Jack Belllounds came riding down the valley trail. His horse was in a
lather of sweat. Both hair and blood showed on the long spurs this son
of a great pioneer used in his pleasure rides. He had never loved
a horse.
At a point where the trail met the brook there were thick willow
patches, with open, grassy spots between. As Belllounds reached this
place a man stepped out of the willows and laid hold of the bridle. The
horse shied and tried to plunge, but an iron arm held him.
"Get down, Buster," ordered the man.
It was Wade.
Belllounds had given as sharp a start as his horse. He was sober, though
the heated red tinge of his face gave indication of a recent use of the
bottle. That color quickly receded. Events of the last month had left
traces of the hardening and lowering of Jack Belllounds's nature.
"Wha-at?... Let go of that bridle!" he ejaculated.
Wade held it fast, while he gazed up into the prominent eyes, where fear
shone and struggled with intolerance and arrogance and quickening gleams
of thought.
"You an' I have somethin' to talk over," said the hunter.
Belllounds shrank from the low, cold, even voice, that evidently
reminded him of the last time he had heard it.
"No, we haven't," he declared, quickly. He seemed to gather assurance
with his spoken thought, and conscious fear left him. "Wade, you took
advantage of me that day--when you made me swear things. I've changed my
mind.... And as for that deal with the rustlers, I've got my story. It's
as good as yours. I've been waiting for you to tell my father. You've
got some reason for not telling him. I've a hunch it's Collie. I'm on to
you, and I've got my nerve back. You can gamble I--"
He had grown excited when Wade interrupted him.
"Will you get off that horse?"
"No, I won't," replied Belllounds, bluntly.
With swift and powerful lunge Wade pulled Belllounds down, sliding him
shoulders first into the grass. The released horse shied again and moved
away. Buster Jack raised himself upon his elbow, pale with rage and
alarm. Wade kicked him, not with any particular violence.
"Get up!" he ordered.
The kick had brought out the rage in Belllounds at the expense of the
amaze and alarm.
"Did you kick _me?_" he shouted.
"Buster, I was only handin' you a bunch of flowers--some columbines, as
your taste runs," replied Wade, contemptuously.
"I'll--I'll--" returned Buster Jack, wildly, bursting for expression.
His hand went to his gun.
"Go ahead, Buster. Throw your gun on me. That'll save maybe a hell of a
lot of talk."
It was then Jack Belllounds's face turned livid. Comprehension had
dawned upon him.
"You--you want me to fight you?" he queried, in hoarse accents.
"I reckon that's what I meant."
No affront, no insult, no blow could have affected Buster Jack as that
sudden knowledge.
"Why--why--you're crazy! Me fight you--a gunman," he stammered. "No--no.
It wouldn't be fair. Not an even break!... No, I'd have no chance
on earth!"
"I'll give you first shot," went on Wade, in his strange, monotonous
voice.
"Bah! You're lying to me," replied Belllounds, with pale grimace. "You
just want me to get a gun in my hand--then you'll drop me, and claim an
even break."
"No. I'm square. You saw me play square with your rustler pard. He was a
lifelong enemy of mine. An' a gun-fighter to boot!... Pull your gun an'
let drive. I'll take my chances."
Buster Jack's eyes dilated. He gasped huskily. He pulled his gun, but
actually did not have strength or courage enough to raise it. His arm
shook so that the gun rattled against his chaps.
"No nerve, hey? Not half a man!... Buster Jack, why don't you finish
game? Make up for your low-down tricks. At the last try to be worthy of
your dad. In his day he was a real man.... Let him have the consolation
that you faced Hell-Bent Wade an' died in your boots!"
"I--can't--fight you!" panted Belllounds. "I know now!... I saw you
throw a gun! It wouldn't be fair!"
"But I'll make you fight me," returned Wade, in steely tones. "I'm
givin' you a chance to dig up a little manhood. Askin' you to meet me
man to man! Handin' you a little the best of it to make the odds
even!... Once more, will you be game?"
