situations seemed
to have been encroached upon by a break, a bewilderment, a lessening of
confidence.

"Wal, are you lyin'?" he repeated, either blind to or unaware of her
distress.

"I could not--lie to you," she faltered, "even--if--I wanted to."

The heavy, shadowed gaze of his big eyes was bent upon her as if she had
become a new and perplexing problem.

"But you seen Moore?"

"Yes--sir." Columbine's spirit rose.

"An' talked with him?"

"Of course."

"Lass, I ain't likin' thet, an' I ain't likin' the way you look an'
speak."

"I am sorry. I can't help either."

"What'd this cowboy say to you?"

"We talked mostly about his injured foot."

"An' what else?" went on Belllounds, his voice rising.

"About--what he meant to do now."

"Ahuh! An' thet's homesteadin' the Sage Creek Valley?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you want him to do thet?"

"I! Indeed I didn't."

"Columbine, not so long ago you told me this fellar wasn't sweet on you.
An' do you still say that to me--are you still insistin' he ain't in
love with you?"

"He never said so--I never believed it ... and now I'm sure--he isn't!"

"Ahuh! Wal, thet same day you was jest as sure you didn't care anythin'
particular fer him. Are you thet sure now?"

"No!" whispered Columbine, very low. She trembled with a suggestion of
unknown forces. Not to save a new and growing pride would she evade any
question from this man upon whom she had no claim, to whom she owed her
life and her bringing up. But something cold formed in her.

Belllounds, self-centered and serious as he strangely was, seemed to
check his probing, either from fear of hearing more from her or from an
awakening of former kindness. But her reply was a shock to him, and,
throwing down his pencil with the gesture of a man upon whom decision
was forced, he rose to tower over her.

"You've been like a daughter to me. I've done all I knowed how fer you.
I've lived up to the best of my lights. An' I've loved you," he said,
sonorously and pathetically. "You know what my hopes are--fer the
boy--an' fer you.... We needn't waste any more talk. From this minnit
you're free to do as you like. Whatever you do won't make any change in
my carin' fer you.... But you gotta decide. Will you marry Jack or not?"

"I promised you--I would. I'll keep my word," replied Columbine,
steadily.

"So far so good," went on the rancher. "I'm respectin' you fer what you
say.... An' now, _when_ will you marry him?"