"No. But I'm runnin' a large-sized _if_ in this game. You'll admit that presently.... Belllounds, you make me mad. You don't meet me man to man. You're not the Bill Belllounds of old. Why, all over this state of Colorado you're known as the whitest of the white. Your name's a byword for all that's square an' big an' splendid. But you're so blinded by your worship of that wild boy that you're another man in all pertainin' to him. I don't want to harp on his short-comm's. I'm for the girl. She doesn't love him. She can't. She will only drag herself down an' die of a broken heart.... Now, I'm askin' you, before it's too late--give up this marriage." "Wade! I've shot men for less than you've said!" thundered the rancher, beside himself with rage and shame. "Ahuh! I reckon you have. But not men like me.... I tell you, straight to your face, it's a fool deal you're workin'--a damn selfish one--a dirty job, to put on an innocent, sweet girl--an' as sure as you stand there, if you do it, you'll ruin four lives!" "Four!" exclaimed Belllounds. But any word would have expressed his humiliation. "I should have said three, leavin' Jack out. I meant Collie's an' yours an' Wils Moore's." "Moore's is about ruined already, I've a hunch." "You can get hunches you never dreamed of, Belllounds, old as you are. An' I'll give you one presently.... But we drift off. Can't you keep cool?" "Cool! With you rantin' hell-bent for election? Haw! Raw!... Wade, you're locoed. You always struck me queer.... An' if you'll excuse me, I'm gettin' tired of this talk. We're as far apart as the poles. An' to save what good feelin's we both have, let's quit." "You don't love Collie, then?" queried Wade, imperturbably. "Yes, I do. That's a fool idee of yours. It puts me out of patience." "Belllounds, you're not her real father." The rancher gave a start, and he stared as he had stared before, fixedly and perplexedly at Wade. "No, I'm not." "If she _were_ your real daughter--your own flesh an' blood--an' Jack Belllounds was _my_ son, would you let her marry him?" "Wal, Wade, I reckon I wouldn't." "Then how can you expect my consent to her marriage with your son?" "WHAT!" Belllounds lunged over to Wade, leaned down, shaken by overwhelming amaze. "Collie is my daughter!" A loud expulsion of breath escaped Belllounds. Lower he leaned, and looked with piercing gaze into the face and eyes that in this moment bore strange resemblance to Columbine. "So help me Gawd!... That's the secret?... Hell-Bent Wade! An' you've been on my trail!" He staggered to his big chair and fell into it. No trace of doubt showed in his face. The revelation had struck home because of its very greatness. Wade took the chair opposite. His likeness to Columbine had faded now. It had been love, a spirit, a radiance, a glory. It was gone. And Wade's face became the emblem of tragedy.