Columbine was awakened in the gray dawn by the barking of coyotes. She
dreaded the daylight thus heralded. Never before in her life had she
hated the rising of the sun. Resolutely she put the past behind her and
faced the future, believing now that with the great decision made she
needed only to keep her mind off what might have been, and to attend
to her duty.
At breakfast she found the rancher in better spirits than he had been
for weeks. He informed her that Jack had ridden off early for Kremmling,
there to make arrangements for the wedding on October first.
"Jack's out of his head," said Belllounds. "Wal, thet comes only onct in
a man's life. I remember ... Jack's goin' to drive you to Kremmlin' an'
ther take stage fer Denver. I allow you'd better put in your best licks
on fixin' up an' packin' the clothes you'll need. Women-folk naturally
want to look smart on weddin'-trips."
"Dad!" exclaimed Columbine, in dismay. "I never thought of clothes. And
I don't want to leave White Slides."
"But, lass, you're goin' to be married!" expostulated Belllounds.
"Didn't it occur to Jack to take me to Kremmling? I can't make new
dresses out of old ones."
"Wal, I reckon neither of us thought of thet. But you can buy what you
like in Denver."
Columbine resigned herself. After all, what did it matter to her? The
vague, haunting dreams of girlhood would never come true. So she went to
her wardrobe and laid out all her wearing apparel. Taking stock of it
this way caused her further dismay, for she had nothing fit to wear in
which either to be married or to take a trip to Denver. There appeared
to be nothing to do but take the rancher's advice, and Columbine set
about refurbishing her meager wardrobe. She sewed all day.
What with self-control and work and the passing of hours, Columbine
began to make some approach to tranquillity. In her simplicity she even
began to hope that being good and steadfast and dutiful would earn her a
little meed of happiness. Some haunting doubt of this flashed over her
mind like a swift shadow of a black wing, but she dispelled that as she
had dispelled the fear and disgust which often rose up in her mind.
To Columbine's surprise and to the rancher's concern the prospective
bridegroom did not return from Kremmling on the second day. When night
came Belllounds reluctantly gave up looking for him.
Jack's non-appearance suited Columbine, and she would have been glad to
be let alone until October first, which date now seemed appallingly
close. On the afternoon of Jack's third day of absence from the ranch
Columbine rode out for some needed exercise. Pronto not being available,
she rode another mustang and one that kept her busy. On the way back to
the ranch she avoided the customary trail which led by the cabins of
Wade and the cowboys. Columbine had not seen one of her friends since
the unfortunate visit to the Andrews ranch. She particularly shrank from
meeting Wade, which feeling was in strange contrast to her
former impulses.
As she rode around the house she encountered Wilson Moore seated in a
light wagon. Her mustang reared, almost unseating her. But she handled
him roughly, being suddenly surprised and angry at this unexpected
meeting with the cowboy.
"Howdy, Columbine!" greeted Wilson, as she brought the mustang to his
feet. "You're sure learning to handle a horse--since I left this here
ranch. Wonder who's teaching you! I never could get you to rake even
a bronc!"
The cowboy had drawled out his admiring speech, half amused and half
satiric.
"I'm--mad!" declared Columbine. "That's why."
"What're you mad at?" queried Wilson.
She did not reply, but kept on gazing steadily at him. Moore still
looked pale and drawn, but he had improved since last she saw him.
"Aren't you going to speak to a fellow?" he went on.
"How are you, Wils?" she asked.
"Pretty good for a club-footed has-been cow puncher."
"I wish you wouldn't call yourself such names," rejoined Columbine,
peevishly. "You're not a club-foot. I hate that word!"
"Me, too. Well, joking aside, I'm better. My foot is fine. Now, if I
don't hurt it again I'll sure never be a club-foot."
"You must be careful," she said, earnestly.
"Sure. But it's hard for me to be idle. Think of me lying still all day
with nothing to do but read! That's what knocked me out. I wouldn't have
minded the pain if I could have gotten about.... Columbine, I've
moved in!"
"What! Moved in?" she queried, blankly.
"Sure. I'm in my cabin on the hill. It's plumb great. Tom Andrews and
Bert and your hunter Wade fixed up the cabin for me. That Wade is sure a
good fellow. And say! what he can do with his hands! He's been kind to
me. Took an interest in me, and between you and me he sort of
cheered me up."
"Cheered you up! Wils, were you unhappy?" she asked, directly.
"Well, rather. What'd you expect of a cowboy who'd crippled
himself--and lost his girl?"
