I am glad. I'm convinced now
that he's had his lesson--that he's sowed his wild oats--that he has
become a man."

Moore listened eagerly, and when she had concluded he thoughtfully bent
his head and began to cut little chips out of the log with his knife.

"Collie, I've heard a good deal of the change in Jack," he said,
earnestly. "Honest Injun, I'm glad--glad for his father's sake, for his
own, and for yours. The boys think Jack's locoed. But his reformation is
not strange to me. If I were no good--just like he was--well, I could
change as greatly for--for you."

Columbine hastily averted her face. Wade's keen eyes, apparently hidden
under his old hat, saw how wet her lashes were, how her lips trembled.

"Wilson, you think then--you believe Jack will last--will stick to his
new ways?" she queried, hurriedly.

"Yes, I do," he replied, nodding.

"How good of you! Oh! Wilson, it's like you to be noble--splendid. When
you might have--when it'd have been so natural for you to doubt--to
scorn him!"

"Collie, I'm honest about that. And now you be just as honest. Do you
think Jack will stand to his colors? Never drink--never gamble--never
fly off the handle again?"

"Yes, I honestly believe that--providing he gets--providing I--"

Her voice trailed off faintly.

Moore wheeled to address the hunter.

"Pard, what do you think? Tell me now. Tell us. It will help me, and
Collie, too. I've asked you before, but you wouldn't--Tell us now, do
you believe Buster Jack will live up to his new ideals?"

Wade had long parried that question, because the time to answer it had
not come till this moment.

"No," he replied, gently.

Columbine uttered a little cry.

"Why not?" demanded Moore, his face darkening.

"Reckon there are reasons that you young folks wouldn't think of, an'
couldn't know."

"Wade, it's not like you to be hopeless for any man," said Moore.

"Yes, I reckon it is, sometimes," replied Wade, wagging his head
solemnly. "Young folks, I'm grantin' all you say as to Jack's
reformation, except that it's permanent. I'm grantin' he's sincere--that
he's not playin' a part--that his vicious instincts are smothered under
a noble impulse to be what he ought to be. It's no trick. Buster Jack
has all but done the impossible."

"Then why isn't his sincerity and good work to be permanent?" asked
Moore, impatiently, and his gesture was violent.

"Wils, his change is not moral force. It's passion."

The cowboy pal