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He saw every rod of the ten miles of track laid every day, knew, as only an engineer could know, the wonder of such progress; and, likewise, always in his sight, in his mind, shone a face, red-lipped, soulful, lovely like a saint's, with mournful violet eyes, star-sweet in innocence.
The most exquisite and finest of these columbines hid in the shaded nooks, star-sweet in the silent gloom of the woods. Wade's last few whispered words to Moore had been interpreted that the hunter desired to be buried among the columbines in the aspen grove on the slope above Sage Valley. Here, then, had been made his grave. One day Belllounds sent Columbine to fetch Moore down to White Slides.
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