Wade, watching Columbine ride down the slope on her homeward way, did
some of the hardest thinking he had yet been called upon to do. It was
not necessary to acquaint Wilson Moore with the deeper and more subtle
motives that had begun to actuate him. It would not utterly break the
cowboy's spirit to live in suspense. Columbine was safe for the present.
He had insured her against fatality. Time was all he needed. Possibility
of an actual consummation of her marriage to Jack Belllounds did not
lodge for an instant in Wade's consciousness. In Moore's case, however,
the present moment seemed critical. What should he tell Moore--what
should he conceal from him?
"Son, come in here," he called to the cowboy.
"Pard, it looks--bad!" said Moore, brokenly.
Wade looked at the tragic face and cursed under his breath.
"Buck up! It's never as bad as it looks. Anyway, we _know_ now what to
expect, an' that's well."
Moore shook his head. "Couldn't you see how like steel Collie was?...
But I'm on to you, Wade. You think by persuading Collie to put that
marriage off that we'll gain time. You're gambling with time. You swear
Buster Jack will hang himself. You won't quit fighting this deal."
"Buster Jack has slung the noose over a tree, an' he's about ready to
slip his head into it," replied Wade.
"Bah!... You drive me wild," cried Moore, passionately. "How can you?
Where's all that feeling you seemed to have for me? You nursed me--you
saved my leg--and my life. You must have cared about me. But now--you
talk about that dolt--that spoiled old man's pet--that damned cur, as if
you believed he'd ruin himself. No such luck! no such hope!... Every day
things grow worse. Yet the worse they grow the stronger you seem! It's
all out of proportion. It's dreams. Wade, I hate to say it, but I'm sure
you're not always--just right in your mind."
"Wils, now ain't that queer?" replied Wade, sadly. "I'm agreein' with
you."
"Aw!" Moore shook himself savagely and laid an affectionate and
appealing arm on his friend's shoulder. "Forgive me, pard!... It's me
who's out of his head.... But my heart's broken."
"That's what you think," rejoined Wade, stoutly. "But a man's heart
can't break in a day. I know.... An' the God's truth is Buster Jack will
hang himself!"
Moore raised his head sharply, flinging himself back from his friend so
as to scrutinize his face. Wade felt the piercing power of that gaze.
"Wade, what do you mean?"
"Collie told us some interestin' news about Jack, didn't she? Well, she
didn't know what I know. Jack Belllounds had laid a cunnin' an' devilish
trap to prove you guilty of rustlin' his father's cattle."
"Absurd!" ejaculated Moore, with white lips.
"I'd never given him credit for brains to hatch such a plot," went on
Wade. "Now listen. Not long ago Buster Jack made a remark in front of
the whole outfit, includin' his father, that the homesteaders on the
range were rustlin' cattle. It fell sort of flat, that remark. But no
one could calculate on his infernal cunnin'. I quit workin' for
Belllounds that night, an' I've put my time in spyin' on the boy. In my
day I've done a good deal of spyin', but I've never run across any one
slicker than Buster Jack. To cut it short--he got himself a
white-speckled mustang that's a dead ringer for Spottie. He measured the
tracks of your horse's left front foot--the bad hoof, you know, an' he
made a shoe exactly the same as Spottie wears. Also, he made some kind
of a contraption that's like the end of your crutch. These he packs with
him. I saw him ride across the pasture to hide his tracks, climb up the
sage for the same reason, an' then hide in that grove of aspens over
there near the trail you use. Here, you can bet, he changed shoes on the
left front foot of his horse. Then he took to the trail, an' he left
tracks for a while, an' then he was careful to hide them again. He stole
his father's stock an' drove it up over the grassy benches where even
you or I couldn't track him next day. But up on top, when it suited him,
he left some horse tracks, an' in the mud near a spring-hole he gets off
his horse, steppin' with one foot--an' makin' little circles with dots
like those made by the end of your crutch. Then 'way over in the woods
there's a cabin where he meets his accomplices. Here he leaves the same
horse tracks an' crutch tracks.... Simple as a b c, Wils, when you see
how he did it. But I'll tell you straight--if I hadn't been suspicious
of Buster Jack--that trick of his would have made you a rustler!"
