatter shrank. 

"Jack Belllounds, " she cried, "you're not half a man. .. . You're a cowardand a brute!"

One tense moment she stood there, lightning scorn and passion in hergaze, and then she rushed out, impetuously, as she had come. 

CHAPTER VIII

Columbine did not leave her room any more that day. What she sufferedthere she did not want any one to know. What it cost her to conquerherself 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 hisson. Recent happenings had not only changed her, but had seemed to giveher strength. When she presented herself at the breakfast-table Jack wasabsent. 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 reckonit was what you called him. He didn't take much store on what I calledhim, which was wuss. .. . I tell you, lass, Jack's set his heart so hardon you thet it's turrible. "

"Queer way he has of showing the--the affections of his heart, " repliedColumbine, shortly. 

"Thet was the drink, " remonstrated the old man, pathetic and earnest inhis 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. Iknow. .. . But he's had good excuse fer this break. The boys in town begancelebratin' fer October first. Great wonder Jack didn't come homeclean drunk. "

"Dad, you're as good as gold, " said Columbine, softening. How could shefeel 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 inhis 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' fera girl--why, I can see how easy she'd change an' grow overnight. It'sonly fair fer me to say that no matter what you think you owe me youcouldn't be blamed now fer dislikin' Jack. "

"Dad, if by marrying Jack I can help him to be a better son to you, andmore of a man, I'll be glad, " she replied. 

"Lass, I'm beginnin' to see how big an' fine you are, " repliedBelllounds, with strong feeling. "An' it's worryin' me. .. . My neighborshev always accused me of seein' only my son. Only Buster Jack! I wasblind 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 leftas far as Jack's concerned. Thet's marryin' him to you. An' I'mstickin' to it. "

"So will I stick to it, dad, " she replied. "I'll go through with Octoberfirst!"

Columbine broke off, vouchsafing no more, and soon left thebreakfast-table, to take up the work she had laid out to do. And sheaccomplished it, though many times her hands dropped idle and her eyespeered 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 theblacksmith shop. 

"Wal, Miss Collie, air you-all still hangin' round this hyar ranch?" heasked, with welcoming smile. 

"Lem, I'm almost ashamed now to face my good friends, I've neglectedthem so long, " she replied. 

"Aw, now, what're friends fer but to go to?. .. You're lookin' pale, Ireckon. 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 haidoff. "

The cowboy went with her to the pasture gate and whistled Pronto up. Themustang came trotting, evidently none the worse for his injuries, andeager 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 carefulan' remember your saddle's loose. "

"All right, Lem, " replied Columbine, as she mounted. "Where are the boysthis 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 wasskinnin' a lion then, over hyar on the ridge. Thet was in the mawnin'. Ireckon he's around, fer I seen some of the hounds. "

"Then, Lem--you haven't heard about the fight yesterday between Jack andWilson Moore?"

Lem straightened up quickly. "Nope, I 'ain't heerd a word. "

"Well, they fought, all right, " said Columbine, hurriedly. "I saw it. Iwas the only one there. Wilson was badly used up before dad and Ben gotthere. Ben drove off with him. "

"But, Miss Collie, how'd it come off? I seen Wils the other day. Was upto 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 tofight--accused him of stealing. Wils tried to avoid trouble. Then Jackjumped him. Wilson fought and held his own until Jack began to kick hisinjured foot. Then Wilson fainted and--and Jack beat him. "

Lem dropped his head, evidently to hide his expression. "Wal, dog-goneme!" he ejaculated. "Thet's too bad. "

Columbine left the cowboy and rode up the lane toward Wade's cabin. Shedid not analyze her deliberate desire to tell the truth about thatfight, but she would have liked to proclaim it to the whole range and tothe world. Once clear of the house she felt free, unburdened, and totalk 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 werechained separately in the aspen grove a few rods distant. Sampsonthumped the boards with his big tail, but he did not get up, whichlaziness attested to the fact that there had been a lion chase the daybefore and he was weary and stiff. If Wade had been at home he wouldhave come out to see what had occasioned the clamor. As Columbine rodeby 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 shiningand sparkling in the rough, swift places, and limpid and green in theeddies. She passed the dam made by the solitary beaver that inhabitedthe valley. Freshly cut willows showed how the beaver was preparing forthe long winter ahead. Columbine remembered then how greatly pleasedWade had been to learn about this old beaver; and more than once Wadehad talked about trapping some younger beavers and bringing them thereto make company for the old fellow. 

The trail led across the brook at a wide, shallow place, where thesplashing 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 horsetracks told her that Wade had ridden along there some time earlier. Pronto shied at the whirring of sage-hens. Presently Columbineascertained they were flushed by the hound Kane, that had broken looseand followed her. He had done so before, and the fact had notdispleased her. 

"Kane! Kane! come here!" she called. He came readily, but halted a rodor so away, and made an attempt at wagging his tail, a functionevidently somewhat difficult for him. When she resumed trotting hefollowed 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 itsname. Sage Valley was only one of the valleys at its base. It opened outhalf a mile wide, dominated by the looming peak, and bordered on the farside by an aspen-thicketed slope. The brook babbled along under the edgeof this thicket. Cattle and horses grazed here and there on the rich, grassy levels, Columbine was surprised to see so many cattle andwondered to whom they belonged. All of Belllounds's stock had beendriven lower down for the winter. There among the several horses thatwhistled at her approach she espied the white mustang Belllounds hadgiven to Moore. It thrilled her to see him. And next, she suffered apang to think that perhaps his owner might never ride him again. ButColumbine held her emotions in abeyance. 

The cabin stood high upon a level terrace, with clusters of aspensbehind it, and was sheltered from winter blasts by a gray cliff, picturesque and crumbling, with its face overgrown by creeping vines andcolorful shrubs, Wilson Moore could not have chosen a more secluded andbeautiful valley for his homesteading adventure. The little gray cabin, with smoke curling from the stone chimney, had lost its look ofdilapidation and disuse, yet there was nothing new that Columbine couldsee. The last quarter of the ascent of the slope, and the few rodsacross the level terrace, seemed extraordinarily long to Columbine. Asshe dismounted and tied Pronto her heart was beating and her breath wascoming fast. 

The door of the cabin was open. Kane trotted past the hesitatingColumbine and went in. 

"You son-of-a-hound-dog!" came to Columbine's listening ears in Wade'swell-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 toenter. 

"Good morning!" said Columbine, in a voice that had more thancheerfulness in it. 

"_Collie!_. .. Did you come to see me?"

She heard this incredulous query just an instant before she saw Wilsonat the far end of the room, lying under the light of a window. Theinside 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 haveyou see this battered mug of mine. "

"You needn't--care, " said Columbine, unsteadily. And indeed, in thatfirst glance she did not see him clearly. A mist blurred her sight andthere was a lump in her throat. Then, to recover herself, she lookedaround the cabin. 

"Well--Wils Moore--if this isn't fine!" she ejaculated, in amaze anddelight. Columbine sustained an absolute surprise. A magic hand hadtransformed the interior of that rude old prospector's abode. Acarpenter and a mason and a decorator had been wonderfully at work. Fromone end to the other Columbine gazed; from the big window under whichWilson lay on a blanketed couch to the open fireplace where Wade grinnedshe looked and looked, and then up to the clean, aspen-poled roof anddown to the floor, carpeted with deer hides. The chinks between the logsof 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 asmoking pot; and the way the smoke and steam curled up into the gray oldchimney attested to its splendid draught. In each corner hung adeer-head, from the antlers of which depended accoutrements of acowboy--spurs, ropes, belts, scarfs, guns. One corner containedcupboard, ceiling high, with new, clean doors of wood, neatly made; andnext to it stood a table, just as new. On the blank wall beyond thatwere pegs holding saddles, bridles, blankets, clothes. 

"He did it--all this inside, " burst out Moore, delighted with herdelight. "Quicker than a flash! Collie, isn't this great? I don't mindbeing down on my back. And he says they call him Hell-Bent Wade. I callhim Heaven-Sent Wade!"

When Columbine turned to the hunter, bursting with her pleasure andgratitude, he suddenly dropped the forked stick he used as a lift, andshe saw his hand shake when he stooped to recover it. How strangely thatstruck her!

"Ben, it's perfectly possible that you've been sent by Heaven, " sheremarked, with a humor which still held gravity in it. 

"Me! A good angel? That'd be a new job for Bent Wade, " he replied, witha 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 onthe wall above the foot of Wilson's bed. Beneath them, on pegs, hung arifle. And on the window-sill stood a glass jar containing columbines. They were fresh. They had just been picked. They waved gently in thebreeze, sweetly white and blue, strangely significant to the girl. 

Moore laughed defiantly. 

"Wade thought to fetch these flowers in, " he explained. "They're hisfavorites as well as mine. It won't be long now till the frost killsthem . .. 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 bereckoned with. She did not look at Wilson's face then. Her downcast gazesaw that his right hand was bandaged, and she touched it with anunconscious 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 thatwas 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 earnestnessthat 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 hideand I'll watch. .. . But, Columbine Belllounds, if he ever cornersme again--"

"Why, you'll leave him to Hell-Bent Wade, " interrupted the hunter, andhe looked up from where he knelt, fixing those great, inscrutable eyesupon the cowboy. Columbine saw something beyond his face, deeper thanthe 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 theedge of the bed. "Ben, you fetch that box and put his dinner on it. "

While Wade complied, Columbine, shyly aware of her nearness to thecowboy, sought to keep up conversation. "Couldn't you help yourself withyour left hand?" she inquired. 

"That's one worse, " he answered, taking it from under the blanket, whereit 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, " orderedColumbine. 

"Fold that blanket and help me up on it, " replied Moore. 

How strange and disturbing for Columbine to bend over him, to slip herarms under him and lift him! It recalled a long-forgotten motherlinessof her doll-playing days. And her face flushed hot. 

"Can't you move?" she asked, suddenly becoming aware of how dead aweight the cowboy appeared. 

"Not--very much, " he replied. Drops of sweat appeared on his bruisedbrow. 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 beganto 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 theprettiest--"

"Are you going to eat?" demanded Columbine. 

"Huh!" exclaimed the cowboy, blankly. "Eat? Oh yes, sure. I'm powerfulhungry. 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 ownmounting sensations of a sweet, natural joy and fitness in her proximityto him, she was hard put to it to show some dexterity as a nurse. Andall the time she was aware of Wade, with his quiet, forceful presence, hovering near. Could he not see her hands trembling? And would he notthink that weakness strange? Then driftingly came the thought that shewould not shrink from Wade's reading her mind. Perhaps even now heunderstood 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 stayhere--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 boughtcattle. "

"That's a good start for you. I'm glad. But who's going to take care ofyou and your stock until you can work again?"

"Why, my friend there, Heaven-Sent Wade, " replied Moore, indicating thelittle man busy with the utensils on the table, and apparentlyhearing 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. Willyou?"

"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 seemedthat the hills had never been so softly, dreamily gray, nor theirloneliness so sweet, nor the sky so richly and deeply blue. As sheuntied 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 withyou, " he said. 

She mounted, and walked Pronto out to the trail, and slowly faced thegradual descent. It was really higher up there than she had surmised. And the view was beautiful. The gray, rolling foothills, so exquisitelycolored at that hour, and the black-fringed ranges, one above the other, and the distant peaks, sunset-flushed across the purple, all rose openand clear to her sight, so wildly and splendidly expressive of theColorado 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 ofthing himself. "

"Reckon he would. But this deal's out of the ordinary. An' Wils's not inas good shape as he thinks. I'm not takin' any chances. I don't want tolose my job, an' I don't want to be hindered from attendin' tothis boy. "

They had ridden as far as the first aspen grove when Wade concluded thisremark. Columbine halted her horse, causing her companion to dolikewise. Her former misgivings were augmented by the intelligence ofWade'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 medicinean' surgery. An' I know. I wouldn't tell you this if it wasn't that I'vegot to rely on you to help me. "

"I will--but go on--tell me, " interposed Columbine trying to fortifyherself. 

"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 wecan't save his leg, an' maybe not his life. "

"Oh, it can't be as bad as all that!" cried Columbine. "Oh, I knew--Iknew there was something. .. . Ben, you mean even at best now--he'll bea--" 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 tearsblinded her, hot blood gushed over her, hot heart-beats throbbed inher throat. 

"Poor boy! That'll--ruin him, " she cried. "He loved--a horse. He lovedto ride. He was the--best rider of them all. And now he's ruined! He'llbe 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 tomarry him--on October first! Oh, God pity me!"

Blindly Columbine reeled out of her saddle and slowly dropped to thegrass, where she burst into a violent storm of sobs and tears. It shookher every fiber. It was hopeless, terrible grief. The dry grass receivedher flood of tears and her incoherent words. 

Wade dismounted and, kneeling beside her, placed a gentle hand upon herheaving shoulder, but he spoke no word. By and by, when the storm hadbegun to subside, he raised her head. 

"Lass, nothin' is ever so bad as it seems, " he said, softly. "Come, situp. 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 afine, strong girl--an' somethin' tells me you was made for happiness. Iknow how things turn out. Listen--"

"But, Ben--you don't know--about me, " she sobbed. "I've toldyou--I--hate Jack Belllounds. But I've--got to marry him!. .. His fatherraised me--from a baby. He brought me up. I owe him--my life. .. . I've norelation--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 troublestoo hard. An' you're wrong. Why, everybody loves you! Lem an' Jim--whyyou just brighten the hard world they live in. An' that poor, hot-headedJack--he loves you as well as he can love anythin'. An' the old man--nodaughter could be loved more. .. . An' I--I love you, lass, just like--asif you--might have been my own. I'm goin' to be the friend--the brotheryou need. An' I reckon I can come somewheres near bein' a mother, ifyou'll let me. "

Something, some subtle power or charm, stole over Columbine, assuagingher terrible sense of loss, of grief. There was tenderness in this man'shands, in his voice, and through them throbbed strong and passionatelife 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 heloves me, but he doesn't understand. Dad is wrapped up in his son. I'vehad no one. I never had any one. "

"You have some one now, " returned Wade, with a rich, deep mellowness inhis voice that soothed Columbine and made her wonder. "An' because I'vebeen through so much I can tell you what'll help you. .. . Lass, if awoman isn't big an' brave, how will a man ever be? There's more in womenthan in men. Life has given you a hard knock, placin' you here--no realparents--an' makin' you responsible to a man whose only fault is blindedlove for his son. Well, you've got to meet it, face it, with what awoman has more of than any man. Courage! Suppose you do hate thisBuster 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 andsquare. If you feel it your duty to pay your debt to the old man youcall 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 comesin strange, unheard-of ways. There's more in this life than what youwant most. _You_ didn't place yourself in this fix. So if you meet itwith courage an' faithfulness to yourself, why, it'll not turn out asyou dread. .. . Some day, if you ever think you're broken-hearted, I'lltell you my story. An' then you'll not think your lot so hard. For I'vehad 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' hillsan' 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 inshowin' all this to you. That'll be the crownin' glory. An' if it's thatmuch to me, then you be sure there's nothin' on earth I won't dofor you. "

Columbine lifted her tear-stained face with a light of inspiration. 

"Oh, Wilson was right!" she murmured. "You are Heaven-sent! And I'mgoing to love you!"

CHAPTER IX

A new spirit, or a liberation of her own, had fired Columbine, and wasnow burning within her, unquenchable and unutterable. Some divine sparkhad penetrated into that mysterious depth of her, to inflame and toillumine, so that when she arose from this hour of calamity she feltthat to the tenderness and sorrow and fidelity in her soul had beenadded the lightning flash of passion. 

"Oh, Ben--shall I be able to hold onto this?" she cried, flinging wideher arms, as if to embrace the winds of heaven. 

"This what, lass?" he asked. 

"This--this _woman!_" she answered, passionately, with her handssweeping 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'veuplifted me. I was little, weak, miserable. .. . But in my dreams, or insome state I can't remember or understand, I've waited for your verywords. I was ready. It's as if I knew you in some other world, before Iwas born on this earth; and when you spoke to me here, sowonderfully--as my mother might have spoken--my heart leaped up inrecognition of you and your call to my womanhood!. .. Oh, how strange andbeautiful!"

"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 insome former state I was somethin' to you. I believe in that. Reckon Ican't say how or what. Maybe we were flowers or birds. I've a weaknessfor 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 forthe 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 everafterward, " she replied, low and tremulously. 

Wade pondered over her words. It seemed to Columbine that her sharpenedfaculties sensed something of hostility, of opposition in him. 

"Reckon to-morrow would be better, " he said, presently. "Wilson's hadenough 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' rememberyou'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 toodark for her to see his foam-lashed horse. Jim appeared non-committal, almost surly. But Columbine guessed that he had ridden to Kremmling andback in one day, on some order of Jack's. 

"Miss Collie, I'll tend to Pronto, " he offered. "An' yore supper'll bewaitin'. "

A bright fire blazed on the living-room hearth. The rancher was readingby 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 myeyes are pore!"

"It's cold, dad, " she replied, "and the wind stings. But I didn't ridefast 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, " respondedColumbine. 

"Any friends lookin' after him?"

"Oh yes--he must have friends--the Andrewses and others. I'm glad to sayhis 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 wecan do anythin' fer the boy. "

"Dad--that's just like you, " replied Columbine, with her hand seekinghis 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 wishyou was Jack an' Jack was you. "

At that moment the young man spoken of slouched into the room, with hishead bandaged, and took a seat at the supper-table. 

"Wal, Collie, let's go an' get it, " said the rancher, cheerily. "I canalways eat, anyhow. "

"I'm hungry as a bear, " rejoined Columbine, as she took her seat, whichwas opposite Jack. 

"Where 'ye you been?" he asked, curiously. 

"Why, good evening, Jack! Did you finally notice me?. .. I've been ridingPronto, the first time since he was hurt. Had a lovely ride--up throughSage Valley. "

Jack glowered at her with the one unbandaged eye, and growled somethingunder his breath, and then began to stab meat and potatoes withhis fork. 

"What's the matter, Jack? Aren't you well?" asked Columbine, with asolicitude 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 forthis world!"

The amazing nature of this speech, coming from the girl who had alwaysbeen so sweet and quiet and backward, was attested to by theconsternation 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 sayhow queer you look. .. . Are you going to be married with one eye?"

Jack collapsed at that, and the old man, after a long stare ofopen-mouthed wonder, broke out: "Haw! Haw! Haw!. .. By Golly! lass--I'dnever believed thet was in you. .. . Jack, be game an' take yourmedicine. .. . An' both of you forgive an' forget. Thar'll be quarrelsenough, mebbe, without rakin' over the past. "

When alone again Columbine reverted to a mood vastly removed from herapparent levity with the rancher and his son. A grave andinward-searching thought possessed her, and it had to do with theuplift, the spiritual advance, the rise above mere personal welfare, that had strangely come to her through Bent Wade. From their firstmeeting he had possessed a singular attraction for her that now, in thelight of the meaning of his life, seemed to Columbine to be the man'snobility and wisdom, arising out of his travail, out of the terribleyears that had left their record upon his face. 

And so Columbine strove to bind forever in her soul the spirit which hadarisen in her, interpreting from Wade's rude words of philosophy thatwhich 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 livewith the rest of her life, her duty there was to be a good wife, to bearwith his faults, to strive always to help him by kindness, patience, loyalty, and such affection as was possible to her. Hate had to bereckoned 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 bewith that alone always, aloof from the petty cares and troubles commonto people. Wade's words had thrilled her with their secret, with theirlimitless hope of an unknown world of thought and feeling. Happiness, inthe ordinary sense, might never be hers. Alas for her dreams! But therehad been given her a glimpse of something higher than pleasure andcontentment. Dreams were but dreams. But she could still dream of whathad been, of what might have been, of the beauty and mystery of life, ofsomething in nature that called sweetly and irresistibly to her. Whocould rob her of the rolling, gray, velvety hills, and the purple peaksand the black ranges, among which she had been found a waif, a littlelost creature, born like a columbine under the spruces?

Love, sudden-dawning, inexplicable love, was her secret, stilltremulously new, and perilous in its sweetness. That only did she fearto realize and to face, because it was an unknown factor, a threateningflame. Her sudden knowledge of it seemed inextricably merged with themounting, 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. Vaguepossibilities haunted her. What might come of the telling? How darkloomed the bitterness! She could not know what hid in either of theseacts until they were fulfilled. And the hours became long, and sleep faroff, and the quietness of the house a torment, and the melancholy wailof coyotes a reminder of happy girlhood, never to return. 

 * * * * *

When next day the long-deferred hour came Columbine selected a horsethat she could run, and she rode up the winding valley swift as thewind. But at the aspen grove, where Wade's keen, gentle voice had givenher secret life, she suffered a reaction that made her halt and ascendthe slope very slowly and with many stops. 

Sight of Wade's horse haltered near the cabin relieved Columbinesomewhat of a gathering might of emotion. The hunter would be inside andso she would not be compelled at once to confess her secret. Thisexpectancy gave impetus to her lagging steps. Before she reached theopen door she called out. 

"Collie, you're late, " answered Wilson, with both joy and reproach, asshe 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. Thedinner got cold. I made sure you'd backed out--weren't coming atall--and I couldn't eat. .. . Wade said he knew you'd come. He went offwith the hounds, somewhere . .. And oh, Collie, it's all right now!"

Columbine walked to his bedside and looked down upon him with a feelingas if some giant hand was tugging at her heart. He looked better. Theswelling and redness of his face were less marked. And at that moment nopain shadowed his eyes. They were soft, dark, eloquent. If Columbine hadnot come with her avowed resolution and desire to unburden her heart shewould 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 lookso--so wonderful! I never saw your face glow like that. And youreyes--oh!"

"You think I'm pretty, then?" she asked, dreamily, not occupied at allwith 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 herlips a little, muffled sound. 

"Why--Collie!" cried Moore, astounded. "Good Heavens! Don't cry! I--Ididn't mean anything. I only wanted to feel you--touch your hand. "

"Here, " she answered, blindly holding out her hand, groping for his tillshe found it. Her other was still pressed to her eyes. One moment longerwould Columbine keep her secret--hide her eyes--revel in the unutterablejoy and sadness of this crisis that could come to a woman only once. 

"What in the world?" ejaculated the cowboy, now bewildered. But hepossessed himself of the trembling hand offered. "Collie, you act sostrange. .. . 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 uttersurrender. 

"Wilson, I'm ashamed--and sad--and gloriously happy, " she said, withswift 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--somethingI 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 youkissed 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 neckand pulled her face down to his, and, holding her in a close embrace, hekissed 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 herhands clutched it tightly. The wildness of his joy, the strange strengthand power of his kisses, utterly changed her. Upon his breast she lay, without desire to lift her face. All seemed different, wilder, as sheresponded 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. Butlet me look at you. "

Columbine lifted herself as best she could. But she was blinded by tearsand choked with utterance that would not come, and in the grip of ashuddering emotion that was realization of loss in a moment when shelearned 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 toit, 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 herarms she hid her face and held him convulsively, and stifled the sobsthat 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 therewas something terribly wrong, and that perhaps he dared not voice hisfear. At any rate, he silently held her, waiting. That silent wait grewunendurable for Columbine. She wanted to prolong this moment that was tobe all she could ever surrender. But she dared not do so, for she knewif he ever kissed her again her duty to Belllounds would vanish likemist 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, allthe time striving for strength to face him again. 

A loud voice ringing from the cliffs outside, startled Columbine. Itcame from Wade calling the hounds. He had returned, and the factstirred her. 

"I'm to marry Jack Belllounds on October first. "

The cowboy raised himself up as far as he was able. It was agonizing forColumbine 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'strue!"

"But, girl, you said you love me, " he declared, transfixing her withdark, accusing eyes. 

"That's just as terribly true. "

He softened a little, and something of terror and horror took the placeof anger. 

Just then Wade entered the cabin with his soft tread, hesitated, andthen came to Columbine's side. She could not unrivet her gaze from Mooreto 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?" hedemanded. 

"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 amarriage. But you're not. "

"Shame?" faltered Columbine. 

"Yes. The shame of marrying one man when you love another. You can'tlove two men. .. . You'll give yourself. You'll be his _wife_! Do youunderstand what that means?"

"I--I think--I do, " replied Columbine, faintly. Where had vanished allher wonderful spirit? This fire-eyed boy was breaking her heart withhis reproach. 

"But you'll bear his children, " cried Wilson. "Mother of--them--when youlove 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. "DearestCollie, 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 terriblehappened, 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 instrength, although her spirit held. She knew what was inevitable. ButWilson's agony was rending her. 

"Listen, " began the cowboy again. "It's your life--your happiness--yoursoul. .. . Belllounds is crazy over that spoiled boy. He thinks the sunrises 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'llbreak your heart, drag you down, ruin your health--kill you, as sure asyou stand there. I want you to know I could prove to you what he is. Butdon't make me. Trust me, Collie. Believe me. "

"Wilson, I do believe you, " cried Columbine. "But it doesn't make anydifference. 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 anythingin his life, and never will. It's not in him. He wants what he can'thave. If he gets it, then right off he doesn't want it. Oh, I've knownhim 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 babyand 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'reunjust--hard. You make no allowance for--for some possible good in everyone. 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 mybroken foot till I fainted?. .. What do you want?"

"Don't say any more--please, " cried Columbine. "Oh, I'm so sorry. .. . Ioughtn't have come. .. . Ben, take me home. "

"But, Collie, I love you, " frantically urged Wilson. "And he--he maylove you--but he's--Collie--he's been--"

Here Moore seemed to bite his tongue, to hold back speech, to fightsomething terrible and desperate and cowardly in himself. 

