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"But it doesn't pay, an' yet I still kept on bein' that way.... Belllounds, my name's as bad as good all over western Colorado. But as man to man I tell you I never did a low-down trick in my life.... Never but once." "An' what was thet?" queried the rancher, gruffly. "I killed a man who was innocent," replied Wade, with quivering lips, "an' an' drove the woman I loved to her death."
But he wears blinders when he looks at his son. I'm predictin' bad days fer White Slides Ranch." Only one man at Meeker appeared to be attracted by the news that Rancher Bill Belllounds was offering employment. This was a little cadaverous-looking fellow, apparently neither young nor old, who said his name was Bent Wade. He had drifted into Meeker with two poor horses and a pack.
Jack Belllounds sat on the ground, full in its light, back to the wall. He was in his shirt-sleeves. The gambling fever and the grievous soreness of a loser shone upon his pale face. Smith sat with back to Wade, opposite Belllounds. The other men completed the square. All were close enough together to reach comfortably for the cards and gold before them.
"I shore will, an' if you need any backin' you'll git it." When they reached the open Lem turned off toward the corrals, and Wade walked beside Moore's horse up to the house. Belllounds appeared at the door, evidently having heard the sound of hoofs. "Hello, Moore! Get down an' come in," he said, gruffly.
I understand he was needin' a hunter most of all. Lions an' wolves bad! Can you hunt?" "Hey?" queried Wade, absently, as he inclined his ear. "I'm deaf on one side." "Are you a good man with dogs an' guns?" shouted his questioner. "Tolerable," replied Wade. "Then you're sure of a job." "I'll go. Much obliged to you." "Not a-tall. I'm doin' Belllounds a favor. Reckon you'll put up here to-night?"
Don't blind yourselves. That's the hell with so many people in trouble. It's hard to see clear when you're sufferin' and fightin'. But I see clear.... Now with just a word I could fetch this new Jack Belllounds back to his Buster Jack tricks!" "Oh, Ben! No! No! No!" cried Columbine, in a distress that showed how his force dominated her. Moore's face turned as white as ashes.
There was a bright fire. Dad looked up with a wild joy. All of a sudden he changed. He blazed. He recognized the heavy tread of his son. If I ever pitied and loved him it was then. I thought of the return of the Prodigal Son!... There came a knock on the door. Then dad recovered. He threw it open wide. The streaming light fell upon Jack Belllounds, indeed, but not as I knew him. He entered.
Drunk indeed he was; not hilariously, as one who celebrated his good fortune, but sullenly, tragically, hideously drunk. Old Belllounds leaped off the porch. His gray hair stood up like the mane of a lion. Like a giant's were his strides. With a lunge he met his reeling son, swinging a huge fist into the sodden red face. Limply Jack fell to the ground.
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, beginning to shake. "Yes, I'm that with every one. I'd like to be friends with you." "I don't want you.
"You'd be better off!" he flashed, white as a sheet. Columbine leaned against Wade for support. She was fast weakening in strength, although her spirit held. She knew what was inevitable. But Wilson's agony was rending her. "Listen," began the cowboy again. "It's your life your happiness your soul.... Belllounds is crazy over that spoiled boy.
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