ank. His gaze was fixed on her face, with its
telltale evidences of agitation.

"What've you been crying about?" he demanded.

"I haven't been," she retorted.

His bold and glaring eyes, hot with sudden temper, passed slowly from
her to the cowboy. Columbine became aware then that Jack was under the
influence of liquor. His heated red face grew darker with a
sneering contempt.

"Where's dad?" he asked, wheeling toward her.

"I don't know. He's not here," replied Columbine, dismounting. The leap
of thought and blood to Jack's face gave her a further sinking of the
heart. The situation unnerved her.

Wilson Moore had grown a shade paler. He gathered up his reins, ready to
drive off.

"Belllounds, I came up after my things I'd left in the bunk," he said,
coolly. "Happened to meet Columbine and stopped to chat a minute."

"That's what _you_ say," sneered Belllounds. "You were making love to
Columbine. I saw that in her face. You know it--and she knows it--and I
know it.... You're a liar!"

"Belllounds, I reckon I am," replied Moore, turning white. "I did tell
Columbine what I thought she knew--what I ought to have told long ago."

"Ahuh! Well, I don't want to hear it. But I'm going to search that
wagon."

"What!" ejaculated the cowboy, dropping his reins as if they stung him.

"You just hold on till I see what you've got in there," went on
Belllounds, and he reached over into the wagon and pulled at a saddle.

"Say, do you mean anything?... This stuff's mine, every strap of it.
Take your hands off."

Belllounds leaned on the wagon and looked up with insolent, dark intent.

"Moore, I wouldn't trust you. I think you'd steal anything you got your
hands on."

Columbine uttered a passionate little cry of shame and protest.

"Jack, how dare you!"

"You shut up! Go in the house!" he ordered.

"You insult me," she replied, in bitter humiliation.

"Will you go in?" he shouted.

"No, I won't."

"All right, look on, then. I'd just as lief have you." Then he turned to
the cowboy. "Moore, show up that wagon-load of stuff unless you want me
to throw it out in the road."

"Belllounds, you know I can't do that," replied Moore, coldly. "And I'll
give you a hunch. You'd better shut up yourself and let me drive on....
If not for her sake, then for your own."

Belllounds grasped the reins, and with a sudden jerk pulled them out of
the cowboy's hands.

"You damn club-foot! Your gift of gab doesn't go with me," y