traces," said Wade. "I'll allow if I'd known
the gun would let out a bellar like that I'd not have told Jack to
shoot. Reckon it's because we're under the open roof that it made the
racket. I'm wantin' to clean the gun while it's hot."

"Ahuh! Wal, I was scared fust, harkin' back to Indian days, an' then I
was mad because I figgered Jack was up to mischief.... Did you fetch in
the meat?"

"You bet. An' I'd like a piece for myself," replied Wade.

"Help yourself, man. An' say, come down an' eat with us fer supper."

"Much obliged, boss. I sure will."

Then the old rancher trudged back to the house.

"Wade, it was bully of you!" exclaimed Jack, gratefully. "You see how
quick dad's ready to jump me? I'll bet he thought I'd picked a
shooting-scrape with one of the cowboys."

"Well, he's gettin' old an' testy," replied Wade. "You ought to humor
him. He'll not be here always."

Belllounds answered to that suggestion with a shadowing of eyes and look
of realization, affection, remorse. Feelings seemed to have a quick rise
and play in him, but were not lasting. Wade casually studied him,
weighing his impressions, holding them in abeyance for a sum
of judgment.

"Belllounds, has anybody told you about Wils Moore bein' bad hurt?"
abruptly asked the hunter.

"He is, is he?" replied Jack, and to his voice and face came sudden
change. "How bad?"

"I reckon he'll be a cripple for life," answered Wade, seriously, and
now he stopped in his work to peer at Belllounds. The next moment might
be critical for that young man.

"Club-footed!... He won't lord it over the cowboys any more--or ride
that white mustang!" The softer, weaker expression of his face, that
which gave him some title to good looks, changed to an ugliness hard for
Wade to define, since it was neither glee, nor joy, nor gratification
over his rival's misfortune. It was rush of blood to eyes and skin, a
heated change that somehow to Wade suggested an anxious, selfish hunger.
Belllounds lacked something, that seemed certain. But it remained to be
proved how deserving he was of Wade's pity.

"Belllounds, it was a dirty trick--your jumpin' Moore," declared Wade,
with deliberation.

"The hell you say!" Belllounds flared up, with scarlet in his face, with
sneer of amaze, with promise of bursting rage. He slammed down the gun.

"Yes, the hell I say," returned the hunter. "They call me Hell-Bent
Wade!"

"Are you friends with Moore?" asked Belllounds, beginnin