Columbine felt the smart of tingling blood in her face, and she looked
from Wilson to the wagon. It contained saddles, blankets, and other
cowboy accoutrements for which he had evidently come.
"That's a double misfortune," she replied, evenly. "It's too bad both
came at once. It seems to me if I were a cowboy and--and felt so toward
a girl, I'd have let her know."
"This girl I mean knew, all right," he said, nodding his head.
"She didn't--she didn't!" cried Columbine.
"How do you know?" he queried, with feigned surprise. He was bent upon
torturing her.
"You meant me. I'm the girl you lost!"
"Yes, you are--God help me!" replied Moore, with genuine emotion.
"But you--you never told me--you never told me," faltered Columbine, in
distress.
"Never told you what? That you were my girl?"
"No--no. But that you--you cared--"
"Columbine Belllounds, I told you--let you see--in every way under the
sun," he flashed at her.
"Let me see--what?" faltered Columbine, feeling as if the world were
about to end.
"That I loved you."
"Oh!... Wilson!" whispered Columbine, wildly.
"Yes--loved you. Could you have been so innocent--so blind you never
knew? I can't believe it."
"But I never dreamed you--you--" She broke off dazedly, overwhelmed by a
tragic, glorious truth.
"Collie!... Would it have made any difference?"
"Oh, all the difference in the world!" she wailed.
"What difference?" he asked, passionately.
Columbine gazed wide-eyed and helpless at the young man. She did not
know how to tell him what all the difference in the world really was.
Suddenly Wilson turned away from her to listen. Then she heard rapid
beating of hoofs on the road.
"That's Buster Jack," said the cowboy. "Just my luck! There wasn't any
one here when I arrived. Reckon I oughtn't have stayed. Columbine, you
look pretty much upset."
"What do I care how I look!" she exclaimed, with a sharp resentment
attending this abrupt and painful break in her agitation.
Next moment Jack Belllounds galloped a foam-lashed horse into the
courtyard and hauled up short with a recklessness he was noted for. He
swung down hard and violently cast the reins from him.
"Ahuh! I gambled on just this," he declared, harshly.
Columbine's heart sank. His gaze was fixed on her face, with its
telltale evidences of agitation.
"What've you been crying about?" he demanded.
"I haven't been," she retorted.
His bold and glaring eyes, hot with sudden temper, passed slowly from
her to the cowboy. Columbine became aware then that Jack was under the
influence of liquor. His heated red face grew darker with a
sneering contempt.
"Where's dad?" he asked, wheeling toward her.
"I don't know. He's not here," replied Columbine, dismounting. The leap
of thought and blood to Jack's face gave her a further sinking of the
heart. The situation unnerved her.
Wilson Moore had grown a shade paler. He gathered up his reins, ready to
drive off.
"Belllounds, I came up after my things I'd left in the bunk," he said,
coolly. "Happened to meet Columbine and stopped to chat a minute."
"That's what _you_ say," sneered Belllounds. "You were making love to
Columbine. I saw that in her face. You know it--and she knows it--and I
know it.... You're a liar!"
"Belllounds, I reckon I am," replied Moore, turning white. "I did tell
Columbine what I thought she knew--what I ought to have told long ago."
"Ahuh! Well, I don't want to hear it. But I'm going to search that
wagon."
"What!" ejaculated the cowboy, dropping his reins as if they stung him.
"You just hold on till I see what you've got in there," went on
Belllounds, and he reached over into the wagon and pulled at a saddle.
"Say, do you mean anything?... This stuff's mine, every strap of it.
Take your hands off."
Belllounds leaned on the wagon and looked up with insolent, dark intent.
"Moore, I wouldn't trust you. I think you'd steal anything you got your
hands on."
Columbine uttered a passionate little cry of shame and protest.
"Jack, how dare you!"
"You shut up! Go in the house!" he ordered.
"You insult me," she replied, in bitter humiliation.
"Will you go in?" he shouted.
"No, I won't."
"All right, look on, then. I'd just as lief have you." Then he turned to
the cowboy. "Moore, show up that wagon-load of stuff unless you want me
to throw it out in the road."
"Belllounds, you know I can't do that," replied Moore, coldly. "And I'll
give you a hunch. You'd better shut up yourself and let me drive on....
If not for her sake, then for your own."
Belllounds grasped the reins, and with a sudden jerk pulled them out of
the cowboy's hands.
"You damn club-foot! Your gift of gab doesn't go with me," yelled
Belllounds, as he swung up on the hub of the wheel. But it was manifest
that his desire to search the wagon was only a pretense, for while he
pulled at this and that his evil gaze was on the cowboy, keen to meet
any move that might give excuse for violence. Moore evidently read this,
for, gazing at Columbine, he shook his head, as if to acquaint her with
a situation impossible to help.
