impetuously, as she had come.
CHAPTER VIII
Columbine did not leave her room any more that day. What she suffered there she did not want any one to know. What it cost her to conquer herself again she had only a faint conception of. She did conquer, however, and that night made up the sleep she had lost the night before.
Strangely enough, she did not feel afraid to face the rancher and his son. Recent happenings had not only changed her, but had seemed to give her strength. When she presented herself at the breakfast-table Jack was absent. The old rancher greeted her with more thar usual solicitude.
“Jack's sick,” he remarked, presently.
“Indeed,” replied Columbine.
“Yes. He said it was the drinkin' he's not accustomed to. Wal, I reckon it was what you called him. He didn't take much store on what I called him, which was wuss.... I tell you, lass, Jack's set his heart so hard on you thet it's turrible.”
“Queer way he has of showing the—the affections of his heart,” replied Columbine, shortly.
“Thet was the drink,” remonstrated the old man, pathetic and earnest in his motive to smooth over the quarrel.
“But he promised me he would not drink any more.”
Belllounds shook his gray old head sadly.
“Ahuh! Jack fires up an' promises anythin'. He means it at the time. But the next hankerin' thet comes over him wipes out the promise. I know.... But he's had good excuse fer this break. The boys in town began celebratin' fer October first. Great wonder Jack didn't come home clean drunk.”
“Dad, you're as good as gold,” said Columbine, softening. How could she feel hard toward him?
“Collie, then you're not agoin' back on the ole man?”
“No.”
“I was afeared you'd change your mind about marryin' Jack.”
“When I promised I meant it. I didn't make it on conditions.”
“But, lass, promises can be broke,” he said, with the sonorous roll in his voice.
“I never yet broke one of mine.”
“Wal, I hev. Not often, mebbe, but I hev.... An', lass, it's reasonable. Thar's times when a man jest can't live up to what he swore by. An' fer a girl—why, I can see how easy she'd change an' grow overnight. It's only fair fer me to say that no matter what you think you owe me you couldn't be blamed now fer dislikin' Jack.”
“Dad, if by marrying Jack I can help him to be a better son to you, and more of a man, I'll be glad,” she replied.
“Lass, I'm beginnin' to see how big an' fine you are,” replied Belllounds, with strong feeling. “An' it's worryin' me.... My neighbors hev always accused me of seein' only my son. Only Buster Jack! I was blind an' deaf as to him!... Wal, I'm not so damn blind as I used to be. The scales are droppin' off my ole eyes.... But I've got one hope left as far as Jack's concerned. Thet's marryin' him to you. An' I'm stickin' to it.”
“So will I stick to it, dad,” she replied. “I'll go through with October first!”
Columbine broke off, vouchsafing no more, and soon left the breakfast-table, to take up the work she had laid out to do. And she accomplished it, though many times her hands dropped idle and her eyes peered out of her window at the drab slides of the old mountain.
Later, when she went out to ride, she saw the cowboy Lem working in the blacksmith shop.
“Wal, Miss Collie, air you-all still hangin' round this hyar ranch?” he asked, with welcoming smile.
“Lem, I'm almost ashamed now to face my good friends, I've neglected them so long,” she replied.
“Aw, now, what're friends fer but to go to?... You're lookin' pale, I reckon. More like thet thar flower I see so much on the hills.”
“Lem, I want to ride Pronto. Do you think he's all right, now?”
“I reckon some movin' round will do Pronto good. He's eatin' his haid off.”
The cowboy went with her to the pasture gate and whistled Pronto up. The mustang came trotting, evidently none the worse for his injuries, and eager to resume the old climbs with his mistress. Lem saddled him, paying particular attention to the cinch.
“Reckon we'd better not cinch him tight,” said Lem. “You jest be careful an' remember your saddle's loose.”
“All right, Lem,” replied Columbine, as she mounted. “Where are the boys this morning?”
“Blud an' Jim air repairin' fence up the crick.”
“And where's Ben?”
“Ben? Oh, you mean Wade. Wal, I 'ain't seen him since yestidday. He was skinnin' a lion then, over hyar on the ridge. Thet was in the mawnin'. I reckon he's around, fer I seen some of the hounds.”
“Then, Lem—you haven't heard about the fight yesterday between Jack and Wilson Moore?”
Lem straightened up quickly. “Nope, I 'ain't heerd a word.”
