steppin'-stones of their dead selves to higher things!... This is Belllounds's chance for the good in him. If it's not there he will do as you say. If it is—that scare he had will be the turnin'-point in his life. I'm hopin', but I'm afraid.”
“Ben, you wait and see,” said Moore, earnestly. “Heaven knows I'm not one to lose hope for my fellowmen— hope for the higher things you've taught me.... But human nature is human nature. Jack
* * * * *
The day came when Wade walked down to White Slides. There seemed to be a fever in his blood, which he tried to convince himself was a result of his wounds instead of the condition of his mind. It was Sunday, a day of sunshine and squall, of azure-blue sky, and great, sailing, purple clouds. The sage of the hills glistened and there was a sweetness in the air.
The cowboys made much of Wade. But the old rancher, seeing him from the porch, abruptly went into the house. No one but Wade noticed this omission of courtesy. Directly, Columbine appeared, waving her hand, and running to meet him.
“Dad saw you. He told me to come out and excuse him.... Oh, Ben, I'm so happy to see you! You don't look hurt at all. What a fight you had!... Oh, I was sick! But let me forget that.... How are you? And how's Wils?”
Thus she babbled until out of breath.
“Collie, it's sure good to see you,” said Wade, feeling the old, rich thrill at her presence. “I'm comin' on tolerable well. I wasn't bad hurt, but I bled a lot. An' I reckon I'm older 'n I was when packin' gun-shot holes was nothin'. Every year tells. Only a man doesn't know till after.... An' how are you, Collie?”
Her blue eyes clouded, and a tremor changed the expression of her sweet lips.
“I am unhappy, Ben,” she said. “But what could we expect? It might be worse. For instance, you might have been killed. I've much to be thankful for.”
“I reckon so. We all have.... I fetched a message from Wils, but I oughtn't tell it.”
“Please do,” she begged, wistfully.
“Well, Wils says, tell Collie I love her every day more an' more, an' that my love keeps up my courage an' my belief in God, an' if she ever marries Jack Belllounds she can come up to visit my grave among the columbines on the hill.”
Strange how Wade experienced comfort in thus torturing her! She was rosy at the beginning of his speech and white at its close. “Oh, it's true! it's true!” she whispered. “It'll kill him, as it will me!”
“Cheer up, Columbine,” said Wade. “It's a long time till August thirteenth.... An' now tell me, why did Old Bill run when he saw me comin'?”
“Ben, I suspect dad has the queerest notion you want to tell him some awful bloody story about the rustlers.”
“Ahuh! Well, not yet.... An' how's Jack Belllounds actin' these days?”
Wade felt the momentousness of that query, but it seemed her face had been telltale enough, without confirmation of words.
“My friend, somehow I hate to tell you. You're always so hopeful, so ready to think good instead of evil.... But Jack has been rough with me, almost brutal. He was drunk once. Every day he drinks, sometimes a little, sometimes more. But drink changes him. And it's dragging dad down. Dad doesn't say so, yet I feel he's afraid of what will come next.... Jack has nagged me to marry him right off. He wanted to the day he came back from Kremmling. He's eager to leave White Slides. Dad knows that, also, and it worries him. But of course I refused.”
The presence of Columbine, so vivid and sweet and stirring, and all about her the sunlight, the golden gleams on the sage hills, and Wade's heart and brain and spirit sustained a subtle transformation. It was as if what had been beautiful with light had suddenly, strangely darkened. Then Wade imagined he stood alone in a gloomy house, which was his own heart, and he was listening to the arrival of a tragic messenger whose foot sounded heavy on the stairs, whose hand turned slowly upon the knob, whose gray presence opened the door and crossed the threshold.
“Buster Jack didn't break off with you, Collie?” asked the hunter.
“Break off with me!... No, indeed! Whatever possessed you to say that?”
“An' he didn't offer to give you up to Wils Moore?”
“Ben, are you crazy?” cried Columbine.
“Collie; listen. I'll tell you.” The old urge knocked at Wade's mind. “Buster Jack was in the cabin, gamblin' with the rustlers, when I cornered them. You remember I meant to scare Buster Jack within an inch of his life? Well, I made use of my opportunity. I worked up the rustlers. Then I told Jack I'd give away his secret. He made to jump an' run, I reckon. But he hadn't the nerve. I shot a piece out of his ear, just to begin the fun. An' then I told the rustlers how Jack had double-crossed them. Folsom, the boss rustler, roared like a mad steer. He was wild to kill Jack. He begged for a gun to shoot out Jack's eyes. An' so were the other rustlers burnin' to kill him. Bad outfit. There was a fight, which, I'm bound to confess, was not short an' sweet. There was a lot of shootin'. An' in a cabin gun-shots almost lift the roof. Folsom was on his knees, dyin', wavin' his gun, whisperin' in fiendish glee that he had done for me. When he saw Jack an' remembered he shook so with fury that he scattered blood all over. An' he took long aim at Jack, tryin' to steady his gun. He couldn't, an' he missed, an' then fell over dead with his head on Jack's knees. That left the red-bearded rustler, who had hid behind the chimney. Jack watched the rest of that fight, an' for a youngster it must have been nerve-rackin'. I broke the rustler's arm, an' then his knee, an' then I got him in the hip two more times before he hobbled out to his finish. He'd shot me up considerable, so that when I braced Jack I must have been a hair-raisin' sight. I made Jack believe I meant to murder him. He begged an' cried, an' he got to prayin' for his life for your sake. It was sickenin', but it was what I wanted. So then I made him swear he'd free you an' give you up to Moore.”
“Oh! Oh, Ben, how awful!” whispered Columbine, shuddering. “How
“Reckon I wanted you to know how Jack come to make the promises an' what they were.”