"Columbine, please hand me up the reins," he said. "I'm lame, you know.
Then I'll be going."
Columbine stepped forward to comply, when Belllounds, leaping down from
the wheel, pushed her hack with masterful hand. Opposition to him was
like waving a red flag in the face of a bull. Columbine recoiled from
his look as well as touch.
"You keep out of this or I'll teach you who's boss here," he said,
stridently.
"You're going too far!" burst out Columbine.
Meanwhile Wilson had laboriously climbed down out of the wagon, and,
utilizing his crutch, he hobbled to where Belllounds had thrown the
reins, and stooped to pick them up. Belllounds shoved Columbine farther
back, and then he leaped to confront the cowboy.
"I've got you now, Moore," he said, hoarse and low. Stripped of all
pretense, he showed the ungovernable nature of his temper. His face grew
corded and black. The hand he thrust out shook like a leaf. "You
smooth-tongued liar! I'm on to your game. I know you'd put her against
me. I know you'd try to win her--less than a week before her
wedding-day.... But it's not for that I'm going to beat hell out of you!
It's because I hate you! Ever since I can remember my father held you up
to me! And he sent me to--to--he sent me away because of you. By God!
that's why I hate you!"
All that was primitive and violent and base came out with strange
frankness in Belllounds's tirade. Only when calm could his mind be
capable of hidden calculation. The devil that was in him now
seemed rampant.
"Belllounds, you're mighty brave to stack up this way against a
one-legged man," declared the cowboy, with biting sarcasm.
"If you had two club-feet I'd only be the gladder," yelled Belllounds,
and swinging his arm, he slapped Moore so that it nearly toppled him
over. Only the injured foot, coming down hard, saved him.
When Columbine saw that, and then how Wilson winced and grew deathly
pale, she uttered a low cry, and she seemed suddenly rooted to the spot,
weak, terrified at what was now inevitable, and growing sick and cold
and faint.
"It's a damn lucky thing for you I'm not packing a gun," said Moore,
grimly. "But you knew--or you'd never hit me--you coward."
"I'll make you swallow that," snarled Belllounds, and this time he swung
his fist, aiming a heavy blow at Moore.
Then the cowboy whirled aloft the heavy crutch. "If you hit at me again
I'll let out what little brains you've got. God knows that's little
enough!... Belllounds, I'm going to call you to your face--before this
girl your bat-eyed old man means to give you. You're not drunk. You're
only ugly--mean. You've got a chance now to lick me because I'm
crippled. And you're going to make the most of it. Why, you cur, I could
come near licking you with only one leg. But if you touch me again I'll
brain you!... You never were any good. You're no good now. You never
will be anything but Buster Jack--half dotty, selfish as hell,
bull-headed and mean!... And that's the last word I'll ever waste
on you."
"I'll kill you!" bawled Belllounds, black with fury.
Moore wielded the crutch menacingly, but as he was not steady on his
feet he was at the disadvantage his adversary had calculated upon.
Belllounds ran around the cowboy, and suddenly plunged in to grapple
with him. The crutch descended, but to little purpose. Belllounds's
heavy onslaught threw Moore to the ground. Before he could rise
Belllounds pounced upon him.
Columbine saw all this dazedly. As Wilson fell she closed her eyes,
fighting a faintness that almost overcame her. She heard wrestling,
threshing sounds, and sodden thumps, and a scattering of gravel. These
noises seemed at first distant, then grew closer. As she gazed again
with keener perception, Moore's horse plunged away from the fiercely
struggling forms that had rolled almost under his feet. During the
ensuing moments it was an equal battle so far as Columbine could tell.
Repelled, yet fascinated, she watched. They beat each other, grappled
and rolled over, first one on top, then the other. But the advantage of
being uppermost presently was Belllounds's. Moore was weakening. That
became noticeable more and more after each time he had wrestled and
rolled about. Then Belllounds, getting this position, lay with his
weight upon Moore, holding him down, and at the same time kicking with
all his might. He was aiming to disable the cowboy by kicking the
injured foot. And he was succeeding. Moore let out a strangled cry, and
struggled desperately. But he was held and weighted down. Belllounds
raised up now and, looking backward, he deliberately and furiously
kicked Moore's bandaged foot; once, twice, again and again, until the
straining form under him grew limp. Columbine, slowly freezing with
horror, saw all this. She could not move. She could not scream. She
wanted to rush in and drag Jack off of Wilson, to hurt him, to kill him,
but her muscles were paralyzed. In her agony she could not even look
away. Belllounds got up astride his prostrate adversary and began to
beat him brutally, swinging heavy, sodden blows. His face then was
terrible to see. He meant murder.
