by Zane Grey
CHAPTER VII
Columbine was awakened in the gray dawn by the barking of coyotes. Shedreaded the daylight thus heralded. Never before in her life had shehated the rising of the sun. Resolutely she put the past behind her andfaced the future, believing now that with the great decision made sheneeded only to keep her mind off what might have been, and to attendto her duty.
At breakfast she found the rancher in better spirits than he had beenfor weeks. He informed her that Jack had ridden off early for Kremmling,there to make arrangements for the wedding on October first.
"Jack's out of his head," said Belllounds. "Wal, thet comes only onct ina man's life. I remember ... Jack's goin' to drive you to Kremmlin' an'ther take stage fer Denver. I allow you'd better put in your best lickson fixin' up an' packin' the clothes you'll need. Women-folk naturallywant to look smart on weddin'-trips."
"Dad!" exclaimed Columbine, in dismay. "I never thought of clothes. AndI don't want to leave White Slides."
"But, lass, you're goin' to be married!" expostulated Belllounds.
"Didn't it occur to Jack to take me to Kremmling? I can't make newdresses out of old ones."
"Wal, I reckon neither of us thought of thet. But you can buy what youlike in Denver."
Columbine resigned herself. After all, what did it matter to her? Thevague, haunting dreams of girlhood would never come true. So she went toher wardrobe and laid out all her wearing apparel. Taking stock of itthis way caused her further dismay, for she had nothing fit to wear inwhich either to be married or to take a trip to Denver. There appearedto be nothing to do but take the rancher's advice, and Columbine setabout refurbishing her meager wardrobe. She sewed all day.
What with self-control and work and the passing of hours, Columbinebegan to make some approach to tranquillity. In her simplicity she evenbegan to hope that being good and steadfast and dutiful would earn her alittle meed of happiness. Some haunting doubt of this flashed over hermind like a swift shadow of a black wing, but she dispelled that as shehad dispelled the fear and disgust which often rose up in her mind.
To Columbine's surprise and to the rancher's concern the prospectivebridegroom did not return from Kremmling on the second day. When nightcame Belllounds reluctantly gave up looking for him.
Jack's non-appearance suited Columbine, and she would have been glad tobe let alone until October first, which date now seemed appallinglyclose. On the afternoon of Jack's third day of absence from the ranchColumbine rode out for some needed exercise. Pronto not being available,she rode another mustang and one that kept her busy. On the way back tothe ranch she avoided the customary trail which led by the cabins ofWade and the cowboys. Columbine had not seen one of her friends sincethe unfortunate visit to the Andrews ranch. She particularly shrank frommeeting Wade, which feeling was in strange contrast to herformer impulses.
As she rode around the house she encountered Wilson Moore seated in alight wagon. Her mustang reared, almost unseating her. But she handledhim roughly, being suddenly surprised and angry at this unexpectedmeeting with the cowboy.
"Howdy, Columbine!" greeted Wilson, as she brought the mustang to hisfeet. "You're sure learning to handle a horse--since I left this hereranch. Wonder who's teaching you! I never could get you to rake evena bronc!"
The cowboy had drawled out his admiring speech, half amused and halfsatiric.
"I'm--mad!" declared Columbine. "That's why."
"What're you mad at?" queried Wilson.
She did not reply, but kept on gazing steadily at him. Moore stilllooked pale and drawn, but he had improved since last she saw him.
"Aren't you going to speak to a fellow?" he went on.
"How are you, Wils?" she asked.
"Pretty good for a club-footed has-been cow puncher."
"I wish you wouldn't call yourself such names," rejoined Columbine,peevishly. "You're not a club-foot. I hate that word!"
"Me, too. Well, joking aside, I'm better. My foot is fine. Now, if Idon't hurt it again I'll sure never be a club-foot."
"You must be careful," she said, earnestly.
"Sure. But it's hard for me to be idle. Think of me lying still all daywith nothing to do but read! That's what knocked me out. I wouldn't haveminded the pain if I could have gotten about.... Columbine, I'vemoved in!"
"What! Moved in?" she queried, blankly.
"Sure. I'm in my cabin on the hill. It's plumb great. Tom Andrews andBert and your hunter Wade fixed up the cabin for me. That Wade is sure agood fellow. And say! what he can do with his hands! He's been kind tome. Took an interest in me, and between you and me he sort ofcheered me up."
"Cheered you up! Wils, were you unhappy?" she asked, directly.