Columbine heard only his impassioned declaration of love, and to thatshe vibrated. 

"You speak as if this was one--sided, " she burst out, as once more thegush of hot blood surged over her. "You don't love me any more than Ilove you. Not as much, for I'm a woman!. .. I love with all my heartand soul!"

Moore fell back upon the bed, spent and overcome. 

"Wade, my friend, for God's sake do something, " he whispered, appealingto the hunter as if in a last hope. "Tell Collie what it'll mean for herto marry Belllounds. If that doesn't change her, then tell her whatit'll mean to me. I'll never go home. I'll never leave here. If shehadn't told me she loved me then, I might have stood anything. But now Ican't. It'll kill me, Wade. "

"Boy, you're talkin' flighty again, " replied Wade. "This mornin' when Icome 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 Inever run across a deal with two people fixed just like you. But thatdoesn't hinder me from feelin' the same about it as I'd feel aboutsomethin' I was used to. "

He paused, and, gently releasing Columbine, he went to Moore, and retiedhis loosened bandage, and spread out the disarranged blankets. Then hesat down on the edge of the bed and bent over a little, running aroughened hand through the scant hair that had begun to silver upon hishead. Presently he looked up, and from that sallow face, with its linesand furrows, and from the deep, inscrutable eyes, there fell a lightwhich, however sad and wise in its infinite understanding of pain andstrife, 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 toresist 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 youcan do anythin'. .. . Now there's old Belllounds--he'll never change. Hemight r'ar up for this or that, but he'll never change his cherishedhopes for his son. .. . But Jack might change! Lookin' back over all theyears I remember many boys like this Buster Jack, an' I remember how inthe nature of their doin's they just hanged themselves. I've a queerforesight 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 feela terrible yearnin' to tell the story of Hell-Bent Wade. That foresightof 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'tgoin' to marry Jack Belllounds. "

CHAPTER X

One day Wade remarked to Belllounds: "You can never tell what a dog isuntil you know him. Dogs are like men. Some of 'em look good, butthey're really bad. An' that works the other way round. If a dog's bornto run wild an' be a sheep-killer, that's what he'll be. I've known dogsthat loved men as no humans could have loved them. It doesn't make anydifference 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 faultsexceptin' he doesn't bay enough. Sampson's not as true-nosed as Jim, buthe'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 orlion tracks when he jumps a deer. I reckon he's not young enough to becured of that. Some of the younger hounds are comin' on fine. Butthere'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 queerdog. I can't win him. He minds me now because I licked him, an' oncegood an' hard when he bit me. .. . But he doesn't cotton to me worth adamn. He's gettin' fond of Miss Columbine, an' I believe might make agood 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 fromLouisiana. "

"That accounts for an instinct I see croppin' out in Kane, " rejoinedWade. "He likes to trail a man. I've caught him doin' it. An' he doesn'ttake to huntin' lions or bear. Why, the other day, when the hounds treeda 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 hemight be a sheep-killer. But I reckon not. He can trail men, an' that'sabout 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 doglike thet'd come handy. An' if he takes to Collie an' you approve ofhim, 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, butshe'd never kill anythin'. .. . Wade, you ain't thinkin' she ought to stopthem 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 BlackRange?"

"That won't do, Belllounds, " replied Wade, seriously. "But Miss Collie'snot goin' to, for I've cautioned her. Fact is I've run across somehard-lookin' men between here an' Buffalo Park. They're not hunters orprospectors or cattlemen or travelers. "

"Wal, you don't say!" rejoined Belllounds. "Now, Wade, are youconnectin' up them strangers with the stock I missed on this lastround-up?"

"Reckon I can't go as far as that, " returned Wade. "But I didn't liketheir looks. "

"Thet comin' from you, Wade, is like the findin's of a jury. .. . It'sgettin' along toward October. Snow'll be flyin' soon. You don't reckonthem 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' fergold. He's been hyar. Good fellar, but crazy on gold. "

"I've met Lewis several times, one place and another. I lost the houndsday 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' aroundBuffalo Park, an' he's tried to get a line on them. Somebody took a shotat him in the woods. He couldn't swear it was one of that outfit, but hecould swear he wasn't near shot by accident. Now Lewis says these menpack to an' fro from Elgeria, an' he has a hunch they're in cahoots withSmith, 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 ofmine in Elgeria. But no one ever proved him crooked, whatever wasthought. Fer my part, I never missed a guess in my life. Men don't havescars 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 himthat 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 somerustlin' of cattle. Not enough to make any rancher holler, an' I reckonthere never will be any more of thet in Colorado. Still, if we get thedrop 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 tocome 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 cattlehe'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 workopenly, 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 likethet, 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'sgot the grudge against me. "

"Ahuh! Wal, then, don't you go huntin' fer trouble. Try an' make WhiteSlides one place thet'll disprove your name. All the same, don't shy atsight of anythin' suspicious round the ranch. "

The old man plodded thoughtfully away, leaving the hunter likewise in abrown study. 

"He's gettin' a hunch that I'll tell him of some shadow hoverin' blackover White Slides, " soliloquized Wade. "Maybe--maybe so. But I don't seeany 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 absolutelyoverlooked, which fact Wade regarded with contempt for himself. Discovery of this particular dog came about by accident. Somewhere inthe big corral there was a hole where the smaller dogs could escape, butWade had been unable to find it. For that matter the corral was full ofholes, not any of which, however, it appeared to Wade, would permitanything except a squirrel to pass in and out. 

One day when the hunter, very much exasperated, was prowling around andaround inside the corral, searching for this mysterious vent, a rathersmall dog, with short gray and brown woolly hair, and shaggy brows halfhiding big, bright eyes, came up wagging his stump of a tail. 

"Well, what do you know about it?" demanded Wade. Of course he hadnoticed this particular dog, but to no purpose. On this occasion the dogrepeated so unmistakably former overtures of friendship that Wade gavehim close scrutiny. He was neither young nor comely nor thoroughbred, but there was something in his intelligent eyes that struck the huntersignificantly. "Say, maybe I overlooked somethin'? But there's been aheap of dogs round here an' you're no great shucks for looks. Now, ifyou're talkin' to me come an' find that hole. "

Whereupon Wade began another search around the corral. It covered nearlyan acre of ground, and in some places the fence-poles had been sunk nearrocks. More than once Wade got down upon his hands and knees to see ifhe could find the hole. The dog went with him, watching with knowingeyes that the hunter imagined actually laughed at him. But they wereglad eyes, which began to make an appeal. Presently, when Wade came to arough place, the dog slipped under a shelving rock, and thence through ahalf-concealed hole in the fence; and immediately came back through towag his stump of a tail and look as if the finding of that hole waseasy 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 takenout 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 thelonger 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 thatWade, vowing not to be surprised at anything, let him go. It happened tobe a particularly hard day on hounds because of old tracks andcross-tracks and difficult ground. Fox worked out a labyrinthine trailthat Sampson gave up and Jim failed on. This delighted Wade, and thatnight he tried to find out from Andrews, who sold the dog to Belllounds, something about Fox. All the information obtainable was that Andrewssuspected the fellow from whom he had gotten Fox had stolen him. Belllounds had never noticed him at all. Wade kept the possibilities ofFox to himself and reserved his judgment, and every day gave the doganother chance to show what he knew. 

[Illustration: "I'm beginnin' to feel that I couldn't let her marry thatBuster Jack, " soliloquized Wade, as he rode along the grassy trail. ]

Long before the end of that week Wade loved Fox and decided that he wasa wonderful animal. Fox liked to hunt, but it did not matter what hehunted. That depended upon the pleasure of his master. He would findhobbled horses that were hiding out and standing still to escapedetection. He would trail cattle. He would tree squirrels and pointgrouse. Invariably he suited his mood to the kind of game he hunted. Ifput on an elk track, or that of deer, he would follow it, keeping wellwithin sight of the hunter, and never uttering a single bark or yelp;and without any particular eagerness he would stick until he had foundthe game or until he was called off. Bear and cat tracks, however, roused the savage instinct in him, and transformed him. He yelped atevery jump on a trail, and whenever his yelp became piercing andcontinuous Wade well knew the quarry was in sight. He fought bear like awise old dog that knew when to rush in with a snap and when to keepaway. When lions or wildcats were treed Fox lost much of his ferocityand interest. Then the matter of that particular quarry was ended. Hismost valuable characteristic, however, was his ability to stick on thetrack upon which he was put. Wade believed if he put Fox on the trail ofa 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 Foxwould not steal a piece of meat and that he would fight the other dogsfor being thieves. 

Fox and Kane, it seemed to the hunter in his reflective foreshadowingof events at White Slides, were destined to play most important parts. 

 * * * * *

Upon a certain morning, several days before October first--which daterankled in the mind of Wade--he left Moore's cabin, leading apack-horse. The hounds he had left behind at the ranch, but Foxaccompanied 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. Iheerd 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 didnot mention that he had avoided such a circumstance. The fact was Wadeadmired and loved the elk above all horned wild animals. So strange washis attitude toward elk that he had gone meat-hungry many a time withthese great stags bugling near his camp. 

As he climbed the yellow, grassy mountain-side, working round above thevalley, his mind was not centered on the task at hand, but on WilsonMoore, who had come to rely on him with the unconscious tenacity of ason whose faith in his father was unshakable. The crippled cowboy kepthis hope, kept his cheerful, grateful spirit, obeyed and suffered with apatience that was fine. There had been no improvement in his injuredfoot. Wade worried about that much more than Moore. The thing thatmostly occupied the cowboy was the near approach of October first, withits terrible possibility for him. He did not talk about it, except whenfever made him irrational, but it was plain to Wade how he prayed andhoped and waited in silence. Strange how he trusted Wade to avertcatastrophe of Columbine's marriage! Yet such trust seemed familiar toWade, as he reflected over past years. Had he not wanted such trust--hadhe not invited it?

For twenty years no happiness had come to Wade in any sense comparableto that now secretly his, as he lived near Columbine Belllounds, divining more and more each day how truly she was his own flesh and theimage of the girl he had loved and married and wronged. Columbine washis daughter. He saw himself in her. And Columbine, from being stronglyattracted to him and trusting in him and relying upon him, had come tolove him. That was the most beautiful and terrible fact of hislife--beautiful because it brought back the past, her babyhood, and hisbarren years, and gave him this sudden change, where he livedtransported with the sense and the joy of his possession. It wasterrible because she was unhappy, because she was chained to duty andhonor, because ruin faced her, and lastly because Wade began to have thevague, gloomy intimations of distant tragedy. Far off, like a cloud onthe horizon, but there! Long ago he had learned the uselessness offighting 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 proofshad strengthened him in that clinging. 

There were personal dread and poignant pain for Wade in ColumbineBelllounds's situation. After all, he had only his subtle and intuitiveassurance that matters would turn out well for her in the end. To trustthat now, when the shadow began to creep over his own daughter, seemedunwise--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 againstit. 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' loveso sweet! I reckon that's why I couldn't let her marry Jack. .. . But, onthe other hand, there's the old man's faith in his son, an' there'sCollie's faith in herself an' in life. Now I believe in that. An' theyears have proved to me there's hope for the worst of men. .. . I haven'teven had a talk with this Buster Jack. I don't know him, except byhearsay. An' I'm sure prejudiced, which's no wonder, considerin' where Isaw him in Denver. .. . I reckon, before I go any farther, I'd better meetthis Belllounds boy an' see what's in him. "

 * * * * *

It was characteristic of Wade that this soliloquy abruptly ended histhoughtful considerations for the time being. This was owing to the factthat he rested upon a decision, and also because it was time he began toattend to the object of his climb. 

Bench after bench he had ascended, and the higher he got the denser andmore numerous became the aspen thickets and the more luxuriant thegrass. Presently the long black slope of spruce confronted him, with itsedge like a dark wall. He entered the fragrant forest, where not a twigstirred nor a sound pervaded the silence. Upon the soft, matted earththe hoofs of the horses made no impression and scarcely aperceptible thud. 

Wade headed to the left, avoiding rough, rocky defiles of weatheredcliff and wind-fallen trees, and aimed to find easy going up to thesummit of the mountain bluff far above. This was new forest to him, consisting of moderate-sized spruce-trees growing so closely togetherthat he had to go carefully to keep from snapping dead twigs. Foxtrotted 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 hewas approaching a large glade or open patch, where the sunlight fellstrongly. It turned out to be a swale, or swampy place, some few acresin extent, and directly at the foot of a last steep, wooded slope. HereFox put his nose into the air and halted. 

"What're you scentin', Fox, old boy?" asked Wade, with low voice, as hepeered ahead. The wind was in the wrong direction for him to approachclose to game without being detected. Fox wagged his stumpy tail andlooked up with knowing eyes. Wade proceeded cautiously. The swamp was arank growth of long, weedy grasses and ferns, with here and there agreen-mossed bog half hidden and a number of dwarf oak-trees. Wade'shorse sank up to his knees in the mire. On the other side showed freshtracks 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 hishorse. An old elk trail showed a fresh track. Fox accommodated his paceto that of the toiling hunter. The ascent was steep and led up throughdense forest. At intervals, when Wade halted to catch his breath andlisten, he heard faint snapping of dead branches far above. At length hereached the top of the mountain, to find a wide, open space, with heavyforest in front, and a bare, ghastly, burned-over district to his right. Fox growled, and appeared about to dash forward. Then, in an openingthrough 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. Butperhaps that was not all Wade's motive in sparing him. 

Once more mounted, Wade turned his attention to the burned district. Itwas a dreary, hideous splotch, a blackened slash in the green cover ofthe mountain. It sloped down into a wide hollow and up another bareslope. The ground was littered with bleached logs, trees that had beenkilled first by fire and then felled by wind. Here and there a lofty, spectral trunk still withstood the blasts. Across the hollow sloped aconsiderable area where all trees were dead and still standing--amelancholy sight. Beyond, and far round and down to the left, opened upa slope of spruce and bare ridge, where a few cedars showed dark, andthen came black, spear-tipped forest again, leading the eye to themagnificent 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' tellBelllounds I couldn't find any elk. "

The hunter had no qualms about killing mountain-sheep, but he loved thelordly stags and would have lied to spare them. He rode on, with keengaze shifting everywhere to catch a movement of something in thiswilderness before him. If there was any living animal in sight it didnot move. Wade crossed the hollow, wended a circuitous route through theupstanding forest of dead timber, and entered a thick woods that skirtedthe rim of the mountain. Presently he came out upon the open rim, fromwhich the depths of green and gray yawned mightily. Far across, OldWhite Slides loomed up, higher now, with a dignity and majestyunheralded from below. 

Wade found fresh sheep tracks in the yellow clay of the rim, small aslittle deer tracks, showing that they had just been made by ewes andlambs. Not a ram track in the group!

"Well, that lets me out, " said Wade, as he peered under the bluff forsight of the sheep. They had gone over the steep rim as if they hadwings. "Beats hell how sheep can go down without fallin'! An' how theycan hide!"

He knew they were near at hand and he wasted time peering to spy themout. Nevertheless, he could not locate them. Fox waited impatiently forthe word to let him prove how easily he could rout them out, but thispermission was not forthcoming. 

"We're huntin' elk, you Jack-of-all-dogs, " reprovingly spoke the hunterto Fox. 

So they went on around the rim, and after a couple of miles of travelcame to the forest, and then open heads of hollows that widened anddeepened down. Here was excellent pasture and cover for elk. Wade leftthe rim to ride down these slow-descending half-open ridges, wherecedars grew and jack-pines stood in clumps, and little grassy-borderedbrooks babbled between. He saw tracks where a big buck deer had crossedahead of him, and then he flushed a covey of grouse that scared thehorses, 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 threetiny 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 namedthis 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 recentgrazing. Elk had been along the brook that morning. There were manytracks, like cow tracks, only smaller, deeper, and more oval; and therewere beds where elk had lain, and torn-up places where bulls had plowedand stamped with heavy hoofs. 

Fox trailed the herd to higher ground, where evidently they had enteredthe woods. Here Wade tied his horses, and, whispering to Fox, heproceeded stealthily through this strip of spruce. He came out to anopen point, taking care, however, to keep well screened, from which hehad a glimpse of a parklike hollow, grassy and watered. Working round tobetter vantage, he soon espied what had made Fox stand so stiff andbristling. A herd of elk were trooping up the opposite slope, scarcely ahundred yards distant. They had heard or scented him, but did not appearalarmed. They halted to look back. The hunter's quick estimate creditednearly two dozen to the herd, mostly cows. A magnificent bull, withwide-spreading antlers, and black head and shoulders and gray hindquarters, stalked out from the herd, and stood an instant, head aloft, splendidly significant of the wild. Then he trotted into the woods, hisantlers noiselessly spreading the green. Others trotted off likewise. Wade raised his rifle and looked through the sight at the bull, and lethim pass. Then he saw another over his rifle, and another. Reluctant andforced, he at last aimed and pulled trigger. The heavy Henry boomed outin the stillness. Fox dashed down with eager barks. When the smokecleared away Wade saw the opposite slope bare except for one fallen elk. 

Then he returned to his horses, and brought them back to where Foxperched 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 itotherwise. "

He cut up the elk, and packed all the meat the horse could carry, andhung the best of what was left out of the reach of coyotes. Mountingonce more, he ascended to the rim and found a slope leading down to thewest. Over the basin country below he had hunted several days. This wayback to the ranch was longer, he calculated, but less arduous for manand beast. His pack-horse would have hard enough going in any event. From time to time Wade halted to rest the burdened pack-animal. Atlength he came to a trail he had himself made, which he now proceeded tofollow. It led out of the basin, through burned and boggy ground anddown upon the forest slope, thence to the grassy and aspened uplands. One aspen grove, where he had rested before, faced the west, and, forreasons hard to guess, had suffered little from frost. All the leaveswere intact, some still green, but most of them a glorious gold againstthe blue. It was a large grove, sloping gently, carpeted with yellowgrass and such a profusion of purple asters as Wade had never seen inhis flower-loving life. Here he dismounted and sat against anaspen-tree. His horses ruthlessly cropped the purple blossoms. 

Nature in her strong prodigality had outdone herself here. Pale whitethe aspen-trees shone, and above was the fluttering, quivering canopy ofgold tinged with green, and below clustered the asters, thick as starsin the sky, waving, nodding, swaying gracefully to each little autumnbreeze, lilac-hued and lavender and pale violet, and all the shades ofexquisite purple. 

Wade lingered, his senses predominating. This was one of those momentsthat colored his lonely wanderings. Only to see was enough. He wouldhave shut out the encroaching thoughts of self, of others, of life, hadthat been wholly possible. But here, after the first few moments ofexquisite riot of his senses, where fragrance of grass and blossomfilled the air, and blaze of gold canopied the purple, he began to thinkhow beautiful the earth was, how Nature hid her rarest gifts for thosewho loved her most, how good it was to live, if only for theseblessings. And sadness crept into his meditations because all thisbeauty 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 dreamthat had passed. 

Yet still followed the saving thought that frost and winter must againyield to sun, and spring, summer, autumn would return with the flowersof their season, in that perennial birth so gracious and promising. Theaspen leaves would quiver and slowly gild, the grass would wave in thewind, the asters would bloom, lifting star-pale faces to the sky. Nextautumn, and every year, and forever, as long as the sun warmedthe 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 JackBelllounds sitting in idle, moping posture on the porch. Something inhis dejected appearance roused Wade's pity. No one else was in sight, sothe 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 thepack-horse to the door of the store-cabin, which stood back of thekitchen 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 workwith 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 orelk, " 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 tolearnin'. I was past your age when I learned most I know. "

The hunter's voice and his look, and that fascination which subtly hidin his presence, for the first time seemed to find the response ofinterest in young Belllounds. 

"I can't stick, dad says, and he swears at me, " replied Belllounds. "ButI'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 ridingmustangs. To ride came natural, but in work, when I do it wrong, thenI hate it. "

"Ahuh! That's too bad. You oughtn't to hate work. Hard work makes forwhat I reckon you like in a man, but don't understand. As I look backover my life--an' let me say, young fellar, it's been a tough one--whatI 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'smind, he saw that he was wasting his earnestness. Belllounds did notkeep to the train of thought. His mind wandered, and now he wasexamining 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 shotat that post?" And from where he stood in the door he pointed to a bighitching-post near the corral gate. 

The corral contained horses, and in the pasture beyond were cattle, anyof which might be endangered by such a shot. Wade saw that the young manwas 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. Dustand splinters flew from the post. 

"I hit it!" he exclaimed, in delight. "I was sure I wouldn't, because Iaimed 'way under. "

"Reckon you did. It was a good shot. "

Then a door slammed and Old Bill Belllounds appeared, his hairupstanding, his look and gait proclaiming him on the rampage. 

"Jack! What'n hell are you doin'?" he roared, and he stamped up to thedoor to see his son standing there with the rifle in his hands. "ByHeaven! If it ain't one thing it's another!"

"Boss, don't jump over the traces, " said Wade. "I'll allow if I'd knownthe gun would let out a bellar like that I'd not have told Jack toshoot. Reckon it's because we're under the open roof that it made theracket. I'm wantin' to clean the gun while it's hot. "

"Ahuh! Wal, I was scared fust, harkin' back to Indian days, an' then Iwas mad because I figgered Jack was up to mischief. .. . Did you fetch inthe 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 howquick dad's ready to jump me? I'll bet he thought I'd picked ashooting-scrape with one of the cowboys. "

"Well, he's gettin' old an' testy, " replied Wade. "You ought to humorhim. He'll not be here always. "

Belllounds answered to that suggestion with a shadowing of eyes and lookof realization, affection, remorse. Feelings seemed to have a quick riseand play in him, but were not lasting. Wade casually studied him, weighing his impressions, holding them in abeyance for a sumof 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 suddenchange. "How bad?"

"I reckon he'll be a cripple for life, " answered Wade, seriously, andnow he stopped in his work to peer at Belllounds. The next moment mightbe critical for that young man. 

"Club-footed!. .. He won't lord it over the cowboys any more--or ridethat white mustang!" The softer, weaker expression of his face, thatwhich gave him some title to good looks, changed to an ugliness hard forWade to define, since it was neither glee, nor joy, nor gratificationover his rival's misfortune. It was rush of blood to eyes and skin, aheated change that somehow to Wade suggested an anxious, selfish hunger. Belllounds lacked something, that seemed certain. But it remained to beproved 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, withsneer of amaze, with promise of bursting rage. He slammed down the gun. 

"Yes, the hell I say, " returned the hunter. "They call me Hell-BentWade!"

"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 atWhite Slides. "

"Neither will you!"

Belllounds turned dead white, not apparently from fury or fear, but froma shock that had its birth within the deep, mysterious, emotionalreachings of his mind. He was utterly astounded, as if confronting avague, terrible premonition of the future. Wade's swift words, like thering of bells, had not been menacing, but prophetic. 

"Young fellar, you need to be talked to, so if you've got any sense atall it'll get a wedge in your brain, " went on Wade. "I'm a strangerhere. But I happen to be a man who sees through things, an' I see howyour 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 cananswer to all his wild impulses without ruinin' himself. It's notnatural. There are other people--people who have wills an' desires, sameas you have. You've got to live with people. Here's your dad an' MissColumbine, an' the cowboys, an' me, an' all the ranchers, so down toKremmlin' an' other places. These are the people you've got to livewith. You can't go on as you've begun, without ruinin' yourself an' yourdad an' the--the girl. .. . It's never too late to begin to be better. Iknow that. But it gets too late, sometimes, to save the happiness ofothers. Now I see where you're headin' as clear as if I had pictures ofthe future. I've got a gift that way. .. . An', Belllounds, you'll notlast. Unless you begin to control your temper, to forget yourself, tokill your wild impulses, to be kind, to learn what love is--you'll neverlast!. .. In the very nature of things, one comin' after another likeyour 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 natureof life that goin' on so you'll sooner or later meet with hell! You'vegot to change, Belllounds. No half-way, spoiled-boy changin', but thestraight right-about-face of a man!. .. It means you must see you're nogood an' have a change of heart. Men have revolutions like that. I wasno good. I did worse than you'll ever do, because you're not big enoughto be really bad, an' yet I've turned out worth livin'. .. . There, I'mthrough, 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 explodedstridently. "Who the hell are _you?_. .. If I hadn't been sosurprised--if I'd had a chance to get a word in--I'd shut your trap! Areyou a preacher masquerading here as hunter? Let me tell you, I won't betalked to like that--not by any man. Keep your advice an' friendship toyourself. "

"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 sincehe had been at White Slides. 

"I reckoned so, " he said, with low and gloomy voice, and he knew, ifBelllounds did not know, that he was not acquiescing with the other'sharsh 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 hourwith Moore. When he returned to his cabin he proceeded to change hishunter garb for the best he owned. It was a proof of his unusualpreoccupation that he did this before he fed the hounds. It was sunsetwhen he left his cabin. Montana Jim and Lem hailed as he went by. Wadepaused 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 thestorehouse. .. . '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 locoedBuster Jack. "

"Montana, you're the locoed one, " rejoined Lem. "Buster Jack knows whathe'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'sitchin' fer cards. So we says shore. Blud's goin' to sit in. Now youcome 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 borngambler. He'd bet with his grandmother an' he'd cheat the coppers off adead nigger's eyes. "

"Slick with cards, eh?" inquired Wade. 

"Naw, Jack's not slick. But he tries to be. An' we jest go him oneslicker. "

"Wouldn't Old Bill object to this card-playin'?"

