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"An' any mornin' along now we might wake up to hear the Colorado boomin'," went on Holley, significantly. Bostil did not reply to that. "Creech hain't lived over there so many years. What's he know about the river? An' fer that matter, who knows anythin' sure about thet hell-bent river?" "It ain't my business thet Creech lives over there riskin' his stock every spring," replied Bostil, darkly.
"Before this sheriff and your father you accuse me of stealing cattle?" "Yes." "And you accuse me before this man who saved my life, who knows me before Hell-Bent Wade?" demanded Moore, as he pointed to the hunter. Mention of Wade in that significant tone of passion and wonder was not without effect upon Jack Belllounds. "What in hell do I care for Wade?" he burst out, with the old intolerance.
"What I did to them, Belllounds, is one story I'll never tell to any man who might live to repeat it. But it drove my wife near crazy. An' it made me Hell-Bent Wade!... She ran off from me there, an' I trailed her all over Colorado. An' the end of that trail was not a hundred miles from where we stand now.
"They call him Hell-Bent Wade. I seen him in Wyomin', whar he were a stage-driver. But I never heerd who he was an' what he was till years after. Thet was onct I dropped down into Boulder. Wade was thar, all shot up, bein' nussed by Sam Coles. Sam's dead now. He was a friend of Wade's an' knowed him fer long. Wal, I heerd all thet anybody ever heerd about him, I reckon.
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