"Wade, I'll not fight--I'm going--" replied Belllounds, and he moved as
if to turn.
"Halt!..." Wade leaped at the white Belllounds. "If you run I'll break a
leg for you--an' then I'll beat your miserable brains out!... Have you
no sense? Can't you recognize what's comin'?... _I'm goin' to kill you,
Buster Jack!_"
"My God!" whispered the other, understanding fully at last.
"Here's where you pay for your dirty work. The time comes to every man.
You've a choice, not to live--for you'll never get away from Hell-Bent
Wade--but to rise above yourself at last."
"But what for? Why do you want to kill me? I never harmed you."
"Columbine is my daughter!" replied the hunter.
"Ah!" breathed Belllounds.
"She loves Wils Moore, who's as white a man as you are black."
Across the pallid, convulsed face of Belllounds spread a slow, dull
crimson.
"Aha, Buster Jack! I struck home there," flashed Wade, his voice rising.
"That gives your eyes the ugly look.... I hate them lyin', bulgin' eyes
of yours. An' when my time comes to shoot I'm goin' to put them
both out."
"By Heaven! Wade, you'll have to kill me if you ever expect that
club-foot Moore to get Collie!"
"He'll get her," replied Wade, triumphantly. "Collie's with him now. I
sent her. I told her to tell Wils how you tried to force her--"
Belllounds began to shake all over. A torture of jealous hate and deadly
terror convulsed him.
"Buster, did you ever think you'd get her kisses--as Wils's gettin'
right now?" queried the hunter. "Good Lord! the conceit of some men!...
Why, you poor, weak-minded, cowardly pet of a blinded old man--you
conceited ass--you selfish an' spoiled boy!... Collie never had any use
for you. An' now she hates you."
"It was you who made her!" yelled Belllounds, foaming at the mouth.
"Sure," went on the deliberate voice, ringing with scorn. "An' only a
little while ago she called you a dog.... I reckon she meant a different
kind of a dog than the hounds over there. For to say they were like you
would be an insult to them.... Sure she hates you, an' I'll gamble right
now she's got her arms around Wils's neck!"
"----!" hissed Belllounds.
"Well, you've got a gun in your hand," went on the taunting voice.
"Ahuh!... Have it your way. I'm warmin' up now, an' I'd like to tell
you ..."
"Shut up!" interrupted the other, frantically. The blood in him was
rising to a fever heat. But fear still clamped him. He could not raise
the gun and he seemed in agony.
"Your father knows you're a thief," declared Wade, with remorseless,
deliberate intent. "I told him how I watched you--trailed you--an'
learned the plot you hatched against Wils Moore.... Buster Jack busted
himself at last, stealin' his own father's cattle.... I've seen some
ragin' men in my day, but Old Bill had them beaten. You've disgraced
him--broken his heart--embittered the end of his life.... An' he'd mean
for you what I mean now!"
"He'd never--harm me!" gasped Buster Jack, shuddering.
"He'd kill you--you white-livered pup!" cried Wade, with terrible force.
"Kill you before he'd let you go to worse dishonor!... An' I'm goin' to
save him stainin' his hands."
"I'll kill _you!_" burst out Belllounds, ending in a shriek. But this
was not the temper that always produced heedless action in him. It was
hate. He could not raise the gun. His intelligence still dominated his
will. Yet fury had mitigated his terror.
"You'll be doin' me a service, Buster.... But you're mighty slow at
startin'. I reckon I'll have to play my last trump to make you fight.
Oh, by God! I can tell you!... Belllounds, there're dead men callin' me
now. Callin' me not to murder you in cold blood! I killed one man
once--a man who wouldn't fight--an innocent man! I killed him with my
bare hands, an' if I tell you my story--an' how I killed him--an' that
I'll do the same for you.... You'll save me that, Buster. No man with a
gun in his hands could face what he knew.... But save me more. Save me
the tellin'!"
"No! No! I won't listen!"