"He'd be ory-eyed. But, by Golly! we're not leadin' Jack astray. An' weain't hankerin' to play with him. All the same a little game iswelcome enough. "

"I'll come over, " replied Wade, and thoughtfully turned away. 

When he presented himself at the ranch-house it was Columbine who lethim 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 namelesscharm, that seemed to come from the past. Her look was eager andlonging, as if his presence might bring something welcome to her. 

Then the rancher stalked in. "Hullo, Wade! Supper's 'most ready. What'sthis 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 theface, 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' washeadin' plumb fer hell?"

"That was a little of what I said, " returned Wade, gently. 

"Ahuh! How'd thet come about?" queried Belllounds, gruffly. A slightstiffening and darkening overcast his face. 

Wade then recalled and recounted the remarks that had passed between himand Jack; and he did not think he missed them very far. He had a greatcuriosity to see how Belllounds would take them, and especially theyoung man's scornful rejection of a sincerely offered friendship. Allthe time Wade was talking he was aware of Columbine watching him, andwhen 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 metme half-way that would have been better for him. An' for me, because Iget good out of helpin' any one. "

His reply silenced Belllounds. No more was said before supper wasannounced, and then the rancher seemed taciturn. Columbine did theserving, and most all of the talking. Wade felt strangely at ease. Somesubtle difference was at work in him, transforming him, but the momenthad not yet come for him to question himself. He enjoyed the supper. Andwhen he ventured to look up at Columbine, to see her strong, capablehands and her warm, blue glance, glad for his presence, sweetlyexpressive of their common secret and darker with a shadow of meaningbeyond her power to guess, then Wade felt havoc within him, the strifeand pain and joy of the truth he never could reveal. For he could neverreveal his identity to her without betraying his baseness to her mother. Otherwise, to hear her call him father would have been earning thathappiness with a lie. Besides, she loved Belllounds as her father, andwere this trouble of the present removed she would grow still closer tothe old man in his declining days. Wade accepted the inevitable, Shemust never know. If she might love him it must be as the stranger whocame to her gates, it must be through the mysterious affinity betweenthem and through the service he meant to render. 

Wade did not linger after the meal was ended despite the fact thatBelllounds recovered his cordiality. It was dark when he went out. Columbine followed him, talking cheerfully. Once outside she squeezedhis hand and whispered, "How's Wilson?"

The hunter nodded his reply, and, pausing at the porch step, he pressedher hand to make his assurance stronger. His reward was instant. In thebright starlight she stood white and eloquent, staring down at him withdark, wide eyes. 

Presently she whispered: "Oh, my friend! It wants only three days tillOctober 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, thatshe was about to embrace him. But her gesture was an appeal to thestars, 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 ofpoker when Wade entered the dimly lighted, smoke-hazed room. Montana Jimwas sticking tallow candles in the middle of a rude table; Lem wassearching his clothes, manifestly for money; Bludsoe shuffled a greasydeck of cards, and Jack Belllounds was filling his pipe before a fire ofblazing logs on the hearth. 

"Dog-gone it! I hed more money 'n thet, " complained Lem. "Jim, you rodeto Kremmlin' last. Did you take my money?"

"Wal, come to think of it, I reckon I did, " replied Jim, in surprise atthe recollection. 

"An' whar's it now?"

"Pard, I 'ain't no idee. I reckon it's still in Kremmlin'. But I'll payyou back. "

"I should smile you will. Pony up now. "

"Bent Wade, did you come over calkilated to git skinned?" queriedBludsoe. 

"Boys, I was playin' poker tolerable well in Missouri when you all wasnursin', " replied Wade, imperturbably. 

"I heerd he was a card-sharp, " said Jim. "Wal, grab a box or a chair toset on an' let's start. Come along, Jack; you don't look as keen to playas usual. "

Belllounds stood with his back to the fire and his manner did notcompare 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 anend to the amiability. The cowboys looked at one another, notembarrassed, but just a little taken aback, as if they had forgottensomething 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, " returnedBelllounds, insolently. 

Such a remark flung in the face of a Westerner was an insult. Thecowboys suddenly grew stiff, with steady eyes on Wade. He, however, didnot change in the slightest. 

"I might be a card-sharp at that, " he replied, coolly. "You fellows playwithout me. I'm not carin' about poker any more. I'll look on. "

Thus he carried over the moment that might have been dangerous. Lemgaped at him; Montana kicked a box forward to sit upon, and his actionwas expressive; Bludsoe slammed the cards down on the table and favoredWade with a comprehending look. Belllounds pulled a chair up tothe 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 cowboysobjected. 

"Why, Jack, if the ole man got on to us playin' a dollar limit he'd firethe outfit, " protested Bludsoe. 

This reasonable objection in no wise influenced the old man's son. Heoverruled the good arguments, and then hinted at the cowboys' lack ofnerve. 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 coldring in his voice, as he straddled a box and sat down. "Wade, lemmesome money. "

Wade slipped his hand into his pocket and drew forth a goodly handful ofgold, which he handed to the cowboy. Not improbably, if this largeamount had been shown earlier, before the change in the sentiment, Lemwould have looked aghast and begged for mercy. As it was, he accepted itas if he were accustomed to borrowing that much every day. Bellloundshad rendered futile the easy-going, friendly advances of the cowboys, ashe had made it impossible to play a jolly little game for fun. 

The game began, with Wade standing up, looking on. These boys did notknow what a vast store of poker knowledge lay back of Wade's inscrutableeyes. As a boy he had learned the intricacies of poker in the countrywhere it originated; and as a man he had played it with piles of yellowcoins and guns on the table. His eagerness to look on here, as far asthe cowboys were concerned, was mere pretense. In Belllounds's case, however, he had a profound interest. Rumors had drifted to him from timeto time, since his advent at White Slides, regarding Belllounds'sweakness for gambling. It might have been cowboy gossip. Wade held thatthere was nothing in the West as well calculated to test a boy, to provehis real character, as a game of poker. 

Belllounds was a feverish better, an exultant winner, a poor loser. Hisunderstanding of the game was rudimentary. With him, the strong feelingbeginning to be manifested to Wade was not the fun of matching wits andluck with his antagonists, nor a desire to accumulate money--for hisrecklessness disproved that--but the liberation of the gambling passion. Wade recognized that when he met it. And Jack Belllounds was not in anysense big. He was selfish and grasping in the numberless little wayscommon to the game, and positive about his own rights, while doubtful ofthe claims of others. His cheating was clumsy and crude. He held outcards, hiding them in his palm; he shuffled the deck so he left aces atthe bottom, and these he would slip off to himself, and he was so blindthat he could not detect his fellow-player in tricks as transparent ashis own. Wade was amazed and disgusted. The pity he had felt forBelllounds shifted to the old father, who believed in his son withstubborn 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. Thecowboys shook their heads. Wade knew they were lying, for they did haveliquor in the cabin. It occurred to him, then, to offer to go to his owncabin for some, just to see what this young man would say. But herefrained. 

The luck went against Belllounds and so did the gambling. He was not alamb among wolves, by any means, but the fleecing he got suggested that. According to Wade he was getting what he deserved. No cowboys, even suchgood-natured and fine fellows as these, could be expected to be subjectsfor 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 stoodout, bold, dark, rolling and glaring, full of sullen fire. But more thananything else his mouth betrayed the weakling, the born gambler, theself-centered, spoiled, intolerant youth. It was here his badblood 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 madeno move to lend any of it. Belllounds glared impatiently at them. 

"Hell! you took my money. I'll have satisfaction, " he broke out, almostshouting. 

"We won it, didn't we?" rejoined Lem, cool and easy. "An' you can haveall 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 hadmade a gamble with himself, and it was that Belllounds would not evenhesitate to take money. 

"Come on, you stingy cowpunchers, " he called out, snatching the moneyfrom Wade. His action then, violent and vivid as it was, did not revealany more than his face. 

But the cowboys showed amaze, and something more. They fell straightwayto gambling, sharper and fiercer than before, actuated now by theflaming 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 facegrew dark. 

"I tell you I want drink, " he suddenly demanded. "I know damn well youcowpunchers have some here, for I smelled it when I came in. "

"Jack, we drank the last drop, " replied Jim, who seemed less stiff thanhis two bunk-mates. 

"I've some very old rye, " interposed Wade, looking at Jim, butapparently 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 hadsomething in his mouth. 

Wade looked down into the heated face, into the burning eyes; andthrough the darkness of passion that brooked no interference with itsfruition he saw this youth's stark and naked soul. Wade had seen intothe depths of many such abysses. 

"See hyar, Wade, " broke in Jim, with his quiet force, "never mindfetchin' thet red-hot rye to-night. Some other time, mebbe, when Jackwants 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 nightwas still, cold, starlit, and black in the shadows. A lonesome coyotebarked, 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 andstar-crowned. 

"I'm sorry for the old man, " muttered the hunter, "but I'd see JackBelllounds in hell before I'd let Columbine marry him. "

 * * * * *

October first was a holiday at White Slides Ranch. It happened to be aglorious autumn day, with the sunlight streaming gold and amber over thegrassy slopes. Far off the purple ranges loomed hauntingly. 

Wade had come down from Wilson Moore's cabin, his ears ringing with thecrippled boy's words of poignant fear. 

Fox favored his master with unusually knowing gaze. There was not goingto be any lion-chasing or elk-hunting this day. Something was in thewind. And Fox, as a privileged dog, manifested his interest and wonder. 

Before noon a buckboard with team of sweating horses halted in the yardof the ranch-house. Besides the driver it contained two women whomBelllounds greeted as relatives, and a stranger, a pale man whose darkgarb 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 soundof laughter and voices. Wade, who had returned to his seat on the end ofthe porch, listened to them, while his keen gaze seemed fixed down thelane toward the cabins. How intent must he have been not to hearColumbine'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 Octoberfirst--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 resignationof her face. Hope and faith were unquenchable in her, yet she hadfortified herself to the wreck of dreams and love. 

"I'd seen you before now, but I had some job with Wils, persuadin' himthat we'd not have to offer you congratulations yet awhile, " repliedWade, in his slow, gentle voice. 

"_Oh!_" breathed Columbine. 

Wade saw her full breast swell and the leaping blood wave over her paleface. She bent to him to see his eyes. And for Wade, when she peeredwith straining heart and soul, all at once to become transfigured, thatinstant 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 offate 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 youseen 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 thedirection 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, unevengait of his son. "Wade, what's the matter with Jack?"

Wade did not reply. That moment had its sorrow for him as well asunderstanding of the wonder expressed by Columbine's cold little handtrembling in his. 

The rancher suddenly recoiled. 

"So help me Gawd--he's drunk!" he gasped, in a distress that unmannedhim. 

Then the parson and the invited relatives came out upon the porch, withgay 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 leanedagainst him. 

The bridegroom approached. Drunk indeed he was; not hilariously, as onewho celebrated his good fortune, but sullenly, tragically, hideously drunk. 

Old Belllounds leaped off the porch. His gray hair stood up like themane of a lion. Like a giant's were his strides. With a lunge he met hisreeling son, swinging a huge fist into the sodden red face. Limply Jackfell to the ground. 

"Lay there, you damned prodigal!" he roared, terrible in his rage. "Youdisgrace 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 wasnear at hand. 

One morning, when Wade rode up to Moore's cabin, the whole world seemedobscured in a dense gray fog, through which he could not see a rod aheadof him. Later, as he left, the fog had lifted shoulder-high to themountains, and was breaking to let the blue sky show. Another morning itwas worse, and apparently thicker and grayer. As Wade climbed the trailup toward the mountain-basin, where he hunted most these days, heexpected the fog to lift. But it did not. The trail under the hoofs ofthe horse was scarcely perceptible to him, and he seemed lost in adense, gray, soundless obscurity. 

Suddenly Wade emerged from out the fog into brilliant sunshine. In amazehe halted. This phenomenon was new to him. He was high up on themountain-side, the summit of which rose clear-cut and bold into the sky. Below him spread what resembled a white sea. It was an immensecloud-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 werean island rock in a rolling sea of fleece. Far across this strange, level cloud-floor rose the black line of the range. Wade watched thescene with a kind of rapture. He was alone on the heights. There was nota sound. The winds were stilled. But there seemed a mighty being awakeall around him, in the presence of which Wade felt how little were hissorrows and hopes. 

Another day brought dull-gray scudding clouds, and gusts of wind andsqualls of rain, and a wailing through the bare aspens. It grew colderand bleaker and darker. Rain changed to sleet and sleet to snow. Thatnight brought winter. 

Next morning, when Wade plodded up to Moore's cabin, it was through twofeet of snow. A beautiful glistening white mantle covered valley andslope and mountain, transforming all into a world too dazzlinglybrilliant for the unprotected gaze of man. 

When Wade pushed open the door of the cabin and entered he awakened thecowboy. 

"Mornin', Wils, " drawled Wade, as he slapped the snow from boots andlegs. "Summer has gone, winter has come, an' the flowers lay in theirgraves! How are you, boy?"

Moore had grown paler and thinner during his long confinement in bed. Aweary shade shone in his face and a shadow of pain in his eyes. But thespirit of his smile was the same as always. 

"Hello, Bent, old pard!" replied Moore. "I guess I'm fine. Nearly frozelast night. Didn't sleep much. "

"Well, I was worried about that, " said the hunter. "We've got to arrangethings 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 offire-wood. Now I'll set to work an' cut it up an' stack it round thecabin. 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 lettersLem got at Kremmlin' the other day. You read while I rustle somegrub 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 aliar. "

"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 thenote 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 oneof these chunks, " ordered Wade, mildly. 

The hunter soon had the room warm and cheerful, with steaming breakfaston the red-hot coals. Presently, when he made ready to serve Moore, hewas 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 doneanythin'. "

"I know--but I did--do a lot. I was sixteen then. We quarreled. And Iran off up here to punch cows. But after a while I wrote home to motherand my sister. Since then they've tried to coax me to come home. Thisletter's from the old man himself. Gee!. .. Well, he says he's had toknuckle. That he's ready to forgive me. But I must come home and takecharge of his ranch. Isn't that great?. .. Only I can't go. And Icouldn'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 saidyou'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, yourletter is damn good news. I'm sure glad. That will make Collie happy. "

The cowboy had a better appetite that morning, which fact mitigatedsomewhat the burden of Wade's worry. There was burden enough, however, and Wade had set this day to make important decisions about Moore'sinjured foot. He had dreaded to remove the last dressing becauseconditions at that time had been unimproved. He had done all he could toward off the threatened gangrene. 

"Wils, I'm goin' to look at your foot an' tell you things, " declaredWade, 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 justpass me my gun!"

The cowboy's voice was gay and bantering, but his eyes were alight witha spirit that frightened the hunter. 

"Ahuh!. .. I know how you feel. But, boy, I'd rather live with one legan' be loved by Collie Belllounds than have nine legs for someother lass. "

Wilson Moore groaned his helplessness. 

"Damn you, Bent Wade! You always say what kills me!. .. Of course Iwould!"

"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 speednatural to them. But at last Moore's injured member lay bare, discoloredand misshapen. The first glance made the hunter quicker in hismovements, 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 beclub-footed. .. . Let me look, " replied the cowboy, and he raised himselfon 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'sruined me!"

The hunter pushed him back with gentle hands. "Wils, it might have beenworse. "

"But I never gave up hope, " replied Moore, in poignant grief. "Icouldn't. But _now!_. .. How can you look at that--that club-foot, andnot swear?"

"Well, well, boy, cussin' won't do any good. Now lay still an' let mework. You've had lots of good news this mornin'. So I think you canstand 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 isbecause 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 hadMrs. 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'tbelieve it. She's so healthy and strong. What ailed her, Bent?"

"Well, Mrs. Andrews said it was nervous breakdown. An' Old Bill wasafraid 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 tohear my opinion. .. . Now, Wils, the fact is that none of them know whatails Collie. But I know. She'd been under a high strain leadin' up toOctober first. An' the way that weddin'-day turned out--with Old Billlayin' 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 eatright. Well, when Buster Jack got over that awful punch he'd got fromthe old man he made up to Collie harder than ever. She didn't tell methen, but I saw it. An' she couldn't avoid him, except by stayin' in herroom, which she did a good deal. Then Jack showed a streak of bein'decent. He surprised everybody, even Collie. He delighted Old Bill. Buthe didn't pull the wool over my eyes. He was like a boy spoilin' for anew toy, an' he got crazy over Collie. He's sure terribly in love withher, an' for days he behaved himself in a way calculated to make up forhis 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 sogood 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 onher back. .. . They didn't send for me very soon. But when I did get tosee her, an' felt the way she grabbed me--as if she was drownin'--then Iknew what ailed her. It was love. "

"Love!" gasped Moore, breathlessly. 

"Sure. Jest love for a dog-gone lucky cowboy named Wils Moore!. .. Herheart 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, allCollie needed was me, an' I cured her ravin' and made her eat, an' nowshe'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 youtell her?"

"Well, my particular medicine first off was to whisper in her ear thatshe'd never have to marry Jack Belllounds. An' after that I gave herdaily 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 fistsand gritted his teeth. 

"Oh God! this's hard on me!" he cried. "I'm a man. I love that girl morethan life. And to know she's suffering for love of me--for fear of thatmarriage being forced upon her--to know that while I lie here a helplesscripple--it's almost unbearable. "

"Boy, you've got to mend now. We've the best of hope now--for you--forher--for everythin'. "

"Wade, I think I love you, too, " said the cowboy. "You're saving me frommadness. Somehow I have faith in you--to do whatever you want. But howcould you tell Collie she'd never have to marry Buster Jack?"

"Because I know she never will, " replied Wade, with his slow, gentlesmile. 

"You _know_ that?"

"Sure. "

"How on earth can you prevent it? Belllounds will never give upplanning that marriage for his son. Jack will nag Collie till she can'tcall 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. Butthat's no matter. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. I will doit. You can gamble on me, Wils. You must use that hope an' faith to helpyou get well. For we mustn't forget that you're in more dangerthan 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 outof 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'vesome reason, more than you could guess. .. . Wils, hate is a poison in theblood. It's worse for him who feels it than for him against whom itrages. I know. .. . Well, if you put thought of Jack out of yourmind--quit broodin' over what he did to you--an' realize that he's notto blame, you'll overcome your hate. For the son of Old Bill is to bepitied. Yes, Jack Belllounds needs pity. He was ruined before he wasborn. 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 thatwould 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 likelykill the old man, an' Collie would suffer all her life. You couldn'tcure 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'ssake I'll try not to hate him. "

"Well, that's fine. I'm sure glad to hear you promise that. Now I'll goout 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 theblank-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 wasa great mound of snow. He cleaned a wide space and a path to the side ofthe cabin. Working in snow was not unpleasant for him. He liked thecleanness, the whiteness, the absolute purity of new-fallen snow. Theair was crisp and nipping, the frost crackled under his feet, the smokefrom his pipe seemed no thicker than the steam from his breath, the axrang on the hard aspens. Wade swung this implement like a born woodsman. The chips flew and the dead wood smelled sweet. Some logs he choppedinto three-foot pieces; others he chopped and split. When he tired alittle of swinging the ax he carried the cut pieces to the cabin andstacked them near the door. Now and then he would halt a moment to gazeaway across the whitened slopes and rolling hills. The sense of hisphysical power matched something within, and his heart warmed with morethan the vigorous exercise. 

When he had worked thus for about two hours and had stacked a pile ofwood almost as large as the cabin he considered it sufficient for theday. So he went indoors. Moore was so busily and earnestly writing thathe 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'tanswer _this_ . .. "

"By the way, I'll have two letters to give her, then--for I never gaveher 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 fetchedin. You keep it there, where you can reach it, an' when the fire needsmore wood you roll one of these logs on. I'll be up to-night beforedark, an' if I don't fetch you a letter it'll be because I can'tpersuade Collie to write. "

"Pard, if you bring me a letter I'll obey you--I'll lie still--I'llsleep--I'll stand anything. "

"Ahuh! Then I'll fetch one, " replied Wade, as he took the little bookand deposited it in his pocket. "Good-by, now, an' think of your goodnews that come with the snow. "

"Good-by, Heaven-Sent Hell-Bent Wade!" called Moore. "It's no joke of aname any more. It's a fact. "

Wade plodded down through the deep snow, stepping in his old tracks, andas he toiled on his thoughts were deep and comforting. He was thinkingthat if he had his life to live over again he would begin at once tofind happiness in other people's happiness. Upon arriving at his cabinhe set to work cleaning a path to the dog corral. The snow had driftedthere and he had no easy task. It was well that he had built an inclosedhouse for the hounds to winter in. Such a heavy snow as this one wouldput an end to hunting for the time being. The ranch had ample supply ofdeer, bear, and elk meat, all solidly frozen this morning, that wouldsurely keep well until used. Wade reflected that his tasks round theranch would be feeding hounds and stock, chopping wood, and doing suchchores as came along in winter-time. The pack of hounds, which he hadthinned out to a smaller number, would be a care on his hands. Kane hadbecome 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 ofdisdain and distrust. Kane would never forgive the hand that had hurthim. Sampson and Jim and Fox, of course, shared Wade's cabin, andvociferously announced his return. 

Early in the afternoon Wade went down to the ranch-house. The snow wasnot so deep there, having blown considerably in the open places. Someone was pounding iron in the blacksmith shop; horses were cavorting inthe 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 upwith pillows, and she wore a warm, woolly jacket or dressing-gown. Herpaleness was now marked, and the shadows under her eyes made them appearlarge 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 guessnow 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 toinsure the safety of some article. Columbine blushed. She held out herhands. She was repentant of her words and curious as to his. 

"Why, Ben Wade, I count the minutes before you come, " she said. "What'dyou bring me?"

"Who's been in here?" he asked, going forward. "That's a poor fire. I'llhave to fix it. "

"Mrs. Andrews just left. It was good of her to drive up. She came in thesled, she said. Oh, Ben, it's winter. There was snow on my bed when Iwoke 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 fromhis father, forgivin' him for somethin' he never told me. "

"My prayers were answered!" whispered Columbine, and she closed her eyestight. 

"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'tgo?"

"I reckon not. He wouldn't if he could. But some day he will, an' takeyou 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. Iwish I had all happy ones, instead of them black, croakin' ones thatcome 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 whatI've got then there will be no talkin'. You say Jack hasn't beenin 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_ italways reminds me that he's really _not_ my dad. "

"Ahuh! Well, well!" replied Wade, with his head bowed. "It is just queerI can never remember. .. . An' how was he to-day?"

"For a wonder he didn't mention poor me. He was full of talk about goingto Kremmling. Means to take Jack along. Do you know, Ben, dad can't foolme. He's afraid to leave Jack here alone with me. So dad talked a lotabout 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'tJack 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 fora 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 emotionthat quivered through him. Bending over her, he placed the little bookin her hand. He did not see clearly, then, as she pulled him lower andkissed him on the cheek, generously, with sweet, frank gratitude andaffection. 

Moments strong and all-satisfying had been multiplying for Bent Wade oflate. But this one magnified all. As he sat back upon the chair heseemed 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 darkexcitation in her eyes, the flush of her pale cheeks, made herbeautiful then. 

"Lass, now you read your letter an' answer it. You can tear out thepages. I'll sit here an' be makin' out to be readin' aloud out of thisbook 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 hadtaken from the table when really he was stealing glances at her face. Indeed, she was more than pretty then. Illness and pain had enhanced thesweetness of her expression. As she read on it was manifest that she hadforgotten the hunter's presence. She grew pink, rosy, scarlet, radiant. And Wade thrilled with her as she thrilled, loved her more and more asshe loved. Moore must have written words of enchantment. Wade's hungryheart suffered a pang of jealousy, but would not harbor it. He read inher perusal of that letter what no other dreamed of, not even the girlherself; and it was certitude of tragic and brief life for her if shecould not live for Wilson Moore. Those moments of watching her wereunutterably precious to Wade. He saw how some divine guidance haddirected his footsteps to this home. How many years had it taken him toget there! Columbine read and read and reread--a girl with her firstlove-letter. And for Wade, with his keen eyes that seemed to see thesenses and the soul, there shone something infinite through her rapture. Never until that unguarded moment had he divined her innocence, nor hadany conception been given him of the exquisite torture of her maidenfears or the havoc of love fighting for itself. He learned then much ofthe mystery and meaning of a woman's heart. 

CHAPTER XIII

Dear Wilson, --The note and letter from you have taken my breath away. Icouldn'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'tlose your leg--that you would get well--then my eyes filled and my heartchoked me, and I thanked God, who'd answered my prayers. After all theheartache and dread, it's so wonderful to find things not so terrible asthey seemed. Oh, I am thankful! You have only to take care of yourselfnow, to lie patiently and wait, and obey Ben, and soon the time willhave flown by and you will be well again. Maybe, after all, your footwill not be so bad. Maybe you can ride again, if not so wonderfully asbefore, then well enough to ride on your father's range and look afterhis 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 forgivenyou--you bad boy! And you are very lucky. It almost kills me to think ofyour leaving White Slides. But that is selfish. I'm going to learn to belike Ben Wade. He never thinks of himself. 

