made 'most as big a one as yours--so help me God!..."

"I'll tell you--" interrupted Wade.

"You needn't tell me anythin'," said Belllounds, interrupting in his
turn. "But at thet some time I'd like to hear about the Lascelles outfit
over on the Gunnison. I knowed Lascelles. An' a pardner of mine down in
Middle Park came back from the Gunnison with the dog-gondest story I
ever heerd. Thet was five years ago this summer. Of course I knowed your
name long before, but this time I heerd it powerful strong. You got in
thet mix-up to your neck.... Wal, what consarns me now is this. Is there
any sense in the talk thet wherever you land there's hell to pay?"

"Belllounds, there's no sense in it, but a lot of truth," confessed
Wade, gloomily.

"Ahuh!... Wal, Hell-Bent Wade, I'll take a chance on you," boomed the
rancher's deep voice, rich with the intent of his big heart. "I've
gambled all my life. An' the best friends I ever made were men I'd
helped.... What wages do you ask?"

"I'll take what you offer."

"I'm payin' the boys forty a month, but thet's not enough fer you."

"Yes, that'll do."

"Good, it's settled," concluded Belllounds, rising. Then he saw his son
standing inside the door. "Say, Jack, shake hands with Bent Wade, hunter
an' all-around man. Wade, this's my boy. I've jest put him on as foreman
of the outfit, an' while I'm at it I'll say thet you'll take orders from
me an' not from him."

Wade looked up into the face of Jack Belllounds, returned his brief
greeting, and shook his limp hand. The contact sent a strange chill over
Wade. Young Belllounds's face was marred by a bruise and shaded by a
sullen light.

"Get Billin's to take you out to thet new cabin an' sheds I jest had put
up," said the rancher. "You'll bunk in the cabin.... Aw, I know. Men
like you sleep in the open. But you can't do thet under Old White Slides
in winter. Not much! Make yourself to home, an' I'll walk out after a
bit an' we'll look over the dog outfit. When you see thet outfit you'll
holler fer help."

Wade bowed his thanks, and, putting on his sombrero, he turned away. As
he did so he caught a sound of light, quick footsteps on the far end of
the porch.

"Hello, you-all!" cried a girl's voice, with melody in it that vibrated
piercingly upon Wade's sensitive ears.

"Mornin', Columbine," replied the rancher.

Bent Wade's heart leaped up. This girlish voice rang upon the chord of
memory. Wade had not the strength to look a