Part 32 (2/2)
those that cost the most sweat an' blood.”
As Wade warmed to his subject, hoping to sow a good seed in Belllounds's mind, he saw that he was wasting his earnestness. Belllounds did not keep to the train of thought. His mind wandered, and now he was examining Wade's rifle.
”Old Henry forty-four,” he said. ”Dad has one. Also an old needle-gun.
Say, can I go hunting with you?”
”Glad to have you. How do you handle a rifle?”
”I used to shoot pretty well before I went to Denver,” he replied.
”Haven't tried since I've been home.... Suppose you let me take a shot at that post?” And from where he stood in the door he pointed to a big hitching-post near the corral gate.
The corral contained horses, and in the pasture beyond were cattle, any of which might be endangered by such a shot. Wade saw that the young man was in earnest, that he wanted to respond to the suggestion in his mind.
Consequences of any kind did not awaken after the suggestion.
”Sure. Go ahead. Shoot low, now, a little below where you want to hit,”
said Wade.
Belllounds took aim and fired. A thundering report shook the cabin. Dust and splinters flew from the post.
”I hit it!” he exclaimed, in delight. ”I was sure I wouldn't, because I aimed 'way under.”
”Reckon you did. It was a good shot.”
Then a door slammed and Old Bill Belllounds appeared, his hair upstanding, his look and gait proclaiming him on the rampage.
”Jack! What'n h.e.l.l are you doin'?” he roared, and he stamped up to the door to see his son standing there with the rifle in his hands. ”By Heaven! If it ain't one thing it's another!”
”Boss, don't jump over the traces,” said Wade. ”I'll allow if I'd known the gun would let out a bellar like that I'd not have told Jack to shoot. Reckon it's because we're under the open roof that it made the racket. I'm wantin' to clean the gun while it's hot.”
”Ahuh! Wal, I was scared fust, harkin' back to Indian days, an' then I was mad because I figgered Jack was up to mischief.... Did you fetch in the meat?”
”You bet. An' I'd like a piece for myself,” replied Wade.
”Help yourself, man. An' say, come down an' eat with us fer supper.”
”Much obliged, boss. I sure will.”
Then the old rancher trudged back to the house.
”Wade, it was bully of you!” exclaimed Jack, gratefully. ”You see how quick dad's ready to jump me? I'll bet he thought I'd picked a shooting-sc.r.a.pe with one of the cowboys.”
”Well, he's gettin' old an' testy,” replied Wade. ”You ought to humor him. He'll not be here always.”
Belllounds answered to that suggestion with a shadowing of eyes and look of realization, affection, remorse. Feelings seemed to have a quick rise and play in him, but were not lasting. Wade casually studied him, weighing his impressions, holding them in abeyance for a sum of judgment.
”Belllounds, has anybody told you about Wils Moore bein' bad hurt?”
abruptly asked the hunter.
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