"Pard, what do you think? Tell me now. Tell us. It will help me, and Collie, too. I've asked you before, but you wouldn't--Tell us now, do you believe Buster Jack will live up to his new ideals?" Wade had long parried that question, because the time to answer it had not come till this moment. "No," he replied, gently. Columbine uttered a little cry. "Why not?" demanded Moore, his face darkening. "Reckon there are reasons that you young folks wouldn't think of, an' couldn't know." "Wade, it's not like you to be hopeless for any man," said Moore. "Yes, I reckon it is, sometimes," replied Wade, wagging his head solemnly. "Young folks, I'm grantin' all you say as to Jack's reformation, except that it's permanent. I'm grantin' he's sincere--that he's not playin' a part--that his vicious instincts are smothered under a noble impulse to be what he ought to be. It's no trick. Buster Jack has all but done the impossible." "Then why isn't his sincerity and good work to be permanent?" asked Moore, impatiently, and his gesture was violent. "Wils, his change is not moral force. It's passion." The cowboy paled. Columbine stood silent, with intent eyes upon the hunter. Neither of them seemed to understand him well enough to make reply. "Love can work marvels in any man," went on Wade. "But love can't change the fiber of a man's heart. A man is born so an' so. He loves an' hates an' feels accordin' to the nature. It'd be accordin' to nature for Jack Belllounds to stay reformed if his love for Collie lasted. An' that's the point. It can't last. Not in a man of his stripe." "Why not?" demanded Moore. "Because Jack's love will never be returned--satisfied. It takes a man of different caliber to love a woman who'll never love him. Jack's obsessed by passion now. He'd perform miracles. But that's not possible. The miracle necessary here would be for him to change his moral force, his blood, the habits of his mind. That's beyond his power." Columbine flung out an appealing hand. "Ben, I could pretend to love him--I might _make_ myself love him, if that would give him the power." "Lass, don't delude yourself. You can't do that," replied Wade. "How do you know what I can do?" she queried, struggling with her helplessness. "Why, child, I know you better than you know yourself." "Wilson, he's right, he's right!" she cried. "That's why it's so terrible for me now. He knows my very heart. He reads my soul.... I can _never_ love Jack Belllounds. Nor _ever_ pretend love!" "Collie, if Ben knows you so well, you ought to listen to him, as you used to," said Moore, touching her hand with infinite sympathy. Wade watched them. His pity and affection did not obstruct the ruthless expression of his opinions or the direction of his intentions.