"Well, rather. What'd you expect of a cowboy who'd crippledhimself--and lost his girl?"
Columbine felt the smart of tingling blood in her face, and she lookedfrom Wilson to the wagon. It contained saddles, blankets, and othercowboy accoutrements for which he had evidently come.
"That's a double misfortune," she replied, evenly. "It's too bad bothcame at once. It seems to me if I were a cowboy and--and felt so towarda girl, I'd have let her know."
"This girl I mean knew, all right," he said, nodding his head.
"She didn't--she didn't!" cried Columbine.
"How do you know?" he queried, with feigned surprise. He was bent upontorturing her.
"You meant me. I'm the girl you lost!"
"Yes, you are--God help me!" replied Moore, with genuine emotion.
"But you--you never told me--you never told me," faltered Columbine, indistress.
"Never told you what? That you were my girl?"
"No--no. But that you--you cared--"
"Columbine Belllounds, I told you--let you see--in every way under thesun," he flashed at her.
"Let me see--what?" faltered Columbine, feeling as if the world wereabout to end.
"That I loved you."
"Oh!... Wilson!" whispered Columbine, wildly.
"Yes--loved you. Could you have been so innocent--so blind you neverknew? I can't believe it."
"But I never dreamed you--you--" She broke off dazedly, overwhelmed by atragic, glorious truth.
"Collie!... Would it have made any difference?"
"Oh, all the difference in the world!" she wailed.
"What difference?" he asked, passionately.
Columbine gazed wide-eyed and helpless at the young man. She did notknow how to tell him what all the difference in the world really was.
Suddenly Wilson turned away from her to listen. Then she heard rapidbeating of hoofs on the road.
"That's Buster Jack," said the cowboy. "Just my luck! There wasn't anyone here when I arrived. Reckon I oughtn't have stayed. Columbine, youlook pretty much upset."
"What do I care how I look!" she exclaimed, with a sharp resentmentattending this abrupt and painful break in her agitation.
Next moment Jack Belllounds galloped a foam-lashed horse into thecourtyard and hauled up short with a recklessness he was noted for. Heswung down hard and violently cast the reins from him.
"Ahuh! I gambled on just this," he declared, harshly.
Columbine's heart sank. His gaze was fixed on her face, with itstelltale evidences of agitation.
"What've you been crying about?" he demanded.
"I haven't been," she retorted.
His bold and glaring eyes, hot with sudden temper, passed slowly fromher to the cowboy. Columbine became aware then that Jack was under theinfluence of liquor. His heated red face grew darker with asneering contempt.
"Where's dad?" he asked, wheeling toward her.
"I don't know. He's not here," replied Columbine, dismounting. The leapof thought and blood to Jack's face gave her a further sinking of theheart. The situation unnerved her.
Wilson Moore had grown a shade paler. He gathered up his reins, ready todrive off.
"Belllounds, I came up after my things I'd left in the bunk," he said,coolly. "Happened to meet Columbine and stopped to chat
a minute."
"That's what _you_ say," sneered Belllounds. "You were making love toColumbine. I saw that in her face. You know it--and she knows it--and Iknow it.... You're a liar!"
"Belllounds, I reckon I am," replied Moore, turning white. "I did tellColumbine what I thought she knew--what I ought to have told long ago."
"Ahuh! Well, I don't want to hear it. But I'm going to search thatwagon."
"What!" ejaculated the cowboy, dropping his reins as if they stung him.
"You just hold on till I see what you've got in there," went onBelllounds, and he reached over into the wagon and pulled at a saddle.
"Say, do you mean anything?... This stuff's mine, every strap of it.Take your hands off."
Belllounds leaned on the wagon and looked up with insolent, dark intent.
"Moore, I wouldn't trust you. I think you'd steal anything you got yourhands on."
Columbine uttered a passionate little cry of shame and protest.
"Jack, how dare you!"
"You shut up! Go in the house!" he ordered.
"You insult me," she replied, in bitter humiliation.
"Will you go in?" he shouted.
"No, I won't."
"All right, look on, then. I'd just as lief have you." Then he turned tothe cowboy. "Moore, show up that wagon-load of stuff unless you want meto throw it out in the road."
"Belllounds, you know I can't do that," replied Moore, coldly. "And I'llgive you a hunch. You'd better shut up yourself and let me drive on....If not for her sake, then for your own."
Belllounds grasped the reins, and with a sudden jerk pulled them out ofthe cowboy's hands.
