“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'dnever 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?”
“Ifshe 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—youcan'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.