"Rest assured, Wilson, that I will never marry Jack Belllounds. It seemsyears since that awful October first. I gave my word then, and I wouldhave lived up to it. But I've changed. I'm older. I see thingsdifferently. I love dad as well. I feel as sorry for Jack Belllounds. Istill 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 manwhom I do not love. When it comes to thought of his touching me, then Ihate him. Duty toward dad is one thing, and I hold it high, but that isnot reason enough for a woman to give herself. Some duty to myself ishigher 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 youthat makes me selfish. I'm true to something in me that I never knewbefore. I could marry Jack, loving you, and utterly sacrifice myself, ifit were right. But it would be wrong. I never realized this until youkissed me. Since then the thought of anything that approaches personalrelations--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. Therewill be trouble here. I feel it. I see it coming. Dad keeps at mepersistently. He grows older. I don't think he's failing, but thenthere's a loss of memory, and an almost childish obsession in regard tothe marriage he has set his heart on. Then his passion for Jack seemsgreater 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 Isee him or you see him, then something dreadful will happen. In spite ofeverything 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 hisfather will try to persuade me to consent to this marriage. They mayeven try to force me. But in that way I'll be as hard and as cold as OldWhite Slides. No! Never! For the rest, I'll do my duty to dad. I'llstick to him. I could not engage myself to you, no matter how much Ilove you. And that's more every minute!. .. So don't mention taking meto your home--don't ask me again. Please, Wilson; your asking shook myvery soul! Oh, how sweet that would be--your wife!. .. But if dad turnsme away--I don't think he would. Yet he's so strange and like iron forall concerning Jack. If ever he turned me out I'd have no home. I'm awaif, you know. Then--then, Wilson . .. Oh, it's horrible to be in theposition 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 Ibelieve he had something to do with Jack getting drunk that awfulOctober first. I don't mean Ben would stoop to get Jack drunk. But hemight have cunningly put that opportunity in Jack's way. Drink is Jack'sweakness, as gambling is his passion. Well, I know that the liquor wassome fine old stuff which Ben gave to the cowboys. And it's significantnow how Jack avoids Ben. He hates him. He's afraid of him. He's jealousbecause 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. SinceI've been sick I've learned more of Ben. He's like a woman. Heunderstands. I never have to tell him anything. You, Wilson, weresometimes stupid or stubborn (forgive me) about little things that girlsfeel but can't explain. Ben knows. I tell you this because I want you tounderstand how and why I love him. I think I love him most for hisgoodness to you. Dear boy, if I hadn't loved you before Ben Wade cameI'd have fallen in love with you since, just listening to his talk ofyou. But this will make you conceited. So I'll go on about Ben. He's ourfriend. Why, Wilson, that sweetness, softness, gentleness about him, the heart that makes him love us, that must be only the woman in him. Idon't know what a mother would feel like, but I do know that I seemstrangely happier since I've confessed my troubles to this man. It wasLem who told me how Ben offered to be a friend to Jack. And Jack floutedhim. I've a queer notion that the moment Jack did this he turned hisback on a better life. 

"To repeat, then, Ben Wade is our friend, and to me something more thatI've tried to explain. Maybe telling you this will make you think moreof him and listen to his advice. I hope so. Did any boy and girl everbefore so need a friend? I need that something he instils in me. If Ilost it I'd be miserable. And, Wilson, I'm such a coward. I'm so weak. Ihave such sinkings and burnings and tossings. Oh, I'm only a woman! ButI'll die fighting. That is what Ben Wade instils into me. While therewas life this strange little man would never give up hope. He makes mefeel that he knows more than he tells. Through him I shall get thestrength to live up to my convictions, to be true to myself, to befaithful to you. 

 "With love, "COLUMBINE. "

 "December 3d. 

"DEAREST COLLIE, --Your last was only a note, and I told Wade if hedidn't fetch more than a note next time there would be trouble roundthis bunk-house. And then he brought your letter!

"I'm feeling exuberant (I think it's that) to-day. First time I've beenup. Collie, I'm able to get up! WHOOPEE! I walk with a crutch, and don'tdare put my foot down. Not that it hurts, but that my boss would have afit! 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 thewhitest man I ever knew. 

"Now listen, Collie. I've had ideas lately. I've begun to eat and getstronger and to feel good. The pain is gone. And to think I swore toWade 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 nomatter. The truth is, though, that I never could stop hating Jack whilethe 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 nowso you won't get thrown! I'm going to pitch!. .. When I get well--able toride and go about, which Ben says will be in the spring--I'll send formy father to come to White Slides. He'll come. Then I'll tell himeverything, 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 thecase 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 runsome next. Ben Wade approved of my plan. He says Belllounds can bebrought to reason. He says he can make him see the ruin for everybodywere you forced to marry Jack. Strange, Collie, how Wade includedhimself with, you, me, Jack, and the old man, in the foreshadowed ruin!Wade is as deep as the cañon there. Sometimes when he's thoughtful hegives me a creepy feeling. At others, when he comes out with one of hiseasy, cool assurances that we are all right--that we will get eachother--why, then something grim takes possession of me. I believe him, I'm happy, but there crosses my mind a fleeting realization--not of whatour 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 ofwhat he is, I don't understand mine. You see, I'm a man. I've been acowboy for ten years and more. I've seen some hard experiences andworked 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 beeneverything a man could be. He seems all men in one. And despite all hiskindness and goodness and hopefulness, there is the sense I have ofsomething deadly and terrible and inevitable in him. 

"It makes my heart almost stop beating to know I have this man on myside. Because I sense in him the man element, the physical--oh, I can'tput 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 andto think of you as my wife. If you ever are--no! _when_ you are, then Iwill owe it to Bent Wade. No man ever owed another for so precious agift. But, Collie, I can't help a little vague dread--of what, I don'tknow, 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 followout my own gloomy fancies. Don't you mind too much what I think. Onlyyou must realize that Wade is the greatest factor in our hopes of thefuture. My faith in him is so unshakable that it's foolish. Next to youI love him best. He seems even dearer to me than my own people. He hasmade me look at life differently. Likewise he has inspired you. But you, dearest Columbine, are only a sensitive, delicate girl, a frail andtender thing like the columbine flowers of the hills. And for your ownsake you must not be blind to what Wade is capable of. If you keep onloving him and idealizing him, blind to what has made him great, thatis, blind to the tragic side of him, then if he did something terriblehere for you and for me the shock would be bad for you. Lord knows Ihave no suspicions of Wade. I have no clear ideas at all. But I do knowthat for you he would not stop at anything. He loves you as much as Ido, only differently. Such power a pale, sweet-faced girl has over thelives of men!

"Good-by for this time. 

 "Faithfully, "WILSON. "

 "January 10th. 

"DEAR WILSON, --In every letter I tell you I'm better! Why, pretty soonthere'll be nothing left to say about my health. I've been up and aroundnow for days, but only lately have I begun to gain. Since Jack has beenaway I'm getting fat. I eat, and that's one reason I suppose. Then Imove 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 youcall it. But you can't boss _me!_ However, I'll be nice and tell you alittle. I don't work very much. I've helped dad with his accounts, allso hopelessly muddled since he let Jack keep the books. I read a gooddeal. Your letters are worn out! Then, when it snows, I sit by thewindow and watch. I love to see the snowflakes fall, so fleecy and whiteand soft! But I don't like the snowy world after the storm has passed. Ishiver and hug the fire. I must have Indian in me. On moonlit nights tolook out at Old White Slides, so cold and icy and grand, and over thewhite hills and ranges, makes me shudder. I don't know why. It's allbeautiful. But it seems to me like death. .. . Well, I sit idly a lot andthink of you and how terribly big my love has grown, and . .. But that'sall about that!

"As you know, Jack has been gone since before New Year's Day. He said hewas going to Kremmling. But dad heard he went to Elgeria. Well, I didn'ttell you that dad and Jack quarreled over money. Jack kept up his goodbehavior for so long that I actually believed he'd changed for thebetter. He kept at me, not so much on the marriage question, but to lovehim. Wilson, he nearly drove me frantic with his lovemaking. Finally Igot mad and I pitched into him. Oh, I convinced him! Then he came backto his own self again. Like a flash he was Buster Jack once more. "Youcan 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'thelp but hear some of it. I don't know whether or not dad gave Jackmoney, but I think he didn't. Anyway, Jack went. 

"Dad was all right for a few days. Really, he seemed nicer and kinderfor Jack's absence. Then all at once he sank into the glooms. I couldn'tcheer him up. When Ben Wade came in after supper dad always got him totell some of those terrible stories. You know what perfectly terriblestories 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 bythe hour before the fire, staring at the coals, sighing, and looking soGod-forsaken. My heart just aches for dad. He broods and broods. He'llbreak out some day, and then I don't want to be here. There doesn't seemto be any idea when Jack will come home. He might never come. But Bensays he will. He says Jack hates work and that he couldn't be gamblerenough or wicked enough to support himself without working. Can't youhear Ben Wade say that? 'I'll tell you, ' he begins, and then comes aprophecy of trouble or evil. And, on the other hand, think how he usedto say: 'Wait! Don't give up! Nothin' is ever so bad as it seems atfirst! 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'llall come right in the end!'. .. And, Wilson, I'm bound to confess thatboth his sense of calamity and his hope of good seem infallible. BenWade is supernatural. Sometimes, just for a moment, I dare to let myselfbelieve in what he says--that our dream will come true and I'll beyours. Then oh! oh! oh! joy and stars and bells and heaven! I--I . .. Butwhat _am_ I writing? Wilson Moore, this is quite enough for to-day. Takecare 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 Ikicked Bent Wade with my once sore foot. It didn't hurt me, but hurtWade's feelings. He says there'll be no holding me soon. I should saynot. I'll eat you up. I'm as hungry as the mountain-lion that's beenprowling round my cabin of nights. He's sure starved. Wade tracked himto a hole in the cliff. 

"Collie, I can get around first rate. Don't need my crutch any more. Ican make a fire and cook a meal. Wade doesn't think so, but I do. Hesays if I want to hold your affection, not to let you eat anything Icook. I can rustle around, too. Haven't been far yet. My stock haswintered fairly well. This valley is sheltered, you know. Snow hasn'tbeen too deep. Then I bought hay from Andrews. I'm hoping for springnow, and the good old sunshine on the gray sage hills. And summer, withits columbines! Wade has gone back to his own cabin to sleep. I misshim. But I'm glad to have the nights alone once more. I've got a futureto 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 werejust forty-seven letters. Forty-seven! I couldn't believe it, and toldhim he was crazy. I never had such good fortune. Well, he made me countthem, and, dog-gone it, he was right. Forty-seven wonderful love-lettersfrom the sweetest girl on earth! But think of Wade remembering everyone! It beats me. He's beyond understanding. 

"So Jack Belllounds still stays away from White Slides. Collie, I'm suresorry 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 locoedIndian. Pretty soon spring will come. Then, you wild-flower of thehills, you girl with the sweet mouth and the sad eyes--then I'm comingafter you! And all the king's horses and all the king's men can nevertake you away from me again!

 "Your faithful "WILSON. "

 "March 19th. 

"DEAREST WILSON, --Your last letters have been read and reread, and keptunder my pillow, and have been both my help and my weakness during thesetrying days since Jack's return. 

"It has not been that I was afraid to write--though, Heaven knows, ifthis letter should fall into the hands of dad it would mean trouble forme, and if Jack read it--I _am_ afraid to think of that! I just have nothad the heart to write you. But all the time I knew I must write andthat I would. Only, now, what to say tortures me. I am certain thatconfiding in you relieves me. That's why I've told you so much. But oflate I find it harder to tell what I know about Jack Belllounds. I'm ina queer state of mind, Wilson dear. And you'll wonder, and you'll besorry to know I haven't seen much of Ben lately--that is, not to talkto. It seems I can't _bear_ his faith in me, his hope, his love--whenlately matters have driven me into torturing doubt. 

"But lest you might misunderstand, I'm going to try to tell yousomething of what is on my mind, and I want you to read it to Ben. Hehas 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. Iremember how the rain roared on the roof. It roared so loud we didn'thear the horse. But we heard heavy boots on the porch outside theliving-room, and the swish of a slicker thrown to the floor. There was abright 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 pitiedand loved him it was then. I thought of the return of the ProdigalSon!. .. There came a knock on the door. Then dad recovered. He threw itopen wide. The streaming light fell upon Jack Belllounds, indeed, butnot as I knew him. He entered. It was the first time I ever saw Jacklook 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 onthe floor, and walked to the fire. His boots were soaked with water andmud. His clothes began to steam. 

"When I looked at dad I was surprised. He seemed cool and bright, withthe self-contained force usual for him when something critical is aboutto 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 hadappeared suddenly, and his manner was different from that with which heused to face dad. He had something up his sleeve, as the cowboys say. Hewore 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 Ilike. '

"'Ahuh! I reckon you think you can. But not hyar at White Slides. If youever 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 momenthe 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. Itconcerns her. '

"'So ho! Then you've got a heap to say?' exclaimed dad, queerly. 'Allright, you have your say first. '

"Jack then began to talk in a level and monotonous voice, so unlike himthat I sat there amazed. He told how early in the winter, before he leftthe ranch, he had found out that he was honestly in love with me. Thatit had changed him--made him see he had never been any good--andinflamed him with the resolve to be better. He had tried. He hadsucceeded. For six weeks he had been all that could have been asked ofany young man. I am bound to confess that he was!. .. Well, he went on tosay how he had fought it out with himself until he absolutely _knew_ hecould control himself. The courage and inspiration had come from hislove for me. That was the only good thing he'd ever felt. He wanted dadand he wanted me to understand absolutely, without any doubt, that hehad found a way to hold on to his good intentions and good feelings. Andthat was for _me!_. .. I was struck all a-tremble at the truth. It wastrue! Well, then he forced me to a decision. Forced me, without everhinting 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 gaveup. Failing to get money from dad he stole it, without compunction andwithout 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 forgether. .. . The money lasted a great deal longer than I expected. But thatwas because I won as much as I lost, until lately. Then I borrowed agood deal from those men I gambled with, but mostly from ranchers whoknew my father would be responsible. .. . I had a shooting-scrape with aman 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 shothim. .. . He lived three days--and died. That sobered me. And once morethere came to me truth of what I might have been. I went back toKremmling. And I tried myself out again. I worked awhile for Judson, whowas the rancher I had borrowed most from. At night I went into town andto the saloons, where I met my gambling cronies. I put myself in theatmosphere of drink and cards. And I resisted both. I could make myselfindifferent to both. As soon as I was sure of myself I decided to comehome. And here I am. '

"This long speech of Jack's had a terrible effect upon me. I was stunnedand sick. But if it did that to me _what_ did it do to dad? Heavenknows, I can't tell you. Dad gave a lurch, and a great heave, as if atthe 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'tmisunderstand 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 liketo make up to you for all my shortcomings. And so help me Heaven! I cando that, and will do it, if Collie will marry me. Not only marryme--that'd not be enough--but love me--I'm crazy for her love. It'sterrible. '

"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 Icould 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 everheard 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 thisearth!. .. There's something wrong in me that's not all my fault. .. . Youcan't shame me or scare me or hurt me. I could fling in your face thosedamned three years of hell you sent me to! But what's the use for you toroar at me or for me to reproach you? I'm ruined unless you give meCollie--make her love me. That will save me. And I want it for your sakeand hers--not for my own. Even if I do love her madly I'm not wantingher for that. I'm no good. I'm not fit to touch her. .. . I've just cometo tell you the truth. I feel for Collie--I'd do for Collie--as you didfor my mother! Can't you understand? I'm your son. I've some of you inme. And I've found out what it is. Do you and Collie want to take meat my word?'

"I think it took dad longer to read something strange and convincing inJack than it took me. Anyway, dad got the stunning consciousness thatJack _knew_ by some divine or intuitive power that his reformation wasinevitable, if I loved him. Never have I had such a distressing andterrible moment as that revelation brought to me! I felt the truth. Icould save Jack Belllounds. No woman is ever fooled at such criticalmoments of life. Ben Wade once said that I could have reformed Jack wereit possible to love him. Now the truth of that came home to me, andsomehow it was overwhelming. 

"Dad received this truth--and it was beyond me to realize what it meantto him. He must have seen all his earlier hopes fulfilled, his pridevindicated, his shame forgotten, his love rewarded. Yet he must haveseen all that, as would a man leaning with one foot over a bottomlessabyss. He looked transfigured, yet conscious of terrible peril. Hisgreat heart seemed to leap to meet this last opportunity, with allforgiveness, with all gratitude; but his will yielded with a final andirrevocable resolve. A resolve dark and sinister!

"He raised his huge fists higher and higher, and all his body lifted andstrained, towering and trembling, while his face was that of a righteousand angry god. 

"'My son, I take your word!' he rolled out, his voice filling the roomand reverberating through the house. 'I give you Collie!. .. She will beyours!. .. But, by the love I bore your mother--I swear--if you eversteal 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 offthe valleys, and the wild flowers peeped from the greening grass whileyet the mountain domes were white. The long stone slides were glisteningwet, and the brooks ran full-banked, noisy and turbulent and roily. 

Soft and fresh of color the gray old sage slopes came out from undertheir winter mantle; the bleached tufts of grass waved in the wind andshowed tiny blades of green at the roots; the aspens and oaks, and thevines on fences and cliffs, and the round-clumped, brook-borderingwillows took on a hue of spring. 

The mustangs and colts in the pastures snorted and ran and kicked andcavorted; and on the hillsides the cows began to climb higher, searchingfor the tender greens, bawling for the new-born calves. Eagles shriekedthe release of the snow-bound peaks, and the elks bugled their piercingcalls. The grouse-cocks spread their gorgeous brown plumage in paradebefore their twittering mates, and the jays screeched in the woods, andthe 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 duskmourned their hungry calls for life, for meat, for the wildness that waspassing; 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, whiteningand melting and vanishing, and the cold, clear nights, with cracklingfrost, all retarded the work of the warming sun. The day came, however, when the greens held their own with the grays; and this was theassurance of nature that spring could not be denied, and that summerwould follow. 

 * * * * *

Bent Wade was hiding in the willows along the trail that followed one ofthe brooks. Of late, on several mornings, he had skulked like an Indianunder cover, watching for some one. On this morning, when ColumbineBelllounds came riding along, he stepped out into the trail in frontof her. 

"Oh, Ben! you startled me!" she exclaimed, as she held hard on thefrightened horse. 

"Good mornin', Collie, " replied Wade. "I'm sorry to scare you, but I'mparticular anxious to see you. An' considerin' how you avoid me thesedays, I had to waylay you in regular road-agent style. "

Wade gazed up searchingly at her. It had been some time since he hadbeen given the privilege and pleasure of seeing her close at hand. Heneeded 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 herclosely. 

"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 thebridle reins. 

"Do you doubt my--my good intentions toward you--my love for you?" heasked, in gentle and husky voice. 

"Oh, Ben! No! No! It's that I'm afraid of your love for me! I can'tbear--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 girlany more? You're showin' yellow?"

"Ben Wade, I deny that, " she answered, spiritedly, with an uplift of herhead. "It's not weakness, but strength I've found. "

"Ahuh! Well, I reckon I understand. Collie, listen. Wils let me readyour last letter to him. "

"I expected that. I think I told him to. Anyway, I wanted you toknow--what--what ailed me. "

"Lass, it was a fine, brave letter--written by a girl facin' an upheavalof conscience an' soul. But in your own trouble you forget the effectthat 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 killBuster Jack, " replied Wade, gravely. 

"I'll see--him!" she faltered. "But oh, Ben--you don't mean that Wilsonwould be so base--so cowardly?"

"Collie, you're a child. You don't realize the depths to which a man cansink. Wils has had a long, hard pull this winter. My nursin' an' yourletters have saved his life. He's well, now, but that long, dark spellof 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--makematters 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 overit an' our helplessness. What ails him is lovesickness, the awfulfeelin' which comes to a man who believes he has lost hissweetheart's love. "

"Poor boy! So he imagines I don't love him any more? Good Heavens! Howstupid men are!. .. I'll see him, Ben. Take me to him. "

For answer, Wade grasped the bridle of her horse and, turning him, tooka course leading away behind the hill that lay between them and theranch-house. The trail was narrow and brushy, making it necessary forhim to walk ahead of the horse. So the hunter did not speak to her orlook 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 wasonly an opening wedge into his mind. It had not entered. Gravity andunhappiness occupied him. His senses, nevertheless, were alert. He heardthe low roar of the flooded brook, the whir of rising grouse ahead, thehoofs of deer on stones, the song of spring birds. He had an eye alsofor the wan wild flowers in the shaded corners. Presently he led thehorse out of the willows into the open and up a low-swelling, long slopeof fragrant sage. Here he dropped back to Columbine's side and put hishand upon the pommel of her saddle. It was not long until her own handsoftly 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 shehad 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, itwas 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 thinkof--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 thatletter 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 herhand upon his and to have the glad comfort and charm of her presenceonce more. He seemed to have grown older lately. The fragrant breath ofthe sage slopes came to him as something precious he must feel and lovemore. A haunting transience mocked him from these rolling gray hills. Old White Slides loomed gray and dark up into the blue, grim and sternreminder of age and of fleeting time. There was a cloud onWade's horizon. 

"Wils is waitin' down there, " said Wade, pointing to a grove of aspensbelow. "Reckon it's pretty close to the house, an' a trail runs alongthere. But Wils can't ride very well yet, an' this appeared to be thebest 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, prettyspot, with grass and wild flowers, and old, bleached logs, half sunnyand half shady under the new-born, fluttering aspen leaves. Wade sawMoore sitting on his horse. And it struck the hunter significantly thatthe cowboy should be mounted when an hour back he had left him sittingdisconsolately on a log. Moore wanted Columbine to see him first, afterall these months of fear and dread, mounted upon his horse. Wade heardColumbine'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 resistthe 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 moreapparent composure than the cowboy. Moore's long, piercing gaze took therose out of Columbine's cheeks. 

"Oh, Wilson! I'm so happy to see you on your horse again!" sheexclaimed. "It's too good to be true. I've prayed for that more thananything else. Can you get up into your saddle like you used to? Can youride 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 inColumbine. It was all he wanted to see. 

"Now, folks, " he said, "I reckon two's company an' three's a crowd. I'llgo 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?" askedMoore, bitterly. 

Columbine's eyes flashed. It was seldom they lost their sweettranquillity. But now they had depth and fire. 

"No, Wilson, I'm neither afraid nor ashamed to be with you alone, " shedeclared. "But I can be as natural--as much myself with Ben here as Icould be alone. Why can't you be? If dad and Jack heard of our meetingthe fact of Ben's presence might make it look different to them. And whyshould I heap trouble upon my shoulders?"

"I beg pardon, Collie, " said the cowboy. "I've just been afraid of--ofthings. "

"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-lookin Columbine's eyes as she watched the cowboy get off and walk. For acrippled man he did very well. But that moment was fraught with meaningfor Wade. These unfortunate lovers, brave and fine in their suffering, did not realize the peril they invited by proximity. But Wade knew. Hepitied 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 theground, propped by the stump, and here he leaned for support. Columbinelaid her gloves on the log. 

"There's nothing to tell that you don't know, " replied Moore. "I wroteyou all there was to write, except"--here he dropped his head--"exceptthat the last three weeks have been hell. "

"They've not been exactly heaven for me, " replied Columbine, with alittle laugh that gave Wade a twinge. 

Then the lovers began to talk about spring coming, about horses andcattle, and feed, about commonplace ranch matters not interesting tothem, but which seemed to make conversation and hide their truethoughts. Wade listened, and it seemed to him that he could readtheir 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 OldBill an' Jack. "

"Tell you? What?"

"Well, I've seen changes in both. So has Wils, though Wils hasn't seenas much as he's heard from Lem an' Montana an' the Andrews boys. "

"Oh!. .. " Columbine choked a little over her exclamation ofunderstanding. "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 thechange in Jack. That is remarkable. I've not been able to believe my owneyes. Since that night Jack came home and had the--the understandingwith dad he has been another person. He has left me alone. He treats mewith deference, but not a familiar word or look. He's kind. He offersthe little civilities that occur, you know. But he never intrudes uponme. Not one word of the past! It is as if he would earn my respect, andhave that or nothing. .. . Then he works as he never worked before--ondad's books, in the shop, out on the range. He seems obsessed with somethought all the time. He talks little. All the old petulance, obstinacy, selfishness, and especially his sudden, queer impulses, and bull-headedtenacity--all gone! He has suffered physical distress, because he neverwas used to hard work. And more, he's suffered terribly for the want ofliquor. I've heard him say to dad: 'It's hell--this burning thirst. Inever knew I had it. I'll stand it, if it kills me. .. . But wouldn't itbe 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 nogood way to stop drinkin'. Stand the burnin'. An' when it's gone you'llbe all the gladder an' I'll be all the prouder. '. .. I have not forgottenall 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 nowthat he's had his lesson--that he's sowed his wild oats--that he hasbecome a man. "

Moore listened eagerly, and when she had concluded he thoughtfully benthis 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 hisown, and for yours. The boys think Jack's locoed. But his reformation isnot strange to me. If I were no good--just like he was--well, I couldchange as greatly for--for you. "

Columbine hastily averted her face. Wade's keen eyes, apparently hiddenunder 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 hisnew ways?" she queried, hurriedly. 

"Yes, I do, " he replied, nodding. 

"How good of you! Oh! Wilson, it's like you to be noble--splendid. Whenyou might have--when it'd have been so natural for you to doubt--toscorn him!"

"Collie, I'm honest about that. And now you be just as honest. Do youthink Jack will stand to his colors? Never drink--never gamble--neverfly 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, andCollie, too. I've asked you before, but you wouldn't--Tell us now, doyou believe Buster Jack will live up to his new ideals?"