"Damn him!" hissed the cowboy, in utter consternation and fury.
"Ahuh! That's my sentiment exactly."
"I swore to Collie I'd never kill him!"
"Sure you did, son. An' you've got to keep that oath. I pin you down to
it. You can't break faith with Collie.... An' you don't want his bad
blood on your hands."
"No! No!" he replied, violently. "Of course I don't. I won't. But God!
how sweet it would be to tear out his lying tongue--to--"
"I reckon it would. Only don't talk about that," interrupted Wade,
bluntly. "You see, now, don't you, how he's about hanged himself."
"No, pard, I don't. We can't squeal that on him, any more than we can
squeal what Collie told us."
"Son, you're young in dealin' with crooked men. You don't get the drift
of motives. Buster Jack is not only robbin' his father an' hatchin' a
dirty trap for you, but he's double-crossin' the rustlers he's sellin'
the cattle to. He's riskin' their necks. He's goin' to find _your_
tracks, showin' you dealt with them. Sure, he won't give them away, an'
he's figurin' on their gettin' out of it, maybe by leavin' the range, or
a shootin'-fray, or some way. The big thing with Jack is that he's goin'
to accuse you of rustlin' an' show your tracks to his father. Well,
that's a risk he's given the rustlers. It happens that I know this
scar-face Smith. We've met before. Now it's easy to see from what Collie
heard that Smith is not trustin' Buster Jack. So, all underneath this
Jack Belllounds's game, there's forces workin' unbeknown to him, beyond
his control, an' sure to ruin him."
"I see. I see. By Heaven! Wade, nothing else but ruin seems possible!...
But suppose it works out his way!... What then? What of Collie?"
"Son, I've not got that far along in my reckonin'," replied Wade.
"But for my sake--think. If Buster Jack gets away with his trick--if he
doesn't hang himself by some blunder or fit of temper or spree--what
then of Collie?"
Wade could not answer this natural and inevitable query for the reason
that he had found it impossible of consideration.
"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," he replied.
"Wade, you've said that before. It helped me. But now I need more than a
few words from the Bible. My faith is low. I ... oh, I tried to pray
because Collie told me she had prayed! But what are prayers? We're
dealing with a stubborn, iron-willed old man who idolizes his son; we're
dealing with a crazy boy, absolutely self-centered, crafty, and vicious,
who'll stop at nothing. And, lastly, we're dealing with a girl who's so
noble and high-souled that she'll sacrifice her all--her life to pay her
debt. If she were really Bill Belllounds's daughter she'd _never_ marry
Jack, saying, of course, that he was not her brother.... Do you know
that it will _kill_ her, if she marries him?"
"Ahuh! I reckon it would," replied Wade, with his head bowed. Moore
roused his gloomy forebodings. He did not care to show this feeling or
the effect the cowboy's pleading had upon him.
"Ah! so you admit it? Well, then, what of Collie?"
"_If_ she marries him--she'll have to die, I suppose," replied Wade.
Then Wilson Moore leaped at his friend and with ungentle hands lifted
him, pushed him erect.
"Damn you, Wade! You're not square with me! You don't tell me all!" he
cried, hoarsely.
"Now, Wils, you're set up. I've told you all I know. I swear that."
"But you couldn't stand the thought of Collie dying for that brute! You
couldn't! Oh, I know. I can feel some things that are hard to tell. So,
you're either out of your head or you've something up your sleeve. It's
hard to explain how you affect me. One minute I'm ready to choke you
for that damned strangeness--whatever it is. The next minute I feel
it--I trust it, myself.... Wade, you're not--you _can't_ be infallible!"