Columbine heard approaching voices and the thumping of hasty feet. That
unclamped her cloven tongue. Wildly she screamed. Old Bill Belllounds
appeared, striding off the porch. And the hunter Wade came running
down the path.
"Dad! he's killing Wilson!" cried Columbine.
"Hyar, you devil!" roared the rancher.
Jack Belllounds got up. Panting, disheveled, with hair ruffled and face
distorted, he was not a pleasant sight for even the father. Moore lay
unconscious, with ghastly, bloody features, and his bandaged foot showed
great splotches of red.
"My Gawd, son!" gasped Old Bill. "You didn't pick on this hyar crippled
boy?"
The evidence was plain, in Moore's quiet, pathetic form, in the panting,
purple-faced son. Jack Belllounds did not answer. He was in the grip of
a passion that had at last been wholly unleashed and was still
unsatisfied. Yet a malignant and exultant gratification showed in
his face.
"That--evens us--up, Moore," he panted, and stalked away.
By this time Wade reached the cowboy and knelt beside him. Columbine
came running to fall on her knees. The old rancher seemed stricken.
"Oh--Oh! it was terrible--" cried Columbine. "Oh--he's so white--and the
blood--"
"Now, lass, that's no way for a woman," said Wade, and there was
something in his kind tone, in his look, in his presence, that calmed
Columbine. "I'll look after Moore. You go get some water an' a towel."
Columbine rose to totter into the house. She saw a red stain on the hand
she had laid upon the cowboy's face, and with a strange, hot, bursting
sensation, strong and thrilling, she put that red place to her lips.
Running out with the things required by Wade, she was in time to hear
the rancher say, "Looks hurt bad, to me."
"Yes, I reckon," replied Wade.
While Columbine held Moore's head upon her lap the hunter bathed the
bloody face. It was battered and bruised and cut, and in some places, as
fast as Wade washed away the red, it welled out again.
Columbine watched that quiet face, while her heart throbbed and swelled
with emotions wholly beyond her control and understanding. When at last
Wilson opened his eyes, fluttering at first, and then wide, she felt a
surge that shook her whole body. He smiled wanly at her, and at Wade,
and then his gaze lifted to Belllounds.
"I guess--he licked me," he said, in weak voice. "He kept kicking my
sore foot--till I fainted. But he licked me--all right."
"Wils, mebbe he did lick you," replied the old rancher, brokenly, "but
I reckon he's damn little to be proud of--lickin' a crippled
man--thet way."
"Boss, Jack'd been drinking," said Moore, weakly. "And he sure had--some
excuse for going off his head. He caught me--talking sweet to
Columbine ... and then--I called him all the names--I could lay my
tongue to."
"Ahuh!" The old man seemed at a loss for words, and presently he turned
away, sagging in the shoulders, and plodded into the house.
The cowboy, supported by Wade on one side, with Columbine on the other,
was helped to an upright position, and with considerable difficulty was
gotten into the wagon. He tried to sit up, but made a sorry showing
of it.
"I'll drive him home an' look after him," said Wade. "Now, Miss Collie,
you're upset, which ain't no wonder. But now you brace. It might have
been worse. Just you go to your room till you're sure of
yourself again."
Moore smiled another wan smile at her. "I'm sorry," he said.
"What for? Me?" she asked.
"I mean I'm sorry I was so infernal unlucky--running into you--and
bringing all this distress--to you. It was my fault. If I'd only
kept--my mouth shut!"
"You need not be sorry you met me," she said, with her eyes straight
upon his. "I'm glad.... But oh! if your foot is badly hurt I'll
never--never--'
"Don't say it," interrupted Wilson.
"Lass, you're bent on doin' somethin'," said Wade, in his gentle voice.
"Bent?" she echoed, with something deep and rich in her voice. "Yes, I'm
bent--_bent_ like your name--to speak my mind!"
Then she ran toward the house and up on the porch, to enter the
living-room with heaving breast and flashing eyes. Manifestly the
rancher was berating his son. The former gaped at sight of her and the
latter shrank.
"Jack Belllounds," she cried, "you're not half a man.... You're a coward
and a brute!"
One tense moment she stood there, lightning scorn and passion in her
gaze, and then she rushed out, impetuously, as she had come.