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Updated: May 1, 2025
His eagerness to look on here, as far as the cowboys were concerned, was mere pretense. In Belllounds's case, however, he had a profound interest. Rumors had drifted to him from time to time, since his advent at White Slides, regarding Belllounds's weakness for gambling. It might have been cowboy gossip.
Seventeen years ago miners working a claim of Belllounds's in the mountains above Middle Park had found a child asleep in the columbines along the trail. Near that point Indians, probably Arapahoes coming across the mountains to attack the Utes, had captured or killed the occupants of a prairie-schooner. There was no other clue.
Jest buyin' an' sellin', they claimed.... I reckon the extra hoss tracks we run across at Gore Peak connects up them buyers an' sellers with whoever drove Belllounds's cattle up thar.... Have you anythin' more to say?" "No. Not here," replied Moore, quietly. "Then I'll have to arrest you an' take you to Kremmlin' fer trial." "All right. I'll go." The old rancher seemed genuinely shocked.
A stranger, a rough man of the wilds, whose name had preceded him, notorious and deadly, with that vital tang of the West in its meaning! Nevertheless, Wade drew her, and she thought of him until the recurring memory of Jack Belllounds's rude clasp again crept over her with an augmenting disgust and fear. Must she submit to that? Had she promised that?
He was only a factor in the lives of others, protected even from this Nemesis by the greatness of his father's love. "Get up, an' take my scarf," said Wade, "an' bandage these bullet-holes I got." Wade's wounds were not in any way serious, and with Belllounds's assistance he got to the cabin of Lewis, where weakness from loss of blood made it necessary that he remain. Belllounds went home.
"Fine stuff, but awful strong an' hot!... Makes a fellow's blood dance." "Go get it!" Belllounds's utterance was thick and full, as if he had something in his mouth. Wade looked down into the heated face, into the burning eyes; and through the darkness of passion that brooked no interference with its fruition he saw this youth's stark and naked soul.
Jack Belllounds's form was tail, with a promise of his father's bulk. But he did not walk erect; he slouched a little. His face was pale, showing he had not of late been used to sun and wind. Any stranger would have seen the resemblance of boy to man would have granted the handsome boldness, but denied the strength. The lower part of Jack Belllounds's face was weak.
Thet boy shore will git rich." Wade's remark incited no further expressions of interest. But it was Jack Belllounds's secret mind that Wade wished to pierce. He saw the leaping of a thought that was neither interest nor indifference nor contempt, but a creative thing which lent a fleeting flash to the face, a slight shock to the body.
"Did you kick me?" he shouted. "Buster, I was only handin' you a bunch of flowers some columbines, as your taste runs," replied Wade, contemptuously. "I'll I'll " returned Buster Jack, wildly, bursting for expression. His hand went to his gun. "Go ahead, Buster. Throw your gun on me. That'll save maybe a hell of a lot of talk." It was then Jack Belllounds's face turned livid.
Wade grew concerned with the appearance of young Belllounds, and it was with a melancholy reminder of the infallibility of his presentiments. As he and Columbine halted in the trail, Belllounds's hurried stride lengthened until he almost ran. He carried the rifle forward in a most significant manner. Black as a thunder-cloud was his face.
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