For Wade, the cloud on his horizon spread and darkened, gathered sinister shape of storm, harboring lightning and havoc. It was the cloud in his mind, the foreshadowing of his soul, the prophetic sense of like to like. Where he wandered there the blight fell!
* * * * *
Significant was the fact that Belllounds hired new men. Bludsoe had quit. Montana Jim grew surly these days and packed a gun. Lem Billings had threatened to leave. New and strange hands for Jack Belllounds to direct had a tendency to release a strain and tide things over.
Every time the old rancher saw Wade he rolled his eyes and wagged his head, as if combating superstition with an intelligent sense of justice. Wade knew what troubled Belllounds, and it strengthened the gloomy mood that, like a poison lichen, seemed finding root.
Every day Wade visited his friend Wilson Moore, and most of their conversation centered round that which had become a ruling passion for both. But the time came when Wade deviated from his gentleness of speech and leisure of action.
“Bent, you're not like you were,” said Moore, once, in surprise at the discovery. “You're losing hope and confidence.”
“No. I've only somethin' on my mind.”
“What?”
“I reckon I'm not goin' to tell you now.”
“You've gothell on your mind!” flashed the cowboy, in grim inspiration.
Wade ignored the insinuation and turned the conversation to another subject.
“Wils, you're buyin' stock right along?”
“Sure am. I saved some money, you know. And what's the use to hoard it? I'll buy cheap. In five years I'll have five hundred, maybe a thousand head. Wade, my old dad will be pleased to find out I've made the start I have.”
“Well, it's a fine start, I'll allow. Have you picked up any unbranded stock?”
“Sure I have. Say, pard, are you worrying about this two-bit rustler work that's been going on?”
“Wils, it ain't two bits any more. I reckon it's gettin' into the four-bit class.”
“I've been careful to have my business transactions all in writing,” said Moore. “It makes these fellows sore, because some of them can't write. And they're not used to it. But I'm starting this game in my own way.”
“Have you sold any stock?”
“Not yet. But the Andrews boys are driving some thirty-odd head to Kremmling for me to be sold.”
“Ahuh! Well, I'll be goin',” Wade replied, and it was significant of his state of mind that he left his young friend sorely puzzled. Not that Wade did not see Moore's anxiety! But the drift of events at White Slides had passed beyond the stage where sympathetic and inspiring hope might serve Wade's purpose. Besides, his mood was gradually changing as these events, like many fibers of a web, gradually closed in toward a culminating knot.
That night Wade lounged with the cowboys and new hands in front of the little storehouse where Belllounds kept supplies for all. He had lounged there before in the expectation of seeing the rancher's son. And this time anticipation was verified. Jack Belllounds swaggered over from the ranch-house. He met civility and obedience now where formerly he had earned but ridicule and opposition. So long as he worked hard himself the cowboys endured. The subtle change in him seemed of sterner stuff. The talk, as usual, centered round the stock subjects and the banter and gossip of ranch-hands. Wade selected an interval when there was a lull in the conversation, and with eyes that burned under the shadow of his broad-brimmed sombrero he watched the son of Belllounds.
“Say, boys, Wils Moore has begun sellin' cattle,” remarked Wade, casually. “The Andrews brothers are drivin' for him.”
“Wal, so Wils's spread-eaglin' into a real rancher!” ejaculated Lem Billings. “Mighty glad to hear it. Thet boy shore will git rich.”
Wade's remark incited no further expressions of interest. But it was Jack Belllounds's secret mind that Wade wished to pierce. He saw the leaping of a thought that was neither interest nor indifference nor contempt, but a creative thing which lent a fleeting flash to the face, a slight shock to the body. Then Jack Belllounds bent his head, lounged there for a little while longer, lost in absorption, and presently he strolled away.
Whatever that mounting thought of Jack Belllounds's was it brought instant decision to Wade. He went to the ranch-house and knocked upon the living-room door. There was a light within, sending rays out through the windows into the semi-darkness. Columbine opened the door and admitted Wade. A bright fire crackled in the hearth. Wade flashed a reassuring look at Columbine.
“Evenin', Miss Collie. Is your dad in?”
“Oh, it's you, Ben!” she replied, after her start. “Yes, dad's here.”
The old rancher looked up from his reading. “Howdy, Wade! What can I do fer you?”
“Belllounds, I've cleaned out the cats an' most of the varmints on your range. An' my work, lately, has been all sorts, not leavin' me any time for little jobs of my own. An' I want to quit.”
“Wade, you've clashed with Jack!” exclaimed the rancher, jerking erect.
“Nothin' of the kind. Jack an' me haven't had words a good while. I'm not denyin' we might, an' probably would clash sooner or later. But that's not my reason for quittin'.”
Manifestly this put an entirely different complexion upon the matter. Belllounds appeared immensely relieved.
“Wal, all right. I'll pay you at the end of the month. Let's see, thet's not long now. You can lay off to-morrow.”
Wade thanked him and waited for further remarks. Columbine had fixed big, questioning eyes upon Wade, which he found hard to endure. Again he tried to flash her a message of reassurance. But Columbine did not lose her look of blank wonder and gravity.
“Ben! Oh, you're not going to leave White Slides?” she asked.
“Reckon I'll hang around yet awhile,” he replied.
Belllounds was wagging his head regretfully and ponderingly.
“Wal, I remember the day when no man quit me. Wal, wal!—times change. I'm an old man now. Mebbe, mebbe I'm testy. An' then thar's thet boy!”
With a shrug of his broad shoulders he dismissed what seemed an encroachment of pessimistic thought.
“Wade, you're packin' off, then, on the trail? Always on the go, eh?”
“No, I'm not hurryin' off,” replied Wade.
“Wal, might I ask what you're figgerin' on?”
“Sure. I'm considerin' a cattle deal with Moore. He's a pretty keen boy an' his father has big ranchin' interests. I've saved a little money an' I'm no spring chicken any more. Wils has begun to buy an' sell stock, so I reckon I'll go in with him.”
“Ahuh!” Belllounds gave a grunt of comprehension. He frowned, and his big eyes set seriously upon the blazing fire. He grasped complications in this information.
“Wal, it's a free country,” he said at length, and evidently his personal anxieties were subjected to his sense of justice. “Owin' to the peculiar circumstances hyar at my range, I'd prefer thet Moore an' you began somewhar else. Thet's natural. But you've my good will to start on an' I hope I've yours.”