“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 killyou! ” 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.