"Maybe I won't have to," replied Wade, mournfully. He paused, breathing
heavily. The sober calm was gone.
Belllounds lowered the half-raised gun, instantly answering to the
strange break in Wade's strained dominance.
"Don't tell me--any more! I'll not listen!... I won't fight! Wade,
you're crazy! Let me off an' I swear--"
"Buster, I told Collie you were three years in jail!" suddenly
interrupted Wade.
A mortal blow dealt Belllounds would not have caused such a shock of
amaze, of torture. The secret of the punishment meted out to him by his
father! The hideous thing which, instead of reforming, had ruined him!
All of hell was expressed in his burning eyes.
"Ahuh!... I've known it long!" cried Wade, tragically. "Buster Jack,
you're the man who must hear my story.... _I'll tell you_...."
* * * * *
In the aspen grove up the slope of Sage Valley Columbine and Wilson were
sitting on a log. Whatever had been their discourse, it had left Moore
with head bowed in his hands, and with Columbine staring with sad eyes
that did not see what they looked at. Columbine's mind then seemed a
dull blank. Suddenly she started.
"Wils!" she cried. "Did you hear--anything?"
"No," he replied, wearily raising his head.
"I thought I heard a shot," said Columbine. "It--it sort of made me
jump. I'm nervous."
Scarcely had she finished speaking when two clear, deep detonations rang
out. Gun-shots!
"There!... Oh, Wils! Did you hear?"
"Hear!" whispered Moore. He grew singularly white. "Yes--yes!...
Collie--"
"Wils," she interrupted, wildly, as she began to shake. "Just a little
bit ago--I saw Jack riding down the trail!"
"Collie!... Those two shots came from Wade's guns I'd know it among a
thousand!... Are you sure you heard a shot before?"
"Oh, something dreadful has happened! Yes, I'm sure. Perfectly sure. A
shot not so loud or heavy."
"My God!" exclaimed Moore, staring aghast at Columbine.
"Maybe that's what Wade meant. I never saw through him."
"Tell me. Oh, I don't understand!" wailed Columbine, wringing her hands.
Moore did not explain what he meant. For a crippled man, he made quick
time in getting to his horse and mounting.
"Collie, I'll ride down there. I'm afraid something has happened.... I
never understood him!... I forgot he was Hell-Bent Wade! If there's been
a--a fight or any trouble--I'll ride back and meet you."
Then he rode down the trail.
Columbine had come without her horse, and she started homeward on foot.
Her steps dragged. She knew something dreadful had happened. Her heart
beat slowly and painfully; there was an oppression upon her breast; her
brain whirled with contending tides of thought. She remembered Wade's
face. How blind she had been! It exhausted her to walk, though she went
so slowly. There seemed to be a chill and a darkening in the atmosphere,
an unreality in the familiar slopes and groves, a strangeness and shadow
upon White Slides Valley.
Moore did not return to meet her. His white horse grazed in the pasture
opposite the first clump of willows, where Sage Valley merged into the
larger valley. Then she saw other horses, among them Lem Billings's bay
mustang. Columbine faltered on, when suddenly she recognized the horse
Jack had ridden--a sorrel, spent and foam-covered, standing saddled,
with bridle down and riderless--then certainty of something awful
clamped her with horror. Men's husky voices reached her throbbing ears.
Some one was running. Footsteps thudded and died away. Then she saw Lem
Billings come out of the willows, look her way, and hurry toward her.
His awkward, cowboy gait seemed too slow for his earnestness. Columbine
felt the piercing gaze of his eyes as her own became dim.
"Miss Collie, thar's been--turrible fight!" he panted.
"Oh, Lem!... I know. It was Ben--and Jack," she cried.
"Shore. Your hunch's correct. An' it couldn't be no wuss!"
Columbine tried to see his face, the meaning that must have accompanied
his hoarse voice; but she seemed going blind.
"Then--then--" she whispered, reaching out for Lem.