"You damn club-foot! Your gift of gab doesn't go with me," yelledBelllounds, as he swung up on the hub of the wheel. But it was manifestthat his desire to search the wagon was only a pretense, for while hepulled at this and that his evil gaze was on the cowboy, keen to meetany move that might give excuse for violence. Moore evidently read this,for, gazing at Columbine, he shook his head, as if to acquaint her witha situation impossible to help.
"Columbine, please hand me up the reins," he said. "I'm lame, you know.Then I'll be going."
Columbine stepped forward to comply, when Belllounds, leaping down fromthe wheel, pushed her hack with masterful hand. Opposition to him waslike waving a red flag in the face of a bull. Columbine recoiled fromhis look as well as touch.
"You keep out of this or I'll teach you who's boss here," he said,stridently.
"You're going too far!" burst out Columbine.
Meanwhile Wilson had laboriously climbed down out of the wagon, and,utilizing his crutch, he hobbled to where Belllounds had thrown thereins, and stooped to pick them up. Belllounds shoved Columbine fartherback, and then he leaped to confront the cowboy.
"I've got you now, Moore," he said, hoarse and low. Stripped of allpretense, he showed the ungovernable nature of his temper. His face grewcorded and black. The hand he thrust out shook like a leaf. "Yousmooth-tongued liar! I'm on to your game. I know you'd put her againstme. I know you'd try to win her--less than a week before herwedding-day.... But it's not for that I'm going to beat hell out of you!It's because I hate you! Ever since I can remember my father held you upto me! And he sent me to--to--he sent me away because of you. By God!that's why I hate you!"
All that was primitive and violent and base came out with strangefrankness in Belllounds's tirade. Only when calm could his mind becapable of hidden calculation. The devil that was in him nowseemed rampant.
"Belllounds, you're mighty brave to stack up this way against aone-legged man," declared the cowboy, with biting sarcasm.
"If you had two club-feet I'd only be the gladder," yelled Belllounds,and swinging his arm, he slapped Moore so that it nearly toppled himover. Only the injured foot, coming down hard, saved him.
When Columbine saw that, and then how Wilson winced and grew deathlypale, she uttered a low cry, and she seemed suddenly rooted to the spot,weak, terrified at what was now inevitable, and growing sick and coldand faint.
"It's a damn lucky thing for you I'm not packing a gun," said Moore,grimly. "But you knew--or you'd never hit me--you coward."
"I'll make you swallow that," snarled Belllounds, and this time he swunghis fist, aiming a heavy blow at Moore.
Then the cowboy whirled aloft the heavy crutch. "If you hit at me againI'll let out what little brains you've got. God knows that's littleenough!... Belllounds, I'm going to call you to your face--before thisgirl your bat-eyed old man means to give you. You're not drunk. You'reonly ugly--mean. You've got a chance now to lick me because I'mcrippled. And you're going to make the most of it. Why, you cur, I couldcome near licking you with only one leg. But if you touch me again I'llbrain you!... You never were any good. You're no good now. You neverwill be anything but Buster Jack--half dotty, selfish as hell,bull-headed and mean!... And that's the last word I'll ever wasteon you."
"I'll kill you!" bawled Belllounds, black with fury.
Moore wielded the crutch menacingly, but as he was not steady on hisfeet he was at the disadvantage his adversary had calculated upon.Belllounds ran around the cowboy, and suddenly plunged in to grapplewith him. The crutch descended, but to little purpose. Belllounds'sheavy onslaught threw Moore to the ground. Before he could riseBelllounds pounced upon him.
Columbine saw all this dazedly. As Wilson fell she closed her eyes,fighting a faintness that almost overcame her. She heard wrestling,threshing sounds, and sodden thumps, and a scattering of gravel. Thesenoises seemed at first distant, then grew closer. As she gazed againwith keener perception, Moore's horse plunged away from the fiercelystruggling forms that had rolled almost under his feet. During theensuing moments it was an equal battle so far as Columbine could tell.Repelled, yet fascinated, she watched. They beat each other, grappledand rolled over, first one on top, then the other. But the advantage ofbeing uppermost presently was Belllounds's. Moore was weakening. Thatbecame noticeable more and more after each time he had wrestled androlled about. Then Belllounds, getting this position, lay with hisweight upon Moore, holding him down, and at the same time kicking withall his might. He was aiming to disable the cowboy by kicking theinjured foot. And he was succeeding. Moore let out a strangled cry, andstruggled desperately. But he was held and weighted down. Bellloundsraised up now and, looking backward, he deliberately and furiouslykicked Moore's bandaged foot; once, twice, again and again, until thestraining form under him grew limp. Columbine, slowly freezing withhorror, saw all this. She could not move. She could not scream. Shewanted to rush in and drag Jack off of Wilson, to hurt him, to kill him,but her muscles were paralyzed. In her agony she could not even lookaway. Belllounds got up astride his prostrate adversary and began tobeat him brutally, swinging heavy, sodden blows. His face then wasterrible to see. He meant murder.