"I'm only a man, Wils, an' your friend. I reckon you do find me queer.
But that's no matter. Now let's look at this deal--each from his own
side of the fence. An' each actin' up to his own lights! You do what
your conscience dictates, always thinkin' of Collie--not of yourself!
An' I'll live up to my principles. Can we do more?"
"No, indeed, Wade, we can't," replied Moore, eloquently.
"Well, then, here's my hand. I've talked too much, I reckon. An' the
time for talkin' is past."
In silence Moore gripped the hand held out to him, trying to read Wade's
mind, apparently once more uplifted and strengthened by that which he
could not divine.
* * * * *
Wade's observations during the following week brought forth the fact
that Jack Belllounds was not letting any grass grow under his feet. He
endeavored to fulfil his agreement with Smith, and drove a number of
cattle by moonlight. These were part of the stock that the rancher had
sold to buyers at Kremmling, and which had been collected and held in
the big, fenced pasture down the valley next to the Andrews ranch. The
loss was not discovered until the cattle had been counted at Kremmling.
Then they were credited to loss by straying. In driving a considerable
herd of half-wild steers, with an inadequate force of cowboys, it was no
unusual thing to lose a number.
Wade, however, was in possession of the facts not later than the day
after this midnight steal in the moonlight. He was forced to
acknowledge that no one would have believed it possible for Jack
Belllounds to perform a feat which might well have been difficult for
the best of cowboys. But Jack accomplished it and got back home before
daylight. And Wade was bound to admit that circumstantial evidence
against Wilson Moore, which, of course, Jack Belllounds would soon
present, would be damning and apparently irrefutable.
Waiting for further developments, Wade closely watched the ranch-house,
which duty interfered with his attention to the outlying trails. What he
did not want to miss was being present when Jack Belllounds accused
Wilson Moore of rustling cattle.
So it chanced that Wade was chatting with the cowboys one Sunday
afternoon when Jack, accompanied by three strangers, all mounted on
dusty, tired horses, rode up to the porch and dismounted.
Lem Billings manifested unusual excitement.
"Montana, ain't thet Sheriff Burley from Kremmlin'?" he queried.
"Shore looks like him.... Yep, thet's him. Now, what's doin'?"
The cowboys exchanged curious glances, and then turned to Wade.
"Bent, what do you make of thet?" asked Lem, as he waved his hand toward
the house. "Buster Jack ridin' up with Sheriff Burley."
The rancher, Belllounds, who was on the porch, greeted the visitors, and
then they all went into the house.
"Boys, it's what I've been lookin' for," replied Wade.
"Shore. Reckon we all have idees. An' if my idee is correct I'm agoin'
to git pretty damn sore pronto," declared Lem.
They were all silent for a few moments, meditating over this singular
occurrence, and watching the house. Presently Old Bill Belllounds strode
out upon the porch, and, walking out into the court, he peered around as
if looking for some one. Then he espied the little group of cowboys.
"Hey!" he yelled. "One of you boys ride up an' fetch Wils Moore down
hyar!"
"All right, boss," called Lem, in reply, as he got up and gave a hitch
to his belt.
The rancher hurried back, head down, as if burdened.
"Wade, I reckon you want to go fetch Wils?" queried Lem.
"If it's all the same to you. I'd rather not," replied Wade.
"By Golly! I don't blame you. Boys, shore'n hell, Burley's after Wils."
"Wal, suppos'n' he is," said Montana. "You can gamble Wils ain't agoin'
to run. I'd jest like to see him face thet outfit. Burley's a pretty
square fellar. An' he's no fool."
"It's as plain as your nose, Montana, an' thet's shore big enough,"
returned Lem, with a hard light in his eyes. "Buster Jack's busted out,
an' he's figgered Wils in some deal thet's rung in the sheriff. Wal,
I'll fetch Wils." And, growling to himself, the cowboy slouched off
after his horse.
Wade got up, deliberate and thoughtful, and started away.
