jump an'
run, I reckon. But he hadn't the nerve. I shot a piece out of his ear,
just to begin the fun. An' then I told the rustlers how Jack had
double-crossed them. Folsom, the boss rustler, roared like a mad steer.
He was wild to kill Jack. He begged for a gun to shoot out Jack's eyes.
An' so were the other rustlers burnin' to kill him. Bad outfit. There
was a fight, which, I'm bound to confess, was not short an' sweet. There
was a lot of shootin'. An' in a cabin gun-shots almost lift the roof.
Folsom was on his knees, dyin', wavin' his gun, whisperin' in fiendish
glee that he had done for me. When he saw Jack an' remembered he shook
so with fury that he scattered blood all over. An' he took long aim at
Jack, tryin' to steady his gun. He couldn't, an' he missed, an' then
fell over dead with his head on Jack's knees. That left the red-bearded
rustler, who had hid behind the chimney. Jack watched the rest of that
fight, an' for a youngster it must have been nerve-rackin'. I broke the
rustler's arm, an' then his knee, an' then I got him in the hip two more
times before he hobbled out to his finish. He'd shot me up
considerable, so that when I braced Jack I must have been a hair-raisin'
sight. I made Jack believe I meant to murder him. He begged an' cried,
an' he got to prayin' for his life for your sake. It was sickenin', but
it was what I wanted. So then I made him swear he'd free you an' give
you up to Moore."

"Oh! Oh, Ben, how awful!" whispered Columbine, shuddering. "How _could_
you tell me such a horrible story?"

"Reckon I wanted you to know how Jack come to make the promises an' what
they were."

"Promises! What are promises or oaths to Jack Belllounds?" she cried, in
passionate contempt. "You wasted your breath. Coward--liar that he is!"

"Ahuh!" Wade looked straight ahead of him as if he saw some expected and
unpleasant thing far in the distance. Then with irresistible steps,
neither swift nor slow, but ponderous, he strode to the porch and
mounted the steps.

"Why, Ben, where are you going?" called Columbine, in surprise, as she
followed him.

He did not answer. He approached the closed door of the living-room.

"Ben!" cried Columbine, in alarm.

But he had no reply for her--indeed, no thought of her. Without
knocking, he opened the door with rude and powerful hand, and, striding
in, closed it after him.

Bill Belllounds was standing, back against the great stone chimney, arms
folded, a stolid and