Part 46 (2/2)

Wade left the trail then, and, leading his horse to a covert of spruce, he sat down to rest and think. Was there any reason for following Belllounds farther? It did not seem needful to take the risk of being discovered. The forest above was open. No doubt Belllounds would drive the cattle somewhere and turn them over to his accomplices.

”Buster Jack's outbusted himself this time, sure,” soliloquized Wade.

”He's double-crossin' his rustler friends, same as he is Moore. For he's goin' to blame this cattle-stealin' onto Wils. An' to do that he's layin' his tracks so he can follow them, or so any good trailer can. It doesn't concern me so much now who're his pards in this deal. Reckon it's Smith an' some of his gang.”

Suddenly it dawned upon Wade that Jack Belllounds was stealing cattle from his father. ”Whew!” he whistled softly. ”Awful hard on the old man!

Who's to tell him when all this comes out? Aw, I'd hate to do it. I wouldn't. There's some things even I'd not tell.”

Straightway this strange aspect of the case confronted Wade and gripped his soul. He seemed to feel himself changing inwardly, as if a gray, gloomy, sodden hand, as intangible as a ghostly dream, had taken him bodily from himself and was now leading him into shadows, into drear, lonely, dark solitude, where all was cold and bleak; and on and on over naked s.h.i.+ngles that marked the world of tragedy. Here he must tell his tale, and as he plodded on his relentless leader forced him to tell his tale anew.

Wade recognized this as his black mood. It was a morbid dominance of the mind. He fought it as he would have fought a devil. And mastery still was his. But his brow was clammy and his heart was leaden when he had wrested that somber, mystic control from his will.

”Reckon I'd do well to take up this trail to-morrow an' see where it leads,” he said, and as a gloomy man, burdened with thought, he retraced his way down the long slope, and over the benches, to the gra.s.sy slopes and aspen groves, and thus to the sage hills.

It was dark when he reached the cabin, and Moore had supper almost ready.

”Well, old-timer, you look f.a.gged out,” called out the cowboy, cheerily.

”Throw off your boots, wash up, and come and get it!”

”Pard Wils, I'm not reboundin' as natural as I'd like. I reckon I've lived some years before I got here, an' a lifetime since.”

”Wade, you have a queer look, lately,” observed Moore, shaking his head solemnly. ”Why, I've seen a dying man look just like you--now--round the mouth--but most in the eyes!”

”Maybe the end of the long trail is White Slides Ranch,” replied Wade, sadly and dreamily, as if to himself.

”If Collie heard you say that!” exclaimed Moore, in anxious concern.

”Collie an' you will hear me say a lot before long,” returned Wade.

”But, as it's calculated to make you happy--why, all's well. I'm tired an' hungry.”

Wade did not choose to sit round the fire that night, fearing to invite interrogation from his anxious friend, and for that matter from his other inquisitively morbid self.

Next morning, though Wade felt rested, and the sky was blue and full of fleecy clouds, and the melody of birds charmed his ear, and over all the June air seemed thick and beating with the invisible spirit he loved, he sensed the oppression, the nameless something that presaged catastrophe.

Therefore, when he looked out of the door to see Columbine swiftly riding up the trail, her fair hair flying and s.h.i.+ning in the sunlight, he merely e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, ”Ahuh!”

”What's that?” queried Moore, sharp to catch the inflection.

”Look out,” replied Wade, as he began to fill his pipe.

”Heavens! It's Collie! Look at her riding! Uphill, too!”

Wade followed him outdoors. Columbine was not long in arriving at the cabin, and she threw the bridle and swung off in the same motion, landing with a light thud. Then she faced them, pale, resolute, stern, all the sweetness gone to bitter strength--another and a strange Columbine.

”I've not slept a wink!” she said. ”And I came as soon as I could get away.”

Moore had no word for her, not even a greeting. The look of her had stricken him. It could have only one meaning.

”Mornin', la.s.s,” said the hunter, and he took her hand. ”I couldn't tell you looked sleepy, for all you said. Let's go into the cabin.”

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