Wade had long parried that question, because the time to answer it hadnot 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 headsolemnly. "Young folks, I'm grantin' all you say as to Jack'sreformation, except that it's permanent. I'm grantin' he's sincere--thathe's not playin' a part--that his vicious instincts are smothered undera noble impulse to be what he ought to be. It's no trick. Buster Jackhas all but done the impossible. "

"Then why isn't his sincerity and good work to be permanent?" askedMoore, 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 thehunter. Neither of them seemed to understand him well enough tomake reply. 

"Love can work marvels in any man, " went on Wade. "But love can't changethe fiber of a man's heart. A man is born so an' so. He loves an' hatesan' feels accordin' to the nature. It'd be accordin' to nature for JackBelllounds to stay reformed if his love for Collie lasted. An' that'sthe 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 manof different caliber to love a woman who'll never love him. Jack'sobsessed 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, ifthat 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 herhelplessness. 

"Why, child, I know you better than you know yourself. "

"Wilson, he's right, he's right!" she cried. "That's why it's soterrible 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 youused to, " said Moore, touching her hand with infinite sympathy. 

Wade watched them. His pity and affection did not obstruct the ruthlessexpression of his opinions or the direction of his intentions. 

"Lass, an' you, Wils, listen, " he said, with all his gentleness. "It'sbad enough without you makin' it worse. Don't blind yourselves. That'sthe hell with so many people in trouble. It's hard to see clear whenyou're sufferin' and fightin'. But _I_ see clear. .. . Now with just aword I could fetch this new Jack Belllounds back to his BusterJack tricks!"

"Oh, Ben! No! No! No!" cried Columbine, in a distress that showed howhis force dominated her. 

Moore's face turned as white as ashes. 

Wade divined then that Moore was aware of what he himself knew aboutJack Belllounds. And to his love for Moore was added aninfinite respect. 

"I won't unless Collie forces me to, " he said, significantly. 

This was the critical moment, and suddenly Wade answered to it withoutrestraint. He leaped up, startling Columbine. 

"Wils, you call me pard, don't you? I reckon you never knew me. Why, thegame's `most played out, an' I haven't showed my hand!. .. I'd see JackBelllounds in hell before I'd let him have Collie. An' if she carriedout her strange an' lofty idea of duty--an' married him right thisafternoon--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 faceshowed awe and fear and irresponsible primitive joy. Wade turned awayfrom them, the better to control the passion that had mastered him. Andit 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 expectedto 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 herface, thus dominating her with both strength and will. His face wascorded now, and darkly flushed. His jaw quivered. "You'll never marryJack Belllounds! You'll not let sudden impulse--sudden persuasion orforce change you? Promise! Swear you'll never marry him. Swear!"

"Oh, Wilson, I promise--I swear!" she cried. "Never! I'm yours. It wouldbe 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 loveyou--so--I'm broken-hearted now. I'll never live without you. I'lldie--I love you so!"

"You--you flower--you angel!" he whispered in return. "You woman! Youprecious creature! I've been crazed at loss of you!"

Wade paced out of earshot, and this time he remained away for aconsiderable time. He lived again moments of his own past, unforgetableand sad. When at length he returned toward the young couple they weresitting apart, composed once more, talking earnestly. As he neared themColumbine rose to greet him with wonderful eyes, in which reproachblended 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, andshe 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. Hisvoice trembled as he answered them. Wade found the trail while Columbinemounted. As they went slowly down the gentle slope, stepping over thenumerous logs fallen across the way, Wade caught out of the tail of hiseye 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 andhurry 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 theman 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 thedirection 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, withhis tragic smile. 

"Ah!" whispered Columbine, as she gazed up at the aspen slope, with eyeslighting 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'sarms--saw me kissing him?"

"Sure as you're born, Collie. He watched us. He saw all yourlove-makin'. I can tell that by the way he walks. It's Buster Jackagain! Alas for the new an' noble Jack! I told you, Collie. Now you runon an' leave him to me. "

Wade became aware that she turned at his last words and regarded himattentively. But his gaze was riveted on the striding form ofBelllounds. 

"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, shedeliberately dismounted. 

Wade grew concerned with the appearance of young Belllounds, and it waswith a melancholy reminder of the infallibility of his presentiments. Ashe and Columbine halted in the trail, Belllounds's hurried stridelengthened until he almost ran. He carried the rifle forward in a mostsignificant manner. Black as a thunder-cloud was his face. Alas for thedignity and pain and resolve that had only recently showed there!

Belllounds reached them. He was frothing at the mouth. He cocked therifle 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 uponthe glaring eyes of Belllounds. 

"Jack, seein' I'm not packin' a gun, it'd look sorta natural, along withyour other tricks, if you bored me. "

His gentle voice, his cool mien, his satire, were as giant's arms todrag Belllounds back from murder. The rifle was raised, the hammerreset, the butt lowered to the ground, while Belllounds, snarling andchoking, 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, achange that was pitiful and shocking convulsed his face. He leanedtoward 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--roundhis 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 hernow, and a spirit no man might provoke with impunity. 

"_You love him?_" he asked, very low, incredulously, with almost insaneeagerness 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 hateand 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 Wadethought, as all his strung nerves quivered and thrilled. 

Belllounds uttered a low cry of realization, and all his instinctiveenergy seemed on the verge of collapse. He grew limp, he sagged, hetottered. 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'spower to love, and he was human. Wade felt the death in that strickensoul, and it was the last flash of pity he ever had for Jack Belllounds. 

"You--you--" muttered Belllounds, raising a hand that gathered speed andstrength in the action. The moment of a great blow had passed, like astorm-blast through a leafless tree. Now the thousand devils of hisnature leaped into ascendancy. "You!--" He could not articulate. Darkand terrible became his energy. It was like a resistless current forcedthrough leaping thought and leaping muscle. 

He struck her on the mouth, a cruel blow that would have felled her butfor 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 andBelllounds Columbine did not ride frequently. 

He managed to get a word or two with her whenever he went to theranch-house, and he needed only look at her to read her sensitive mind. All was well with Columbine, despite her trouble. She remained upheld inspirit, while yet she seemed to brood over an unsolvable problem. Shehad said, "But--let what will come!"--and she was waiting. 

Wade hunted for more than lions and wolves these days. Like an Indianscout who scented peril or heard an unknown step upon his trail, Waderode the hills, and spent long hours hidden on the lonely slopes, watching with somber, keen eyes. They were eyes that knew what they werelooking for. They had marked the strange sight of the son of BillBelllounds, gliding along that trail where Moore had met Columbine, sneaking and stooping, at last with many a covert glance about, to kneelin the trail and compare the horse tracks there with horseshoes he tookfrom his pocket. That alone made Bent Wade eternally vigilant. He kepthis counsel. He worked more swiftly, so that he might have leisure forhis peculiar seeking. He spent an hour each night with the cowboys, listening to their recounting of the day and to their homely and shrewdopinions. He haunted the vicinity of the ranch-house at night, watchingand listening for that moment which was to aid him in the crisis thatwas impending. Many a time he had been near when Columbine passed fromthe living-room to her corner of the house. He had heard her sigh andcould almost have touched her. 

Buster Jack had suffered a regurgitation of the old driving andinsatiate 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 andbrand calves under the order of Jack Belllounds, foreman of WhiteSlides. That round-up showed a loss of one hundred head of stock, somebranded steers, and yearlings, and many calves, in all a mixed herd. Belllounds received the amazing news with a roar. He had been ready forsomething to roar at. The cowboys gave as reasons winter-kill, andlions, and perhaps some head stolen since the thaw. Wade emphaticallydenied 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 theyoung foreman who stunned them all. "Rustled, " he said, darkly. "There'stoo many loafers and homesteaders in these hills!" And he stalked out toleave his hearers food for reflection. 

Jack Belllounds drank, but no one saw him drunk, and no one could tellwhere he got the liquor. He rode hard and fast; he drove the cowboys oneway while he went another; he had grown shifty, cunning, more intolerantthan 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 turnout. On other nights he coaxed and bullied them into playing poker. Theywon more of his money than they cared to count. 

Columbine confided to Wade, with mournful whisper, that Jack paid noattention to her whatever, and that the old rancher attributed thiscoldness, and Jack's backsliding, to her irresponsiveness and hertardiness in setting the wedding-day that must be set. To this Wade hadwhispered in reply, "Don't ever forget what I said to you an' Wilsthat day!"

So Wade upheld Columbine with his subtle dominance, and watched overher, as it were, from afar. No longer was he welcome in the bigliving-room. Belllounds reacted to his son's influence. 

Twice in the early mornings Wade had surprised Jack Belllounds in theblacksmith shop. The meetings were accidental, yet Wade ever rememberedhow coincidence beckoned him thither and how circumstance magnifiedstrange reflections. There was no reason why Jack should not betinkering in the blacksmith shop early of a morning. But Wade followedan uncanny guidance. Like his hound Fox, he never split on trails. Whenopportunity afforded he went into the shop and looked it over with eyesas keen as the nose of his dog. And in the dust of the floor he haddiscovered little circles with dots in the middle, all uniform in size. Sight of them did not shock him until they recalled vividly the littlecircles with dots in the earthen floor of Wilson Moore's cabin. Littlemarks made by the end of Moore's crutch! Wade grinned then like a wolfshowing his fangs. And the vitals of a wolf could no more strongly havefelt the instinct to rend. 

For Wade, the cloud on his horizon spread and darkened, gatheredsinister shape of storm, harboring lightning and havoc. It was the cloudin his mind, the foreshadowing of his soul, the prophetic sense of liketo like. Where he wandered there the blight fell!

 * * * * *

Significant was the fact that Belllounds hired new men. Bludsoe hadquit. Montana Jim grew surly these days and packed a gun. Lem Billingshad threatened to leave. New and strange hands for Jack Belllounds todirect had a tendency to release a strain and tide things over. 

Every time the old rancher saw Wade he rolled his eyes and wagged hishead, as if combating superstition with an intelligent sense of justice. Wade knew what troubled Belllounds, and it strengthened the gloomy moodthat, like a poison lichen, seemed finding root. 

Every day Wade visited his friend Wilson Moore, and most of theirconversation centered round that which had become a ruling passion forboth. But the time came when Wade deviated from his gentleness of speechand leisure of action. 

"Bent, you're not like you were, " said Moore, once, in surprise at thediscovery. "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 griminspiration. 

Wade ignored the insinuation and turned the conversation to anothersubject. 

"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 thousandhead. Wade, my old dad will be pleased to find out I've made the startI have. "

"Well, it's a fine start, I'll allow. Have you picked up any unbrandedstock?"

"Sure I have. Say, pard, are you worrying about this two-bit rustlerwork that's been going on?"

"Wils, it ain't two bits any more. I reckon it's gettin' into thefour-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'twrite. And they're not used to it. But I'm starting this game in myown way. "

"Have you sold any stock?"

"Not yet. But the Andrews boys are driving some thirty-odd head toKremmling for me to be sold. "

"Ahuh! Well, I'll be goin', " Wade replied, and it was significant of hisstate of mind that he left his young friend sorely puzzled. Not thatWade did not see Moore's anxiety! But the drift of events at WhiteSlides had passed beyond the stage where sympathetic and inspiring hopemight serve Wade's purpose. Besides, his mood was gradually changing asthese events, like many fibers of a web, gradually closed in toward aculminating knot. 

That night Wade lounged with the cowboys and new hands in front of thelittle storehouse where Belllounds kept supplies for all. He had loungedthere before in the expectation of seeing the rancher's son. And thistime anticipation was verified. Jack Belllounds swaggered over from theranch-house. He met civility and obedience now where formerly he hadearned but ridicule and opposition. So long as he worked hard himselfthe cowboys endured. The subtle change in him seemed of sterner stuff. The talk, as usual, centered round the stock subjects and the banter andgossip of ranch-hands. Wade selected an interval when there was a lullin the conversation, and with eyes that burned under the shadow of hisbroad-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 LemBillings. "Mighty glad to hear it. Thet boy shore will git rich. "

Wade's remark incited no further expressions of interest. But it wasJack Belllounds's secret mind that Wade wished to pierce. He saw theleaping of a thought that was neither interest nor indifference norcontempt, but a creative thing which lent a fleeting flash to the face, a slight shock to the body. Then Jack Belllounds bent his head, loungedthere for a little while longer, lost in absorption, and presently hestrolled away. 

Whatever that mounting thought of Jack Belllounds's was it broughtinstant decision to Wade. He went to the ranch-house and knocked uponthe living-room door. There was a light within, sending rays out throughthe windows into the semi-darkness. Columbine opened the door andadmitted Wade. A bright fire crackled in the hearth. Wade flashed areassuring 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 dofer you?"

"Belllounds, I've cleaned out the cats an' most of the varmints on yourrange. An' my work, lately, has been all sorts, not leavin' me any timefor 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'mnot denyin' we might, an' probably would clash sooner or later. Butthat'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'snot long now. You can lay off to-morrow. "

Wade thanked him and waited for further remarks. Columbine had fixedbig, questioning eyes upon Wade, which he found hard to endure. Again hetried to flash her a message of reassurance. But Columbine did not loseher 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 anencroachment 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 boyan' 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, soI reckon I'll go in with him. "

"Ahuh!" Belllounds gave a grunt of comprehension. He frowned, and hisbig eyes set seriously upon the blazing fire. He grasped complicationsin this information. 

"Wal, it's a free country, " he said at length, and evidently hispersonal anxieties were subjected to his sense of justice. "Owin' to thepeculiar circumstances hyar at my range, I'd prefer thet Moore an' youbegan somewhar else. Thet's natural. But you've my good will to start onan' I hope I've yours. "

"Belllounds, you've every man's good will, " replied Wade. "I hope youwon't take offense at my leavin'. You see I'm on Wils Moore's sidein--in what you called these peculiar circumstances. He's got nobodyelse. An' I reckon you can look back an' remember how you've taken sideswith 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' outlike thet. "

"All right. Now about the dogs. I turn the pack over to you, an' it's agood 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 surebe help for me. Belllounds, I'm goin' to round up this outfit that'srustlin' 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 personalinterest. You know the hint about homesteaders hereabouts reflects someon Wils Moore. "

"Stuff!" exploded the rancher, heartily. "Do you think any cattleman inthese hills would believe Wils Moore a rustler?"

"The hunch has been whispered, " said Wade. "An' you know how allranchers say they rustled a little on the start. "

"Aw, hell! Thet's different. Every new rancher drives in a few unbrandedcalves an' keeps them. But stealin' stock--thet's different. An' I'd assoon suspect my own son of rustlin' as Wils Moore. "

Belllounds spoke with a sincere and frank ardor of defense for a youngman once employed by him and known to be honest. The significance of thecomparison he used had not struck him. His was the epitome of asuccessful rancher, sure in his opinions, speaking proudly andunreflectingly of his own son, and being just to another man. 

Wade bowed and backed out of the door. "Sure that's what I'd reckonyou'd say, Belllounds. .. . I'll drop in on you if I find any sign in thewoods. Good night. "

Columbine went with him to the end of the porch, as she had used to gobefore the shadow had settled over the lives of the Belllounds. 

"Ben, you're up to something, " she whispered, seizing him with handsthat 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 herhands. 

"Ben, they're pressing me hard to set another wedding-day. Dad is angrywith me now. Jack has begun again to demand. Oh, I'm afraid of him! Hehas no respect for me. He catches at me with hands like claws. I have tojerk 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. Watchyour 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 abodewith Wilson Moore. The cowboy hailed Wade's coming with joy and pesteredhim 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 suspenseof happenings to come. It was on a June day when Jack Belllounds rode toKremmling that Wade met Columbine on the Buffalo Park trail. She neededto see him, to find comfort and strength. Wade far exceeded his ownconfidence in his effort to uphold her. Columbine was in a strangestate, not of vacillation between two courses, but of a standstill, asif her will had become obstructed and waited for some force to upset thehindrance. She did not inquire as to the welfare of Wilson Moore, andWade vouchsafed no word of him. But she importuned the hunter to see herevery day or no more at all. And Wade answered her appeal and her needby assuring her that he would see her, come what might. So she was torisk 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 tothe best of his evidence and judgment there had been a gang of rough mencome of late to Gore Peak, where they presumably were prospecting. Thisgang was composed of strangers to Lewis. They had ridden to his cabin, bought and borrowed of him, and, during his absence, had stolen fromhim. He believed they were in hiding, probably being guilty of somedepredation in another locality. They gave both Kremmling and Elgeria awide berth. On the other hand, the Smith gang from Elgeria rode to andfro, like ranchers searching for lost horses. There were only three inthis gang, including Smith. Lewis had seen these men driving unbrandedstock. And lastly, Lewis casually imparted the information, highlyinteresting to Wade, that he had seen Jack Belllounds riding through theforest. The prospector did not in the least, however, connect theappearance of the son of Belllounds with the other facts so peculiarlyinteresting to Wade. Cowboys and hunters rode trails across the range, and though they did so rather infrequently, there was nothing unusualabout encountering them. 

Wade remained all night with Lewis, and next morning rode six milesalong the divide, and then down into a valley, where at length he founda cabin described by the prospector. It was well hidden in the edge ofthe forest, where a spring gushed from under a low cliff. But for waterand horse tracks Wade would not have found it easily. Rifle in hand, andon foot, he slipped around in the woods, as a hunter might have, tostalk drinking deer. There were no smoke, no noise, no horses anywhereround the cabin, and after watching awhile Wade went forward to look atit. It was an old ramshackle hunter's or prospector's cabin, with dirtfloor, a crumbling fireplace and chimney, and a bed platform made ofboughs. Including the door, it had three apertures, and the two smallerones, serving as windows, looked as if they had been intended forport-holes as well. The inside of the cabin was large and unusually welllighted, 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 ifa violent hand had flung them against the wall. Strange that Wade'smemory returned a vivid picture of Jack Belllounds in just that act ofviolence! The only other thing around the place which earned scrutinyfrom Wade was a number of horseshoe tracks outside, with the left frontshoe track familiar to him. He examined the clearest imprints verycarefully. If they had not been put there by Wilson Moore's whitemustang, Spottie, then they had been made by a horse with a strangelysimilar hoof and shoe. Spottie had a hoof malformed, somewhat in theshape 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 ofhis other shoes. 

Wade rode down to White Slides that day, and at the evening meal hecasually 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 oneof 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 youhear me yell?"

"Reckon so, come to think of it. I just saw a track like Spottie's, madetwo 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 thehighest foothills above White Slides Ranch. There he lay at ease, likean Indian, calm and somber, watching the trails below, waiting for whathe knew was to come. 

On the fifth morning he was at his post at sunrise. A casual remark ofone of the new cowboys the night before accounted for the early hour ofWade's reconnoiter. The dawn was fresh and cool, with sweet odor of sageon the air; the jays were squalling their annoyance at this earlydisturber of their grove; the east was rosy above the black range andsoon glowed with gold and then changed to fire. The sun had risen. Allthe mountain world of black range and gray hill and green valley, withits shining stream, was transformed as if by magic color. Wade sat downwith his back to an aspen-tree, his gaze down upon the ranch-house andthe corrals. A lazy column of blue smoke curled up toward the sky, to belost there. The burros were braying, the calves were bawling, the coltswere 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 thebirth of summer, the rewards of toil--all seemed significant there. ButWade pondered on how pregnant with life that scene was--nature in itssimplicity and freedom and hidden cruelty, and the existence of people, blindly hating, loving, sacrificing, mostly serving some noble aim, andyet with baseness among them, the lees with the wine, evil intermixedwith good. 

By and by the cowboys appeared on their spring mustangs, and in twos andthrees 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 humby Wade, and fluttering moths winged uncertain flight over him. 

At the end of another hour Jack Belllounds came out of the house, gazedaround him, and then stalked to the barn where he kept his horses. For alittle while he was not in sight; then he reappeared, mounted on a whitehorse, 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 toa small clump of aspens. This grove was not so far from Wilson Moore'scabin; in fact, it marked the boundary-line between the rancher's rangeand 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--andplainer to me than any tracks, " soliloquized Wade, as he strained hiseyes. At length Belllounds came out of the grove, and led his horseround to where Wade knew there was a trail leading to and from Moore'scabin. At this point Jack mounted and rode west. Contrary to his usualcustom, which was to ride hard and fast, he trotted the white horse as acowboy might have done when going out on a day's work. Wade had tochange his position to watch Belllounds, and his somber gaze followedhim 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 toclimb in the direction of Buffalo Park. 

After Belllounds had disappeared and had been gone for an hour, Wadewent down on the other side of the hill, found his horse where he hadleft him, in a thicket, and, mounting, he rode around to strike thetrail upon which Belllounds had ridden. The imprint of fresh horsetracks showed clear in the soft dust. And the left front track had beenmade by a shoe crudely triangular in shape, identical with that peculiarto 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. Therehe hesitated. Men who left crooked trails frequently ambushed them, andBelllounds had made no effort to conceal his tracks. Indeed, he hadchosen the soft, open ground, even after he had left the trail to taketo the grassy, wooded benches. There were cattle here, but not as manyas on the more open aspen slopes across the valley. After deliberating amoment, Wade decided that he must risk being caught trailing Belllounds. But he would go slowly, trusting to eye and ear, to outwit thisstrangely acting foreman of White Slides Ranch. 

To that end he dismounted and took the trail. Wade had not followed itfar before he became convinced that Belllounds had been looking in thethickets for cattle; and he had not climbed another mile through theaspens and spruce before he discovered that Belllounds was drivingcattle. Thereafter Wade proceeded more cautiously. If the long grass hadnot been wet he would have encountered great difficulty in trailingBelllounds. Evidence was clear now that he was hiding the tracks of thecattle by keeping to the grassy levels and slopes which, after the sunhad dried them, would not leave a trace. There were stretches where eventhe keen-eyed hunter had to work to find the direction taken byBelllounds. But here and there, in other localities, there showed faintsigns of cattle and horse tracks. 

The morning passed, with Wade slowly climbing to the edge of the blacktimber. Then, in a hollow where a spring gushed forth, he saw the tracksof a few cattle that had halted to drink, and on top of these the tracksof a horse with a crooked left front shoe. The rider of this horse haddismounted. There was an imprint of a cowboy's boot, and near it littlesharp 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 OldBill'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 Wilsuses that every time he gets off his horse, why, the dirty pup carriedhis 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 followingBelllounds farther? It did not seem needful to take the risk of beingdiscovered. The forest above was open. No doubt Belllounds would drivethe 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'sgoin' to blame this cattle-stealin' onto Wils. An' to do that he'slayin' his tracks so he can follow them, or so any good trailer can. Itdoesn't concern me so much now who're his pards in this deal. Reckonit's Smith an' some of his gang. "

Suddenly it dawned upon Wade that Jack Belllounds was stealing cattlefrom 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. Iwouldn't. There's some things even I'd not tell. "

Straightway this strange aspect of the case confronted Wade and grippedhis soul. He seemed to feel himself changing inwardly, as if a gray, gloomy, sodden hand, as intangible as a ghostly dream, had taken himbodily from himself and was now leading him into shadows, into drear, lonely, dark solitude, where all was cold and bleak; and on and on overnaked shingles that marked the world of tragedy. Here he must tell histale, and as he plodded on his relentless leader forced him to tell histale anew. 

Wade recognized this as his black mood. It was a morbid dominance of themind. He fought it as he would have fought a devil. And mastery stillwas his. But his brow was clammy and his heart was leaden when he hadwrested that somber, mystic control from his will. 

"Reckon I'd do well to take up this trail to-morrow an' see where itleads, " he said, and as a gloomy man, burdened with thought, he retracedhis way down the long slope, and over the benches, to the grassy slopesand aspen groves, and thus to the sage hills. 

It was dark when he reached the cabin, and Moore had supper almostready. 

"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'velived some years before I got here, an' a lifetime since. "

"Wade, you have a queer look, lately, " observed Moore, shaking his headsolemnly. "Why, I've seen a dying man look just like you--now--round themouth--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 tiredan' hungry. "

Wade did not choose to sit round the fire that night, fearing to inviteinterrogation from his anxious friend, and for that matter from hisother inquisitively morbid self. 

Next morning, though Wade felt rested, and the sky was blue and full offleecy clouds, and the melody of birds charmed his ear, and over all theJune air seemed thick and beating with the invisible spirit he loved, hesensed the oppression, the nameless something that presaged catastrophe. 

Therefore, when he looked out of the door to see Columbine swiftlyriding 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 thecabin, 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 strangeColumbine. 

"I've not slept a wink!" she said. "And I came as soon as I could getaway. "

Moore had no word for her, not even a greeting. The look of her hadstricken him. It could have only one meaning. 

"Mornin', lass, " said the hunter, and he took her hand. "I couldn't tellyou 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 ahigh state of agitation, but she was neither trembling nor frightenednor sorrowful. Nor did she betray any lack of an unflinching andindomitable spirit. Wade read the truth of what she imagined was herdoom in the white glow of her, in the matured lines of womanhood thathad 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 meyour trouble now an' I'll tell you where you're wrong. "

"Jack's a thief--a cattle-thief!" rang Columbine's voice, high andclear. 

"Ahuh! Well, go on, " said Wade. 

"Jack has taken money from rustlers--_for cattle stolen from hisfather!_"

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 thingthat had transformed her. 

"I'M GOING TO MARRY JACK BELLLOUNDS!"

Wilson Moore leaped toward her with a cry, to be held back by Wade'shand. 