"Say, Bent, you're shore goin' to see what's up?" asked Montana, in
surprise.
"I'll be around, Jim," replied Wade, and he strolled off to be alone. He
wanted to think over this startling procedure of Jack Belllounds's. Wade
was astonished. He had expected that an accusation would be made
against Moore by Jack, and an exploitation of such proofs as had been
craftily prepared, but he had never imagined Jack would be bold enough
to carry matters so far. Sheriff Burley was a man of wide experience,
keen, practical, shrewd. He was also one of the countless men Wade had
rubbed elbows with in the eventful past. It had been Wade's idea that
Jack would be satisfied to face his father with the accusation of Moore,
and thus cover his tracks. Whatever Old Belllounds might have felt over
the loss of a few cattle, he would never have hounded and arrested a
cowboy who had done well by him. Burley, however, was a sheriff, and a
conscientious one, and he happened to be particularly set
against rustlers.
Here was a complication of circumstances. What would Jack Belllounds
insist upon? How would Columbine take this plot against the honor and
liberty of Wilson Moore? How would Moore himself react to it? Wade
confessed that he was helpless to solve these queries, and there seemed
to be a further one, insistent and gathering--what was to be his own
attitude here? That could not be answered, either, because only a future
moment, over which he had no control, and which must decide events, held
that secret. Worry beset Wade, but he still found himself proof against
the insidious gloom ever hovering near, like his shadow.
He waited near the trail to intercept Billings and Moore on their way to
the ranch-house; and to his surprise they appeared sooner than it would
have been reasonable to expect them. Wade stepped out of the willows and
held up his hand. He did not see anything unusual in Moore's appearance.
"Wils, I reckon we'd do well to talk this over," said Wade.
"Talk what over?" queried the cowboy, sharply.
[Illustration: "Jack Belllounds!" she cried. "You put the sheriff on
that trail!"]
"Why, Old Bill's sendin' for you, an' the fact of Sheriff Burley bein'
here."
"Talk nothing. Let's see what they want, and then talk. Pard, you
remember the agreement we made not long ago?"
"Sure. But I'm sort of worried, an' maybe--"
"You needn't worry about me. Come on," interrupted Moore. "I'd like you
to be there. And, Lem, fetch the boys."
"I shore will, an' if you need any backin' you'll git it."
When they reached the open Lem turned off toward the corrals, and Wade
walked beside Moore's horse up to the house.
Belllounds appeared at the door, evidently having heard the sound of
hoofs.
"Hello, Moore! Get down an' come in," he said, gruffly.
"Belllounds, if it's all the same to you I'll take mine in the open,"
replied the cowboy, coolly.
The rancher looked troubled. He did not have the ease and force habitual
to him in big moments.
"Come out hyar, you men," he called in the door.
Voices, heavy footsteps, the clinking of spurs, preceded the appearance
of the three strangers, followed by Jack Belllounds. The foremost was a
tall man in black, sandy-haired and freckled, with clear gray eyes, and
a drooping mustache that did not hide stern lips and rugged chin. He
wore a silver star on his vest, packed a gun in a greasy holster worn
low down on his right side, and under his left arm he carried a package.
It suited Wade, then, to step forward; and if he expected surprise and
pleasure to break across the sheriff's stern face he certainly had not
reckoned in vain.
"Wal, I'm a son-of-a-gun!" ejaculated Burley, bending low, with quick
movement, to peer at Wade.
"Howdy, Jim. How's tricks?" said Wade, extending his hand, and the smile
that came so seldom illumined his sallow face.
"Hell-Bent Wade, as I'm a born sinner!" shouted the sheriff, and his
hand leaped out to grasp Wade's and grip it and wring it. His face
worked. "My Gawd! I'm glad to see you, old-timer! Wal, you haven't
changed at all!... Ten years! How time flies! An' it's shore you?"
"Same, Jim, an' powerful glad to meet you," replied Wade.
