The Mysterious Rider

to impossible.” Smith made a sweeping movement with his arm, pointing south, indicating some place afar, and part of his speech was “Gore Peak.” The little man, companion of Smith, got into the argument, and, dismounting from his horse, he made marks upon the smooth earth of the trail. He was drawing a rude map showing direction and locality. At length, when Belllounds nodded as if convinced or now informed, this third member of the party remounted, and seemed to have no more to say. Belllounds pondered sullenly. He snatched a switch from off a bough overhead and flicked his boot and stirrup with it, an action that made his horse restive. Smith leered and spoke derisively, of which speech Columbine heard, “Aw hell!” and “yellow streak,” and “no one'd ever,” and “son of Bill Belllounds,” and “rustlin' stock.” Then this scar-faced man drew out a buckskin bag. Either the contempt or the gold, or both, overbalanced vacillation in the weak mind of Jack Belllounds, for he lifted his head, showing his face pale and malignant, and without trace of shame or compunction he snatched the bag of gold, shouted a hoarse, “All right, damn you!” and, wheeling the white mustang, he spurred away, quickly disappearing.

The rustlers sat their horses, gazing down the trail, and Smith wagged his dark head doubtfully. Then he spoke quite distinctly, “I ain't a-trustin' thet Belllounds pup!” and his comrade replied, “Boss, we ain't stealin' the stock, so what th' hell!” Then they turned their horses and trotted out of sight and hearing up the timbered slope.

Columbine was so stunned, and so frightened and horrified, that she remained hidden there for a long time before she ventured forth. Then, heading homeward, she skirted the trail and kept to the edge of the forest, making a wide detour over the hills, finally reaching the ranch at sunset. Jack did not appear at the evening meal. His father had one of his spells of depression and seemed not to have noticed her absence. She lay awake all night thinking and praying.

Columbine concluded her narrative there, and, panting from her agitation and hurry, she gazed at the bowed figure of Moore, and then at Wade.

“Ihad to tell you this shameful secret,” she began again. “I'm forced. If you do not help me, if something is not done, there'll be a horrible—end to all!”

“We'll help you, but how?” asked Moore, raising a white face.

“I don't know yet. I onlyfeel —I onlyfeel what may happen, if I don't prevent it.... Wilson, you must go home—at least for a while.”

“It'll not look right for Wils to leave White Slides now,” interposed Wade, positively.

“But why? Oh, I fear—”

“Never mind now, lass. It's a good reason. An' you mustn't fear anythin'. I agree with you—we've got to prevent this—this that's goin' to happen.”

“Oh, Ben, my dear friend, we must prevent it—youmust! “

“Ahuh!... So I was figurin'.”

“Ben, you must go to Jack an' tell him—show him the peril—frighten him terribly—so that he will not do—do this shameful thing again.”

“Lass, I reckon I could scare Jack out of his skin. But what good would that do?”

“It'll stop this—this madness.... Then I'll marry him—and keep him safe—after that!”

“Collie, do you think marryin' Buster Jack will stop his bustin' out?”

“Oh, Iknow it will. He had conquered over the evil in him. I saw that. I felt it. He conquered over his baser nature for love of me. Then—when he heard—from my own lips—that I loved Wilson— why, then he fell. He didn't care. He drank again. He let go. He sank. And now he'll ruin us all. Oh, it looks as if he meant it that way!... But I can change him. I will marry him. I will love him—or I will live a lie! I will make him think I love him!”

Wilson Moore, deadly pale, faced her with flaming eyes.

“Collie,why? For God's sake, explain why you will shame your womanhood and ruin me—all for that coward—that thief?”

Columbine broke from Wade and ran to Wilson, as if to clasp him, but something halted her and she stood before him.

“Because dad will kill him!” she cried.

“My God! what are you saying?” exclaimed Moore, incredulously. “Old Bill would roar and rage, but hurt that boy of his—never!”

“Wils, I reckon Collie is right. You haven't got Old Bill figured. I know,” interposed Wade, with one of his forceful gestures.

“Wilson, listen, and don't set your heart against me. For Imust do this thing,” pleaded Columbine. “I heard dad swear he'd kill Jack. Oh, I'll never forget! He was terrible! If he ever finds out that Jack stole from his own father—stole cattle like a common rustler, and sold them for gold to gamble and drink with—he will kill him!... That's as true as fate.... Think how horrible that would be for me! Because I'm to blame here, mostly. I fell in love with you , Wilson Moore, otherwise I could have saved Jack already.

“But it's not that I think of myself. Dad has loved me. He has been as a father to me. You know he's not my real father. Oh, if I only had a real one!... And I owe him so much. But then it's not because I owe him or because I love him. It's because of his own soul!... That splendid, noble old man, who has been so good to every one—who had only one fault, and that love of his son—must he be let go in blinded and insane rage at the failure of his life, the ruin of his son—must he be allowed to kill his own flesh and blood?... It would bemurder! It would damn dad's soul to everlasting torment. No! No! I'll not let that be!”

“Collie—how about—your own soul?” whispered Moore, lifting himself as if about to expend a tremendous breath.

“That doesn't matter,” she replied.

“Collie—Collie—” he stammered, but could not go on.

Then it seemed to Wade that they both turned to him unconscious of the inevitableness of his relation to this catastrophe, yet looking to him for the spirit, the guidance that became habitual to them. It brought the warm blood