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Updated: June 4, 2025
Old White Slides loomed gray and dark up into the blue, grim and stern reminder of age and of fleeting time. There was a cloud on Wade's horizon. "Wils is waitin' down there," said Wade, pointing to a grove of aspens below. "Reckon it's pretty close to the house, an' a trail runs along there. But Wils can't ride very well yet, an' this appeared to be the best place."
It was a warm, Indian-summer afternoon, and the old rancher sat out on the porch in his shirt-sleeves. His hair was white now, but no other change was visible in him. No restraint attended his greeting to the cowboy. "Wils, I reckon I'd be glad if you'd take your old job as foreman of White Slides," he said. "Are you asking me?" queried Moore, eagerly. "Wal, I reckon so."
This example is very ample, if one thing were not, which is the multitude of friends: For, this perfect amity I speake of, is indivisible; each man doth so wholly give himselfe unto his friend, that he hath nothing left him to divide else-where: moreover he is grieved that he is not double, triple, or quadruple, and hath not many soules, or sundry wils, that he might conferre them all upon this subject.
Wade, my old dad will be pleased to find out I've made the start I have." "Well, it's a fine start, I'll allow. Have you picked up any unbranded stock?" "Sure I have. Say, pard, are you worrying about this two-bit rustler work that's been going on?" "Wils, it ain't two bits any more. I reckon it's gettin' into the four-bit class."
"Well, if you'd give so much for a note, how much would you give me for a whole bookful that took Wils two hours to write?" "Ben! Oh, I'd I'd give " she cried, wild with delight. "I'd kiss you!" "You mean it?" he queried, waving the book aloft. "Mean it? Come here!" There was fun in this for Wade, but also a deep and beautiful emotion that quivered through him.
"Well, I'll be damned!" ejaculated Wade. "I call that mighty cunnin'. Here they are proofs as plain as writin' that Wils Moore rustled Old Bill's cattle!... Buster Jack, you're not such a fool as I thought.... He's made somethin' like the end of Wils's crutch. An' knowin' how Wils uses that every time he gets off his horse, why, the dirty pup carried his instrument with him an' made these tracks!"
I'm an old fool about wimmen, hey? Mebbe I was years ago. But I can see now.... Didn't Wils always get ory-eyed when any of the other boys shined up to you?" "I can't remember that he did," replied Columbine. She felt a desire to laugh, yet the subject was anything but amusing to her. "Wal, you've always been innocent-like.
Jest love for a dog-gone lucky cowboy named Wils Moore!... Her heart was breakin', an' she'd have died but for me! Don't imagine, Wils, that people can't die of broken hearts. They do. I know. Well, all Collie needed was me, an' I cured her ravin' and made her eat, an' now she's comin' along fine."
But when fortune once began to smile, no man was more sharpe, hard to deale with, nor more redie to breake his promise and faith. He was also partlie noted of couetousnesse: for although he was liberall towards souldiers and strangers, yet was he streict inough towards his owne people, and namelie towards his sonnes, which caused them to estrange themselues and their good wils from him.
"If you say so, dad, it'll come true," replied Columbine, with her hand on his shoulder. "Wils, you'll be runnin' White Slides Ranch before long, unless Collie runs you. Haw! Haw!" Collie could not reply to this startling announcement from the old rancher, and Moore appeared distressed with embarrassment. "Wal, I reckon you young folks had better ride down to Kremmlin' an' get married."
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