"Hyar, Miss Collie," he said, in great concern, as he took kind and
gentle hold of her. "Reckon you'd better wait. Let me take you home."
"Yes. But tell--tell me first," she cried, frantically. She could not
bear suspense, and she felt her senses slipping away from her.
"My Gawd! who'd ever have thought such hell would come to White Slides!"
exclaimed Lem, with strong emotion. "Miss Collie, I'm powerful sorry fer
you. But mebbe it's best so.... They're both dead!... Wade just died
with his head on Wils's lap. But Jack never knowed what hit him. He was
shot plumb center--both his eyes shot out!... Wade was shot low down....
Montana an' me agreed thet Jack throwed his gun first an' Wade killed
him after bein' mortal shot himself."
* * * * *
Late that afternoon, as Columbine lay upon her bed, the strange
stillness of the house was disturbed by a heavy tread. It passed out of
the living-room and came down the porch toward her door. Then followed
a knock.
"Dad!" she called, swiftly rising.
Belllounds entered, leaving the door ajar. The sunlight streamed in.
"Wal, Collie, I see you're bracin' up," he said.
"Oh yes, dad, I'm--I'm all right," she replied, eager to help or comfort
him.
The old rancher seemed different from the man of the past months. The
pallor of a great shock, the havoc of spent passion, the agony of
terrible hours, showed in his face. But Old Bill Belllounds had come
into his own again--back to the calm, iron pioneer who had lived all
events, over whom storm of years had broken, whose great spirit had
accepted this crowning catastrophe as it had all the others, who saw his
own life clearly, now that its bitterest lesson was told.
"Are you strong enough to bear another shock, my lass, an' bear it
now--so to make an end--so to-morrer we can begin anew?" he asked, with
the voice she had not heard for many a day. It was the voice that told
of consideration for her.
"Yes, dad," she replied, going to him.
"Wal, come with me. I want you to see Wade."
He led her out upon the porch, and thence into the living-room, and from
there into the room where lay the two dead men, one on each side.
Blankets covered the prone, quiet forms.
Columbine had meant to beg to see Wade once before he was laid away
forever. She dreaded the ordeal, yet strangely longed for it. And here
she was self-contained, ready for some nameless shock and uplift, which
she divined was coming as she had divined the change in Belllounds.
Then he stripped back the blanket, disclosing Wade's face. Columbine
thrilled to the core of her heart. Death was there, white and cold and
merciless, but as it had released the tragic soul, the instant of
deliverance had been stamped on the rugged, cadaverous visage, by a
beautiful light; not of peace, nor of joy, nor of grief, but of hope!
Hope had been the last emotion of Hell-Bent Wade.
"Collie, listen," said the old rancher, in deep and trembling tones.
"When a man's dead, what he's been comes to us with startlin' truth.
Wade was the whitest man I ever knew. He had a queer idee--a twist in
his mind--an' it was thet his steps were bent toward hell. He imagined
thet everywhere he traveled there he fetched hell. But he was wrong. His
own trouble led him to the trouble of others. He saw through life. An'
he was as big in his hope fer the good as he was terrible in his dealin'
with the bad. I never saw his like.... He loved you, Collie, better
than you ever knew. Better than Jack, or Wils, or me! You know what the
Bible says about him who gives his life fer his friend. Wal, Wade was my
friend, an' Jack's, only we never could see!... An' he was Wils's
friend. An' to you he must have been more than words can tell.... We all
know what child's play it would have been fer Wade to kill Jack without
bein' hurt himself. But he wouldn't do it. So he spared me an' Jack, an'
I reckon himself. Somehow he made Jack fight an' die like a man. God
only knows how he did that. But it saved me from--from hell--an' you an'
Wils from misery.... Wade could have taken you from me an' Jack. He had
only to tell you his secret, an' he wouldn't. He saw how you loved me,
as if you were my real child.... But. Collie, lass, it was _he_ who was
your father!"
With bursting heart Columbine fell upon her knees beside that cold,
still form.
Belllounds softly left the room and closed the door behind him.