Columbine heard approaching voices and the thumping of hasty feet. Thatunclamped her cloven tongue. Wildly she screamed. Old Bill Bellloundsappeared, striding off the porch. And the hunter Wade came runningdown the path.
"Dad! he's killing Wilson!" cried Columbine.
"Hyar, you devil!" roared the rancher.
Jack Belllounds got up. Panting, disheveled, with hair ruffled and facedistorted, he was not a pleasant sight for even the father. Moore layunconscious, with ghastly, bloody features, and his bandaged foot showedgreat splotches of red.
"My Gawd, son!" gasped Old Bill. "You didn't pick on this hyar crippledboy?"
The evidence was plain, in Moore's quiet, pathetic form, in the panting,purple-faced son. Jack Belllounds did not answer. He was in the grip ofa passion that had at last been wholly unleashed and was stillunsatisfied. Yet a malignant and exultant gratification showed inhis face.
"That--evens us--up, Moore," he panted, and stalked away.
By this time Wade reached the cowboy and knelt beside him. Columbinecame running to fall on her knees. The old rancher seemed stricken.
"Oh--Oh! it was terrible--" cried Columbine. "Oh--he's so white--and theblood--"
Columbine rose to totter into the house. She saw a red stain on the handshe had laid upon the cowboy's face, and with a strange, hot, burstingsensation, strong and thrilling, she put that red place to her lips.Running out with the things required by Wade, she was in time to hearthe rancher say, "Looks hurt bad, to me."
"Yes, I reckon," replied Wade.
While Columbine held Moore's head upon her lap the hunter bathed thebloody face. It was battered and bruised and cut, and in some places, asfast as Wade washed away the red, it welled out again.
Columbine watched that quiet face, while her heart throbbed and swelledwith emotions wholly beyond her control and understanding. When at lastWilson opened his eyes, fluttering at first, and then wide, she felt asurge that shook her whole body. He smiled wanly at her, and at Wade,and then his gaze lifted to Belllounds.
"I guess--he licked me," he said, in weak voice. "He kept kicking mysore foot--till I fainted. But he licked me--all right."
"Wils, mebbe he did lick you," replied the old rancher, brokenly, "butI reckon he's damn little to be proud of--lickin' a crippledman--thet way."
"Boss, Jack'd been drinking," said Moore, weakly. "And he sure had--someexcuse for going off his head. He caught me--talking sweet toColumbine ... and then--I called him all the names--I could lay mytongue to."
"Ahuh!" The old man seemed at a loss for words, and presently he turnedaway, sagging in the shoulders, and plodded into the house.
The cowboy, supported by Wade on one side, with Columbine on the other,was helped to an upright position, and with considerable difficulty wasgotten into the wagon. He tried to sit up, but made a sorry showingof it.
"I'll drive him home an' look after him," said Wade. "Now, Miss Collie,you're upset, which ain't no wonder. But now you brace. It might havebeen worse. Just you go to your room till you're sure ofyourself again."
Moore smiled another wan smile at her. "I'm sorry," he said.
"What for? Me?" she asked.
"I mean I'm sorry I was so infernal unlucky--running into you--andbringing all this distress--to you. It was my fault. If I'd onlykept--my mouth shut!"
"You need not be sorry you met me," she said, with her eyes straightupon his. "I'm glad.... But oh! if your foot is badly hurt I'llnever--never--'
"Don't say it," interrupted Wilson.
"Lass, you're bent on doin' somethin'," said Wade, in his gentle voice.
"Bent?" she echoed, with something deep and rich in her voice. "Yes, I'mbent--_bent_ like your name--to speak my mind!"
Then she ran toward the house and up on the porch, to enter theliving-room with heaving breast and flashing eyes. Manifestly therancher was berating his son. The former gaped at sight of her and thelatter shrank.
"Jack Belllounds," she cried, "you're not half a man.... You're a cowardand a brute!"
One tense moment she stood there, lightning scorn and passion in hergaze, and then she rushed out, impetuously, as she had come.