"Now, Collie, " he soothed, "tell us all about it. "

Columbine, still upheld by the strength of her spirit, related how shehad ridden out the day before, early in the afternoon, in the hope ofmeeting Wade. She rode over the sage hills, along the edges of the aspenbenches, everywhere that she might expect to meet or see the hunter, but as he did not appear, and as she was greatly desirous of talkingwith him, she went on up into the woods, following the line of theBuffalo Park trail, though keeping aside from it. She rode very slowlyand cautiously, remembering Wade's instructions. In this way sheascended the aspen benches, and the spruce-bordered ridges, and then thefirst rise of the black forest. Finally she had gone farther than everbefore and farther than was wise. 

When she was about to turn back she heard the thud of hoofs ahead ofher. Pronto shot up his ears. Alarmed and anxious, Columbine swiftlygazed about her. It would not do for her to be seen. Yet, on the otherhand, the chances were that the approaching horse carried Wade. It waslucky that she was on Pronto, for he could be trusted to stand still andnot neigh. Columbine rode into a thick clump of spruces that had long, shelving branches, reaching down. Here she hid, holding Prontomotionless. 

Presently the sound of hoofs denoted the approach of several horses. That augmented Columbine's anxiety. Peering out of her covert, sheespied three horsemen trotting along the trail, and one of them was JackBelllounds. They appeared to be in strong argument, judging fromgestures and emphatic movements of their heads. As chance would have itthey halted their horses not half a dozen rods from Columbine's place ofconcealment. The two men with Belllounds were rough-looking, one ofthem, evidently a leader, having a dark face disfigured by ahorrible scar. 

Naturally they did not talk loud, and Columbine had to strain her earsto catch anything. But a word distinguished here and there, andaccompanying actions, made transparent the meaning of their presence andargument. The big man refused to ride any farther. Evidently he hadcome so far without realizing it. His importunities were for "more headof 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 toolow to be heard. His manner seemed indifferent, even reckless. But hewanted "money. " The scar-faced man's name was "Smith. " Then Columbinegathered from Smith's dogged and forceful gestures, and his words, "nomoney" and "bigger bunch, " that he was unwilling to pay what had beenagreed upon unless Belllounds promised to bring a larger number ofcattle. Here Belllounds roundly cursed the rustler, and apparentlyargued that course "next to impossible. " Smith made a sweeping movementwith his arm, pointing south, indicating some place afar, and part ofhis speech was "Gore Peak. " The little man, companion of Smith, got intothe argument, and, dismounting from his horse, he made marks upon thesmooth earth of the trail. He was drawing a rude map showing directionand locality. At length, when Belllounds nodded as if convinced or nowinformed, this third member of the party remounted, and seemed to haveno more to say. Belllounds pondered sullenly. He snatched a switch fromoff a bough overhead and flicked his boot and stirrup with it, an actionthat made his horse restive. Smith leered and spoke derisively, of whichspeech Columbine heard, "Aw hell!" and "yellow streak, " and "no one'dever, " and "son of Bill Belllounds, " and "rustlin' stock. " Then thisscar-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 withouttrace of shame or compunction he snatched the bag of gold, shouted ahoarse, "All right, damn you!" and, wheeling the white mustang, hespurred away, quickly disappearing. 

The rustlers sat their horses, gazing down the trail, and Smith waggedhis dark head doubtfully. Then he spoke quite distinctly, "I ain'ta-trustin' thet Belllounds pup!" and his comrade replied, "Boss, weain't stealin' the stock, so what th' hell!" Then they turned theirhorses and trotted out of sight and hearing up the timbered slope. 

Columbine was so stunned, and so frightened and horrified, that sheremained hidden there for a long time before she ventured forth. Then, heading homeward, she skirted the trail and kept to the edge of theforest, making a wide detour over the hills, finally reaching the ranchat sunset. Jack did not appear at the evening meal. His father had oneof 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 agitationand 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'mforced. If you do not help me, if something is not done, there'll be ahorrible--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 Idon'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, " interposedWade, positively. 

"But why? Oh, I fear--"

"Never mind now, lass. It's a good reason. An' you mustn't fearanythin'. 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 himterribly--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 wouldthat do?"

"It'll stop this--this madness. .. . Then I'll marry him--and keep himsafe--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 sawthat. 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 hefell. He didn't care. He drank again. He let go. He sank. And now he'llruin us all. Oh, it looks as if he meant it that way!. .. But I canchange him. I will marry him. I will love him--or I will _live a lie!_ Iwill 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 yourwomanhood and ruin me--all for that coward--that thief?"

Columbine broke from Wade and ran to Wilson, as if to clasp him, butsomething halted her and she stood before him. 

"Because dad will kill him!" she cried. 

"My God! what are you saying?" exclaimed Moore, incredulously. "Old Billwould roar and rage, but hurt that boy of his--never!"

"Wils, I reckon Collie is right. You haven't got Old Bill figured. Iknow, " interposed Wade, with one of his forceful gestures. 

"Wilson, listen, and don't set your heart against me. For I _must_ dothis 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 stolefrom his own father--stole cattle like a common rustler, and sold themfor gold to gamble and drink with--he will kill him!. .. That's as trueas fate. .. . Think how horrible that would be for me! Because I'm toblame here, mostly. I fell in love with _you_, Wilson Moore, otherwise Icould have saved Jack already. 

"But it's not that I think of myself. Dad has loved me. He has been as afather to me. You know he's not my real father. Oh, if I only had a realone!. .. And I owe him so much. But then it's not because I owe him orbecause 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 onefault, and that love of his son--must he be let go in blinded and insanerage at the failure of his life, the ruin of his son--must he be allowedto kill his own flesh and blood?. .. It would be _murder!_ It would damndad's soul to everlasting torment. No! No! I'll not let that be!"

"Collie--how about--your own soul?" whispered Moore, lifting himself asif 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 theinevitableness of his relation to this catastrophe, yet looking to himfor the spirit, the guidance that became habitual to them. It broughtthe warm blood back to Wade's cold heart. It was his great reward. Howintensely and implacably did his soul mount to that crisis!

"Collie, I'll never fail you, " he said, and his gentle voice was deepand full. "If Jack can be scared into haltin' in his mad ride tohell--then I'll do it. I'm not promisin' so much for him. But I'll swearto you that Old Belllounds's hands will never be stained with hisson's blood!"

"Oh, Ben! Ben!" she cried, in passionate gratitude. "I'll loveyou--bless you all my life!"

"Hush, lass! I'm not one to bless. .. . An' now you must do as I say. Gohome 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 itall--once and forever?"

"No man can tell everythin'. But that's my judgment. "

"Why August thirteenth?" she queried, with strange curiosity. "Anunlucky date!"

"Well, it just happened to come to my mind--that date, " replied Wade, inhis slow, soft voice of reminiscence. "I was married on Augustthirteenth--twenty-one years ago. .. . An', Collie, my wife lookedsomethin' 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, withher 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 Jacktill August thirteenth. "

"That'll give me time, " replied Wade. "I'm thinkin' Jack ought tobe--reformed, let's call it--before you marry him. If all you say istrue--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 abreakdown, now that the ordeal was past. 

Wilson Moore stood gazing out of the door, his eyes far away on the grayslopes. 

"Queer how things turn out, " he said, dreamily. "August thirteenth!. .. That's about the time the columbines blow on the hills. .. . And I alwaysmeant columbine-time--"

Here he sharply interrupted himself, and the dreamy musing gave way topassion. "But I mean it yet! I'll--I'll die before I give up hopeof you!"

CHAPTER XVI

Wade, watching Columbine ride down the slope on her homeward way, didsome of the hardest thinking he had yet been called upon to do. It wasnot necessary to acquaint Wilson Moore with the deeper and more subtlemotives that had begun to actuate him. It would not utterly break thecowboy's spirit to live in suspense. Columbine was safe for the present. He had insured her against fatality. Time was all he needed. Possibilityof an actual consummation of her marriage to Jack Belllounds did notlodge for an instant in Wade's consciousness. In Moore's case, however, the present moment seemed critical. What should he tell Moore--whatshould 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 toexpect, 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 thatmarriage off that we'll gain time. You're gambling with time. You swearBuster 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 toslip 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--yousaved my leg--and my life. You must have cared about me. But now--youtalk about that dolt--that spoiled old man's pet--that damned cur, as ifyou believed he'd ruin himself. No such luck! no such hope!. .. Every daythings grow worse. Yet the worse they grow the stronger you seem! It'sall out of proportion. It's dreams. Wade, I hate to say it, but I'm sureyou're not always--just right in your mind. "

"Wils, now ain't that queer?" replied Wade, sadly. "I'm agreein' withyou. "

"Aw!" Moore shook himself savagely and laid an affectionate andappealing arm on his friend's shoulder. "Forgive me, pard!. .. It's mewho's out of his head. .. . But my heart's broken. "

"That's what you think, " rejoined Wade, stoutly. "But a man's heartcan't break in a day. I know. .. . An' the God's truth is Buster Jack willhang himself!"

Moore raised his head sharply, flinging himself back from his friend soas 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, shedidn't know what I know. Jack Belllounds had laid a cunnin' an' devilishtrap 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 onWade. "Now listen. Not long ago Buster Jack made a remark in front ofthe whole outfit, includin' his father, that the homesteaders on therange were rustlin' cattle. It fell sort of flat, that remark. But noone could calculate on his infernal cunnin'. I quit workin' forBelllounds that night, an' I've put my time in spyin' on the boy. In myday I've done a good deal of spyin', but I've never run across any oneslicker than Buster Jack. To cut it short--he got himself awhite-speckled mustang that's a dead ringer for Spottie. He measured thetracks of your horse's left front foot--the bad hoof, you know, an' hemade a shoe exactly the same as Spottie wears. Also, he made some kindof a contraption that's like the end of your crutch. These he packs withhim. I saw him ride across the pasture to hide his tracks, climb up thesage for the same reason, an' then hide in that grove of aspens overthere near the trail you use. Here, you can bet, he changed shoes on theleft front foot of his horse. Then he took to the trail, an' he lefttracks for a while, an' then he was careful to hide them again. He stolehis father's stock an' drove it up over the grassy benches where evenyou 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 offhis horse, steppin' with one foot--an' makin' little circles with dotslike those made by the end of your crutch. Then 'way over in the woodsthere's a cabin where he meets his accomplices. Here he leaves the samehorse tracks an' crutch tracks. .. . Simple as a b c, Wils, when you seehow he did it. But I'll tell you straight--if I hadn't been suspiciousof 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 toit. You can't break faith with Collie. .. . An' you don't want his badblood 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 cansqueal what Collie told us. "

"Son, you're young in dealin' with crooked men. You don't get the driftof motives. Buster Jack is not only robbin' his father an' hatchin' adirty 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, ora 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 thisscar-face Smith. We've met before. Now it's easy to see from what Collieheard that Smith is not trustin' Buster Jack. So, all underneath thisJack Belllounds's game, there's forces workin' unbeknown to him, beyondhis 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 hedoesn't hang himself by some blunder or fit of temper or spree--whatthen of Collie?"

Wade could not answer this natural and inevitable query for the reasonthat 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 afew words from the Bible. My faith is low. I . .. Oh, I tried to praybecause Collie told me she had prayed! But what are prayers? We'redealing with a stubborn, iron-willed old man who idolizes his son; we'redealing 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 sonoble and high-souled that she'll sacrifice her all--her life to pay herdebt. If she were really Bill Belllounds's daughter she'd _never_ marryJack, saying, of course, that he was not her brother. .. . Do you knowthat it will _kill_ her, if she marries him?"

"Ahuh! I reckon it would, " replied Wade, with his head bowed. Mooreroused his gloomy forebodings. He did not care to show this feeling orthe 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 liftedhim, pushed him erect. 

"Damn you, Wade! You're not square with me! You don't tell me all!" hecried, 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! Youcouldn'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'shard to explain how you affect me. One minute I'm ready to choke youfor that damned strangeness--whatever it is. The next minute I feelit--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 ownside of the fence. An' each actin' up to his own lights! You do whatyour 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' thetime for talkin' is past. "

In silence Moore gripped the hand held out to him, trying to read Wade'smind, apparently once more uplifted and strengthened by that which hecould not divine. 

 * * * * *

Wade's observations during the following week brought forth the factthat Jack Belllounds was not letting any grass grow under his feet. Heendeavored to fulfil his agreement with Smith, and drove a number ofcattle by moonlight. These were part of the stock that the rancher hadsold to buyers at Kremmling, and which had been collected and held inthe big, fenced pasture down the valley next to the Andrews ranch. Theloss was not discovered until the cattle had been counted at Kremmling. Then they were credited to loss by straying. In driving a considerableherd of half-wild steers, with an inadequate force of cowboys, it was nounusual thing to lose a number. 

Wade, however, was in possession of the facts not later than the dayafter this midnight steal in the moonlight. He was forced toacknowledge that no one would have believed it possible for JackBelllounds to perform a feat which might well have been difficult forthe best of cowboys. But Jack accomplished it and got back home beforedaylight. And Wade was bound to admit that circumstantial evidenceagainst Wilson Moore, which, of course, Jack Belllounds would soonpresent, 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 hedid not want to miss was being present when Jack Belllounds accusedWilson Moore of rustling cattle. 

So it chanced that Wade was chatting with the cowboys one Sundayafternoon when Jack, accompanied by three strangers, all mounted ondusty, 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 towardthe house. "Buster Jack ridin' up with Sheriff Burley. "

The rancher, Belllounds, who was on the porch, greeted the visitors, andthen 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 singularoccurrence, and watching the house. Presently Old Bill Belllounds strodeout upon the porch, and, walking out into the court, he peered around asif 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 downhyar!"

"All right, boss, " called Lem, in reply, as he got up and gave a hitchto 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 prettysquare 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 offafter his horse. 

Wade got up, deliberate and thoughtful, and started away. 

"Say, Bent, you're shore goin' to see what's up?" asked Montana, insurprise. 

"I'll be around, Jim, " replied Wade, and he strolled off to be alone. Hewanted to think over this startling procedure of Jack Belllounds's. Wadewas astonished. He had expected that an accusation would be madeagainst Moore by Jack, and an exploitation of such proofs as had beencraftily prepared, but he had never imagined Jack would be bold enoughto carry matters so far. Sheriff Burley was a man of wide experience, keen, practical, shrewd. He was also one of the countless men Wade hadrubbed elbows with in the eventful past. It had been Wade's idea thatJack would be satisfied to face his father with the accusation of Moore, and thus cover his tracks. Whatever Old Belllounds might have felt overthe loss of a few cattle, he would never have hounded and arrested acowboy who had done well by him. Burley, however, was a sheriff, and aconscientious one, and he happened to be particularly setagainst rustlers. 

Here was a complication of circumstances. What would Jack Bellloundsinsist upon? How would Columbine take this plot against the honor andliberty of Wilson Moore? How would Moore himself react to it? Wadeconfessed that he was helpless to solve these queries, and there seemedto be a further one, insistent and gathering--what was to be his ownattitude here? That could not be answered, either, because only a futuremoment, over which he had no control, and which must decide events, heldthat secret. Worry beset Wade, but he still found himself proof againstthe insidious gloom ever hovering near, like his shadow. 

He waited near the trail to intercept Billings and Moore on their way tothe ranch-house; and to his surprise they appeared sooner than it wouldhave been reasonable to expect them. Wade stepped out of the willows andheld 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 onthat 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, youremember 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 youto 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 Wadewalked beside Moore's horse up to the house. 

Belllounds appeared at the door, evidently having heard the sound ofhoofs. 

"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 habitualto him in big moments. 

"Come out hyar, you men, " he called in the door. 

Voices, heavy footsteps, the clinking of spurs, preceded the appearanceof the three strangers, followed by Jack Belllounds. The foremost was atall man in black, sandy-haired and freckled, with clear gray eyes, anda drooping mustache that did not hide stern lips and rugged chin. Hewore a silver star on his vest, packed a gun in a greasy holster wornlow 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 andpleasure to break across the sheriff's stern face he certainly had notreckoned in vain. 

"Wal, I'm a son-of-a-gun!" ejaculated Burley, bending low, with quickmovement, to peer at Wade. 

"Howdy, Jim. How's tricks?" said Wade, extending his hand, and the smilethat came so seldom illumined his sallow face. 

"Hell-Bent Wade, as I'm a born sinner!" shouted the sheriff, and hishand leaped out to grasp Wade's and grip it and wring it. His faceworked. "My Gawd! I'm glad to see you, old-timer! Wal, you haven'tchanged 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 twocomrades. "Stockmen from Grand Lake. .. . Boys, you've heerd me talk abouthim. Wade an' I was both in the old fight at Blair's ranch on theGunnison. An' I've shore reason to recollect him!. .. Wade, what're youdoin' up in these diggin's?"

"Drifted over last fall, Jim, an' have been huntin' varmints forBelllounds, " 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 impossiblefor them to see the sudden little curious light that gleamed in his eyesas he looked hard at Wade, and then at Moore. 

"Wils Moore. How d'ye do? I reckon I remember you, though I don't rideup 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 hehad 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, hazeleyes, full of fire, steady on the old rancher's. 

"Jack, you know, is foreman of White Slides now. An' he's made a chargeagainst you. "

"Then let him face me with it, " snapped Moore. 

Jack Belllounds came forward, hands in his pockets, self-possessed, evena little swaggering, and his pale face and bold eyes showed the gravityof the situation and his mastery over it. 

Wade watched this meeting of the rivals and enemies with an attentionpowerfully 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 showedhim not wholly in control of exultation and revenge. Fear had notstruck 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 andreveal and inflame. But he restrained himself as with roving glance hesearched 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 andsavage gleam flamed in his steady glance. Then it vanished. 

The cowboys, who had come up, moved restlessly. Lem Billings dropped hishead, 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 notwithout effect upon Jack Belllounds. 

"What in hell do I care for Wade?" he burst out, with the oldintolerance. "Yes, I accuse you. Thief, rustler!. .. And for all I knowyour 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 withMister Moore, but I happen to know Wade. Do you savvy?. .. Wal, then, ifyou'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 haddismounted and limped aside the sheriff continued, "Is this the hoss youride most?"

"He's the only one I have. "

Burley sat down upon the edge of the porch and, carefully unwrapping thepackage, he disclosed some pieces of hard-baked yellow mud. The smallerones bore the imprint of a circle with a dot in the center, very clearlydefined. The larger piece bore the imperfect but reasonably clear trackof a curiously shaped horseshoe, somewhat triangular. The sheriff placedthese pieces upon the ground. Then he laid hold of Moore's crutch, whichwas 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 heinserted this end into both the little circles on the pieces of mud. They fitted perfectly. The cowboys bent over to get a closer view, andBillings was wagging his head. Old Belllounds had an earnest eye forthem, also. Burley's next move was to lift the left front foot ofMoore's horse and expose the bottom to view. Evidently the white mustangdid not like these proceedings, but he behaved himself. The iron shoe onthis hoof was somewhat triangular in shape. When Burley held the largerpiece of mud, with its imprint, close to the hoof, it was not possibleto 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 theother 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 GorePeak. We'd trailed the cattle Belllounds lost, an' then we kept ontrailin' them, clear to the road that goes over the ridge toElgeria. .. . Now Bridges an' Lindsay hyar bought stock lately fromstrange cattlemen who didn't give no clear idee of their range. Jestbuyin' an' sellin', they claimed. .. . I reckon the extra hoss tracks werun across at Gore Peak connects up them buyers an' sellers with whoeverdrove 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 aflame flared in his eyes. 

"Wils, you done me dirt, " he said, wrathfully. "An' I always swore byyou. .. . Make a clean breast of the whole damn bizness, if you want me totreat you white. You must have been locoed or drunk, to double-cross methet 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 towardfightin' at the drop of a hat. I tell you, speak out an' I'll do rightby 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 astraining-point of his unnatural, almost haughty composure. He seemedabout to break into violent utterance. Grief and horror and anger seemedat the back of his trembling lips. The look he gave Belllounds wasassuredly a strange one, to come from a cowboy who was supposed to havestolen his former employer's cattle. Whatever he might have replied wascut off by the sudden appearance of Columbine. 

"Dad, I heard you!" she cried, as she swept upon them, fearful andwide-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 theswift 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 Icame, " 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 bluefire, 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'sa terrible mistake!"

"Miss Columbine, I shore hope so, " replied Burley, much embarrassed anddistressed. Like most men of his kind, he could not bear to hurt awoman. "But it looks bad fer Moore. .. . See hyar! There! Look at thetracks 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 thestolen 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 furiouslaughter. 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 stealingdad's cattle!"

"Yes, and I proved it, " replied Jack, hoarsely. 

"You! _You_ proved it? So that's your revenge?. .. But you're to reckonwith me, Jack Belllounds! You villain! You devil! You--" Suddenly sheshrank back with a strong shudder. She gasped. Her face grew ghastlywhite. "_Oh, my God!_ . .. Horrible--unspeakable!". .. She covered herface with her hands, and every muscle of her seemed to contract untilshe was stiff. Then her hands shot out to Moore. 

"Wilson Moore, what have _you_ to say--to this sheriff--to JackBelllounds--to _me?_"

Moore bent upon her a gaze that must have pierced her soul, so like itwas to a lightning flash of love and meaning and eloquence. 

"Collie, they've got the proof. I'll take my medicine. .. . Your dad isgood. 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 naturalwith his confession. But he showed an agony of distress. His hand soughtWade and dragged at him. 

It did not need this mute appeal to tell Wade that in another momentColumbine would have flung the shameful truth into the face of JackBelllounds. She was rising to that. She was terrible and beautifulto 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'snot 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 myshoulders. An' it will be as if it were not!"

Moaning and wringing her hands, Columbine staggered with the burden ofthe 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 somany years--it's hard to believe! We all understand, Collie. Now you goin, 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 itopen he whispered, "I will save you, Collie, an' Wils, an' the old manyou 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. "Heconfessed. He's got to go to jail. "

"Wal, my hot-tempered young fellar, thar ain't any jail nearer 'nDenver. 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 withme in Kremmlin', an' a damn sight happier. "

The cowboy had mounted, and Wade walked beside him as he startedhomeward. They had not progressed far when Wade's keen ears caught thewords, "Say, Belllounds, I got it figgered thet you an' your son don'tsavvy this fellar Wade. "

"Wal, I reckon not, " replied the old rancher. 

And his son let out a peal of laughter, bitter and scornful andunsatisfied. 

CHAPTER XVII

Gore Peak was the highest point of the black range that extended formiles westward from Buffalo Park. It was a rounded dome, covered withtimber and visible as a landmark from the surrounding country. All alongthe eastern slope of that range an unbroken forest of spruce and pinespread down to the edge of the valley. This valley narrowed toward itssource, which was Buffalo Park. A few well-beaten trails crossed thatcountry, one following Red Brook down to Kremmling; another crossingfrom the Park to White Slides; and another going over the divide down toElgeria. The only well-known trail leading to Gore Peak was a branch-offfrom the valley, and it went round to the south and more accessible sideof the mountain. 

All that immense slope of timbered ridges, benches, ravines, and swaleswest of Buffalo Park was exceedingly wild and rough country. Here thebuffalo took to cover from hunters, and were safe until they venturedforth into the parks again. Elk and deer and bear made this foresttheir 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 asscout for Wade, and had ridden furiously down to Sage Valley with newsof the rustlers. Wade had accompanied him back to Buffalo Park thatnight, riding in the dark. There were urgent reasons for speed. JackBelllounds had ridden to Kremmling, and the hunter did not believe hewould return by the road he had taken. 

Fox, Wade's favorite dog, much to his disgust, was left behind withLewis. The bloodhound, Kane, accompanied Wade. Kane had been ill-treatedand then beaten by Jack Belllounds, and he had left White Slides to takeup his home at Moore's cabin. And at last he had seemed to reconcilehimself to the hunter, not with love, but without distrust. Kane neverforgave; but he recognized his friend and master. Wade carried his rifleand a buckskin pouch containing meat and bread. His belt, heavilystudded with shells, contained two guns, both now worn in plain sight, with the one on the right side hanging low. Wade's character seemed tohave undergone some remarkable change, yet what he represented then wasnot unfamiliar. 

He headed for the concealed cabin on the edge of the high valley, underthe black brow of Gore Peak. It was early morning of a July day, withsummer fresh and new to the forest. Along the park edges the birds andsquirrels were holding carnival. The grass was crisp and bediamondedwith sparkling frost. Tracks of game showed sharp in the white patches. Wade paused once, listening. Ah! That most beautiful of forest melodiesfor him--the bugle of an elk. Clear, resonant, penetrating, with thesequalities held and blended by a note of wildness, it rang thrillinglythrough all Wade's being. The hound listened, but was not interested. Hekept close beside the hunter or at his heels, a stealthily stepping, warily glancing hound, not scenting the four-footed denizens of theforest. 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, wasnot great. But Wade progressed slowly; he kept to the dense parts ofthe forest; he avoided the open aisles, the swales, the glades, the highridges, the rocky ground. When he came to the Elgeria trail he was notdisappointed to find it smooth, untrodden by any recent travel. Half amile farther on through the forest, however, he encountered tracks ofthree horses, made early the day before. Still farther on he foundcattle and horse tracks, now growing old and dim. These tracks, pointedtoward Elgeria, were like words of a printed page to Wade. 

About noon he climbed a rocky eminence that jutted out from aslow-descending ridge, and from this vantage-point he saw down thewavering black and green bosom of the mountain slope. A narrow valley, almost hidden, gleamed yellow in the sunlight. At the edge of thisvalley a faint column of blue smoke curled upward. 

