elled
Belllounds, as he swung up on the hub of the wheel. But it was manifest
that his desire to search the wagon was only a pretense, for while he
pulled at this and that his evil gaze was on the cowboy, keen to meet
any move that might give excuse for violence. Moore evidently read this,
for, gazing at Columbine, he shook his head, as if to acquaint her with
a situation impossible to help.

"Columbine, please hand me up the reins," he said. "I'm lame, you know.
Then I'll be going."

Columbine stepped forward to comply, when Belllounds, leaping down from
the wheel, pushed her hack with masterful hand. Opposition to him was
like waving a red flag in the face of a bull. Columbine recoiled from
his look as well as touch.

"You keep out of this or I'll teach you who's boss here," he said,
stridently.

"You're going too far!" burst out Columbine.

Meanwhile Wilson had laboriously climbed down out of the wagon, and,
utilizing his crutch, he hobbled to where Belllounds had thrown the
reins, and stooped to pick them up. Belllounds shoved Columbine farther
back, and then he leaped to confront the cowboy.

"I've got you now, Moore," he said, hoarse and low. Stripped of all
pretense, he showed the ungovernable nature of his temper. His face grew
corded and black. The hand he thrust out shook like a leaf. "You
smooth-tongued liar! I'm on to your game. I know you'd put her against
me. I know you'd try to win her--less than a week before her
wedding-day.... But it's not for that I'm going to beat hell out of you!
It's because I hate you! Ever since I can remember my father held you up
to me! And he sent me to--to--he sent me away because of you. By God!
that's why I hate you!"

All that was primitive and violent and base came out with strange
frankness in Belllounds's tirade. Only when calm could his mind be
capable of hidden calculation. The devil that was in him now
seemed rampant.

"Belllounds, you're mighty brave to stack up this way against a
one-legged man," declared the cowboy, with biting sarcasm.

"If you had two club-feet I'd only be the gladder," yelled Belllounds,
and swinging his arm, he slapped Moore so that it nearly toppled him
over. Only the injured foot, coming down hard, saved him.

When Columbine saw that, and then how Wilson winced and grew deathly
pale, she uttered a low cry, and she seemed suddenly rooted to the spot,
weak, terrified at what was now inevitable, and growing sick and cold
and faint