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 sho
w 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, woul
d 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!"