"Shake hands with Bridges an' Lindsay," said Burley, indicating his two
comrades. "Stockmen from Grand Lake.... Boys, you've heerd me talk about
him. Wade an' I was both in the old fight at Blair's ranch on the
Gunnison. An' I've shore reason to recollect him!... Wade, what're you
doin' up in these diggin's?"
"Drifted over last fall, Jim, an' have been huntin' varmints for
Belllounds," replied Wade. "Cleaned the range up fair to middlin'. An'
since I quit Belllounds I've been hangin' round with my young pard here,
Wils Moore, an' interestin' myself in lookin' up cattle tracks."
Burley's back was toward Belllounds and his son, so it was impossible
for them to see the sudden little curious light that gleamed in his eyes
as he looked hard at Wade, and then at Moore.
"Wils Moore. How d'ye do? I reckon I remember you, though I don't ride
up this way much of late years."
The cowboy returned the greeting civilly enough, but with brevity.
Belllounds cleared his throat and stepped forward. His manner showed he
had a distasteful business at hand.
"Moore, I sent for you on a serious matter, I'm sorry to say."
"Well, here I am. What is it?" returned the cowboy, with clear, hazel
eyes, full of fire, steady on the old rancher's.
"Jack, you know, is foreman of White Slides now. An' he's made a charge
against you."
"Then let him face me with it," snapped Moore.
Jack Belllounds came forward, hands in his pockets, self-possessed, even
a little swaggering, and his pale face and bold eyes showed the gravity
of the situation and his mastery over it.
Wade watched this meeting of the rivals and enemies with an attention
powerfully stimulated by the penetrating scrutiny Burley laid upon them.
Jack did not speak quickly. He looked hard into the tense face of Moore.
Wade detected a vibration of Jack's frame and a gleam of eye that showed
him not wholly in control of exultation and revenge. Fear had not
struck him yet.
"Well, Buster Jack, what's the charge?" demanded Moore, impatiently.
The old name, sharply flung at Jack by this cowboy, seemed to sting and
reveal and inflame. But he restrained himself as with roving glance he
searched Moore's person for sight of a weapon. The cowboy was unarmed.
"I accuse you of stealing my father's cattle," declared Jack, in low,
husky accents. After he got the speech out he swallowed hard.
Moore's face turned a dead white. For a fleeting instant a red and
savage gleam flamed in his steady glance. Then it vanished.
The cowboys, who had come up, moved restlessly. Lem Billings dropped his
head, muttering. Montana Jim froze in his tracks.
Moore's dark eyes, scornful and piercing, never moved from Jack's face.
It seemed as if the cowboy would never speak again.
"You call me thief! You?" at length he exclaimed.
"Yes, I do," replied Belllounds, loudly.
"Before this sheriff and your father you accuse me of stealing cattle?"
"Yes."
"And you accuse me before this man who saved my life, who _knows_
me--before Hell-Bent Wade?" demanded Moore, as he pointed to the hunter.
Mention of Wade in that significant tone of passion and wonder was not
without effect upon Jack Belllounds.
"What in hell do I care for Wade?" he burst out, with the old
intolerance. "Yes, I accuse you. Thief, rustler!... And for all I know
your precious Hell-Bent Wade may be--"
He was interrupted by Burley's quick and authoritative interference.
"Hyar, young man, I'm allowin' for your natural feelin's," he said,
dryly, "but I advise you to bite your tongue. I ain't acquainted with
Mister Moore, but I happen to know Wade. Do you savvy?... Wal, then, if
you've any more to say to Moore get it over."
"I've had my say," replied Belllounds, sullenly.
"On what grounds do you accuse me?" demanded Moore.
"I trailed you. I've got my proofs."
Burley stepped off the porch and carefully laid down his package.
"Moore, will you get off your hoss?" he asked. And when the cowboy had
dismounted and limped aside the sheriff continued, "Is this the hoss you
ride most?"
