It was battered and bruised and cut, and in some places, as
fast as Wade washed away the red, it welled out again.

Columbine watched that quiet face, while her heart throbbed and swelled
with emotions wholly beyond her control and understanding. When at last
Wilson opened his eyes, fluttering at first, and then wide, she felt a
surge that shook her whole body. He smiled wanly at her, and at Wade,
and then his gaze lifted to Belllounds.

"I guess--he licked me," he said, in weak voice. "He kept kicking my
sore foot--till I fainted. But he licked me--all right."

"Wils, mebbe he did lick you," replied the old rancher, brokenly, "but
I reckon he's damn little to be proud of--lickin' a crippled
man--thet way."

"Boss, Jack'd been drinking," said Moore, weakly. "And he sure had--some
excuse for going off his head. He caught me--talking sweet to
Columbine ... and then--I called him all the names--I could lay my
tongue to."

"Ahuh!" The old man seemed at a loss for words, and presently he turned
away, sagging in the shoulders, and plodded into the house.

The cowboy, supported by Wade on one side, with Columbine on the other,
was helped to an upright position, and with considerable difficulty was
gotten into the wagon. He tried to sit up, but made a sorry showing
of it.

"I'll drive him home an' look after him," said Wade. "Now, Miss Collie,
you're upset, which ain't no wonder. But now you brace. It might have
been worse. Just you go to your room till you're sure of
yourself again."

Moore smiled another wan smile at her. "I'm sorry," he said.

"What for? Me?" she asked.

"I mean I'm sorry I was so infernal unlucky--running into you--and
bringing all this distress--to you. It was my fault. If I'd only
kept--my mouth shut!"

"You need not be sorry you met me," she said, with her eyes straight
upon his. "I'm glad.... But oh! if your foot is badly hurt I'll
never--never--'

"Don't say it," interrupted Wilson.

"Lass, you're bent on doin' somethin'," said Wade, in his gentle voice.

"Bent?" she echoed, with something deep and rich in her voice. "Yes, I'm
bent--_bent_ like your name--to speak my mind!"

Then she ran toward the house and up on the porch, to enter the
living-room with heaving breast and flashing eyes. Manifestly the
rancher was berating his son. The former gaped at sight of her and the
latter shrank.

"Jack Belllounds," she cried, "you're not half a man.... You're a coward
and a brute!"

One