"Ahuh!" muttered the hunter, as he looked. The hound whined and pushed acool 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 wherethe smoke had arisen. The presence of the rustlers in the cabin was ofimportance, yet not so paramount as another possibility. He expectedJack Belllounds to be with them or meet them there, and that was thething he wanted to ascertain. When he got down below the little valleyhe swung around to the left to cross the trail that came up from themain valley, some miles still farther down. He found it, and was notsurprised to see fresh horse tracks, made that morning. He recognizedthose tracks. Jack Belllounds was with the rustlers, come, no doubt, toreceive his pay. 

Then the change in Wade, and the actions of a trailer of men, becamemore singularly manifest. He reverted to some former habit of mind andbody. He was as slow as a shadow, absolutely silent, and the gaze thatroved 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 upstiff on his back, stayed close to Wade, watching, listening, andstepping with him. Certainly Wade expected the rustlers to have some oneof their number doing duty as an outlook. So he kept uphill, above thecabin, and made his careful way through the thicket coverts, which atthat place were dense and matted clumps of jack-pine and spruce. At lasthe could see the cabin and the narrow, grassy valley just beyond. To hisrelief the horses were unsaddled and grazing. No man was in sight. Butthere might be a dog. The hunter, in his slow advance, used keen andunrelaxing vigilance, and at length he decided that if there had been adog he would have been tied outside to give an alarm. 

Wade had now reached his objective point. He was some eighty paces fromthe cabin, in line with an open aisle down which he could see into thecleared space before the door. On his left were thick, small spruces, with low-spreading branches, and they extended all the way to the cabinon that side, and in fact screened two walls of it. Wade knew exactlywhat he was going to do. No longer did he hesitate. Laying down hisrifle, he tied the hound to a little spruce, patting him and whisperingfor him to stay there and be still. 

Then Wade's action in looking to his belt-guns was that of a man whoexpected to have recourse to them speedily and by whom the necessity wasneither regretted nor feared. Stooping low, he entered the thicket ofspruces. The soft, spruce-matted ground, devoid of brush or twig, didnot give forth the slightest sound of step, nor did the brushing of thebranches against his body. In some cases he had to bend the boughs. Thus, swiftly and silently, with the gliding steps of an Indian, heapproached 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, deepvoices of men; the shuffling and patting of cards; the musical click ofgold. Resting on his knees a moment the hunter deliberated. All wasexactly as he had expected. Luck favored him. These gamblers would beabsorbed in their game. The door of the cabin was just around thecorner, 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 theposition of the men inside and that of their weapons. 

Rising silently, Wade stepped up to the wall and peeped through a chinkbetween the logs. The sunshine streamed through windows and door. JackBelllounds sat on the ground, full in its light, back to the wall. Hewas in his shirt-sleeves. The gambling fever and the grievous sorenessof a loser shone upon his pale face. Smith sat with back to Wade, opposite Belllounds. The other men completed the square. All were closeenough together to reach comfortably for the cards and gold before them. Wade's keen eyes took this in at a single glance, and then steadiedsearchingly 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 ofreach except by violent effort. The other two rustlers both wore theirweapons. Wade gave a long scrutiny to the faces of these comrades ofSmith, and evidently satisfied himself as to what he had to expectfrom them. 

Wade hesitated; then stooping low, he softly swept aside the interveningboughs of spruce, glided out of the thicket into the open. Two noiselessbounds! 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 fourmen. Belllounds dropped his cards, and his jaw dropped at the sameinstant. These were absolutely the only visible movements. 

"I'm in talkin' humor, an' the longer you listen the longer you'll haveto 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 andstraight. 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 depthand 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; hisneck bulged red; only the eyes of his two comrades moved; Bellloundsbegan to recover somewhat from his consternation. Fear had clamped himalso, but not fear of personal harm or peril. His mind had not yetawakened 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 hiscomrades any more than to the four winds. It was a furious questioningof a memory that stirred and haunted, and as well a passionate andfearful denial. 

"His name's Wade, " put in Belllounds, harshly. "He's the friend of WilsMoore. He's the hunter I told you about--worked for my fatherlast winter. "

"Wade?. .. What? _Wade!_ You never told me his name. It ain't--itain't--"

"Yes, it is, Cap, " interrupted Wade. "It's the old boy that spoiled yourhandsome mug--long ago. "

"_Hell-Bent Wade!_" gasped Folsom, in terrible accents. He shook allover. An ashen paleness crept into his face. Instinctively his righthand jerked toward his gun; then, as in his former motion, froze inthe very act. 

"Careful, Cap!" warned Wade. "It'd be a shame not to hear me talk alittle. .. . 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 inhis eyes, must have been a spiritual acceptance of a dreadful andirrefutable fact--perhaps the proximity of death. But he was no coward. Despite the hunter's order, given as he stood there, gun drawn andready, Folsom wheeled back again, savagely to throw the deck of cards inBelllounds's face. He cursed horribly. .. . "You spoiled brat of a richrancher! 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'refunny? Wal, if you knowed how many men thet name's made tired--an' tiredfer keeps--you'd not think it so damn funny. "

"Say, what're you giving me? That Sheriff Burley tried to tell me anddad 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 andcamp-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 youchanged 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 someinterestin' 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'thankerin' to make any loud noise, " Folsom replied, indicating hiscomrades, with sarcasm. 

The red-bearded one, a man of large frame and gaunt face, wicked andwild-looking, spoke out, "Say, Smith, or whatever the hell's yore righthandle--is this hyar a game we're playin'?"

"I reckon. An' if you turn a trick you'll be damn lucky, " growledFolsom. 

The other rustler did not speak. He was small, swarthy-faced, withsloe-black eyes and matted hair, evidently a white man with Mexicanblood. Keen, strung, furtive, he kept motionless, awaiting events. 

"Buster Jack, these new pards of yours are low-down rustlers, an' one ofthem's worse, as I could prove, " said Wade, "but compared with youthey're all gentlemen. "

Belllounds leered. But he was losing his bravado. Something began todawn 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 whenhalf-way up he slipped. The rustler on his right kicked him, and hesprawled down again, back to the wall. 

"Buster, look into this!" called Wade, and he leveled the gun thatquivered momentarily, like a compass needle, and then crashed fire andsmoke. The bullet spat into a log. But it had cut the lobe ofBelllounds's ear, bringing blood. His face turned a ghastly, livid hue. All in a second terror possessed him--shuddering, primitive terrorof 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 thesituation was in control of a man not in any sense ordinary. 

"Cap, did you know Buster Jack accused my friend, Wils Moore, ofstealin' these cattle you're sellin'?" asked Wade, deliberately. 

"What cattle did you say?" asked the rustler, as if he had not heardaright. 

"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 Iseen you. .. . Naw, I'd no idee Belllounds blamed thet stealin' on toany one. "

"He did. "

"Ahuh! Wal, who's this Wils Moore?"

"He's a cowboy, as fine a youngster as ever straddled a horse. BusterJack hates him. He licked Jack a couple of times an' won the love of agirl that Jack wants. "

"Ho! Ho! Quite romantic, I declare. .. . Say, thar's some damn queernotions I'm gettin' about you, Buster Jack. "

Belllounds lay propped against the wall, sagging there, laboring ofchest, sweating of face. The boldness of brow held, because it wasfixed, but that of his eyes had gone; and his mouth and chin showedcraven weakness. He stared in dread suspense at Wade. 

"Listen. An' all of you sit tight, " went on Wade, swiftly. "Jack stolethe cattle from his father. He's a thief at heart. But he had a doublemotive. He left a trail--he left tracks behind. He made a crookedhorseshoe, like that Wils Moore's horse wears, an' he put that on hisown horse. An' he made a contraption--a little iron ring with a dot init, an' he left the crooked shoe tracks, an' he left the littlering tracks--"

"By Gawd! I seen them funny tracks!" ejaculated Folsom. "At thewater-hole an' right hyar in front of the cabin. I seen them. I knowedJack made them, somehow, but I didn't think. His white hoss has acrooked left front shoe. "

"Yes, he has, when Jack takes off the regular shoe an' nails on thecrooked one. .. . Men, I followed those tracks They lead up here to yourcabin. 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 toElgeria. An' he fetched him up to White Slides to accuse Wils Moore. An' he trailed his own tracks up here, showin' Burley the crooked horsetrack an' the little circle--that was supposed to be made by the end ofMoore'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 hehad Burley dig out some cakes of mud holdin' these tracks, an' theyfetched them down to White Slides. Buster Jack blamed the stealin' on toMoore. An' Burley arrested Moore. The trial comes off next week atKremmlin'. "

"Damn me!" exclaimed Folsom, wonderingly. "A man's never too old tolearn! I knowed this pup was stealin' from his own father, but Ireckoned he was jest a natural-born, honest rustler, with a hunch ferdrink an' cards. "

"Well, he's double-crossed you, Cap. An' if I hadn't rounded you up yourchances would have been good for swingin'. "

"Ahuh! Wade, I'd sure preferred them chances of swingin' to yourover-kind interferin' in my bizness. Allus interferin', Wade, thet'syour weakness!. .. But gimmie a gun!"

"I reckon not, Cap. "

"Gimme a gun!" roared the rustler. "Lemme sit hyar an' shoot the eyesouten this--lyin' pup of a Belllounds!. .. Wade, put a gun in my hand--agun with two shells--or only one. You can stand with your gun at myhead. .. . Let me kill this skunk!"

For all Belllounds could tell, death was indeed close. No trace of aBelllounds was apparent about him then, and his face was a horridspectacle for a man to be forced to see. A froth foamed over his hanginglower lip. 

"Cap, I ain't trustin' you with a gun just this particular minute, " saidWade. 

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' tocash right hyar. But kill him first!"

Neither of Folsom's lieutenants yielded to the fierce exhortation oftheir leader or to their own evilly expressed passions. It was Wade whodominated them. Then ensued a silence fraught with suspense, growingmore charged every long instant. The balance here seemed about tobe struck. 

"Wade, I've been a gambler all my life, an' a damn smart one, if I dosay it myself, " declared the rustler leader, his voice inharmonious withthe 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 shootany man in the back!"

"You win!"

Slowly and stiffly the rustler rose to his feet. When he reached hisheight 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. "Iain't dealin' the cards hyar. But somethin' tells me thet, shaky as I amin my boots, I'd liefer be in mine than yours. "

With that, and expelling a heavy breath, he wrestled around to confrontthe 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' thetpup 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 SheriffBurley. "

That was the gauntlet thrown down by Wade. It was not unexpected, andacceptance seemed a relief. Folsom's eyeballs became living fire withthe desperate gleam of the reckless chances of life. Cutthroat he mighthave been, but he was brave, and he proved the significance ofWade's attitude. 

"Pards, hyar's to luck!" he rang out, hoarsely, and with pantherishquickness he leaped for his gun. 

A tense, surcharged instant--then all four men, as if released by somegalvanized current of rapidity, flashed into action. Guns boomed inunison. Spurts of red, clouds of smoke, ringing reports, and hoarsecries filled the cabin. Wade had fired as he leaped. There was athudding patter of lead upon the walls. The hunter flung himselfprostrate behind the bough framework that had served as bedstead. It wasmade of spruce boughs, thick and substantial. Wade had not calculatedfalsely in estimating it as a bulwark of defense. Pulling his secondgun, he peeped from behind the covert. 

Smoke was lifting, and drifting out of door and windows. The atmospherecleared. Belllounds sagged against the wall, pallid, with protrudingeyes of horror on the scene before him. The dark-skinned little man laywrithing. All at once a tremor stilled his convulsions. His body relaxedlimply. As if by magic his hand loosened on the smoking gun. Folsom wason his knees, reeling and swaying, waving his gun, peering like adrunken man for some lost object. His temple appeared half shot away, abloody and horrible sight. 

"Pards, I got him!" he said, in strange, half-strangled whisper. "I gothim!. .. Hell-Bent Wade! My respects! I'll meet you--thar!"

His reeling motion brought his gaze in line with Belllounds. Theviolence 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 lastterrible effort of will to aim it straight. He fired. The bullet torehair from Belllounds's head, but missed him. Again the rustler aimed, and the gun wavered and shook. He pulled trigger. The hammer clickedupon an empty chamber. With low and gurgling cry of baffled rage Folsomdropped the gun and sank face forward, slowly stretching out. 

The red-bearded rustler had leaped behind the stone chimney that all buthid his body. The position made it difficult for him to shoot becausehis gun-hand was on the inside, and he had to press his body tight tosqueeze it behind the corner of ragged stone. Wade had the advantage. Hewas lying prone with his right hand round the corner of the framework. An overhang of the bough-ends above protected his head when he peepedout. While he watched for a chance to shoot he loaded his empty gun withhis left hand. The rustler strained and writhed his body, twisting hisneck, and suddenly darting out his head and arm, he shot. His bullettore the overhang of boughs above Wade's face. And Wade's answeringshot, just a second too late, chipped the stone corner where therustler's face had flashed out. The bullet, glancing, hummed out of thewindow. It was a close shave. The rustler let out a hissing, inarticulate cry. He was trapped. In his effort to press in closer heprojected his left elbow beyond the corner of the chimney. Wade's quickshot shattered his arm. 

There was no asking or offering of quarter here. This was the old feudof the West--of the vicious and the righteous in strife--both reared inthe same stern school. The rustler gave his body such contortion that hewas twisted almost clear around, with his right hand over his leftshoulder. He punched the muzzle of his gun into a crack between twostones, and he pried to open them. The dry clay cement crumbled, thecrack widened. Sighting along the barrel he aimed it with the narrowstrip of Wades shoulder that was visible above the framework. Then heshot and hit. Wade shrank flatter and closer, hiding himself to betteradvantage. The rustler made his great blunder then, for in that momenthe might have rushed out and killed his adversary. But, instead, he shotagain--another time--a third. And his heavy bullets tore and splinteredthe boughs dangerously close to the hunter's head. Then came an awkward, almost hopeless task for the rustler, in maintaining his position whilereloading his gun. He did it, and his panting attested to the labor andpain it cost him. 

So much, in fact, that he let his knee protrude. Wade fired, breakingthat knee. The rustler sagged in his tracks, his hip stuck out to afforda 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 sagginginto sight of the hunter. Then with a desperate courage worthy of abetter cause, and with a spirit great in its defeat, the rustler plungedout from his hiding-place, gun extended. His red beard, his gaunt face, fierce and baleful, his wabbling plunge that was really a fall, made asight which was terrible. He hopped out of that fall. His gun began toblaze. But it only matched the blazes of Wade's. And the rustler pitchedheadlong over the framework, falling heavily against the wall beyond. 

Then there was silence for a long moment. Wade stirred, as if to lookaround. Belllounds also stirred, and gulped, as if to breathe. The threeprostrate rustlers lay inert, their positions singularly tragic andsettled. The smoke again began to lift, to float out of the door andwindows. In another moment the big room seemed less hazy. 

Wade rose, not without effort, and he had a gun in each hand. Thosehands were bloody; there was blood on his face, and his left shoulderwas red. He approached Belllounds. 

Wade was terrible then--terrible with a ruthlessness that was nopretense. To Belllounds it must have represented death--a bloody deathwhich 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 withterror. 

"Why not? Look around! My busy day, Buster!. .. An' for that Cap Folsomit'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 anabjectness 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'tkill me! Let me live, Wade. I swear to God I'll--I'll never do itagain. .. . 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 totell you who I am!"

Every word of Wade's drove home to this boy the primal meaning of suddendeath. It inspired him with an unutterable fear. That was what clampedhis brow in a sweaty band and upreared his hair and rolled his eyeballs. His magnified intelligence, almost ghastly, grasped a hope in Wade'sapparent 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 withbloody 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 giveCollie 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 wereinfinite proof of the vow he could not speak. The boyishness, thestunted moral force, replaced the manhood in him then. He was only afactor in the lives of others, protected even from this Nemesis by thegreatness of his father's love. 

"Get up, an' take my scarf, " said Wade, "an' bandage these bullet-holesI got. "

CHAPTER XVIII

Wade's wounds were not in any way serious, and with Belllounds'sassistance he got to the cabin of Lewis, where weakness from loss ofblood made it necessary that he remain. Belllounds went home. 

The next day Wade sent Lewis with pack-horse down to the rustler'scabin, to bury the dead men and fetch back their effects. Lewis returnedthat night, accompanied by Sheriff Burley and two deputies, who had beenbusy on their own account. They had followed horse tracks from thewater-hole under Gore Peak to the scene of the fight, and had arrived tofind Lewis there. Burley had appropriated the considerable amount ofgold, which he said could be identified by cattlemen who had bought thestolen cattle. 

When opportunity afforded Burley took advantage of it to speak to Wadewhen the others were out of earshot. 

"Thar was another man in thet cabin when the fight come off, " announcedthe 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 yourhead. "

"Jim, I'm not as clear-headed as I might be. "

"Wal, tell me or not, jest as you like. I seen his tracks--folleredthem. An' Wade, old pard, I've reckoned long ago thar's a nigger in thewood-pile. "

"Sure. An' you know me. I'd take it friendly of you to put Moore's trialoff fer a while--till I'm able to ride to Krernmlin'. Maybe then I cantell you a story. "

Burley threw up his hands in genuine apprehension. "Not much! You ain'tagoin' 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 musthave been a man-sized fight, even fer you. I picked up twenty-six emptyshells. An' the little half-breed had one empty shell an' five loadedones in his gun. You must have got him quick. Hey?"

"Jim, I'm observin' you're a heap more curious than ever, an' you alwayswas an inquisitive cuss, " complained Wade. "I don't recollect whathappened. "

"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-morrerI'll ride down to White Slides on my way to Kremmlin'. What're youwantin' me to tell Belllounds?"

The hunter pondered a moment. 

"Reckon it's just as well that you tell him somethin'. .. . You can saythe rustlers are done for an' that he'll get his stock back. I'd likeyou 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 yoursuspectin' there was another man around when the fight come off. .. . Tellthe cowboys that I'll be down in a few days. An' if you happen to get achance 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 anymore then, but he gazed thoughtfully down upon the pale hunter, as ifthat strange individual was one infinitely to respect, but never tocomprehend. 

 * * * * *

Wade's wounds healed quickly; nevertheless, it was more than severaldays before he felt spirit enough to undertake the ride. He had toreturn to White Slides, but he was reluctant to do so. Memory of JackBelllounds dragged at him, and when he drove it away it continuallyreturned. This feeling was almost equivalent to an augmentation of hisgloomy foreboding, which ever hovered on the fringe of hisconsciousness. But one morning he started early, and, riding veryslowly, with many rests, he reached the Sage Valley cabin before sunset. Moore saw him coming, yelled his delight and concern, and almost liftedhim off the horse. Wade was too tired to talk much, but he allowedhimself to be fed and put to bed and worked over. 

"Boot's on the other foot now, pard, " said Moore, with delight at theprospect of returning service. "Say, you're all shot up! And it's Iwho'll be nurse!"

"Wils, I'll be around to-morrow, " replied the hunter. "Have you heardany news from down below?"

"Sure. I've met Lem every night. "

Then he related Burley's version of Wade's fight with the rustlers inthe cabin. From the sheriff's lips the story gained much. Old BillBelllounds had received the news in a singular mood; he offered noencomiums to the victor; contrary to his usual custom of lauding everyachievement of labor or endurance, he now seemed almost to regret theaffray. Jack Belllounds had returned from Kremmling and he was presentwhen Burley brought news of the rustlers. What he thought none of thecowboys vouchsafed to say, but he was drunk the next day, and he lost ahandful of gold to them. Never had he gambled so recklessly. Indeed, itwas 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 thefight and how he had terrorized Belllounds and exhorted thepromises from him. 

"Never in God's world will Buster Jack live up to those promises!" criedMoore, with absolute conviction. "I know him, Ben. He meant them when hemade them. He'd swear his soul away--then next day he'd lie or forgetor betray. "

"I'm not believin' that till I know, " replied the hunter, gloomily. "ButI'm afraid of him. .. . I've known bad men to change. There's a grain ofgood in all men--somethin' divine. An' it comes out now an' then. Menrise on steppin'-stones of their dead selves to higher things!. .. Thisis Belllounds's chance for the good in him. If it's not there he will doas you say. If it is--that scare he had will be the turnin'-point in hislife. I'm hopin', but I'm afraid. "

"Ben, you wait and see, " said Moore, earnestly. "Heaven knows I'm notone to lose hope for my fellowmen--hope for the higher things you'vetaught me. .. . But human nature is human nature. Jack _can't_ give Collieup, just the same as I _can't_. That's self-preservation as wellas love. "

 * * * * *

The day came when Wade walked down to White Slides. There seemed to be afever in his blood, which he tried to convince himself was a result ofhis wounds instead of the condition of his mind. It was Sunday, a day ofsunshine and squall, of azure-blue sky, and great, sailing, purpleclouds. The sage of the hills glistened and there was a sweetness inthe air. 

The cowboys made much of Wade. But the old rancher, seeing him from theporch, abruptly went into the house. No one but Wade noticed thisomission of courtesy. Directly, Columbine appeared, waving her hand, andrunning to meet him. 

"Dad saw you. He told me to come out and excuse him. .. . Oh, Ben, I'm sohappy 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, richthrill at her presence. "I'm comin' on tolerable well. I wasn't badhurt, 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 knowtill after. .. . An' how are you, Collie?"

Her blue eyes clouded, and a tremor changed the expression of her sweetlips. 

"I am unhappy, Ben, " she said. "But what could we expect? It might beworse. For instance, you might have been killed. I've much to bethankful for. "

"I reckon so. We all have. .. . I fetched a message from Wils, but Ioughtn'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 evermarries Jack Belllounds she can come up to visit my grave among thecolumbines on the hill. "

Strange how Wade experienced comfort in thus torturing her! She wasrosy at the beginning of his speech and white at its close. "Oh, it'strue! it's true!" she whispered. "It'll kill him, as it will me!"

"Cheer up, Columbine, " said Wade. "It's a long time till Augustthirteenth. .. . An' now tell me, why did Old Bill run when he sawme comin'?"

"Ben, I suspect dad has the queerest notion you want to tell him someawful 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 hadbeen telltale enough, without confirmation of words. 

"My friend, somehow I hate to tell you. You're always so hopeful, soready to think good instead of evil. .. . But Jack has been rough with me, almost brutal. He was drunk once. Every day he drinks, sometimes alittle, sometimes more. But drink changes him. And it's dragging daddown. Dad doesn't say so, yet I feel he's afraid of what will comenext. .. . Jack has nagged me to marry him right off. He wanted to the dayhe came back from Kremmling. He's eager to leave White Slides. Dad knowsthat, also, and it worries him. But of course I refused. "

The presence of Columbine, so vivid and sweet and stirring, and allabout her the sunlight, the golden gleams on the sage hills, and Wade'sheart and brain and spirit sustained a subtle transformation. It was asif what had been beautiful with light had suddenly, strangely darkened. Then Wade imagined he stood alone in a gloomy house, which was his ownheart, and he was listening to the arrival of a tragic messenger whosefoot sounded heavy on the stairs, whose hand turned slowly upon theknob, 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 Icornered them. You remember I meant to scare Buster Jack within an inchof his life? Well, I made use of my opportunity. I worked up therustlers. 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 haddouble-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. Therewas a fight, which, I'm bound to confess, was not short an' sweet. Therewas 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 fiendishglee that he had done for me. When he saw Jack an' remembered he shookso with fury that he scattered blood all over. An' he took long aim atJack, tryin' to steady his gun. He couldn't, an' he missed, an' thenfell over dead with his head on Jack's knees. That left the red-beardedrustler, who had hid behind the chimney. Jack watched the rest of thatfight, an' for a youngster it must have been nerve-rackin'. I broke therustler's arm, an' then his knee, an' then I got him in the hip two moretimes before he hobbled out to his finish. He'd shot me upconsiderable, 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', butit was what I wanted. So then I made him swear he'd free you an' giveyou 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' whatthey were. "

"Promises! What are promises or oaths to Jack Belllounds?" she cried, inpassionate contempt. "You wasted your breath. Coward--liar that he is!"

"Ahuh!" Wade looked straight ahead of him as if he saw some expected andunpleasant thing far in the distance. Then with irresistible steps, neither swift nor slow, but ponderous, he strode to the porch andmounted the steps. 

"Why, Ben, where are you going?" called Columbine, in surprise, as shefollowed 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. Withoutknocking, he opened the door with rude and powerful hand, and, stridingin, closed it after him. 

Bill Belllounds was standing, back against the great stone chimney, armsfolded, a stolid and grim figure, apparently fortified against anintrusion he had expected. 

"Wal, what do you want?" he asked, gruffly. He had sensed catastrophe inthe first sight of the hunter. 

"Belllounds, I reckon I want a hell of a lot, " replied Wade. "An' I'maskin' you to see we're not disturbed. "

"Bar the door. "

Wade dropped the bar in place, and then, removing his sombrero, he wipedhis 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'rean enemy to me, " replied Belllounds. "But I feel somethin'. It ain'tbecause 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 ofthe Gunnison feud. "

"Belllounds, we can't escape our fates. An' it was written long ago Iwas to tell you a worse an' harder story than that. "

"Wal, mebbe I'll listen an' mebbe I won't. I ain't promisin', thesedays. "

"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 spiritof earlier years. 