"He's the only one I have."
Burley sat down upon the edge of the porch and, carefully unwrapping the
package, he disclosed some pieces of hard-baked yellow mud. The smaller
ones bore the imprint of a circle with a dot in the center, very clearly
defined. The larger piece bore the imperfect but reasonably clear track
of a curiously shaped horseshoe, somewhat triangular. The sheriff placed
these pieces upon the ground. Then he laid hold of Moore's crutch, which
was carried like a rifle in a sheath hanging from the saddle, and,
drawing it forth, he carefully studied the round cap on the end. Next he
inserted this end into both the little circles on the pieces of mud.
They fitted perfectly. The cowboys bent over to get a closer view, and
Billings was wagging his head. Old Belllounds had an earnest eye for
them, also. Burley's next move was to lift the left front foot of
Moore's horse and expose the bottom to view. Evidently the white mustang
did not like these proceedings, but he behaved himself. The iron shoe on
this hoof was somewhat triangular in shape. When Burley held the larger
piece of mud, with its imprint, close to the hoof, it was not possible
to believe that this iron shoe had not made the triangular-shaped track.
Burley let go of the hoof and laid the pieces of mud down. Slowly the
other men straightened up. Some one breathed hard.
"Moore, what do them tracks look like to you?" asked the sheriff.
"They look like mine," replied the cowboy.
"They are yours."
"I'm not denying that."
"I cut them pieces of mud from beside a water-hole over hyar under Gore
Peak. We'd trailed the cattle Belllounds lost, an' then we kept on
trailin' them, clear to the road that goes over the ridge to
Elgeria.... Now Bridges an' Lindsay hyar bought stock lately from
strange cattlemen who didn't give no clear idee of their range. Jest
buyin' an' sellin', they claimed.... I reckon the extra hoss tracks we
run across at Gore Peak connects up them buyers an' sellers with whoever
drove Belllounds's cattle up thar.... Have you anythin' more to say?"
"No. Not here," replied Moore, quietly.
"Then I'll have to arrest you an' take you to Kremmlin' fer trial."
"All right. I'll go."
The old rancher seemed genuinely shocked. Red tinged his cheek and a
flame flared in his eyes.
"Wils, you done me dirt," he said, wrathfully. "An' I always swore by
you.... Make a clean breast of the whole damn bizness, if you want me to
treat you white. You must have been locoed or drunk, to double-cross me
thet way. Come on, out with it."
"I've nothing to say," replied Moore.
"You act amazin' strange fer a cowboy I've knowed to lean toward
fightin' at the drop of a hat. I tell you, speak out an' I'll do right
by you.... I ain't forgettin' thet White Slides gave you a hard knock.
An' I was young once an' had hot blood."
The old rancher's wrathful pathos stirred the cowboy to a
straining-point of his unnatural, almost haughty composure. He seemed
about to break into violent utterance. Grief and horror and anger seemed
at the back of his trembling lips. The look he gave Belllounds was
assuredly a strange one, to come from a cowboy who was supposed to have
stolen his former employer's cattle. Whatever he might have replied was
cut off by the sudden appearance of Columbine.
"Dad, I heard you!" she cried, as she swept upon them, fearful and
wide-eyed. "What has Wilson Moore done--that you'll do right by him?"
"Collie, go back in the house," he ordered.
"No. There's something wrong here," she said, with mounting dread in the
swift glance she shot from man to man. "Oh! You're--Sheriff Burley!"
she gasped.
"I reckon I am, miss, an' if young Moore's a friend of yours I'm sorry I
came," replied Burley.
Wade himself reacted subtly and thrillingly to the presence of the girl.
She was alive, keen, strung, growing white, with darkening eyes of blue
fire, beginning to grasp intuitively the meaning here.
"My friend! He _was_ more than that--not long ago.... What has he done?
Why are you here?"
"Miss, I'm arrestin' him."
"Oh!... For what?"
