by Zane Grey
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 thel
eaping 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 s
on 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, lea
ding 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!"