"Wade, you can go too far, " he warned. "I'm appreciatin' yourgood-heartedness. It sort of warms me toward you. .. . But this is mybusiness. You've no call to interfere. You've done that too muchalready. An' I'm reckonin' Collie would be married to Jack now if ithadn'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 forthis 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' ifthis talk hurts, I'm sorry--why don't you give some of your love foryour 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 cherishedhopes for his son and his stubborn, precious pride. 

"By Heaven! Wade, I'll--"

"Belllounds, I can make you swallow that kind of talk, " interruptedWade. "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 Iknew 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 ruinCollie. 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 marriesJack. "

"_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 thatpresently. .. . Belllounds, you make me mad. You don't meet me man toman. You're not the Bill Belllounds of old. Why, all over this state ofColorado you're known as the whitest of the white. Your name's a bywordfor all that's square an' big an' splendid. But you're so blinded byyour 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. Shedoesn't love him. She can't. She will only drag herself down an' die ofa broken heart. .. . Now, I'm askin' you, before it's too late--give upthis 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, straightto your face, it's a fool deal you're workin'--a damn selfish one--adirty job, to put on an innocent, sweet girl--an' as sure as you standthere, if you do it, you'll ruin four lives!"

"Four!" exclaimed Belllounds. But any word would have expressed hishumiliation. 

"I should have said three, leavin' Jack out. I meant Collie's an' yoursan' 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 youkeep 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' tosave 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, fixedlyand perplexedly at Wade. 

"No, I'm not. "

"If she _were_ your real daughter--your own flesh an' blood--an' JackBelllounds 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 byoverwhelming amaze. 

"Collie is my daughter!"

A loud expulsion of breath escaped Belllounds. Lower he leaned, andlooked with piercing gaze into the face and eyes that in this momentbore strange resemblance to Columbine. 

"So help me Gawd!. .. That's the secret?. .. Hell-Bent Wade! An' you'vebeen on my trail!"

He staggered to his big chair and fell into it. No trace of doubt showedin his face. The revelation had struck home because of its verygreatness. 

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'sface 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'smother. I've been a prospector for the trouble of others. I've been abearer of their burdens. An' if I can save Collie's happiness an' hersoul, I reckon I won't be denied the peace of meetin' her mother in theother world. .. . I recognized Collie the moment I laid eyes on her. Shefavors her mother in looks, an' she has her mother's sensitiveness, herfire 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 beenblind 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 mewith a passion I never learned till too late. We came West fromMissouri. She was born in Texas. I had a rovin' disposition an' didn'tstick long at any kind of work. But I was lookin' for a ranch. My wifehad some money an' I had high hopes. We spent our first year of marriedlife travelin' through Kansas. At Dodge I got tied up for a while. Youknow, in them days Dodge was about the wildest camp on the plains. Mywife's brother run a place there. He wasn't much good. But she thoughthe was perfect. Strange how blood-relations can't see the truth abouttheir own people! Anyway, her brother Spencer had no use for me, becauseI could tell how slick he was with the cards an' beat him at his owngame. Spencer had a gamblin' pard, a cowboy run out of Texas, one CapFol--But no matter about his name. One night they were fleecin' astranger an' I broke into the game, winnin' all they had. The game endedin a fight, with bloodshed, but nobody killed. That set Spencer an' hispard Cap against me. The stranger was a planter from Louisiana. He'dbeen 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 gooddeal of attention when I was away, which happened to be often. She nevertold me. I was jealous those days. 

"My little girl you call Columbine was born there durin' a long absenceof mine. When I got home Lucy an' the baby were gone. Also theSoutherner!. .. Spencer an' his pard Cap, an' others they had in thedeal, proved to me, so it seemed, that the little girl was not reallymine!. .. An' so I set out on a hunt for my wife an' her lover. I foundthem. An' I killed him before her eyes. But she was innocent, an' so washe, 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 establishedguilt of mine that had driven her from me. 

"I went back to Dodge to have a little quiet smoke with these men whohad ruined me. They were gone. The trail led to Colorado. Nearly a yearlater 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' byaccident or fate we all met there. We had a family quarrel. My wifewould not forgive me--would not speak to me, an' her people backed herup. I made the great mistake to take her father an' other brothers tobelong 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 manwho might live to repeat it. But it drove my wife near crazy. An' itmade me Hell-Bent Wade!. .. She ran off from me there, an' I trailed herall over Colorado. An' the end of that trail was not a hundred milesfrom where we stand now. The last trace I had was of the burnin' of aprairie-schooner by Arapahoes as they were goin' home from a foray onthe Utes. .. . The little girl might have toddled off the trail. But Ireckon she was hidden or dropped by her mother, or some one fleein' forlife. 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 beenlike my own. I've done my best, accordin' to my conscience. An' I'veloved her, for all they say I couldn't see aught but Jack. .. . You'lltake her away from me?"

"No. Never, " was the melancholy reply. 

"What! Why not?"

"Because she loves you. .. . I could never reveal myself to Collie. Icouldn't win her love with a lie. An' I'd have to lie, to be false ashell. .. . False to her mother an' to Collie an' to all I hold high! I'dhave to tell Collie the truth--the wrong I did her mother--the _hell_ Ivisited 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'tundo 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 liveyours 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 withoutthe pain. But I reckon only men who've come to our years would want itover again. "

"Wal, I'm with you thar. I'd take what came. Rain an' sun!. .. But allthis you tell, an' the hell you hint at, ain't changin' this hyar dealof Jack's an' Collie's. Not one jot!. .. If she remains my adopteddaughter she marries my son. .. . Wade, I'm haltered like the north starin 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 loseall?"

"All! Ain't that more queer talk?"

"I mean lose all--your son, your adopted daughter--his chance ofreformin', her hope of happiness. These ought to be all in life leftto 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 himdown, the hunter got up and fronted Belllounds. 

"When I'm driven to tell I'll come. .. . But, once more, old man, choosebetween generosity an' selfishness. Between blood tie an' noble loyaltyto your good deed in its beginnin'. .. . Will you give up this marriagefor 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 Inever 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 thecowboy 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 ofWade. 

"No. Collie's well. "

"Then, man, what on earth's happened?"

"Nothin' yet. .. . But somethin' is goin' on in my mind. .. . Moore, I'dlike you to let me alone. "

At sunset Wade was pacing the aspen grove on the hill. There wassunlight and shade under the trees, a rosy gold on the sage slopes, apurple-and-violet veil between the black ranges and the sinking sun. 

Twilight fell. The stars came out white and clear. Night cloaked thevalley with dark shadows and the hills with its obscurity. The bluevault overhead deepened and darkened. The hunter patrolled his beat, andhours were moments to him. He heard the low hum of the insects, themurmur of running water, the rustle of the wind. A coyote cut the keenair with high-keyed, staccato cry. The owls hooted, with dismal andweird plaint, one to the other. Then a wolf mourned. But these soundsonly accentuated the loneliness and wildness of the silent night. 

Wade listened to them, to the silence. He felt the wildness andloneliness of the place, the breathing of nature; he peered aloft at thevelvet blue of the mysterious sky with its deceiving stars. All that hadbeen of help to him through days of trial was now as if it had neverbeen. When he lifted his eyes to the great, dark peak, so bold andclear-cut against the sky, it was not to receive strength again. Naturein its cruelty mocked him. His struggle had to do with the most perfectof nature's works--man. 

Wade was now in passionate strife with the encroaching mood that was amocker of his idealism. Many times during the strange, long martyrdom ofhis penance had he faced this crisis, only to go down to defeat beforeelemental instincts. His soul was steeped in gloom, but hisintelligence had not yet succumbed to passion. The beauty ofColumbine's character and the nobility of Moore's were not illusions toWade. They were true. These two were of the finest fiber of humannature. They loved. They represented youth and hope--a progress throughthe ages toward a better race. Wade believed in the good to be, in thefuture of men. Nevertheless, all that was fine and worthy in Columbineand Moore was to go unrewarded, unfulfilled, because of the selfishpride of an old man and the evil passion of the son. It was a conflictas 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 headlongand imperious desires of love? What avail were Wade's good offices, hisspiritual teaching, his eternal hope in the order of circumstancesworking out to good? These beautiful characteristics of virtue were notso strong as the unchangeable passion of old Belllounds and the viciousdepravity of his son. Wade could not imagine himself a god, proving thatthe wages of sin was death. Yet in his life he had often been animpassive destiny, meting out terrible consequences. Here he wasincalculably involved. This was the cumulative end of years of mountingplots, tangled and woven into the web of his pain and his remorse andhis ideal. But hope was dying. That was his strife-realization againstthe morbid clairvoyance of his mind. He could not help Jack Bellloundsto be a better man. He could not inspire the old rancher to aforgetfulness of selfish and blinded aims. He could not prove to Moorethe truth of the reward that came from unflagging hope and unassailablevirtue. He could not save Columbine with his ideals. 

The night wore on, and Wade plodded under the rustling aspens. Theinsects ceased to hum, the owls to hoot, the wolves to mourn. Theshadows of the long spruces gradually merged into the darkness of night. Above, infinitely high, burned the pale stars, wise and cold, aloof andindifferent, 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 itsjustification and fulfilment in the distant future. 

The gray of the dawn stole over the eastern range, and before its opaquegloom the blackness of night retreated, until valley and slope and grovewere shrouded in spectral light, where all seemed unreal. 

And with it the gray-gloomed giant of Wade's mind, the morbid andbrooding spell, had gained its long-encroaching ascendancy. He had againfound the man to whom he must tell his story. Tragic and irrevocabledecree! It was his life that forced him, his crime, his remorse, hisagony, 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 beingphysically loaded with tremendous weights. His shoulders bent to them. His breast was sunken and labored. All his muscles were cramped. Hisblood flowed sluggishly. His heart beat with slow, muffled throbs in hisears. There was a creeping cold in his veins, ice in his marrow, anddeath in his soul. The giant that had been shrouded in gray threw offhis cloak, to stand revealed, black and terrible. And it was he whospoke to Wade, in dreadful tones, like knells. Bent Wade--man ofmisery--who could find no peace on earth--whose presence unknit thetranquil lives of people and poisoned their blood and marked them fordoom! Wherever he wandered there followed the curse! Always this hadbeen so. He was the harbinger of catastrophe. He who preached wisdomand claimed to be taught by the flowers, who loved life and hatedinjustice, who mingled with his kind, ever searching for that one whoneeded him, he must become the woe and the bane and curse of those hewould only serve! Insupportable and pitiful fate! The fiends of the pastmocked him, like wicked ghouls, voiceless and dim. The faces of the menhe had killed were around him in the gray gloom, pale, drifting visagesof distortion, accusing him, claiming him. Likewise, these gleams offaces were specters of his mind, a procession eternal, mournful, andsilent, 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 withhis endless illusions. He was in the vortex of a vast whirlpool, not ofwater or of wind, but of life. Alas! he seemed indeed the very currentof that whirlpool, a monstrous force, around which evil circled andlurked and conquered. Wade--who had the ill-omened croak of theraven--Wade--who bent his driven steps toward hell!

 * * * * *

In the brilliant sunlight of the summer morning Wade bent his resistlesssteps down toward White Slides Ranch. The pendulum had swung. The hourswere propitious. Seemingly, events that already cast their shadowswaited for him. He saw Jack Belllounds going out on the fast and furiousride which had become his morning habit. 

Columbine intercepted Wade. The shade of woe and tragedy in her facewere 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 shetremblingly held out bore discolored marks. Wade led her into theseclusion 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--andwhen dad heard us--and came--Jack lied. .. . Oh, the dog!. .. Ben, hisfather believed--when Jack swore he was only mad--only trying to shakeme--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 willmake 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 Wadewas gone. The shaking of the willows attested to his hurry. 

 * * * * *

Old Belllounds braced his huge shoulders against the wall in theattitude of a man driven to his last stand. 

"Ahuh!" he rolled, sonorously. "So hyar you are again?. .. Wal, tell yourworst, Hell-Bent Wade, an' let's have an end to your croakin'. "

Belllounds had fortified himself, not with convictions or withillusions, 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, yetwith 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'slike a wild filly. She needs a tamin' down. "

Wade stretched forth a lean and quivering hand that seemed the symbol ofpresaged and tragic truth. 

"Listen, Belllounds, an' I'll tell you. .. . No use tryin' to hatch arotten egg! There's no good in your son. His good intentions he paradedfor virtues, believin' himself that he'd changed. But a flip of the windmade him Buster Jack again. .. . Collie would sacrifice her life for dutyto you--whom she loves as her father. Wils Moore sacrificed his honorfor Collie--rather than let you learn the truth. .. . But they call meHell-Bent Wade, an' I will tell you!"

The straining hulk of Belllounds crouched lower, as if to gather impetusfor a leap. Both huge hands were outspread as if to ward off attack froman unseen but long-dreaded foe. The great eyes rolled. And underneaththe terror and certainty and tragedy of his appearance seemed to surgethe resistless and rising swell of a dammed-up, terrible rage. 

"I'll tell you . .. " went on the remorseless voice. "I watched yourBuster Jack. I watched him gamble an' drink. I trailed him. I found thelittle 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'dhave stood the trial--an' gone to jail to save Collie from what shedreaded. .. . Belllounds, your son was in the cabin gamblin' with therustlers when I cornered them. .. . I offered to keep Jack's secret ifhe'd swear to give Collie up. He swore on his knees, beggin' in hername!. .. An' he comes back to bully her, an' worse. .. . Buster Jack!. .. He's the thorn in your heart, Belllounds. He's the rustler who stoleyour cattle!. .. Your pet son--a sneakin' thief!"

CHAPTER XIX

Jack Belllounds came riding down the valley trail. His horse was in alather of sweat. Both hair and blood showed on the long spurs this sonof a great pioneer used in his pleasure rides. He had never loveda horse. 

At a point where the trail met the brook there were thick willowpatches, with open, grassy spots between. As Belllounds reached thisplace a man stepped out of the willows and laid hold of the bridle. Thehorse 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, thoughthe heated red tinge of his face gave indication of a recent use of thebottle. That color quickly receded. Events of the last month had lefttraces 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 fearshone and struggled with intolerance and arrogance and quickening gleamsof thought. 

"You an' I have somethin' to talk over, " said the hunter. 

Belllounds shrank from the low, cold, even voice, that evidentlyreminded him of the last time he had heard it. 

"No, we haven't, " he declared, quickly. He seemed to gather assurancewith his spoken thought, and conscious fear left him. "Wade, you tookadvantage of me that day--when you made me swear things. I've changed mymind. .. . And as for that deal with the rustlers, I've got my story. It'sas good as yours. I've been waiting for you to tell my father. You'vegot some reason for not telling him. I've a hunch it's Collie. I'm on toyou, 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 himshoulders first into the grass. The released horse shied again and movedaway. Buster Jack raised himself upon his elbow, pale with rage andalarm. 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 theamaze and alarm. 

"Did you kick _me?_" he shouted. 

"Buster, I was only handin' you a bunch of flowers--some columbines, asyour 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 alot of talk. "

It was then Jack Belllounds's face turned livid. Comprehension haddawned 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 thatsudden 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 chanceon earth!"

"I'll give you first shot, " went on Wade, in his strange, monotonousvoice. 

"Bah! You're lying to me, " replied Belllounds, with pale grimace. "Youjust want me to get a gun in my hand--then you'll drop me, and claim aneven break. "

"No. I'm square. You saw me play square with your rustler pard. He was alifelong 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, butactually did not have strength or courage enough to raise it. His armshook so that the gun rattled against his chaps. 

"No nerve, hey? Not half a man!. .. Buster Jack, why don't you finishgame? Make up for your low-down tricks. At the last try to be worthy ofyour dad. In his day he was a real man. .. . Let him have the consolationthat you faced Hell-Bent Wade an' died in your boots!"

"I--can't--fight you!" panted Belllounds. "I know now!. .. I saw youthrow a gun! It wouldn't be fair!"

"But I'll make you fight me, " returned Wade, in steely tones. "I'mgivin' you a chance to dig up a little manhood. Askin' you to meet meman to man! Handin' you a little the best of it to make the oddseven!. .. Once more, will you be game?"

"Wade, I'll not fight--I'm going--" replied Belllounds, and he moved asif to turn. 

"Halt!. .. " Wade leaped at the white Belllounds. "If you run I'll break aleg for you--an' then I'll beat your miserable brains out!. .. Have youno 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-BentWade--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, dullcrimson. 

"Aha, Buster Jack! I struck home there, " flashed Wade, his voice rising. "That gives your eyes the ugly look. .. . I hate them lyin', bulgin' eyesof yours. An' when my time comes to shoot I'm goin' to put themboth out. "

"By Heaven! Wade, you'll have to kill me if you ever expect thatclub-foot Moore to get Collie!"

"He'll get her, " replied Wade, triumphantly. "Collie's with him now. Isent 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 deadlyterror 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--youconceited ass--you selfish an' spoiled boy!. .. Collie never had any usefor 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 alittle while ago she called you a dog. .. . I reckon she meant a differentkind of a dog than the hounds over there. For to say they were like youwould be an insult to them. .. . Sure she hates you, an' I'll gamble rightnow 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 tellyou . .. "

"Shut up!" interrupted the other, frantically. The blood in him wasrising to a fever heat. But fear still clamped him. He could not raisethe 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 bustedhimself at last, stealin' his own father's cattle. .. . I've seen someragin' men in my day, but Old Bill had them beaten. You've disgracedhim--broken his heart--embittered the end of his life. .. . An' he'd meanfor 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' tosave him stainin' his hands. "

"I'll kill _you!_" burst out Belllounds, ending in a shriek. But thiswas not the temper that always produced heedless action in him. It washate. He could not raise the gun. His intelligence still dominated hiswill. Yet fury had mitigated his terror. 

"You'll be doin' me a service, Buster. .. . But you're mighty slow atstartin'. 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' menow. Callin' me not to murder you in cold blood! I killed one manonce--a man who wouldn't fight--an innocent man! I killed him with mybare hands, an' if I tell you my story--an' how I killed him--an' thatI'll do the same for you. .. . You'll save me that, Buster. No man with agun in his hands could face what he knew. .. . But save me more. Save methe tellin'!"

"No! No! I won't listen!"

"Maybe I won't have to, " replied Wade, mournfully. He paused, breathingheavily. The sober calm was gone. 

Belllounds lowered the half-raised gun, instantly answering to thestrange 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!" suddenlyinterrupted Wade. 

A mortal blow dealt Belllounds would not have caused such a shock ofamaze, of torture. The secret of the punishment meted out to him by hisfather! 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 weresitting on a log. Whatever had been their discourse, it had left Moorewith head bowed in his hands, and with Columbine staring with sad eyesthat did not see what they looked at. Columbine's mind then seemed adull 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 mejump. I'm nervous. "

Scarcely had she finished speaking when two clear, deep detonations rangout. 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 littlebit ago--I saw Jack riding down the trail!"

"Collie!. .. Those two shots came from Wade's guns I'd know it among athousand!. .. Are you sure you heard a shot before?"

"Oh, something dreadful has happened! Yes, I'm sure. Perfectly sure. Ashot 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 quicktime in getting to his horse and mounting. 

"Collie, I'll ride down there. I'm afraid something has happened. .. . Inever understood him!. .. I forgot he was Hell-Bent Wade! If there's beena--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 heartbeat slowly and painfully; there was an oppression upon her breast; herbrain whirled with contending tides of thought. She remembered Wade'sface. How blind she had been! It exhausted her to walk, though she wentso slowly. There seemed to be a chill and a darkening in the atmosphere, an unreality in the familiar slopes and groves, a strangeness and shadowupon White Slides Valley. 

Moore did not return to meet her. His white horse grazed in the pastureopposite the first clump of willows, where Sage Valley merged into thelarger valley. Then she saw other horses, among them Lem Billings's baymustang. Columbine faltered on, when suddenly she recognized the horseJack had ridden--a sorrel, spent and foam-covered, standing saddled, with bridle down and riderless--then certainty of something awfulclamped her with horror. Men's husky voices reached her throbbing ears. Some one was running. Footsteps thudded and died away. Then she saw LemBillings come out of the willows, look her way, and hurry toward her. His awkward, cowboy gait seemed too slow for his earnestness. Columbinefelt 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 accompaniedhis 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 andgentle hold of her. "Reckon you'd better wait. Let me take you home. "

"Yes. But tell--tell me first, " she cried, frantically. She could notbear 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 feryou. But mebbe it's best so. .. . They're both dead!. .. Wade just diedwith his head on Wils's lap. But Jack never knowed what hit him. He wasshot plumb center--both his eyes shot out!. .. Wade was shot low down. .. . Montana an' me agreed thet Jack throwed his gun first an' Wade killedhim after bein' mortal shot himself. "

 * * * * *

Late that afternoon, as Columbine lay upon her bed, the strangestillness of the house was disturbed by a heavy tread. It passed out ofthe living-room and came down the porch toward her door. Then followeda 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 comforthim. 

The old rancher seemed different from the man of the past months. Thepallor of a great shock, the havoc of spent passion, the agony ofterrible hours, showed in his face. But Old Bill Belllounds had comeinto his own again--back to the calm, iron pioneer who had lived allevents, over whom storm of years had broken, whose great spirit hadaccepted this crowning catastrophe as it had all the others, who saw hisown life clearly, now that its bitterest lesson was told. 

"Are you strong enough to bear another shock, my lass, an' bear itnow--so to make an end--so to-morrer we can begin anew?" he asked, withthe voice she had not heard for many a day. It was the voice that toldof 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 fromthere 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 awayforever. She dreaded the ordeal, yet strangely longed for it. And hereshe was self-contained, ready for some nameless shock and uplift, whichshe divined was coming as she had divined the change in Belllounds. 

Then he stripped back the blanket, disclosing Wade's face. Columbinethrilled to the core of her heart. Death was there, white and cold andmerciless, but as it had released the tragic soul, the instant ofdeliverance had been stamped on the rugged, cadaverous visage, by abeautiful 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 inhis mind--an' it was thet his steps were bent toward hell. He imaginedthet everywhere he traveled there he fetched hell. But he was wrong. Hisown 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, betterthan you ever knew. Better than Jack, or Wils, or me! You know what theBible says about him who gives his life fer his friend. Wal, Wade was myfriend, an' Jack's, only we never could see!. .. An' he was Wils'sfriend. An' to you he must have been more than words can tell. .. . We allknow what child's play it would have been fer Wade to kill Jack withoutbein' 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. Godonly 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 hadonly 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 wasyour 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 ifby magic, there was gold among the green, and in another there waspurple and red. Then the hilltops blazed with their crowns of aspengroves; and the slopes of sage shone mellow gray in the sunlight; andthe vines on the stone fences straggled away in lines of bronze; and thepatches of ferns under the cliffs faded fast; and the great rock slidesand black-timbered reaches stood out in their somber shades. 

Columbines bloomed in all the dells among the spruces, beautiful stalkswith heavy blossoms, the sweetest and palest of blue-white flowers. Motionless they lifted their faces to the light. Out in the aspengroves, where the grass was turning gold, the columbines blew gracefullyin the wind, nodding and swaying. The most exquisite and finest of thesecolumbines hid in the shaded nooks, star-sweet in the silent gloom ofthe woods. 

Wade's last few whispered words to Moore had been interpreted that thehunter desired to be buried among the columbines in the aspen grove onthe 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 onthe porch in his shirt-sleeves. His hair was white now, but no otherchange was visible in him. No restraint attended his greeting tothe cowboy. 

"Wils, I reckon I'd be glad if you'd take your old job as foreman ofWhite 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 fromhim 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 bea big cattleman before you know it. Hey, Collie?"

"If you say so, dad, it'll come true, " replied Columbine, with her handon his shoulder. 

"Wils, you'll be runnin' White Slides Ranch before long, unless Collieruns you. Haw! Haw!"

Collie could not reply to this startling announcement from the oldrancher, and Moore appeared distressed with embarrassment. 

"Wal, I reckon you young folks had better ride down to Kremmlin' an' getmarried. "

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 gotover dyin' fer each other, " dryly continued Belllounds, with hishuge smile. 

"Dad!" cried Columbine, and then she threw her arms around him andburied 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 mustunderstand I'm glad things have worked out to your good an' to Collie'shappiness. .. . Life's not over fer me yet. But I reckon the storms arepast, thank God!. .. We learn as we live. I'd hold it onworthy not tolook forward an' to hope. I'm wantin' peace an' quiet now, withgrandchildren 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 ofWilson Moore she slipped away from the simple festivities in her honorand climbed to the aspen grove on the hill to spend a little whilebeside 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 thelowlands twilight had come, softly gray. The owls were hooting; a coyotebarked; from far away floated the mourn of a wolf. 

Under the aspens it was silent and lonely and sad. The leaves quiveredwithout any sound of rustling. Columbine's heart was full of a happinessthat she longed to express somehow, there beside this lonely grave. Itwas what she owed the strange man who slept here in the shadows. Griefabided with her, and always there would be an eternal remorse andregret. Yet she had loved him. She had been his, all unconsciously. Hislife had been terrible, but it had been great. As the hours of quietthinking had multiplied, Columbine had grown in her divination of Wade'smeaning. His had been the spirit of man lighting the dark places; hishad been the ruthless hand against all evil, terrible to destroy. 

Her father! After all, how closely was she linked to the past! Howclosely protected, even in the hours of most helpless despair! Thus sheunderstood him. Love was the food of life, and hope was itsspirituality, and beauty was its reward to the seeing eye. Wade hadlived 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 hisdaughter, " she said. A faint, cool breeze strayed through the aspens, rustling the leaves whisperingly, and the slender columbines, gleamingpale in the twilight, lifted their sweet faces. 

THE END