"Rustlin' your father's cattle."
For a moment Columbine was speechless. Then she burst out, "Oh, there's
a terrible mistake!"
"Miss Columbine, I shore hope so," replied Burley, much embarrassed and
distressed. Like most men of his kind, he could not bear to hurt a
woman. "But it looks bad fer Moore.... See hyar! There! Look at the
tracks of his hoss--left front foot-shoe all crooked. Thet's his hoss's.
He acknowledges thet. An', see hyar. Look at the little circles an'
dots.... I found these 'way over at Gore Peak, with the tracks of the
stolen cattle. An' no _other_ tracks, Miss Columbine!"
"Who put you on that trail?" she asked, piercingly.
"Jack, hyar. He found it fust, an' rode to Kremmlin' fer me."
"Jack! Jack Belllounds!" she cried, bursting into wild and furious
laughter. Like a tigress she leaped at Jack as if to tear him to pieces.
"You put the sheriff on that trail! You accuse Wilson Moore of stealing
dad's cattle!"
"Yes, and I proved it," replied Jack, hoarsely.
"You! _You_ proved it? So that's your revenge?... But you're to reckon
with me, Jack Belllounds! You villain! You devil! You--" Suddenly she
shrank back with a strong shudder. She gasped. Her face grew ghastly
white. "_Oh, my God!_ ... horrible--unspeakable!"... She covered her
face with her hands, and every muscle of her seemed to contract until
she was stiff. Then her hands shot out to Moore.
"Wilson Moore, what have _you_ to say--to this sheriff--to Jack
Belllounds--to _me?_"
Moore bent upon her a gaze that must have pierced her soul, so like it
was to a lightning flash of love and meaning and eloquence.
"Collie, they've got the proof. I'll take my medicine.... Your dad is
good. He'll be easy on me!'
"_You lie!_" she whispered. "And I will tell why you lie!"
Moore did not show the shame and guilt that should have been natural
with his confession. But he showed an agony of distress. His hand sought
Wade and dragged at him.
It did not need this mute appeal to tell Wade that in another moment
Columbine would have flung the shameful truth into the face of Jack
Belllounds. She was rising to that. She was terrible and beautiful
to see.
"Collie," said Wade, with that voice he knew had strange power over her,
with a clasp of her outflung hand, "no more! This is a man's game. It's
not for a woman to judge. Not here! It's Wils's game--an' it's _mine_.
I'm his friend. Whatever his trouble or guilt, I take it on my
shoulders. An' it will be as if it were not!"
Moaning and wringing her hands, Columbine staggered with the burden of
the struggle in her.
"I'm quite--quite mad--or dreaming. Oh, Ben!" she cried.
"Brace up, Collie. It's sure hard. Wils, your friend and playmate so
many years--it's hard to believe! We all understand, Collie. Now you go
in, an' don't listen to any more or look any more."
He led her down the porch to the door of her room, and as he pushed it
open he whispered, "I will save you, Collie, an' Wils, an' the old man
you call dad!"
Then he returned to the silent group in the yard.
"Jim, if I answer fer Wils Moore bein' in Kremmlin' the day you say,
will you leave him with me?"
"Wal, I shore will, Wade," replied Burley, heartily.
"I object to that," interposed Jack Belllounds, stridently. "He
confessed. He's got to go to jail."
"Wal, my hot-tempered young fellar, thar ain't any jail nearer 'n
Denver. Did you know that?" returned Burley, with his dry, grim humor.
"Moore's under arrest. An' he'll be as well off hyar with Wade as with
me in Kremmlin', an' a damn sight happier."
The cowboy had mounted, and Wade walked beside him as he started
homeward. They had not progressed far when Wade's keen ears caught the
words, "Say, Belllounds, I got it figgered thet you an' your son don't
savvy this fellar Wade."
"Wal, I reckon not," replied the old rancher.
And his son let out a peal of laughter, bitter and scornful and
unsatisfied.